Sorry that this has taken a little longer than usual...but hopefully it's worth the wait!

As you can no doubt tell, the end of this chapter is another case where I decided to use the book sequence of events rather than the movie's. It's just so much cooler and more dramatic, and gives Gandalf a chance to show his stuff. Enjoy!

Chapter 20

It took several hours for the Dark Lord's armies to fill the plain below the city. Late the night after Faramir's return his brother gazed out over the sea of enemies on the Pelennor and felt his heart sink. They must endure, but how could they against the overwhelming forces arrayed against them? And if Boromir was feeling this way, what must the men be thinking? He squared his shoulders and turned to Beregond, announcing, "Come, it is time to tour the walls again."

"Yes, my lord," the guardsman replied, and fell in step behind him. There was a roar from the enemy as their catapults, finally in range of the walls, let fly. Gondor's catapults answered, sending their missiles out far over the plain. The battle was joined.

-ooo-

Over the next few hours the pace of the battle quickened. The enemy catapults were ineffective in breaching the outer walls or the gate and so were limited to damaging those areas they could reach on the upper levels. Gondor had a distinct advantage in artillery, placed as they were high above the enemy meant the range of their catapults was far greater. In addition, the massed formation of the Sauron's forces also sustained much more damage from the exchange of missiles than the widely distributed Gondorians.

When midday came with little change in the status of the siege, Boromir began to feel cautiously optimistic about their ability to withstand the assault until Rohan arrived. He was contemplating taking time to visit the Houses of Healing to check on Faramir's condition and consequently not giving his complete attention to his surroundings, so he was startled when Beregond suddenly cried, "Down, my lord!"

The next moment he was thrown face down against the flagstones as the guardsman covered his Captain-General's body with his own. Boromir's wounded chest exploded in a blaze of agony. There was a thin wailing screech deafeningly close above them, and a blast of air washed over them, carrying the foul reek of one of the Nazgûl's flying beasts. His pain forgotten, Boromir's heart clenched in fear when realized the reason for Beregond's alarm.

The wraith cried again, further away this time, a note of frustration in its fearsome voice. After a moment Beregond stood and offered his hand to Boromir, saying, "I believe it is gone, my lord."

Boromir groaned and rolled to his back, struggling to sit up despite the throbbing in his chest. "My lord!" Beregond cried, his face drawn with worry, "You are injured?"

Boromir smiled ruefully, "Morloth never specifically warned me against being thrown to the ground and squashed flat beneath a rather large guardsman, but I can now confidently say that she would not recommend it."

Beregond flushed, "My apologies, my lord, I saw the wraith coming and feared…"

"I doubt that any real damage was done," Boromir replied, waving off his apology, "and it would be churlish indeed for me to chastise you for saving my life. A sore chest is a small price to pay considering the alternative."

Gandalf hurried up to them and had obviously seen what had happened. "Well, that was much too close for my liking," he said, shaking his head. He met the guardsman's eyes, "Well done, Beregond."

"Thank you, Mithrandir," Beregond muttered, sounding subdued. "But I fear I injured Lord Boromir."

"Hmm, Boromir, I think it best if you let Morloth examine you in case treatment is required," Gandalf said firmly. "That will also give us the opportunity to devise a means of preventing further attempts of this type."

Beregond and Gandalf helped Boromir to stand. "Very well," he agreed reluctantly. "I feel it is unnecessary for my sake, but at least I can see my brother."

"Give my best to your lady as well," Gandalf said with a knowing smile.

Boromir snorted in acknowledgement and after refusing Beregond's offer to find a mount for him, began the long walk to the sixth level.

Morloth's face lit when they arrived in her ward, but she gasped in dismay when she saw how stiffly Boromir was moving. "My lord, what happened?" she exclaimed.

The two men exchanged a glance, both hesitant to distress her. Finally, Boromir sighed, "One of the Nazgûl's winged beasts tried to take me, but thankfully Beregond saw it coming in time and was able to keep me out of its grasp."

She paled, "A ringwraith?"

He took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly, "Gandalf has something in mind to prevent it from happening again."

"I'm afraid Lord Boromir's injury is my fault," Beregond said regretfully. "In my haste I was not as careful as I should have been."

Boromir snorted, "I assure you I am not too inclined to criticize."

Morloth took a calming breath and met his eyes, "Let us see what damage has been done."

After a thorough—and painful—examination of Boromir's chest she announced, "You are fortunate, my lord. Your wounds bled a little and there is extensive bruising, but no ribs are broken. I need only rebandage your wounds; you will be stiff and sore for a time, but it should pass in a few days."

Beregond looked visibly relieved and Boromir smiled warmly at the healer, "My thanks, dear lady. But what news of Faramir? May I see him?"

Morloth's face fell, "Of course you may see him, Boromir. But…he has not yet regained consciousness as I had hoped."

Boromir drew in his breath sharply, "What is wrong, Morloth? What could it be?"

She shook her head uncertainly, "I wish I knew, Boromir, that is why I am concerned. His wound is healing well and there is no sign that it is poisoned or festering. But despite that he is fevered and has not awakened."

