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. 

~~~~

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!"

An orc lieutenant with a skull impaled on top of his helmet relays the order. "Catapults!"

At the orders, the catapults fire at the white city. 

Thwat!

Thwat!

Thwat!

Over the gleaming white walls of Minas Tirith, the orc catapults  throw debris over into a standing line of Gondorian soldiers."Shields up!" With their silver shields, the debris bounce of the metal with a thunk. To the guards surprise the debris was not rocks. As the detritus rebounded off the shields to the stone ground, a soldier saw the decapitated heads of fellow soldiers in their frozen state of terror. Horror sweeps through the streets of Minas Tirith as the head continue to rain down upon them. 

A demoralization. 

Upon the courtyard of Minas Tirith, high out of range of the falling heads, Denethor raises to his feet as his eyes stayed on his dead son. "My sons are spent." The steward whispered to himself in horror. As the steward stepped away from Faramir, Pippin takes his place kneeling beside the young man. 

Walking away towards the balcony, his cold blue eyes sought out his son laying on the stretcher, "My line has ended." Denethor cried as madness set into his already troubled mind. 

The small hobbit placed a hand against the young man's forehead. Feeling warmth and sweat, Pippin's eyes grew big in happiness. "He's alive!" The hobbit announced with a gleeful smile full of relief.

Denethor, unable to hear from the insanity settling in, continued to stray towards the edge. "The house of Stewards has failed." 

"He needs medicine my lord!" Pippin hollered urgently. 

"My line has ended!"

"My lord!"

The disturbed steward slowly turned away, walking as if in a trance. Wandered to the edge of the courtyard,he stares in shocked disbelief at the spectacle spread out below. Nearly seventy-five thousand orcs scattered across the Pelennor Fields like a sea of black ants. Large trolls load the aimed catapults with boulders as battering rams and siege towers are hauled by chains. Thousands of flickering torches give the army the look of a moving city in the murky Mordor twilight. 

Denethor struggled to regain the power to speak as his lips quivered at the terrifying sight.  "Rohan has deserted us." The steward sneered in a raspy whisper. Releasing the catapults, boulders are bombarded into the city. Loud ear-twitching cries of horrified civilians echo from the streets of Minas Tirith. "Theoden has betrayed me." The steward hissed.

More boulders fall into the gleaming White City of the Kings, crushing anything and anyone in its path.  "Abandon your posts! Flee! Flee for you lives!" Denethor screamed down to his people. His echoing cry halted all soldiers from their runs. 

A flash of white strikes the back of Denethor's head. The white flash appeared again as it clubbed the steward to the ground at the foot of a white robe. Staring at the form of the unconscious steward, Gandalf turned to the soldiers nearby. "Prepare for battle."

His wise blue eyes spotted the red headed she-elf kneeling beside the motionless Faramir on his stretcher. Her hand stroked the his dirty hair as her silver eyes stared at the soldier's face. It was a sight that made Gandalf's memory track back to earlier that day. 

~~~

The White Wizard stared at the depressed she-elf before him. Her bloodshot silver eyes were like a bloodied sword after a war. His mind went into a loop when her words repeated in his mind, 'It's Faramir... I think he was my Faenod.' 

"What do you mean, Gwiliweth?" Gandalf questioned curiously. Her wording seemed odd because from what he understood a bond of a Faenod is about knowing not thinking. 

Her head shook as tears escaped from her misery filled eyes as she turned from the wizard, "I felt something. Something I never felt with anyone else... Not Aragorn nor Borormir... When I looked into his eyes, I saw my world in them as if Middle Earth was not the land I stand on. Gandalf." Her voice croaked as her eyes found the concerned wise eyes of the wizard, "He did not feel what I felt. His face did not twitch at our linked gaze. He did not react like Legolas with Medlinya. Faramir left. He left to obey his father's inferior orders to recapture Osgiliath."

Gandalf unblinkingly stared at the she-elf, as he thought over her account. First of all, the wizard knew that a Faenod bond between an Elf and a Human was rare. Although it has happened only twice over the thousands of years of Middle Earth's existence with one of them being Aragorn and Arwen. Secondly, Aragorn had shared his tale of his encounter with Arwen and he immediately reacted to the bond. Why was this bond so different from thousands of others? Did Faramir actually feel the bond but decided that duty is over love? 

