THE RED RIDER ; lord of the rings {legolas} ✔

Chapter XIX

Chapter XIX

I sprinted. The sun had just set, and I had a few hours to get to Minas Tirith. I could feel it, the Red Rider inside of me, awaiting her one duty, her job, the reason she came back as Elenathrian - my final battle is with the Nazgûl. I knew it in my heart. This was the height of my power, my place in the war. I nallan en gaear. The Red Rider sought this battle, sensing she was close - and after that, the real goal. I gaear nallan enni na mar. My time was coming.

Guldurelon ran harder, sensing my urgency. I focused only on the horizon, the stars shining upon the battle at Minas Tirith. The Nine's shadows approached Minas Tirith; they would certainly get there before I would. As long as I managed to arrive before they killed too many soldiers...

I could feel my eyes glaze over as we galloped for Minas Tirith, going into full battle mode. The White City appeared on the horizon, glowing faintly in the moonlight. It looked strangely haunted from here; faded decaying stones, small fires burning on the surrounding fields and in the streets, faint cries and clashes of swords echoing across the plains - as though Minas Tirith was already doomed.

The Nazgûl shrieked from afar, their black shadows descending towards the city suddenly. I narrowed my eyes. I was ready for this. I was ready the moment I'd determined who the Red Rider was to me.

"Desiel, elenin... manwa'ten sina ohta. Calya'sí, ar er'ancalima." (Ready, my stars? Prepare for this battle. Ignite now, and stay bright.)

I drew my red battle cloak's hood up, and drew my sword, channeling magic into it. The elvish inscriptions glowed with starlight, the narrow carvings incredibly bright, nearly blinding with silver.

I raised my glowing sword as I rode up to Minas Tirith through the Pelennor Fields. The cries of both soldiers and orcs rang out louder here, the orange fires more jarring against the white stone.

The Nazgûl shrieked from the city, swirling around the enormous stone structures and soaring down the levels of Minas Tirith, sensing a new and significant enemy. I raised my sword higher, my heart beating and my breathing labored, extending the range of the starlight to the edge of the city. The Nazgûl at the front, who I could only assume was the Witch-King, hesitated at the edge of the light, feeling its purity from afar.

"You know why I come," I said strongly. Their black robes billowed in the harsh wind, the faceless figures hanging in midair upon the snarling fell-beasts, great leathery wings flapping every so often to stay hovering just outside the perimeter of light. "Your battle is here with me, not with the helpless in Minas Tirith." The Red Rider had arrived.

When prompted, the Witch-King schreeched, and dove. The fell-beast extended its neck right over me. I stared back up, drawing my sword across my chest, waiting. Three... two... one.

I sliced upwards very suddenly, burning through the neck of the fell-beast. Its head fell off cleanly with a great shriek, and landed somewhere behind me. The beast itself was on the ground before the shriek died across the plains, the wings falling dramatically onto the ground, grass flattening beneath its broad chest and belly, the tail flopping like a dead snake. The rest of the neck wove through the grass, hiding the Witch-King from me. The other Eight waited above for a signal from their leader.

Suddenly, its head appeared, the iron-spiked helmet now visible that he was on the ground. Guldurelon snorted lightly, pawing at the ground as the Witch-King stood up completely, a broad sword in his gloved hand. He turned his featureless face towards me, and I ignored the screams in my head and the headache they were causing. I was the Nazgûl's match in power - we were equals on the battlefield.

The Witch-King then gave a real screech, a call, and the other eight came down closer to the ground from the sky, circling on their fell-beasts, prepared for a battle whenever their master called for them. In the center of the circle, Guldurelon and I facing off their leader, the carcass of its fell-beast a reminder of what was to come - either for me, or for them. In the air, circling around us, the Nazgûl watched as the Witch-King went into an ancient battle stance. I cocked my head slightly, seizing him up, and then took my own cavalry stance, deeming it most likely to be successful against the King's heavy sword with my long blades.