AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hiyas, lovelies! Long time no... um... read? Idk... anyway I'll get the next chapter posted this Monday depending on work load.  :)

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~Chapter Twenty-One~

The March of the Oliphaunt

In the shadows of the mausoleum, madness brewed from in it's dark depths. The troubled steward stood on a table astride a unconscious red headed soldier laid to rest. Denethor raises a clay pot over his own head, pouring candle oil onto himself. The thick sticky wax like liquid trickled down his pale face and soaked his dark grey hair, quickly his robes was saturated with the musty smell of candle oil. Below the steward laid the still form of Faramir. As the hot wax splashed onto the man's face, he twitched slightly as his eyes try to flicker open. Trying to focus through his feverishness, oil splattered onto Faramir's chest and face.

Icy blue eyes blankly stared at the son laying on the cold stone platform, "Set a fire in our flesh!"

Bundles of oil-soaked wood are stacked all around Denethor and Faramir as servants hold flaming torches awaiting their orders. The steward briskly nods his head to the attendants surrounding them. Inching their way towards their masters on the pyre with torches held firmly, the servants silently lowered the torches towards the bundles of wood. The steward held out his arms mimicking a cross over his son's body, waiting to burn.

At that moment, Gandalf and Pippin burst into the hallows with a bang, mounted on Shadowfax. "Stay this madness!" The wizard yelled as his tired yet firm eyes stared directly at the glaring steward.

The fearful servants retract from their duty, pulling back their torches from the pyre. With a roar, Denethor snatches a flaming torch and meets the eye of Gandalf, mockingly to show his power over what is his. "You may triumph in the field of battle for a day, but against the power that has risen in the east, there is no victory." With the same dark fierceness with his voice, the steward lets the torch fall at his feet.

Whoosh!

The fire ignites instantaneously. As the inferno rages, Gandalf takes up a spear from a bystander guard and charges Denethor, knocking him off the pyre with the shaft of the lance.

Pippin, a determined little hobbit behind Gandalf, leaps from Shadowfax onto the flaming pyre. Thick, acrid smoke filled Pippin's lungs with a painful sting as he scrambles to side of the unconscious form of Faramir. The smoke engulfed the hobbit and man as the fire soon began to have a life of it's own with heated vengeance against wood, oil, and flesh. With a desperate strength, Pippin pushes the heavy body of Faramir off the pyre with a tumble down the bundles of wood onto the cool stone floor. Lifting his head, the hobbit sees Faramir's shirt on fire. Frantically Pippin douses the fire with quick pats against the man's chest.

Denethor, laying on his side sees the hobbit save his son, although the steward's face contorted that of rage. The steward stands to his feet, screaming in anger, "No! You will not take my son from me!"With a mighty leap across the pyre, Denethor snatch the tiny hobbit into his grasp, ripping and tugging. Fire quickly spreads up the mad steward's oil-soaked back as he hauls Pippin off his son. Gandalf peered on with already in immense anger as the glow of the inferno and black smudges of smoke created a terrifying fury. 

Shadowfax, as angered as much as his master, rears up and strikes at Denethor who falls back on the flaming pyre. In that moment, Faramir's eyes open, turning his head towards his father who stared back in brief moment of sanity. "Faramir…-" A warm smile graced itself on the pale lips of the steward,"...-my son." Than the fire ignited on the oil soaked skin of the steward, searing through clothing, skin, and flesh,"Ah!" Denethor bellowed in pain.

Quickly Gandalf pulls Pippin to safety as they look in horror as Denethor suddenly lurches off the pyre, now a screaming unguided ball of flame. The ball of flame runs across the chamber room disappearing out of the door.

The white wizard sat erect on his trusted horse as a grimness consumed his face, "So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion." The living torch sprinted across the white court atop of Minas Tirith, flinging it's burning self over the edge of the bastion, plummeting straight down the seven hundred foot drop into the flaming city below.

Silence hung in the mausoleum as the servants extinguished the fiery pyre. Gandalf and Pippin began to aid Faramir when a hurried pair of footsteps echoed in the black smudged halls. From the entrance, a exhausted, sweaty she-elf emerged into the dark chamber as sunlight penetrated into the room behind her, a holy savior from the gates of heaven. Her red hair was dirtied from dry earthy ground just like how her perfect face was also smudged with dirt and sweat. On her arms and across her cheek were thin red cuts from a sharp sword, fashioning her struggle to get to the chamber alive. The beautiful dress she wore yesterday before Faramir left to recapture Osgiliath was tattered and torn. Her red bodice was the only thing that hugged around her torso as a tattered red skirt fluttered around her mid thigh. Her eyes against the smudged skin and smokey air of the mausoleum, shone like two silver steels full of sincere determination.

The hobbit and wizard stared at the woman in awe as she approached them, her eyes were focused on the man laying on the ground. Faramir stared up back at her with his wintery blue eyes, clashing with silver orbs. A breath of relief filled the room as the she-elf smiled down to the injured man below.

