Parallel - The Empire of the White Hand - COMPLETE
Here follows the first Book of Parallel: Empire of the White Hand detailing the battles of Isengard against Gondor as seen from the eyes of Usrekí and also chronicling the exploits of one small Fellowship alone in a world of Orcs and Uruks and crumbling Kingdoms of Men...
Spoiler for Things to know before you read::
- As a "Parallel" or Alternate Fiction, this tale explores several different storylines that could have happened, but in some extreme circumstances.
- Although apparently First Person this tale will also take a Third Person view on occaision. Furthermore the First Person view will contain elements that are moreso from a Third Person's eyes (only things that summarise what you know the character does not know but I want you to know).
- Saruman's conversations with Grima are moreso to inform the reader of plans and events that have/will occur.
Previously
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The Massacre of Helm’s Deep
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The Massacre of Helm’s Deep
My teeth tore mercilessly at the succulent flesh and my eyes followed the charge of horsemen.
‘Crossbow,’ I grunted to a lesser being and the Uruk obeyed, retrieving such a weapon from the corpse of one of the pathetic beasts that had failed to survive the Massacre of Helm’s Deep and handing it to me. I snatched it swiftly, ran my amber eyes across it, and grunted in approval, then I took the proffered bolt and drew back the cord with little effort. Uruk-Hai officers were chosen for their strength so it was with little contest that mighty Uglúk promoted me.
I stared down the crossbow and with little aiming did I pull the trigger for there was neither time nor a chance to pick out a single target from such a long distance. I released the bolt and the crossbow jerked back as it sent the bolt flying forwards until it vanished into the distance. My eyes strained to see mass of flesh and they widened as they saw the foremost (and I must admit, most delicious looking) beast stumble, throwing forwards its rider onto the wall of pikes before it, the bright evil coloured cloth turned a flavoursome red and the carnage ensued.
My stomach rumbled almost as loud as the storm to come, ‘Thugruk, ’ere ya bugger. Don’t think ya having all that to ya greedy self! Making my stomach moan watching all this ’ere distant slaughter!’
Book I: The White Hand and the White Tree and the One Ring
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Chapter I: The Legions of Isengard
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The Legions of Isengard
The Living Flesh may think my kind ignorant of free thought but by contrast, right now, I was impressed.
I cannot count but I believe millions apply to this multitude, they stood, pikes held high in the morning breeze, yellow eyes fixed on the two figures upon the balcony. It was “wonderful” (I think the feeling is that) to be among the countless destined for glory (and they say Gondorians taste nicer than most men, and as for the few Dúnedain... the sweetest taste there ever was (or so the rumours suggest)).
Upon the balcony, Sharkû raised his arms for attention and we obeyed. ‘Children of Isengard, Rohan has fallen, now our work begins.
‘Ahead lie boundless forests, rivers that stretch for miles. The armies of Isengard shall spread across the Arda, Gondor shall fall, and the orcs of Mordor shall flee from the Uruk’s might and the men of Eriador will tremble before the Empire of the White Hand. That is our destiny but before us lies a greater feat.’
‘The mighty Citadel of Minas Tirith stands strong in the face of Mordor; in Osgiliath, Boromir defends against the recurring threat of Mordor and within the Black Land, Sauron worries. He knows his undoing is near; seven of the Ringbearers now scale the sheer faces of the Mountains of Ash and soon only the plateau of Gorgoroth will lie between them and the fires of Doom.
‘Our victory relies on defeating the eighth of the nine, but how will legions face up against the walls of the White City?’
The deafening stamp of our pikes upon the scarred and blackened ground sent the crows crying.
‘To War!’ Saruman bellowed and in unison the armies of the White Hand, so great they consumed the Ring of Isengard and the valley beyond, turned a half circle and faced south before advancing forwards to either death or the most glorious feast.
And so nine hundred ninety-five thousand Uruk-Hai poured from Nan Curunír and even an Elf would have to marvel for it was an army of such a magnitude that had not been seen since the younger Ages.
*
Saruman the Wise walked away from the balcony and examined the silent, black orb.
‘Nothing, Sauron is too afraid to show his face. He trembles before me!’ a crude cackle ensued, and Grima cocked his head as he watched his master.
‘I don’t understand,’ he hissed and Saruman sighed, Grima never understood, ‘why should Sauron feel fear now? Just because our armies rival his?’
‘Rival? I wish Worm. No he does not truly taste fear, he never will until he spies his Tool falling into the flames of Orodruin. His armies are being held back, he is postponing his assault. He refuses to send out the hundred thousand he would have unleashed by now because he knows I am no longer his ally. He needs a force to counter those I have force-bred. Gondor is just an obstacle.’
Grima hesitated and echoed, ‘“Would have unleashed?”’
‘In the past, wise men talked of parallels, this is such a one, and I made the choice that changed it all, my strength was the key to the Rise of the Empire of the White Hand. And this is how it all began...’
Chapter II: “And this is How It All Began”
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:“And this is How It All Began”
‘Sauron overestimated his hold upon me, I resisted as he influenced my mind through the Stone.
‘He demanded that I helped him find the One Ring, he gave me orders of where to direct my scouting party but instead I sent them north with instructions to watch for reinforcements for Rohan.’
Grima looked puzzled, ‘What changed?’
‘The hobbits were never captured and so the fellowship never sundered. Isengard never faced the Elf, Dwarf, and Men who would have come for the hobbits.’
*
I took my blade and ran my tongue across it, my mouth watering as the dried succulent blood nurtured me.
I became aware that because I had stopped my unit too had halted. Exasperatedly I raised my voice over the din of hungry voices, ‘Get moving scum else I’ll make sure you ain’t able to move for ya backs shall be so red!’ With growls they resumed the advance and I replaced my sword on the strap on my waist before taking the foremost position on my unit.
We ascended up a gentle incline and I halted, motioning for the rabble to continue. To the north the rugged plains of the Eastfold stretched out to the banks of the Entwash which fled south to where it split into the many mouths that fed the Great River, Anduin. Eastwards I saw the marshlands of Fenmarch, bordering the Mering Stream that marked the furthest border of what was once Rohan and was now a collection of villages petrified under the shadow of the White Hand. All that Living Flesh, it made my stomach roar.
‘Usrekí, Sir!’ I turned to see an Uruk, fresh from the pits of life, ‘Forest ahead, sir, Firien Wood I believe, sir.’
Strange tongue the creature talked with, but I ignored it, there was a wood to burn.
*
I commanded the First Cohort of the First Legion, one hundred of the strongest Uruks, some fresh from the pits of Orthanc but most veterans of the Massacre of Helm’s Deep. It had been an easy feat, from the breaching of the Deeping Wall to the storming of the Keep, I remembered the defiant Ride of King Théoden; he slew many in his charge from the gateway before a chance bolt struck him from the saddle. That had been a rare day, simple slaughter under relieving showers.
As I reminisced, the Uruks were readying torches, waiting for the command to commence their evening’s pleasure. I stood at their head, scanning the Great West Road ahead as it vanished into the forest. A scouting party of Warg Riders had been sent to examine the lay of the land beyond Firien Wood, the Commander was riding with them, and secretly I hoped they would run into trouble for I was the next-in-line. A squawk sounded from within Firien and a moment later a flock of birds ascended from the trees, disturbed by a beast of some kind. I ran my tongue across my lips, oh for a crossbow and then perhaps I would have a bit of extra meat to enjoy with the day’s rations.
