Hi everyone. Thanks again to those who left me lovely messages (Raksha The Demon, Agape4Gondor). They were particularly appreciated for chapter 47 which was one I got stuck on for many years! Hope you enjoy the new chapter. Not far to go now!

Chapter 48 – Long in the making

Legolas met the wizard's eyes, hoping that his own gaze might betray the loathing he felt. He pressed his bound hands into the soft hair at the horse's neck, and the animal skittered and threw back its head, seeming to absorb the Elf's anger.

The Istar's voice once again made the offer, soft and compelling, "One word and the Elf will take your place, you can rest."

Legolas would gladly have taken his friend's place, knowing his own strength would likely last the remaining distance, but the road to Minas Tirith had taken on some private meaning, and Saruman would not give relent until the man had made the choice.

The wizard's offer remained unanswered. Legolas had already seen Pippin fall from exhaustion and did not think he could endure the sight again.

Risking the spears of the surrounding Orcs, Legolas dismounted and dropped to his knees beside Faramir so that Saruman would not hear their words. "You are at the end of your strength, friend. I have some yet. It is no betrayal to let me do this for you."

Faramir was kneeling also, head bent over the ground, as sweat dripped from the ends of his hair into the dust. Legolas could feel his body shaking beneath his fingers as he spoke beneath his breath. "Our friendship was long in the making. It is precious to me, and I will not give it up so soon."

Legolas resisted the Orc who came to force him away and gripped Faramir's arm tightly instead. "It is not worth your life!" He licked his parched lips, scared by the strange calm in the other's gaze.

Before he could say more, he caught sight of the rider named Ceorl approaching from the Rohirric host, his hair streaming out and eyes blazing with some horror. He rode through the Orc ranks and they made way for him, but Legolas saw hunger and restlessness in the way they gripped spear and axe.

Saruman took his eyes from the two companions and turned to the rider. "Why do you hold the line?"

Ceorl's horse skittered to the side as he fought to reign it in, and in doing so revealed the plains far below them.

Catching Legolas' wearied eyes in the far distance was a brilliant spike of silver reaching high into the clouds before them. Built into the mountain side, the city of Minas Tirith was a blaze of white stone set amid the darkening sky of Mordor. Smoke was rising from the Pelenor, plumbing black into the air as the carnage greeted their sight.

"Faramir," Legolas spoke softly so as not to draw attention.

The man raised his head and followed the Elf's gaze toward his city, eyes widening at the sight.

The first wave of Mordor had reached the Minas Tirith, but the city was still standing.

Muttering had begun in the ranks of Saruman's army as the Orcs looked down upon the field of battle, but the voices of the Rohirrim were louder still.

Ceorl's tall horse approached Saruman, the insignia of Rohan shining brightly upon his chest and his face dark. He no longer showed any sign of respect, and even raised his spear as he spoke. "What is this wizard? What other proof is needed that our brothers in Gondor have not betrayed us?" The rider waved his arm to Legolas and Faramir and there was true remorse in his voice. "These are no traitors. They have done naught but beg for our aid in a time of greatest need. Ai, that we had ridden sooner!"

"Your riders have still their part to play in this war." Saruman replied softly. He had clearly not expected Minas Tirith to be already under siege, but did not seem discomposed by the turn of events.

As though an order had been spoken, though no word had passed the wizard's lips, the shriek of metal rang out as hundreds of Orc weapons were raised against the men of Rohan. Wolves bayed, and panic flared for a moment across the rider's eyes as he remembered his men were surrounded and completely outnumbered by the Orc and wolf masses.

"Let Denethor to make a choice," Saruman smiled. "Parley with Saruman or watch his city crumble as the men of Edoras are slaughtered outside his gate. Your riders will play their part. You, however, are inconsequential." The slightest movement of Saruman's hand warned Legolas to the danger and he jumped to his feet in time only to see the man crumple to the ground beneath the feet of his horse and lie there unmoving.