"Gwiliweth."

The red headed she-elf locked eyes with the serious set of wise blue of Gandalf. "I'm glad you are safe, friend." The wizard answered with a warm smile, before turning to Pippin. "We have work to do." The small hobbit fiercely nodded before hanging onto the wizard tightly as Shadowfax stride away from the dark mausoleum.

Quietly the she-elf's eyes flickered back to the winter blue of Faramir who stared silently back. With no words, Gwiliweth was helped with the other servants to lift the man onto a fresh stretcher. All the while the man stared at the she-elf in silent awe, not trusting his voice to say what was on his mind. Into the white blinding light of a new day, Faramir and Gwiliweth traveled side by side into a new dawn.

~~~~

As the now dead steward took his plunge, on the Pelennor Fields the Rohirrim were gaining the upper hand against the Mordor army of orcs. Vast numbers of orcs are slain, or are fleeing from the mighty army of the East. In pursuit of the escaping orcs, the Rohirrim routed the orcs, driving them away from Minas Tirith.

"Drive them back to the river!" Eomer hollered to his men, as a rage-filled rally followed after to frighten the orcs more into flight.

Theoden stands proudly in his saddle, yelling to his Rohirrim. "Make safe this city!"

As the Rohirrim drive away the Orcs, raising their lances in victory, Theoden's joyful face etches into horror. Across the vast sea of battle approaches twenty Oliphaunts. Massive elephant-like creatures, each carrying a war-tower, packed with Haradrim archers! Men of the South, who joined forces with Sauron knowing that the world of Man will crumble by the mighty stroke of the Dark Lord.

An Haradrim, mounted on the Mûmakil (Oliphaunt), blows a spine twisting call of his horn. The stream of retreating orcs run past the Oliphaunts as the massive creatures charge forward towards the Rohan army.

The King of Rohan does not hesitate, seeing this unbelievable sight before him. Theoden, on his horse, circles among his men. "Reform the line! Reform the line!" The King ordered to his men. The Riders follow their King, quickly forming their lines behind their mighty and brave King. "Sound the charge!" King Theoden bidded his men.

Gamling blows his horn as does a chorus of other Riders do as well.

"Rohirrim! Charge!" Theoden adjured with a thrust of his sword into the air.

The Riders charge headlong towards the Oliphaunt line, making the Rohirrim army dwarf size compared to the massive creatures. The Oliphaunts bellow as they are goaded into war, driven mercilessly by their brutal Haradrim masters. The Mumkil lumber into the sea of Men, crushing Riders and horses beneath their massive feet. Their spiked tusks swing wildly, sweeping and impaling Riders! Haradrim archers send a rain of arrows into the panicking Rohirrim!

Gamling rides under a Mûmakil, shooting arrows into it's belly as other Riders volley their own arrows at the archers above.  A nasty looking Haradrim steers his Mûmakil, groaning in pleasure watching the Riders die with his steer.

"Cut him down!" The Rohirrim hollered to each other.

Eomer leads his horse in front of the nasty looking Haradrim's Oliphaunt, eyeing the Haradrim, hoisting up his spear. The Haradirim grinned at this as a challenge he knew he himself would win. Eomer delivers the dare by throwing the spear at him. The lance speared into the Haradirm causing him to fall. Although as the Hardrum fell, his controls pull on the Mûmakil’s ear, which makes it turn drastically and crash into another Oliphaunt next to it. The two massive creatures tumble to the ground, defeated.

In another part of the battlefield, Eowyn and Merry weave between the Mûmakil’s legs. "Take the reins, pull him left." Eowyn instructed Merry, who sat right in front of her as she snatches a sword off an Orc as they gallop past. "LEFT!" she cried.

Merry steers the horse left quickly, as they continue to weave in between the Mûmakil. Riding quickly to not be stomped on by the large Oliphaunts, they come in between the back legs of one. Eowyn slashes with both swords one on each leg until they approached the front two, Eowyn slashes the two simultaneously.. Immediately, the creature fell just a foot behind the two.  

Eomer gazes back to his fellow men with his bow and arrow raised, "Aim for the heads!" He fires an arrow at a Mûmakil’s head. It rears up on its back legs roaring as other Riders join in with the volley.

The King of Rohan sat on his horse nearby after killing an orc, hearing his nephew's holler, "Bring it down! Bring it down! Bring it down!"

The Riders continue to volley fire at the Oliphaunt. After two more volleys, the creature began to fall backwards towards Eowyn and Merry. Their horse, frightened, rears and falls, spilling the two off onto the grassy ground. Looking up, Eowyn sees the massive thick head of the Oliphaunt falling towards her, blocking out the light of the sky above. Quickly the woman of Rohan rolls away, managing to avoid being crushed at the last minute.  

Gaining her feet, Eowyn wheels around where she stood, "Merry!" She screamed in horror. The woman looks around for him when orcs attack her with their dark swords. With flourishes steel against steel, she fights them back fiercly.

Theoden sees her fighting, from far off almost in recognition, but dismisses the thoughts when Orcs began to challenge him.

The small hobbit walks out from behind the Mûmakil, coughing the dust from his throat. A group of Haradrim sees the tiny form and attacks him. Merry fights fiercely killing several Haradrim in his way until one picks him up. Although, Merry does not give up and continues to fight. In a desperate chance to get away, the hobbit slashes the Haradrim's throat and stabs him several times. 

Eowyn continues to fight off the Orcs easily. From the dust, the deformed general of the orc emerges. Gothmog grinned at the soldier and so began the battle between the General and soldier. With a swift punch in the face, Gothmog falls to the floor. Lifting her sword high against the blue sky over the Orc, she buries her strong sword into Gothmog.

The Orc grumbled, trying to catch his last breath when he went limp.