The distant sounds of galloping wargs reached my ears and I stared into the depths of Firien Wood, dust coughed up by heavy paws clouded the approaching beasts, alas they were full in number. Atop the grandest steed, a thick furred beast with a golden mane and streaks of blond down its brown back; was Commander Uglúk. He rose to the position after his scouting party discovered the Host of the Eldar marching south to reinforce the doomed Rohirrim. I had no reason to dislike him other than professional gain (The amount of rations was far greater than that of a mere Captain and he also had the ear of Sharkû).
‘Usrekí, Saruman the Wise has issued further orders: The trees are not to be burned.’
I froze, ‘Sir?’
‘If the campaign goes awry then the fires of Orthanc will need to be rekindled,’ Uglúk explained.
I gritted my teeth, ‘The ranks won’t like it.’
‘The scum’ll do as they’re bloody ordered to else I’ll flay em ’til they can’t say “No”!’
‘Sir,’ I muttered before turning to the Uruks. As Uglúk climbed onto his mount, I informed them of the development. Roars of outrage sounded from the ranks but I ignored the rabble and commanded them to make ready to advance. At sunset we camped beneath Calenhad Beacon.
Chapter III: Drúadan Forest
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Drúadan Forest
By sunrise we were gone, marching east towards Minas Tirith.
It is abnormal for our race to rest overnight but Saruman wanted no fatigue in the ranks. At midday we reached the beacon of Erelas and in the distance the Great West Road skirted around the Forest of Drúadan. Northwards I saw the grassy fields of Anórien reaching out to the southernmost mouth of the Entwash and where it merged with the Great River, a thin sliver of silver snaking eastwards.
Once again a scouting party had been sent forwards, Commander Uglúk riding with them (did he have a death wish?), ahead I could see the cloud of dust around them, the dark shapes of the returning steeds. They had found no opposition, we were ready to proceed so I ordered the Uruks to make ready. Uglúk arrived, his great steed’s eyes of jet glaring at me hungrily, I wondered what its rations were because it appeared malnourished.
‘Usrekí!’ I swallowed nervously as the warg growled; it seemed to share its master’s mood. ‘Follow.’
‘Form up,’ I shouted and the soldiers tensed and steadily moved into formation, I faced the front and advanced steadily, a moment later the deafening sound of pounding footsteps followed me.
At the foot of Nardol Beacon Drúadan Forest began and we marched past it indifferently. Rising from the midst of the dark wood was Eilenach, its fire raging. Gondor knew we were coming.
*
‘Gorgûn,’ Ghârik observed.
‘These Great-Gorgûn, these dangerous, these we should leave be.’
‘These destroy trees just like Gorgûn of Eye. Bhuri, these more likely to win.’
Bhuri frowned, ‘Eye been around since before lands sunk under the Great Wet, why Hand more likely?’
‘Stone City’s leader speaks of Stone Elder’s Bane being close to destruction, they say that if It dies then Eye dies. Hand is not close to death, Hand is a rising power. Hand controls land of Horses, land of Wild Men; Land of Tree is destined to fall.’
A twig snapped behind them and they turned to see a messenger from their Chieftain. ‘Ghân-buri-Ghân says we are to attack.’
*
A twig snapped but I only just heard it over the stampede of footsteps, I turned and scanned the line of trees.
However there was nothing so I removed my eyes to the front then suddenly fell to the side, a dart slamming hard into my arm. I gasped and heard roars from the ranks: other Uruks struck by the mysterious darts. I cursed in some tongue of the furnaces of Orthanc, and felt a tingle around my wound. Poison. Hastily I ripped the arrow from the flesh and sank my teeth into the affected area before ripping out a chunk of flesh and spitting it to the ground; I cleaned the wound and rose to the ground, shield between me and the cowards in the trees.
Another flurry of darts spat from the vegetation and I felt one clang into the metal of my shield. I moved to the ranks, ‘Shield wall!’ I ordered though most were already in the formation. Commander Uglúk was behind the First Cohort, his eyes moving back and forth over the trees.
‘Advance!’ came his command and steadily we moved forwards. Upon reaching the trees we spread out, advancing cautiously, expecting the worst from the darkness of the forest. The noise of cracking twigs was deafening within that silent place, it was impossible to spy or hear the people attacking us so instead we searched for their scent.
I stopped and closed my eyes, inhaling deeply and taking in the scent of the wild atmosphere about me, the stench of pure nature reached my nostrils and I curled my lip, then something else reached me, not the scent of the Living Flesh, this was... similar, but this was...
Suddenly there was a deafening battle cry, shouted in some foreign tongue; I whipped around, my shield raised to my breast in time to catch the charging spear. The thing on the other end of the polearm snarled, wrinkling its long mossy beard. I pushed aside its weapon, and brought down my blade in a long overarm swing, fearfully the thing raised a circle of wood but my sword broke the crude shield with ease and I felt my blade fall into its bony wrist. I retrieved the weapon and my eyes noted the sap-like blood that had come from the creature, I smashed my shield forwards, forcing back the stick-like figure such that it fell to the floor, I twisted my blade until it was vertical and brought it down into the thing’s chest, severing ribs and arteries. It made a coarse gurgling sound and more sappy blood fled from its mouth. I wet my lips but replaced my attention on the matter at hand.
I advanced two trees forwards and nodded to the Uruks assembled there to continue, they had obediently halted, waiting for their superior. We pressed forwards, moving steadily but silently, I taking care not to tread on anything that may make too much noise though my soldiers seemed ignorant of this stealthy approach and I grunted with dissatisfaction at every crack of wood or rustle of leaves.
Another warcry sounded and before us the creatures charged, branches holding spears and crude axes before them, spindly legs carrying their trunks with peculiar ease. ‘Shield wall!’ I commanded and with a clash our defences lined up in a bevelled barrier. Another smash was heard as the creatures clashed into us and our blades rained down so swiftly that few survived this attack. ‘Forwards!’ I cried and we marched further into the trees, the swipe of steel ringing out as the Uruks felled those who had survived the initial repression.
A second line of the things assembled before us, mimicking our formation with a simple shield barricade, I ordered the Uruks to halt, raised my blade, and swung it forward and my followers broke into a charge. The creatures wavered but we fell upon them before they had any chance to turn and flee, some had the strength to resist and pushed back with their wooden guards, but even these brave few fell to the might of the Uruk-Hai. One in front of me turned and fled but from my back I took my crossbow, ready with a waiting bolt and with a squeeze of the trigger the deadly projectile was set loose and a moment later the thing fell. I ordered an advance but halted upon reaching my victim, snatching up the bolt from the deep wound and examining it for signs that it would be little use to fire again. Satisfied of its condition, I reattached it to the crossbow which I replaced on the strap of my back.
We delved deeper and the silence grew, at one point the trees thinned to a small clearing and I looked up, the sun was setting. At that moment there was a crack of a twig behind our stationary force and I swung around, sword ready, however there was only an Uruk Runner.
‘Commander Uglúk orders a retreat; the forest harbours violence and is to be burned.’
I nodded and announced clearly, ‘Fall back!’
*
We emerged into the blinding light of the setting sun and as we did Uglúk nodded to those positioned near the trees. These Uruks now advanced, torches aloft and as the last soldier of the first cohort emerged from Drúadan, the torches fell and fires leapt up, beautiful roaring flames which swiftly licked the leaves of the neighbouring trees and like a wave of wrath the flames washed over Drúadan, leaving all black and orange, a glorious spectacle under the amber sunset.
And with the warmth of the blaze we camped for the night, knowing that dawn would bring the beginning of the Gondor-Isengard War, and the beginning of the End of the World of Men. It would begin with the Siege of Rammas Echor.
Chapter IV: The Siege of Rammas Echor
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The Siege of Rammas Echor
It was a mighty structure, stretching for many miles, and in the north it would be breached.
