AN: Heyy, this is such a long chapter, it's the actually the longest so far and by more than a 1000 words! So much happens here :) If I've missed any typos, please let me know!
Thank you so much for the follows, faves and reviews, it helps so much!
Ten Duel Commandment: I do feel terrible for Alysae :( Her struggles are not over yet unfortunately.
.Chapter 34- The Aftermath.
As the hours dragged on, the healers and their small company continued their grim work. The once bright sky had turned to a dusky twilight, casting long shadows across the field of the dead. The weight of the day hung heavily on Alysae's shoulders, her body aching from the strain of lifting, checking, and tending to the wounded. Her mind was numb from the sheer scale of the devastation they had witnessed.
Finally, as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, they began their slow journey toward Minas Tirith. The city loomed ahead of them, its once proud walls scarred and blackened by the fires of battle. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and ash, mingling with the scent of blood and death that clung to their clothes.
Alysae's heart ached as she looked upon the city, so different from the stories she had heard from Boromir. It had been a beacon of hope and strength, but now it was a wounded giant, its grandeur marred by the horrors of war. She had never felt so tired, so drained of spirit, and yet she knew they had to press on. The wounded they had managed to save needed more care than they could provide in the field.
The group moved in silence, too weary to speak, the clatter of hooves and the creaking of carts filled with the injured the only sounds breaking the oppressive quiet. Alysae rode at the front, her eyes fixed on the city's gates, willing herself to stay upright, to keep moving. Every muscle in her body protested, but she knew she had to reach Minas Tirith. The others were counting on her.
As they approached the gate, a contingent of guards rushed out to meet them. Their faces were grim, but they moved quickly to help, lifting the wounded from the carts and carrying them into the city. Alysae dismounted with the help of one of the healers, her legs nearly giving out beneath her. She swayed for a moment before steadying herself, her resolve firm despite her exhaustion.
Inside the city, the chaos was more controlled but still palpable. The streets were filled with soldiers, civilians, and healers, all moving with a desperate energy. Fires still burned in some parts of the city, casting flickering light on the worn faces of those who passed by. The mood was somber, and despite the activity, there was a pervasive sense of mourning in the air.
Alysae was directed toward the Houses of Healing, her heart pounding with anxiety as she thought of Éowyn, and the others, Legolas's words echoing in her mind. She hurried through the streets, her eyes darting from side to side, searching for familiar faces. The weight of the day pressed down on her, but she forced herself to keep going, driven by the need to see her friends, to know they were alive.
As she neared the entrance to the Houses of Healing, she saw a familiar figure leaning against the wall, his dark hair disheveled, and his silver eyes weary but alert. Elrohir.
"Elrohir!" she called out, her voice hoarse with exhaustion and relief.
He looked up, and a smile broke through the weariness on his face. "Alysae," he said, pushing himself off the wall and crossing the distance between them in a few quick strides. "You're safe."
She nodded, the tightness in her chest easing slightly as she met his gaze. "We found so many, Elrohir, but there were so many more we couldn't save…"
He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You did everything you could. None can ask for more than that."
Alysae swallowed the lump in her throat and took a deep breath. "What happened here? Legolas told me about Éowyn, but… the others?"
Elrohir's expression grew serious, and he guided her to a nearby bench where they could sit. "The battle was unlike any we've seen before. The enemy came in waves, relentless, and the losses were heavy on both sides. Aragorn… he led the charge when all seemed lost. He, Gimli, and Legolas—along with the Grey Company and the dead soldiers—they turned the tide."
Alysae's heart pounded as she listened, her mind racing to piece together the events she had missed. "And Éowyn? What she did was… incredible."
Elrohir nodded, his eyes filled with respect. "She fought with a courage that few could match. She faced the Witch-king of Angmar, Alysae, and she brought him down. It's a feat that will be sung in legends."
Alysae's breath caught. "But she's alive?"
"She is," Elrohir assured her. "But she's gravely wounded. The healers are with her now, doing all they can."
Alysae closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a rush of emotions—relief, fear, pride, and exhaustion all mingling together. She had feared the worst, but hearing that Éowyn was still alive gave her a glimmer of hope.
"And the others? Aragorn? Gimli? Merry and Pippin?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"They live," Elrohir said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "They're exhausted, but they live. Aragorn… he's with the wounded now, tending to them. Merry has been slightly wounded from his ordeal with the Witch-King, but he shall recover in no time. Gimli and Pippin are nearby, helping where they can."
Alysae felt a weight lift from her shoulders, the tension that had been building within her easing slightly. Her friends were alive. They had survived the battle, though the scars of it would remain with them for a long time.
As she sat there, the sounds of the city bustling around them, Alysae's gaze drifted to the charred walls of Minas Tirith, the remnants of the battle evident everywhere. It was a sobering reminder of the cost of their fight, of the lives lost and the pain endured. But it was also a testament to their resilience, to the strength of those who had stood against the darkness.
