Rain had begun to fall by the time they reached the fortress, soaking them all and muddying the ground. Distant thunder growled like a great beast, rumbling ominously through the trees. Dol Guldur stood dark in the distance, torches lighting its walls in an eery glow. Like jagged teeth, the ruins bit into the horizon, which was black with storm clouds. Though it was midday, it felt and looked like the blackest part of night. Dead trees cast their shadows upon the landscape, grasping and haunted, their bare branches spiking into the sky. Ravens sat in their boughs, waiting eagerly to claim the dead that were sure to soon litter the field. The darkness pressed in on the army, choking out every fragment of light.

Gerithor shifted nervously, his feet sinking into the damp earth. The smell of decaying leaves filled his nostrils, for though it was spring in the rest of the world this part of the forest was always dead.

He watched the fortress for a moment, seeing distant movement upon the ramparts. They were preparing a defense. He hoped that his army would be up to the task, even though many of them had already seen too much fighting recently.

The elves in particular seemed demoralized, frightened even, casting nervous glances at each other and watching the fortress in apprehension. The Easterling warriors were unphased, standing still in disciplined lines. Among the other soldiers there was the usual mixture of anxiety, excitement, and tension that was ubiquitous before a battle.

Hadar approached and stopped at Gerithor's side, his dark eyes running across the parapets of the evil stronghold of their common enemy.

"This is it," he said solemnly, drawing his scimitar meaningfully.

"Aye," Gerithor replied with a nervous nod. "Are your men ready?"

Hadar let out a subdued laugh, his smile fading almost as quickly as it had come. "As ready as they'll ever be." The burly warrior's demeanor was apprehensive, an expression that seemed foreign on his swarthy features.

Gerithor rose his sword into the air, and the army slowly moved forward. He was to lead a bold frontal assault on the fortress, while Elrond and Galadriel's forces flanked and attacked through the rear gate once it had been opened from the inside. His job was, arguably, the most dangerous, as he personally was to lead a small force to the gate. He had handpicked the few surviving Dunedain as well as Hadar to accompany him.

No-one spoke a word as they marched ahead. The distant thunder rumbled, and it seemed to whisper doom, doom, as the stormy skies darkened before them. The army quickened its pace, and a thousand fiery dots rose from the walls of Dol Guldur.

Gerithor looked up, his eyes reflecting the light of the flaming arrows as they began their downward descent.

"Charge!" He cried, breaking into a sprint and raising his sword aloft once more. His army let out a battlecry as one, their feet thundering upon the damp ground as they rushed onward.

=======================

Zaskia glared down at the advancing army, her violet eyes filled with electrifying hate. How dare they... How dare they! Defeating her army was one thing, but invading her own land was something entirely worse... and unacceptable. They would not leave alive, even if she had to kill herself to do it. They would all die.

"Fire!" She cried, sweeping downward with her arm. The arrows flew from the orcs' bowstrings, whistling with deadly report. Her full lips curled into a sadistic smile when she heard the cries of her enemies as the arrows landed among their ranks. It served them right. Especially the Easterlings... Her soul seethed with rage at the very thought of them. They were betrayers, fools to the core. They would be repaid for their treachery.

She turned and descended the stairs, her boots clicking on the cold stone. Her captain, a grizzled orc named Mashaug, approached and rendered a crisp salute.

"M'lady, they're taking heavy losses but they will soon reach the walls. What is our plan?" His tone was strangely matter-of-fact for an orc, but that was because he was one of her elite... In fact, he was the last surviving member of the breed of orc called the durthai.

"Let them," Zaskia replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "They will think they have won. Once they are in... Release the snaga."

===================

The Easterling ranks parted as they brought siege ladders to the front of the lines. Haradrim and Elven archers kept the orcs from returning fire, but it was soon apparent that there was no way to prevent losses as they ascended the ladders.

Gerithor steeled himself as he gripped one rung after another, pulling himself closer and closer to the enemy. Already the din of battle reached his ears, for the Easterlings had sent a vanguard up the ladders first to clear the way. They had lost more men than he had expected in the charge, and he was uncertain that they would have enough to fight through to the rear gate. But they would have to try, regardless. They had come too far to retreat now.

He reached the top of the ladder and jumped over onto the ramparts, searching for an enemy to fight. The Easterlings had already killed many of them but more, mostly orcs, were pouring up the stairs. Gerithor let out a shout and attacked one of them, cutting him down immediately and moving on to his comrade. Orc after orc fell to his blade as it danced with cold fury.

"Gerithor, we're pushing through on the left!" Hadar exclaimed, his voice distant. The ranger looked to see where he was, but could not find him. There were still far too many orcs between them.

"Keep going!" Gerithor replied. "We'll try to meet you at the gate!"

Just then a massive orc swung at him with a club, knocking the wind out of his lungs and sending him into the wall. He gasped, barely raising his sword in time to deflect a second attack. As he braced for another onslaught an Easterling's blade pierced the orc through the chest, killing him immediately.

Gerithor took a moment to recover before he rejoined the fight. His blade cut down several orcs, and he continued on the offensive until he reached the main set of stairs that the orcs had been using to reach the ramparts.

"Gerithor!" A voice cried above the din of battle, frightened and panicked.

"Gilian! Where are you?!" Gerithor replied, his heart racing when he recognized the voice.

"Over here! By the tower!" Gilian shouted back breathlessly. "We're being overrun!"

Gerithor leapt into motion, running back toward the sound of her voice. Orcs were everywhere, and it soon became apparent that the Defenders were outnumbered. He fought his way through until he could see her. She stood alongside an Easterling and two other rangers, both of whom had sustained severe injuries. Aside from them, no other allies could be seen anywhere.

