Chance Encounter

Disclaimer: I don't own Balian, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, etc. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back, savvy?

Chapter 31: The Second Wave

As the army of Mordor approached the White City, the people flew into frenzy. They needed someone to lead them, to tell them what to do. Gondor had lost two of its most prestigious commanders. One was in the Halls of Mandos and the other was missing. In the midst of this chaos, one man, not in the military garb of Gondor, was giving orders without the Steward's consent, instructing the men to set up the trebuchets and to gather rocks and blocks of wood to use as projectiles.

Balian positioned archers above the gates and told the Gondorians to fill jars of flammable liquids, as he had done in Jerusalem. Being in need of a commander, the men did as he instructed. As they prepared for a long and hard siege, there was a shout and before Balian could say anything, the gates were opened. One rider-less horse came in, dragging the seemingly lifeless body of Faramir behind it. Like Boromir, the Steward's younger son had been pierced by an orc arrow.

"He still lives," said Balian, putting a hand beneath the man's nose and feeling his breath on his fingers. "Take him to the Houses of Healing, and close they gates!" A stretcher was brought out and Faramir was gently transferred onto it. The men carried him up to the Houses of Healing, which was located on the same level as the Citadel. No doubt Denethor would find out about his son's predicament soon enough. Balian did not want to know how the man who had sent Faramir to his doom would react. Moments later, Denethor's voice rang out across the battlements.

"Abandon your posts!" shouted the deranged Steward. "Flee! Flee for your lives!"

"No!" cried Balian as some men started to run. "Stay at your stations! We defend the city, or there will be no hope!" Some of them hesitated and remained where they were. Others fled, flinging down weapons as they did so. Balian, once more the defender of a city in peril, looked at his men. They were frightened and desperate, in need of encouragement. He took a breath.

"It has fallen to us to defend this city," he began "and we have made our preparations as well as they can be made. We fight, not to protect these stones, but the people living within these walls! When that gate comes down, and the walls are breached, there will be no quarter. If you throw down your arms, you families will die." He looked each of the men in the eye. They all met his gaze. "We can break this army here!" he said slowly and clearly, articulating every word. "So I say: Let them come! Let them come! Come on! We'll show them what the men of Gondor are truly made out of!"

The men cheered, raising their voices and weapons in an act of defiance against those who would destroy them. In the distance, orc horns and drums answered the challenge. The battle had begun.

The hollow sound of horses' hooves on rock echoed through the valley. The vastness magnified the sound. The wind whistled eerily through the gaps in the rocks. Guy shivered, and it wasn't because of the chilly draughts. Everything was grey. Grey rock, grey sky, grey cloaks on his companions. Even the horse in front of him was grey. The man was getting quite sick of the colour.

"What sort of army would linger in here?" demanded Gimli in a loud whisper as if he did not want to disturb whatever it was that lurked in this valley.

"One that is cursed," answered Legolas, sending a shudder down Guy's spine and making his imagination run rampant. "Long ago, the Men of the Mountains swore an oath to the last King of Gondor to come to his aid; to fight. But when the time came, when Gondor's need was dire, they fled vanishing into the darkness of the mountain. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they had fulfilled their pledge." With that the elf began to recite:

"Who shall call them from the grey twilight,

the forgotten people?

The heir of him to whom the oath they swore.

From the North shall he come.

Need shall drive him.

He shall pass the door to the Paths of the Dead."

He finished and fell silent.

"The what?" said a horror-stricken Guy. "The paths of what?"

No one answered him. The horses had stopped and refused to go any further. Aragorn and Legolas dismounted and the elf helped Gimli out of the saddle. The two men and the elf looped the reins over the horses' heads and dragged them in the right direction. Legolas whispered soothing words to calm their fears. Guy made the sign against the evil eye. This had to be pagan magic. The animals came reluctantly, ears laid back and nickering nervously. The elf's voice did nothing to help calm Guy down. The man had heard that some voice not so long ago speaking of the horrors of Mordor.

The little company stopped in front of a stone archway which led into the dark cavernous womb of the mountains where unspeakable horrors waited to burst forth. Guy made the sign of the cross. "Lord, save us," he whispered. The archway was decorated with real skulls of men and heathen symbols carved into the rock or painted on. He did not know what they meant and he was not interested in finding out.

"The way is shut," said Legolas, looking at the symbols. "It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it. The way is shut." An eerie ominous wind that was almost like a voice issued forth from the archway as if to prove that the elf was right. The horses reared and bolted. No persuasive elven voice would be able to coax them into that place. Guy's face drained of blood and beside him, Gimli lifted his axe a little and gripped the shaft tighter.