"We have to go on," she said quietly, more to herself than to Elrohir. "We have to keep fighting, for all those who can't anymore."
Elrohir squeezed her hand gently. "And we will. But for now, rest. You've done more than anyone could ask."
Alysae nodded, but even as she leaned back against the bench, her mind was already racing ahead, thinking of what needed to be done, of the wounded who still needed care, of the battles yet to be fought. There was so much more to do, and though her body ached with exhaustion, she knew she couldn't rest for long.
Elrohir watched Alysae's face, the flicker of emotions that crossed it as she processed everything he had told her. Her eyes, though weary, still held determination. But he could also see the exhaustion weighing her down, the strain of everything she had seen and done that day.
"Come," Elrohir said gently, rising to his feet and extending a hand to her. "You need rest. I'll take you to a room where you can sleep."
Alysae hesitated, her gaze sweeping over the city's ruins once more. She wanted to stay, to help, to do more, but the truth was that she was at her limit. The day had taken everything out of her, and even as she tried to resist, her body was betraying her, demanding rest.
Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to guide her through the winding streets of Minas Tirith. The city was quieter now, the frantic energy of earlier having settled into a somber calm. As they walked, the horrors of the day replayed in her mind: the fields of the dead, the sightless eyes staring up at the sky, the twisted, broken bodies of both friend and foe alike. She had seen so much death, and the weight of it felt almost unbearable.
They reached a small, quiet room in one of the inner buildings. It was plain but clean, with a narrow bed tucked into one corner and a small window that let in the last of the day's light. Elrohir opened the door and stepped aside to let her in, his hand still resting lightly on her arm as if to steady her.
"You should try to sleep," he said softly, his voice gentle and full of concern. "There will be much to do tomorrow, and you'll need your strength."
Alysae nodded, though she knew that sleep would not come easily. The images from the battlefield were still so fresh in her mind, the smell of blood and smoke still clinging to her senses. How could she sleep after everything she had seen? How could she find peace when the world was still in such turmoil?
She sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands resting in her lap as she stared down at them. They were still stained with the blood of the wounded, the deep red standing stark against her pale skin. She had washed them quickly, but it felt like no amount of scrubbing would ever remove the stain of what she had witnessed.
Elrohir knelt in front of her, his expression full of quiet understanding. He reached out and gently took her hands in his, his touch warm and grounding. "You've done more today than anyone could have asked," he said, his voice steady and calm. "You've faced horrors that would break most, but you're still here, still standing. That's something to hold onto."
Alysae's eyes welled up with tears, and she quickly blinked them away, not wanting to show how deeply the day had affected her. But Elrohir saw the pain in her eyes, the grief and guilt that she was trying to hide.
"You don't have to carry this alone, Alysae," he said gently. "We're all here with you. We'll face whatever comes next together."
She looked up at him, her resolve wavering for a moment. "I keep seeing them, Elrohir. The bodies… all those lives lost. What if we're not strong enough? What if we can't stop this?"
He squeezed her hands reassuringly. "We've all had those thoughts. But we have to keep going. We have to believe that what we're doing will make a difference. Sauron wants us to despair, to give up. But we can't let him win."
Alysae nodded, though the doubt still lingered in the back of her mind. She knew he was right, but the fear was hard to shake. The scale of the destruction, the sheer number of lives lost—it was overwhelming. How could they possibly hope to stand against such darkness?
Elrohir seemed to sense her struggle and reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "Rest now," he said softly. "The battle is over for today. You need to take care of yourself, or you won't be able to help anyone tomorrow."
Alysae took a deep, shaky breath and finally let herself lean back against the pillows. She felt the exhaustion settle into her bones, the weight of the day pressing down on her. But even as her body relaxed, her mind remained restless, the images from the battlefield swirling in the darkness behind her closed eyes.
Elrohir stayed by her side, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of her thoughts. He didn't push her to talk, didn't try to offer empty reassurances. He just stayed with her, his hand resting gently on hers, a reminder that she wasn't alone.
Eventually, the exhaustion became too much, and despite the turmoil in her mind, Alysae felt herself drifting off. The horrors of the day still haunted her, but the warmth of Elrohir's hand, the quiet strength of his presence, gave her a small measure of comfort.
As she finally succumbed to sleep, her last thoughts were of her friends—of the battles still to come, and the hope that somehow, they would find a way to prevail. But for now, in the quiet of the room, she allowed herself a brief moment of peace, knowing that she wasn't facing this darkness alone.
-xxx-
The dreams came swiftly, harsh and vivid, dragging her into a shadowy world where the lines between reality and nightmare blurred.