Sharkû had commanded that we used the fiery powder sparingly, that we breach only the gate of Rammas Echor so that it could easily be repaired in order to defend against the hordes of Mordor that would inevitably come. Therefore the Second Cohort was manning the ram: a much heavier and stronger tool than the one that broke the gates of the Hornburg. It was once again concealed beneath the shields of the Uruks and, as I waited with my ladder-bearing soldiers, I watched the unit advance steadily, under the intense rain of arrows and rocks, most bounced aside with a thud, clang, or crack.
‘Ladders advance!’ Uglúk bellowed and I gestured for my men to proceed, I waited behind until the ladder bearers had passed then marched forwards with the élite.
Each cohort included ten Berserkers, the most ferocious and deadly creatures from the pits, these units followed the ladders and would be the first upon the walls just as the berserkers of the Second Cohort would be the first into the breach.
The ram reached the walls and was swiftly brought crashing into the gate, shocked cries sounded from the Living-Flesh who were foolishly bracing the gate and then roars sounded, roars that chilled every Uruk’s bones. The Living-Flesh were pouring a boiling liquid down upon those with the ram and the sound of frying flesh was strong in the air, I snarled.
The oil ran out and the screams died, with a crack the gates broke open and thud, the ram was deposited and the Uruks charged in. The ladders were against the walls and the élite moved swiftly upwards, one fell from an arrow to the breast but courageously it tore the projectile from its flesh and rejoined the queue to ascend to the battle. I placed my hands on a ladder and ascended, the scent of Man was like smelling bacon in the morning, and lots of it. I reached the peak of the wall and leapt forward, pulling down a Gondorian that was about to slay an Uruk. I severed the beast’s gullet and rose to my feet, hacking down the next thing to rush towards me. I moved swiftly forwards, dodged the oncoming thrust and with a flick of the blade the next Living-Flesh fell headless.
Another man came forth, bearing the marks of a Captain, I swung my blade, but his met mine and I forced it back with a snarl. ‘Go back to your mud pit!’ the Captain cried and fiercely I slammed my head into his dim-witted skull. The piece of slime staggered back and I ran him through before he could recover.
Suddenly an arrow struck my breast and I stepped back, blood trickling from the wound, I let out a fierce howl and tore it from my body then fell forwards, clutching the wound, a Living-Flesh came before me and I struck his head from his shoulders before the fool could raise his sword. Never underestimate an Uruk-Hai. Another arrow scraped a line of skin from my shoulder and I gasped and took the crossbow from the strap, with one hand and little aim, I released the bolt and it sailed accurately across into the archer’s scalp. I moved swiftly towards another archer, poised to strike a Berserker from the walls, I used the lath of the crossbow to drag him from the wall then swung my sword downwards, over the head of another startled soldier. Weakly he aimed to parry but the strength of an Uruk is far greater than any Living-Flesh’s and I knocked his blade aside and mine sank deep. A spurt of delectable blood jetted up and I parted my lips to catch a few drops. Suddenly there was another man behind me and I whipped around but too slow, the man’s sword dropped towards my gullet – then he froze, a blade protruding from his stomach. An expression of surprise crossed his face as the sword was wrenched free and he collapsed forwards.
Beneath me the Uruk-Hai of the Second Cohort were flooding in, the Gondorians were being pushed back and I spied a few hundred who were routing already. At the head of those with the courage to stand fought a man with a long black cloak and the shimmering armour of the White Tree, he was effortlessly cleaving a way forwards with his men struggling to keep up, my fellow Uruks were giving this Captain a wide berth. I wondered if that was the man who rallied the Soldiers of Gondor, Boromir who kept back the armies of Mordor.
‘Sir, we have to pull back!’ cried a man on a tower and a second later he was struck dead by an Uruk bolt.
Boromir hesitated and called a retreat, he knew this was only to stall the forces of Isengard, he could not be victorious here. The defenders retreated, a few mounting horses and galloping off towards the White City. The Uruks took this as an opportunity to hunt without opposition and charged after them like wargs chasing a thrown bone. From the walls I now noticed a unit of cavalry charging towards the pursuing Uruk-Hai and I swiftly took the horn from my belt and sounded a recall.
Too late for over the din of battle the Uruks failed to hear and then they saw the cavalry. The foremost Uruks attempted to halt but those behind, blind to the danger, pushed them forwards and then the horsemen slammed into them. Roars flew from the startled Uruks, a mass panic ensued. The sounds of slaughter were oddly chilling when it was our own that were dying.
When they had given their fellow soldiers the time to fall back, the cavalry departed and no Uruk had the courage to chase after them. The day was over, Rammas Echor was breached and so at sunset we readied ourselves for the coming siege.
Chapter V: Overlooking Gorgoroth
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Overlooking Gorgoroth
Frodo Baggins was huddled up in his elven robe, thinking of strawberries and Bag End.
‘Aragorn we cannot proceed, we never considered...’
‘Legolas, mín tur-avon ped o hi, ea ho estel, ea ho lú.’ We cannot speak of this, there is still hope, there is still time.
Legolas sighed and turned away, his eyes staring at the Plateau of Gorgoroth and the flood of orcs occupying it. Southwest stood Barad-dûr and directly south rose Orodruin. ‘You can hide your words from them, but you cannot hide the truth. We. Are. Losing. You heard what that orc said, as we speak Saruman is marching an army so great that even Sauron trembles! If we destroy the Ring, who will destroy Isengard? The Ents? No they’re burning in the pits! The Dwarves are disunited, the Elves are fleeing, they know there is no hope and the Men are dying; and would that Boromir had not departed at Rauros! Saruman has no single weakness to be exploited, he has no equal, Mithrandir is slain, we know it and the other of the Five Wizards are either lost in the world or lost in nature, who can stand against him now? Middle-earth is doomed.’
‘Boromir had to go, had to warn his people of all that was coming. At the head of a Gondorian army, that man could imbue a courage in them that the world has not seen in Ages.’ That said though, Aragorn seemed to grow pale, ‘and I cannot believe Gandalf is dead, you saw how he vanquished the Balrog, if he could effortlessly slay that Beast of the Fire then how could a horde of Uruk-Hai destroy him?’
‘Effortlessly? It was only just that he resisted that Darkness, one error and he would have fallen. Age may have brought him wisdom, but it did not bring him strength.’
Aragorn bowed his head, ‘We have the Ring, all is not lost,’ he muttered almost silently.
‘I hope you two are coming up with a plan,’ Gimli said gruffly from behind them and they both swung around quickly.
Several feet away lay Merry, he had heard most of the words between Aragorn and Legolas, and now, as Gimli joined the argument, he moved over quietly to Frodo. The troubled hobbit was still awake.
‘Frodo?’ Slowly the hobbit raised his head; Merry smiled faintly and sat down before him, ‘How is it?’
‘Heavier with every step, I don’t- I can’t do this Merry. Every step is a burden and the Eye, I see it in my sleep, it’s conscious of the danger, it knows!’
‘They say-’ Merry began.
‘I know what they say!’ Frodo snapped and Merry flinched, there was something in his friend’s eye, something not quite right. Silence ensued save for the distant murmur of voices. ‘I’m sorry Merry,’ Frodo said eventually, ‘I had no reason to speak so.’
‘You had no reason, but the Ring...’ Merry’s voice trailed off.
‘What of it?’ Frodo asked suspiciously.
All of a sudden an ear-splitting screech sounded across Gorgoroth. ‘Hide!’ cried Legolas as he spied the Fell Beast and its deadly rider approaching from the west. The seven remaining members of the Fellowship moved swiftly, darting for the nearest cover and removing all signs of a camp. The Nazgûl swooped overhead and whether it was simply scouting the northern wall or sought for the Ring by instinct, it was not clear. Either way it did not falter in its journey, turning southwards and speeding towards the Dark Tower.
