The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

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Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

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Chapter 77 – Preparing For War

War. How used to it he had grown. From that frightened child who looked upon the Orcs as unbeatable monsters to run and hide from, to a strong man named a king who waded into battle without hesitation. He wondered often what his father would have thought of him. Would he have approved of what his son had become? Legolas had told him once that Arathorn would have been so immensely proud of him, of what he had achieved. Aragorn wasn't so sure. His memories of his father had become so faded that he could barely imagine what the man would say of him. Legolas had always been proud though and that was enough for Aragorn. After all, Legolas had been more of a father to him than Arathorn had ever been.

Legolas had taught him how to live, he had taught him how to fight his enemies. He had taught him to hunt for survival and how to kill Orcs that threatened him. Almost everything he knew about life came from the Elf.

Since knowing Legolas and being set upon this path to become king, Aragorn had become more used to war than anything. Peace, he had never known. Always had it been talked about in the abstract; what might happen if they achieved the impossible and won the war against the Dark Lord. He imagined that it would be quite a thing to see.

What he might do after the war was over had been running through his mind much of late. True, there was every chance that he might die before he got to see peace and he had come to terms with that fact long ago. But there was a small chance that he might actually live through this final encounter with the Shadow that had haunted him for so long, that he might beat Sauron and take back Freedom for Mankind. What then would he do?

He had considered going back to the start. Returning to the Old Forest Road and working his way to Mirkwood, seeing where Legolas had lived his life before it had all fallen apart. Perhaps then he would seek out all the Elven realms. Go to Lothlorien and walk amongst the magnificent Mallorn trees again and visit Imladris where he had met the stately Erestor and wizened Elrond. The thought, however, of travelling there alone without his Elven mentor was almost too much to bear. Without Legolas to point out all the intricacies of Elven culture, the journey seemed pointless.

It had been made clear to him by the advisors he had gathered about himself that there were many Human realms he would be required to visit in his position as King. For he was not just King of Gondor as his ancestors had been. He had been crowned King of Men. Legolas had told him much of the race of Men; not all of it good. He and his fellow commanders would have to go out and spread the word amongst the newly Free, perhaps gather them all together to join their cause and bolster the ranks of Men. Because even after the final battle was done, there would still be much to do. Even if Sauron was destroyed, the Orcs would remain. There had to be millions of them on the Earth; they would not simply disappear once Sauron was gone. They would have to be eradicated. None could be left for the filth of Shadow to build its armies anew. Then there was Mordor. Who knew what horrors Sauron had created within the walls of that kingdom. It would have to be cleansed, for Aragorn would not risk another uprising of Evil, not after they had fought so hard for victory. And, of course, there was Isengard. And who knew how many more fortresses of Evil stood filled with the Enemy? All would have to be dealt with and Aragorn would have to be at the very front of that effort.

Peace looked a long way away.

Sometimes, it seemed overwhelming. The amount of pressure that had been put upon him was immense. Sometimes, he felt it would swamp him and he would be lost to all. Only the thought of finally ridding the world of that most foul tyrant kept him going. He would have revenge for what had been taken from him. That drove him. He would not surrender to the darkness in his heart for he knew that Light would win through in the end. It had to.

True, despite his convictions, it was a challenge. But he still had some hope. He had committed himself to doing as Legolas had always advised: Taking one step at a time until he achieved what he had set out to. That was all he could do.

"Your Majesty, the manifest you asked for." A young man approached him nervously, never having had any direct contact with the king before. Aragorn was beginning to understand that his role had changed him in the eyes of people he would once have travelled with as an equal. It was hard, being treated so differently, especially seeing as he had never longed to be different, to be in charge of so many people. But now that he was in Minas Tirith, with everyone looking to him for guidance, he figured that he would have to accept it. This young man looked to him with open trepidation. Coming before the king in the throne room must indeed have been intimidating. Aragorn supposed he would have to get used to that.

Although the young man sent on this errand for the king bore signs on his body that he had been in the battle at Pelennor; bruises on his face, a slight limp, he did not seem perturbed at being demoted to messenger. Dutifully, he held out a roll of fabric stained with hastily printed numbers and lettering.

"Thank you."