She found herself standing in the midst of a desolate battlefield once again, but this time the scene was far worse than anything she had encountered in the waking world. The ground was slick with blood, the air thick with the stench of death. Bodies—hundreds, maybe thousands—were strewn across the field, mangled and twisted in grotesque shapes, their lifeless eyes staring up at her in silent accusation.
She could hear their voices now, faint and distant at first, but growing louder with each passing moment. They called out her name in haunting whispers, their mouths unmoving yet filled with anguish.
"Alysae..."
She turned, frantically trying to escape the voices, but no matter where she went, the bodies seemed to multiply around her, the whispers growing louder, more insistent. It felt as though the corpses themselves were watching her, judging her for having survived when so many had perished.
"Alysae..."
Her breath quickened, panic rising in her chest as she stumbled over the twisted limbs of fallen soldiers. She tried to run, but her feet felt like they were sinking into the earth, trapping her in place as the corpses began to rise—slowly, deliberately—reaching out with cold, dead hands.
"No," she gasped, trying to pull free. "No, please!"
But the ground itself seemed to pulse beneath her feet, the dark magic of Mordor seeping up through the soil and creeping into her veins. It burned, a cold fire that spread through her limbs, and suddenly she could feel his presence—Sauron—looming in the distance. His eye, the great burning Eye of Barad-dûr, turned its gaze upon her, locking her in place.
"Alysae..." the voice was no longer a whisper. It was deep, malevolent, and it echoed in her mind, chilling her to the bone. "You cannot hide from me."
She froze, paralyzed by fear, as the great Eye drew nearer, its fiery gaze scorching her soul. It bore down on her with terrible force, and she felt her will slipping away, felt the darkness closing in on her.
"Join me," Sauron's voice hissed. "You cannot escape your fate. You are already mine."
The shadows swirled around her, pressing against her chest, making it harder to breathe. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her body trembled as she tried to resist. But Sauron's voice was relentless, wrapping itself around her mind like iron chains, binding her to the darkness.
"Come to me, Alysae. Embrace your doom."
She shook her head desperately, tears streaking down her face as she struggled to break free. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I won't. I won't give in..."
But the shadows were suffocating her now, the world closing in on all sides, and she could feel her strength waning. She was sinking deeper into the nightmare, into the cold, unforgiving grip of death. And still, Sauron's voice called to her, seductive and cruel.
"Alysae... Alysae..."
Just when she thought she could bear no more, a sudden light pierced the darkness. It was faint at first, barely a flicker, but it grew stronger with each heartbeat, pushing back the shadows. The grip of Sauron loosened, and the icy fire that had spread through her limbs began to recede.
In the midst of the nightmare, a voice—gentle and familiar—cut through the terror.
"Alysae," it whispered, but this time, it wasn't the malevolent hiss of Sauron. It was soft and warm like a distant memory.
"Do not give in to the darkness," the voice said. "Remember who you are, my child. Remember the light."
Alysae clung to the voice, focusing on it with every ounce of strength she had left. The shadows around her began to waver, the corpses retreating, the whispers fading. Slowly, the nightmare started to dissolve, leaving her standing alone in a vast emptiness.
And then she saw it—a small, glowing figure in the distance, bathed in a soft golden light.
The vision reached out, her hand glowing with warmth, and for a moment, Alysae felt the familiar touch of her skin. It grounded her, pulling her away from the clutches of the nightmare.
As quickly as it had appeared, the vision began to fade, the light of the presence dimming. But the peace remained, and Alysae felt the terror retreating.
She awoke with a gasp, bolting upright in her bed, her skin slick with cold sweat. Her heart was pounding, her breathing uneven, but the darkness of the nightmare had receded, leaving only the quiet stillness of her small chamber. The remnants of Sauron's voice still echoed faintly in her mind, but it no longer held any power over her.
Alysae wiped at her damp cheeks, trembling in the wake of the dream. She could still feel the touch of the presence's hand, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a flicker of hope stir within her.
She was not lost—not yet. The light was still within her. And as long as she held onto that, she would not succumb to the darkness.
But even as she calmed herself, her mind replayed the images of the mangled corpses, the horrors she had witnessed on the battlefield. They were etched into her memory now, and she knew they would never truly leave her.
Still, Alysae forced herself to lay back down, her heart steadying as she whispered to herself, "I will not give in." And with the memory of the voice guiding her, she allowed herself to slip into a deeper, more restful sleep, knowing that whatever lay ahead, she would face it with all the strength she could muster.
-xxx-
The next morning, Alysae awoke early, the light of dawn barely filtering through the narrow window. The events of the previous day still weighed heavily on her, but she pushed them aside as she dressed in a simple gown. There was something she needed to do before facing the day.
Leaving her room, she made her way through the quiet corridors of the city, her footsteps echoing softly in the stillness. The early morning air was cool and carried with it the scent of smoke and the distant sounds of rebuilding. The city was stirring, but it was not yet fully awake.