Consumed with unanswerable questions, all Gandalf could do was stare at the hunched over she-elf as her shoulder tremble from her cries. 

~~~~~~~~~

The memory ceased as he gallops down the winding labyrinth-like streets on the back of his horse, Shadowfax, to rally the soldiers. His stride along the streets were against the flow of the fleeing soldiers of Minas Tirith. "Return to your posts! Defend the wall!" The wizard hollered to the soldiers. 

At the sight and the orders of the revered White Wizard, the soldiers instantly return to their posts on the battlements. As Shadowfax bounds up the stairs onto the level one battlements, Gandalf gazes at the approaching orc army now less than fifty yards from the walls of the city.

 "Send these foul beasts into the abyss!" Gandalf yelled with anger resounding in his voice. 

At the wizard orders, soldiers prepare their mighty wooden catapults positioned within the walls of Minas Tirith to launch large rocks at the orc army. With a ferocious heave, hunks of massive rubble get flung towards the Mordor army.

Thwat!

Thwat!

Thwat!

Over the battlements, the boulders were sent high into the air over to the orcs. Gazing up upon the the airborne air made many of the orcs dizzy unable to calculate where the boulder will fall. As the large boulders flatten some of the orcs with a crunch, the other orcs around Gothmog, the deformed faced leader, shift fearfully.

Gothmog spun around his men with a reproachful glint in his eyes, "Stay where you are." 

Along the battlements, Gandalf calmly walks them as huge boulders rain onto the orcs below and soldier rush back and forth yelling to each other preparing the catapults. 

"Watch out!"

"Down to the lower level. Quick!"

Standing the midst of the orc brawlers under his command, Gothmog glances up at a whistling sound above. A large rock arcs out from the city towards Gothmog.  Nearby orcs scramble out of the way of the boulder. With a yell, Gothmog sidesteps the boulder as it falls going against his own order of not moving from a boulders path. A silence settles as troll and orc alike look on with a confused stares. In contempt, Gothmog spits on the boulder.

Suddenly a familiar skin-crawling chorus of unnatural shrieks resound from the smoke filled sky. Gandalf glances up to see nine Nazgul dive down out of the sky, all clad in their pitch black armor. Seeing the incoming threat of the sky, soldiers throw themselves down as the Nazul swoop down overhead, as their shrieks bounce off every wall and street of Minas Tirith. Gondorians soldiers and citizens alike run for shelter in panic, covering their ears from the foul creature's sharp squeals. Along with the soldiers, Pippin cowered in his hiding spot shielding his ears as well. 

The Nazgul begin to tear down the catapults, causing other soldiers to halt in their tracks in terror.  "Hold them back. Do not give in to fear! Stay at your posts!" The wizard rallied, trying to recompose the Gondorian soldiers. 

Again the catapults continue to fling boulders at the orcs below while the orcs began to break the city's mighty wooden gate. The Nazgul circle low over the city, like vultures seeking flesh. Soldiers are plucked into the air by the terrible talons of the Foul-beast and dropped to their deaths hundreds of feet below into the city. Orc catapults fight back with boulders of their own, destroying towers and buildings in their path. Chaos ensues as soldiers, women, and children dodge the falling masonry. 

Gondorian soldiers along the first level battlements send a rain of arrows down at the approaching siege towers pushed by trolls towards the walls of Minas Tirith. The soldiers fired relentlessly at the towers, though their attempts are useless as their arrows simply fall at the collusion of the strong metal of the towers. "Don't aim for the towers. Aim for the trolls. Kill the trolls! Fight them back!" Gandalf directed to the soldiers. 

Though his instruction was said too late as the towers reach the walls, their doors crash down, releasing orcs directly onto the lower levels of Minas Tirith. As the orc swarm from the tower, Gandalf realizes Pippin has come down from the Citadel. 

 "Peregrin Took! Go back to the citadel! Now!" Gandalf exasperated commanded, before striking an orc through the stomach. 

"They called us out to fight." Pippin responded in a stupor. Pippin looks on stunned, as a huge orc slain a man before his eyes. The orc fiercely gazes around before locking his sights on the fear stiff hobbit with a dark grin. As the giant orc leaps towards the small hobbit, Gandalf intercepts the beats, striking him with his staff.  "This is no place for a hobbit!"

The White Wizard welds his staff and sword, cutting through the attacking orcs with ease. Unnoticed by Gandalf, a orc crept up behind the wizard preparing to cut down Gandalf when Pippin instinctively slashes his sword into the orc's gut. The wizard turned to be face to face to his almost murderer. As the orc collapsed to the ground dead, behind the orc stood Pippin staring at the blood coating his sword. Gandalf smiles down at the hobbit despite himself. "Guard of the Citadel indeed! Now back up the hill! Quick! Quick!"

With a quick nod, Pippin scurries out from the scene back up the streets to the Citadel. 

At the Minas Tirith's entrance, many trolls and orcs made several failed attempts to batter down the city gates. Gondorians' arrows ran down on them killing every orcs attempting to breech into the city. Many orcs began to retreat when Gothmog made his way to his retreating captain. "What are you doing, you useless scum?" 

The orc captain turned to his leader, "The door won't give. It's too strong."

Gothmog rolled his black eyes, "Get back there and smash it down."

"But nothing can breach it."

Gothmog and the captain glanced over to the gate, watching their fellow orcs fall like flies by the arrows of the Gondorian soldiers. The orc captain gazed on with a unreadable expression while Gothmog grinned darkly, "Grond will breach it." The orc leader turned to the mass of the soldiers under his command, "Bring up the wolf's head!"

Out of the black swirling battle, smoke crawls an iron monster. A massive wheeled battering ram, at the hight of sixty feet and length of one hundred and fifty feet long, being pushed by twenty mountain trolls. A massive iron head, cast in the likeness of a snarling wolf. 

Grond.

The battering ram from Hell.

The orcs chant in a deep rhythmic pattern as their beast is wheeled closer and closer to the gates, "Grond! Grond! Grond!" 

Hearing the strange chant, Gandalf made his way to the edge of the battlements, as he caught sight of the Grond his face blanched.

Battering ram from Hell, indeed. 

Grond.

Grond.

Grond.

 (End of Chapter Eighteen)

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Like I mentioned I will post two more chapters this weekend! I cannot promise that I will be on top of my game during the weekdays because of classes though. But I will definitely do my best. <3