Chapter XI: The Walking Dead...Literally

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Chapter XI:

The Walking Dead...Literally

By two weeks time, on the fourteenth of March, the entirety of the Phoenician army is prepared to take on the troops of Mordor, upon the barren landscape of Pelennor Fields. And though we could easily travel there in a matter of hours, it is decided to take a slower flight in order to preserve our energy. So, with that, we leave a day prior to the intended battle date, and let the winds coast over us as we direct our aviary forms towards the famous Minas Tirith.

Bilbo Baggins flies at my side, a position he has come to take on a daily occasion, even when I am perfectly safe from a threatening harm. We take great comfort in the close presence of one another in this sorrowing time of evil's drawl and battle's gore. And though my family and friends have yet to make any comment or question in regards to Bilbo and my own closeness, I do suspect at least one of them to suspect our relationship, namely, my mother.

Erudian is well recognized for her observational skills and supreme intellect. And though Bilbo and I avoid any contact with each other when around company, her intuition is bound to know of our closeness and intentions. If I wasn't already suspicious of her knowledge, the small, knowing glances she sends to us is more than enough to guarantee her intelligence. She is a woman in love, after all.

The flight over Middle Earth is one I hold much adoration of: seeing the telltale kingdoms of magnificence beauty, looking upon the common folk of utter ignorance, watching the sun rise on the innocent faces of all. Indeed, it is a journey I take great value in, even as we fly to our potential death in the Eastern lands of man and orc. We are to arrive by the second wave of troops, hosting the large Mumakils that are no match for our fiery tendencies. And though the Rohan and Gondor soldiers have no idea of our coming aid, I take large faith that they will be happily surprised.

Our troops of a near two dozen Phoenix fly in a V-formation, my parents at the lead with Bilbo and I behind them. The hobbit is the greatest friend of my parents, and I am a princess, so the arrangement makes more than enough sense. Without much regard for the positioning of the other warriors behind us, I take to listing them out for the sake of continuity and knowledge: the Company of dwarves, Typhon II, Denzel, Thrain II, Thranduil, Bard, Palo, Tauriel, Dain, and Radagast. We are the only Phoenicians to live within this time, at least to my current knowledge.

As the sun rise closes in upon on us, marking its final moment before a full day of battle takes hold, our eyes cast upon the burning city of Minas Tirith, and more remarkably, the battle at its front gate. It is just as Galadriel foretold, the shrinking army of Rohirrim soldiers and the mounting army of orcs and Mumakil. And though a great fear stirs in my heart, I know myself to be invincible in this moment, as I am a Phoenix and impervious to all harm.

"Make safe the city!" Theoden commands from his position far below my eyes. Given my superior eyesight, I am able to recognize the sudden exchange of joy upon his face for a look of utter horror, in acknowledgement of the coming troops of animalistic characteristics. He has yet to see us yet, like the enemy, as the entirety of our small group hides within the clouds on this musky day. Instead, he just looks terrified upon the twenty Mumakil, with their herds of Haradrim archers upon the backs. And it is this fear that bears a panicked sea of Rohirrim riders.

"Reform the line. Reform the line!" Theoden commands from below our fluttering figures of palpable flames which anxiously await the inferno to come. The king continues to circle in front of his reforming troops of human soldiers, muttering something to Gamling, his second in command, as I look to my mother for the signal. And that's exactly what she does, swooping down from the sky, followed by the rest of us, and fully illuminating our figures to both sides of the war.

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