Alysae approached the Houses of Healing, her heart heavy with concern for Eowyn. She had heard that the Shieldmaiden had been gravely injured during the battle, and the thought of her friend lying hurt and unconscious was almost too much to bear. She had to see her, to make sure she was all right.
When she entered the quiet, sunlit room where Eowyn lay, Alysae felt a rush of emotion. Eowyn looked so small and vulnerable, lying pale and still among the white sheets. Her usually vibrant face was pale, and her golden hair fanned out across the pillow like a halo. She seemed so different from the fierce warrior who had ridden into battle with fire in her eyes.
Alysae approached the bed and knelt beside it, reaching out to gently take Eowyn's hand in hers. It was cool to the touch, but there was life there, a faint pulse beneath her fingers. Relief washed over her, though it was tinged with worry. Eowyn was alive, but how long would it take for her to recover from such grievous wounds?
For a long moment, Alysae simply sat there, holding Eowyn's hand and watching the rise and fall of her chest. The silence of the room was broken only by the soft sounds of the city outside and the distant murmur of the healers going about their work. It felt strange to be in this place of healing after the horrors of the battlefield, but she was grateful for it. Here, at least, there was hope.
Finally, Alysae spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Eowyn," she began, her tone a mixture of affection and admonishment. "What were you thinking, leaving in secret like that? You could have been killed… you almost were."
Her voice trembled slightly, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. "I understand why you did it," she continued softly. "I know how strong and brave you are, how much you wanted to fight. But… you should have told me. I was so worried."
Alysae paused, her eyes searching Eowyn's peaceful face. "I need you to get well, Eowyn," she said, her voice firm with determination. "I need you to come back to us, to be the fierce and fearless woman I know. The world still needs you."
She squeezed Eowyn's hand gently, as if trying to pass some of her own strength into her friend. "I'll be here when you wake up. And when you do, we'll face whatever comes next together. But for now, you need to rest and heal."
Alysae sat with her for a little while longer, allowing herself a moment of quiet in the peaceful room. Finally, she rose to her feet, pressing a soft kiss to Eowyn's forehead. "I'll come back later," she promised before quietly leaving the room.
As she stepped out into the hall, a servant approached her, bowing respectfully. "My lady," he said, his voice polite but concerned, "how is the Lady Eowyn?"
"She is still resting," Alysae replied, offering the servant a small smile. "She's strong; she will recover."
The servant nodded, relieved. "Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady?"
Alysae hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Do you know where I might find the others? Ara- the King, Legolas, and the rest?"
The servant nodded. "Yes, my lady. They are in the Great Hall, breaking their fast. Would you like me to show you the way?"
Alysae nodded, and the servant led her through the city's winding corridors to the Great Hall. As they walked, she could feel the weight of the past days beginning to lift slightly. She was eager to see her friends, to hear what had happened after she and the healers had arrived on the battlefield.
When they reached the hall, the servant pushed open the heavy wooden doors, revealing the bustling scene inside. The Great Hall was alive with activity, the long tables filled with soldiers and civilians alike, all sharing in a simple but hearty meal. There was a sense of camaraderie in the air, a shared relief that they had survived the horrors of the previous day.
Alysae scanned the room and quickly spotted Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Elrohir seated together at a table near the center of the hall. They were deep in conversation, their expressions serious but not grim. They looked up as she approached, their faces lighting up with warmth and relief at the sight of her.
"Alysae!" Gimli exclaimed, rising from his seat. "It's good to see you up and about, lass. Come, join us!"
She offered them a weary smile as she approached, and Legolas stood to pull out a chair for her. "You look exhausted," he said softly, concern in his eyes.
"I am," Alysae admitted as she sat down. "But I needed to see you all, to know what happened after…" She trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. They all knew what she meant.
Aragorn nodded, his expression somber. "We fought hard, but we prevailed. It was a close thing, though. Sauron's forces were overwhelming, and many good men were lost."
Alysae's heart ached at his words, but she felt a surge of pride as well. They had faced impossible odds and had still managed to hold their ground. "What of the others?" she asked quietly. "The King? Éomer? Pippin?"
"Theoden died, unfortunately, but Eomer and Pippin are both alive and well," Elrohir reassured her. "Éomer… he fought bravely. He's taken the mantle of leadership well."
"And Eowyn?" Alysae asked, though she already knew the answer. "What she did was—"
"Brave beyond measure," Aragorn said, his voice filled with admiration. "She slew the Witch-king of Angmar, the leader of Sauron's forces. It was a deed that will be remembered in song and story for generations."
Alysae felt a rush of pride for her friend, but it was tempered by the knowledge of how close Eowyn had come to death. She was glad Eowyn had survived, but the cost had been high. They had all lost so much.
