KHARL
Our group rides into a large camp beneath a blissful covering of trees. I felt hot and sweaty after the long ride here, not a feeling I'd ever really grow used to. "Grimbold," Théoden asks," how many?"
"I bring five hundred Men from the Westfold, my lord," the man answers as we ride past.
"We have three hundred more from Fenmarch, Théoden King," another man calls out. Théoden smiles grimly and our group continues to ride through the crowded camp.
"Where are the riders from Snowbourn," he asks Gamling.
"None have come, my lord." I give a sigh, knowing that we didn't have nearly as many men as we needed to win this war. We would be crushed, but, by God, I would fight if it means it'll make a difference. I never knew when to give up, just ask my fourth grade teacher! We come to a stop partway up a large mountain, my legs protesting as I climb down out to the saddle.
"Easy, Hidalgo," I tell the horse as it grows jittery. It was a dark brown color and was relatively tame since we don't' have a bond quite yet, but it knew something was wrong close by. "There's no Graboids here, we'll be fine, boy." He brushes a gentle hand along the horse's muzzle.
"You're good with horses," Éomer comments with a friendly nod.
"I should be since I grew up on a farm." It wasn't actually a farm, but it was just outside town limits and we had enough room for horses, pigs, chickens, gardens, and the woods behind the house served great for deer and Bobcat hunting. "We had to sell my horse last year, and I'm a bit out of practice, but they're great animals."
"Indeed they are." I look away from the horse and towards the other man, taking in the fact that he was dressed in armor, his dirty blonde hair stopped at his shoulders in tangles, and his dark eyes could have the power of pinning a man in place with one glare. "Your name is Kharl?"
"Yeah, and yours in Éomer." He nods again, reaching out a hand to pat down Hidalgo's mane.
"Ashley talked a lot about you after I rescued her from the Orcs."
"I swear, it was all lies," I laugh, but Éomer only smiles. "Ash and I basically grew up together, we got in a lot of stupid situations back before we gained a little common sense." He raises an eyebrow at that and I give a shrug. "I did say we only gained a little bit."
"Does she always talk so much?" I take the reins and tie them to a nearby branch, making sure it couldn't get loose if it kicked up a fuss.
"Only when she's really tired or nervous." With a sigh, I lean back against the tree and close my eyes, worry making my brows knit together. "My sister is in a place filled with backstabbers and she doesn't know the first thing about being subtle, and my other friend is heading towards the most dangerous place on earth with a Hobbit that likes to knock Orcs out with a frying pan."
"If what I heard from Ashley is true, then not only will your other friend survive, but she'll gloat about it afterwards. Ashley, on the other hand, may just punch the steward of Gondor in his face before we reach her."
"Knowing her, she already has." As Éomer and I begin to unsaddle our nervous horses, the elf and Gimli approach. It seemed too quiet in the camp and all here know that they probably won't make it out of the coming battle. Wives will be made widows, children fatherless or losing a sibling. My thoughts turn to my ex and our son, tears welling unexpectedly. I paid child support, more than was asked for, and Ash helped to take care of the baby while Rosie was working. Because of what I do to earn money, I couldn't get full custody of my baby and now I might never see him again.
"The horses are restless," Leggy comments," and the men are quiet."
"They grow nervous in the shadow of the mountain," Éomer states. My eyes move to the unkempt road that leads into the mountain—the mountain that makes everyone uneasy yet curious.
"Where does it go," I ask.
"It is the road to the Dimholt," Leggy answers," the door under the mountain." Looks like the kind of place Ash might write about in her scary stories and make Andi or I illustrate. It had that weird vibe that would send people running in the other direction if they had any sense, and even I didn't get the urge to stroll down the narrow pass and Ash used to joke that I'd be the first to die in a horror movie.
"None who venture there ever return," Éomer tells us. "That mountain is evil."
"And we decided to camp right beside the damn thing," I quip," how lovely. A perfect place to set up shop, really." I shrug off the eerie feeling and walk back to my tent, pulling out a crumpled photo from my pocket once I was inside where no one else could see. The photo was taken at the Cushing hospital the day my son was born. Rosie was holding him with a smile and I was standing beside the bed. Ash's dad had taken the picture with his fancy new camera.
That had been a great day for me even if I wasn't called until after my son was born, he was healthy and beautiful, and that's all that really mattered to me. He would be attending preschool this year, a student in Ashley's class that I was certain she'd spoil. When I left, he was swearing that he'd grow his dark red hair out to match mine.
*~Later That Night~*
Gimli and I step in Aragorn's way, making him and Brego stop. "Just where do you think you're off to," Gimli demands. Aragorn has a determined set to his jaw that I've seen a thousand times on a more feminine face. He must have given Ash what I call the 'stubborn ass' gene.
"Not this time," Aragorn says. "This time you both must remain here."
"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves and men," Elf-boy asks, coming to stand next to Aragorn, holding the reigns of two horses.
"Suck it up, old man," I grin, taking my horse's reigns from Leggy," we're coming whether you like it or not." Aragorn shakes his head with a smile. "By the way, it's time for your daily reminder that Ashley will castrate you herself if you get with that pretty blonde woman." All of us mount our horses and ride slowly through the camp towards the road under the mountain. I ignore the shouts of the other men, my head held high and my gaze focused strictly on the path ahead of me. The road is gloomy and depressing as we ride between the mountain walls, like something out of a horror movie.
"What kind of army would linger in such a place," Gimli asks, looking around nervously.
"One that is cursed," Leggy answers in a grim tone. "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 needed them most, they fled…. Vanishing into the darkness of the mountain. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they had fulfilled their pledge. 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."
