A Risk And What It Brings

The Battle of Minas Tirith

"Fulfill your oaths!"
Aragorn tried to reason with the King of the Dead. He was reluctant. He did not seem interested.
"What say you??"
The cave shook. The ghosts disappeared.
Aragorn and Legolas ran out of an exit, the entire cave shaking while mountains of skulls rained down everywhere.
The two exited the cave, and what Aragorn saw made his heart sink.
The Corsairs of Umbar.
Men who served Sauron, pirates allied with him, were sailing to Gondor.
Aragorn fell to his knees, and all hope died within him. He hung his head.
He had failed to recruit the ghost army and help his City.
Legolas stood beside the man, knowing his hurt. He patted him on the shoulder.
Legolas turned around, sensing something.
Aragorn turned as well.
The ghost army stood before them.
The King stood in front of the army.
"We will fight for Gondor."

"I am sorry, Father," said Faramir.
"There were too many ships. There was nothing we could do."
Denethor sighed, sitting on the Steward's throne.
He, Faramir, Boromir, Merry, Pippin, Gimli and some knights of the city stood in the Hall of the Kings, having a council of what was to become of Minas Tirith.
"We must defend, even to our last," said Boromir.
"No hope is left!" shouted Denethor.
He stood.
"Son, what you say is true. But there is no point. We will be defeated."
"Theoden will come," said Faramir.
"He will not forsake us in our hour of fire need. The old alliances are to be remembered."
Pippin sat by a window. He didn't understand all this war and politics. He wanted to go home. To The Shire. He wanted to speak with Frodo and Sam. He wandered if they were all right.
Merry gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder, giving him a small smile.
Screams and clamor came from outside.
The group left the chambers and went to the edge of the tower to see what was happening.
They were coming.
Orcs. Trolls. Oliphants. Giant battering rams. Catapults with giant stones set aflame.
The end was near. They were coming.

Frodo and Sam climbed the mountain, Gollum leading them.
When they rested throughout the days of the journey, Gollum wanted to turn Sam and Frodo against one another. Instead, he thought it better to lead them both into the pass of Cirith Ungol. He wished to please Her, bring Her meats. He knew She would kill them, and the Precious would be his once more.
The trio soon came to a tunnel in the mountain.
"An awfully dark place, that is," said Sam.
"Must go inside," said Gollum.
"Must go in, or turn back."
"We can not go back. We will enter," said Frodo.
The three walked through the cave, Gollum leading them, going too far ahead at times.
Frodo felt the wall of the cave. A sticky substance coated it and his hand.
"Ugh!" exclaimed Frodo.
"It's sticky! What is this?" asked Sam.
"You'll see!" said Gollum, his voice echoing from ahead.
"Yesss, you will see!"
"I don't trust the Stinker, it's a funny business he's gotten us into," said Sam.
Sam and Frodo wandered through the cave, looking for their guide.
He was lost from sight.
Sam felt something hard underneath his foot.
He looked down.
A skull.
A human skull.

The boat approached.
"You will not enter Gondor!" said Aragorn, looking at the passing ship.
The pirates chuckled and guffawed at him, cursing and mocking him as they did so.
"Fire a warning shot."
Legolas drew his bow. He nocked it.
He aimed and fired.
The arrow whistled and flew past an ear, nearly impaling it.
They were prepared to attack the two, until Aragorn brandished his sword, and a seemingly green mist came out from behind him.
The army of the Dead.
They attacked and scared the men into the water, and they took the ship for their own.

The soldiers of Gondor fought off the army the best they could, but they weren't enough.
Arrows flew. Catapults launched.
The large bits of stone hit the city, denting the walls.
The catapults of Minas Tirith hit the army in return, using destroyed chunks of wall as ammo.
"Aim for the trolls!" shouted Boromir.
"Do not let them reach the wall!"
Already some trolls had begun striking the doors of Gondor with Grond, the battering ram in the shape of a Wolf head.
The Witch-King flew in upon his Fell Beast, commanding and leading the army of Mordor.
All seemed lost.
Boromir drew his sword, ready to take the Nazgul in combat, when at last a trumpet blew from the south.
Denethor looked upon the fields of Pelennor.
The Rohirrim had come at last.
Theoden organized his army in a strategic position, and Gandalf rode beside him as they rode forward.
For death. For glory. For Middle Earth.