For a moment, they sat in silence, each lost in their thoughts. The food on the table before them was untouched, though the smell of it was tempting. Alysae's stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten at all the day before. But her appetite was still weak, dulled by exhaustion and grief.
Legolas reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle but grounding. "We're all tired," he said softly. "But we're still here. That counts for something."
Alysae nodded, knowing he was right. They had survived, and they would continue to fight. There was still much to be done, but for now, she was grateful to be in the company of friends, to share in this small moment of peace before the storm inevitably returned.
-xxx-
The council convened in one of the great halls of Minas Tirith, its walls still bearing the marks of the recent battle. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and stone dust, mingling with the tension that hung over the assembled company. This was no ordinary council; this was a gathering of the leaders of the free peoples of Middle-earth, and the gravity of the moment was palpable.
Alysae entered the hall alongside Aragorn, her steps measured, her face a mask of calm despite the turmoil within. The weight of what was to come bore down on her, but she knew she could not falter. Not now. She was here not just as a Alysae, but as a representative of her people—a daughter of Mirkwood, a princess.
As they approached the center of the room, she caught sight of the others who had gathered. Gandalf stood near the great map table, his face solemn yet determined. Éomer, a King now, was there as well, standing tall despite the heavy burden of grief that Alysae knew weighed on him after the loss of so many of his kin. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was speaking quietly with him. Legolas and Gimli were also present, their eyes scanning the room with the readiness of seasoned warriors.
Alysae's gaze swept over the others gathered—the captains of Gondor, the lords of Rohan, and representatives of the other free peoples. This was their last hope, their final stand against the shadow that threatened to engulf the world.
Aragorn moved to the head of the table, his presence commanding attention. The room quieted as all eyes turned to him. There was a moment of silence, the weight of what was to come settling over them like a heavy shroud.
"We cannot hope to match the full strength of Mordor," Aragorn began, his voice steady but filled with the gravity of the situation. "The forces arrayed against us are vast, and if we wait, they will grow even stronger. We must act quickly, and we must act with courage."
Gandalf stepped forward, his eyes sharp as they moved over the gathered leaders. "We must draw Sauron's gaze away from Frodo and Sam," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his centuries of wisdom. "They are our last, best hope to destroy the Ring, but they will never succeed if Sauron turns all his might upon them. We must distract him. We must make him think the Ring is within our grasp, that we are bringing it to him."
There was a murmur of agreement around the room, but also of apprehension. It was a dangerous plan, one that relied on deception and a slim hope that Sauron would take the bait. But at the same time, thought Alysae, if Sauron took the bait, it would not do well for their safety.
Aragorn's voice cut through the murmurs, firm and resolute. "We will march on the Black Gate," he declared. "We will challenge Sauron directly, draw his armies out, and give Frodo the chance he needs."
Éomer frowned, his brow furrowing as he considered the plan. "But we have few enough men as it is. If we march on the Black Gate, we march into certain death."
"Yes," Gandalf agreed, his tone somber but resolute. "But if we do not, if we allow Sauron to consolidate his forces, there will be no hope left for Middle-earth. We must take this chance, however slim it may be."
Prince Imrahil stepped forward, his face etched with determination. "It is a desperate plan, but I see no other way. We must give Frodo and Sam every chance to succeed."
Eomer, still weary but with fire in his eyes, nodded in agreement. "Rohan will ride to battle. We have lost too much to turn back now." Alysae thought about Théoden and Eowyn and all the soldiers they had lost in the Battle of Helm's Deep.
Alysae listened intently, her heart heavy but resolute. She knew the stakes; she understood the cost. But she also knew that they had no other choice. The darkness that threatened to consume the world had to be confronted, no matter the cost.
As the discussion continued, detailing the logistics of the march and the forces they could muster, Alysae's mind raced. The journey to the Black Gate would be perilous, and the odds were stacked against them. It was certain death.
When the council had reached its conclusion, Aragorn turned to face the assembled leaders, his gaze firm and unyielding. "We march at dawn," he declared, his voice ringing out with finality. "Let us show Sauron that the free peoples of Middle-earth will not go quietly into the night. Let us show him that even in the face of overwhelming darkness, we stand united, and we stand defiant."
Alysae felt a surge of resolve at his words, the determination in the room solidifying her own resolve. She caught Legolas's eye across the table, and he gave her a small nod of encouragement. She knew that whatever came next, they would face it together, as they had faced so many trials before.
The council began to disperse, the leaders moving to make their final preparations for the march. Alysae lingered for a moment, her mind already racing ahead to the coming battle. She knew the path ahead would be fraught with danger, but she also knew that they had no other choice. The fate of Middle-earth hung in the balance, and they would do whatever it took to see it through. Alysae took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. The dawn would bring with it the final march to war, and with it, the fate of all they held dear.
