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・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
AS THE HEAVY doors of the fortress swing open, I stand behind Legolas, watching with a mixture of anticipation and dread as hordes of Orcs pour into the building like a dark, malevolent tide.
My fingers grip tightly around Legolas's wrist, seeking reassurance in his presence as we brace ourselves for the impending battle.
To my right, Aine and Khellan stand side by side, their expressions resolute as they prepare to face the oncoming onslaught. Their arms are stretched wide, ready to confront whatever horrors come our way.
Amidst the chaos, I catch sight of Caspian standing beside Khellan, his stance firm despite the weariness etched into his features. He is one of the few remaining fae warriors, a testament to the fierce bravery with which they have fought.
Despite the overwhelming odds against us, I feel a swell of pride in my chest. Proud to be Fae, proud to stand alongside these courageous warriors.
With a thunderous roar, King Theoden and his men charge forward, their swords flashing in the dim light as they cut down any Uruks foolish enough to stand in their path. With each swing of their blades, they press onward, a beacon of unwavering resolve in the heart of the chaos.
With that Legolas and I charge forward.
Using my powers of nature I swing rocks at nearby orcs, let out yells of angst as I do. Legolas uses his bow from his seat, careful not to hit me with his elbow in the process.
Amidst the fray, Aragorn's whispered words draw my attention, and I follow his gaze to the crest of a hill, telling Legolas to holt in his place.
He still uses his bow trying to ensure we are safe while I gawk at where Gandalf the White stands proudly atop his mighty steed, Shadowfax, bathed in the radiant light of the sun.
"Gandalf," I breathe, my voice barely audible over the din of battle, awe and relief flooding through me at the sight of our powerful ally.
Gandalf's gaze sweeps over the battlefield, his eyes alight with determination as he surveys the scene below. He sees the Uruk-Hai preparing to attack, but his expression remains steadfast, filled with a calm assurance that bolsters our spirits.
"Theoden King stands alone," Gandalf declares, his voice ringing out across the battlefield like a clarion call.
But just as despair threatens to take hold, a familiar figure rides up beside Gandalf, drawing his sword with unwavering determination.
