Hobbit/The Lord of the Rings Imagines

Mist 8

The battle had engulfed Gondor, orcs laying waste to the city, people screaming in the streets.  Mist was with Gandalf and Pippin, hiding out in a closed off space for as they could, Gondor city guards blocking the only door in as a troll smashed on the other side.

Her presence had delayed the battle, but not for long, the forces coming en masse and Gondor was not prepared.

Mist was pacing angrily.  A lot of this could have been avoided if Denethor had just listened.

"Mist."  Gandalf said, but she ignored him.  "Mist."  He said louder, causing her to stop and turn, her eyes faintly glowing blue.  "You need to calm yourself."

She looks towards the door that the guards were holding.  "This is absurd Gandalf."

"We must have patience."

But she was past having patience now, a frown deepening her gaze.  "No Gandalf, Sauron must answer for this."

"And how do you intend to do that?"  He asked calmly.  "He is not here."

Her grip tightened on her sword and she sighs.  "I know.  It's just...all this..."  Her eyes stare at the door, that was starting to splinter, sadness in her gaze.

"Sauron's time will come Mist, and I am sorry that this has all happened the way it has.  You should not have to bear this by yourself."  Gandalf said sincerely.

Mist went to speak when a horn call cut her off.

Rohan had arrived.

Knowing that the orcs outside would be temporarily distracted, Mist suddenly ordered the men to open the door, when they looked at her terrified, she pushed her way through and did it herself.

With a flash of blue, there were sudden shrieks of pain and terror behind the door.

Mist swung it open, her eyes burning and blood staining her blade.  "Come.  We have a city to reclaim."

Despite the clear amount of pain she was in, Mist continued to use her abilities through the rest of the battle, her anger fueling her through the pain, many falling by her hand.

Finally, as she stood out on the fields, the ghost army before her, the battle was over.  They had won.

Mist clutched her chest, drawing in deep breathes.  She could feel the markings burning up her skin, her eyes watering from the pain.  Boromir caught her arm as she staggered.

"Easy Mist, it is over."  He said gently, despite the exhaustion on his face, he still kept her up easily.  "Take it slow."

"It is not over," She mumbled.  "Sauron's forces may be mostly defeated, but he is still alive."

Boromir's expression is grim, but they watch in silence as Aragorn dismisses the army of ghosts, their debt repaid.

A lot of lives had been lost in the battle, and, as they discovered once they returned to the city, Denethor was one of them.  Boromir in grief but then outraged once he had discovered what his father had tried to do to his brother, who was heavily wounded in the house of healing.  There wasn't really anything that anyone could say to comfort him.

"He did this because he thought I was dead."  Boromir said, Mist next to him, a pint in his hand.  "He was never easy on Faramir, but this...I never dreamed he was capable of something like this."

"I am sorry Boromir,"  She said quietly.  "At least your brother will be alright."

Boromir nods and takes a heavy drink.