An update! How suprising for me, I confess I really thought, a few months after the author's note, I was going to abandon this. However rereading it today when I was off sick from school made me realise I MUST finish this story! Or at least write the next few interesting chapters (I still have my storyplan somewhere.)

Anyway I hope I still have some readers, I am very sorry for the stupidly annoying wait, and I 've decided to dedicate this chapter (oo-er!) to the last two reviewers Godrules and Ainariella for posting me a review and not giving up hope on me! (at least I think you didn't...) This is for you, enjoy!

Chapter 9

As the morning wore on into dusty afternoon, Pippin concluded absently that the day's march had been as long and dull the rest. Little had happened at all, apart from Gandalf's unexpected sudden return in the early morning as the rest of the men had saddled up for the day's journeying, meaning that Pippin had instead shared a horse with Eomer. The Rohan heir to the throne had been more than willing; he had found the hobbit to be full of information regarding the War of the Ring that he had picked up from Mithrandir and such others. All throughout the morning, Eomer had questioned the hobbit unrelentlessly, and Pippin, seeing as he had little else to do, had given the man all the answers he wanted.

Although Pippin remembered vacantly, it had been strange the way Legolas and Gimli had been unusually quiet towards Aragorn all day. Almost as strange as the way Aragorn had not responded to either of his two companions himself. Eomer, if he had noticed something, seemed not to comment on the situation.

Pippin sighed. It was obvious really. It was the tension that was keeping his friends silent. Tension of the Battle that was looming closer and closer with every step they took towards the Black Land.

Shifting slightly in the saddle to find a more comfortable position, Pippin's head snapped up as a sudden scream broke his dazed reverie.

From the head of the column the unusually quiet Aragorn had held up a hand and the whole party of soldiers had halted. A hush fell over the troops and an uneasy threatening silence descended. Among the peoples Pippin was not alone in frantically turning his head from side to side, searching for the cause of the chilling disturbance. Caught between two mountainous ridges from either side with only one road behind and one ahead, leading straight to the Black Gate, this was an ideal place for the Enemy to mount an ambush. Legolas' elf eyes seemed to almost shine in the dim light as his neck swivelled from side to side, seeking in the darkness for unfriendly foes.

The scream came again, this time nearer, and the hobbit trembled, reacting violently to the terribly familiar sound. Horses began to skitter nervously and the men started muttering anxiously, the murmur of the dreaded creatures passing like wildfire among the ranks, Nazgûl…

Legolas picked up his bow swiftly, stringing an arrow and unleashing it in one fluid movement. The arrow shaft hummed through the quiet air, straight up into the darkness of one of the rocky crevices on the left cliff face. The thud of the arrow as it hit orc neck, and the gurgle of spitted black blood issuing from the fatal wound as the orc spy fell from his place on the cliff to land broken on the ground below confirmed the Host's worst fears.

A ringing sound filled the air as all soldiers pulled their swords from their sheaths, or else drew their bows from their backs, already notching arrows into place. The sound of hoof beats echoed noisily from the dark and narrow road ahead and all eyes trained in that direction. From the gloom a Rohirrim scout emerged, black-feathered arrows sticking out of his thighs and shoulders, his eyes wide enough to see the whites.

'Ambush! Orc archers… endless infantry… Mountain trolls ahead!' The man shouted hoarsely, 'a great number, there is no way around them!'

The screech from the skies accompanied his words, harsher, louder than ever before. Pippin wailed, clapping his hands to his ears. Men shuddered likewise and sudden panic seized some of them, as they began to break ranks, turning their horses around back the way they'd come desperately. From his place near the front Gandalf's brow deepened as he stared at the still unmoving silent Aragorn at the front, who refused to do anything. Legolas too looked deeply concerned, though his gaze searched elsewhere.

'Stand your ground!' A deep, authoritative voice cried out suddenly. 'Stand your ground!'

Gandalf wheeled Shadowfax around in the direction of the voice as hundreds of frightened eyes did the same. For there, charging unexplainably from the back of the column, all the way up to the front rode the King, his embroided cloak the only bit of finery on his person, his hair familiarly matted, yet wild and free.

More and more the Ranger than the Elessar, but Aragorn's sudden bizarre appearance seemed rather to give a strange heart back to the men as he rode past them, fierce determination on his features. Lines reformed almost subconsciously as the Elessar raced along the entire length of his army. Reaching the front and sweeping the borrowed horse around to face his men, Aragorn drew Anduril free of its scabbard and held it aloft in his hand, the fierce look in his eyes controlling all attention.

'My countrymen! My brothers from afar!' He shouted again, his commanding voice rivalling the Nazgûls' screams from above, '…what is this fear you have? Have we not already faced this shadow and banished it? Have we not looked this death in the eye and broke it upon itself?'

