The Black Fleet sailed north at dawn after the defeat of the Corsairs at Pelargir, the black ships now manned by free men of Lebennin and Ethir and led by Aragorn.  Putting all their strength and will into wielding the oars, they strove against the current.  Aragorn stood like a statue in the prow of the greatest ship, and though he spoke little, all knew he was driven by fear that they had no time to spare if they were to arrive in time to aid Minas Tirith.

"It is forty leagues and two from Pelargir to the landings at the Harlond," Aragorn said. "Yet we must reach the Harlond tomorrow or fail utterly."  

All day they strove against the current; night fell and no breath of wind came to aid them.  A red glow under the cloud of darkness added to their fear, for all now knew the City was burning.

Gimli and Legolas stood beside Aragorn, watching with him as the dark shores on either side slide slowly past.

"The oarsmen are doing their best, but the going is so slow!" grumbled Gimli.  "Can we make it in time?"

"We must," replied Aragorn, eyes on the red glow in the sky.

"Do not lose heart, Gimli!" Legolas urged.  "All seems forlorn, but there is yet hope!"

"So you say!" Gimli muttered.  "I see little that speaks to hope!"

Yet as midnight came and went, a stirring among the men was heard.  Sea-crafty men of Ethir came forward with a report for Aragorn -- a fresh wind from the Sea was blowing in, and it seemed it might not be long before it would be enough to fill the sails.  Hardly had they finished speaking when the breeze quickened so that all could feel it.  Aragorn gave the command for the sails to be unfurled, and before long their speed grew until the white foam breaking at the prows of the ships flew up into their faces as they strained forward with renewed hope.

"Did I not say to not lose heart, my friend?" Legolas laughed.

"Aye, that you did!  Well, then, we might just make it in time after all!"  Gimli patted the ax that hung on his belt.  "When we do, I'll be ready!"

***

When the host of Rohan at last reached the end of the hidden road, they passed silently out of the wood on to the plain that bordered either side of the main road to Minas Tirith.  Boromir recognized the place immediately.  Even in the dark, that road was familiar to him -- almost straight south it led, through the North Gate of the Rammas Echor that encircled the Pelennor Fields, and on to the Great Gate.  They were close now, so close!  How long ago had it been when last he had passed this way, at the beginning of his journey north to find the answer to the riddling dream?  Boromir did the calculations in his head; eight months had passed since that day!  

Though it was night and the darkness was further deepened by the murk flowing out of Mordor, Boromir lifted his eyes hopefully for a glimpse of the distant City.  What he saw filled him with despair -- a red glow lit the southern sky above the City, illuminating the sides of the dark mountain that loomed up behind Minas Tirith.  

"The attack has begun,” Grithnir lamented quietly, drawing up his horse beside Boromir.  "Do you think the siege fires have reached within the City walls?"

"I cannot tell from here, in this darkness,” Boromir sighed in reply.  "Even if they have, the City is well able to deal with the situation, to prevent fire from spreading to the upper levels.  My fear is more for the Pelennor; many folk have farmsteads there, with crops and livestock..."

"They will be safe inside the walls, or evacuated further south," Grithnir reassured Boromir.  "Remember the beacons?  Those living outside the walls will have heeded that warning and are surely in a place of safety by now.  They will be as safe as anyone can be in these perilous times."

"Alas!" Boromir groaned. "I knew in my heart we could not reach Minas Tirith before the Enemy struck, yet it fills me with dismay to not be there now, to lead the defense at my father's side!"

"Soon, my Captain!  Our chance to strike a blow on behalf of our people comes soon!"

"Indeed!"  Boromir drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "You are right to remind me of the hope we have, Grithnir!  The battle may have begun without us, but we do not come too late to join it!  We will strike from an unexpected direction, and that very well may work to our advantage in the coming battle!"

Boromir fell silent as he cast his eye over his small group of men who rode beside him in the leading company surrounding Théoden and Éomer.  Elfhelm’s éored was close behind.  Among Elfhelm’s group would be Dernhelm, with whom Merry rode; Boromir sought them out, as much for reassurance as with concern for the small hobbit taking part in the coming battle.  He had seen enough of the Halflings’ strength and resourcefulness during his journey with them to know that Merry was as likely as any of them to pass through the fight safely, but he could not help worrying about Merry's welfare.  He was surprised to see that Dernhelm had left his place with Elfhelm's group and was now riding to the rear of the King's guard.  

Before he could wonder further about Dernhelm's purpose in moving away from his assigned éored, Boromir was hailed quietly by Éomer.

"Come, Boromir," Éomer spoke softly.  "The King calls you to come forward to hear the latest news from the scouts."

Out-riders had ventured as far as the Rammas Echor and had much to report.

"We advanced almost to the outer wall, my lord," one stated.  "The field beyond is full of foes and there are many fires, set all about the City.  There seems to be fire in the lower levels, as well.  Few of the enemy remain on the out-wall, however!  They seem to have all been drawn away to the main assault, leaving only a few at the wall.  As the Wild Men reported, the Orcs there are heedless, concerned only with tearing down the stones and widening the breach."

