Alternate title: WHO RUN THE WORLD? GIRLS! Spoiler alert that after the war, you and Eowyn open up a bounty hunting service and badass into the sunset together~

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

"Aniel...wake up, love..."

You grumble and roll over. The blanket slips off your shoulder and pools at your side, revealing your bare back.

Thorin chuckles deeply. "Do not tempt me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." You pull the blanket a little further down.

"There's nothing I'd rather do, but the camp is stirring. I believe we're about to leave. You should dress."

You roll back over. Thorin is already in pants an a shirt. You make a noise of indignation that he let you miss the show. You grudgingly pick up and put on the clothes that had been flung all over the tent the previous night. The exercise allows you to start thinking with a more logical part of your brain; you're stressed within minutes.

"We need to leave now," you mutter more to yourself than Thorin. "We need to beat the orcs to Minas Tirith. There are defense plans for the city I want to go over - I should have sent a letter to Gandalf before now, but I never had the chance - "

"Relax, darling. We can leave now if you'd like."

The two of you ready your horses and search out Theoden in the chaos. He's very conveniently standing in front of his tent with Elrond, both of them clad in full armor.

"Lord Elrond?" you say, confused to see him dressed in such a way.

"I am fighting with the Men," he answers your unasked question.

"Would it be any use to tell you that's a terrible idea and that you may not make it back if you go?"

"No use at all, penneth."

"Right. King Theoden." You address him. "I must ride ahead. My unexpected vacation prevented me from going sooner, but I need to beat the orcs to Minas Tirith."

Theoden nods. "Go with speed. We will meet you there."

"I will accompany you," Elrond says. "I should like to speak to Gandalf before the battle begins."

Happy with your ensemble, you mount your horse and ride out. The journey from Dunharrow to Minas Tirith is brutal; you make a three-day journey in two with minimal stops and sleep. All that keeps you going is the knowledge that you're so near the end, so very close that you can almost taste it.

The White City gleams in the light of a red sunrise. It is a beautiful and foreboding sight with the mountains of Mordor close in the distance. The mighty gate opens at the shout of the gatekeeper. Your poor horses gallop the final distance up the stone roads to the citadel. Here you dismount and head for the throne room with a purpose.

The doors of the citadell hall open before you reach them. Out comes Gandalf, Boromir, Pippin, and, as you're surprised and pleased to see, Faramir. They're utterly shocked to see your group, which makes you smile a bit.

Pippin runs ahead and greets you with a hug that you return in full force. "How are you here, Aniel?" he gasps, staring up at you.

You shrug. "At this point, we're making it up as we go."

"Aniel!" Gandalf exclaims. "And Lord Elrond! And - Thorin?"

Thorin smirks beside you. "It's been a long time, Gandalf."

Gandalf stares at you. "You have a lot of explaining to do," he says almost sternly, but his eyes twinkle.

"Come inside, my friends," Boromir says earnestly. "You are a welcome sight, Aniel. I hoped I'd get to introduce you to my brother, Faramir. Faramir, this is Aniel, who I've been telling you so much about."

Faramir bows his head. "I have heard a great deal about you, Lady Aniel. It is an honor to meet you."

"Oh, the pleasure is mine! I'm so glad to see you well. I wish we could have met under lighter circumstances, but we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other later."

The marble throne room is gorgeous, but you don't have time to admire it. As soon as the doors close, you say to Gandalf, "We rode ahead because I had important things to tell you. Theoden is on the way, along with Dain, apparently, and Aragorn will be along a bit later. First things first - er, what should be first?"

Elrond says, "I will tell Gandalf of the ruse. You tell Boromir of your plans for defense."

"Right! Okay, Boromir - " You begin to talk so fast that Boromir looks unnerved. "You should move as many people as possibly to the higher tiers of the city. The enemy is supposed to break through, but maybe we can stop it. I'd advise barricading the front gate with whatever you have - giant boulders would be preferable, though furniture will do. They'll have trolls on their side - tell the archers to always aim for the trolls - but I bet even trolls would have a hard time getting through a bunch of rocks. Then - well, we're supposed to have arranged it so that the force against us will be lighter, at least initially, so hopefully it won't be too bad - and we have three more armies coming, so - "

"Alright!" Boromir cuts you off. "You've given this a fair bit of thought, haven't you?"

You grin. "I've had over sixty years to think about it."

"Then we defer to your good judgment. Faramir, would you - ?"

"Right away." Faramir dashes off to make the necessary preparations.