Faramir had looked up also. "My father will not bargain, Saruman. Not for the lives of thousands would he open the gates."

"Send a rider to the city. What will he give for the life of his son?"

Saruman stood tall on the crest of the rise, regarding the battle playing out at the base of Mindolluin with cool deliberation, not even sparing a glance for the Elf held on his knees before him.

The dawn light caught the white walls of the city below and Legolas almost needed to turn his head away from the blinding sight. He looked in vain for some sign or standard showing Aragorn had entered the city, feeling sure that only with his friend's aid could the Minas Tirith now be saved. His Elven sight was keen, but held as he was he could not see the fields, only the topmost levels of the city

He drew a shallow breath, determined to remain composed and not rise to provocation as he so often had in the last few days. "The way to the city is open," he said quietly, "the might of Sauron will bear the attack and as his servant you can walk in and take what you wish. Why do you wait?"

"Men are weak at heart," Saruman smiled, "But like animals they can be dangerous when cornered. I would know what lies in wait."

Without further preamble Legolas asked the question uppermost in his mind. "Why am I here?"

To his frustration Saruman ignored the question, choosing instead to reach for a blade from the possessions that had been set down near by. "This is a magnificent sword," the wizard remarked casually, turning it over in his long fingers.

Legolas recognised Anduril, which had been taken from him when they were captured. Anger immediately filled him and he strained against the ropes that held his arms. "It is death to any man who draws it from its sheath."

Saruman smiled, undeterred, and remarked. "Save one."

Saruman was now watching him from the corner of his eyes but Legolas could not disguise his anger and frustration that although his friend may be only a few leagues away, fighting for the city, an army divided them.

"When he has entered the city what action will the heir of Isildur take? Will he claim Isildur's bane for his own?"

The question took Legolas by surprise. "You wish me to predict what is to come?"

Saruman was still looking at the sword. "You have known him long. His mind, you understand how it works."

"That may be so, but why you think I would help you?"

Saruman set the sword back in its place with cold deliberation. "You have seen the measures I will take. I trusted that unlike your companions you will not seek to defy me. Do not think I will hesitate to kill you if you do not tell me what I wish to know. I have kept you alive for this purpose alone."

A sound suddenly reached him. Without moving a muscle in his face Legolas recognised the beat of horse hooves upon the earth. His ears had heard the cavalry approach before anyone else in the camp and he silently rejoiced.

His advantage, however, proved unavailing as a moment later Saruman too had detected something amiss. "Guard him," he told the Orcs. "It will be your necks if you let him escape."

Then Saruman was gone, and the thundering of hooves was shaking the earth beneath him like a tremor. The Orcs holding him shifted nervously.

Over the rise the bright tips of spears came followed by their furious bearers. With ease Legolas shook off his captor's loosened grasp and flung himself forwards to where Anduril and their other weapons had been left unguarded.

He relished the feeling of his white knife in his hands, and of the freedom offered through the chaos of the rider's attack. Finally the numbers had turned in their favour, and there was some hope of escape! The Orcs fell in single strokes, and after slicing through the ropes that bound his hands he bent to search amid Saruman's possessions.

Just as he had retrieved their belongings, he heard his name called, and scanned the battlefield for a familiar face. He did not recognise the tall figure on the horse approaching him, for a helmet shielded his nose and brow. It was not Hama, and he wondered who else among the Rohirrim would call him by name.

The horseman reined in, looking him over quickly as if to assess his well-being. "So you are alive! The dwarf will be pleased."

Legolas looked up, his interest kindled.

Eomer was watching him warily, as if he was likely to sprout wings and fly away at any moment, but the Elf's reaction to the news that Gimli was alive was so natural that some of this initial distrust fell away. Despite his obvious relief in finding him alive, Legolas sensed some great sorrow weighing down the heart of this man.

