This I Promise You ~ (A Legolas Love Story) *Completed*

Chapter Eighteen

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so sorry for the extremely late posting of this chapter, my classes decided that this week was a perfect week to pile on two essays per class. That was 8 essays to do in one week. Yay! -_-  In apology I'm gonna type up the next chapter after this one this weekend.  But nonetheless here you go, the next chapter! It's quite short but the next chapter is gonna be lengthier.

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~Chapter Eighteen~

The Siege of Gondor

Thick grey smoke of burning torches of the advancing army of Mordor permeated the air of the Pelennor Fields. On the battlements Gondorian soldiers could do nothing but helplessly watch in horror of the colossal swarm of orcs marching closer towards the walls of Minas Tirith. Loud battle cries echoed throughout every street and crevice of Minas Tirith like a loud drum of thunderclaps. As the guards observed the horde, a familiar horse trotted a mile in front of the advancing army. A guard leaned forward, squinting his eyes at the horse when he noticed a body being dragged behind the horse. Filled with terror of the sight, the guard wheeled around from his place on the parapet above the huge wooden gate of Minas Tirith, his wild eyes spotted soldiers below. "Open the gates! Quick!"

Soldiers hurriedly rushed to the wooden gate. With a the strength of their backs and arms heaved the monstrous gate open revealing a badly wounded horse with the massive horde of Orcs a few leagues away. Blood smeared on the mocha fur of the horse told of the monstrosity of the orcs and the small-scale battle of recapturing Osgiliath. Guards rushed to the horse, grabbing the reins to lead the horse into the plaza. Dragging behind the horse was a similarly wounded solider as his horse. The foot of the man was caught up in the stirrup as his armor clank and scratch against the stone road of the foyer. His red hair was dirtied with brown dirt from his limp body being towed across the vast Pelennor Fields. Sticking out of both horse and solder was sheer black arrows.

Irolas, a blonde guard of Gondor, hurried to the side of the solder. As his eyes studied the face of the limp man his eyes widen in shock, "Lord Faramir!"

Irolas and other soldiers quickly carry Faramir's body on a stretcher to the Citadel of Minas Tirith. The blonde solider glanced back ever so often to the form of his good friend with worried blue eyes. "Quick! Hurry!" The guard pressed as the soldiers arrived at the courtyard of the great White Tower of Gondor. The tiny form of Pippin quickly follows after them. 

Emerging from the towel hall, Denethor runs out to his son. Gingerly the soldiers set down the stretcher near the white tree. "Faramir!" Denethor hollered as panic filled his usual cold voice. Reaching the side of his son, the steward bent down beside the stretcher. His cold blue eyes flickered to his son's face desperately searching for any sign of movement. "Say not that he has fallen." The steward whispered. 

Irolas's eyes, full of sorrow, found the sadden slack of Denethor's shoulders. "They were outnumbered. None survived."

Standing by the blonde soldier stood a devastated Pippin as his blue eyes stared at Faramir. Through the hobbit's face showed a disbelief of the death of the young solider. 

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The horde of orcs finally halt before the city armed with catapults aimed and ready. In neat rows the orc stand in their position erect and ready for the orders to fight. Within their cold pumping muscle anticipation of slaughtering men excited the orcs. Their leader, the deformed orc stood in the gap between his soldiers as his gold eyes eyed Minas Tirith with a dark grin.

The deformed leader named Gothmog tilted his head up slightly and sniffed contemptuously. "Fear." The orc mused with a amused chortle and a grin. "The city is rank with it." The orc turned around to his men, whom all gazed upon him with blazing anxiousness in their dark soulless eyes. Meeting these gazes the orc grinned more, "Let us ease their pain. Release the prisoners!"