Light Under the Shadow of Black Wings

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐

Back outside the city, the Rohirrim had successfully managed to push a large chunk of the Orc armies into a retreat that sent them flailing back towards the Black Lands. Because of this, they had turned their attention instead to the new threat of the Mûmakil, but unfortunately were not faring as well against the giant beasts and their riders. Their long, spiked tusks were sending them flying out across the battlefield, and their feet crushed men and horses alike into oblivion.

Inside the city, Deora had rejoined her men in hacking away at the legions of Orcs that had nearly made their way to the top-most level of Minas Tirith. She hadn't been able to see straight for the better half of the last hour. All she saw was a blur of both metal and blood, and she was nearly certain that she had been screaming the entire time.

Somehow meeting back up with the remaining Rangers, she managed, no matter how frantic her mind truly was in that moment, to organize a fairly violent assault against one of the larger Orc clusters that had been attempting to break down another gateway into one of the upper levels. Bum-rushing the beasts, their mesley forces pushed them back a rather significant distance, paying for it with many lives.

Once the immediate area was clear, Deora let out a painful groan, swiping at the line of blood that was cascading down the side of her head. And it was only in that brief moment of respite that she had been able to look out over the battlefield beyond the city limits.

And she was certain that she had been hallucinating.

Washing over the armies of Orcs and wicked men, was what looked to be a wave made of wispy, unnatural, green light. She could hear their screams echoing up into the air, and as it moved on, it was leaving behind piles and piles of unmoving bodies in its wake.

It wasn't until the wave began to make its way within the walls and subsequently up the spiral streets of the city, that her hallucination-suspicion had been shattered. As she was able to see, once and for all, what it was.

Thousands upon thousands of ghostly soldiers stormed over the cobblestone, slaying every single one of Gondor's enemies that they passed.

Those who stood there with the White Tree splayed across their chests could only stand and stare on in terrified awe as the waves of spirits passed them by, unable to truly comprehend what it was that they were seeing.

And then suddenly...the battlefield was clear. Both inside and outside the city. Those who had not been slain by the ghosts turning and fleeing towards the borders of Mordor.

Breathing heavily, still teetering on the verge of passing out, Deora managed to regain control of her mind for a moment enough to turn back to the soldiers in her immediate area. With as much authority as she could muster, she ordered them to begin the rescue efforts for the injured both inside and outside the city walls.

☽✩☾

In the organized chaos that followed the conclusion of the battle, as the people of Gondor slowly crawled out of the blood and rubble, Deora received bits and pieces of information concerning what had truly transpired outside of their walls.

A separate group from the Rohirrim, made up of three lone characters; a dwarf, an elven prince, and Aragorn son of Arathorn, had summoned the ghostly army onto the scene. They had apparently been the spirits of those who had broken an oath of fealty to the last King of Gondor, and owed their allegiance in battle for them to officially be able to cross over into the afterlife. Aragorn, being the true and living heir, had been able to call upon them to fulfill that very oath.

And they were blessed that the spirits had agreed.

Deora had also discovered through the whispers and shouts of stories that were quickly passing through the city, that those three had been a part of the original Fellowship that had been traveling with Sam and Frodo.