The Final Hour

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

The host of Morsereg appeared at Minas Tirith, 117,700 worth of fighters, massing around their master atop Smaug. He had diverted Aragorn, making him think that he was striking upon Enedwaith...getting him out of the way just long enough to strike upon the fair city of Minas Tirith.

Their fell cheers roared through the air, as the trio of Fell Beasts, along with Smaug, soared through the air. The Fell Beasts focused on towers of Minas Tirith, bypassing the shots of most archers, while Smaug himself brought Morsereg up to the top of Mindolluin.

Morsereg focused his magic, this time without need of his staff, and locked his eyes on the tip of Mindolluin. His entire body began to shake as his magic built up, until he finally let it go: In one fatal burst of magic, the cap of Mindolluin was shattered, and fell from the giant mountain down to the gates of Minas Tirith...

The siege had begun.

(Yes, I had permission to do that.)

[Envin]

Deafening the ears of men, the sheer stony face of fair Mindolluin exploded in the wrath of Morsereg, and fountains of rock rolled down the mountain, attacking the City. A large blast of stone flew forward, clearing the City in its flight, and smashed headlong into the gates, and crumbled them into ruin. Screams of death and of pain resounded throughout Minas Tirith as men fell and children died, and blood ran in the streets.

So sudden was the assault of Angmar that the people of the City were taken by complete surprise, at unawares, that many thousands died ere an organized defense could be arranged. But soon the seven thousands left behind arrayed themselves against advances upon the gates, with thousands of stout pikes, and archers with flaming arrows stood hard by.

But against the attack from above there could be no defense, and against the rampage of reckless hate there could be no victory. Stone and rock continued to fall upon Minas Tirith as so much rain from the clouds, and above all could be heard the cackling laugh of Morsereg as he flew on high, croaking his battle cries to his foul troops. Towers toppled and bright houses were shivered, and fear clutched at the heart of Gondor.

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

The forces of Khand rushed in first, swords shining brightly as they charged into Minas Tirith, killing as they passed. Some were taken down by the defenses, but they were of no matter to Morsereg...To him, now, anyone was expendable.... The forces of Ered Luin came next, stout Dwarf-Orcs rushing into the fray, axes clanging against the defenses.

The host of Angmar charged in as well, and the Trolls took advantage of the falling rock, taking the chunks on the ground and tossing them at incoming soldiers. The Orc Archers of Angmar stood still on the Pelennor, shooting at any and all enemies that passed their sight. Morsereg's orders barked through the air.

Smaug's fire began to take its toll on buildings as fear overcame many of the denizens of Minas Tirith...on this day, there would be no escaping...their lord Aragorn had failed them.

[Envin]

Flames soon spread o'er the fair White City of Gondor, the devastation of Smaug licking the simple dwellings and high courts alike with a breath of fiery pain. Death was rampant throughout the streets, but no where more than the gates. There in strong lines, thousands deep, the last defense of the City stood, rank upon rank of gleaming mail, in which beat furiously the hearts of men frightened, men hardened. Many anxious with the cold fear of death in their hearts, many giving themselves to the battle with abandon, but all filled with a burning lust to give their attackers all the hell they could muster ere they met the dust. The pikes thrust outwards halted many hundreds of the sea of Angmar, piercing their necks and evil heads and spreading their filth across the grass, but many more hundreds passed through into the press of the defense, and here was the fighting hotter than had been seen in many hundred years. Men screamed and Orcs fell, and from on high there thundered blocks of stone that crushed men by the score; archers brought down the great trolls with barbed arrows of fire. Here a head flew from the neck of a Dwarf, and there a man was dismembered asunder by a cleave from a hideous Orc-axe.

This was the last stand, the very final, most desperate hour, and still the Atani of Gondor fought on without thought for what might come, for here assembled was all their kin and their loves. Here would they die ere they would submit to evil, and their hearts were filled with silent resignation to their dooms, happy though they were to greet it. But ever and anon they looked to the north, hoping against hope that their lord would return.

[vanya]

Arwen aproached on the Embrasure of the Citadel and saw down to the masses of enemies on the pelennor. She took her guardians with her and run down to the stables, catched the next horse which was ready and rode like a stormwind down the street, in company of the men. "Stay calm! Take your positions! The city will not fall!" she shouted. A crowed of people had assembled at the walls and watched terrified the dread out there. Arwen aproached among them and cried: "Don't despair! This is not the hour to leave the hope! Take your weapons! Fight the evil! Minas Tirith shall not fall, nor shall her people fail!!!" And the people of Minas Tirith looked at her and great braveness settled into their hearts again.

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

Morsereg laughed as he flew over the once fair city, surveying the White City. There had to be no more than 10,000 in Gondor after they had been sent off to 'aid' their ally Enedwaith, while 170,700 had come from Morsereg to take them down. He would annihilate them.

