The scene opens with a close-up of the Eye of Sauron, burning with fiery malice. Frodo, pinned beneath the weight of an invisible force, struggles to move but cannot, terrified that even the smallest movement might draw its gaze. The Eye shifts and darts about, a silent search for its prey. Frodo's breathing quickens, every muscle tense with the strain of not being seen. The scene transitions back to the gates of Mordor, the massive stone doors creaking open, revealing a dark, desolate landscape. Orcs begin to pour through in great numbers, their voices a twisted cacophony of snarls and growls.

Aragorn, mounted on his horse at the head of the army, sees the gates open, his heart sinking. His eyes narrow, filled with determination as he turns sharply toward his soldiers and the Hidden Leaf shinobi by his side.

"Pull back! Pull back!" Aragorn commands, his voice firm but urgent. The cavalry retreats in unison, galloping back toward the waiting army as the men and the shinobi regroup, forming a defensive line. The Orcs march forward relentlessly, their black armor clanking against the earth.

Meanwhile, Frodo and Sam, far from the chaos of the battle, are still in the shadow of Mount Doom. Sam watches the ominous Eye move away, his shoulders sagging in relief.

"It's gone, Mr. Frodo," Sam mutters, wiping his brow. "The light's passed on, away towards the North. Something's drawn its gaze." He watches Frodo struggle to rise. The hobbit's legs tremble beneath him, but with Sam's help, Frodo slowly pushes himself to his feet, gazing upward at the dark volcano looming in the distance.

Back at the gate, the tension grows. The soldiers of Gondor and the Leaf shinobi exchange nervous glances. The Orc army surrounds them like a swarm of locusts, its numbers overwhelming. Aragorn, seeing the fear in their eyes, rides forward to address them.

"Hold your ground! Hold your ground!" Aragorn bellows, his voice ringing out across the battlefield. The men and the shinobi shift, standing straighter at his words, even as the enemy closes in. Aragorn raises his sword, his eyes fierce, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers before him.

"Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers!" Aragorn calls, his voice rising with the weight of his heritage. "I see it in your eyes—the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day. This day we fight!"

The roar of the army rises, both men and shinobi alike shouting in defiance. Their fear is replaced with determination. Aragorn's words have stirred something deep within them.

"By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!" Aragorn cries out, his voice carrying across the battlefield. The soldiers, their faces set in grim resolve, unsheathe their weapons, their blades gleaming under the dying light of the day. The shinobi follow suit, their kunai and shuriken at the ready, and even the archers notch arrows in their bows, preparing for the coming assault.

Aragorn turns sharply on his steed, facing the oncoming onslaught of Orcs. His gaze never wavers, his heart beating like a drum in his chest, the weight of his ancestors pushing him forward.

The scene cuts to Sam and Frodo, struggling against the harsh terrain of Mount Doom. The ground beneath them trembles as the mountain spews rivers of lava into the air. The heat is unbearable. Sam stumbles, falling to his knees, the weight of their journey pressing down on him.

"Mr. Frodo... we can't stop now," Sam whispers, but Frodo has already collapsed beside him, his face bruised and bloodied, his breaths shallow.

Frodo's bloodshot eyes lift to the towering summit of Mount Doom. His expression is pained, but there is a glimmer of determination in them. He groans and crawls forward, inching his way past Sam, dragging himself with every ounce of strength he has left.

Sam watches him helplessly, then gathers his strength to follow, but he can't move as fast as Frodo, his own body weak from exhaustion.

Back at the gate, the battle rages on. The small Gondorian army is nearly encircled, the odds stacked against them. Pippin, eyes wide with fear yet resolute, unsheathes his sword, his hands trembling but steady. Merry, standing beside him, takes a deep breath, preparing himself for what's to come. His sword is held tight, his eyes darting nervously around as the Orcs draw closer.

Eomer, grim-faced and determined, glares at the encroaching horde of Orcs. His posture is one of fierce resolve, every muscle coiled and ready to spring into action.

In the midst of it all, the bond between the companions remains unbroken. Gimli looks at Legolas, a faint grin spreading across his face despite the grim circumstances.

"Never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an elf," Gimli mutters, his voice a mix of awe and wariness.

Legolas smiles, a rare, warm expression in the midst of chaos. "What about side by side with a friend?" he asks, his voice light, even in such dire circumstances.

Gimli, his eyes locking with Legolas's, chuckles softly, his heart lifted in the camaraderie they share. "Aye. I could do that," he says, his voice steady.

"Not the time, you two," Liv says, raising an eyebrow at the two warriors.

David, riding beside Liv, tries to suppress a laugh.

"Babe, don't even think about it," Liv warns with a playful yet serious tone. Her smile betrays the tension in the air, a fleeting moment of normalcy amidst the looming threat.

The soldiers and shinobi take their positions, weapons drawn, hearts set. Aragorn leads them forward, his voice ringing in the stillness before the storm.

"This day, we fight."