But for now, she would prepare, as would they all. The battle was coming, and they would face it together, with courage and hope as their only shields against the darkness.
-xxx-
The quiet of the evening settled over Minas Tirith, a fragile peace that belied the storm of thoughts swirling in Alysae's mind. The decision had been made—the armies of the West would march on the Black Gate at dawn. The weight of that decision pressed heavily on her as she made her way through the stone corridors of the city, searching for Legolas.
She found him on one of the high balconies overlooking the plains of Pelennor, the night air cool against her skin. Legolas stood at the edge, his gaze distant as he looked out over the land that had borne the brunt of Sauron's wrath. He didn't turn as she approached, though she knew he was aware of her presence.
"Legolas," she called softly, her voice carrying the weight of the conversation they were about to have.
He turned to face her, his sharp Elven features softened by the moonlight. But there was a hardness in his eyes, a determination that Alysae knew well. He had been preparing for this moment, just as she had.
"I know why you've come," he said quietly, his voice tinged with resignation. "And I must tell you, Alysae, that I cannot allow it."
She took a step closer, meeting his gaze with the same resolve. "You cannot allow it?" she repeated, a hint of challenge in her tone. "You cannot allow me to make my own choices, Legolas? To decide my own fate?"
He sighed, running a hand through his pale hair, the frustration evident in his posture. "This is not about choice," he said, his voice tight. "It's about what is right, what is safe. You have been through so much already, Alysae. You are not well, and this march—this battle—it is not where you belong."
"Where else do I belong?" she countered, her voice steady but laced with emotion. "In a bed, wasting away while my friends and family march to their deaths? No, Legolas. I will not stay behind, not when I can stand and fight. Not when I can make a difference."
"Alysae," he said, his voice softening as he stepped closer to her. "You are already—" He hesitated, his throat working as he forced the words out. "You are already dying. Why must you throw your life away even sooner, in a battle that may well be our end?"
She looked up at him, her silver-blue eyes gleaming with unshed tears. "Because if I am to die, I would rather it be in battle, beside those I love, than alone in a bed with nothing but my own regrets to keep me company." Her voice wavered but remained firm. "Legolas, I have so little time left. Don't you see? This is my choice—my last choice. And I choose to fight. I choose to stand with you, with Aragorn, with all of us, until the very end."
Legolas shook his head, pain etched into his features. "You do not need to do this," he pleaded. "You have nothing to prove. No one would think less of you for staying behind."
"I am not doing this to prove anything," Alysae said, her voice growing more insistent. "I am doing this because it is who I am. Because I cannot stand idly by and watch as those I love go to war without me. I need to be there, Legolas. I need to see this through."
He looked at her, his eyes searching hers as if trying to find some way to change her mind, to sway her from the path she had chosen. But he saw the resolve in her gaze, the determination that would not be moved.
"And what of those you leave behind?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "What of me?"
Alysae's heart clenched at the pain in his voice, but she stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. "I am not leaving you behind," she said softly. "I am going with you. To the very end, if that is what it takes."
For a long moment, they stood in silence, the weight of her words hanging between them. Legolas closed his eyes, a deep sigh escaping him as he bowed his head. When he looked at her again, there was a sadness there, but also a resignation—a recognition of the choice she had made.
"If this is truly your wish," he said finally, his voice heavy with emotion, "then I will not stand in your way. But know this, Alysae—I will do everything in my power to protect you. I will not let you face this alone."
She nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek as she met his gaze. "I know," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "And I am grateful for it."
Legolas pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her as if he could shield her from the fate she had chosen. Alysae closed her eyes, leaning into his warmth, the strength of his arms around her offering a brief respite from the fear that gnawed at her heart.
They stood like that for a long moment, the night wrapping around them like a shroud, until finally, Legolas pulled back, his hand lingering on her cheek.
"Then we will face whatever comes together," he said quietly, his voice filled with a quiet resolve. "And may the Valar protect us all."
Alysae nodded, her heart heavy but her resolve firm. "Together," she agreed, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.
As they stood on that balcony, with the night stretching out before them, they both knew that the dawn would bring with it the final march to war. But whatever the outcome, they would face it side by side, together until the very end.
-xxx-
The morning sun broke through the lingering clouds over Minas Tirith, casting a pale light on the city that still bore the scars of battle. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and ash, mingling with the scent of fresh earth where the dead had been buried. Despite the early hour, the city was alive with movement, as soldiers gathered for what might be their final march.
Alysae stood on one of the higher levels of the city, overlooking the mustering troops. Her silver-blue eyes, tinged with exhaustion and the lingering memories of the horrors she had witnessed, swept over the assembled forces. The men of Gondor, battered but resolute, were joined by the riders of Rohan, their faces hardened by the knowledge that they were riding into what could be a hopeless battle.
