Well hello! I'm just going to stop attempting to give myself deadlines, I'm far too busy! But her FINALLY is the climactic chapter. Fear not there is much more to come but for now here is the next update!
As usual thank you ALL so much for the reviews, they continue to encourage and inspire me. I haven't had as much time as I would like to work on this story as I've been working on an original work but your kind words have kept me going!
The sound of the two armies colliding was deafening, as metal clashed with metal and battle cries erupted from both sides. Immediately Eredhel pushed all thoughts of the others from her mind, having to focus as she was surrounded by Orcs and Wargs. She drew her sword and snarled as her first challenger approached her. She ducked beneath his blade and stabbed him in the stomach before sending him colliding with another orc that was charging towards her. A masked Easterling bounded in front of her bearing a carved, ornate sword. They exchanged a flurry of blows before she disarmed him and struck him in the heart. Within half an hour the corpses had started to pile around her, though she had moved no more than a few steps closer to the centre of the battlefield.
Suddenly she heard hissing, and both she and her opponents turned to see the source of the noise. The Mouth of Sauron was coming towards them, hacking left and right at any unfortunate men who crossed his path. "Away you fools! The elleth is mine," he sneered. The orcs grinned wickedly before obeying their commander's orders. Eredhel's eyes quickly took in the man striding towards her, searching for any weakness she could use against him. His armor was heavy and molded, and he wielded a wicked black blade. Though his armor would slow him slightly it would also make all but the most precisely placed blows futile.
Eredhel flicked her wrist, swinging her sword around in anticipation. They began to pace in a circle, the lieutenant smiling sinisterly. Eredhel felt all her senses heighten as adrenaline pumped through her veins, her lips curling into a feral snarl. "Are you ready to embrace death elleth?" He asked, his grip tightening on his blade.
"I'd cast myself from Barad Dur before falling to your hand," she growled venomously. Her opponent cackled madly before suddenly swinging towards her shoulder. Eredhel swiftly blocked the blow, and parried with a swing at his neck. He managed to counter it but took a step backwards, having clearly underestimated her speed and strength. Eredhel allowed him no time to regain himself, offering a quick succession of swings at the weak places in his armor. Her sword caught on one of the ridged plates, and the extra second it took her to withdraw the blade cost her a back hand to the head. The breath was stolen from her lungs as she stumbled backwards, feeling warmth and pain blossom from her right temple. She denied herself any time to dwell on it however as her enemy quickly sent his terrible blade towards her throat.
Eredhel ducked and rolled, noticing a discarded knife lying on the ground to her left. Pushing away the wave of nausea that her roll brought on, she quickly grabbed it and stuffed it in the back of her belt. The Mouth of Sauron did not seem to notice as he spun around to once again face her. A merciless grin spread across his face at the sight of the blood running down the side of her face. Eredhel snarled, noticing that around them the battle had reached its climax. She had to finish him, quickly. Gathering her strength she leapt towards him, hacking at him with powerful strokes. Twice she managed to hit him, but even her elvish blade only glanced off the plates of his bewitched armor. In return he gave her a shallow gash on her hip, not deep enough to risk major blood loss yet painful enough to impede her movements.
After countless blows and counter attacks they locked blades, each pushing with all their might against the other. Their faces were inches apart, and the smell of blood and death that pervaded him was enough to make her stomach churn. He chuckled, pushing harder as he cocked his head to the side, enjoying their proximity. "What use is it?" he hissed, "Even if you were to defeat me, it will not stop the Dark Lord's army from destroying every last man in your army. The Age of Darkness has come, and all light will be just a distant memory. Your people are waning elleth, for they are wise enough to know there is no hope to be found here, they condemned this world to death and suffering. You will all die," he laughed madly. Eredhel's eyes flashed, and in an instant she drew the knife from her belt, and drove it into his throat.
The Lieutenant's eyes widened, as his sword dropped from his hands and he fell to his knees, reaching to stop the blood flowing from his neck. Eredhel stared down at him coldly, until his face went still and he collapsed to the ground, dead. She had no chance for a reprieve however as a roar went up from the orcs around her at the death of their leader. Immediately they swarmed around the elleth, their eyes alight with a lust for her blood.
...