A loud cheer rose from the throats of the assembled men, cries of agreement and loyalty. Gandalf smiled a strange knowing smile. Aragorn grinned fiercely, turning round and pointing his sword forwards. Slowly, but then picking up speed, the Host marched steadily onward into the darkness. They had not gone far before their Enemy could clearly be seen, coming closer; six large mountain trolls and scores upon scores of mountain dwelling orcs, climbing and scrambling over the rocks to greet them.

Pippin, still trembling, was strongly reminded of the bulbous eyed, insect-like orc kind that the Fellowship had faced in the mines of Moria. On the horse to his right Gimli seemed to be thinking along the same lines; a number of axes were spinning about in his hands and an excited glint was in his eye. Pippin thought he heard him make a comment about some sort of game to Legolas in front of him and thought he saw the elf grin strangely back at the dwarf, but in the gathering darkness, he couldn't be sure. Gripping his little noldorin sword tightly he stared despairingly at the monsters coming towards him, hardly aware of the comforting hand the concerned Eomer laid for a moment on his shoulder.

Black arrows whistled out of the darkness abruptly. Thick and fast, falling upon the ranks of the Host and claiming lives, as cries were cut short and bodies thudded on the ground.

Pippin heard Strider yelling for their archers, watching as Legolas notched another arrow to his bow, and saw the thicket of retaliating arrows fly and hit far more wailing orcs off the rock shelves on either side of the valley.

He saw the orc archers retreating, drawing their swords and scrambling down the cliff faces to join the infantry on the ground. There were mere metres between the two forces now.

The cavalry at the front and amongst the Host broke into a gallop to close the gap. Pippin could hear Eomer yelling from behind him as their horse plunged into the black mass of orcs around them. Too scared or, perhaps, too exhilarated to do anything else, the little hobbit joined in.

All Pippin could remember next was the hideous claustrophobia of the orcs all around them and the repeated action of driving his sword into any orc flesh he reached, wrenching it out again and plunging the dripping blade into the next orc hide he saw. At times he heard Eomer almost laughing and thought he heard distantly Gimli roaring obscene numbers to his elf friend, the dwarf's axe a blur as he hewed down the mass of orcs around him; he had already dismounted from his horse.

The stench of blood grew, so strong in his nostrils, filling Pippin with a deep revulsion while simultaneously compelling him to continue to lash out, to spill more death and pain, until it was all over. Somewhere Gandalf's staff was glowing, and the wizard was chanting some strange elvish words Pippin didn't understand. There was a loud explosion somewhere close by and Pippin saw a large number of orcs falling down dead. Renewed by the deaths of so many of the Enemy, the hobbit attacked ever more vigorously, stabbing at the yellow eyes of the orc closest to him. Eomer's sword flashed expertly everywhere, cleaving the heads and limbs off multiple foes.

The blow came most unexpectedly.

Pippin, distracted by an orc who had grabbed his foot, blanched in shock as the horse, Eomer and himself were lifted from the air at the successful hit from an overhead mountain troll's club.

Flying for several metres, the hobbit landed painfully on his back while Eomer landed on top of him, his eyes closed, blood trickling from a wound on his head. The horse, whose spine had already been broken from the troll's club, had landed elsewhere with a sick crack. Trapped on the ground, Pippin groaned quietly, vainly trying to push the unconscious man off of him. But he was too weak. Too tired and too weak. The hobbit slumped, tears now leaking from his eyes.

Around him, the battle raged on, but orcs and allies alike were oblivious to the hobbit's plight. In any case, to all appearances Eomer and Pippin looked just like a small pile of the many dead bodies littered about the valley floor.

Squirming underneath the Rohan Lord's dead weight on top of him, Pippin made one last attempt to free himself before exhaustion claimed him. Grabbing anything his free hand could reach to pull him out from under Eomer, he drew back violently as cold hands suddenly closed themselves around his upper arm. His eyes, blinded by damp tears, couldn't make out the identity of the dark figure that was hauling him up from under the unconscious Rohan.

He was hardly back on his feet, his lips opening to exclaim grateful thanks before the same helpful person had taken his drawn sword and hit the back of the hobbit's head with its hilt.

Falling into uneasy unconsciousness, Pippin was aware of being held under the arm of a tall, long dark-haired soldier and hearing a random goblin's screech, Gandalf's triumphant yell and Aragorn's call of victory before darkness took him and he fell into dreams filled of Mordor, and unbearable torture.

Cliffhanger? Don't worry, the next update will come soon, and it'll be a flashback of what went on during the time Aragorn was with Mornaundume...

Btw thanks for any reviews