Idrial's Quest
By Lady Annalease
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A/N: Thanks to KakurineTalyn1511, jellebie and WilliamJago for reviews!!!
A/N 2: Sorry if you don't like what I did with Idrial in this chapter, but I wanted to give her a little more depth and talk about war, as well. Also, I wanted to try to convey to you what I felt looking at Pelennor Fields in the movie.
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Chapter Nine - Pelennor Fields:
We ran down from the High Hall, through the city, gathering the soldiers beneath the Banner of Elendil as we went. We burst through the gates and onto the fields of the Pelennor, where many, many enemies still remained. We had a chance to win the day and we would not surrender it!
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The Fields of the Pelennor were a wasteland of dead, dying and battling. Smoke from fires unknown covered the field, making breathing difficult, and the sound of metal meeting metal rang from all directions. It was a dismal place to be…and yet, some small hope remained. We knew we must aid the Rohirrim, for they had emptied their lands to ride to Gondor's aide and any we did not save would mean the ruin of a family. Dead bodies littered the field and we had to watch our footing, lest we step in something unspeakable. Enemies - Orcs, Haradhirm and the odd Nazgûl - roamed the fields freely, accosting anyone who was foolish enough to wander off alone. Surely we met our fair share of marauding bands, both friendly and not. It seemed our complacency in the city had cost us; the foes out on the field were hardier and better organised than their counterparts and stood tall against our attacks.
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We found it easy to get turned about on the Plains, despite the fact we were heading toward a fixed point. Both the lay of the land, and the piles of dead, made only a few safe paths and, on those, it was easy to get hopelessly lost. Never had I seen death on such as scale as this; though I had caused many of our enemies to die, and seen friends and allies succumb to wounds of both person and soul, it is far different to be trudging through a battle-ground, blood seeping into your boots, with bodies lining your way as if in some sort of perverted honour-guard, and the stench of death heavy in your nose. I know now why Men speak of battle-terror and of soldiers running, mad with fear. I understood now why my mate had run at Osgiliath, faced by the Nazgûl and the terror of the Witch-King. This is why our Leaders forsook the world of Men - war, senseless, pointless killing. I was no Human maiden, faint at the sight of blood and gore, but at that moment I knew - Elves were not meant for this sort of death.
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There was soon enough to distract me on the field from my woes. We presently came upon the front line of Theoden's heavy cavalry, and they were facing down Mûmakil! I remembered learning of the beasts in my youth.
Grey as a mouse,
Big as a house,
Nose like a snake,
I make the earth shake.
As I tramp through the grass,
Trees crack as I pass.
With horns in my mouth,
I walk in the South.
Flapping big ears,
Beyond count of years,
I stump round and round,
Never lie on the ground,
Not even to die -
Oliphant am I.
If you ever meet me,
You wouldn't forget me.
If you never do,
You won't think I'm true.
But ole' Oliphant am I,
And I never lie.
The children's rhyme is true. Ah, what magnificent beasts are they! Like the Fell Beasts, they are creatures of fear and worship, inspiring awe and terror wherever they may go. Unlike the Fell Beasts, however, Mûmakil are not wholly evil, they are bred and trained for war, but they are not so if not taught to be so. They are subjected to fear and pain from the moment they were born, just so they will serve their wicked masters.
