49

Chapter Text

After two more days of travelling through the plains, the army of Belfalas and Jon finally saw her, the great fortress of Isengard she was as the tomes described her.

A grand ring wall of stone, like towering cliffs, stood out from the shelter of the mountainside, from which it ran and then returned again. Only one entrance was made in it, a great arch delved in the southern wall. Here through the black rock, a long tunnel had been hewn, closed at either end with mighty doors of iron.

They were so wrought and poised upon their huge hinges, posts of steel driven into the living stone, that when unbarred, they could be moved with a light thrust of the arms, noiselessly. One who passed in and came at length out of the echoing tunnel beheld a plain, a great circle, somewhat hollowed like a vast shallow bowl: a mile it measured from rim to rim. It was filled with avenues and groves of fruitful trees, and at the centre stood the tower of Orthanc.

This magnificent tower was made up of four multi-sided stone welded pillars that rose from the centre of the Ring of Isengard like a small island, roughly half a mile from the edge.

Seeing it in all its glory, Jon saw there stood a tower of marvellous shape. It was fashioned by the builders of old, who smoothed the Ring of Isengard, and yet it seemed a thing not made by the craft of Men but riven from the bones of the earth in the ancient torment of the hills. A peak and isle of rock was black and gleaming hard: four mighty piers of many-sided stone were welded into one, but near the summit, they opened into gaping horns. Their pinnacles sharp as the points of spears, keen-edged as knives. Between them was a narrow space, and thereupon a floor of polished stone, written with strange signs, a man might stand five hundred feet above the plain. This was Orthanc.

It was a splendid fortress, the kind of fortress he hoped to build one day ... Perhaps he should go and live in Khazan-Dum for a while to learn from the dwarves since with the exception of Gondolin in the First Age and the sacred city of Tirion in the age of trees none had constructed things of such beauty since the Elder Days. Not even the High Men of Númenor could hope to overcome the unmatched skill of the Mountain Fathers in the fashioning of metals and stones.

"Beautiful… isn't it, Jon?" Glorfindel asked, looking at him curiously, and he nodded.

"Yes, I have greatly desired to gaze upon the fanged mount, and now my heart is filled with joy to know of its beauty," Jon said with a satisfied smile as he contemplated the majesty of the tower.

"And did you enjoy our time together, my love?" Írimë asked, and Jon merely smiled and laid a chaste kiss upon her hand.

"Of course, my Lady", Jon said, his violet eyes twinkled with a passion so much so Írimë turned scarlet.

Seeing the affection between them, Glorfindel, Celeborn and Galadriel smiled as they led the army of Belfalas.

The ride lasted a few more moments until the elves sighed in satisfaction, and Jon, curious, approached his beloved.

"What do your elf eyes see, Lalwen?"

"The others were able to arrive in time ... they have fortified the walls and garrisoned Orthanc", Írimë said with a dazzling smile.

Jon, for his part, was overjoyed that his companions had been led safely through the mountains and secured the fortress.

With renewed vigour, Jon sped towards Isengard; it seemed as if the wind was at his back and joy in his heart, he was followed by the great lords of the Noldor who were eager to garrison their soldiers.

It didn't take long for Jon to arrive at the outer gates above which hung the banners of King Elendil; standing upon the ramparts of the gate was a younger soldier clad in fine leathers and bearing a stout bow and a quiver of long arrows fletched with eagle feathers. Upon seeing his Lord, he pulled the lever of the gatehouse, and the iron gates groaned to life before swinging open, revealing the fertile plains of Isengard.

"Greetings, Lord Jon," Said one of the soldiers, bowing.

"I am no lord simply a humble servant of our king ... Where are the others" Jon asked with authority?

"The commanders and the Ladies are inside the tower planning the strategy of the battle Lord Jon," Said the soldier.

"Very well, before you stand Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien and Edhellond, they bring aid from the woodland realms see to it that their soldiers are fed and watered", Jon ordered, and the men-at-arms eagerly lead the Elven soldiers through the camp.

"Let's ascended the tower, Jon, no doubt your companions are inside," Glorfindel said, approaching his student; Jon nodded and felt someone claim his right arm; he saw it was his dear Lawlen, who gave him a radiant and loving smile claiming him again as her escort.

... I will finally be able to see my friends and loves again ...

"Let us greet our friends," Jon said, guiding Írimë with practised grace they came now to the foot of Orthanc. It was black, and the rock gleamed as if it were wet. The many faces of the stone had sharp edges as though they had been newly chiselled. On the eastern side, in the angle of two piers, there was a great door, high above the ground; and over it was a shuttered window, opening upon a balcony hedged with iron bars. Up to the threshold of the door, there mounted a flight of twenty-seven broad stairs, hewn by some unknown art of the same black stone. This was the only entrance to the tower, but many tall windows were cut with deep embrasures in the climbing walls: far up, they peered like little eyes in the sheer faces of the horns.

The guard who allowed them entry bore the most unusual trinket a ring of keys; now, these were not some drab things of bronze or copper, but rather two great black keys of intricate shape, joined by a ring of steel.

"The Keys of Orthanc," Lord Celeborn said with a smile upon seeing Jon's curious expression.

"I have never seen such magnificent keys," Said the young Westerosi, saddened by his ignorance, and though Jon knew he may be rather knowledgable of the Lore of Middle-earth, he couldn't know of all its intricacies nor all its items of note.

"They must be; they are the only way to enter this fortress Isengard is of great strength, natural and by craft, these walls were woven with enchantments of terrible power, and none who now walk this earth could hope to bring ruin to this towers save perhaps the Lord of Mordor, "Lord Celeborn said looking at the tower with reverence all the while Jon's heart was filled with joy to see such wonders.

They strolled through Orthanc, admiring the great tower. There was no descent save by a narrow stair of many thousand steps, and the valley below seemed far away.

"... Maybe he was delayed ..." Jon heard a familiar voice.

"That boy is useless at reading maps ... If it weren't for us ..."

And he suddenly heard two hearty laughs and the grumbling of the Arnorian soldiers.

