His Queen

Chapter 50 - Alana

Alana stepped back outside, the healer's words ringing in her ears. She knew he was right - there was nothing more she could do for Faramir now except pray to the Valar for his recovery. And the city desperately needed her sword arm in its defense.

Drawing in a deep breath to steel herself, Alana turned and sprinted towards the outer walls where the battle raged most fiercely. All around her, the White City trembled under the onslaught of the enemy host. Trebuchets hurled massive stones that smashed into towers and crushed soldiers beneath tons of rubble. The air stank of smoke, blood, and fear.

As she ran, Alana caught sight of Gandalf atop the battlements, his staff raised high. Brilliant white light burst forth, driving back the fell beasts that assailed the ramparts. Yet for every one struck down, two more seemed to take its place, an unending tide of shadow.

"To me! To me!" Alana cried out as she reached the walls, rallying the men to her side. She threw herself into the fray with reckless abandon, her blade flashing in a whirl.

Orc after orc fell before Alana's furious onslaught, black blood spraying across the stones. But the enemy kept coming, an inexhaustible swarm that threatened to overwhelm the city's valiant defenders through sheer numbers alone.

Alana's heart raced as the piercing screech of the Nazgûl echoed through the air. The monstrous beast loomed over the battlefield, its dark wings casting shadows across the wreckage. She had been fighting fiercely alongside the men of Gondor, her every movement fueled by the urgency to protect Faramir and the others from the encroaching darkness. But now, faced with the Witch-King himself, dread clutched at her chest.

The Nazgûl circled above, its eerie presence like a black storm cloud blotting out the light. Alana's grip tightened on her sword as she watched in horror. Her breath caught in her throat as the Witch-King, mounted on his fell beast, moved ever closer to her.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Gandalf appeared—riding swiftly on the back of Shadowfax, Pippin clinging behind him. The majestic white horse galloped between Alana and the looming Nazgûl, putting a barrier of light between her and the terrible creature.

"Go back to the abyss!" Gandalf's voice rang out, filled with power and defiance as he held his staff aloft. His presence was commanding, a beacon of hope in the darkness. "Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your master!"

The Witch-King's chilling voice responded, cutting through the night like a blade. "Do you not know death when you see it, old man?" He drew his sword, and the steel ignited in flame, casting an eerie glow over the battlefield. Pippin screamed, ducking behind Gandalf for protection, his terror palpable.

"This is my hour!" the Witch-King declared, his voice echoing with the power of doom itself. His sword blazed, and a loud, ear-splitting shriek burst forth from his beast. Gandalf raised his staff higher, preparing for the clash—when suddenly, with a terrible shattering sound, Gandalf's staff burst apart in his hands. The force threw both Gandalf and Pippin from Shadowfax's back.

"Gandalf!" Pippin cried out, scrambling to his feet, fear and desperation clear in his voice.

Alana's heart clenched as she watched Gandalf hit the ground hard, his cloak billowing around him. She moved forward, her instincts screaming at her to help, but the fell beast roared at Pippin, blocking her path. Pippin, despite his terror, bravely drew his sword and charged forward with a desperate scream, trying to protect his fallen friend.

"AAAAhh!"

But as the beast reared its head, its massive jaws opened wide, Pippin froze in place, his courage momentarily faltering in the face of such overwhelming power. The beast roared again, and for a brief moment, time seemed to slow as the chaos of the battle surrounded them all.