Frodo raised his head, the pain in his chest had gone; he watched the distant beast, the Witch-King, as it vanished into the distance. He blinked, his vision was blurred, and yet clearing his eyes did nothing, there was still that white film. No, it was no trick of his eyes, he realised now that there was some light, growing stronger and stronger, white and unnatural in that accursed environment. His hand reached for Sting but something in his heart told him that there was no danger.
Suddenly a hand grasped his shoulder and he whipped around, and such was the shock of what he saw, he staggered back and fell.
‘Gandalf?’
Chapter VI: The Board is Set
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The Board is Set
It was a glorious sunrise in Middle-earth and today we would destroy the world of Men.
The Commander’s Tent was full of officers when I entered it at midday, ‘Commander, the towers are ready.’
‘Good Usrekí,’ Uglúk observed. He turned towards the western face of the tent; a layout of the city had been drawn upon a sheet of canvas hanging against the wall. ‘We will attack only with siege towers; the gate is not to be breached as it must be ready to stand against Mordor. The Tower cohorts shall aim to open the gate, at this point the remaining cohorts shall enter. The Tower cohorts will be all those of the Second and Third Legion. The First Legion shall be the first through the Great Gate and shall lead the advance through the streets. Captain Usrekí.’
‘Sir?’ I asked, freezing to attention.
‘I have been acting Commander of the First Legion so far, I must oversee the Siege from here so henceforth you are the Commander, congratulations,’ (I cannot say whether he said that unnatural word contemptuously or as if the task was impossible and he doubted I could do it), ‘choose a fit soldier from your ranks to command the First Cohort.’
‘Thank you sir.’
Uglúk examined the city plan, ‘There is to be no destruction of the buildings, the citizens are not to be slain, there’ll be plenty of meat from the soldiers. Leave no man alive, capable of wielding arms. The women are wanted, I do not know why.’
‘Huh huh, maybe Sharkû wants a bit o’ fun!’ an Uruk cackled and a few laughs sounded.
‘Quiet scum else I send ya back to Orthanc to dig your superiors out the mud pits!’ Uglúk roared.
‘That,’ said a calm voice that emanated power, ‘will not be necessary.’
All heads turned towards the entrance to the tent, there stood their leader, standing tall; his eyes black and uncaring; and yet I looked deeper and realised there was more to the man we called old. We all lowered our heads; murmurs went around, ‘Saruman.’
The Wizard of Many Colours surveyed the tent before advancing towards Uglúk; upon reaching his subordinate he turned and examined the city plan, saying, ‘How ready are we to begin?’
‘The towers are built, the orders have been given; we may begin upon your command.’
Saruman nodded thoughtfully, ‘First there is something that I must be unveiled. Come.’
We followed our wise leader from the tent, a loud squeal sounded in the distance and, as a smile crept across his face, we proceeded across the camp, to the northernmost point where a group of tall beasts stood, clad in a much larger form of the mighty armour of the Uruk-Hai. They were ugly beasts, some with great tusks climbing up their upper lips; they bore maces and hammers, cold steel tools that imbued their followers with a sense of security, who would stand against these foul beasts of the pits?
Uglúk, too, was aghast; he turned to Sharkû and voiced our thoughts, ‘What are these?’
‘These are Olog-Hai, a far stronger form of troll; they shall lead the advance through the streets of Minas Tirith, from these the foe shall run.’
I stared up at the closest intimidating creature; it was eyeing me with hunger or was it curiosity? I could not discern its stare. These were the beasts that even we Uruk-Hai were no match for, save for in large numbers. My lips twitched into a Uruk’s smile – something so unnatural yet present nonetheless: I could see how easy this was going to be.
Chapter VII: Across the Plateau
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Across the Plateau
‘What trickery is this?’ Aragorn exclaimed, ‘you were in Rohan, how can you be here?’
The White Wizard smiled, Legolas stared at him keenly, perhaps spying for a disguise, an error to show that this was not who he seemed. ‘What happened,’ the elf spoke at last, ‘I sense a change in you, your robes are brighter, no longer are you grey.’
‘I was taken by the darkness for I underestimated the Uruk-Hai of Saruman. Those beasts are stronger than I believed them to be, they overran Helm’s Deep before I could muster reinforcements. Aragorn, Rohan has fallen. Gondor cannot stand. Even if you destroy the Ring, we cannot win this war.’
‘Gandalf, you are changed, we have the Ring, we can destroy Sauron, Saruman you can deal with, you are powerful, you are closest to his equal.’
‘No Aragorn, with every extra mile to his territory, Saruman gains more and more power, I am nothing before him now, not even with this fresh strength. Either way, I’ve been sent back, until my task is done.’
‘Gandalf, is it really you?’ Frodo asked suddenly. All heads turned towards the hobbit who still seemed unsure of the old man before him.
‘Gandalf, yes that was my name,’ he paused and raised his head, I am Gandalf the White, and I come back to you now at the turn of the tide. If only the tide were in our favour. One stage of your journey is over, you have passed into Mordor, now another stage begins. We must move now with the greatest speed, destroy the Ring and then see what lies ahead.’
‘Greatest speed? That is no easy feat,’ Gimli stated, ‘before us wait the armies of Mordor, what hope have we against so many?’
‘Oh there never was much hope... just a fool’s hope,’ Gandalf smiled but did so weakly.
‘Then what do we do?’ Legolas demanded.
The White Wizard turned to face southwards and in his eyes was reflected the mighty mountain of fire, raging and defiant before the Master that controlled it. ‘We must descend further, and then proceed to cross the plateau; I have the strength to conceal us from the orcs of Mordor. We must go.’
From the level jut where they had made camp, the Fellowship descended awkwardly down a steep scramble; the icy rock bit at the hobbits’ hands and furry feet with each step and despite their firm soles they winced after each movement. Frodo descended in exhaustion, everyday he was weaker, drained, his every train of thought was distracted, he could no longer concentrate on the moment, he was lead forwards by his companions, he knew his mission but as of late everything was too much of a burden to focus. Suddenly he slipped and skidded down agonisingly on his back, landing with a hard thump in the ash-strewn ground. A searing pain ran down his spine and he gasped and rolled onto his front, pushing himself slowly up. A hand was offered and he took it, ‘Thank you, Sam.’
Now on the level ground, the Fellowship gathered around Gandalf, ‘In order to pass unseen there must be silence, we must stay together, within the mists.’ As he spoke the clouds in the heavens descended and swarmed around them and as they proceeded through the plateau of rocks and tents, all their foes saw were blurs in the corner of their eyes. They delved deep into Mordor and fearfully they proceeded for they were unsure of their visibility, even Gandalf was concerned, repeatedly casting his eye upon Barad-Dûr.
However the Great Eye did not return its gaze, its attention lay in its Palantír; it was watching the distant battle unfold...
Chapter VIII: The Siege of Minas Tirith: The First Level
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The Siege of Minas Tirith: The First Level
At sunrise the bombardment began, rocks smashed through stone and screams filled the air.
The battlefield was laid out according to the aforementioned plan, my cohort lined up before the gate but at a safe distance to avoid the returning fire of Gondor’s trebuchets. The siege towers with their respective cohorts of infantry behind them were fanned out around the mighty outer wall, Sharkû had said it could never be breached, not even by his Fire, indeed it appeared to me to be similar to the black stone of mighty Or, it was said that in the olden days of bygone Ages, the men of purer blood forged those citadels with the same techniques, stone and magic.