"So we should be able to pass the out-wall easily, with only a brief fight that may not delay us overmuch," Théoden mused.  "This news is good.  I feared the wall would impede the horses, but the Orcs have dealt with that hindrance for us!"

Another out-rider broke in.  "There is also this, my lord.  The wind is turning.  You do not feel it yet, but I tell you, it is so!  The chief of the Wild Men said the same before he left us; a breath of wind comes from the South, with the tang of the Sea upon it.  In more peaceful days, I lived out upon the open Wold, and like the Wild Men, I understand the messages the wind brings.  The wind is faint, but it is freshening.  The dawn will bring new things!"

"Your words bring me hope, my son," replied Théoden.  Turning to the men who were nearby, he raised his voice and spoke clearly so that others could hear him well:  "Now is the hour come, Riders of the Mark, sons of Éorl, sons of Gondor! Foes and fire are before you, and your homes far behind. Yet, though you fight upon an alien field, the glory that you reap there shall be your own forever. Oaths you have taken: now fulfil them all, to lord and land and league of friendship!

"Éomer, my son! You lead the first éored; it shall go behind the king’s banner in the centre. Elfhelm, lead your company to the right when we pass the wall. And Grimbold shall lead his towards the left.  Let the other companies behind follow these three that lead, as they have chance. Strike wherever the enemy gathers. Other plans we cannot make, for we know not yet how things stand upon the field. Forth now, and fear no darkness!"¹

Théoden turned to Boromir.

"Boromir, son of Denethor, friend and brother in our alliance!  You must do as you see fit, of course, and go whither your heart leads you once battle is enjoined.  Yet it would honor me greatly if you would ride with me and my house as we go into battle.  Boromir, will you ride with me?"

"King Théoden, it is you who honor me greatly!" Boromir answered with a bow.  "My men and I will ride with you gladly, for as long as we are able!  Let us go forth together and push back the darkness that threatens both our peoples!"

"So be it!"

***

Pippin ran through the streets of Minas Tirith, seeking the quickest way down to the lower levels.  Gandalf would no doubt be found where the fighting was the thickest.  No enemy had yet entered the City, so Pippin assumed he might have to find his way all the way down to first level in order to locate the wizard.  He had heard that the first level was burning, and he worried whether he would be able to get through.  

I'll just have to find a way, he thought.  I must find Gandalf, and if I have to run through the fire to do it, I will!

It was slow going at first, but as he ran, he recalled his journey with Gandalf on Shadowfax only a few days ago, riding upward through the winding streets to reach the Citadel.  His memory of the way the streets turned first one direction and then another as they passed through the gates on each level helped give him his bearings, and he was able to move along at a good speed, without too many wrong turns.  He just had to make sure not to stumble and fall in his haste, as he passed through the steep tunnels between levels.

As he reached the lower levels, he met men running in the other direction.  They shouted to him to turn back, that the first level was burning, but he waved their warnings away and sped onward.  Passing through the Second Gate, he was met by a blast of heat from the many great flames that leaped and burned between the walls.  Even so, the road ahead seemed passable, and he forced himself to brave the heat and move forward.  Yet as he took his first step, he hesitated, realizing suddenly how silent everything was; only the crackling sound of fire filled the air. No shouts of battle or clash of weapons could be heard.

A piercing cry unexpectedly split the air, a cry full of evil intent that reminded him immediately of the Black Rider's call that he and the others had heard in the woods of the Shire.  Fear shook him and he fell to his knees in horror.  Before he could struggle to his feet again, a flash of bright light nearly blinded him, as a great booming noise sounded, shaking the air around him and the earth beneath him, so that he would have fallen if he had not already been down on his knees.

Something awful is happening! Pippin thought.  I daren't go on, what if that cry came from a Black Rider?  It sure sounded like one.  I daren't face one of those!  But... but I must, I must!  Dûrlin is relying on me, and the Lord Denethor needs Gandalf to come.  Gandalf is surely there, in the thick of things, and I have to find him.  I must do it!  Get up, now -- get up!

He spoke thus to give himself the courage he needed to stand and move forward, but it still took several deep breaths and a huge effort of will before he could make himself rise from his knees to take the first step, then the second, then the third.

Turning a corner, Pippin found himself facing a wide open space behind the City Gate.  Gandalf was there, just as he had guessed, but Pippin could not speak or call to him, or even move from the spot where he had stopped, stricken with horror.

Gandalf sat upon Shadowfax in the midst of the ruins of what had once been the Great Gate, facing down the enemy that threatened to enter the City.  That enemy loomed like a great black shape against the fires beyond, menacing and evil, a tall horseman cloaked all in black.  At the sight of him, Pippin shrank back and hid himself in the shadow of the wall.

It was a Black Rider.

*****

Notes:

1.  Théoden's words are quoted from Chapter 5 "Ride of the Rohirrim" in Return of the King.