Aragorn and Eomer fought side by side in the middle of the battle field, having found themselves surrounded once the battle had started. The corpses of their fallen enemies were piled high around them, though there were also many bodies belonging to their men. They fought nearly back to back, each of their swords complimenting the other. Aragorn was continually awed by the strength of the man beside him, as the strokes of his blade sliced through armor, sinew and bone. Eomer seemed tireless, and his eyes were bright beneath his proud helm. The Ranger himself was thankful for his Dunedain heritage, as even after countless opponents his blows were quick and powerful. He realized that many of the men were not so lucky, and we likely beginning to tire.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see his three foster siblings fighting together, having rushed to the aid of an overwhelmed group of soldiers. The sons and daughter of Elrond were graceful but terrible, each of their blows hitting its mark with deliberate movements. They seemed to move as one, so that no stray attack from their enemies went unanswered. Elladan and Elrohir were a terrifying force on the battlefield, predicting of their enemies attacks and returning them with twice the orc's ferocity. Eredhel however, was cold and calculating, her face betraying no rage or anguish. Aragorn had always wondered how she did it, removed all emotion when fighting. During battle she made room in her mind for one thing only: how to kill, quickly.
Returning his attention to his current situation Aragorn blocked a blow from an oncoming enemy and then sliced him through the chest, sending him to the ground. Two more orcs came his way and he spun between them, locking blades with one while delivering a kick to the other's stomach, causing him to stumble backwards. Aragorn used the time this bought him to finish off the first orc, and turned just in time to duck beneath the second's axe and stab him through the back. "Nice one!" he heard Eomer yell over the chaos of the battle. Aragorn grinned, throwing a knife into the heart of an orc that had been approaching the man from the left. His attention was drawn by a familiar sounding cry ahead of him. He saw one of the rangers fall to their knees, blood streaming from a wound in their shoulder. Their opponent, an Easterling raised his twisted blade above his head to deliver the death blow. Aragorn cried out and snatched the knife from his previous kill's body and flung it towards the man. It struck him in the arm but distracted him, allowing the ranger to plunge his sword into his opponent's heart.
Aragorn ran to the man's aid but only made it halfway when a bellowing roar erupted to his left. Turning he saw a gigantic troll stomping towards him, bearing its sharp teeth in challenge. Aragorn gulped, noticing the beast's thick armor and enormous spiked mace. The troll threw aside any who stood between himself and Aragorn, sending several men and orcs flying. Aragorn braced himself, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. His enemy swung its mace, bringing it crashing into the ground only inches to Aragorn's right. The impact send dust churning into the air, allowing the man to dodge away and attack the troll from his side. His sword made contact with the monster's thigh but only grazed it. The troll swung around and swiped at Aragorn with the back of its clawed hand, sending him flying backwards.
He hit the ground hard but quickly pulled himself to his feet, knowing he would be allowed no time to recover. The two enemies exchanged several blows, the man quickly tiring from the strength of his opponent. The troll was huge, it stood at 15 feet tall and its arms bulged with muscle. Even Aragorn's skill was only enough to just keep him alive against this force of sheer might. Aragorn could hear Imrahil calling to him, but had no time to look for the Prince in crowd as the troll once again brought his mace swinging towards the Ranger's neck. He blocked it but was too slow recovering from the blow, and the troll's weapon met his sword once again, sending it flying out of Aragorn's hand. Panic suddenly surged through his veins at the realization he was weaponless, and he quickly rolled out of the way as the mace came slicing down towards him. He managed to dodge a few more attacks but the troll grew suddenly frustrated and pinned Aragorn down with one of his giant feet, sneering down at his now trapped opponent. Immediately breathing became difficult, as the weight of the troll compressed his lungs and made them scream for air. In a last desperate attempt Aragorn drew the knife given to him by Lord Celeborn and drove it into the troll's foot.
The beast roared in pain but only pressed harder, his eyes now filled with rage. Aragorn's head started to spin and he braced himself for the final blow. To his surprise it never came. An arrow shot through the air, striking the troll in the eye. It howled and stumbled backwards, grasping at where the blood was now streaming down its face. Aragorn blinked, his vision still blurred from the lack of oxygen. A soldier now stood between him and the troll, but whether it was Imrahil, one of the Rangers or a Gondorian he could not tell. They sent another arrow into the beast's neck, infuriating it further. It swung its mace towards them but they dodged, then sending an arrow into its right shoulder. The troll maintained its hold on its weapon but shuddered, clearly pained. The soldier then drew their sword, the cold metal gleaming in the sun. With its dominant arm weakened, the troll's blows were now easily parried. Within a few moments the soldier had disarmed their opponent, and through an unarmoured section beneath its arm, stabbed the beast through the chest.