The Legions of Isengard were to remain standing before the walls until the order to advance was given, such immobility would bring stiffness and fatigue to any man but not to us. Tonight our superiority would be shown, the Gates of Minas Tirith would be opened and the hordes would pour in and like a wave of death the Legions would annihilate all in their path.
Simultaneous screams suddenly reached our ears, quiet but distinct, even over the sound of crumbling masonry, my eyes scanned the walls, searching for the source until they finally rested on a cloud of dust rising from the first level, the wall of the second above clearly displaying signs of a missing tower, now naught but disintegrated stonework below.
There was another creak of a catapult behind me and I watched as the projectile arched up into the sky, reached its zenith, and then plummeted downwards, smashing its way through the foremost battlements of the White City. A handful of soldiers were scattered from the wall and the projectile rolled swiftly into a house below. A trebuchet retorted, casting its burden into the clear blue above, as the missile descended the throwing arm of the catapult positioned directly beside the First Cohort was winched back. A moment later I heard the synchronised creak of the engine being released and the sudden crash of the enemy projectile smashing down. I spun around just in time to see our missile, struck awry by the enemy shot, fly sideways, and smash into the ranks of the First Cohort. Instinctively I spurred my steed, an almost black furred Warg, affectionately named Grishthroquûrz forwards, unnecessary for the missile never reached anywhere near my position. Angry, I turned Grishthroquûrz and urged him around the Cohort and to the site of impact. I would estimate ten beasts were trampled by our stampeding amok projectile, a further twelve were crushed to the point of injury. I snarled and ordered that be removed to the medical tent, they were dragged or borne away, and I manoeuvred my steed around and ordered it forwards. The trebuchet’s missile had plummeted into the flank of our catapult and now the engine was only a pile of shattered timbers.
You’re in command!’ I spat fiercely at the Captain of the First Cohort before riding into the distance.
*
‘Thagluk, I need a team of engineers to see to that bloody catapult, a bleeding missile’s reduced it to pieces!’ I bellowed at a passing engineer.
I descended from my mount and as an Uruk hurried to tether it I proceeded to the medical tent. Inside it was dark, a few candles burned in the room, and a man hurried between beds; he was one of the corrupted souls who had fled to Sharkû’s banner rather than die with his family and friends, the worse kind of traitor.
‘The Uruks I sent here, what of ’em?’ I demanded of the piece of slime.
Nervously the coward replied, ‘T-two have sustained only superficial wounds, three more p-passed away, the rest are… incapacitated to the point of…’ He tailed off, we both understood each other.
‘Are they ready?’
‘As they’ll ever be,’ was his reply. I looked at him questioningly, what was that supposed to mean? I departed from the tent by the second exit, saying nothing more. Outside the nine Uruk-Hai were lined up, kneeling which was most likely due to their severe wounds. Behind each of them was another Uruk, bearing a long blade, not the traditional sword of an Uruk, the point of these were not bent for a cleaving stroke, these were straight and true for stabbing deep. Executioner’s blades.
‘You have done thy duty,’ I began, regretting the waste of life, they could have done much more but there was no time for nursing the wounded, ‘you have toiled hard for Isengard, you were bred for war and your duty has come to an abrupt end. May the next world be kinder.’ A curt nod and the swords fell, each blade ripping straight down between shoulder and neck, a spurt of blood, some jerked as if standing to attention, and then it was all over. The swords pulled up, they fell forwards, one or two managing a second spasm before collapsing into the dust.
*
At sunset Sharkû the Wise rode before the troops, smiling in satisfaction at the thousands laid before him.
When the sun fell behind Mount Mindolluin a horn sounded, then the heavy stomp of metal clad feet resounded upon the Field of Pelennor as the Siege Towers were pressed forwards under heavy arrow fire. Halfway forwards one fell to a trebuchet projectile, there was an explosion of dust, splinters and bodies before the crumbling structure collapsed, more missile fire attempted to crush the engines of siege but soon they were at the walls and the Living-Flesh did not dare target them any more for fear of striking their own men. With a crash the gates to the towers fell and like a wave of death the Uruks of Isengard flooded out. The berserkers came first and no man before them survived the first swing of their deadly blades. On the rooftops of houses behind the walls arrows rained down, deadly darts to destroy our mighty warrior’s lives. When the berserkers were quelled the regulars pressed forwards and these pushed hard against the enemy, forcing some from the walls. A bloody tide that none could withstand for each Uruk that fell was replaced by another and nowhere did their numbers fall few. Those from the towers closest to the Great Gate cleaved a way towards the mighty defence, I watched in satisfaction as I saw archers above the gateway fall from the walls, the feeble enemy could not defend against such reckless hate.
Finally I saw the moment of triumph, a crack appeared at the gates parted, without orders the trolls advanced, if the gates were not fully opened then their clubs could at least force an opening before the Gondorians managed to shut and bar the defence. I commanded my Legion forwards and we proceeded in the trolls’ wake. Before us the gates parted fully and the Olog-Hai charged in, smashing lines in the ranks of men, the final defence of the Great Gate. Screams reached our ears and hungrily we advanced; the scent of fresh blood already close. We reached the gateway and I raised my hand for no voice could be heard over the din of death. We halted and I paused, the men were beginning to flank the trolls, soon they would strike their backs where their armour was weakest. I continued to wait.
‘Charge!’ I bellowed as the men pushed forwards and if they did not hear me then they understood my actions for they pursued my sprinting figure, swords held high, and shields reflecting the lights of the torches by the buildings. We slammed into the ranks of Living-Flesh, blades falling as a rain of deadly steel. Cries sounded out, some Uruk, but most belonged to the Flesh. Blood jetted upwards, fountains of crimson that danced before the eyes, I roared in pleasure, swallowing a mouthful of the red as it gushed upwards.
I cleaved downwards and a Gondorian fell in a bloody mess, I stepped forwards, slamming my shield sideways and knocking back the Living-Flesh to my left, another Uruk pounced upon him and, his screams resounding in my ears, I turned to face the foes ahead.
Suddenly the corner of my eye caught sight of an Olog-Hai swiping its hammer through the air, I ducked swiftly and at the same time my foe flinched, fearing some abrupt attack, I did not move to strike him though and for this reason he was caught off guard when I brought my blade around into his flank, splashing crimson across the stones. Meanwhile the hammer whooshed overhead, slamming hard into a group of men, casting them towards the heavens. I heard an enemy command, ‘Shields up!’ and I too obeyed this order. It was close, a second later a cloud of fiery death descended upon our ranks, behind me I heard the roars of our infantry and smelt the gut-wrenching scent of burning Uruk flesh. I retreated back a step and glanced up, replacing my shield between myself and the enemy. As I examined the rooftops for the archers I spied a great boulder smash its way across the peak of the outer wall and rebound into a building nearby, a fountain of bodies erupted from this structure, and screams rent the air.
‘Fall back!’ came the foes command and I advanced with greater confidence. The men of Gondor fearfully surveyed their surroundings, stepped back one pace at a time and slowly parted from the ranks of Isengard. One troll roared and charged forwards, its mighty mace poised to strike a deadly uppercut through the ranks of Living-Flesh, but as it reached the retreating ranks, more archers appeared upon the rooftops and upon seeing the danger to their companions their loosed countless arrows towards the mighty beast. The troll emitted another, deafening roar as one such dart spat through its gullet, spreading a shower of crimson. The beast wavered, like a drunk Living-Flesh struggling to remain standing straight, then it fell back, taking down with it one Uruk that foolishly drew too close.