"Do we have to go in there?" whispered Guy. His question went ignored. He took it as a yes. The man looked longingly back in the direction that the horses had gone. He would've liked to go with them but he did not know his way out. The ranger had led them through so many twists and turns.

"I do not fear death," said Aragorn, stepping forward and disappearing into the overwhelming darkness. Legolas glanced back at the other two then followed him. His form was soon claimed by shadow.

"Well, here is a thing unheard of!" said Gimli almost despairingly. "An elf would go underground where a dwarf dare not. Oh, I'll never hear the end of this." With that, he dashed through the archway, driven on by his pride. Guy was alone. The eerie silence enveloped him, crushing him in its embrace. The man decided that it would be better to confront horrors with someone watching his back than to starve to death alone. Muttering the Lord's Prayer, he followed these mad people that he had come to rely on.

The armies of Mordor flung great missiles of rock and fire at the walls of Minas Tirith. The Gondorians retaliated by throwing missiles of their own but nothing seemed to lessen the waves or orcs surging at the city and wearing down the defence bit by bit. Although the enemy relied more on numbers than anything, Balian had to admit that throwing the severed heads of the prisoners taken from that disastrous charge on Osgiliath had been a stroke of twisted genius. The men's morale had been at least halved.

"Fire!" he shouted at the men at the trebuchets. Lit jars of flammable liquid were launched. They shattered as they landed, sending the burning substances splattering everywhere. Balian leapt out of the way just as a chunk of rock flew past him, almost crushing him. Gandalf was in charge of defences at another section of the wall where the orcs were parking their siege towers. The blacksmith had no time to think about it as siege towers targeting his own section were being pushed into place by trolls. One Gondorian missile hit a siege tower, sending it toppling onto its side. The orcs snarled and responded with a volley of arrows. 'Aragorn, where are you?' wondered Balian as he signalled to the archers to fire back.

High-pitched screams rent the air. Balian winced but he had taken the prevention tonic so there was no chance of him becoming deaf again. "Fire!" he shouted. "Shoot the dragons' bellies!" He had no idea whether this was the way to do it or not, but when he had been a small boy, his mother had told him stories about knights and princes slaying dragons and the like. The heroes always killed the monsters by striking at their soft underbellies.

The archers aimed and fired but the dragons and their riders were out of range. They swooped down on the trebuchets, dismantling them and flinging the splintered bits of wood everywhere. The riders seemed to recognize who the commander was. Balian ducked and flattened himself against the flagstones just as one of the dragons tried to grab him with outstretched talons. The blacksmith cried out and cursed in agony as a black claw ripped open his chainmail and tore the flesh on his back. The men flung spears and shot arrows at the beast, driving it away.

Balian scrambled to his feet and ran back to the wall where orcs were spewing out from a siege tower and onto the battlements. The man wished he had the small jars of oil which could be lit and thrown by hand. However, they had not had the time to make them. He blocked a blow with his sword and then gutted his opponent. His wound burned with hot fire and he bit back a groan as movement aggravated it. Another three orcs engaged him in combat. He wondered whether they would be able to last until Rohan came to their aid.

Thick grey fog swirled about their bodies, striving to drown them. Guy fancied that he could feel insubstantial fingers groping at him and clawing at his clothes. He shuddered at the cold clammy touch and focused on the light of Aragorn's torch. The prayers he was murmuring under his breath did nothing to reassure him. Legolas' claim that he could see the shapes of men and horses in the fog chilled his bones. Guy gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as if the blade could defend him against metaphysical foes. If there was a hell then this must surely be it.

There was a crunching noise ahead of him. "Do not look down," hissed Aragorn. Morbid curiosity proved to be too much for Gimli and Guy. They glanced down at their feet. Skulls carpeted the floor of the tunnel. Guy cursed. He wished he had listened to the ranger.

"Can we get out of here?" whispered the former king. Gimli, who had been thinking more or less the same thing, quickly banished the thought from his head. The four of them entered a large empty underground gallery. A sinister figure that was glowing with unnatural green light stood at the centre. His clothes and hair were being blown by a phantom wind. There was a rich helmet on his head. A closer inspection revealed that he was transparent. Scraps of half-rotted flesh dangled from his ghostly bones and his eyes were corrupted by decay. Guy's scream died in his throat. He was seeing the dead. He began to mutter the rosary rapidly.

"Who dares to enter my domain?" asked the spectre slowly. His voice was strong and malicious for someone who did not possess a physical body.

"One who would have your allegiance," said Aragorn.

"The dead do not suffer the living to pass," said the ghost lord.

"You will suffer me," said the ranger. The spectre laughed at that statement. A glowing green city with legions of ghostly men materialized before their eyes and surrounded the four living beings. Guy's hands were slick with sweat. His eyes flicked everywhere nervously, seeking an escape. There was none. They were trapped inside this great stone tomb of thousands.

