Okay, everyone I am back! Much to my surprise, this chapter ended up being a whole lot longer than I intended, which is why it took me so long to update.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy this new chapter! As usual, I do not own anything other than Kayden, Peyton, and Robin.
Chapter 30: Hope
"What do you mean I am not allowed to fight?"
Peyton's shout echoed through the camp. The young woman was staring furiously at Ėomer, her eyes blazing.
"I am sorry, Peyton," Ėomer replied as he finished donning his armor. "You cannot be in the danger of war. That is my final word." The horse lord swiftly mounted his steed, somberly gazing at her. "Goodbye, Peyton." He gave the horse a gentle nudge with his heels, and without another word, Ėomer galloped away from the tents and Peyton to join the Rohirrim.
Peyton spluttered with anger before storming off to…well, to be honest, she really didn't care where she went. The day had been perfectly awful. First, she had woken up to find that Kayden had disappeared overnight along with Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli. And now, she cannot go fight in battle! Maybe back on Earth, she would not have cared about going to war, but now, things were different. Here, the war was directly affecting those closest to her, and she wasn't about to let that happen.
Growling irately, Peyton continued to stomp through the camp, hardly noticing when she ran directly into Ėowyn. "Sorry," Peyton apologized gruffly. She made to walk away, but Ėowyn suddenly grabbed her arm, pulling her back.
Ėowyn studied her infuriated expression intently. "My brother did not allow you to fight either, did he?" she questioned, a look of understanding on her face.
Peyton nodded curtly. "Yes, he…wait, you wanted to go to battle too?"
"Of course," Ėowyn replied, her face donning a dour expression. "Rohan is my country as much as it is his. Why can I not fight beside him for the country and people that I love dearly?"
"I understand," Peyton huffed angrily, her green eyes wandering over the deserted camp area. Most of the soldiers had already prepared to ride out for Gondor and were waiting on the edge of camp for the signal to leave. Peyton's eyes eventually strayed over one of the armory tents. The flap was left open, and there were still a few pieces of armor left inside. A sudden smile grew on Peyton's face. She glanced over to Ėowyn and saw that she too was staring at the tent, the same grin mirrored on her face.
Peyton gently nudged Ėowyn and gestured to the armory tent. "Are you thinking what I am thinking?"
~o*o*o*o~
Kayden shuddered as the company trotted through the grey canyon. It was quite dark and dismal, wisps of fog floating by and shrouding her vision. A chill seemed to ripple through the pass, causing Kayden's grip on Déor's reins to unconsciously tighten. "If we are searching for more troops, then why are we looking in this forsaken place?" she wondered aloud.
"An army lurks here, more powerful than any that live," Legolas replied solemnly. "This army was cursed by the last King of Gondor when they did not fulfill their oaths. The mountain men had sworn to come to his aid in battle, but when the time came, they fled into the shadows. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they had fulfilled their pledges. Only the King of Gondor can summon them, and Aragorn holds the sword of the King as we speak."
Kayden nodded at the explanation. I thought something seemed different about Aragorn's sword, she mused to herself. Speaking of the Ranger, he had hardly uttered a word throughout the journey, mainly keeping to himself as he led them through the pass. Kayden believed it to be nervousness, but there was something about this place, an oppressing air that made them feel as if they did not belong…
Eventually, the foursome reached the end of the pass and dismounted. A large, black, stone doorway loomed before them, fog spilling out of the opening. A shiver ran through their bodies, seeming to steal the warmth of their blood away. Above the doorway was carved a series of symbols, completely foreign to Kayden. Legolas stared at the inscription, apparently understanding it.
"'The way is shut,'" he translated. "'It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut.'"
Kayden cocked her head quizzically to the side. "What in the world does that mean?"
Legolas opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off by a sudden rushing sound coming from inside of the doorway. A cold blast of air shot out towards them, spooking the horses terribly. The steeds reared and whinnied in fright, galloping madly away from the door.
Aragorn whirled around. "Brego!"
