Dragon Rider in Middle Earth

XLV

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The Rohirrim have stopped by a lake. Éomer rides in to report to the king.

-The scouts report Minas Tirith is surrounded. The lower level's in flames. Everywhere legions of the enemy advance.

-Time is against us.

The king and his nephew give the dragon side eyed looks as Argent steps closer after having landed.

-Dragon!- Argent rolls his eyes at the human king's call.

-The name is Argent human- he huffs -Yes?

-Are we going the right way or must we change paths?

-The rest of the way is straight from here. If you encounter any problems shout, I will not be too far away.

•••••

-Take heart Merry. It will soon be over- Éowyn comforts the hobbit.

-My lady, you are fair and brave and have much to live for, and many who love you. I know it is too late to turn aside. I know there is not much point now in hoping. If I were a knight of Rohan capable of great deeds... but I'm not. I'm a Hobbit. And I know I can't save Middle-Earth- his eyes glisten with I shed tears -I just want to help my friends. Frodo. Sam. Pippin. More than anything... I wish I could see them again.

They hear horns blow.

-Prepare to move out!

-Make haste! We ride through the night.

Éowyn and Merry don their helmets, Merry's falling a bit over his eyes.

-To battle- Éowyn whispers to him.

-To battle.

••••••••••
•••••

Fighting continues at Minas Tirith. The battering ram Grond pulls up to the outer city gates. Trolls pull back the ram and let it slam into the gate.

-Grond! Grond!- the orca continue to chant.

They exchange volleys with archers above the gate. Gandalf, again mounted on Shadowfax, rallies the soldiers to the gate with Arya running besides the noble horse.

-Back to the gate! Hurry!

•••••

Above, Pippin looks down at the battle.

He sees Denethor march across the citadel courtyard. He is followed by guards carrying Faramir's litter.

-I am steward of the House of Anárion. Thus have I walked. And thus now will I sleep- the old man says in a grave voice -Gondor is lost. There is no hope for Men.

As Denethor passes, a flower on the White Tree is shown.
The procession travels the Silent Street.

-Why do the fools fly? Better to die sooner than late. For die we must- Denethir mutters between his teeth as soldier and guards run from place to place either supplying weapons or helping others.

Denethor throws open a door to the mausoleum.

-No tomb for Denethor and Faramir. No long, slow sleep of death embalmed. We shall burn like the heathen kings of old!- Denethor stops at a large raised platform -Bring wood and oil!

•••••

Grond pounds the city gates. Gandalf, Arya and a group of soldiers wait inside.