The Lady of Rivendell

Chapter 26

The battle seemed lost.

For not only did the city of Gondor face tens of thousands of Orcs, Uruks and the Nazgul, they were being overcome by fear as the Orcs managed to breach the walls. All had seemed lost to Gandalf and Pippin who were left commanding the army as the steward of Gondor lost his mind over his two fallen sons. And then the ground began to shake.

The earth rumbled as thousands of soldiers of the Rohirrim along with the Rivenirrim came charging towards the army of Orcs chanting, "Death!" as the dawn shone brightly behind them.

But even with the hope renewed by added help, the battle still seemed hopeless. Not because of the numbers, the Orcs were actually beginning to flee in fear once again, but because of what came next. The Oliphaunts.

The creatures roared as the ground shook a hundred times more powerfully and then sounded the Horn of the Haradrim, a tribe of warriors that used the Oliphaunts as their steeds. A tribe that was riding atop the backs of at least two dozen of the mammoth creatures that had sharpened sticks tied to their tusks as they charged, the Orcs falling back behind them.

And it was a battle no longer, for it became a slaughter, a massacre, a genocide, a butchering.

The valiant warriors were either trampled, knocked and impaled by the tusks, or shot down by the archers atop the creature's backs.

And even when Eomer managed to strike true a spear that impaled a rider of the Oliphaunts and had them veering into another and knocking them down, the creatures got back up again. Some were unable to due to the weight on their backs, but still, they were not winning this battle. Not to mention the Orc soldiers that made their way to the upper level of Gondor and tried to breach the last gate that protected the last of the Gondorian soldiers, along with Gandalf and Pippin.

Theoden King had rallied his men, preparing another assault before they scrambled, the king unable to move as a Nazgul rode a wraith and took the King and his steed in their teeth.

Eowyn stood before her fallen father, under the guise of a warrior of Rohan, a helm covering her head as she killed the wraith by chopping off its head before she faced the Nazgul that shattered her shield and perhaps her arm with a weapon that looked to weigh at least as much as one of the Oliphaunts.

But then came the pirates; then came the ships from the south that Elrond spoke of.

"Late as usual, pirate scum!" snarled the ambassador of the party of Orcs that stood to welcome their allies as the ships sailed into port. "There's knife work here that needs doing! Come on ya sea rats! Get off your ships!"

"If you insist!" came an eloquent voice before four friends let out a battle cry as they disembarked the ships they'd just taken.

Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Allora faced the army of Orcs, their weapons at the ready.

"There's plenty for the both of us," Gimli growled, referring to the competition he and Legolas had in the Battle of Helm's Deep. "May the best Dwarf win."

"Children," Allora scoffed before she thrust Orothel into the air and chanted,

"Orothel, shine your light,

And renew with hope those in this fight!"

The blade turned gold before a beam of light shot from the tip straight into the sky as the clouds swirled around it, signalling their allies that for the second time, help had arrived, and hope was not lost.

But once more, Allora felt the raw power within the blade itching to break free, to shine and burn through everything in its path. The very power that her father had not been strong enough to wield. But she was. She had come this far. She had been part of the impossible. And she would see this war to its end. She would put it to rest as she called the light back down and she and her compatriots approached the rather nervous-looking Orcs.

And they let out the most hardened battle cries as the army of the dead appeared at their sides and they went tearing through every enemy in sight.

Down went the Orcs, down went the Uruk-Hai and down went the Oliphaunts.

Down went even the Nazgul as Eowyn thrust her sword into the face of its leader.

"LEGOLAS! ALLORA!" Aragorn cried out in worry as the two Elves looked to where an Oliphaunt was charging, but neither of them were scared. In fact, they both grinned at one another before they charged at the creature, Allora sheathing her sword in her belt for the moment as she dodged the wooden spikes and jumped onto its tusks before she began to climb.

As the creature stampeded, the Allora jumped from the tusks to the animal's legs, gripping on tightly as she drew her sword and strike it right through the Oliphaunt's leg.

The creature cried out as its whole leg buckled and Allora jumped free, landing in a somersault roll as it crashed to the ground where Legolas was waiting as he shot arrow after arrow into the riders on its back, counting as he went. The Prince of Mirkwood then emptied three arrows into the creature's head, putting it out of its misery as the army of the dead took out everything and everyone else.

"That still only counts as one!" Gimli growled at Legolas as the battle began to draw to an end and the sun shone down through the clouds on a victorious Gondor.

But darkness still remained as the dead approached Aragorn, Allora's grip on Orothel tight in case she had to call upon its power.

"Release us," the ghost king demanded.

"Bad idea," Gimli advised. "Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they're dead."

"Greed for power is what started this war," Allora admonished the Dwarf. "It will only prolong it; it will never be the thing that ends it."

"You gave us your word," the ghost king hissed, his voice deep and raspy.

And unlike his ancestor, Aragorn did not succumb to Man's desire for power as he said, "I hold your oath fulfilled. Go. Be at peace."

And the dead simply faded away with the wind like sand, at peace at last and traitors no longer.

For the Battle of Gondor had been won.

But the Battle of Middle-Earth still raged on.