"I am Eomer. Will you ride with me?" the young horselord asked, extending an arm to Legolas. "I must lead our riders to the city, for our King is slain, the fell beasts return, and we cannot hold the advantage much longer. The wizard's forces outnumber our own many times over, and I must take new council and decide what is to be done now our people are as one again."

Legolas realised that the man now offering his hand had recently become powerful indeed, but he shook his head, his eyes already shifting for any sight of his friends. "I thank you." He nodded. "Tell Aragorn, if you see him, that I have something of his that will be returned." He smiled slightly at the thought of seeing his old friend once more. "But for now I must seek for the others who were taken with me, and pray they have survived the battle. Tell me, have you a tinder box?"

After a moment Eomer tossed it down to him, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Legolas sought out the Saruman's supply of fine alcohol from amid the wizard's possessions, quickly dousing the pile. He then struck a flame and lit the area, watching to ensure the flames took flight and began to eat away at all the wizard's belongings.

He hoped he would not meet Saruman hereafter for he was sure the wizard would not take kindly to the sabotage.

An uneasy fear had taken hold of him, and as Eomer spurred away he felt it grow and begin to take shape. He turned west, for the other end of the battlefield, and broke into a run.

Something had taken hold of Pippin's wrists while he was unconscious and was now tugging at the ropes. He moaned in pain and kicked out with his legs at whatever had hold of him, before realising that it was not an Orc but a rider. A helmet obscured the face but even as Pippin stilled his struggles the rider lifted the helmet slightly so that he might glimpse golden hair and a familiar face looking down on him. Eowyn!

Pippin opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out, and while a dagger sliced through the ropes that bound him he could do nothing but stare in disbelief.

It was only then that he felt the pounding of hooves on the ground beneath him, and heard the cries of battle all around them.

"We must make haste," the lady said softly but urgently as she shook Faramir. "I have waited long for a chance to free you, but the wizard will not take long to realise you have escaped."

Pippin looked around. Legolas was not there, and as he did not remember anything of the past few hours he knew nothing of where the Elf might have been taken. The landscape around them was blotted out by a mass of Saruman's creations, forced into a surprise battle as their Rohirric prisoners revolted to join their rescuers from the city.

The rise to their right, once grassy and smooth, had been pounded to dust by the hooves of hundreds of horses, their riders gripping long lances that streaked into the sky above them. The combined force of Theoden's men and a cavalry from Gondor had met the unprepared enemy head on, charging through their ranks and giving the captive men of Rohan a chance to free themselves.

Of all this Pippin could see nothing that made sense. Everything seemed to hurt, his head most of all. His wrists bled from being dragged along by the horse on the previous day and he knew his shirt was torn and bloodied from the whips that had forced him to run. His hair was battered into his face by the wind, but suddenly none of these aches and worries concerned him.

Amid the turmoil of battle another sound had taken possession of his mind. It was a sound he feared beyond anything else, and so forcing himself at last into action, he desperately tried to shake Faramir awake. Without success he finally turned haunted eyes to the sky as the terrible scream of the flying creature took hold of his mind and tore any rational thought to shreds.

The shadow that fell across the sun and the beat of heavy wings seemed to hold his body immobile against the earth. He shook uncontrollably, huddled down as low as he could, as the gaze of those empty eyes searched him out.

Faramir's grasp upon his hand was finally returned, but Pippin no longer had the sense for anything but the thought that winged beast was searching for him alone.

Eowyn took hold of his arm now and attempted to pull him to his feet. There was a shriek as a long sword was drawn from her sheath and Pippin felt a short sword pushed into his slack grip. It felt familiar, and he realised it was his own sword that he must have lost in the hall at Edoras. She must have kept it for him! There was little, he knew, that such a weapon could do against such a foe as this, but it was a comfort nevertheless.

He lost his hold on Faramir as the man moved away unsteadily to find a weapon of his own, and staggered back as the fell beast beat the dusty earth with its heavy wings.

The tall figure of Eowyn stepped up to the Witch King as he rose on his stead to look down upon his prey.