The Living-Flesh broke into a swift rout but we did not pursue, archers lined the rooftops ahead and only a strong formation could defend against a rain of death. I commanded my infantry into a testudo, myself joining in at the very front. As we advanced I felt the heavy patter of steal arrowheads spitting down upon the shield above my skull. My own shield was before me, and I peered through the gap between my shield and the one of my companion above me. I saw the wide street stretching ahead before it curved round and a place of education blocked my visage; I spied also the backs of the soldiers that were too afraid to fight.
We pursued the foe through twisting streets, volleys of arrow fire descending upon us as we came round every corner; more Uruks were flooding down from the walls but the First Cohort led the way and before us were the Olog-Hai. The road rose up and twisted to the right at the last point and when I reached the corner all I saw was the gate of the Second Level, standing firm before us.
The First Level had fallen; six more decided the fate of Man.
Chapter IX: The Slopes of Orodruin
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The Slopes of Orodruin
Before them the pinnacle of rock rose up, fire jetting like a fountain from its peak.
Frodo looked up with trepidation and glanced back when Gandalf placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder,
‘Frodo?’
‘I feel lost Gandalf, I know my path but it is a struggle to follow it.’
‘Do not worry Frodo, it will all work its way out. You have the strength to end this.’
Frodo nodded, not as confident as he hoped.
Thus the Fellowship began the penultimate stage of their quest, scaling the mighty mountain of fire with the Cracks of Doom not far away. Frodo was ahead and struggling as ever he was, halfway to the peak, he stretched out for a rock and pulled himself up, though suddenly the rock gave way and he was sliding down.
‘Mr Frodo!’ Sam cried as he saw his friend slip beyond the mists and not far above the Nazgûl circled and at that moment one glanced down, what Khamûl saw was no orc. The deafening screech of the Fell Riders sounded and all cowered, now the mysterious mists shrank and all around turned now to see the eight in the corner of their eyes were more than figments of their dull imaginations. The orcs of Mordor were suddenly hungry, though what beast would not be when some of the most exotic meats were placed before their eyes?
Aragorn rose to his feet and Frodo saw in him the King that he truly was for like a King of old he appeared commanding yet fair, and mighty Andúril shone gold in the firelight as it was held at his side. ‘Now is the hour,’ he began, not as confident as his steady voice suggested, ‘Fellowship you swore an oath of protection, now stand to your word! Frodo, go! Sam, Merry, Pippin, stick by him, Frodo must not fail!’
That said the Hobbits helped Frodo to his feet, and then proceeded to move as swiftly as was possible towards the peak. Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf closed in an arc behind the backs of the Hobbits, weapons ready and millions of foes eager for first bite.
‘Look at these things; you’d think they’d never been fed,’ Legolas observed.
‘Then let’s give some steel to bite their grimy little fangs into!’ Gimli roared and such was his nature he surged forwards and was the first of the Fellowship to spill black blood on the day that could see the world fall to darkness or the End of All Things.
Chapter X: The Siege of Minas Tirith: The Levels in Between
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The Siege of Minas Tirith: The Levels in Between
With a shower of splinters the Third Gate fell and the trolls charged in.
Behind the mighty beasts I waited before giving any orders. After a few minutes the foe would begin to weaken the beasts sufficiently enough to kill them and I could not let this happen, but at the same time I saw no need to endanger more Uruks than were necessary, they may outnumber the foe now but it was only a matter of time before Mordor would be unleashed.
‘Advance!’ I commanded and steadily the thunder of feet pursued the trolls through the gateway. As I emerged from beneath the gate I raised my shield overhead and my soldiers followed suit, a moment later a shower of arrows sliced through the air and ricocheted off our shields. After the cessation of arrowfire, I lowered my defence and pressed it to my breast. The foe were steadily retreating, they could not breach the armour of the Olog-Hai and so they had little choice but to fall back, they seemed to be holding us back so long as their Rangers could do the bloody work.After the Third Gate the road turned sharply right and ascended up a steady flight of stairs before turning again and taking another staircase to the peak of the Third Level. The archers were using the height advantage to rain down missiles upon us but our use of the testudo meant that our losses were few. I reached the end of the first flight of stair and suddenly heard a smash of stone behind me; I spun around in time to see the last remnants of a great boulder falling onto my soldiers below, a cloud of dust drifted upwards and my soldiers’ racking coughs were clear above the distant screams ahead. The spawn of Isengard continued with greater haste, abandoning the cover of their shields to proceed faster.
*
Frodo Baggins weakly scrambled up the jagged slope, his gardener not far behind.
‘Not far yet, Mr Frodo,’ Sam observed but Frodo was oblivious to his voice.
With the Cracks of Doom drew closer but below the strength of the Fellowship was trickling away, Gimli was roaring fiercely and swiftly the orcs nearby learnt that if they wanted meat they should stay away from the Dwarf. Legolas was reduced to using his knives for his arrows were dwindling; the bodies were piling up as the Fellowship retreated step by step.
*
Bang, Bang, Bang!
With a shattering sound and a sprinkling of splinters the gate was broken open and the hordes of Isengard poured into the Fifth Level. I was still at the head of the army and was now being assailed by finely armed men of Gondor; from the scent of their flesh it seemed that these were young to the role of soldier, their armour glimmered so because they had never been in the heat of battle, they had never had cause to clean it. Young meat, the freshest, most delectable, as I had a moment to think between conflicts I pondered over what a Young-Living-Flesh would taste like if it endured the same terrible process as veal.
‘For Gondor!’ cried a Gondorian and I returned to the present, turning towards the man and slamming my blade down through his cranium, he fell back, shuddering severely and I stepped over his bloody corpse.
I parried another sword swing, ducked low and ran the beast before me through with my blade, he cried out and staggered back, blood jetting out like a steam of refreshing mineral water. Another foe approached and I slammed my shield hard into his breast, knocking him back into the crowd of foes.
*
Upon the sixth level the defenders of Gondor were dwindling, our forces swept like a wave over the soldiers and death came swiftly to those who resisted. I rushed up the stairs to the final level, fatigue plaguing my body and only one Olog-Hai leading the way before me. I reached the peak in time to see members of the Fountain Guard barring the door of the Throne Room. I relaxed; there was time for rest now. I crouched and pressed my hand to the shoulder of a Living-Flesh’s corpse then with my other hand, wrenched the man’s arm from its socket. Blood pouring swiftly to the floor, I caught some drops in my mouth before taking a bite from the flesh. I rose to my feet and stumbled, the blood must be getting to my head.
No, no it was not me, this force was something else, something far greater and signalling something far more terrible. The earth was trembling, a storm was brewing, the water of the fountain splashed and rippled, a statue fell from its place on the stone walls, I looked east and slowly moved in that direction as if drawn. I reached the end of the jut of rock and the ground fell away at my feet, before me I saw the might of Isengard and each soldier’s movement, each Uruk of Sharkû turning to face the new storm.
Suddenly a bolt of green whipped up into the sky, spawning terror and turmoil in the clouds, Sauron’s hand was reaching out towards us, a shadow of darkness to guide his soldiers on their march to doom. Mordor was unleashed and I realised now something that should have been clear from the beginning.
Gondor was now at its weakest; Isengard too was in the heat of battle and fatigue clawed at our ranks.
Mordor had never been frail before the honour and courage of Gondor, Mordor had been biding its time, growing its armies.
If Isengard could produce millions in a month, what could Sauron breed in years?
Isengard was just another obstacle between Mordor and the world, an obstacle close to a terrible doom.
Chapter XI: The Pieces are Moving
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The Pieces are Moving
At Dawn on the day that, in another world saw the crowning of King Elessar, Mordor was unleashed.
