Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Till Death for Glory	By : Melrick Category: +Third Age > General Views: 1176 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, et al, is owned by J.R.R Tolkien's estate. No copyright infrigement intended, nor is any money being made. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorised duplication is prohibited.

Chapter List
- 1-Till Death for Glory
- 1
Till Death for Glory

Copyright (c) 2005 by Melrick (Tabooccaneer@gmx.com)
Rated: Contains no sex.
Codes: No sex.
Synopsis: Andolin is a member of the Haradrim and is going to battle on the Pelennor fields. What's more, he has the honour of doing it from the back of a mighty Mumak.
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, et al, is owned by J.R.R Tolkien's estate. No copyright infrigement intended, nor is any money being made. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorised duplication is prohibited.
Distribution: Please ask permission BEFORE you distribute this story to other sites. You do NOT have permission to distribute this to pay sites. If distributed, you must leave everything intact, including this header.
Author’s Note: I originally wrote this in 2005 and uploaded it elsewhere. I had all but forgotten it, but now decided to upload it here.

Andolin was proud of his Haradrim heritage. It might not be as grand or as lavish as their rivals, Gondor, but it was still something to be proud of. They'd managed to create and expand their territory and culture in spite of having very little metals to work or fight with. Initially it had been because iron ore was very rare in Harad, but eventually they came to shun metals, unlike Gondor, who clutched it to their bosom like a loved one, and would clearly be as helpless as a newborn babe without it.
Harad's scattered woodlands and grasslands stretched inland from the coast some distance, pushing further inland in the northern region, while the rest was either arid or semi-arid. There were two distinct cultures in Harad: the black skinned people from the southern arid parts - Far Harad - and the brown-skinned people from the grasslands - Near Harad. Andolin was from Near Harad. Both tribes got on very well with each other, even though intermarriage was uncommon.
The Haradrim spurned living in the forests, preferring to live out in the open. But many did live in villages and towns on the edge of forests, the trees providing valuable timber, vines and other resources, some of which was then traded with the rest of Harad.
But their most valuable resource was the Mumakil. The enormous animals provided ivory for weapons, tools and building material; their thick hides provided leather for homes and other coverings; as well as meat and milk - all of which provided income from trade, as well. But it was as engines of war that the Mumakil really came into its own. Normal horses were terrified of Mumakil and often fled at the mere site of them, and always the moment the great beasts' scent hit their nostrils. Their own horses were trained from birth to be around them, and were therefore unaffected.
The Mumak trainers/drivers - called Zamaks - were highly respected and were usually the head chief of their village or town. They also had plenty of willing subordinate handlers, as well, in spite of it being a very dangerous job. Although the beasts were massive, they didn't eat quite as much as one would think. Andolin didn't know why, but he was certainly glad for it. One herd of Mumakil would easily strip an entire forest bare in a week otherwise. They mostly ate grass, as well as leaves from the trees on the edge of the forest. But they were also constantly lead to fresh pastures - often by the subordinate handlers - so they didn't strip the lands bare in any one place. The Harad knew their very survival relied heavily on the grass and forests to survive, so they were careful to sustain them.
All Haradrim had ritual scaring and tattooing, but the Zamaks were the mostly heavily decorated. And when they went to war, they drove the Mumak wearing the most elaborate outfit and paint, not just on their faces but over much of their bodies. Everyone admired them and wished they could be them, and just seeing one of them in the thick of battle was enough to inspire a person to fight on.
Andolin lived in a small town called Daruda, which was on the eastern part of Near Harad, on the edge of a small forest. It was only just big enough to have a name - most villages were referred to mostly by the name of the Zamak, if they were lucky enough to have one, or the village chief if they weren't.
Far Harad was populated mostly by nomads, living in fairly elaborate tents made of wood, ivory and leather. An entire village could be erected in half a day. They stayed in one place with their horses and goats until the area couldn't sustain them comfortably any longer, and then move on, following the herds of dwarf Mumakil, which they hunted. Very few of them kept full sized Mumakil, simply because little of the countryside could sustain them.