That was when Jon, without leaving Írimë, quickened his pace and entered the room.

"May I know who is useless, Castellan?" Jon growled, startling everyone in the room.

"Jon!" They all yelled.

The room was circular and filled with many comfortable armchairs.

In it were his brothers in arms, Loras and Robar, and their loves Arianne, Rhaenys, Daenerys, and finally Ashara and Shiera had reunited after weeks of being separated from the group recruiting healers to help the soldiers.

"Jon!" Shouted Shiera and Ashara before bounding towards their love, knocking him to the ground and ignoring the wrothful Írimë who was pushed aside by the fair maidens; it seems they were eager to be reunited with Jon.

"Ashara, Shiera…" Jon said, struggling to get up, but his loves kissed him with a heated passion igniting the jealously of all those present, even the Lady Galadriel though she hid it well.

"We have missed you, our beloved fool…." Shiera said, shedding tears of joy.

"I have missed you as well, my beloved maiden of the sea ... But this is not the time," Jon said, knowing Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel, and Lord Glorfindel were watching everything.

It was then they knew they were in the company of the Noldorian lords, and with scarlet faces, they scrambled to their feet and bowed to the Elven Lords.

"Welcome, Lord Celeborn and you too, Lady Galadriel," Ashara said.

"And you as well, Lord Glorfindel," Shiera said.

The three elves held their tongues least they embarrassed the poor women further, alas there was little time for levity as the forces of the Easterlings would soon be upon them, so they decided to begin the council of war.

"Well, met Emissaries of the Valar "it has been many years since we have conversed, and it warms my heart to see you again," Celeborn said with a bow, and his wife followed suit.

"It's a shame ... But I'm afraid we have to turn our minds to other matters," Galadriel said, but in her heart, she was wrothful towards these maidens and wished it was her in Jon's arms before quashing that thought with great embarrassment.

Írimë was rather amused by their display of love and, after helping Jon to his feet, gave him a chaste kiss full of devotion arousing the ire of the room's occupants.

Seeing her rival show Jon such affection, Rhaenys reflected on the time she was parted from her beloved brother, and Írimë surely took advantage of every moment.

The Targaryen Princess just clenched her fists tightly as she gave that bothersome elf a look that promised revenge, and when Írimë saw her look of fury, she smiled.

Knowing that this would end in a fight between the two, a frustrated Jon separated from his beloved Lalwen and went to the table with maps; he gave Arianne and Daenerys a tender kiss, warming their blood as they longed for the touch of their beloved dragon. After pleasantries were concluded, Jon sat at the head of the great table in the light of the torches; he appeared proud, tall, wise, far-sighted, and valiant.

Despite his youth, Jon looked indeed more like a great warrior than her husband, more kingly, beautiful, powerful, and older. ... Galadriel thought with some shame.

In those moments, Jon was akin to noble Fingolfin upon his high throne in Barad Eithel.

After taking his place, Jon politely indicated to the three elves that they would take their place in the War Council and Galadriel, Celeborn, and Glorfindel approached the table with the Westerosi.

"I trust your journey over the White Mountains went well", Jon said, staring at Loras and Robar keenly, who were somewhat nervous as moments ago they were japing and joking at his expense.

"No, the counsel of our soldiers was true; the men of Dunharrow guided us through the White Mountains; they were a most honourable sort though rather queer-looking", Said Robar with some mirth.

"It's good to know that those men kept their oaths and what of the fortifications?" Jon asked, though his mind was drawn back to those Men of Dunharrow he perceived a great evil in their hearts.

... There's a shadow over them ... Jon thought cautiously.

"Everything has been prepared, and there is no weakness to this fortress. No, the Easterlings would have to resort to foul sorcery to claim victory now," Loras said confidently.

"The arms of the mountain means they cannot bring their full strength to bear we shall defend the fields with the Pikes and Halberds of Tharbad ... If they wish to take this fortress, they must charge the tower", Rhaenys assured with the same confidence.

"Glorfindel Lord Celeborn, I would ask your con?" Jon asked, looking at the maps and the elves sighed.

"Your friends speak the truth ... They shall flood into the valley and have no cover nor fortifications to defend themselves, but we have no assurance of victory," Lord Celeborn said with his attention on the maps.

"Remember the counsel of Lord Aulë Jon... should they capture the out plains and besiege Orthanc itself, we have not the supplies nor men to repulse them", Lord Glorfindel said.

The wise counsel of the elves filled Loras and Rhaenys with shame, who hoped for a great victory.

"Then we must fight them upon the field of Nan Curunír," Jon said, concerned about the number of casualties.

"It's for the best ... In the end, the enemy brings forth great siege works, and there is no surety that the ring of Isengard cannot be conquered," said Robar grimly.

"Well, if that is the case, we must shore up the Iron Gate," Jon said.

"Aye, shortly before your arrival, we constructed some earthen works at the mouth of the valley", Loras said.

Well, that will slow them down for a few moments ... Jon thought more calmly.

"Well then, we must decide the formation of the army," Jon said though the weariness was apparent to all who heard him.

"You look exhausted", Lady Galadriel stated, speaking for the first time.

"It is true, Jon ... You and the men of Minas Anor must rest ... The journey was exhausting even our soldiers," Írimë said, rubbing Jon's shoulders affectionately while Daenerys gazed upon the Noldorian princess with a fury befitting a dragon of Valyria.

His companions were quite shocked as they had not expected King Anárion to muster a force for the defence of Isengard as his men were needed to defend the borders of Gondor.

"King Anárion has sent us aid?" Loras asked, surprised.

"Yes, between him and his brother Isildur they mustered some five thousand men gathered from the many fiefs of Gondor", Jon said, having an exhausted and grim countenance so much that many were surprised that he had not fallen to the ground from exhaustion.

"Jon, you must rest; you're no use to use half alive," Glorfindel said, concerned about his student.

"It's true, Jon; you should rest, love," Arianne said, stroking the dark curls of her wolf all the while he enjoyed the skilful hands of his beloved Lawlen.

"Perhaps ..." Jon said, enjoying Írimë's loving embrace.