Her thoughts were a whirlwind of anxiety and determination. There was a sense of finality in the air, a feeling that everything they had fought for was coming to a head. She could see Aragorn, tall and commanding, giving orders to the captains. Beside him, Gandalf stood, a pillar of wisdom and strength, his face grim but resolute.
The rest of the Fellowship was also preparing for the march. Legolas adjusted his quiver, his keen eyes scanning the horizon as if already searching for threats. Gimli hefted his axe, muttering something under his breath about Orcs and battle. The Hobbits, Merry and Pippin, were with the soldiers, their smaller forms almost lost among the ranks, but their hearts as brave as any warrior's.
As she descended the steps to join them, Alysae's mind turned to the conversations of the night before. She had resolved to march with them, to stand by their side no matter the danger. Legolas had tried to dissuade her, but she had held firm. This was her choice, and she would rather face whatever fate had in store on the battlefield, surrounded by those she loved, than in the sickbed of Minas Tirith.
She approached the group, her steps steady despite the weight she carried in her heart. Aragorn noticed her first and gave her a small nod, acknowledging her decision without question. They all knew the stakes now; there was no room for second-guessing.
Gandalf turned to the gathered men, his voice rising above the clamor. "The time has come to make our final stand. We march not just for Gondor, but for all of Middle-earth. We must draw the Eye of Sauron away from Frodo and Sam, giving them the chance to complete their task."
The soldiers, though weary, straightened at his words. The hope of the world rested on this desperate gambit, and they were the shield against which Sauron's wrath would break.
Aragorn mounted his horse, and the rest of the Fellowship followed suit. Alysae, though still weak, climbed onto Celeg's back, the horse she had been reunited with after so much time. The familiar feel of the reins in her hands gave her a sense of steadiness, grounding her in the midst of uncertainty.
As the column of soldiers began to move, the city fell silent, watching the departure of their last hope. The clatter of hooves on stone echoed through the streets as the army filed out of the gates, leaving the White City behind. The people of Minas Tirith lined the streets, their faces a mixture of fear, hope, and silent prayers for the soldiers' return.
Alysae rode beside Legolas, who glanced at her with a mixture of concern and admiration. He said nothing, but his presence was a comfort, a reminder that she was not alone in this.
They passed through the great gates of Minas Tirith, and the open fields of Pelennor lay before them, still marked by the devastation of the recent battle. The bodies had been cleared, but the scars remained—broken earth, shattered weapons, and the silent, looming presence of Osgiliath in the distance, half in ruins.
The march was solemn, the only sound the rhythmic thud of hooves and the creak of armor. As they left the safety of the city, the reality of what they were marching towards settled over them. The Black Gate, the very doorstep of Mordor, awaited them. It was a place of nightmares, where Sauron's power was strongest, and they were heading straight for it.
Hours passed as they rode, the landscape growing harsher, more barren, as they approached the borders of Mordor. The tension in the air was palpable, every soldier keenly aware of the danger that lay ahead.
Alysae kept her eyes on the horizon, her mind a mix of fear and resolve. She thought of her brother, of Eowyn, still recovering in the Houses of Healing, and of all those they had lost along the way. She would not falter now. Whatever the outcome, she would see this through to the end.
Finally, as the sun began to dip towards the west, casting long shadows over the desolate landscape, the vanguard came to a halt. In the distance, looming like a dark shadow against the blood-red sky, was the Black Gate of Mordor.
The army stopped, a hush falling over the ranks. This was it—the final test of their courage, their resolve. Alysae's heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the forbidding structure, the very embodiment of Sauron's power and malice.
Aragorn dismounted, and the rest of the Fellowship followed suit. He turned to his companions, his face set in a mask of determination. "This is the moment we've been preparing for. We give Frodo and Sam the time they need. Whatever happens, we stand together."
Legolas placed a hand on Alysae's shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. "We will face this together," he said quietly. "Do not lose hope."
Alysae nodded, drawing strength from his words. There was no turning back now. She had made her choice, and she would see it through.
The army set up camp as the darkness deepened, the fires flickering against the growing night.
-xxx-
The night before the battle of the Black Gate was heavy with anticipation, a stillness that belied the storm that was to come. The camp was quiet, save for the soft murmurs of the soldiers as they prepared for the morrow. In the midst of it all, Aragorn, Alysae, Legolas, Gimli, the twins Elrohir and Elladan, Gandalf, Merry, and Pippin sat around a small fire, the flames casting flickering shadows on their faces. There was an unspoken understanding among them that this might be their last night together.
Aragorn stared into the fire, his expression pensive. The weight of leadership pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he wore it with a quiet dignity. After a long silence, he spoke, his voice low. "Tomorrow, we march to what may well be our end. I have led you all into this, and for that, I am sorry. But I see no other way."