Blood was spilt, lives were taken, shields splintered, and hearts stopped. This event would go down in the history of Middle-Earth, as a crucial changing point...When the Lord Aragorn Elessar fell to the might of Morsereg Dindaedel.

The Valar wept on that day, in the halls of Mandos, as they watched over the deeds of their emissary. He was bringing Middle-Earth into darkness...Few could stop him now.

[Envin]

In the absence of their great King and leader, the men manning the defense near the gates, e'en though they fell by the score in wet red blood, took heart at the fair words of Lady Arwen, and raised a great cheer, life returning into their limbs for seemingly one more last gasp. They swung their blades with a renewed vigour, the keen edges slicing flesh and black bone as something of a sortie was made. Such courage rose up in the hearts of Gondor that day that the defenders even made a thrust deep into the horde of the advancing ranks, and forced them back for a space.

But this merely filled the host of Angmar with all the more rage, and redoubling their efforts they poured forth again, and this time it appeared that the defense could not hold. Men fell screaming, clutching horrid wounds or missing limbs, as bodies were torn and mangled there upon the fair streets of Minas Tirith.

For now it came to pass that as the attack was pressed - for the foe knew of his opponent's weakness - that the defense at the very end began to give way, and to retreat into the City. There upon the cobblestones and the grassy lawns was fought the last stand, as the thousands of the fair army of Minas Tirith dwindled surely and slow, until little enough of them were left before the advancing horde. Now was come the doom of man, as utter darkness and wretched evil stretched out its hand to snatch light away. Now was come the end, and very bitter it was.

[vanya]

Arwen looked into the faces of her terrified people.
She saw the terror in the eyes of the women and children and when she looked into the eyes of her guardians, she saw the same fear there, too.
Desperately she wished Aragorn were here.
There was not mutch hope left, since the enemie aproached in a number ten times bigger than the remaining defence and poured into the city like a stream. And the despair reached even Arwens heart.
She turned her steed and rode back to the citadel, taking on her war garment. She thought about how many times she saw Aragorn doing this and how often she had helped him into his armour.
Desperately she pushed her chin foreward and went out of the chambers and mounted her horse.
And she rode again through the streets of Minas Tirith and came finally to the walls.
She throw a glance over the body of the beast out there and than, she saw a light at the horizon.

[Envin]

Long had been the miles and the hours from Enedwaith, ridden hard upon the backs of two horses. The land of Rohan had flown beneath their hooves, passing swiftly as though cast by the hand of Manwe to Middle-earth. Atop the twain steeds sat two lords, Aragorn and Saeros, borne by the wind, carried by their horses, now panting and foaming at the long travail. Yet tireless were the riders that sat upon them, for now they rode to the salvation of Men. Ahead now to the south, hard by, lay the Fields of Pelennor, and beyond them the bright City of Minas Tirith. Yet bright was she no longer, for about her lay in foul wreck the reek of war. Death had come to Gondor these days past, for advancing upon The Tower of Guard had come the Hordes of Angmar, in droves of hundreds and thousands by the score. Their stench could be smelt for leagues, and the sight of them was uncouth even to the distant eye.

Yet not too distant were the eyes of Aragorn and Saeros, for even now they speed past the Rammas, the skill and sheer hardihood of them overpowering the few folk there to guard the walls, and now they ride onto the plain. Sparse outriders and errand-runners they overtake and cast down in their wrath, and ere long the City nears. Upon the rear of the fully assembled hosts of evil they break, the twain single men and their swords, with naught but intrepid soul and blade. Right through the press drives Aragorn Arathorn's son, and amid full gallop he leaps from his steed, with Saeros hard by behind him. Clean amongst more foes than had ever been assembled they proffer battle to Angmar, and their offer is accepted. Close about them swarm their enemies, but their blades do not lie idle. Cleave after thrust they deal, and swing upon grevious swing. Valiantly doth good Saeros prove himself, as ere long four score foes and seven he sendeth to the earth in wild career, but Aragorn's heart burneth the hotter, and marvelous in feats of arms doth he now excell beneath the sun, as five score and three dealeth he death ere the hour is gone, and two score of trolls. Black runneth the ground about their feet, and black now is the whole of their clothing. Slowly they cleaveth a small space of field, but ever now doth their insidious foes tighten their noose, so as to overpower the good lords by main force. But then, on a sudden, a great clearing is made, several score feet broad, and ringed with pikes it is. Aragorn and Saeros stand with their backs to each other's, the entire of the world's evil at bay against them, and they look askance about them.

Then, suddenly, from high above amid the darkening clouds, there came a great scream of hate.

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

Amidst the fighting of his armies within Minas Tirith, Morsereg saw Aragorn and Saeros fighting dozens upon dozens, somehow holding them at bay. An idea sparked through his head, and he sent message to the fighters below him to spread out and form an arena.

"Aragorn!" Morsereg's voice came as a screech of hate as Smaug slowly descended to the ground. As they approached the ground, Morsereg slid off of the great dragon, black cloak flowing behind him, concealing all of his physical features.