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Fighting a Mûmakil on foot is not an ideal situation…to say the least. Their most dangerous weapons are their massive feet, which can crush an Elf or Man-sized body in one step, and their massive tusks; the higher set can sweep an entire regiment of cavalry away with one fell pass - the Haradhirm usually put spikes on these tusks for further damage - and the lower set - wickedly sharp - can skewer three men upon them each with ease. Of course, these natural defences are also coupled with the fact that the Haradhirm feed them something that makes their breath foul as death, enough so to weaken any opponent that catches it and, of course, the regiment of archers they usually carry in baskets on their back. Defeating a Mûmakil sounds far easier than it actually is, but it is the same principle if one is on foot or if one is on horse-back. First, at least one archer is useful - though not strictly necessary, I suppose - to shoot the trainer who steers the beast, and then systematically take out the other archers on its back; other soldiers need either heavy or very fine-bladed weapons to either crush or cut the beast at its knees, forcing it to fall - this part is easier if mounted, for one still has to avoid the beast's tusks and, more importantly, its feet. All remaining men will usually abandon the beast at that point, where they can be cut down like normal soldiers. Then, somehow, either by magics, arrows, blades or simply throwing dirt, the Mûmakil needs to be blinded, before a heavy blow is carefully directed to the centre of the head - directly between the ears - to collapse the skull and pierce the brain. Elegost calmly explained this all to us as he shot down the archers and we took turns carefully getting between the Mûmakil's feet and slashing at its knees; where he had learnt it, I knew not, but it was a sound strategy and one the surviving members of the Rohirrim were employing on the Mûmakil around us. To that end, it was Elegost and Hadhod who proved most useful to us in that battle.
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I was alright, fighting the Mûmakil, keeping my true feelings about the battle hidden, until the beast collapsed to its knees and Elegost carefully shot out its eyes; it bellowed in pain, thrashing and bleeding in the dirt. The poor creature was near helpless. I could not watch as Hadhod leapt onto its head to deliver the final blow; but it heard it in all its clarity. I will not regale you with how it sounds to hear a massive hammer splitting open bone and forcing it into flesh. My stomach rebelled, emptying any sustenance I had been lucky enough to gain during the day, onto the blood-stained earth before me. I stumbled away and fell to my knees, arms wrapped tight around my-blood-and-gore-smeared-self and head bent, and began to sob openly. I could not do this anymore! I felt Thor's strong hand on my shoulder, then he bent his knees and squatted before me.
"Rial," he murmured softly. I could not meet his eyes. "Rial, look at me - it is okay. I was ill the first time I saw an innocent creature killed too. My father made me watch as slashed the neck of one of our horses that had broken a leg down a rabbit hole; he said something about it being a good lesson for me," I looked up as he scowled, "all he did was traumatise a ten-year-old boy. And I had nightmares for weeks after my first battle, I was ill after every one." He sighed heavily. "When my commander learnt it from my comrades, he hauled me into the infirmary after and showed me the wounded and dying on our side - I could not stand to be in there for more than a few moments. He followed me out and told me that I would see that multiplied a thousand times if I did not defend myself and my realm. He also told me to remember that our enemies have families too, that will go through the same thing and have the same tents as we did where they tend to their wounded and where women weep over their lost men, and that, wherever possible, to kill cleanly and with honour and, wherever possible, to show mercy - but not to be foolish about it. Rial, if we showed mercy to the Mûmakil, they would mow us down - it is what they have been trained to do; it is not right and it is not fair, but it is the way of things. You know that. The best we can do to make it right is to kill as honourably and cleanly as possible, to prevent more needless deaths on either side. That is the best I can do. If you wish to leave here, I will not try to stop you, but we need you, Rial - we have no one who can do what you do; and I need you, you are my strength - I love you." He pulled me into his arms and held me tightly. "Do not take this the wrong way, I know you are not like the other women I have known, who faint at the sigh of blood, but I wish I could spare you this," he whispered into my ear, "I would do anything for that." Valar, how I wanted to run - to run and never stop until the screams left my head. We had run our blades through Orc, Haradhirm and Nazgûl; we had caused more death on that field then I had seen in over two millennia and still we caused more death. I knew, in my heart, that the deaths of Orcs and evil Men should not bother me so; but the sound and feel of blade meeting bone and the sickening screams of the wounded and dying were almost too much for me. Valar, how I did wish to be anywhere but where I was…except, perhaps, at the Battle of the Last Alliance, watching so many of my kin fall, screaming and writhing in agony. It was that image which brought me back to myself, that purpose; if I should endure this, then no more would have to die and if my innocence - such a strange word for a being who has lived over 2000 years to use! - was spoilt for it, then such a small price it was.
