The Silver Flame (LOTR)

The Battle of Pelennor Fields

Théoden rode along the front lines of the Rohirrim, the king's eyes alight with fierce determination. His voice rang out over the rumble of hooves and the clatter of armor, as he called out orders to his captains.

"Éomer!" he shouted, pointing towards the left flank, where the enemy was massing in shadowed ranks. "Take your eored down the left side!"

Éomer, his helm gleaming, nodded sharply. "Yes, my lord!" His voice carried with the wind as he turned to rally his men, who followed him with fierce loyalty.

"Gamling, follow the King's banner down the center. Grimbold, take your company right after you pass the wall. Forth, and fear no darkness!" Théoden called, his voice rising as the tension mounted.

His war cry echoed across the fields. "Arise! Arise, Riders of Théoden! Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered! A sword-day! A red day, ere the sun rises!"

The Rohirrim stirred as their king's words ignited a fire within them. Théoden rode along the line, rattling his sword along the rows of spears, the rhythmic clang stirring the hearts of his men.

"Ride now!" Théoden roared, his voice a challenge to the darkness that loomed before them. "Ride now, ride! Ride for ruin and the world's ending!"

The sound of their war horns filled the air, and with a mighty shout, Théoden led the charge.

"Death!" the Rohirrim echoed, their voices uniting in a fierce cry of defiance.

"Death!" Théoden shouted again, riding at the head of his army as they thundered forward towards the endless tide of orcs that covered the Pelennor Fields.

Visenya, who had ridden with the king's vanguard, felt the thunder of hooves beneath her as the great warhorse carried her into battle. Her silver hair streamed out behind her, gleaming like a banner of flame. Orcs swarmed ahead, but her sword found its mark with deadly precision. Each stroke cut through the blackened flesh of the enemy, each movement fluid and sure, as if the sword were an extension of her very spirit.

The world was a blur of steel, blood, and cries of battle. Visenya's blade was relentless, cleaving through orc after orc. She fought with all the rage and grief that had built within her, her thoughts briefly flashing to Winterfell, to her lost love, to the life she had left behind. Here, in the chaos of battle, there was no time for sorrow—only survival.

"Drive them back to the river!" Éomer's voice rang out nearby as the orcs began to falter under the relentless assault of the Rohirrim. Théoden rode alongside his men, his sword raised high.

"Make safe this city!" Théoden commanded, his eyes alight with the fury of battle.

The sound of massive horns echoed across the plains, and Visenya's heart clenched as giant war oliphaunts—the Mûmakil of the Haradrim—emerged from the shadows. Towering over the battlefield, their tusks gleamed with cruel intent. The ground shook beneath their massive feet as they thundered towards the Rohirrim.

"Reform the line! Reform the line!" Théoden ordered, his voice steady despite the terror that approached. "Sound the charge!"

Gamling's horn rang out again, and with renewed vigor, the Rohirrim rallied.

"Rohirrim! Charge!" Théoden roared, leading his men into what seemed like a hopeless assault against the towering beasts.

Visenya's heart raced as she watched the mighty oliphaunts trample through the ranks, their tusks sweeping aside both horse and rider. Arrows rained down from the Haradrim riders perched atop the beasts, and the screams of the fallen filled the air.

She turned her horse sharply, slashing at an orc that had ventured too close, before her eyes lifted to the massive beast ahead. Her mind raced, searching for a way to bring it down. The Mûmakil were relentless, crushing all in their path.