"Déor!" Kayden called desperately, but they horses were too far off to hear. The elleth shook her head in disappointment. "Just great…"
The four turned their attention back to the doorway, which seemed to tower darkly over them even more so than before. Gimli looked positively terrified at the prospect of going inside. Aragorn turned to face his companions, an unspoken question written on his face.
"We are ready, Aragorn," Kayden stated firmly, drawing Veryan. Legolas agreed, giving the Ranger a swift nod.
The briefest of smiles flashed across Aragorn's face before he regained his determined expression. Drawing his sword, he squared his shoulders and faced the door. "I do not fear death," he declared before bravely striding through the stone entry.
Legolas and Kayden glanced at each other briefly before following Aragorn into the Paths of the Dead. Kayden bit her lip and took a deep breath as they passed beneath the doorway, the dense fog already beginning to shroud her surroundings. "Oh, God, please help us all…"
~o*o*o*o~
Slowly, a black mass that stretched as far as anyone could see advanced on Minas Tirith. Several huge catapults loomed out of the hoard of orcs, each pulled by two massive trolls. Robin clenched the edge of the wall tight as she watched the army of Mordor close in on the city. Pippin was beside her, the two hobbits watching the black swarm in fear and anticipation of the battle to come.
Pippin turned to Robin. "Do you think we will have any chance of stopping them from taking the city?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.
"I don't know, Pip," Robin replied gravely. "We lit the beacons though, didn't we? The army of Rohan should be coming to Gondor soon, Merry, Kayden, and Peyton with them." She heaved a sigh, biting her lip nervously. "I just hope they come in time."
Pippin nodded solemnly at Robin's answer, the two resuming their silent watch from the Citadel. Suddenly, a loud commotion could be heard at the steps leading up to the level. A group of soldiers were hurriedly bringing up a stretcher bearing an unconscious, possibly worse, figure to the base of the White Tree. The two hobbits scrambled over, wriggling through the soldiers to get a good view of who was on the stretcher.
It was Faramir.
The son of the Steward was bloody and bruised, a clear sign showing that the attempt at reclaiming Osgiliath had failed. Two arrows protruded from his right shoulder, spattered with a dark stain. Pippin and Robin knelt at his side, unable to tell if he was alive or not. They were, however, soon pushed out of the way as Denethor charged out of the Citadel to the stretcher, frantic worry etched across his face.
"My son!" he cried. "What has happened?"
"There were too many, milord," one of the soldiers who had brought up Faramir answered. "The soldiers were quickly defeated. None survived."
A look of pure shock flashed across Denethor's face, but it was quickly replaced by a visage of insanity. "My line has failed!" the Steward wailed. "The line of Stewards will fall!" Denethor staggered away from the stretcher, a mad glint in his eyes.
Pippin and Robin hastily knelt at Faramir's side, both panting slightly from the rush and their concern for the Steward's son. He had been very kind to the two of them in their brief encounters and was one of the few who did not doubt their strength. Oh please, let him not be dead, Robin prayed. Oh God, let him still be alive…
Pippin quickly laid a hand across Faramir's cheek, the young hobbit's face lighting up as he felt warmth on his skin. "He's alive!" he gasped excitedly. "Milord, he's alive!"
"Do not lie to me!" Denethor retorted. "My son is spent! My line has ended!"
Robin placed two fingers to Faramir's neck, the faint beat of a pulse thumping against her skin. "Sir, Pippin is not lying!" she shouted desperately. "Faramir is alive!"
Denethor, however, ignored her, staring out hopelessly at the advancing armies. "There is no hope left," he muttered, deranged. "Rohan will not come to our aid! It is over!"
The two hobbits exchanged worried glances. "Pippin, get Gandalf," Robin ordered in a hushed tone. "Denethor is in no state to be leading Gondor into battle." To put it bluntly, she mused to herself, he's gone loopy.
