The Silver Flame (LOTR)

The Last Stand

As the Host of the West stood before the Black Gate, the air weighed heavy with tension, anticipation, and dread. Orcs began to pour out of the Black Gate like a vile tide, the ground trembling under the weight of their feet. Aragorn turned to his army, noting the fear and uncertainty in the faces of the Men of Gondor and Rohan. But he, a king in both blood and bearing, knew how to breathe life into the heart of even the most shaken soldier.

"Hold your ground!" he commanded, his voice as unyielding as the mountains surrounding them. "Hold your ground."

Men turned their gaze to him, their terror momentarily quelled by the steadiness of his tone.

"Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan! My brothers!" Aragorn's voice carried through the ranks, reaching the furthest soldier. "I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me."

He let his gaze drift over them, seeing not just warriors but the hopes and fears of nations bound together, even now, as shadows crept ever closer.

"A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship," Aragorn continued, his voice rising, "but it is not this day." His words hung in the air, charging it with fire and resilience.

"An hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the Age of Men comes crashing down," he roared, "but it is not this day!" As Visenya looked around her at the men surrounding her she was once more in Westross.... however this time she was on the front line of battle with her sister instead of hidden away in the North. This time she would fight for her people.... give her life for them if it so required. 

Aragorn's voice reached a crescendo, cutting through the smog, sulfur, and Visenyas thoughts "This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

At that, the army roared, their swords raised high, and hope glinted in their eyes. As one, they turned to face the Black Gate, ready to give all for the freedom of Middle-earth. And in that moment, Visenya quickly took to the skies, if today was going to her last day she was going to go out in a fiery fury. 

Riding upon her great black dragon, she soared above, her figure a symbol of ancient power, fierce and wild. Her dragon's scales gleamed dark as polished onyx, his eyes burning with an intelligence both lethal and patient, as though each of these twisted, cursed creatures below were prey. Visenya guided her dragon with the same commanding ease as one might an armored steed, her gaze alight with the fires of her forebears.

With a cry in High Valyrian, she led her dragon into the fray. The orcs' attention, momentarily distracted by her presence, turned to awe and terror as Visenya directed the dragon to unleash its fiery wrath upon them. Flame erupted from its mouth, searing through the ranks of the enemy and leaving scorched earth and charred remnants in its wake.

Aragorn, watching this display, saw an opportunity in the chaos. "Now!" he shouted, his voice ringing out like a battle horn. With his sword raised high, he charged forward, and with him came the men, their bravery bolstered by both the speech and the might of the dragon above.

As they engaged, Gimli and Legolas fought side by side, their rivalry forgotten in the unity of battle. Legolas shot arrow after arrow, each one finding its mark, while Gimli's axe cleaved through orc armor with deadly precision. All around them, men and elves fought, their courage bolstered by the roar of Visenya's dragon.

The battle surged, an inferno of courage and violence against the insurmountable waves of Mordor. Aragorn, unyielding, fought his way through lines of orcs, his blade flashing silver as he cut through enemy after enemy. Overhead, Visenya's dragon wheeled, directing flames into the ranks of orcs that sought to overwhelm the men.