He has been eagerly anticipating this message and he was relieved that at last Faramir and his men had finished compiling the information he had asked for. On the scrap of fabric were all the assets they still had available to them in Minas Tirith. He had asked for a record of anything that could be used in their assault on Sauron. He had ordered it be put together just a few hours ago, although truthfully he had expected it to take much longer than that. The men had worked fast to get it done for him. He appreciated their speed. Although Aragorn had himself walked all around Minas Tirith the day before and seen much of what they had available to them, it was impossible for one man to know everything at a glance so he had asked Faramir to assemble his men and to take inventory for him.

He paid the boy no further heed as he read through what they had scrawled on the paper. It was hardly ideal considering what they would soon be going up against but he supposed it would have to do. They had a few weapons; mostly swords, daggers and axes. There were also a couple of bows left but they were pretty much useless as all the arrows had been expended in the previous battle. At least Aragorn could confidently say that each of the men had at least one weapon each, not much when going up against the Shadow but it would have to be enough. They had faced worse odds than that, he reminded himself.

Planning, however, would only get them so far. His lure had worked well. Sauron was coming for them. Aragorn could almost feel it in the air. So could the other Men and they were eager now to meet the armies of Shadow.

Soon, the final battle would be upon them. Aragorn found that he was not nervous or afraid this time though. If anything, he was anxious for it to come. Finally, his fate, which had been so very uncertain for such a long time, would be decided. It would be a relief, he decided, when he met the Dark Lord for the first time in battle.

OIOI

"This is crazy."

"So you have said several times now," Aragorn said calmly to Eomer as he tightened his belt, which cinched his newly acquired tunic neatly at the waist. Now he was branded in fabric with the symbol of Gondor: Tree, Stars and Crown. That was what he represented now. Faramir had talked him into wearing it after he'd recovered it from storage, telling him that people would appreciate the familiar symbolism of their home. So he had agreed for he thought it a small sacrifice to make for people's peace of mind.

"Well, it is!"

"You knew this was the plan. I never tried to disguise that fact from anyone."

"I know that. I know. But it doesn't make it any less crazy, you know."

"You don't have to participate if you are afraid, Eomer. Stay here with the defenceless if that is what you want."

Eomer ceased his pacing and stared openly at Aragorn, who infuriatingly made every effort to ignore him. For a long moment, he said nothing, hard gaze piercing into Aragorn, so much so that Aragorn was reminded of confrontations between Eomer and his late guardian. At long last, Eomer broke the silence and said in a low voice, "My sister is going into battle with you. Did she tell you that?"

Grey eyes met green for a brief instant and then he looked away again, for he could not bear to see the accusation there. "Yes, she did."

"Did you ask her to join you?" Eomer's features tightened as he waited for the answer.

"Of course I did. I asked every man and woman capable of bearing arms to join in the effort."

The man released a long sigh of anger. "How could you? She's my sister!"

"I'm aware."

"And if she is killed?"

The thought hurt to even consider and yet he had done so many times since Eowyn had come to him and insisted that she could fight alongside the others. Who was he to refuse the willing? He could not say no to one whilst trying to persuade others of the cause. Besides, Eowyn was good with a sword. Her help would be invaluable.

"I cannot think about that, Eomer."

Silence, thick and accusing, followed and Aragorn felt the Rohan man's eyes on his back.

"What happened to you?" the man spat out, part in anger, part in disappointment. Aragorn decided not to answer and after a while of waiting for an explanation, Eomer finally turned away, realising he would get nothing. "You're growing more like him every day, you know?"

"Him?" Aragorn asked quietly, hearing the retreating footsteps of his friend.

"Your guardian."

That stung almost as much as the accusation that Eowyn's potential death lay on his shoulders and he paused for a moment to catch his breath. "You flatter me, Eomer. I would desire to be more like Legolas than anyone," he replied softly once he had gathered his wits.

"Take care, Aragorn. You might have loved and admired him, but his choices were not always good. And a lot of people got hurt, killed even, because of the mistakes he made. Do not be so quick to emulate him."

Aragorn turned, ready to fight for Legolas' honour but Eomer had already slipped from his rooms. He stood, mouth open ready for the now useless retort, for a long moment, before lowering his gaze from the door. Once more, he had been left alone.

For the time being abandoning his preparations to ride out, Aragorn sat down heavily in his chair and covered his face with his hands. Legolas should be here, telling him that he was doing the right thing, that he was making the right decisions for his people. For the past couple of days since his coronation, he had been trying to live by the code that Legolas had instilled in him, tried to be faithful to his guardian's plans. It was hard though, without that familiar guidance at his side.