"I know you would," I replied softly to Thor, "but I will fight. I will fight now, for my people, I will fight, so that no more will have to go through this." He nodded against my shoulder, then pulled me to my feet and offered me his canteen to wash my mouth. I slowly turned and fixed my eyes on the dead beast, then whispered a prayer to the Valar before I joined Berethor at the head of our group once more and we kept on. And if tears stained my cheeks as we ran across the Fields of the Pelennor, and prayers passed freely from my lips, then they were the least of a gift I could give to the dead and dying…indiscriminate of race.
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We finally found ourselves in the midst of Theoden's forces, just as a Black Rider swooped down upon them, knocking the Rohirric king to the ground. His horse fell upon him and he yelled in pain as the weight of the beast crushed him. The Fell Beast landed and its Rider hissed in satisfaction.
"Feast on his flesh!" it hissed to its Beast. I then realised we were dealing not only with a Nazgûl, but that the Witch-King himself had returned. Dread pooled in my belly and I knew suddenly and unequivocally this would be our last meeting with him - for good or ill. We ran toward Théoden and the Witch-King, but it was plain we would not arrive in time to stop the Beast from feeding. Suddenly, a soldier that was next to Théoden wheeled his horse and held high his sword.
"I will kill you if you touch him!" she declared - it was Lady Éowyn! The Fell Beast lunged forward at her, but she managed to dodge it - I do not know how - and raised her sword; in a few blows she had hacked off the beast's head. The Witch-King screamed his fury and leapt from his dead beast to face the Lady Éowyn! Fortunately, by that point we were close enough to leap into the battle also. Éowyn was an incredible fighter - her wrath kept her on her feet where many others would have fallen. My powers were the only thing that kept my own party up. I did not know how the battle was going to end, for it is said that no man can kill the Witch-King and, so, there was no way to defeat him. Being female, I should have known better. The moment we saw him faltering, we cried out in elation and pressed our attack.
"You fools! No man can kill me!" the Witch-King hissed. The spirits of our party fell - for all we knew, that was true enough. It was Lady Éowyn who was furious enough to overcome this. She pulled her helm from her head and snarled:
"I AM NO MAN!" before driving her sword home into the Witch-King's breast. There was a horrible shriek and we all fell to our knees, clamping our hands over our ears as the Witch-King seemed to flow away into the breeze like so much dust. Lady Éowyn fell, clutching her sword-arm, and lay unconscious on the field. I checked her - she was still alive! - but I could not waken her. Théoden was dead, crushed beneath his horse. At that moment, a horn sounded - a desperate call from Éomer, now King of the Rohirrim, for aide. We could not afford to stay with Éowyn, but without someone to tend her, she would die too. At that moment, a Hobbit of all creatures crawled out from under the body of the Nazgûl - I knew him as one of the original Fellowship.
"Go help King Éomer," he wheezed, "I will look after Lady Éowyn." I nodded and left him my healing gear.
"Éomer is now King of Rohan!" Berethor cried to those soldiers still around us, "we must aide him!" We charged off once again into the battle.
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More Orcs, more Haradhirm, more Mûmakil; they all eventually fell before us, as we fought our way to Éomer's side. The screams and blood affected me less now; I did not truly know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Thor told me latter that Men call it battle-shock, and that I was lucky my hands had not started shaking, and I had not started raving. All of us were feeling it a little after Theoden's death and Éowyn's defeat of the Witch-King. Honestly, it all seems somewhat surreal to me; I do not really remember what happened between that point, and when King Aragorn leapt from the Corsair boats with the Dead behind him. I seem to remember something about a battle against two Mûmakil at the same time, but I do not think that true - it must have just been two battles close together - surest it is not possible for an unmounted party of six to defeat two Mûmakil at the same time.
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When we were joined by King Aragorn, the battles became easier; Aragorn would simply call to the Dead, and enemies would fall before us - nothing can stand before the Armies of the Dead. We were merciless, but at least their deaths were quick and relatively painless. We swept across the fields - a tide of death before us - and nothing stood in our way. This was the other side of killing, I guess, the power and glory that comes with sweeping aside your enemies like so much trash. As soon as I realised it, this feeling made me feel as ill as the others had. Yet what was I to do? Aragorn must have noticed, for he approached me and laid a hand upon my shoulder.
