Chapter Text
Thanks to the massive hedge that Arash had built, the intended attack on Minas Tirith by the armies of Mordor had lost valuable time by first failing to overcome said hedge, and then having to try to squeeze their siege towers and their own catapults through the very narrow opening. Not even the strength of the trolls had been much helpful there, at first.
“Get ready with the catapults once again!”
Of course, the defenders of the White City knew that it was too early to celebrate a possible victory, and again tried to stop the enemy coming anywhere closer to the City Wall. In fact, Faramir and his achers aimed for the trolls that pushed the siege towers closer, realizing that if those were lost, the orcs would not have the same physical strength for this task.
“Kill the trolls! KILL THE TROLLS!! ”
Over the battles that went far into the night, Boromir could feel that his wounds from Amon Ereb were about to reopen from all his movements.
“Boromir!” Pippin called in alarm at seeing him needing to pull back while the men kept fighting.
“Damn those Uruk-hai of Saruman…”Boromir muttered, realizing that he needed to be more careful unless the wounds really would reopen in a less than ideal moment during a close-up battle against the orcs, “Pippin, you have a new task to do! Get to the Eastern storehouse and bring us as many fireworks as you can find! We need to set the siege machines on fire to keep the orcs from trying to come over the wall and normal arrows dipped in oil before being set on fire will take too long time!”
At hearing what Boromir said, and the slightly confused face of Pippin, Gandalf hurried to add:
“Trade with Erebor for publice festivals. You thought that my fireworks on the shared 111th birthday for Bilbo and 33th birthday for Frodo seventeen years ago was a special order for them only? Now hurry and do as the Steward is commanding you as a soldier of Gondor!”
Getting into action, Pippin hurried off while Boromir used the time to give new orders.
“The Nine! The Nine is coming!”
The characteristic screams of the Nazgûl were heard as their fell beasts swooped down from above the city, grabbing men in their claws from the walls and then sending those to death from above.
“Faramir!!”
Seeing Pippin arrive with his arms filled with fireworks right as one of the fell beasts was coming towards him, Faramir acted quickly, grabbing one firework and throwing it into a fire caused by a successful shot on Minas Tirith by the enemy catapults.
“Run! Run, run, run!”
BOOOM!! ”
The resulting explosion made the fell beast fly away in pain from how close it had been to the original fire, struggling to fly well with burns on the leathery wings, and its rider got his black cloak set on fire as well.
“In battles like this, thinking out of the normal way and unusual plans a little more is a way to victory!” Faramir explained as he and Pippin arrived back at the City Wall to use the remaining fireworks on the siege towers.
The defenders soon felt the effects of fighting for so many and long hours, including those who sadly fell in battle against the enemy. But there was a sound of a war horn echoing from a distance, followed by a chance in the wind.
“The Rohirrim…”
“The Riders of Rohan!”
Whispers of hope began to be heard among the soldiers, and Boromir smiled in triumph at the horn being blown again.
“I told you all that they would come as soon as possible. Now, let us greet our allies…by helping them get a victory against Mordor here outside our city!! FOR GONDOR!! ”
As if the war horns were giving them all new strength, the soldiers joined up behind the Steward and his brother as they led the new attack together to defend the Gate, side by side.
~X~X~X~X~X~X
Down along the Anduin:
The united fleets from Rhûn and Dorne were coming closer and closer to Gondor, so now all the soldiers had gotten orders to get ready for battle. Well, those who were alive, that was.
“WAKE UP, ALL OFF YOU!! ”
The very loud voice of Argella did indeed wake up those who had still been asleep for some reason.
“Well equipped with proper lungs and voice, that lass. If she was a royal Princess among the Dwarves, no one would dare to disobey that command,” Gimli said to Legolas where they watched the mortals getting a very loud awakening. It had been quite a surprise to find that the southern fleet was not from the Corsairs of Umbar, but rather both the homeland of Elia Martell and an unexpected ally for the Free Peoples of Middle-earth.
“It is quite worrying that they have brought such young children along, though…war is not something for them to witness,” Legolas admitted, pointing at where Rhea and Aemon were standing together with their fathers, Shireen and Elinor not too far away.
“If those fathers are familiar with war by being seasoned warriors as they say, they will have ensured protection for the wee ones.”
In fact, this was exactly what Stannis was telling Holly and her siblings:
“Make sure that our children are safe during this battle, or you will regret it.”