"So, this is decided ... " Írimë said, lovingly massaging Jon's battered body while his lovers look onward in jealously.

"Wait a minute, Jon... Robar and I have something prepared for you," Loras said to everyone's surprise as he handed Jon a curious object.

"Consider it a gift," Robar said, smiling when he saw Loras give "that" to Jon.

It was some sort of pipe fashioned from blackened wood, long-stemmed and carved with depictions of sea birds; it had a bowl at the end inlaid with silver and looked to be crafted by skilled hands; intrigued, Jon took the object, but he could not find any use for it; perhaps it was a mere joke.

Upon seeing the strange object Írimë, Glorfindel and Jon's lovers gave his brothers in arms scathing looks.

"I told you to do away with that thing!" Rhaenys yelled angrily.

"We told both of them to get rid of it!" Daenerys yelled, just as furious.

Displeasure that Glorfindel shared with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, who stared at the young knights reproachfully.

At that moment and moved by his curiosity, Jon wanted to ask for an explanation about the strange object, but Lalwen, who stood beside him, fixed Jon with a glare that said many things and none of them were pleasant.

"It's alright, Lalwen... I understand," Jon said, ignoring the shock of Celeborn and Galadriel, who had not known that Írimë had told Jon her true name.

"Well, my sweet love… why don't you get rid of that thing? You don't need it, "Said the beautiful elf, lovingly wanting to separate Jon from Loras's gift and preferably toss it into the Anduin.

"Excuse me, my Lady, it is a gift that we for our brother in arms! " Loras snarled, only for Finwë's daughter to give him a dark look for his insolence that terrified him.

"Could someone tell me what this thing is?" Jon asked curiously.

"That Jon... It's a pipe," said Robar, proudly showing his own a lovely thing carved from birch and oak inlaid with silver filigree.

"A pipe?" Jon asked curiously.

"The pipe is an instrument that the men of Númenor brought to Middle-Earth... It is used for smoking," said Robar, satisfied.

"To smoke?" Jon asked, intrigued.

"Speak no more of it, Ser Robar lest I hex you", Shiera demanded angrily, but Vale's knight ignored her much to Jon's amusement.

"Smoking is a pastime of the men of Númenor ... It consists of inhaling the smoke from the burning leaves of a herb called Pipeweed it is meant to soothe the mind," Loras said.

"I've never heard of that weed," Jon said, intrigued, ignoring the anger of his loves who did not want Jon to develop that nasty habit.

"Apparently, the plant grew in Númenor and was brought to Middle-earth by Númenóreans during the Second Age. In Gondor, it grew as a wild herb, appreciated primarily for its fragrant blossoms, and the Gondorians knew it as sweet galenas or more popularly as westmansweed, "Lord Celeborn said amused by the turn the gathering had taken.

"And why do you curse it as if it has brought ruin to your house?" Jon asked his Ladies.

"Because my beloved fool ... That plant leaves a pungent aroma around whoever smokes it ... And it's not pleasant," Ashara said, annoyed.

"Not to mention that your breath will be horrible, and with time, it will leave your teeth yellow if you smoke excessively," Glorfindel said, annoyed with his apprentices for having developed that unpleasant habit.

"How did you discover this?" Jon curiously asked his friends.

"It was during the first night we spent here, a group of soldiers had dinner around a campfire, and then they took out their pipes and placed a small piece of the herb in the bowl before lighting it and inhaling the smoke; naturally, we were curious," said Robar with satisfaction.

"They told us that we should put some pipe herb inside the pipe, set it on fire, close it and inhale the smoke through the pipe and then release it," Loras continued.

"It's wondrous, Jon.. you must try it '', Robar said, all the while his lovers look at Robar as if their gaze would cause them to burst into flame.

"So we discovered that among all the books here, one discussed the habit of smoking and the fashioning of pipes, so we carved that one for you," Loras said proudly.

"Such queer hatred for this marvellous plant", said Robar before striking a match.

"Robar..." Glorfindel said in a warning tone.

"Very well, I will smoke on the balcony," Robar said, going out to the balcony to smoke so as not to offend Glorfindel and Jon watched in amazement as his friend blew several smoke rings into the morning air.

"These pair of fools haven't quit smoking since that night ... The stench they give off after finishing their pipeweed is pungent and vile," Arianne said in frustration.

But the whole conversation left Jon more curious, but he was afraid of provoking the wrath of his loves.

"I appreciate the gift, my friends ... perhaps later," Jon said, stowing his pipe in his pouch.

"Jon…" Rhaenys growled angrily, clearly displeased that her brother hadn't relinquished the pipe, ignoring that Írimë soothing Jon with her loving touch so much so he was feeling somewhat drowsy.

Tired of seeing Jon enjoying the caresses of his greatest rival Rhaenys took one of Jon's hands.

"Come, little brother.. Let your older sister take care of you," Rhaenys said in a honeyed tone, arousing the jealousy of Írimë.

"Over my corpse Rhaenys!" Irimë yelled possessively that she wasn't willing to be parted from her love.

"Come then and greet Tuor's Axe with your pretty face," Rhaenys said confidently as Jon mediated between them.

Meanwhile, the Lords of the Noldor stood there watching these events transpire.

"The Westerosi lively people", Galadriel said, watching Jon fall asleep with a smile.

"One gets used to it over time, my Lady", Glorfindel said, clearly embarrassed.

"Cherish your time together, for soon the men of the East will be upon us," Celeborn said sadly, taking his wife by the hands and was reciprocating her show of affection.

"Yes, and I fear some of us shall not return," Galadriel thought; her heart was wracked with worry knowing that the Easterlings came to slay Jon.

It was night, and Jon was watching the full moon from the opening of his tent.

For some reason, the full moon was far brighter, bathing the valley in a pleasant wreathe of silver.

"Mayhaps Tilion has finally wooed Arien", Jon thought with amusement.

Jon returned his gaze to the large mahogany bed in his tent; it was of goose feathers, the blankets were stitched from bear fur, and it was large enough to house his Lady loves who were sleeping peacefully.