~~~~~

Inside Minas Tirith, a troll hammers at a door blocking access to the sixth level of the city with a rabble of orcs at his side. As the troll pounds against the wooden door, the wood splinters as the door almost reaches it's breaking point. Gandalf, Pippin, and a few remaining soldiers await the onslaught. The wizard and hobbit sit on stone steps, covered in sweat and grime, weary to the bone from fighting, and their faith and hope splintered much like the door.

Pippin glances over to the gate at which a number of soldiers continue to build barricade. "I didn't think it would end this way." The hobbit whispered, his tone filled with sadness and fatigue.

Gandalf peers over to the hobbit, "End? No, the journey doesn't end here." The small hobbit met the blue grey eyes of the wizard, questioningly. "Death is just another path. One that we all must take." The white wizard sees the fear in the young hobbit's eyes, causing the wizard to remember the scene of death. "The gray rain curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass." His eyes traveled away off to the distance in a reverie, "And then you see it." Gandalf spoke almost to himself.

"What, Gandalf? See what?" Pippin frantically asked, being drawn into the wizard's words as hs eyes tried to spot what Gandalf was looking at so intensively.

The wizard smiled, "White shores. And beyond, the far green country, under a swift sunrise."

Pippin stares up at the old wizard's face, softened, quiet and full of peace. "Well, that isn't so bad."

"No...." Gandalf whispered, "No, it isn't."

Gandalf and Pippin smile at each other when a loud boom sounds against the wooden gate. The wizard and hobbit's face turn towards the gates ready to meet their death.

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Back out on plains,the Rohirrim continue to fight the Mûmakil as Theoden tries to gather his remaining soldiers. "Rally to me! To me!" The King cried over the sounds of the fierce battle. 

A familiar screech fills the air, slowly Theoden turns and sees the Witch King flying towards him very fast. In fear, Riders of Rohan scurry away from the Witch King. The fell beast catches up Theoden and his horse into its foul mouth and throws Theoden across the ground as Eowyn watches in horror. Theoden and his horse tumble across the ground until Theoden lands on his back with his dead horse pinning ontop of him, crushing bone and organs. The fell beast lands onto the ground a few paces away from the King of Rohan and moves towards the stricken horse and rider.

"Feast on his flesh." The Witch-king's raspy voice ordered. Theoden looks up from the ground, unable to move as he is trapped under the horse. The beast moves towards him when Eowyn moves in front of Theoden to defend him with her sword clenched in his firm grip. 

"I will kill you if you touch him." Eowyn spat as her blue eyes stared at the faceless wraith in vengeance.  

"Do not come between the Nazgûl and his prey." The Witch-king growled in anger before the beast lunges at the woman of Rohan with a bite towards her.

Lightfootedly she steps aside of the beast and with two slashes Eowyn slices off its head. The beast wobbles from it's loss of it's head before falling down, dead. At the sight she instinctively picks up a wooden shield and approaches him. From the behind the black wings, the Witch King emerges as he turns toward her, his height looms over hers.  Hiding behind the dark King, he reveals a massive mace attaches to a long black chain and the other hand he wielded his long silver sword. The woman, behind the helmet of Rohan, stared at the mace, gulping at it's fearful grandeur than back up at the Witch-King.

With a shriek of hatred, the Witch King hurls his mace towards the woman, though she side steps away with a fearful cry. Lifting his mace, the wraith swung around in full circle when Eowyn quickly bends down, avoiding the terrifying mace. Again the enemy lunged his mace towards the woman while she stayed clear from the blow swiftly. Filled with rage he spins his mace around, though again Eowyn fight shy of the Witch King as he approaches her with anger and rage against mankind. The woman fearfully looked to the Witch-King trying to keep avoiding his attempts of her death. Another throw of his mace flicked against her sword as she rears back. Another circulating blow came and Eowyn quickly avoided it, although the King slyly changed his habits and swung his mace towards her. The swing hammered against her shield, shattering both her shield and the bones in her arm.

Eowyn cries out in pain and falls to the ground, contorting in unbelievable pain. The Witch-King opens his arms, taunting his foe.

An undefeated enemy fixing his eyes upon the soldier.

A Death omen

(End of Chapter Twenty-One)