As the ships with mercenaries sail up the river, the mist rises from the water, creating a tense atmosphere on the shore. Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Liv, and David stand poised, awaiting the arrival of the vessels. The sound of creaking wood grows louder as the ships approach.

Aragorn steps forward, his voice firm as he addresses the ships' captain. "You may go no further," he commands.

The boson, standing tall at the front of the leading ship, narrows his eyes. "Who are you to deny us passage?" His voice carries over the sound of the river, defiance clear in his tone.

Aragorn's gaze hardens, and he steps forward again, unwavering. "You will not enter Gondor," he declares, each word thick with authority.

The boson laughs mockingly, his hand resting on his sword hilt. "And what makes you think you can stop us?" he sneers.

Aragorn does not flinch but looks to Legolas, signalling for him to act. "Legolas, fire a warning shot past the boson's ear," he orders.

Legolas, always precise, takes a deep breath, nocking an arrow to his bow. His eyes lock on the boson, ready to send a clear message.

Gimli, who stands a few paces behind, can't resist a little mischief. As Legolas draws back the string of his bow, Gimli's hand shoots out, deliberately knocking the bottom of the bow, just as Legolas releases the arrow.

The arrow veers off its intended path, sailing past the boson's ear. A mercenary standing near him is struck through the heart, collapsing to the deck with a thud. Legolas stares in disbelief at the unintended target, his expression darkening.

Gimli chuckles heartily, his voice full of mirth. "Well, at least it was a warning shot of sorts."

Legolas glares at Gimli, his eyes blazing. "That was not a warning shot, Gimli."

Aragorn, his face a mix of frustration and amusement, glances at Legolas before turning back to the boson. "Oh. That's it, right? We warned you," Gimli says, his voice dangerously calm.

The mercenaries aboard the ship exchange nervous glances, but their laughter quickly fades into the cold air as Aragorn's words settle. One of them steps forward, bold yet hesitant, and sneers at the group. "Boarded, by you and whose army?" he asks, his tone full of bravado.

Aragorn raises his sword, and his expression turns grim. "This army," he says, his voice carrying across the river.

At that very moment, a chilling sound rises from behind them. A deep, unnatural wail echoes through the mist as the King of the Dead and his army materialize, emerging from the shadows, their pale forms drifting toward the ships. Their eyes glow with a ghostly light, and the very ground beneath them trembles with their ancient power.

The mercenaries freeze in terror as the wailing of the undead soldiers grows louder, their pale, skeletal hands reaching toward the ships.

The King of the Dead, towering and terrifying, raises his hand, and the spirits surge forward, attacking the ships with an unrelenting fury. The mercenaries, who had once been so confident, are now caught in the grip of panic. Arrows fly from the undead archers, and the clash of steel rings out as the mercenaries try in vain to defend themselves.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli watch as the mercenaries are overwhelmed by the King of the Dead's forces. Aragorn's face is unreadable, but there is a sense of grim satisfaction in his eyes as he surveys the battle unfolding.

Gimli looks to Aragorn, his grin wide despite the carnage. "Well, that escalated quickly."

Liv and David stand behind them, watching in awe as the mercenaries are defeated, their resistance crumbling under the weight of the undead army. "I think you made your point, Aragorn," Liv says quietly, her voice full of wonder.

David nods in agreement, his gaze still fixed on the eerie spectacle. "An army of the dead... That's not something you see every day."

Aragorn doesn't respond, his eyes fixed on the King of the Dead as the spirit king waves his hand again, signaling the end of the battle. The remaining mercenaries surrender, their swords clattering to the ground in defeat.

Legolas lowers his bow, his sharp eyes scanning the aftermath of the battle. "Perhaps next time they'll listen," he mutters.

Gimli claps a hand on Legolas' shoulder, still chuckling. "A warning shot, huh?"

Legolas gives him a sidelong glare, but there's no anger in his gaze—only a quiet acceptance of the chaos they've just unleashed. "Next time, let's aim for the right target."

Aragorn's voice cuts through the tension, calm and measured. "Let's make sure there isn't a next time."

With the battle won and the threat neutralized, Aragorn turns to face his companions. Together, they move forward, their resolve strengthened by the events of the day.