Seeing the full moon had brought him a sense of peace though he did not know why; perhaps it was his bond with Ghost.

When last he gazed into Ghost's mind, he was stalking the edge of the forest, his muzzle bloodied from killing a great Stag.

But he could feel how unease began to sprout in Ghost with each passing moment ... something was nearing Isengard, something purely evil.

Jon didn't know what it was, but he could feel unease growing in his heart as if something terrible was about to happen.

If he had mastery of his foresight, he could peer in the mind of the enemy"... But he didn't, and such a gift will never be mastered in such a short time; Jon felt weariness overtake him and knew he must sleep soon. He gazed once more at the valley of Isengard, knowing that soon this fair vale shall be ruined by the horrors of war.

The Easterlings shall besiege these walls tomorrow ... And Sauron has sent his foul servants to slay me for he sees me as a rival... Jon thought, looking to Ringil and his armour though he had brought Ghal-Maraz southward, alas the hammer would not see battle on this day.

I'm sorry, friend, I know you wish to be wetted with the blood of these foul men ... but Lord Aulë has granted me great power, and Ringil shall be notched with the necks of many swallow men ere the sun rises.

"Soon servants of Sauron, you shall feel terror before the fury of my blade and shall know the men of Numenor are still mighty in these days," Jon said into the void of the night.

Jon made that resolution without knowing that his mind was being watched by the Lady of Light who was listening to that challenge with a mixture of fear and pride in her because from her tent, Galadriel knew of the shadow it was great and terrible, thought Sauron has used his sorceries to hinder my foresight he shall not reveal his hand until he is sure of victory.

And whatever it was was capable of inducing fear from leagues off, which left Finarfin's daughter full of anguish for the future as she had some inkling of the identity of this great shadow, and she prayed to Eru that she was mistaken.

"By the Valar, let no harm come to him," Galadriel thought before returning to her bed and dripping into an uneasy sleep.

The following day the heavy shadow had deepened, and all hearts in the fortress were oppressed. Far above, a great cloud streamed slowly westward from the Easterlands, devouring light, borne upon a wind of war; but below the air was still and breathless as if all the Vale of Anduin waited for the onset of a ruinous storm.

The Men of Arnor and Gondor followed his example and girded themselves for war, many taking up positions on the Iron Gate.

Finally, the day had come ... The battle against the men of the East began, which filled the hearts of the inexperienced soldiers with fear.

It was decided that Shiera, Ashara, Írimë would remain inside the tower attending the wounded or dying.

Daenerys would command the Archers of Edhellond, who would harry the Easterlings in the field.

Jon had wished for his loves to stay in the tower though Arianne and Rhaenys told him they would not hide nor flee from these swallow men who served the shadow of the East for the joy of battle was upon them, and the Easterlings shall know the fury of the dragons of Valyria.

They knew that these men came not just for the fortress, but the Orthanc-stone housed inside; though they cared little for the tower, it would not come undone save by foul sorcery no Jon's companions knew that Sauron had amassed this great host to slay Jon and spite the will of noble Eru.

That is why Jon's loves tried to convince him to lead his troops from a safe place; however, the white wolf would not cower behind high walls while those whom he loves march to war never, but he shall lead the wardens of the white tower much to the anguish of all who loved him.

But Jon was extremely stubborn and would not be dissuaded he would give battle to these fell men of the East for they threaten those whom he has sworn to protect; the white wolf donned his armour and gleamed as a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his sable shield was set with silver; and he drew his sword Ringil, that glittered like ice.

For a few moments, both Celeborn and Glorfindel had a brief vision of their former Lords Thingol and Turgon as they girded themselves for war, although it filled them with pride, it did little to calm the fear in their hearts as they thought perhaps Jon was marching towards his doom just as those proud kings so long ago.

Finally, the armies of Men and Elves were waiting to gaze upon their hated foe, yet it seemed none would come, but Jon, Galadriel, Celeborn, Glorfindel, felt the shadow draw ever nearer a sickening miasma of evil turning the air putrid and dark.

And it seemed that all things wept for the coming battle, and the air grew ever chill as if the winter snows had come early, filing their bones with weariness and a dull ache.

It was then one of the elves who had guarded the earthen works at the mouth of the valley came rushing towards them and knelt before the Lord and Lady of Belfalas.

"My Lord Celeborn Lady Galadriel ... Enemies have been seen at the mouth of the valley they have come in great force," he said quickly.

"How great is the host that marches against us?" Lord Celeborn asked with a hardened countenance.

"We counted at least twenty thousand men all heavily armed and armoured, They have brought a dozen war chariots, and Valar preserve us several Oliphaunts of Harad", The elf said.

Upon hearing the great host arrayed before them, their hearts were consumed by dread.

Oliphaunts lived in the jungles of Far Harad, far to the south of any known maps of Middle-earth, where the Haradrim called them Mûmakil. Jon and the other Westerosi had never seen one except for the illustrations in the books, but they knew of them from the lessons that Oliphaunts are massive, often ferocious beasts, their legs were like trees, their bodies were larger than a house, they had enormous sail-like ears, and they had a long snout like a vast serpent.

Somehow the Haradrim tamed them, and the result was possibly the most brutally effective beast of war that Middle-earth ever saw.

The Haradrim strapped massive, carriage-like tiered towers on the backs of these beasts, and from these towers, Haradrim archers and spearmen hurled projectiles down upon their enemies. The mûmak itself, enraged and goaded by its cruel Haradrim masters, would charge through the enemy, trampling archer, swordsman and horse beneath its massive feet.

Killing a mûmak was a remarkable feat; its rough hide was thick, especially on the flanks, and any archers who wished to slay the mûmak would be pierced by the black arrows of their Southron masters. Moreover, horses had a natural fear of the mûmakil, so even the most skilled horsemen could not get near enough to strike at its great, trunk-like legs. The only known way to kill an oliphaunt was to shoot it in the eye, which typically meant standing in front of it as it charged the archer, and thus an arduous task for even the greatest of warriors.

It filled the Westerosi with a sense of great sadness as they had wished to see the Great Beast of Harad though not to face them in battle.