Most of Near Harad was populated by more permanent structures, the frames of buildings mostly made from wood rather than ivory. The exception was the Zamaks or chief's house, which made extensive use of ivory, as well as dyed leather.
The Haradrim loved colour, and would wear brightly coloured clothes and colourful tattoos. The men dressed more colourfully and more elaborately than the women, but the women would often dye their hair bright colours and wear elaborate earrings.
Andolin left his house where he lived with his wife, Osina, and baby son, Baraxil. Andolin had never gone to war before, although he was well trained. Virtually every Haradrim male - and many women - were trained with the bow from a very early age, as well as with the spear, both their primary weapons they hunted with and took to war. Their foot soldiers carried a smaller, lighter spear that they threw at the enemy before charging with their heavier, stronger spear. Their cavalry carried either bows or spears.
The cavalry was a step down from the Zamak and the elite bowmen that travelled in the towers on the backs of the Mumakil, called Zaramaka; the foot soldiers were at the bottom of the pile. Only the best bowmen were privileged to become Zaramaka, and had to prove themselves either in war or in hunting. Andolin had proved himself with the bow in hunting, and had been told only days before that he would be honoured by being allowed to become a Zaramaka in war. Being related to the town's Zamak through his wife also helped and was almost certainly the deciding factor.
They'd spent the proceeding days riding around on a Mumak firing at targets on the ground, over and over again, until they learned to compensate for the swaying of the Mumak. Andolin was so proud to be allowed to become a Zaramaka, and knew it would mean more respect for him and his family.
Andolin stood and watched as the final touches were applied to their Mumak. Blue paint, made from clay and berries and other ingredients (Andolin didn't know exactly, dye creation being a woman's job) was splashed on the beast's front legs and head, as well as part way down the trunk. Magical emblems of warding and bravery were written over the top of it in black. A stylised Eye of Sauron was painted on top of the head. Wooden and ivory spikes had been attached to the main tusks, at the point where they curved upwards. A thick, strong rope with more spikes woven through it was stretched between the tusks. Yet more spikes circled each leg, just above the ankle. The tower was made mostly of wood with blue pennants hanging from parts of it. More magical emblems were emblazoned on them.
Andolin couldn't help but be immensely impressed by the sight of the mighty animal being readied for war. It snorted and stomped the ground, impatient to be off. But the Zamak was already in place, talking to it, singing to it, stroking it.
Soon it was time to go. Andolin looked at his wife and baby, and for the first time, almost wished he didn't have to go. He had no doubt they would be victorious, but there was no guarantee that he would survive. The idea of not seeing his baby grow into a man, of not being able to ritually scar his face and give him his first tattoo made him stop. But the look of immense pride on Osina's face brought him back to reality. If he turned away now, in Harad's hour of need, he and his family would be so shamed they'd have to leave and never come back. Worse, Osina may turn and never come back.
Andolin ascended the stairs of the platform next to the Mumak and climbed into the tower strapped to the back. In a few minutes, everyone was in place. Andolin looked behind them and saw the foot soldiers and cavalry moving into place. Finally, with the Zamak trumpeting loudly on his horn, they were off.
They began rendezvousing with people and Mumakil from other towns and villages almost immediately, eventually gathering a force around 18,000 strong, including over twenty Mumakil. It wasn't long before the entire army was making their way up the Harad road to Minas Tirith, to rendezvous with yet more troops, this time orcs and any other dark creature Sauron could create or find.
Andolin had no great love of Sauron, and no love or respect at all for orcs, but realised that, with Sauron's help, the Haradrim could finally defeat the Gondorians and take over their valuable land, land much more fertile and prosperous than much of their own. And who knows, maybe with a plentiful supply of iron, the Haradrim might change their ideas about metal.
After some days of uneventful travel, the Haradrim finally approached the devastated Osgiliath. Bridges and barges crossed the River Anduin, allowing the vast horde of troops to rush across. The depth of the river was of no great concern for the Mumakil, but the Zamak still had to be very careful, since one misstep and a beast could easily fall, and once down a Mumak found it very difficult indeed to regain its feet and would likely die where it fell.