"War is never right," he said, "and I feel as uneasy about this as you do. Yet would it be better to leave our peoples to their 'tender mercies'?" He shook his head. "We fight for those who cannot and we fight so others do not have to. If they had an advantage as we now have, they would not hesitate to use it - you must remember that. And be glad you do not feel easy, killing should never feel easy." I smiled weakly at him. Legolas came to me when Aragorn had left.
"Warriors us both, cowards us both," he proclaimed, "they do not rightly understand - it is not the blood or the gore. I was ill after I saw the destruction at Isenguard and the faces of those I have killed parade before my eyes every time I close them. However, Aragorn is correct - they would show us no mercy if our position were reversed. We fight for a better tomorrow, Rial." I was glad to finally speak to someone who understood.
"Hannon le, gwador," I replied. Legolas gave a tired smile.
"While I much preferred being 'melethron nín' to you, I shall settle for that, gwathel nín." He kissed my forehead before we ran on.
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We found victory on that field, in company of the King. It came upon us slowly, really, and no one realised it until our swords were suddenly still and no more enemies faced us. Mithrandir was on the field, and he bowed his head to Aragorn when we saw them. The poor King just looked exasperated. Out of our group, it was Morwen who realised our situation first.
"We won," she whispered softly, incredulously almost. "WE HAVE WON!" she suddenly cried out joyfully. "WE HAVE VICTORY! WE HAVE W-!" A Nazgûl had appeared behind her as she yelled ecstatically, and cut her down - it put a blade right through her stomach. She fell, gurgling, her speech interrupted. The rest of us cried out in horror.
"No!" Berethor and I both shrieked. The Úlairë laughed - that sickening, hissing, gurgling sound that I had come to revile.
"I have claimed her," he said. "She is ours. Our King may be no more, but eight others remain on this field, you fools!" It turned to face Thor. "Now we end what we began along the road so many moths ago!" I saw Berethor's fury rise and he lifted his blade and stepped forth. He stood before them, blade raised to guard, the Úlairë standing before him, their own blades raised. I watched in horror as he challenged them and struck. 'Fool!' my mind cried. 'Run! You cannot fight them.' Then I suddenly realised that, no, it was not again that day so long ago when we had first met. We had allies now and we were strong - we had killed their King, we could defeat them!
"You will not have her! You will not have my gwathel!" Aragorn followed us, lending his aide to the battle. If I had have thought about what I had named Morwen in that moment, I might have been horrified, but I realised afterward that it was true. All these people with men had become my gwethil and gwadir, except one, who was now my husband - they were my family and I would not let anything happen to them. With that cry, I urged the others forth to Berethor's line. They shrank before our fury and we destroyed them, one by one, letting none of them escape this time. As soon as it was safe, Aragorn went to Morwen and placed his hands upon her.
"I shall not fail," he murmured and then, drawing upon some innate power, he revived her. Eaoden ran to her, headless of where we were and who was around him.
"Eaoden?" she murmured softly. The Rohirric outrider clutched her close, sobbing softly. "Do not cry, my love, I am well." She wiped the tears from his cheeks. Berethor and I helped them to their feet, and then we all turned to Aragorn and fell to one knee each before him.
"How may we thank you?" each of us asked, our words almost perfectly in synchronisation. Aragorn laughed and shook his head. He approached Berethor and pulled him to his feet, then motioned the rest of us to rise.
"You, my friends, bow to no one," he said, then took a knee before us, before rising again moments later.
"How may this be answered, my lord?" Eaoden ventured. Aragorn gave us an almost feral smile.
"We gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate," he answered simply, "perhaps it may buy Frodo the time he needs. Otherwise, all our efforts here were for naught."
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Translations:
Gwador - sworn (rather than a biological) brother
Melethron nín - my (male) lover
Gwathel nín - my sworn sister
Úlairë - Nazgûl, Black Rider
Gwethil - sworn sisters
Gwadir - sworn brothers