Pippin nodded before springing to his feet, running as fast as his hairy feet could carry him to their quarters, where he believe the White Wizard would be. Sure enough, Gandalf was there, gripping his ivory staff tightly as he watched the battalions of orcs draw nearer. "Gandalf!" Pippin cried, panting. "Denethor…gone mad…need help…Faramir…"
Gandalf stared at the hobbit for a split second, and then, comprehending the message, leapt to his feet and hurried to the courtyard. "Bring Faramir to the Houses of Healing," he barked to the soldiers, who quickly obeyed. The White Wizard then proceeded to march to where Denethor stood before soundly whacking the Steward on the head with his staff. Denethor swiftly fell to the ground, shocked into silence. "Denethor, stay this madness!" Gandalf commanded. When the Steward made no move to indicate that he had heard the Wizard, Gandalf let out an irritated huff before striding to the white stone wall at the edge of the courtyard, leaning out to see all the soldiers in Minas Tirith.
"To your posts, men!" Gandalf cried, his booming voice echoing throughout the city. "Prepare for war!"
~o*o*o*o~
The Paths of the Dead were, to simply put it, downright creepy. The tunnels were pitch black, the only light coming from the torch in Aragorn's hand. Skulls littered the Paths, seemingly thousands stacked against one wall. A mist swirled around their feet, chilling and haunting.
Kayden held Veryan in front of her, her grip on the hilt shaking. The elleth was unnaturally tense, every movement she could hear echoing creepily from the cavern walls. When a hand touched her shoulder, she whirled around in alarm, only to find that it was just Legolas.
"Are you well?" he asked, concern etched across his face.
Kayden breathed a small sigh, lowering her sword. "I am fine, Legolas," she answered. "I guess the caverns are making me rather jumpy."
Legolas chuckled. "You are not the only one." He smiled softly and gestured to Gimli. The Dwarf looked downright terrified, gripping his axe so tightly the whiteness of his knuckles was practically showing through his gloves.
A faint laugh left Kayden's lips as she watched the Dwarf step cautiously through the caves. "You are quite right, Legolas." She continued walking through the Paths at Legolas's side, very glad to be in his company.
A sudden movement among the piles of skulls in front of them caught Kayden's attention. She watched as what seemed to be a cavalry of ghosts emerged from the walls and skulls. The riders were translucent, an eerie green light coming from them. Their banners, like shreds of cloud, swayed in an unseen wind, and their spears rose high like a forest. "Legolas," she whispered, gesturing to the specters. "Do you see them?"
Legolas nodded. "Indeed. The dead are following. They have been summoned."
Summoned?" Gimli exclaimed from behind them, clearly not liking the sound of that.
As the company continued further into the network of tunnels, the fog began to thicken, forming into the shapes of hands trying to grasp them, though to little effect. Kayden, after attempting to swat away the first few tendrils of mist trying to grab her, just let the hands swirl around her, staring at them warily. Gimli comically tried puffing at the mist hands, but to no avail.
CRUNCH.
As Aragorn stepped forward, a crushing noise filled the cavern. Just a slight bit curious, Kayden took a step towards Aragorn, and yet another crunch could be heard. Wondering what could be making the noise, the elleth looked down at the ground where the mist had thinned. She immediately regretted it.
They were stepping on skulls.
None of the party desiring to linger on the skull-filled road, the four rushed ahead and into the main cavern. The cave was immense, almost as vast as the ones in Moria. At the end of the cavern was a tall stone temple seemingly carved directly into the wall.
"Who enters my domain?"
A loud, deep voice echoed throughout the cave, sending a chill up Kayden's spine. Before the steps of the temple materialized a figure, glowing a pale green. A bulky metal crown rested on his head, shreds of his once fine robes hanging from his skeletal frame. Paper-like skin was stretched across his skull, and his eyes were pure milky white.
Aragorn stepped forward, no trace of fear or hesitation on his face. "One who would have your allegiance."
A menacing look passed across the King of the Dead's face. "The dead do not suffer the living to pass."