"Do you know who leads this host?" Lady Galadriel asked in a fury, her spear glimmering like freshly fallen snow.

"No, my Lady ... The fell captain of Easterlings has hidden himself; perhaps he is a coward," said the young elf.

"Still ..." Jon said with a sigh.

"Do not fall prey to anguish yet, Jon," Said Lady Galadriel filling his heart with renewed hope and using her magic to calm his mind.

"Don't worry about the Oliophants, the great beast our lumbering and slow, our archers shall slay them before their masters can sound the horns of war", Lord Celeborn said confidently to Jon's astonishment.

"Our archers are the finest in Middle-earth Jon, they can slay the herd masters without issue, the Oliophants may be engines of war, but they are peaceful animals, when their masters have been slain they shall flee or rampage among our enemies," Lord Celeborn said with confidence, and Jon nodded calmer.

"Our greatest challenge shall be their siegecraft," Robar said suddenly.

"I'm of a mind with Robar; we cannot allow them to breach the Iron Gate... The battle must end in a single encounter, or we cannot hold them," Glorfindel said with a hand on his chin.

"Let me take care of that; I shall lead the vanguard against these vile servants of Sauron", Loras replied seriously.

"Loras ..." Jon said, concerned for his friend.

"Jon, I'm not consumed by arrogance nor pride, and I know what is at stake ... It is not the desire for glory that drives me to do this", Said the "Knight of Flowers".

Jon could sense the sincerity of his brother in arms and nodded, although he couldn't help but worry about him.

"I will leave immediately... Before they have arrayed before us," Loras said, bowing and leaving to gather men.

"Very good in that case... we now march to war," Jon said with a fury befitting a dragon of old.

"Our priority is to discover who is leading this attack ... If we slay him, the men of the East shall lose heart and quite the field", Lord Glorfindel said with steel in his voice, and everyone was in agreement.

"Now it begins ..." Jon said with his sword in hand, soon Ringil would glut itself on the blood of these swallow men.

And so he left his tent with Arianne and Rhaenys on either side of him, each arrayed in the panoply of war Rhaenys carrying the stout Axe of Tuor while Arianne bore an ashen spear and round shield blazoned with the sun of her house.

The enemies were broad, short, bearded, and wielding axes while others carried stout spears of iron and stout maces; each was clad in gilded steel lamellar skirts of metal covered them from waist to midthigh under this; they wore scarlet tunics and breeches of satin cloth. Each bore a stout shield of blackened wood-rimmed with bronze with a central boss of gold. The helms of these Eastern men were fashioned from bronze and crested by great wings, reminding Jon of dragons.

And Jon saw the banner of those swallow men; each bore the heraldry of the Fell Lord of Mordor, a Great Eye lidless wreathed in flame. The eye of Sauron, proof of their loyalty to the Dark Lord and all his foul servants.

The battle did not take long to begin as the men of the East charged towards their lines armed with great lances of iron and steel clashing with the Knights of Westernesse with unrivalled fury; although the men of Numenorean were far greater in war, the Men of Rhûn were deepest and longest in evil servitude, hating the West, and yet were men proud and bold.

The elves of Belfalas leapt after them, hewing down the Easterlings with the fury of ages. Arrows were thick in the air, and many fell before the bowmen of Belfalas; though the Easterlings were strong and war-hardened and asked for no quarter, many a noble elf fell before the swallow men's fury.

The oaths of wraith and fury sounded throughout the valley as the men of Westernesse laid about their people's ancestral foe with the full depth of their anger for every man of Gondor who lay dying there lay a dozen corpses of the swallow man by his side.

It seemed that the stout men of Gondor would claim victory, but then there was a thunderous crash, and soon the great Mûmakil lumbered into the valley.

It seemed the mighty Oliophants had created a breach in the earthen works at the mouth of the valley, and now the Easterlings may bring the full might of their armies to bear.

The shouts of the various captains, both elves and men, could be heard ordering the soldiers to hold positions and not allow the enemies advance.

Now their doom was at hand; they must seek out the commander of this fell host and slay him least the Mûmakil trample them underfoot.

Jon fought with the fury of his dragon's blood, slaying all who came to meet him, Ringil was notched with many necks, and soon the glimmering blade was stained in the blackened blood of these foul men. Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins. His sable shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the moon, and the stars flamed into silver, blinding all those who stood before him.

The memory of the Dimrill Dale was ever on his mind, and he had no desire to be felled by a poisoned arrow nor to see those whom he loved brought low by such trickery, and so he tried to use his foresight to perceive them, alas the darkness clouded his mind.

Arianne and Rhaenys fought like the Rhoynar of old, His beloved sister hewed heads and limb and soon Dramborleg marred with blood, even his dear viper was a vision of fury slaying all who stood before her, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, Jon saw nothing of Daenarys;. However, he feared not for her safety; she was nimble as a serpent and twice as deadly he knew many of the enemies would meet their end by her stout bow.

Jon had not seen Loras since this morning his companion had led the vanguard to capture the siege engines, and though his brother was as mighty as any man of Numenor, Jon's heart was filled with dread at the thought of his death.

As for Robar, the Lord of Runestone was a force upon the field, his bronze armour glimmering like the blazing sun, and his sword, a bright flash of silver, easily seen rising and falling in deadly arcs. He slew all about him with great abandon more akin to the berserkers of the old tales than any knight of Westernesse, and all who witnessed his fury fled.

But the mightiest warriors were the Lord Celeborn and Galadriel...

Lord Celeborn was an image of Noldrian splendour, his silver hair flowing like water and his visage one of fury as he slew all who dared to stand before him; many champions of Rhûn were cut down by the brother of Thingol while others fled in fear of the mighty Elf.

Lady Galadriel was far mightier than any man in the ways of war, for she fought in the battles of wrath when the world was young; she more akin to a panther as she skewered another foul captain staining her fair visage with blood many challenged the Lady of the Galadrim, but the white-hot fury of the Noldor ran through her veins, and more skilled was her spear longer and bitter. And she clove through the Easterlings like a fire-bolt in a forest breaking their van as her glittering spear skewering a bronze-clad chieftain through the heart.