It began with the terrible cry, the Lord of the Nine emerged from the battlements of Minas Morgul and led forth his Master’s mighty host. Legions of Legions, so many they could drink the veins of the citizens of Arnor dry, so many they outnumbered the Gondorians a hundred to one. Doom was not only marching upon Gondor, but on Isengard too.
The Host of Darkness departed swiftly from the Morgul Vale and at the crossroads continued towards the citadels of Men. They encountered no resistance and no scouts spied the new aggressors, none were needed for few had failed to see the signals of Mordor. As the road reached the brink of a hill and curved downwards towards the river the Witch-King descended to earth upon his Fell Steed and glanced sideways at the leader of his army. Supreme Commander Gothmog snarled, ‘Isengard is taking the spoils!’
‘Let them tire, do not strike until the city is fallen. Burn the River-City, this time-.’ Suddenly he whipped around, invisible eyes scanning the mountains behind him, then, without word, he sprang into the air and flew east.
*
Boromir spurred his forwards, his fearful eyes torn away from the Mountains of Mordor, it was beginning.
He was riding south, a guard of thirty of Gondor’s finest horsemen escorting him. One mile from Rammas Echor he drew to a halt, ‘How many has he mustered?’ he murmured to himself.
‘One hundred thousand at the most. Sir, it will never break the ranks of Isengard, let alone Mordor. It is folly.’
Boromir bowed his head, he whispered, ‘We cannot give up,’ then repeated it louder to the man who had replied.
The numerous horsemen of Dol Amroth riding towards them slowed to a halt and the two leading riders rode a few feet forwards then dismounted, Boromir did the same then rushed forwards and embraced his brother.
‘Faramir!’ he cried prior to pulling away and examining the men behind his brother.
‘Is it true?’ Faramir questioned, sharing no smile, ‘are we truly lost?’
‘There is always hope, if Sauron had the Ring we would know it. If He had the Ring what use would his soldiers be? Only his hand would be necessary to cast us into ruin,’ Boromir replied though he did so with doubt.
Faramir examined his brother’s troubled expression, ‘Do you wish now that you had stayed?’
Glancing over his shoulder at where the fires of Orodruin illuminated the horizon, Boromir shook his head, ‘I had not the strength. Now, free that I am of Its influence, I can see what evil It is, but when it was so within reach It was a tool of Victory, but for myself, not for Gondor. It must be destroyed, or the world will never be what it once was.’
Faramir nodded, ‘Come brother, let us show father that there is hope yet.’
*
Frodo clambered onto the boulder and rose to his shaky feet, there was the door to the End; he collapsed.
Sam saw him fall and swiftly moved to help Frodo to his feet.
‘I can’t do it Sam,’ said the hobbit faintly.
‘No! Come on Mr Frodo, let me carry you,’ and with some hidden strength the once innocent gardener hoisted his friend onto his back and, straining to proceed, he slowly moved forwards, above on a jut of stone Gollum watched, and jumped...
*
Saruman emerged from his tent and even he prayed for a miracle, he prayed the Ring be destroyed.
Chapter XII: The Siege of Minas Tirith: The Pelennor fields
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The Siege of Minas Tirith: The Pelennor fields
When the doors to the Hall of Kings were broken open we poured in hungrily.
In reply the fountain guard presented a wall of spears and the foremost Uruks ploughed into the tips and roared as their pierced bodies were thrown back. I ordered my troops back and nodded to the waiting troll outside, the beast smashed through the façade and the screams of Living-Flesh ensued.
‘Sir! Commander Usrekí!’ shouted an Uruk and I turned to see a bloody beast with a cracked helm sprinting towards me, ‘Sir! The scum are being led to the Hallows; their leader is guarding their backs.’
I spat out a curse and turned towards the stairs, Denethor could not escape.
*
‘Ride now for glory! Ride now for your country! Ride, ride for Gondor!’
‘For Gondor!’ they echoed, lance tips glinting gold in the light of the rising sun.
‘For Gondor!’ Boromir repeated, spurring his steed forwards, across the Pelennor Fields towards the Legions of Isengard.
‘For Gondor!’ the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth cried again as they followed their leaders in their glorious charge to fate.
‘For Gondor!’ Boromir screamed ultimately before a pike ran through his noble steed and he himself was cast into the mass of foes.
*
The Witch-King surveyed the landscape below and a wide smile crossed his ghostly shrouded face.
It called to him now, how could it have escaped him? It screamed through the clouds of dust, it screamed for it knew now it was so close to the end. He pulled suddenly on the reigns and his steed turned southwards and after a second command it began a steep descent.
The Fell Beast pulled out of the dive and screamed as it flew over the heads of the Elf, Dwarf, and Man. When the steed passed over their heads once again it had no rider.
Aragorn swung around, his blade ripping through the flesh of an orc, but then he froze as he spied the crowned, cloaked creature. ‘For Frodo,’ he said before charging forwards and swords clashed.
*
Faramir loosed an arrow and the shaft shot into the helm of an Uruk, in a flash of silver he drew his blade and it fell in a graceful arc as his steed leapt elegantly over the proffered pikes of the Uruk-Hai. The horse landed upon a stunned creature and the Steward’s son brought down his blade, cracking the helm of another creature, the rider pulled hard on the reigns, his eyes searching for his brother but, dead or alive, the firstborn was nowhere to be seen. Cursing, the second son charged forwards, ploughing through the ranks and knocking the beasts of evil aside, his blade fell once more but his target raised its arms and caught Faramir’s wrist and dragged him down from his steed.
*
Amoneth, butcher’s son turned Swan Knight, was at the foremost of the charge, his long lance struck his foes sending his target shooting backwards as if struck by lightning and it did so in such a way that it knocked the creature behind it to the ground as well; the horse of Amoneth, magnificent in its coat of royal blue, galloped through the ranks of evil who were dazzled by the reflected light of the silver armour. The lance came up and a longsword cut down, sweeping through flesh and steel in glorious ease. Little resistance did it meet and its bearer continued onwards into the heart of the army and only when the pike of an accursed Uruk struck his heart did his rampage stop, his body cast aside and the blood running from his flesh.
The darkness took hold of him; breath struggled to reach his battered lungs, Uruks trampled over him as if he were a carpet, he felt that eternal silence was over his body, he succumbed to its soothing rays of nothingness and then the darkness rolled back and the wide green fields that stretched for miles in all directions unfurled before him and there in those emerald lands did he rest until the Final Battle.
*
Boromir, firstborn, rose to his weary feet and immediately felled a brute that had taken him for slain, he spun around, crimson blade flashing silver as it passed through corpses, all about him his foes were as good as dead, that he decreed.
He blocked the blade of an Uruk then felled its head from its ugly shoulders, he parried a troll’s sword then rushed forwards and thrust his dirty blade through its groin such that it roared like pig skewered for lunch, he decapitated another beast of Nan Curunír’s pits then stepped back, weary at last.
A riderless horse trotted over and the Steward’s son mounted it with unease, as he raised himself above the heads of the countless foes the full extent of his enemy opened up before him, thousands of black figures waiting for their chance to fight or die, and they weren’t afraid of either.
*
Faramir, taken from his steed, smashed his fist into the creature that had assaulted him, with something between a roar and a moan it staggered back before it was felled by a passing Knight of Dol Amroth. The Steward’s son whistled then immediately began to defend himself from a barrage of blows designed to cut his head from his shoulders, he heard the trot of hooves and, his foe finally slain, he turned to see his steed, miraculously unharmed. He pulled himself onto the beast and spurred it forwards, to death and glory.