"Give me the halfling." The cold voice bled into Pippin's heart. He felt the stillness creep over him as it had upon Amon Hen, crushing his chest and fogging his thoughts with a terror almost insurmountable.

The Nazgul's steed lunged its long neck forwards, seeking to tear apart the lady of Rohan's flesh with its sharp teeth, but she nimbly dodged away. Its master spoke again, and Pippin pressed his hands over his ears. "Give me the halfling and you shall be let to live."

He thought he would truly go mad if he lay exposed one more moment beneath that hollow stare, but he was thrust back and shielded from sight as Faramir returned, now wielding an Orc blade, his hair streaming out,

"You shall not take him!" Eowyn cried.

Pippin saw Faramir look up in recognition of her voice, and the same horror that was in Pippin's heart flash across his friend's face. They both knew that she would surely be slain alongside them.

"The Dark Lord has no interest in Curunír's skirmishes." The hollow beneath the war mask seemed to exude its distaste. "The day of reckoning has not come yet to this land, and he looks only for the return of his property."

Repressing a shiver of fear as the shadow King's eyes sought him out, Pippin felt a determined pressure upon his arm and knew that Faramir was urging him run.

"Curunír knows what you seek," Faramir was saying as Pippin's heart beat faster, "and he seeks it for his own ends."

Again, the pressure upon his arm, but Pippin just could not bring himself to run, for surely the Black Rider would simply cut down any in its path to find him once more.

"Sauron needs no man's council! He will crush your city, man of Gondor, with or without the wizard. Now move aside."

Pippin could see that the Witch King was rapidly losing patience, and Faramir must have seen it too for he dared to turn his back upon the enemy to urge the Hobbit run. Pippin saw the dark shape of the beast's head lunging forwards once more and felt his own eyes widen in panic. In them Faramir saw the danger, but too late. He turned, driving his thick blade deep into the descending neck of the beast. However the surprise attack had caught the man off balance. Writhing against the fatal blow, the creature struck out at its attacker, its heavy wing slamming into Faramir's side and crushing his body to the earth far from Pippin's reach. From a distance the Hobbit heard himself crying out in shock and watched through bleary eyes as the Witch King's steed ceased its death struggles and lay still.

Eowyn still bared the Nazgul's path to its victim. With its pale sword held before him he slid from the saddle and approached. The anger that now pulsed from the shadow King struck Pippin like a blow, sending him reeling back.

"My steed is slain and I will take vengeance. Stand aside." The King raised his terrible sword that had once cut so deeply into Frodo's flesh. "Do you still defy me? Is it not said that no man may kill me."

"You will not touch them!" cried Eowyn, tearing off her helmet so that he might look upon the face of a woman.

Pippin did not scream her name, could not even form the word. He ran instead to Faramir's side and tried to force the man to rise. There was no one else who could help. The battlefield was clearing, moving west as Saruman's force was slowly driven back to higher ground - and even then no rider approached the Witch King's prey.

With failing spirits he saw all too quickly that his friend had not the strength for this fight. There was blood, nothing in his eyes was clear through tears of fear but the red pooling onto the earth. Looking into the too pale face Pippin saw Faramir was indeed was awake, and he seemed as though trying to speak but his eyes kept drifting closed as if he were fighting unconsciousness.

A cry brought him to his senses and from the corner of his eye he saw the Lady's shield break under the terrible force of the terrible blade.

With a silent vow Pippin gripped Faramir's hand tightly and then scrambled to his feet. He had promised to repay his debt and return the man to his city safely, but he had failed, and if they were all to die, at least they could try and deal one stroke of damage. Skirting round the back of the wraith Pippin crushed all doubt and plunged his small dagger into the gap in the plating at the knee.

There was a shooting pain up his arm as the blade melted in his hand, a swirl of black as the creature turned and then something harder than iron crashed into his skull. Thrown to the ground and burning with pain he saw Eowyn's figure above him, and a blade driven deep into the enemy's throat.