Aragorn raised his sword higher, his grip tightening on the hilt. "You will suffer me!"
The King of the Dead then began to laugh, a cruel, harsh, bone-chilling laugh that would send children diving beneath their covers at night. Suddenly, ghostly apparitions of buildings appeared around them, towers, houses, the ethereal remains of a kingdom. Several thousand menacing phantoms poured out of these buildings, riding on the pale shapes of horses, all clutching spears and swords. The army of ghost began to close in on the foursome, chanting forebodingly.
"The way is shut," the King proclaimed, drawing nearer to the foursome. "It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut!" The army formed a tight circle around Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, their chanting increasing in intensity.
"Now you must die!"
The King of the Dead swung his ethereal sword at Aragorn, the Ranger lifting up his own to meet it. Kayden winced, expecting the King's sword to pass through Aragorn's and strike the Ranger, but instead, the all too familiar sound of blades clashing together rang out. The elleth's eyes widened upon seeing the two blades interlocked, their wielders mere inches away from each other.
The King seemed to be just as shocked as Kayden. "That blade was broken!" he gasped, recognizing the sword as the one belonging to the King of Gondor.
"It was reforged," Aragron countered, sweeping aside the King's blade. He then began to approach the dead army, holding out his hands. "I am Isildur's heir. I summon you to fulfill your oath to Gondor," he declared. "Fight for us and regain your honor!"
Kayden hoped beyond hope that the army would agree to Aragorn's request. They needed the troops in order to have any chance of aiding Gondor. But to her dismay, it did not appear like the dead army would assist them. The ghosts stood, unmoving, gazing at Aragorn. Then, with an echoing cackle, the King of the Dead disappeared, his troops also beginning to fade away.
"You have my word!" Aragorn called desperately. "Fight for me and I will release you from your curse!" The dead did not heed his shouts, however, and soon, only a few green wisps of smoke were left.
"STAND YOU TRAITORS!" Gimli bellowed, his cry not having the desired effect. The cavern remained empty, devoid of what the four had believed to be their last hope.
Suddenly, the ground began to shake, and a crackling noise was heard from the walls of the temple in from of them. Before their eyes, the walls began to collapse like paper, thousands of skulls beginning to spill out in a thunderous roar.
"RUN!" Kayden yelled. The four scrambled to the end of the cavern, doing their best to avoid the avalanche of bone. But despite their attempts, the foursome was soon nearly buried by the skulls. Kayden wrenched herself through the mass of bones, hurriedly following Aragorn. She could hear him shouting something, but it was lost over the din the crashing bones.
Eventually, they all stumbled out into the daylight, smoke and dust from the avalanche curling at their heels. Kayden blinked for a few moments, blinded by the sunlight. When her sight had finally returned to normal, she examined her surroundings. They had emerged on a steep embankment near a winding green river.
But when she saw what sailed upon the river, her heart dropped like a stone. A fleet of menacing black ships cruised along the water, a trail of fire and destruction in their wake. Aragorn dropped to his knees at the sight of them, hopelessness written across his face.
"The Corsairs of Umbar," he muttered, disheartened. "Pirates. They sail to aid Mordor in the attack on Minas Tirith. The soldiers will be overwhelmed, even with Rohan's aid. Without any other reinforcements, our forces will surely be defeated."
Kayden stared at the ground, unable to think straight. Peyton…Robin…They would be at Gondor, devastated by the vast amount of Mordor's forces. Hardly any hope was left for them.
Then, as if in answer to an unspoken prayer, a rumbling could be heard from the stone wall behind them. The King of the Dead emerged, followed by his ghostly army, flickering green in the daylight. And when the King spoke, a spark of hope lit up in Kayden at the two words the phantom uttered.
"We fight."
Hopefully, I'll get to the Battle of Pelennor Fields within the next few chapters. I am so happy with the response this fic has been receiving. It seriously makes me so happy to see a new follower or review. Thanks to everyone that has reviewed, alerted, and/or favorited! Keep it up!