The Unforgiven { Legolas x OC - LotR Fanfiction}

Battle of the Pelennor Fields

Author's Note:

Warning: Concepts contained in this chapter include semi-fighting scenes!

Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters, places, names, etc. (only the OC). It all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson.

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Before the walls of Minas Tirith, the doom of time would be decided, and if the tide had not stemmed there, Thousands of Orcs were moving relentlessly forward towards the city walls. The huge gate swung open, revealing Faramir's wounded horse. The horse was dragging Denethor's son behind. Both were impaled with the Orc's Arrows. Two Arrows protruded from his armor. One arrow passed through to the area between where his chest and the right armpit met. And the next below his chest on the right side. Faramir was taken, on a litter, to the citadel's courtyard.

Gothmog was the lieutenant of the Witch-king, from Minas Morgul. He was snarling, through the orc army. As his troop was getting to attack Minas Tirith, they approached the city, outside the Gate. Gothmog sniffed contemptuously. The storm coming was going to be on a scale never be forgotten. Gothmog believed that it was time for the orcs to rise and a new era to begin.

"Fear. The city is ranked with it. Let us ease their pain. Release the prisoners!" he commanded as first he wanted to unleash fear on the men of Gondor. Fear was shackled, fear was a knife in the gut slowly twisted, fear was a constant hammer on the head. The Lieutenant of Morgul apprehended clearly and with certainty that terrorizing the Gondorians would win half the battle. The order was obeyed and the catapults threw debris over the walls. The soldiers dodged behind their shields as the heads of their fellow soldiers fell. Terror grew on the men of Gondor because they knew they would have the same fate soon. Their doom was so heavy on them, and hope was not yet seen. Orc catapults flung boulders at the city. People's cries and screams were heard all over Minas Tirith.

Faramir was brought near to his father. Denethor, dwelt in his grief to see his second son wounded. "My line has ended!" the Ruling Steward of Gondor shouted as he celebrated his son's death. He stepped away from Faramir's body and wandered to the edge of the courtyard. He lowered his gaze down to see the orc army. Hope was forever gone for the Lord of Gondor "Abandon your posts! Flee! Flee for your lives!" he ordered.

Gandalf smacked Denethor with his staff, knocking him out. He had no time to reason Steward. "Prepare for battle," he called out. He rode down to rally the soldiers. "Pull them in! To the wall! Defend the wall! Return to your posts!" The soldiers obeyed and returned to their posts. Gandalf looked out at the opposing army. It was an army rose for one purpose only; to bring down the world of men. How could so much cruelty and evil be ignored? How could the men of Gondor withstand a battle like this?

"Send these foul beasts into the abyss!" the wizard shouted.

They use tree butches to launch large rocks at the orc army. The masonry squashed some of the orcs. The orcs around Gothmog shifted fearfully. Battering rammed assault the main gates. Drums and steps were vibrating inch by inch in the Pelennor Fields. Trolls pressed upon and against the siege towers to the walls of Minas Tirith with force to move it, making several failed endeavors to batter down the city gates. Gondorians rained arrows down on them. The front of the Gate was held by the men of Gondor, with the wizard in command.

The Fighting continued at Minas Tirith. Orcs chanted as a great battering ram was pulled and pushed towards the city gates. A metallic wolf, where fire and flames were burning inside his mouth. Grond was forged for one reason only; to take down the Gates of Minas Tirith. They pushed it up to the outer city gates. Trolls drew and hauled toward the ram and let it slam into the gates. Orcs exchanged volleys with archers above the gate. Gandalf leaped on Shadowfax and rallied the soldiers to the gates.