"The way is shut," said the ghost lord, repeating Legolas' words that the elf had uttered not so long before. "It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it." The apparitions closed in on them. "Now you must die." Guy did everything he could think of to ward them off. He muttered prayers, invoked saints and even brandished a small wooden cross made from the wood of the Holy Rood. Nothing worked.

Legolas released an arrow from his bow. It passed through the ghost lord's head with no effect and clattered on the rock somewhere far away. Guy's knees felt weak.

"I summon you to fulfil your oath," said Aragorn, drawing his sword. Through his haze of fear, Balian's rival noticed something different about the weapon.

"None but the King of Gondor may command me!" growled the spectre, hefting his unearthly weapon to strike at the insolent man who had dared to order him to do something. Aragorn blocked the blow with his blade, reached out the grip the wraith's throat then put the sword to his neck. If it had not been for his blind terror, Guy would have seen the significance of this action. Instead of passing through the ghost as it should have done, Aragorn's hand encircled the insubstantial throat and held it, slowly throttling the phantom even though it was impossible to kill the ghost lord again. "That blade was broken!" gasped the spectre.

"It has been remade," said Aragorn. A new sort of power rang in his voice. Legolas smiled in pride. Estel of Rivendell had grown up. He had come into his inheritance. "Fight for me," continued the future King "and I will hold your oaths fulfilled. What say you?"

'Wait,' thought Guy as the pieces of the puzzle arranged themselves in his mind. 'These cursed things swore an oath to the last King of Gondor and they need to fulfil it before they can rest in peace. Here is this man saying he will hold their oaths fulfilled if they fight for him, so this makes the filthy ranger…' Guy's eyebrows flew to his hairline.

Aragorn was the King. Aragorn was the King. Aragorn was the King.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" he whispered. "This can't be possible…" No one heard him. The ghost lord had started laughing again. He and his army were fading into nothingness.

"What say you?" Aragorn was shouting. "Fight for me, and I will release you from this living death! You have my word!"

"Stand, you traitors!" roared Gimli even as the last of them disappeared. "Gah!" spat the dwarf in disgust. "You're wasting your time with them, Aragorn. They had no honour in life; they have none now in death."

A cracking noise caught their attention. The four of them turned. The walls of the gallery were rupturing and a torrent of skulls came cascading down. For a while, shock robbed them of movement and speech. "Out!" Aragorn finally said. The four of them ran for their lives as the torrent of bones threatened to crush and drown them.

Being the lightest, Legolas was swept off his feet by the force of the flood. For a moment, he felt as if he was drowning in a sea of bones. The musty smell of old decay and death was almost overwhelming. He tried to fight his way to the top. The elf feared being trapped in small dark places and being buried alive was his worst nightmare. Above the din, he heard someone calling his name. 'Estel,' he thought. The stubborn human would never leave without him. Legolas concentrated all his energy into digging himself out of this improvised grave. A gauntleted hand was reaching down. He grabbed it and Gimli hoisted him out of the pile of human remains.

"Stupid elf," said the dwarf without conviction. "This isn't the time to go swimming."

"Afraid to get wet, master dwarf?" said Legolas as they ran for the opening. Guy was already outside. His face was as white as the foam which crowned the waves as they crashed into the shore. As they scrambled clear of the cavern, dust issued from the opening. Aragorn looked down at the estuary where the Anduin flowed into the sea. Black ships were sailing upriver towards Gondor like a pack of predatory beasts closing in for a kill. The king-to-be sank to his knees in despair. How was he to save his kingdom without the aid of the phantom army?

Legolas put his hand on the man's shoulder to offer what comfort he could. The elf could see the end approaching with those ships. It was like the game he had played as an elfling where tall blocks were lined up in a row and one was pushed over to start a chain reaction. Gondor would fall first, then Rohan, then all the elven realms and finally the Shire and even the Grey Havens would topple to Sauron's might. All the deaths of the men, elves and dwarves who had fallen while fighting for freedom would have been in vain.

Just as they were about to go on to Gondor alone and on foot, the ghost lord materialized behind them. "We fight," he said.

A wave of dizziness seized him, almost making him stumble. Balian shook his head to clear it. He could not afford to falter. Gondor was relying on him and Gandalf. He had failed Boromir once and he had promised that it would not happen again. Even if it cost him his life, Minas Tirith would remain standing. The orcs had fallen back for a moment, giving the men some reprieve. It was almost nightfall. Maybe the enemy had decided to rest, but the blacksmith doubted it.