Legolas would not have ignored the accusations made by Eomer. He would have fought them. But Aragorn found that he did not have the strength to fight as his guardian would have done. So he wore the symbols of the kingship as he was told. That did not make him a king. How was he supposed to lead his people to victory without help? He felt so lost. He had no one else to turn to. Faramir was all but useless to him, as was his council of Osgiliath. Eomer, Aragorn suspected, was out only to help the Rohirrim. The Rohan man wanted to remain in Minas Tirith where he thought they would be safe and Aragorn couldn't blame him for wanting that; the Rohirrim had been through much hardship. They wanted peace without the battle. That, Aragorn would have done anything to provide but it was beyond his means. It hurt, to feel so powerless. He had felt it so many times before in his life but back then he had always had someone there to buck him up, to tell him that what he was doing was right. Now, he had no one. Only Jecha remained entirely committed to the plan they had constructed and Aragorn would have expected nothing less from the Easterling. Ever had he been loyal. Strange, he thought, that he should trust the one amongst them that Legolas has never appreciated.

He sighed and straightened out. Now was not the time to be plagued by doubt. There was much to do and he knew that he needed to convey the illusion of strength even if he didn't feel it inside. His people were relying on him. That would have to be incentive enough.

A knock at the door startled Aragorn from his increasingly dark thoughts.

"Enter," he called wearily, hoping that it was not another lecturer coming to tell him what he was doing wrong. He wasn't sure how much more of that he could handle.

It was not another lecture though, but rather Gimli. Aragorn was somewhat surprised at the appearance of the Dwarf. Since the battle in which his father had been killed, Gimli had not often been seen and Jecha had even begun to suspect that he had left the city entirely. But here he was, standing as tall as his short stature allowed him, tidy and clean with a renewed steel in his dark eyes and ancient steel in the form of his massive battle axe in his hand.

"Gimli," Aragorn greeted getting up as the shorter being stood before him uncertainly for a moment. "I am sorry for the loss of your father."

Gimli nodded once, pain flashing briefly in his eyes and disappearing before Aragorn had a chance to analyse or even acknowledge it. Running one calloused hand down the length of his beard, Gimli opened his mouth as if to speak but then changed his mind and instead straightened out his body again before suddenly lowering himself down onto one knee before the King of Men and bowing his head low.

"I will serve you now, King Aragorn," he said solemnly, head still bowed to the floor in respect.

For a moment, Aragorn was too stunned to comment. Gimli knelt before him on the flagstones, head bowed in supplication with such sincerity that it hurt to look at. The painful knot that had rested in his chest ever since he had been crowned tightened further still.

"Gimli," the king whispered. When the Dwarf did not look up, Aragorn stepped forward and knelt in front of him so that they were once more on the same level. "Please, do not bow so to me." He eased the Dwarf's head up and deep brown eyes locked with his. "Thank you for your pledge. I will need you, I think, before the end."

"Then you shall have my fealty, King. You have given these people much. I must do my part towards the changing of the world. It is what Gloin would want from me."

"And Legolas too."

Aragorn's own head bowed, almost of its own accord. Gimli's rough hand appeared on his forearm and he smiled ever so slightly at the small act of comfort that nevertheless gave him strength.

"He was the bravest I have ever seen."

Aragorn's eyes rose to the kind gaze of the Dwarf and he smiled again. "Yes, he was. And I will make him proud, Gimli; if it is the last thing I do on this earth."

"We both have the incentive to beat that filthy usurper back into his cave then," chuckled the smaller creature darkly. "Sauron will regret ever messing with the sons of great warriors."

"That he will."

Gimli nodded, somewhat tearfully, and then climbed back up to his feet, watching as Aragorn did the same, subtly wiping his own eyes as he rose.

"Well," the Dwarf smiled somewhat shakily behind his beard, "get some rest. The time is nearing. You must be ready."

OIOI

The ground trembled with the sheer mass of moving creatures. The sound was almost unbearable even for those who should have been accustomed to such a cacophony. Like thunder from the centre of the earth. Beneath the soles of thousands of heavily booted feet, the ground was dry from the lack of rains and the air was stiflingly hot, would have been unbearable had they not all been so very used to the climate, having been created in the desert environment. Dark dust filled the air, turning it almost opaque, making it nearly toxic to breathe and impossible to see. But they didn't need eyes to know where they were going. The sheer mass of moving bodies made it all but impossible to get lost on the way and they were being led by the spectres of Mordor themselves, the Wraiths; the Nazgul had no need for vision and would lead the following army true.