“Welcome to how we felt when cousin Elia and her children were hostages to Aerys during that damn sacking ordered by Tywin Lannister,” Lemore responded in a manner that made the ghostly form of Lewyn behind her smile in pride. Stannis gritted his teeth, both he and Robert getting the unspoken hint that if it had not been for her second and current husband arriving in time to save the small family, the fate of the Martell princess would have been death.
“How much longer?” Suleiman asked, appearing in full armor, somehow not too bothered by all the dead souls around.
“Not far now,” Aragorn confirmed as he saw old landmarks from his younger years as Argella once again used her fans to guide the ships with a faster wind.
~X~X~X~X~X~X
But it was no orc-chieftain or brigand that led the assault upon Gondor. The darkness was breaking too soon, before the date that his Master had set for it: fortune had betrayed him for the moment, and the world had turned against him; victory was slipping from his grasp even as he stretched out his hand to seize it. But his arm was long. He was still in command, wielding great powers. King, Ringwraith, Lord of the Nazgûl, he had many weapons. He left the Gate and vanished.
Théoden had reached the road from the Gate to the River, and he turned towards the City that was now less than a mile distant. He slackened his speed a little, seeking new foes, and his knights came about him, and Dernhelm was with them. Ahead nearer the walls Elfhelm's men were among the siege-engines, hewing, slaying, driving their foes into the fire-pits. Well nigh all the northern half of the Pelennor was overrun, and there camps were blazing, orcs were flying towards the River like herds before the hunters; and the Rohirrim went hither and thither at their will. But they had not yet overthrown the siege, nor won the Gate. Many foes stood before it, and on the further half of the plain were other hosts still unfought yet now challenged by the Dornishmen. Southward beyond the road lay the main force of the Haradrim, and there their horsemen were gathered about the standard of their chieftain. And he looked out, and in the growing light he saw the banner of the king, and that it was far ahead of the battle with few men about it. Then he was filled with a red wrath and shouted aloud, and displaying his standard, black serpent upon scarlet, he came against the white horse and the green with great press of men; and the drawing of the scimitars of the Southrons was like a glitter of stars.
Then Théoden was aware of him, and would not wait for his onset, but crying to Snowmane he charged headlong to greet him. Great was the clash of their meeting. But the white fury of the Northmen burned the hotter, and more skilled was their knighthood with long spears and bitter. Fewer were they but they clove through the Southrons like a fire-bolt in a forest. Right through the press drove Théoden Thengel's son, and his spear was shivered as he threw down their chieftain. Out swept his sword, and he spurred to the standard, hewed staff and bearer; and the black serpent foundered. Then all that was left unslain of their cavalry turned and fled far away.
But lo! suddenly in the midst of the glory of the old king his golden shield was dimmed. The new morning was blotted from the sky. Dark fell about him. Horses reared and screamed. Men cast from the saddle lay grovelling on the ground.
“To me! To me! ” cried Théoden loudly in an attempt to encourage those near, “Up Eorlingas! Fear no darkness! ”
But Snowmane wild with terror stood up on high, a sudden movement which caused Théoden to feel the now far too familiar pain from the arthritis in his left knee acting up as Snowmane was fighting with the air and then himself trying to not fall out of the saddle, and then with a great scream Snowmane crashed upon his side: a black dart had pierced him. Théoden fell beneath his faithful steed.
“Fedra! ”
The great shadow descended like a falling cloud. And behold! it was a winged creature: if bird, then greater than all other birds, and it was naked, and neither quill nor feather did it bear, and its vast pinions were as webs of hide between horned fingers; and it stank. A creature of an older world maybe it was, whose kind, fingering in forgotten mountains cold beneath the Moon, outstayed their day, and in hideous eyrie bred this last untimely brood, apt to evil. And the Dark Lord took it, and nursed it with fell meats, until it grew beyond the measure of all other things that fly; and he gave it to his servant to be his steed. Down, down it came, and then, folding its fingered webs, it gave a croaking cry, and settled upon the body of Snowmane, digging in its claws, stooping its long naked neck.
Upon it sat a shape, black-mantled, huge and threatening. A crown of steel he bore, but between rim and robe naught was there to see, save only a deadly gleam of eyes: the Lord of the Nazgûl. To the air he had returned, summoning his steed ere the darkness failed, and now he was come again, bringing ruin, turning hope to despair, and victory to death. A great black mace he wielded.