You take a moment to glance around the hall. You notice that both of the fine chairs are empty. You wonder if you should ask about it; curiosity gets the best of you. "Boromir? Er...where's Denethor?"

Boromir's mood dims slightly. "My father is in his chambers."

"Is he...okay?"

"He's furious with me." Boromir gazes over your head. "You were right. He would not cooperate, would not give in to begging or shouting. He even attempted to send Faramir back to reclaim Osgiliath. In the end, I did what was necessary to keep my people safe."

"I'm sorry it came to that," you say sincerely. "I was hoping he'd see reason before you had to do anything drastic."

"Thank you. But he is of no concern anymore. We must focus on the task at hand."

Gandalf and Elrond finish their conversation. Gandalf tells you sternly, "What you did was very risky."

"I sense a but coming."

"But if it works, many lives will be spared."

"That's the spirit!" you say brightly.

Boromir says, "If that's settled, the three of you should rest. I imagine it was a hard ride to get here so quickly."

It didn't occur to you until now, but under the rush of seeing everyone again, you are exhausted. Elrond elects to stay up, so Boromir leads you and Thorin to a side room with a bed. "Take as much rest as you can," he says. "I fear the time of battle draws near."

You flop face-first on the bed. Thorin thoughtfully removes your boots before doing the same. "I feel as though I should not be sleeping," he murmurs into the pillow. "There is work to be done."

"They've got that taken care of," you mumble back, already halfway unconscious. "I'm sure they'll wake us before anything interesting happens. Anyway, we deserve a nap."

He can't argue with that, so with you tucked safely under his arm, the pair of you drift off like there's not a massive showdown looming only hours away.

You don't really remember how you went from soundly asleep to fully alert with axe in hand. It was all a blur of noise and shouting and armor clanking. Now you gaze out over the fields of Pelennor at the orc host gathered and manage to smirk. Their reduced number is apparent. You feel a swell of pride for your mad lying skills. Between Theoden, Aragorn, and now Dain, this battle will be a breeze.

"You alright?" Thorin asks quietly from beside you.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Whatever happens, do not leave my side."

You grin. "I won't. I've gotta keep an eye on you, don't I?"

Thorin looks at you hesitantly. "If we do not make it..."

You cut him off with a kiss. "Hush. We'll definitely make it. You won't even break a sweat. I love you."

"And I love you." He takes your hand.

The catapults on both sides exchange fire. Buildings tumble and orcs are crushed. The Nazgul come screeching from the skies. They snatch up men and drop them. You watch it all both on edge and detatched.

Trolls push the giant towers towards the wall. You're pleased to see that your advice was relayed: several of the towers stop before they reach their destination as their trolls are maddened or killed by a storm of arrows. Still, some of the towers do make contact, and thus the battle truly begins.

You kill each orc with extreme prejudice, and each one that falls only spurs you on. Never before have you seen an end so clearly. You're right on the precipice of peace. All that stands in your way is this doomed rabble. Every dead orc is one more step closer to the end of ends. On and on you fight into the night until you notice another war machine being wheeled towards the walls.

"Damn," you murmur. "Gandalf! They're coming for the gate!"

"We blocked it as you said," Boromir yells to you. "Will it hold?"

"I'm not taking any chances!"

Thorin stops in mid-swing to run after you. Gandalf gallops ahead on Shadowfax. You join the crowd of soldiers in the courtyard. The gate has indeed been reinforced with wood and boulders. It's a nice attempt, but you doubt that even that won't stop the awful battering ram just outside.

The men jump with each deafening impact of Grond's fearsome face on the wood. Some of the boulders tumble out of place. You nock an arrow and focus all of your attention on what will be coming through.

Gandalf shouts to rally the soldiers, "Stand fast! You are soldiers of Gondor! Whatever comes through that gate, stand your ground!"

Doing so is easier said than done when what comes through that gate is several heavily armored trolls. Many of the men are swept away by the massive clubs, but you're prepared. You wait for just the right opening to take one down via an arrow through the windpipe. It collapses after staggering around a moment.

"Nice shot," Thorin comments.

"It was, wasn't it?" You smile at him before rushing into the thick of things, axe at the ready.

The point group of trolls and subsequent influx of orcs is enough to keep you busy all through the night. You do not rest, you do not stop, you do not even think of either of those things. All there is is methodically dropping the next enemy and occasionally checking on Thorin. The concept of time hardly even occurs to you until you register the dawning of a new day heralded by a far off horn.