The troll roared in pain and fell to its knees before collapsing to the ground. The soldier immediately turned towards Aragorn but did not make it to his side for suddenly several things happened. A sound greater than a thousand claps of thunder radiated across the battlefield, bringing with it a blast of heat and air. Aragorn suddenly became aware of Eagles and Nazgul in the sky above him, having been too distracted by the battle on the ground to take note of them earlier. The Nazgul were now retreating, flying towards the crumbling tower of Barad Dur, and the writhing eye of Sauron. Their screams rent the air, as their master, once and for all, was ended. Elation filled Aragorn but as he returned his gaze to the ground he felt horror fill him. In a last effort of destruction the troll reached out and grabbed the unsuspecting soldier, digging in its claws as it squeezed the air from their lungs. They cried out in pain but stabbed the troll in the hand, causing the beast to fling them into the midst of fighters to their right.
Before Aragorn could process this, a rumbling shook the ground as the last bricks of Barad Dur fell and it suddenly dawned on the orcs, Haradrim and Easterlings that their master had fallen. Immediately they took flight, sprinting in each and every direction as cracks began to open up in the ground around them. Aragorn saw a blur of white to his left and Gandalf was suddenly embracing him, chuckling loudly in elation. When Gandalf released him Aragorn could see tears of joy in his eyes, and found himself also smiling. "They did it! By the Valar Aragorn, Samwise and Frodo did it!" The wizard's happiness was interrupted when another explosion filled the air, and they turned to see Mount Doom erupting. Both their faces fell, realizing that Sam and Frodo were still in grave peril. Before they could make any move to help them however they heard a shrill and panicked voice calling over the battlefield.
"GANDALF! GANDALF!" The two looked at each other gravely and headed towards the source of the noise. A small crowd was gathered and they parted easily for the man and the wizard. Pippin was kneeling over a body, with Imrahil beside him. The air was once again stolen from Aragorn's lungs as he recognized the intricately plated armor and thick braid. His legs weakened beneath him when he saw the blood pouring from three gashes on her abdomen. Her arm was splayed at an awkward angle beside her, clearly broken. There was a large bruise on her temple and her fair skin was now a deathly white. Eredhel. Eredhel had been the one to jump in front of the troll to save him. Aragorn struggled to process the information and only vaguely registered Gandalf speaking beside him, his voice lacking its usual strength.
"Is she yet alive?" he asked, fearing the answer. Imrahil bent and pressed an ear to her chest.
"Yes, but her heartbeat is weak," he said somberly, staring down at the elleth sadly.
"Peregrin, go find Legolas," instructed Gandalf, as he knelt beside Eredhel to further assess her condition. Pippin only nodded and shakily rose to his feet, before taking off into the crowd. Panic threatened to overcome him as fought to remove the image of Eredhel lying on the ground from his mind. He never thought she would fall, her strength something that he had taken for granted throughout their journey. He suddenly spotted a head of gleaming blond hair and hastily shoved his way through the soldiers standing around celebrating. Legolas was standing beside Gimli, their backs to Pippin as they stared up at the eruption of Mount Doom.
"L-Legolas!" huffed Pippin, as he bent to catch his breath. The ellon turned, his eyebrows arching curiously. They furrowed a second later, and his blue eyes darkened. "It's-It's" Pippin struggled to get out the words but the Prince seemed to sense something was amiss. His face went suddenly pale and he seemed to shrink inwardly.
"Where is she?" he asked hoarsely. Beside him, Gimli looked up in alarm but a moment later understood.
"Lead the way lad," he said gravely. Pippin nodded and once again darted into the crowd. The two friends followed, both fearing what awaited them. Legolas felt as if his heart was going to beat out of his chest, and rip itself from within his ribcage. They had fought together for a short time during the battle but she had then joined her brothers. He froze when they broke into the clearing, and every drop of blood in his body went cold. His beloved bow dropped from his fingers and was caught by Gimli, though the elf took no notice. Legolas felt Aragorn's and the others' eyes shift to him but he could not make his lips form any words, his gaze fixed on the broken and bloodied elleth.
He dropped to his knees beside her, anger and heart break welling up inside of him with every new bruise or wound he found. No, not her. Anyone but her. Legolas took her face in his hands, his fingers gently wiping away the blood from her cheek. "We need to get her back to Gondor," said Elladan, and Legolas started, not having noticed the twins enter the clearing.
"Yes, she has very little time left. Go, I will follow close behind. I must first attempt to rescue Frodo and Sam, I fear they may already be lost," said Gandalf.
"Very well, Legolas take her on Berenoch, he is fast and will not let her fall," said Elrohir. He whistled, and the tune seemed to be carried by the wind. Moments later the black horse could be seen galloping towards them, as if sensing the need of his master.
"I'm going with you," stated Aragorn, his eyes glued to his foster sister. The other three nodded and Legolas rose, taking Eredhel in his arms. He placed her in front of him in the saddle, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and holding her close to him. He felt his stomach tighten in a knot when he felt her blood soak the sleeve of his tunic, and closed his eyes in pain. If she did not survive, he did not know what he would do.