"What can you do?" Boromir asked urgently, his face drawn and anxious. "If there is aught I can do, please tell me, I will do it!"

"There is no reason for alarm yet," Morloth said reassuringly. "He is strong and there is still time for him to recover and wake on his own. But it can only help for you to spend time with him and speak to him—perhaps hearing your voice will encourage him to awaken."

Morloth quickly redressed Boromir's wounds and helped him into his tunic before leading him to his brother's room. Faramir's face was pale and he was stirring restlessly on the bed; it wrung Boromir's heart to see him so. He sat next to the bed and briefly touched his brother's too-warm brow before sighing and taking Faramir's hand in his own.

"Fara," he murmured, "I know I failed you. I promised to prevent this and could not." He shook his head ruefully, "I was a fool to underestimate father's deviousness despite your warnings. But please believe me that it was not a failure of will, or of my love for you. I would change places with you in an instant, if I could!" he said fiercely, his voice breaking. "I just hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Faramir did not wake, but he calmed and turned toward the sound of his brother's voice. Boromir was startled by a hand his shoulder; he looked up to see Morloth smiling down at him. "Do you think he heard me, Morloth?" he asked earnestly.

"He may not have understood all you said, but I'm certain he recognized your voice and is comforted by your presence," she told him soothingly.

Boromir stood and pulled her into his arms, "Take care of him, my love. I must return to my post, but I will come back when I can." He met her eyes, "Please send a message if his condition changes."

"I will, Boromir," she assured him.

When Boromir reached his command post, he found Gandalf and Prince Imrahil deep in conversation. Standing nearby was a squad of archers, many of which he recognized as Ithilien Rangers.

"Ah, there you are, Boromir," Gandalf greeted him as he approached. "You are well?"

Boromir nodded, "It was nothing serious—bruising and the like. What goes on here?"

"We believe we have found a way to dissuade the wraiths from making a further attempt on your life," Gandalf explained. "These men," he said, indicating the group of soldiers, "were identified as the most skilled archers in Gondor. They will be stationed here, and although they cannot harm the Nazgûl, a flight of arrows should teach their beasts the value of discretion."

"We cannot take these men from the walls to protect one man!" Boromir protested. "I have to risk myself as all must in this battle."

Imrahil spoke for the first time, "Boromir, you have made yourself a particular target—for good reason—but a target nonetheless. However, the enemy surely knows how it would affect the morale of Gondor's defenders to see you taken. They will try again and we must protect you."

"Prince Imrahil and I are in agreement on this, Boromir," Gandalf said in an uncompromising tone. "Do not let pride lead you to imperil yourself to no purpose."

Boromir glanced from the wizard to his uncle and back again. Both met his eyes implacably; it was clear they would not be swayed on this point. He sighed and shook his head. "If you insist," he growled, "though I am certain it is not the best use of these men."

"Good," Gandalf said briskly. "Then I will leave you to your work."

Boromir gazed out over the plain and swore. Several large siege towers were visible; pushed by enormous armored trolls they were rapidly approaching the outer wall.

Imrahil followed his eyes. "Yes, they appeared a short while ago," he affirmed. "We have directed the catapults to target them as soon as they are in range."

His nephew nodded in agreement, and after a brief discussion Gandalf and Imrahil set off to rally the troops on the first level who would have to repel the siege towers. Boromir paced impatiently and watched the towers move closer as the catapults boomed overhead.

Unexpectedly, Beregond spoke, "They're right, you know, my lord."

Boromir looked at him quizzically and the guardsman explained, "Mithrandir and the Prince—they're right that it's important for you to be protected, and not just because you're the Lord Steward's son. I hear the men talking, it…it heartens them to look up and see you here and know that you stand with them. To have one of those creatures take you," he shuddered, "would seem like the enemy had stolen the very heart of Gondor."

Boromir stared at him for a long moment, then chuckled wryly. "I would never have taken you for a fanciful man, Beregond. But thank you. For that and for earlier. Your courage and quick thinking will not be forgotten."

"Thank you my lord," Beregond muttered, red-faced, and together they waited for the siege towers to arrive.

-ooo-

The battle raged on, intensifying further as the day neared its end. Several waves of towers had been destroyed and the walls held, though not without casualties they could ill afford. Twice more the Nazgûl had struck at Boromir, only to be driven off by the archers stationed near him. Boromir had reluctantly accepted the need for it, but it was heartbreaking to see the wraiths carry away other defenders who had no such protection.

Pippin appeared at nightfall, resplendent in his guard uniform, and reported that Morloth was well and that there had been no change in Faramir's condition. The hobbit leaned against the parapet next to his friend and gazed out over the battlefield, his face uncharacteristically somber.

"When should they come, Boromir?" he asked quietly.

"Rohan? I wish I could say, Pippin," Boromir said, resting his hand on Pippin's shoulder. "We are bearing up well so far, but who knows what other devilry Sauron has in store for us."

Pippin sighed, "I can't help but think of Merry, and Strider, and all our other friends. Where are they now, and when will we see them again?"

Boromir nodded, "Aye, I think of them too, Pippin." His eyes strayed east and his hand tightened on Pippin's shoulder, not needing words to express his feelings for their two friends who carried all their hopes and fears on their small shoulders.