I shiver in the cold despite my thick clothing, wishing there was more here than grey rock and dead trees. Soon we're forced to dismount and lead the horses down the path, an unnatural breeze wrapping around us. Sounds to me like we need some medieval Ghostbusters. When we finally reach the end, we're met with a towering rock wall, too high to even think about climbing. Set into the rock is a doorway, the outside of it carved to look like an elaborate doorjamb. Above it there are strange words carved into the rock and beyond is only darkness.
"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away," Gimli gasps, growing scared.
"The way is shut," Legolas reads. "It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut." A sudden wind rushes out of the opening, spooking the horses and making them gallop back towards the camp, mine nearly taking my arm with it if I hadn't let go when I had.
"I do not fear death," Aragorn says with a steely resolve in his eyes.
"I do," I mumble to no one, pulling out the only pistol I have that has ammo left in it. Aragorn marches into the darkness with Leggy and I right behind him, Gimli bringing up the rear. Pale green wisps of smoke swirl around us, a face appearing in it every now and then. As I was walking up the stairs I saw a man who wasn't there, I think with a worried look. He wasn't there again today, how I wish he'd go away. Skulls stand strong under my feet, barely showing any evidence of wear and tear.
"What do you see," Gimli asks the elf in a whisper.
"I see shapes of men," Legolas answers, staring around with his eyes narrowed as we continue along the path," and of horses. Pale banners like shreds of clouds, spears rise like winter thickets through a shroud of mist. The Dead are following. They have been summoned."
Gimli blows air rapidly at the ghosts, looking like a desperate asthmatic that can't get enough air. Aragorn, armed with a torch and his sword, leads us into a wide cavern. A terrifying creaking noise starts, like a stone being cracked open as we enter a large cavern that was made a long time ago. A few paces to my right was an enormous hole and to my left are a set of stairs carved into the rock of the mountain that led to more darkness. At least this floor isn't made up of bones.
"Who enters my domain," a man's voice demands before a ghost in rotted clothing appears on the steps. His eyes are sunken into his head, his teeth are broken in his mouth, his being nothing more than the same green mist that swirls around the floor, his nose belonged more to a skull than a man, and he wore a strange crowned helm on his head.
Aragorn takes a step forward without fear, his voice firm and unwavering," One who will have your allegiance."
"The Dead do not suffer the living to pass."
"You will suffer me." I'm beginning to doubt the logic in coming here. The King of the Dead begins to laugh malevolently, the maddening sound echoing off the walls. The fog surrounding us forms a city on the other side of the large hole, stairs and parapets from ages ago. Occupying those stairs was row upon row of ghostly warriors holding rusted weapons that looked about ready to fall apart. I look at them in awe, thousands of dead men and their tattered banners. They could tip the scales in our favor if we got them to fight.
"The way is shut." The King repeats Leggy's earlier words. "It was made by those who are Dead and the Dead keep it..." The ghost army surrounds us just as the fog had earlier. "The way is shut," he repeats boldly, taking a few steps forward. "Now you must die." Leggy fires an arrow at the King and it goes through him without causing injury, snapping against a wall. Aragorn moves forward again towards the king, fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword.
"I summon you to fulfill your oath!" The king snarls, drawing his sword and holding it over Aragorn's head.
"None but the King of Gondor may command me!" Aragorn brings his sword up and just barely manages to block the king's sword, both blades crashing against each other. The king stares at Aragorn in disbelief. "It cannot be. That line was broken!" Aragorn grabs the ghost by its neck, resting the blade of Andúril above his hand.
"It has been remade." He shoves the ghost away as he addresses the army. "Fight for us and regain your honor." Aragorn had a way of speaking that made people want to obey him without him even raising his voice. It was impressive and effective to say the least. "What say you?" He's met with deafening silence. "What say you?"
"You're wasting your time, Aragorn," Gimli says grumpily. "They had no honor in life, they have none now in death!"
"I am Isildur's heir. Fight for me and I will hold your oath fulfilled. What say you?" The king begins to laugh again as the city and the ghosts disappear once more, the sound of cracking from earlier growing louder now. A cool wind blows the fog away from us, and I tighten my grip on the sword. Something was about to happen, something that probably won't be good for the four us since Gimli doesn't know how to shut the hole under his nose. Skulls begin to fall from above, shattering when they hit the ground. That was our only warning before the walls on my left begin to collapse, releasing an avalanche of skulls that would bury us alive if we didn't get out in time. "Out!"
"Man," I cry out in frustration," and I thought that avalanche a few months ago was bad!" It was a struggle to follow after the others, the skulls already at waist height and growing the further along I go. One of them collides with my head, the only thing keeping me upright being Legolas's tight hold on my shirt. It's not until we're outside on a slopping green hill that I'm allowed to sit, my head throbbing and a bit of blood sliding from the shallow cut. "I guess that could've been worse."
I was woozy, but even I registered the fact that now wasn't a time for sarcasm. The hill led down to a sea and there were several corsair ships sailing past. The look of anguish on Aragorn's face lets me know that these guys aren't on our side. I swallow back the tears, lowering my head in my hands. I should've gone with Ash when she ran off with Gandalf, I should be with her now to protect her.
She may be older than me by fifteen hours, but she may as well be my baby sister with how naïve she is to a lot of things. She's the innocent one in our group, the one that we ran to for guidance and in turn kept her safe from the bad things in the world. It was finally starting to hit that she may not make it through the night with the armies about to invade Minas Tirith.
"We fight." I look up to quickly, the world spinning for a minute before it settled and allowed me to see the Dead King standing in front of Aragorn.
Hot damn.