"We have to break through somehow!" Gerithor explained as he fought his way to her side.

"There's too many of them!" Gilian replied fearfully. "We won't be able to!"

"Follow my lead," Gerithor grunted as he thrust his sword through an orc's neck. "Hadar needs our help."

The four warriors pressed forward, Gerithor at the front. Progress was slow, but they managed to eventually wade their way through to the stairs once more.

Just as they began to descend, the orcs began to thin out until they had all either been killed or disappeared.

Gerithor looked around, narrowing his eyes skeptically.

"Where did they all go?" Gilian whispered.

"Perhaps we scared them away?" One of the wounded rangers interjected hopefully.

Gerithor shook his head. "No... I don't think so." The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up, and his heart was beating so loudly that he could have sworn everyone could hear it. Something wasn't right.

The group cautiously moved forward, occasionally glancing behind them to make sure they weren't being flanked. Thump thump, thump thump. Gerithor swallowed nervously.

"Hadar?" He called out. His voice only echoed hollowly off the walls, making him even more uneasy.

The sound of pebbles hitting the ground caused all four warriors to spin around, weapons raised. Nothing.

"What is going on?" Gilian asked shakily, drawing closer to Gerithor.

"I don't know... I-"

Just then a creature dropped down onto the ground in front of him. It let out an ear-shattering screech as Gerithor stumbled backward in surprise.

Whatever the thing was, it was covered in burning tar. It seemed to be screeching in pain more than anger, and its eyes bulged from half-melted sockets. Its teeth were sharp, and a long, sinuous tongue licked at them from a gaping mouth.

Gilian screamed and slashed, slicing its head off in one clean motion. Suddenly, the fortress came alive once more with screeching and dozens upon dozens of writhing, flaming creatures. Gerithor's eyes widened in fear, and he grabbed Gilian's arm.

"Run!" He exclaimed, bursting into a blind sprint away from the creatures. The others followed suit, but one of the rangers collapsed from loss of blood. The burning creatures pounced upon him, and his frantic screams were soon silenced forever.

=========================

Hadar nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the distant screeches.

He and five of his men had managed to evade the orcs, and together they had snuck around almost the entire perimeter of the fortress. The rear gate was already in sight... It was just a matter of reaching it undetected. Most of the surviving orcs had retreated to the main keep, which was unfortunately right next to the rear gate. The entire area was practically swarming with the foul creatures, and the path to the lever that opened the gate was blocked.

"We'll have to find another way," he whispered to his comrades.

"Aye, there's no way we'll be able to cut through that many of them," one of the Haradrim warriors, an older man named Ru'ma, agreed.

"Perhaps there's another control in the gatehouse," Hadar mused. "Narai, Yaradu, stay here and make sure none of those greenskins try to enter. Send up the signal when I tell you. The rest of you are with me."

The four Haradrim slunk along the rampart, staying in the shadows and communicating using only hand signals. Though the orcs hadn't posted guards on the walls, there were so many of them that the chances of being seen were quite high regardless.

Every crunch of rubble underfoot, every click of light boots on stone, caused Hadar to internally wince. He had done many dangerous, risky, and outright foolish things in his life... The life of a mecenary was nothing if not exciting. But infiltrating the stronghold of a Nazgul while a battle raged all around had to top them all.

By the time they reached the gatehouse, the distant screeching had stopped. Although he was relieved that the sound had ceased, the thought that it may have stopped for sinister reasons unsettled him. He only hoped that whatever it was that had caused it would not come in his direction.

He tried the door, and to his surprise it swung open slowly. He turned to his companions and lifted a finger to his lips before silently entering the room.

He had barely crossed the threshold when the screams of one of his companions caused him to spin around in surprise. Dozens of orcs had silently snuck behind them, and were now viciously attacking the other men.

His eyes widened and he frantically ran to the lever that opened the gate. He wanted to save his comrades but he knew that the success of his mission would determine the outcome of the entire battle. He flinched as he heard Yaradu cry out in pain, but he forced himself to press on. He grabbed the lever tightly and began to rotate it, the heavy gears groaning into motion. Orcs swarmed into the room, but he fought them off as he continued to rotate the lever, his bare muscles rippling with the effort.

"Go! Give the signal!" He cried to Narai, who had already been injured and was barely staving off his enemies. With his good arm he pulled a firebomb from a bandolier and yanked the fuse, throwing it into the air. He let out a pained cry as several orcs began to hack at him, and he soon collapsed under the fury of their attacks.

Hadar could see the elven army advancing through a small window in the gatehouse, and he knew that they wouldn't reach him in time. Steeling himself, he launched forward into the orcs, pushing through to the ramparts outside. He grabbed a torch and waved it to and fro, both to drive back his foes and to signal the elves.

"Go! Go!" He bellowed, his deep voice echoing off the walls along with the clash of steel. He winced as a jagged blade cut into his arm, but continued fighting with the strength of a lion. Orc after orc fell to his scimitar, but eventually their sheer numbers began to overwhelm him. He fell back until he felt his shoulder blades hit the rampart walls. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and readied himself for the end.

"For Prince Rukil!" He cried, tackling the nearest orc and driving his blade into its heart. Multiple blades pierced him and he felt a crushing weight on top of him as the orc horde began to attack him. He let out a final battle yell before he disappeared under the swarming beasts, his blade still dancing.

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Hey y'all! I was gonna make the entire battle one chapter, but it's way too long for that. So here's the first part!