But Théoden was not utterly forsaken. The knights of his house lay slain about him, or else mastered by the madness of their steeds were borne far away. Yet one stood there still: Dernhelm the young, faithful beyond fear; and he wept, for he had loved his lord as a father. Right through the charge Merry had been borne unharmed behind him, until the Shadow came; and then Windfola had thrown them in his terror, and now ran wild upon the plain. Merry crawled on all fours like a dazed beast, and such a horror was on him that he was blind and sick.
“King's man! King's man! ” his heart cried within him, “You must stay by him. As a father you shall be to me, you said. ”
But his will made no answer, and his body shook. He dared not open his eyes or look up. Then out of the blackness in his mind he thought that he heard Dernhelm speaking; yet now the voice seemed strange, recalling some other voice that he had known.
“Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!”
A cold voice answered:
“Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”
A sword rang as it was drawn.
“Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may.”
“Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!”
Then Merry heard of all sounds in that hour the strangest. It seemed that Dernhelm laughed, and the clear voice was like the ring of steel.
“But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him. ”
The winged creature screamed at her, but the Ringwraith made no answer, and was silent, as if in sudden doubt. Very amazement for a moment conquered Merry's fear. He opened his eyes and the blackness was lifted from them. There some paces from him sat the great beast, and all seemed dark about it, and above it loomed the Nazgûl Lord like a shadow of despair. A little to the left facing them stood she whom he had called Dernhelm. But the helm of her secrecy, had fallen from her, and her bright hair, released from its bonds, gleamed with pale gold upon her shoulders. Her eyes grey as the sea were hard and fell, and yet tears were on her cheek. A sword was in her hand, and she raised her shield against the horror of her enemy's eyes.
Éowyn it was, and Dernhelm also. For into Merry's mind flashed the memory of the face that he saw at the riding from Dunharrow: the face of one that aims for defending kin, even when facing death. Pity filled his heart and great wonder, and suddenly the slow-kindled courage of his race awoke. He clenched his hand. She should not die, so fair, so desperate. At least she should not die alone, unaided.
The face of their enemy was not turned towards him, but still he hardly dared to move, dreading lest the deadly eyes should fall on him. Slowly, slowly he began to crawl aside; but the Black Captain, in doubt and malice intent upon the woman before him, heeded him no more than a worm in the mud.
Suddenly the great beast beat its hideous wings, and the wind of them was foul. Again it leaped into the air, and then swiftly fell down upon Éowyn, shrieking, striking with beak and claw.
Still she did not blench: maiden of the Rohirrim, child of kings, slender but as a steel-blade, fair but terrible. A swift stroke she dealt, skilled and deadly. The outstretched neck she clove asunder, and the hewn head fell like a stone. Backward she sprang as the huge shape crashed to ruin, vast wings outspread, crumpled on the earth; and with its fall the shadow passed away. A light fell about her, and her hair shone in the sunrise.
Out of the wreck rose the Black Rider, tall and threatening, towering above her. With a cry of hatred that stung the very ears like venom he let fall his mace. Her shield was shivered in many pieces, and her arm was broken; she stumbled to her knees. He bent over her like a cloud, and his eyes glittered; he raised his mace to kill.
But suddenly he too stumbled forward with a cry of bitter pain, and his stroke went wide, driving into the ground. Merry's sword had stabbed him from behind, shearing through the black mantle, and passing up beneath the hauberk had pierced the sinew behind his mighty knee.
“Éowyn! Éowyn!” cried Merry. Then tottering, struggling up, with her last strength she drove her sword between crown and mantle, as the great shoulders bowed before her. The sword broke sparkling into many shards. The crown rolled away with a clang. eowyn fell forward upon her fallen foe. But lo! the mantle and hauberk were empty. Shapeless they lay now on the ground, torn and tumbled; and a cry went up into the shuddering air, and faded to a shrill wailing, passing with the wind, a voice bodiless and thin that died, and was swallowed up, and was never heard again in that age of this world.
And there stood Meriadoc the hobbit in the midst of the slain, blinking like an owl in the daylight, for tears blinded him; and through a mist he looked on Éowyn's fair head, as she lay and did not move; and he looked on the face of the Théoden, fallen in the midst of his glory, for Snowmane in his agony had rolled away from him again; yet he was the bane of his master.