Jon could not draw his gaze from her, this warrior goddess whose beauty was far greater than any, save perhaps his beloved Lawlen fighting akin to a lion ravenous and bloodthirsty none were spared her wraith.

A black spear almost cut his cheek at that moment, which brought him out of his reverie.

"I shall perish if I stand idle... Jon thought, furious with himself and journeyed forward to bring terror to the Easterlings.

Jon slew many Easterlings until some started to flee, and he heard thundering steps and a great bellow, and then he saw it a great Mûmak of Harad was indeed a beast of vast bulk. On he came ... passing only a few yards away, rocking the ground beneath their feet: his great legs like trees, enormous sail-like ears spread out, long snout upraised like a colossal serpent about to strike. His small red eyes raging. His upturned hornlike tusks were bound with bands of gold and dripped with blood. His trappings of scarlet and gold flapped about him in wild tatters. The ruins of what seemed a very war-tower lay upon his heaving back smashed in his furious passage charge against the elves who rained arrows upon his thick hide, and high upon his neck still desperately clung a tiny figure the body of a mighty warrior, a giant among the men of Harad.

However, it seemed now that the Easterlings came thick and fast through the valley, eager to slay him. Jon had killed many champions of the swallow men, but now cruel fortune had doomed him, for the Easterlings had drawn him away from battles lines and surrounded him.

Jon was now stood alone against the mightiest of the Easterlings; each carried scimitars of steel and were clad in glittering golden plate.

At that moment, Jon uttered a curse in the tongue of elves and prayed to the Lord of the West to deliver him from this evil.

"Lord Manwë, give me strength, The young Westerosi thought, weary of the battle, and then the swallow men pummeled him with wrathful glee before kneeling him in the dirt and revealing an executioners block.

At that moment, he believed that it was all over when he saw a man from the East approaching with a curved sword, and although he could not see his face, Jon could see in his eyes cruelty and malice for the men of the West, the fell captain approached with his scimitar drawn, eager to spill the blood of this northern champion.

"So this is how I meet my end?… Jon thought in dismay.

Just at the moment when he thought that everything would end, a large figure bowled into his captors; it was a great wolf, one he knew all too well his oldest companion had come to aid him.

"GHOST!" Jon yelled in astonishment; his wolf had grown vast from his time on Fangorn as if the ancient magics of that place had blessed him.

Jon, to his shame, knew little of the Direwolves save they were the sigil of his house, and the old legends told of the Winter Kings who tamed the great packs of the North to fight on their behalf.

During his time in Middle-Earth, Jon and Sansa discovered that Direwolves are mighty hunters and have a keen intelligence; it was not uncommon for one of the great wolves to lead a pack of the lesser kin.

"By the Valar Ghost ... What happened to you? ... Jon thought, surprised at the enormity of his faithful companion.

However, at that moment, he saw a bronze chariot thundering towards them, bearing a company of archers clad in scarlet and carrying bows of yew and horn.

"CAREFUL!" Jon shouted, terrified and his wolf charged at the chariot howling with the fury of a god of the forest, causing the horses that pulled it to panic and rear up, throwing the master and archer onto the ground, and that's when Ghost lept upon the charioteers and ripped their throats to pieces.

The cries of anguish were heard throughout the valley, and it seemed that the battle had stopped as the Men of Westernesse, the Noldor, and the Easterling watched in fear as Ghost glutted himself on the flesh of the Charioteers.

Seeing that the wolf is on their side, the Noldorian soldiers and the Men of Westernesse fought with renewed vigour believing Ghost to be the champion of Lord Oromë, and the Easterlings began to falter, their hearts consumed by fear of the great wolf.

At that moment, Jon's mind was euphoric not only for having Ghost by his side, but he could also feel great joy at the terror of his foes, for they were lesser than him... It was almost as if he were an animal, a beast who desired slaughter and bore the love of war in its heart.

Jon knew not how long he indulged in this battle fury nor if any could bore witness to his savagery, he cared not these men deserved neither pity nor mercy, for they were enemies of the free peoples.

That's when he felt it again ... The cold, the death ... The darkness ... Approaching him.

Feeling his hair stand on end, Jon desperately searched for this shadow of evil; it was then the rolling clouds wept, and soon the fields of Isengard were a stinking morass of mud and blood.

However, despite the heavy rain that began to fall Jon perceived a great evil, drawing ever near it was a sickening feeling as if a shadow had fallen upon his mind and heart, and it was then he saw him the fell captain of the East.

Very tall was he, black mantled, huge and threatening. A great horned helm he bore, but between rim and robe nought was there to see, save only a deadly gleam of eyes over his robe, he wore armour of similar fashion to the Easterlings though it was of blackened steel and engraved upon the breastplate was the great eye of Sauron.

As the black-clad stranger drew nearer, Jon felt a great wave of cold enveloping his very soul, but this was fell magic that gripped his heart and filled his mind with terror, for he perceived the might of his foe and knew of mastery of evil.

Before his very eyes, all save the stoutest of men flung themselves to the ground as the hidden menace passed over them, or they would stand, letting their weapons fall from nerveless hands while into their minds a blackness came, and they thought no more of war, but only of hiding and of crawling, and of death."

That was when Jon understood who or rather what he gazed upon the chiefest servants of the Lord of Mordor; those who used the Nine Rings in ages past to became mighty kings, sorcerers, and warriors of old.

He stood before a Nazgûl, a ring wraith.

But far more terrifying than the spectre was the spear he held.

It was a spear crafted from the blackened wood with gold and dark gems; its head was jagged and cruel forged from blackened iron, and upon the blade was the fell speech of Mordor.

When Jon saw gazed upon it, he felt an indescribable dread ... The same fear that he had felt since last night was not the work of this fell captain of the East; rather, it was the evil of this foul weapon.

No, He was entirely sure that this spear was not forged by mortal hands, Much less by the hands of the Elves or Dwarves; they would never forge such a terrible weapon.