"You have nothing to apologize for," Legolas said, his keen eyes reflecting the firelight. "We all knew the risks, and we chose to stand with you. We would follow you into the very heart of Mordor if that is what it takes."
"Aye," Gimli grunted, his tone gruff but filled with loyalty. "There's no other place I'd rather be than by your side, Aragorn. We've come too far to turn back now."
Alysae, sitting close to Legolas, nodded in agreement. "This is where we belong," she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet strength. "Whatever comes, we will face it together."
Gandalf, who had been silent until now, leaned forward, his wise eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and hope. "It is in such dark times that the smallest light can shine the brightest," he said, his voice gentle. "We must hold on to that hope, no matter how small it may seem." Even if it was a fool's hope, Alysae thought.
Merry and Pippin, huddled close to each other, exchanged a glance. They were no longer the carefree Hobbits they had once been; war had changed them, hardened them. But their friendship remained unshaken.
"Do you remember," Pippin began, his voice a bit unsteady, "when we first left the Shire? We had no idea what we were getting into. We thought it would be just another adventure, like the stories we heard growing up."
Merry smiled faintly, though his eyes were tinged with sadness. "We were so naive," he said, shaking his head. "But if I had to do it all over again, I would. Because it brought us here, with all of you."
Aragorn's gaze softened as he looked at the two Hobbits. "You have both shown more courage than many warriors twice your size," he said. "You should be proud of what you've done, what you've become."
Pippin blushed slightly but smiled, while Merry nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes.
Elladan, who had been mostly silent, spoke up, his voice thoughtful. "We have all come far. And whatever tomorrow brings, we face it not as Elves or Men or Dwarves, but as one—united against the shadow."
Elrohir nodded beside him, his expression sober. "We fight for more than just survival. We fight for what could still be. For peace, for hope, for all those who may never know what we have done. That alone makes this fight worth it."
Alysae glanced at Elrohir, her heart warmed by his words.
Legolas reached over and took Alysae's hand, squeezing it gently. She tried to smile, finding comfort in her friends' words and their presence. The warmth of her brother's hand in hers was a reminder that she was not alone, even in the face of such overwhelming darkness.
Gimli cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, if we're to march to our doom, we might as well do it with a full belly," he said, reaching into his pack and pulling out a small flask. "Dwarven spirits—strong enough to put hair on your chest, even if you're an Elf."
Legolas raised an eyebrow, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "I think I'll pass on that, Gimli."
The Dwarf chuckled, taking a swig from the flask before passing it around. When it reached Merry and Pippin, they exchanged a mischievous look before each took a generous gulp, only to cough and splutter moments later as the strong drink hit them.
"That's—That's potent stuff!" Pippin gasped, his eyes watering.
Gimli laughed heartily, clapping Pippin on the back. "Aye, it is! That'll keep you warm through the night!"
Elladan smirked at the sight. "It is a wonder you two haven't developed a taste for stronger spirits after all your travels."
Merry wiped his mouth, grinning despite himself. "We've developed a taste for plenty of things, but that..." He waved a hand at the flask. "That's a bit too much even for us!"
Laughter rippled through the group, a brief but welcome respite from the tension hanging in the air.
The group fell into a companionable silence after that, the fire crackling softly as they each became lost in their thoughts. The night stretched on, the stars twinkling overhead like distant, unreachable beacons of hope.
Alysae glanced around at her companions, her heart swelling with a mixture of pride, love, and sorrow. They had all come so far, endured so much. She knew that whatever happened tomorrow, this moment, this bond they shared, would never be forgotten.
Finally, as the fire began to die down, Aragorn spoke again, his voice soft but filled with determination. "Rest now, my friends," he said. "Tomorrow, we face the final test. But no matter what comes, know this—we have done all we could. And that is all that anyone can ask."
One by one, they nodded in agreement, the reality of the coming battle settling over them once more. They bid each other goodnight and slowly dispersed to their tents, though sleep was a distant thought for most.
Alysae lingered by the dying fire for a moment longer, her hand still clasped in Legolas's. They exchanged looks- Legolas's familiar smile reminding her of all they had fought for. No words were needed between them.
Finally, with a shared sigh, they stood and walked together toward their tents. Alysae knew that whatever the dawn brought, they would face it side by side, as they always had.
Alysae lay down in her tent, her mind racing with thoughts of the battle to come. Sleep would not come easily, but she knew she needed to rest. Tomorrow would be the ultimate test, and she would need every ounce of strength she had left. As the night deepened, the fires of the camp reflected the resolve of those who had chosen to stand against the darkness. And Alysae, surrounded by her friends, prepared herself for the dawn that would bring the final battle.
-xxx-
The next chapter has been written for a really long time. I'm literally so excited. Please review to let me know what you think :)