"Let us fight, Lord of Gondor. Let the fate of Middle-Earth be decided upon your downfall." He hissed, and tossed from his body the black cloak, revealing what he had become. His silverish-grey hair went quite far down his back, a couple bangs concealing the black eyes that told only of torment and death. The black mithril mail shirt he wore underneath his normal armor, and his face was paler than ever.

But his arms, those were one of the most important things. They had no skin on them, they were simply bone, straight from the elbow down to the fingertips, they were simply the bones that constructed the shape of his arms. Sprouting from his back were two black wings, great in shape and size, casting a shadow over Aragorn and Saeros as he approached them.

"What do you say, Aragorn? Fight me like a man, and be killed in single-combat, or fight all of the legions of Angmar, Khand, and the Ered Luin, and die a cowards death." He taunted, holding his Morning Star in one hand, his other hand on the hilt of his sword, still sheathed.

[Megloren Istdale]

Megloren's host was readied and would be arriving in Gondor within two days time. Aragorn would not be abandoned in their most desprite hour.

[Envin]

Aragorn motioneth for Saeros to step him down, and the good elf reluctantly complieth, cautiously standing at the brink of the ring of spears, while Aragorn walketh out to meet Morsereg. This now is his hour, the hour for which he hath long ago been born, for now before him standeth evil incarnate upon the earth, and laughs him with harsh tones at the Lord of Men. Aragorn smiles, and behold! he letteth fall from his shoulders the cloak of deep crimson he hath worn as though atop his armour of state, but beneath he is merely young Estel, in naught but simple leather and steel mail. About his neck swingeth the Evenstar, but upon his brow was the Elendilmir, and in his hand was Anduril that burneth like white flame. No pretentions doth he make now, as the clouds part and fair Anor glances athwart the field. Now he is himself, as he hath never been before.

And he does not blench, the proud son of Silmarien that strideth out with uplifted face and keen eyes to challenge the Lord of Hate. And he feeleth not the pain of fear, nor the choke of failure, for this day naught can he do ill. This day he decideth his doom, and shalt be sealed to it forevermore. This day he beareth upon his unassuming shoulders the fate of all the world.

And now he cometh to the center of the large arena, mere paces from the ghastly spectre of Morsereg, and now he bendeth to his knee in a honourable bow, thrusting the great sword Anduril into the field.

"Morsereg," he speaketh, "meet is it that we must find each other at last, after such long days of concealed greed and open welcome. In good faith I have attempted to illumine the error in thy ways, but in vain have I made the attempt. Spurning all wisdom but thine, thou hast made thy own doom, and now with this challenge it is at hand. Let us take up arms against one another then, but this shall be no common struggle. In this grapple will be encased and enshrined until Arda crumbles the very essence of the conflict of good and evil. In this grapple shall be represented hate and forgiveness, love and rage, and we shall see which shall prove the mightier. We fight alone, beneath the open sun: I, as a man and as best as I may, and thou, as a Maia, and as best as thou may. Keep nothing back, for I shall do the same, and if thou give me not thy utmost and thy very best, in no wise shalt thou leave this field again. Be on thy guard."

And with a great pull, Aragorn taketh Anduril from out the field, and swingeth him high into the air. The noontide sunlight glisteneth in the pale blade that is swung with such speed by the hand of Aragorn that it singeth as it swings, and light and air it shattereth as Aragorn steppeth back a pace, and awaiteth the beginning of an end.

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

Morsereg smirked, "So you choose your fate...Wise choice," He drew from it's sheath his pale Morgul Blade, and his eyes flared with the unquenchable flames of battle. "Today, you will fall, Aragorn. Today, Middle-Earth falls into despair. Today, Gondor shall be broken, and your wife slaughtered." He taunted once more before locking his eyes with Elessar, and swinging with his Morning Star, quickly following up with the Morgul Blade, both dangerous blows aiming towards the King's torso.

[Envin]

"It is thy wife who shall be slaughtered, impotent and warped pestilence, for thou hast already slain her heart in thy rage and evil. Have at thee!"

And with speed nearly impossible, Aragorn managed to throw himself into a horizontal spin, his body parallel to the ground and clearing the Morning Star by inches, and he came down at the last moment, and threw all his weight into blocking Morsereg's blow: not just blocking it, but meeting it. Anduril met Morgul Blade with incredible power as Aragorn employed Morsereg's momentum against him.

[Morsereg Dîndaedel]

Morsereg growled, barely phased by Aragorn's return parry, pressing on violently with his sword. "I have no need for a wife. To me, she is dead already! I shall kill you here, then I shall take your wife! I shall bind her, and let my Orcs have their fun with her! When they're done, I'll dismember her and scatter her remains in Forochel!" He drew his blade back, bringing a mighty swing from it towards Aragorn from above, but that was merely a ploy, for then, unseen, would come the Morning Star to Aragorn's gut.