The spear was altogether evil tainted by the fell magics of the Dark Lord and inscribed with runes of wraith and hatred; Jon could perceive malice, contempt upon the blade.

And when he saw the Nazgûl who wielded that abominable weapon approaching him ... He understood, the spear was forged to slay him ... His savagery without measure had set the fly to the spiders web, he was very far from his companions, and even Ghost could not come to his masters' aid as the great wolf was tearing through the cavalry of the Easterlings, the Nazgûl had lured him into a trap.

Despite the dread of the fell Lord, Jon held Ringil firmly and ignored the desire to flee before the might of the black captain, and so he went to meet his terrible foe though Jon feared he would soon meet his doom.

"I do not fear you servant of Mordor flee from here, or you shall feel the sting of Ringil," Jon said with doughtily.

The hooded figure didn't respond for a few moments, and Jon wondered if he could still speak. And then, From a mouth unseen, there came a deadly laughter.

the Nazgûl's voice was as bitter as cold iron. "Foolish Wyrm!' he snarled. 'Foolish Wyrm! This is my hour soon; the fields shall be littered with the corpses of those whom you hold dear, and your whores shall be a feast for the carrion or I shall give them to my servants as the spoils of war.

"Then come you, loathsome shade, my blade is wetted with the blood of your servants; perhaps you are mightier than them, or perhaps you're but a craven fool," Jon said, mastering his fear.

The Nazgûl drew his fell blade before lunging at him and cried with the voice of death.".

Jon fought with great fury and rage, duelling the fell Captian despite the fear encroaching upon his heart; the Nazgûl parried another blow and thrust the spear forward, hoping to skewer him.

The Nazgûl was empowered by the dark magic of his master and wielded the spear as a master; each blow felt like striking iron; Jon knew the grace of the Valar guided him, but he was weary beyond reckoning.

However, the young Westerosi felt that each time he was exhausted, the cold that emanated from the Nazgûl began to dull his mind and fill his heart with weariness.

"I cannot best him ... Jon thought with fear as he parried another thrust of the spear.

At that moment, rigours of battle and the evil of the Nazgûl overwhelmed him, and was struck by the shaft of the spear and Jon groaned in pain as he fell to the ground the wind knocked from his lungs; the falling rain did little to soothe his battered body, and his vision grew dark.

He could barely perceive the dark figure of the Nazgûl approaching him with the fell spear that yearned to pierce his heart.

"I cannot waver... Jon thought, gripping his sword with all his strength, but his body betrayed him, and he fell back to the ground utterly spent; that was when Jon saw the Nazgûl drawing near eager to slay him for the glory of his master.

Jon closed his eyes, waiting for the spear to pierce his heart, his heart heavy with despair, knowing he shall never gaze upon beloved wives again.

Jon struggled to open his eyes, but he saw a blade of silver parrying the spear of the Nazgûl and at once saw a mane of silver hair and eyes that glittered with utter fury and hatred, and he knew who had come to his aid.

"Lord Celeborn ..." Jon whispered with admiration.

He lay there and witnessed the fury of the Lord of the Golden Wood as he battered the Fell Captain; it was indeed a sight to behold; Celeborn swung his sword with such speed it appeared like a flash of silver rising and falling in deadly strokes. Lord Celeborn gave the cruel Easterling no quarter ever-pressing his advantage until after a long, brutal contest of strength, Celeborn hewed the hand of the black captain from its wrist, and it fell to the ground alongside the great spear as the Nazgûl roared in a fury clutching at the stump where its hand once was.

"Lord Celeborn is truly a mighty warrior even among the Noldor, alas tis a grim fate when I cannot hope to match him in a contest of arms; it seems the Lord of the Galadhrim had earned his reputation Galadriel chose wisely." Jon thought with grim satisfaction.

Yet the joy He felt at seeing the wraith of Sauron humbled, Celeborn did not know that danger was not the Nazgûl, but rather the spear that lay discarded in the mud still clutched in the severed hand of the fell captain.

"Lord Celeborn ..." Jon said, hoping to prevent him from touching the evil spear, but at that moment, he saw the Easterlings with bows of yew notch their arrows hoping to slay the brother of Thingol.

"Not…!" Jon shouted, hoping to stop them, alas these fools would not be denied, and so he threw himself in front of Celeborn and screamed in pain as he felt the fell arrows of the Easterlings pierce the mail beneath his armour.

Hearing Jon's scream, Celeborn was distracted for a few moments when he saw the young Emissary of the Valar fall to the ground; he was pierced with many black-feathered arrows; his sword was still in his hand though Jon had not the strength to use it.

And yet he could not move, for at that moment, Celeborn felt great misery when the spear pierced his heart.

Jon gazed upon the Lord of Edhellond and saw that the spear had pierced Celeborn's breastplate, the horrid wound wept with blackened blood, and the noble elf fell to the ground lifeless.

"NO!" A terrified Jon shouted when he saw the majestic elf crumple, and it seemed the archers would slay him though these men would soon meet their end as Ghost lept upon them, savaging the archers with sickening ferocity tearing at their throats and arms.

It was then that Jon could perceive the dark silhouette approaching him again ... And he felt another presence he hadn't felt in quite some time.

Galadriel was fighting against the army of enemies with ferocity and grace befitting her forebears; it had been a great many years since she had fought in war, and her skill at arms was somewhat lessened as she had devoted her time to the study of lore and the movement of the heavens and mistake she would correct when she returned to the Golden Wood.

In those moments, as she hewed the head of several captains, her mind was focused not only on the enemies ... but also ... On her husband and Jon Snow.

She wanted them both to be safe, and she was watching over them from afar as she knew Celeborn was watching over her ... until Jon had charged into the once lust of battle was on him, Galadriel could not divide her mind between them both; so Galadriel focused solely on her own struggle and Jon withdrawing her sight from Celeborn as she worried not for her husband he was far mightier than these swallow men.

A decision would come to haunt the daughter of Finarfin for many years after this battle.

When Galadriel could suddenly feel a great pain in her heart which shrank achingly as if a part of her had been ripped away and she knew it of only two who shared a piece of her soul, she could perceive Jon.