Moments later, the enemy returned, more numerous than ever. Trolls were pushing the largest and strangest-looking war machine he had ever seen. The main component was shaped like a wolf's head with fire burning in its mouth. The trolls pulled back the wolf's head and then released it. The wolf's burning snout smashed into the gates. The impact shook the entire city. "God, help us," whispered Balian. "It's a battering ram." It was unlike any battering ram that he had ever seen.

He shivered; it was cold and yet, he was sweating profusely. It was as if icy tendrils had wrapped themselves around his bones. The man forced his discomfort to the back of his mind then went to rally the defenders above the gate. They shot arrows and threw spears at the trolls who manned the battering ram. Each time they felled one beast, another replaced it. Mordor seemed to have an endless supply of them. Night had fallen. The gate had withstood an afternoon of heavy assault. It was slowly coming off its hinges. They knew it wouldn't last much longer. At the lowest level, Gandalf was delivering a speech to the troops, encouraging them to stand firm no matter what came through the gates once they came down.

The trolls swung the battering ram one last time. There was creaking and splintering. Balian knew that the gates hand given away. Soon the men from the first level would need to retreat to the second and then, who knew what would happen?

Guy stood at the prow of the ship as it glided along with fifty others towards Gondor. The sails were full and phantom oarsmen rowed methodically and silently. He felt as if he was King again. He certainly looked the part, unlike that scruffy man who was to be to King of Gondor.

The others were on another ship adjacent to his. None of them had wanted to share with Guy. The elf stood in the crow's nest, staring at the wailing gulls. His lips were moving and although the wind drowned out his voice, Guy knew he was singing. The elf was always singing one song or another. 'Maybe he's the King's minstrel,' thought the man.

Balian leaned against a wall as he waited for yet another bout of dizziness to pass. They were coming more frequently now, these attacks of light-headedness and nausea. He didn't know what had caused them. The man cursed his untimely affliction. Gandalf had gone somewhere with Pippin, leaving him in charge of all the defences. Something was happening and it was to do with the Steward and his son.

The blacksmith beckoned to Beregond, one of the few lieutenants left in Gondor. Balian had knighted him and many others, but Beregond actually had some experience in battle. "Sir Balian?" said Beregond. The Gondorian could see that there was something wrong with the foreigner who was paler than usual. Sweat shone on his brow. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," said Balian quickly. "Supervise the men on the wall. Use our remaining trebuchets to hit their catapults if possible. I'm going down to the gate." Without waiting for Beregond to respond, he left. The Gondorian fancied that he was a deep long wound on the other man's back but duty called and he promptly forgot about the commander's predicament as the enemy flung balls of flaming material at them.

Dawn. Balian was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse where he was and close his eyes. He knew that he couldn't. The survival of Gondor depended on this battle. Most of their trebuchets had been destroyed, either by the black dragons or the enemy's catapults. The two lowest regions were aflame. All the civilians had fled to the upper levels. Casualties were high. The orcs could afford it. They could not. Gondor's supply of able-bodied men was almost depleted. He estimated that they had lost at least half.

The new day brought with it no new hope as far as he could see. Just when he was ready to fall into despair, a clear horn call sounded above the din of battle. He recognized that horn. Rohan had come. "Come on!" he shouted hoarsely to the men. "Our comrades from Rohan have come! We will crush these foul beasts of Mordor into the dust!"

Stay tuned…

WHAT IF…

ALL PROBLEMS THAT AROSE, ENSUED, WERE NOT OVERCOME

Jack Sparrow: (eyes wide) Bugger.

WHAT IF…

THINGS DIDN'T GO ACCORDING TO PLAN?

The Black Pearl and the Flying Dutchman are stuck high up on a barren island of rock beyond the reach of the tide.

AND PEOPLE WHO WERE NOT MEANT TO MEET…

Balian, Hector, Legolas and Will raise their cups in a salute to each other.

MET.

DANGER AND INTRIGUE LURKS IN EVERY CORNER…

Calchas, the High Priest of Troy, turns to show his face.

The light from torches cast shadows on the wall of two men stabbing someone.

HISTORY WILL BE CHANGED…

Balian leads the Trojan cavalry in a charge.

Achilles and Balian's blades meet.

CONFUSION WILL REIGN…

Will: Huh?

Hector: What?

Balian: Excuse me?

Legolas raises an eyebrow.

Jack: What?

Menelaus: (snappy tone) What?

Achilles: What?

From the author of CHANCE ENCOUNTER comes

CHANCE ENCOUNTER: PIRATE KINGDOM OF TROY

COMING SOON TO FF-NET

(PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN SECTION)

A/N: I'm not going to say anything about that little ad up there. You'll find out more soon enough. Can anyone guess what's wrong with Balian? Virtual chocolate will be handed out next week to people who guess rightly. I can't believe we're fast approaching the end! Please review!