Sword and Arrow

Chapter 59

His horse dragged a wounded Faramir back through the gates of Minas Tirith, barely escaping the orcish army that followed across the Field of Pelennor. Arrows protruded from his armor and his eyes were closed, his face pale.

A litter was brought down for the wounded captain and he was borne up to the courtyard where the White Tree grew. "Quick," said captain Irolas. "Hurry!"

Denethor ran down the steps of the Citadel, coming to a stop by his son's side. The party of soldiers set the litter down by the White Tree and stepped back, allowing the Steward to see his son.

"Faramir?" Denethor said quietly. "Say not that he has fallen."

Irolas shook his head. "They were outnumbered. None survived."

Denethor took a deep breath. "My sons are spent." He stepped away from Faramir's body as Pippin stepped closer. "My line has ended!"

"He's still alive," Pippin said quietly, a hand on the side of Faramir's face.

"The House of Stewards has failed," Denethor said, still in his fit of grief. "My line has ended!"

And the Steward mourned his son even as Pippin insisted he be given medicine. Denethor walked to the edge of the Pinnacle, looking down at the army amassing below. "Rohan has left me," he realized, surveying the ranks that went on and on and on. "Théoden has betrayed me."

Boulders shot from catapults fell onto walls, crumbling old architecture and white walls.

"Abandon your posts!" Denethor said wildly. "Flee! Flee for your lives!"

Swiftly, Gandalf came up behind Denethor and hit him in the head with his staff, knocking the Steward out. It was cruel but had to be done, and Gandalf had to admit, it felt very, very good. "Prepare for battle," the wizard ordered.

The war for Minas Tirith had begun.

Astride Shadowfax once again, Gandalf rode through the streets and up to the walls, calling for soldiers to return to their positions. "Pull them in, to the wall! Defend the wall! Return to your posts!"

The soldiers returned to stand at their posts under Gandalf's new leadership. "Send those foul beasts into the abyss," the wizard ordered, his mouth set to a grim line.

Trebuchets launched rubble and rocks onto the army below even as the orcs fired back by their own crude war machines, pulled and operated by the brute strength of stone trolls.

And dark shapes wheeled overhead, dark shapes that would swoop down and seize soldiers from the battlements, dropping them to the battleground below from high in the air. The Nazguls' screeches cut the air, dropping more soldiers like flies as they dropped their weapons to cover their ears from the earsplitting noise.

"Hold them back," Gandalf ordered as the Nazgul began to come for the trebuchets, tearing at them with their beasts' outstretched talons. "Do not give in to fear! Stay at your posts!"

"Don't aim for the towers," the wizard ordered archers, riding up to another section of the battlements. "Aim for the trolls, kill the trolls! Fight them back!"

Dull thuds echoed up the walls from below. They were using battering rams against the great gate of Minas Tirith. But the gate, made by the ancient men of Numenor by metals now lost to mankind, held firm even against their constant batter.

"Peregrin Took!" Gandalf shouted at the small figure that stood confused among the bustle of the soldiers. "Go back to the citadel, now!"

"They called us out to fight," Pippin said, slightly dazed. War.

A siege tower neared the wall, and orcs poured out of it. The guards of the wall were overwhelmed, barely holding them off as they moved with eerie discipline.

"This is no place for a hobbit!" Gandalf grunted, slashing Glamdring across an orc's stomach and thrusting it through its chest. He saw movement behind him, a glimmer of a raised sword, but turned too late.

When Gandalf had turned, he saw Pippin standing still with his hands slightly outstretched, an orc staggering away with Pippin's short sword impaled through its belly. Pippin gingerly stepped forward and pulled the blade out of it as the body fell to the ground.

"Guard of the Citadel, indeed," Gandalf said in amazement as Pippin surveyed his bloodied blade. "Now back up the hill, quick, quick!"

But they both turned, slowly, as chants were heard from the bottom of the wall, growing louder and louder, accompanied by the crashing of swords and shields and the stamping of feet.

Grond! Grond! Grond! Grond!

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