*
Uthug, common scum of the Legions of Darkness, braced himself as a horseman jammed onto his pike. He attempted to remove the heavy, obstructive article that was now skewered indefinitely upon his weapon like a piece of game skewered to be presented over a fire. Before he had a chance to succeed another horseman ploughed towards him, knocking a comrade aside before Uthug managed to fell his steed with a slash to the beast’s hamstring. The steed whinnied and mercilessly, Uthug finished off both horse and rider, delighted at the gush of red that emerged from the wounds of both beasts. Suddenly a third Knight came, its lance downwards. Too late, Uthug turned and was caught in the breast by the creature and cast into the air, taken by the darkness before he struck the ground, limp as boned fish.
*
From the burning city marched Mordor’s Legions, silhouetted before the bonfire of Osgiliath.
At the Eastern Gate of Rammas Echor the forces of Isengard were broken with heavy losses on both sides but to Mordor heavy losses were only a hundredth of their force. Beyond the broken wall they fanned out before charging into the ranks of Uruk-Hai, foul orc upon strong Uruk, it was a bloody affair, orcs falling like flies and the Uruk’s never tiring, yet even strength can be triumphed. Isengard was losing on the eastern front whilst across the battle plain the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth were routing, their casualties too great.
Boromir and Faramir looked back, tears in their eyes and blood spattered across their faces, ‘This is the end little brother. Nothing can be better after this.’
Faramir stared eastwards, ‘There is still a chance, slim but existent, but no, we shall never see the world as it once was.’
Chapter XIII: Time Routs
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Time Routs
Denethor, son of Ecthelion, glanced back and slowed to a halt, he turned, sword held high, ‘Gondor!’
He felled the first Uruk with ease; the dumb brute did not suspect such might from a man who appeared so elder. The next was more wary but a parry and thrust knocked the beast to the ground and a second swing felled its head from its shoulders, ‘Come Gondorians, you must buy your wives some time!’ he cried, rallying his courageous men to his side. The Uruks poured forwards but on the bridge only four could stand abreast. At the flank Denethor slammed his blade into the side of an Uruk and it tumbled sideways over the edge, its roar drowning into the distance.
Behind the defenders, the citizens of Minas Tirith fled down jagged paths that zigzagged down slopes or cut through the mountain itself, terrified and desperate they ran and in the mad rush to safety one or two stumbled and disappeared over the edge to long fall and a sudden crushing death.
*
Frodo hurried as fast as his weary legs would carry him through the doorway to Sammath Naur.
Behind him, Sam fell, his body taken down by a blow to the head, wild-eyed Gollum desperate to save the Precious, his Precious, it belonged to him! He sprinted in his froglike manner after the Master of the Precious, there would be no bargains, no trickses, this time the hobbits would be dead and the Precious... his. Right behind Frodo, Gollum leapt.
*
Aragorn smashed his blade into the Witch-Kings and a fierce mêlée ensued.
Silver shone in blinding flashes, sparks flew as sword met sword, the orcs cowered for here was a clash of titans, and now they dared not intervene with those so great as to fight the Witch-King.
*
Gandalf helped Sam to his feet and together they rushed to Frodo’s aid.
Within the Cracks of Doom an impenetrable mist swirled and naught could be seen of the two hobbits, but, as they ran further into the heart of the mountain they saw the bloodied combatants clawing at each other, each desperate to gain the Ring. Now, however, perhaps Frodo cared for it too much for would one small shove not send it and its corrupted loyal follower over the edge?
*
‘Denethor, pull back, it is ready!’ came the cry and the Steward and his men obeyed.
Back they drew to the end of the bridge and not until all the Gondorian warriors had reached the Hallows did an archer fire a flaming arrow to the sky. Many feet below, upon spying the signal, the engineers set in place at the foundations of the bridge destroyed the temporary supports put in place for just an event. It began with a slow crumbling noise, and those creatures upon the bridge halted and fearfully looked about, then one stone fell from its place and the rest fell like rain from heaven.
Separated from the foes, the Steward relaxed, Minas Tirith had fallen, this was the end of Gondor, the End of All Things?
Chapter XIV: The End of All Things
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The End of All Things
Beneath the flames the hobbits scrambled upwards, aided by Gandalf, the three peoples fighting behind.
Aragorn parried the sword of the Witch-King but effortlessly he pushed the heir to the throne aside with his blade, the Fallen King stepped forwards, raising his blade over Aragorn cackling, ‘Fool! No man can kill me!’
‘Then taste dwarven steel you lily-livered tunnel-worm!’ Gimli roared, rushing forwards, slamming his blade towards the With-King’s hood. Suddenly the creature’s gauntlet seized the dwarf’s throat and his axe fell to the earth. Gimli choked as the Nazgûl squeezed harder; Legolas, engaged in a mêlée with numerous orcs, felled enough to cause them to waver, then loosed his last arrow towards the Witch-King, it flew through his body and into an orc nearby but the Nazgûl screeched deafeningly and released the dwarf.
Aragorn, back on his feet, advanced swiftly, swinging his blade at the deadly foe, but the Witch-King parried the attack hard enough to throw the blade from its owner’s hand, then he slammed his gauntlet hard into Aragorn’s abdomen and he fell back, winded. Gimli came forth again and the Witch-King forced him back with repeated strikes of steel. The dwarf staggered backwards his axe knocked once again from his hand, he crouched low as the Morgul blade sliced through the air above him. The Witch-King hissed and raised its blade over its head, preparing for a downwards swing to fell the dwarf once and for all. Gimli scrambled backwards, his foe advancing... then his hand fell upon fallen Anduril and in defiance he swung it upwards, through the Witch-King’s waist, suddenly there was a silver light from the demon’s heart and a tear appeared in the cloak, Gimli roared, ‘Baruk Khazâd!’ and rose to his feet, ultimately swinging Anduril through the invisible gullet of the Nazgûl and the crown fell to the ash-strewn ground, a grey smoke curling from the scorched severed edges of the hood.
Gimli staggered back, dropping the blade and clasping his sword-arm. Legolas steadied him and Aragorn too rushed over, their eyes fell upon Anduril which turned black but did not wither. The heir retrieved the blade but immediately dropped it: ‘It burns!’ he exclaimed, taking a piece of cloth from the broken robe and wrapping it around the hilt.
The surrounding orcs backed off fearfully, exchanged looks then routing, shrieking that their commander was slain; and in Barad-dûr Sauron trembled: The broken blade was come.
*
Frodo slammed his fist into Gollum’s face and the creature rolled away, clasping its “Precious”, gleefully Gollum leapt into the air, dangerously close to the edge, angrily Frodo leapt after him, bringing Gollum down to the ground, hands scrambling for the Ring.
But the Precious was gone, tumbling out of Gollum’s fingers and down into the waves of lava below, screaming, ‘No!’ Frodo moved to follow it, the Precious had to be saved, but a hand caught him and dragged him from the scene. Gollum wailed aloud, ‘My Precious, the Precious is lost! Lost! Loooossst!’
Sam pulled his master towards the door from Sammath Naur, suddenly a figure materialised from beyond the mists, its hood, alight, a screeching wail escaping its body, it stabbed forwards, its sword catching thin air for the hobbit had dodged aside. Its last gasp for vengeance failed its exploded into flame and lo! The Nazgûl were gone.
Upon a jutting rock the Fellowship gathered, silently watching as the eye in the Dark Tower fell blind, the citadel of evil crumbling to dust and a wave of death exploded from the site of Barad-Dûr and swept across Mordor and its neighbouring lands and all that bore the eye collapsed into ash.
Frodo raised himself weakly to his hairy feet, ‘It’s gone, and this is the end, the End of All Things,’ he said, partly relieved.
Gandalf overheard but said nothing in direct reply, only to himself did he murmur, ‘The End? If only it were that.’
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Originally Posted by my notes that accompanied this tale in the Word Document
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