You and Thorin fly up the ramparts to witness the beautiful scene. Arriving as though bringing the sun is an army of gold and silver; at the distance you can just make out the line of Dwarves in front of the Rohirrim, their broad shields glinting in the dawn. The two of you cheer unabashedly at the sight.

"Let's ride out and meet them!" you say excitedly.

Thorin uncharacteristically does not object to the rather dangerous plan. You round up a pair of horses from further up in the city and gallop back down and out of the gates and a blaze of ecstacy. The orcs are simply no match for both the Dwarves and the Rohirrim. Your allies rush down upon the enemy like a cleansing flood, cutting a swath towards the city.

You're so high on adrenaline and glory that you completely forget what's next.

Bitter shrieking from above signals the Nazguls' return. You cringe away from the sound that takes you off-guard. But the awful noise reminds you that now is the time to either find a way to save Theoden or let fate run its course.

Ignoring Thorin's shouts to come back, you urge your horse on faster. You scan each face, looking desperately for Theoden or even Eowyn. When you finally spot your target, nothing keeps you from getting to him. Your horse runs so fast that its hooves barely touch the ground. Orcs are trampled. But it's not fast enough: the Nazgul lands in front of Theoden.

Your fingers find the shaft of an arrow before your mind finishes piecing together the half-baked plan. You loose the shot of the century: a single arrow fired from a speeding horse right into the eye of the scaly beast. The Witch-King's steed screams in pain and writhes. Its thrashing tail catches Theoden's horse, throwing him several feet to the ground.

Theoden struggles to move, but he's too stunned by the fall to do so quickly. But, shining bright as the new day, Eowyn stands firmly in front of her lord and blood. "I will kill you if you touch him!"

"Do not come between a Nazgul and his prey," the Witch-King hisses.

The fell beast lunges at Eowyn, its mouth open wide, only to be cleanly beheaded. The now headless body bucks, throwing the Witch-King to the ground. He rises from its twitching midst, armed with a sword and terrible mace. With a shriek, he engages Eowyn in combat. You watch this all from your and Thorin's position position protecting Theoden.

One slow move leaves Eowyn on the defensive. The Witch-King shatters her shield and sends her sprawling. He towers above her menacingly. "You fool! No man can kill me! Die now!"

From behind, Merry comes out of nowhere and thrusts his sword into the Witch-King's back. The blade sizzles upon contact, throwing Merry back. This gives Eowyn the time she needs to rise to her feet. She rips off her helm. Her golden hair cascades over her shoulders and shines in the sun.

"I am no man!"

Eowyn plunges her blade into the Witch-King's void face. The blade shatters as it does its duty. A small whirlwind surrounds the Witch-King as he implodes with one last shrill shriek. He finally falls to the ground, crumpled and powerless.

Eowyn immediately runs to where you stand by Theoden and kneels on the ground. "Are you injured?" she demands fearfully.

"Eowyn." Theoden shakes his head but cannot truly be angry with her. "You saved me, dearer-than-daughter."

Eowyen half-laughs, tears in her eyes, and they embrace. It would be a touching moment, save for -

You murmur, "My lord, if you can still fight, you should find a horse, because we have company."

The oliphaunts have arrived at last. At their feet is several thousand more orcs, the ones who Sauron did not send initially due to his false security. The racket they make is earth-moving.

Eowyn helps Theoden to his feet. "We cannot defeat such a force," she says to you, her eyes wide with terror.

"We can try." Theoden snags a riderless horse and forces himself back into the saddle. "Reform the lines! To me! To me!"

Thorin readjusts his grip on Orcrist. "The ruse did not work," he says bitterly. "I am sorry, love."

"Don't be." You stare at the oncoming sea of enemies without really seeing them. "It worked exactly how it needed to."

With the forces of darkness drawing ever near and the Rohirrim scrambling to make one last line of defense, you stand without a horse or any significant protection, waiting, waiting, hoping...

A very different noise joins the din - a chorus of battle cries from fresh warriors that would never tire. From nowhere sweeps a fog of green that cuts down everything in its path, orc or oliphaunt. There is no need for the Rohirrim to charge as the Undead Army swarms the new enemy line and keeps it from advancing.

You fall to your knees, lightheaded with relief. You can't tear your eyes away from the biggest damn gamble you've made in all your time in Middle Earth. You take it all in like a drowning man inhales oxygen, and slowly it sinks in that you've won.

BREAK OUT THE SHOTS WE WON IT'S TIME TO PARTAAA - wait, you say we have one more battle? Man, that's right - okay, no shots right now, but keep the drinks on ice!