Then Merry stooped and lifted his hand to kiss it, and lo! Théoden opened his eyes, and they were clear, and he spoke in a quiet voice though laboured.
“Farewell, Master Holbytla!” he said, “My body is broken. I go to my fathers. And even in their mighty company I shall not now be ashamed. I felled the black serpent. A grim morn, and a glad day, and a golden sunset!”
Merry could not speak, but wept anew.
“Forgive me, lord,” he said at last, “if I broke your command, and yet have done no more in your service than to weep at our parting.”
The old king smiled.
“Grieve not! It is forgiven. Great heart will not be denied. Live now in blessedness; and when you sit in peace with your pipe, think of me! For never now shall I sit with you in Meduseld, as I promised, or listen to your herb-lore.”
He closed his eyes, and Merry bowed beside him. Presently he spoke again.
'Where is Éomer? For my eyes darken, and I would see him ere I go. He must return home, safe and sound, to his dear Lothirel and little Elfhilda. And I would send word to Éowyn. She, my mother and sister…they would not have me leave her, losing another father, and now I shall not see her again, dearer than daughter. My son…Elia, the children, my mother and sister…they must know that I am regretting leaving them all behind like this, for I wanted to see their faces once again.”
“Lord, lord,” began Merry brokenly, “she, Éowyn is-”
But at that moment there was a great clamour, and all about them horns and trumpets were blowing. Merry looked round: he had forgotten the war, and all the world beside, and many hours it seemed since the king rode to his fall, though in truth it was only a little while. But now he saw that they were in danger of being caught in the very midst of the great battle that would soon be joined.
~X~X~X~X~X~X
New forces of the enemy were hastening up the road from the River; and from under the walls came the legions of Morgul; and from the southward fields came footmen of Harad with horsemen before them, and behind them rose the huge backs of the mumakil with war-towers upon them as the Dornish soldiers fought under Oberyn and his daughters, the war chariots aiming for the mumakil with the same huge crossbows that Rhoynar once had used to defend themselves against the dragons of Old Valyria. But northward the white crest of eomer led the great front of the Rohirrim which he had again gathered and marshalled; and out of the City came all the strength of men that was in it, and the silver swan of Dol Amroth was borne in the van, driving the enemy from the Gate.
For a moment the thought flitted through Merry's mind:
“Where is Gandalf? Is he not here? Could he not have saved Théoden and Éowyn?”
But thereupon Éomer rode up in haste, and with him came the knights of the household that still lived and had now mastered their horses. They looked in wonder at the carcase of the fell beast that lay there: and their steeds would not go near. But Éomer leaped from the saddle, and grief and dismay fell upon him as he came to his uncle's side and stood there in silence.
Then one of the knights took the former king's banner from the hand of Guthlaf the banner-bearer who lay dead, and he lifted it up. Slowly Théoden opened his eyes. Seeing the banner he made a sign that it should be given to Éomer.
“Hail, sister-son, Third Marshal of the Riddermark!” he said weakly, “Ride now to victory for my son! Bid Éowyn my farewell and my regrets to my mother, for her losing another child and my sister, her remaining sibling!'
And so he died, and knew not that Éowyn lay near him. And those who stood by wept, crying:
“Théoden King! Théoden King!”
~X~X~X~X~X~X
And in that very moment, the Golden Hall:
Morwen knew at once the meaning when an old wall hanging of herself, the late Thengel and their five children suddenly fell off from where it had hung. What it meant by only the faces of herself and Lawyn, her firstborn was still visible where the wall hanging had fallen in a pile.
“No….Théoden…”
A howl of raw grief was heard as she collapsed in tears, crying over that once again, she had lost a close, younger family member when her old age should have made her the next one to go to the afterlife.
“Théoden! Théoden, my son! My sweet little boy! Théoden! ”
“Modur!”
Even as she came rushing alongside a few maids to ensure that her mother was unharmed, Laywyn was openly crying, having heard the cries of her mother. And similar wails in sorrow were heard across the Golden Hall as the younger generation also realized what had happened.
“Feder…feder!” Théodred whispered as he hugged Elia, herself also crying over losing her father-in-law. Despite that they had not been able to stop the death of Théoden, they knew that he had ridden out in battle to protect them and that he had joined his forefathers in a way that truly proved him as a worthy King of Rohan.