Hinder

X. The Fields of Pelennor

The red glow before them grew brighter and brighter as the riders neared Minas Tirith. Distant noises remained unidentifiable, but Rowan knew they were screams, yells, metal clashing. Sounds of war. Smoke thickened the air, furthering the Rohirrim's anticipation of battle, along with fear.

Rowan's heart pounded with every inch toward Pelennor Fields. She had fought in Edoras and Helm's Deep, waiting for the fight to come to her. Approaching it instead was worse. Her imagination of what awaited them—aided by sounds—made her want to flee. It took a great store of nerves to keep riding forward.

The glimmering White Tower of Ecthelion Boromir spoke so fondly of rose as the army crested a hill. Dawn, rising behind them, revealed a scene Rowan wished she could unsee.

Smoke and flames rose from the White City. Screams of pain and horror, battle-cries, and crashes and booms hung in the air. Those hideous creatures the Nazgûl now rode—Fellbeasts—swooped and dove for Gondorians.

Rows upon rows of orcs and other abominations stood before the city. Extremely tall and thick siege towers inched toward the white walls—many had already reached the battlements and had lowered their gates. Catapults (on the enemy side) continuously launched enormous boulders into the besieged city; none answered from Minas Tirith. A steady flow of small and large figures—trolls—entered the busted-open gate. The enormous battering ram still sat in the entrance.

Rowan was stunned at the sight. It looked worse than she had expected and what was shown in the movie. Fires raged up into the fifth tier of Minas Tirith.

Rohan had arrived just before it was too late.

King Théoden caught her attention galloping past her, ordering captains where to lead their éored. Éomer looked at her as he passed—he had insisted she ride with his éored. She had wanted to, badly, to ensure he wouldn't get hurt, but Rowan had to stay near the king—to make sure he died.

The realization of what she had to do turned her stomach... but it had to happen, unless she wanted to sacrifice someone else.

Finished calling out orders, the king rode back across the front of his army. "Arise, arise Riders of Théoden! Spears shall be shaken; shields will be splintered! A sword day, a red day as the sun rises! Ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin, and the world's ending!"

King Théoden raised his sword, rousing all to join him. "Death!"

The first unanimous chorus of 'Death!' Rowan couldn't join—her throat had seized at the opposition. Adrenaline pulsed in her veins from the king's rousing speech. She swallowed down her fear to yell out the second chanting. And the third and final time she yelled the loudest; Haldir beside her fell in as well, yelling death in Elvish.

"Forth Eorlingas!" he yelled.

Horns blew, sounding the charge.

King Théoden, on the stallion Snowmane, took off, practically a blur of white. The rest of the Rohirrim followed his lead, but his Royal Guard could not overtake him. Battle-fury had taken him, and it had seized everyone (even Rowan) in how they madly charged headlong into probable death.

Death. Now Rowan understood the fear shown in Gothmog's eyes in the movie. The chant wasn't only for intimidation but presented what the Rohirrim guaranteed: death to their enemies or death to themselves. They weren't scared—they wouldn't flee. The fear of dying wouldn't turn them away. It had been accepted. She and Nárind flew alongside all the other riders, whole-heartedly believing in that promise and willing to give it or receive it.

She couldn't hear anything other than the thundering of hooves and continued battle-cries of the Rohirrim around her. Wind screamed past her ears. One rider nearby was struck by an arrow and tumbled off, probably being trampled—his horse continued running in a frenzy. Another arrow hit a horse; it went down, taking its rider with it.