Each Orc in the great army was kitted out with their usual scavenged armour but they had been equipped with many more weapons than they were used to. None knew where their master had gotten so much weaponry at such short notice but they were glad for it. It might have added extra bulk to what they had to carry but they knew that they were destined to face the opposing army of Light and it brought measurable comfort to be so heavily armed.

Expectation hung heavy in the air, spread further with every heavy step forwards. And it was not just meeting the United Men in battle that charged the atmosphere. At the front of the army on a great black war horse, rode the Dark Lord himself and he had an almost physical effect on everything around him.

Never before had their master ridden out of the confines of Mordor with them. In fact, most creatures that made up the Black Army had never seen their most feared master leave the Dark Tower. Most had never even laid eyes on their Lord. Hence the high levels of excitement, fear and expectation permeating the air.

Sauron sat tall on his great stallion. Once the huge black beast had carried the Witchking himself, but he no longer had need for it. Sauron felt no guilt for taking another's steed. His needs were paramount. And the other Wraiths would not care. Their king was dead but still they answered to a greater authority. That was all they cared about now.

Sauron thought as he steeled himself for the uncomfortable ride that would take him beyond the protective confines of Mordor, that perhaps Aragorn's army had done the Shadow a great favour. The boy had taken the Mouth of Darkness away and then Witchking of Angmar. Both great, powerful creatures. And the false king no doubt believed this to be a massive coup. But perhaps he didn't realise that by taking away the two powerful beings, he had invited hatred beyond anything he could possibly have imagined. The Wraiths had lost a brother and they felt that loss keenly. They would show no mercy in battle now. They would scythe through the legions of Men until they found the one who had taken the life of their Ninth, the would kill with relish the one who had made them incomplete.

Sauron didn't care about the one who had taken the life of a Wraith. And he didn't care that the others sought revenge. Let them search for the being who had stripped them of their wholeness. All that mattered was that during the course of their crusade they take out as many of the wretched Human race as possible and bring the King of Men down into the dirt where he belonged.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his dry, cracked lips at this thought. In his mind he could already see the pitiful creatures falling, could see the ground gloriously soaked with the foul red blood of Men. He could picture the horror on their faces when they realised what they were being led up against by their king. He could imagine them falling to their knees before him, begging and pleading for life, pledging their allegiance to him in a last desperate attempt at salvation. And he would not be merciful. They had not deserved it. He would kill them all. One by one. The women first and then the men and finally the terrified children would fall once they had seen their forebears fall to the Shadow. The race of Men was useless to him now. They had overstepped their bounds and he would make them pay for that folly in blood.

And Aragorn…the one who had challenged him, who had been so foolish as to summon him into battle, he would fall soon too. Sauron would allow no other to kill Aragorn. He wanted him for himself. The false King would be his.

It had angered him beyond anything else that he had been summoned to the raging Seeing Stone and watched as the self-professed King of Men stood before him, bold and proud and unafraid, and challenged him to battle. None had ever dared to face him thusly before. It was a bold move and one that he could not abide. How could he let such insolence slide? It had been humiliating. And yet at the same time he had been excited by the prospect. For so long, he had ached for a true confrontation but truthfully, he had been afraid of leaving the sanctuary of his home. But Aragorn had called him out and his pride would not allow him to ignore the call of a lesser warrior. So he had finally deigned to go ahead with his long-formed plan and face the army of Men head on. Let them see what a true warrior looked like in battle. Let them whine and quell before the splendour of Mordor.

He smiled again. He could hardly wait to see the look of terror on Aragorn's face when he realised that Sauron, the Dark Lord of Arda himself, had ridden into battle.

It didn't matter that his Elven host body was crumbling, more so since they had started off on this hard journey across the mountains. Pain assailed him constantly now, aching in every inch of him. But it didn't matter in the least. The pain would be worth it. And when this was over, he would have his most Precious back and then he would reign supreme over all of Arda and any opposition would quail before him.

The thought propelled him, heartened him.

No, he could hardly wait to meet Aragorn, ward of Legolas in battle.

To Be Continued…