He straightened, "You are on duty soon, are you not, Pippin?"

"Yes," Pippin answered, making a face, "in the Citadel, and I doubt very much your father will be pleased to see me."

"He would enjoy my presence even less, I'd wager," Boromir said, smiling down at his friend. "Come by if you can when you're off duty, Pippin. Your company is always welcome here."

"It's nice that someone enjoys it," the hobbit replied with an impish grin as he headed toward the fourth level. "I was beginning to feel unappreciated!"

As Boromir feared, late that night the Dark Lord's forces unveiled their mightiest weapon, one they had held in reserve until all other efforts to breach the wall had failed. 'Grond' it was named, an immense battering ram shaped like a ravening wolf, flame spewing from its open mouth. It was pulled by huge horned beasts the like of which he had never seen. Archers targeted them as soon they came into range, but to no avail; arrows would not penetrate their thick hides. Earlier, an unsuccessful attempt had been made to destroy the gate with a smaller ram, but Boromir watched Grond approach with consternation. When it was in place armored mountain trolls made ready to swing it against the gate.

Gandalf was standing with Boromir at his command post; they exchanged glances as the first stroke of Grond fell against the gate with a thunderous boom.

"Is all ready?" Gandalf asked quietly.

Boromir nodded, his face grim. "Yes, all have been cleared from the first level except those manning the barricades. Anyone who can draw a bow is stationed along the wall on the second level. They may breach the main gate, but we will make them pay in blood for every foot inside the city."

The wizard nodded, "Good, but it will not be enough."

"I know," Boromir sighed. "Given enough time they can break through the second level gate as well. We must try to delay them as long as possible and pray that the Rohirrim arrive in time."

"The enemy has another weapon, one that may be our undoing," Gandalf told him, his brows furrowed in concern. "Look!" He pointed to a figure approaching Grond from behind; a rider on a black horse, robed in black. "I have felt the Witch-King's presence for some time; I am certain he will want to be the first through the gate to claim his 'prize'." Gandalf said, shaking his head, "The men are brave, but they cannot stand against him."

Boromir's heart clenched. "What…what can we do?" He asked, his face pale. Then he took a deep breath to steady himself and straightened his shoulders. "I will take a squad of volunteers to face him—our best men…"

"No, Boromir," Gandalf said softly. "This is not your task. It is mine."

"But…" Boromir said urgently, "You are needed!"

Gandalf's bushy eyebrows rose, "And you are not?" He met the other man's eyes and laid a hand on his shoulder, "It was for this I was sent back, Boromir, and you have your own duties. Shadowfax and I must meet this foe."

Boromir gazed at him for a long moment and finally nodded, "As you wish, Gandalf."

While they were speaking Grond had thundered against the gate over and over, accompanied by the chanting of Sauron's hordes. The next stroke that battered the gate was different in tone, and a loud cry went up from the enemy. It was clear to all that the gates were damaged and would not hold for much longer.

"They sense victory," Boromir said bitterly.

"Then let us prove them wrong," Gandalf replied with a brisk nod. He turned to Shadowfax, waiting patiently nearby. He mounted quickly and started toward the main gate.

"Eru protect you, Gandalf!" Boromir called.

"And the blessings of the Valar upon you, Boromir, and all those who stand with you." Gandalf replied in a clear voice that could easily be heard by the men nearby.

"Hail the White Rider!" Boromir called, and the cry was taken up by the men along the walls as Gandalf rode by toward the gate.

So it was that Gandalf and Shadowfax faced Sauron's most fearsome general alone. Grond continued to batter the gate, weakening it as each blow fell. They stood quietly, waiting as the gate cracked under the onslaught. As the ram was readied for what would be the final stroke, there was an eerie, wavering cry that chilled hearers to the marrow. Grond swung again, and the mighty doors shivered and fell splintered to the earth.

Boromir fought against despair as he watched the Lord of the Nazgul ride in, a great veil of blackness surrounding him. Gandalf and Shadowfax waited silently, their light a beacon against the darkness. As the Witch-King passed through the archway leading into the city where no enemy had ever before entered, Gandalf cried out in a strong voice, "You may not enter here. Go back to the abyss that awaits you and your master. Go!"

The dark figure halted, but his cloak of darkness expanded, and seemed to reach to engulf the figures facing him. The ringwraith gave an evil chuckle and rasped out, "Old man, old fool; you cannot thwart me—this is my hour. You will die now and curse in vain!" He lifted up his sword and flames ran down the blade.

Gandalf sat on Shadowfax, unmoved and unmoving, while both sides in the conflict seemed to hold their breaths. Boromir started at an unexpected sound; somewhere above him a cock crowed, high and shrill. Knowing nothing of weapons or war, it simply greeted the dawn that it felt breaking above Sauron's gloom. Then another sound was heard—horns, their calls clear and stirring, far different than the horns used by the Dark Lord's armies. Boromir looked up to see rank after rank of horsemen filling the horizon to the north, banners held proudly above them showing a white horse on a field of green. He leaned against the parapet, his head bowed, weak with relief. Rohan had come at last.