But the other….

"CELEBORN!" Galadriel shouted with much pain, releasing a heartrending scream that was heard throughout the battlefield, and the daughter of Finarfin wept, for she knew her husband had perished.

Jon had not expected the Gryphon to come to his aid though he had perceived him several days ago; the young wolf assumed he was merely hunting, but now he knew his purpose. "Surely, that haughty animal had been following him like Ghost.

The cold voice of the fell captain rang clear of the falling rain filling him once more with dread though "The elf has fallen ... you are alone, perish fool for none can defy my master," the Nazgûl gripped the spear with his remaining hand and prepared to slay the young dragon.

"I ... I'm not ... Alone," Jon said, looking up at the Nazgûl in a defiant way when he could hear a thunderous shriek from the sky terrifying everyone on the battlefield as a huge winged animal shot to the earth like a bolt of lightning.

Despite the rain, Jon could see the Gryphon approaching screaming war cries as he came to the utter surprise of the Nazgûl; the Gryphon bellowed in fury and using his mighty claws to scythe at the servant of the enemy alas the Nazgûl wielded the spear of his master with great skill, and it seemed he would slay the beast of Manwë, Jon knew his companion would be killed, and so he stood mustering all his strength and with a cry of rage, drove the blade of Fingolfin through the heart of the Nazgûl.

Then he looked for his sword that he had let fall, for even as he struck his blow, his arm was numbed, and now he could only use his left hand.

And though he was weary from his great struggle, Jon remained conscious long enough to see the extraordinary.

Ringil's blade began to glow a silvery-blue hue, and the fell captain screams echoed throughout the valley no other blade, not though mightier hands had wielded it, would have dealt that foe a wound so bitter, cleaving the undead flesh, breaking the spell that knit his unseen sinews to his will.

Jon and all those still alive bore witness to the most peculiar thing, the Nazgûl's hood was thrown back, and only Ringil remained, seemingly skewered upon the air; however, little by little, its form began to take shape.

Where before in that place there was a horrible ghost, now there was a great man he was tall, broad-shouldered, and sinewy with beetle black eyes He had a long black beard and bushy eyebrows." his skin was the colour of beaten copper and upon his brown was a great diadem of bronze.

In fact, that man was resembled the wretched Khal he slew all those years ago though he was far mightier in countenance and lineage... Seeing the mortal appearance of the Nazgûl, Jon knew the identity of his enemy.

Khamul second only to the Witch-king himself. He was called Sauron's lieutenant, "Shadow of the East", and "the Second Chief" or "the Black Easterling ... was a king of Easterlings during the Second Age, and he was one of the nine Men to whom Sauron gave one of the Rings of Power. Like the others, he became a powerful sorcerer and ruler until he eventually faded into a Wraith, and his will was surrendered to Sauron.

For a few moments, no one said anything, and even the ancient Nazgûl looked at his only hand in shock and caressed his face, utterly oblivious to the blade stuck in his heart.

But that did not last ... As Khamul was wracked with pain and it seems the weight of years was upon him, Jon thought he would return to the shadow of his master and yet it was not so.

Khamul's appearance was ageing rapidly, but he did not seem to turn into a ghost; rather, his muscles were torn asunder, and his hair turned white as fallen snow; it seemed whatever fell powers that had sustained him were now broken.

Then Khamul looked Jon in the eye, and Jon was surprised as he found no hatred in them ... Just serenity and hope as if all evil had fled from his soul.

"Thank you for freeing me ..." The ancient Nazgûl said hoarsely and fell to the ground dead until the weight of years turned his bones to dusk carried upon the eastern winds.

Jon smiled and uttered a phrase of Sindarin "Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar. Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië"

With that, The Lord of the Easterlings had found his peace no longer a puppet of evil now; he shall be guided to the hall of command to receive the judgment of Lord Namo whether for good or ill we cannot say.

For a few moments, Jon could not comprehend what he had witnessed, but he had little time to ponder it the battle was ever in doubt, and he must fight, when he tried to stand, Jon fell to the ground, and then he felt pain from the mighty blows of the Shadow of the East, and the weariness from all he had slain and the black arrows that had pierced his body.

The noble and majestic elf had died saving him from his enemy, and now his body was ... Almost unrecognizable ... aged beyond guess of years; tall and kingly he had been, but now he was withered as an old stone the wound of the spear was weeping foul-smelling blood the colour of jet.

It was a horrible sight ... And he knew it was his pride that had killed this fair Lord, and he wept with bitter tears for his like would not be seen in this world again.

"I'm sorry .." Jon tried to get closer, but the wounds of battle had mastered him, and he collapsed; now he lay beside the Lord of the Edhellind, utterly spent.

Jon was left with his face looking at the sky with the rain still falling on his face as he bled from the wounds he had been thinking of his cousins Sansa and Arya who remained in Annúminas, his companions Loras and Robar who were still fighting, and Jon's last thoughts were of Arianne, Rhaenys, Daenerys, Ashara, Shiera, his beloved Lawlen and the Lady Galadriel.

At that moment, Ghost and his Gryphon stood over his battered body, defending their master.

"By the Valar, let no harm come to them…."

"JON!" A terrified and frantic familiar voice was heard approaching.

It was Loras battered and bloody but very much alive.

"By the Valar ... What happened to you?" Said the knight of flowers taking off his helmet and staring in horror at his dying friend.

"Well, met my brother; where are the others have we won ..," Jon said, spitting blood.

"I don't know... nor does it matter, I'm going to take you to your lovers so that you can recover," Loras said, lifting Jon with difficulty, and the Gryphon knelt so that the knight of flowers could lay Jon upon its back.

"Thank you ..." Loras said gratefully.

"Loras ... It's useless, I ..." Jon said, feeling weaker and weaker.

"Hush ... I won't let you die," Loras said, weeping bitter tears.

"There is little you may do, my brother ... Jon thought mournfully as deathclaw sped away towards the tower of Orthanc.

Notes:

Thanks to my co-author Great_Red