Once across the river, the dyke that formed a massive ring around the Pelennor fields was breached and the army took the fields and began to form up. Andolin looked to the north to see yet more troops from Mordor breaching the dyke and swarming across the field. He gazed all about him, marvelling at the sheer number of people gathered in one place. Tens of thousands were lining up or pushing massive siege engines closer to the walls.
But it was the sight of the magnificent city of Minas Tirith that astounded him the most. Never had he seen such a wondrous place in his life! Level after level reached upwards, almost as if growing from the living rock of the mountain. It didn't seem possible that such a place could have been created by mere men; it had to have been built by gods!
Then, a horror he'd never seen before. Massive black creatures soared around the skies, swooping on the besieged city, letting out such a screech that caused his mind to ache and his stomach to turn.
"Ring-wraiths," he heard his Zamak say. The initial feeling of terror began to subside as he thanked the Gods that they were on their side.
All that day, catapults flung huge stones at the city. Some stones were covered in pitch and set alight, causing buildings to burst into flames as they crashed through the walls. Plumes of smoke soon spiralled up from the beautiful city.
During the second night, the massive siege towers were ordered to be moved against the wall, as well as a massive battering ram dragged by enormous beasts he had never seen before. He knew it would be all over soon, and suspected all he would have to do is mop up survivors as they fled the city in terror.
As the towers and battering ram reached the walls and gate, the echo of horns trumpeting carried across the fields. At first, Andolin thought it was the Mumakil being ordered forward, but quickly realised it was a different sound.
Then, from the north, thousands of horsemen poured through the breached dyke and charged at the orcs. They were taken completely by surprise, and after only a short battle, Andolin watched as the cowardly creatures broke and ran, rushing back towards Osgiliath in utter chaos.
The brave Haradrim cavalry rushed into battle, but were soon either killed or driven from the field.
A horn trumpeted. Then another. Then more. Finally, their own Zamak blew his own horn, answering the call to battle. Now was the time.
The great beasts charged at the horsemen - Rohirrim, he heard someone say behind him. Andolin nocked his arrow and fired, killing his first enemy in battle. But he had no time to celebrate, and was soon firing as quickly as he could.
As he expected, the enemy's horses scattered in terror. But still they bravely fought on, causing Andolin to respect their skill and bravery in battle. The enemy then began rushing forth from the city to join the fray.
Suddenly a movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to whip his head around, just in time to see a Mumak crash to the ground. Andolin stared in shock. It didn't seem possible that such enormous, magnificent creatures could be brought down. He fought on, but with a steadily growing fear nibbling away at the back of his mind.
Then, without any warning, their Mumak lurched, shuddered, and fell to its knees, before tumbling over onto its side. Andolin heard brief cries cut short as some were crushed under the bulk of the dying beast. Andolin was thrown clear, tumbling and rolling, his bow snapping in half.
The other surviving Zaramaka were climbing to their feet and looking for their Zamak for guidance. But when they saw him cut down by a Gondorian clad in shinning metal armour, the others turned and ran. Andolin hesitated a moment, clutched at the dagger on his hip, and ran after the others heading for Osgiliath.
He briefly stopped to see one of the ring-wraiths land and someone clad in dark armour climb down from the hideous creature. Andolin turned and continued to run.
An hour later, as Andolin walked wearily along the South Road, he wondered what kind of reception he would get back home when they knew he and many others had fled the field of battle like cowards, no better than the orcs. The look of intense disappointment, sadness and shame on Osina's face blazed in his mind, almost as clearly as if she were standing right before him.
Andolin stopped, turned around and looked at the smoke curling up from the city of Minas Tirith. The battle was still raging and people were still dying. He looked over his shoulder at the line of troops - Haradrim, as well as orcs - slinking back to their homes, then back at the city.
With the image of his wife, turning her back on him, clear in his mind, Andolin removed his pitifully small dagger and began walking back to the field of battle.
The End.
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Till Death for Glory