Hashar climbed onto one of the few buildings still standing, so he could be heard and seen by all the Haradrims that where under his command.
From there, he could see the few others Lieutenant doing the same some hundred paces away.
All was precise, all was neat, all was under the organisation of Sauron.
The Mouth of Sauron had told them to gather their men and teach them all the Dark Lord’s plans.
So they were doing, may Sauron see their eagerness to serve.
Hashar looked at all those men crowded under his feet, all waiting for his speech.
What a feeling of power!
But then he saw Jyras, sitting on the ruins of a shop, looking as if he was wondering whether Hashar thought about using his power in their friendly-again relationship.
He cleared his throat, and decided to do just what the Mouth of Sauron had told him to do.
And no more.
”Third Legion of the Haradrim, please hear the commands of the Black Tower of Barad Dur!”
Silence came easily. None wanted to be seen by the watchful orcs wandering around them, with crual looks on their faces.
”Our only ennemy is the White City of Minas Tirith. It has no ally. Victory should be easy. The Haradrims are going to stand on the rear of Sauron’s army. We, third Legion, will be at the rear of the Haradrims. We’ll cover the whole army with the strenght of our bows. May you stay alive in this battle, to see our beloved Bar Makan again!”
The shout was repeated in the whole legion, as if it was the last thing they all cared about.
”Bar Makan! Bar Makan! Bar Makan!”
Hashar smiled coldly.
He had done his job. They’d follow him into the Battle. They would all follow him everywhere.
Perhaps even Jyras.
They marched toward Minas Tirith.
They marched, and Jyras followed absently.
This army was just too big. How could Gondor stand against that?
So there was no chance. Mordor would win, thanks to him and to the people of the Haradwaith.
He had to be a fool to do this.
But then, the memory of this particular room in Barad Dur was enough for him to stop thinking about treason.
There was no place for treason when you served the Dark Lord.
After a while, they took position around the walls of Minas Tirith, awaiting for the battle to begin.
He hadn’t to wait for too long, and he soon wished he was still waiting.
What exactly was happening, he couldn’t tell.
All he knew was that, at a certain moment, it had begun.
People falling around him, people fighting, people coming into the city.
He followed the battle, killed a few Gondorians, and just tried not to think too far in the future.
Once he saw the Witch-King, but he quickly ran away and joined a little group, alongside Hashar.
They fought together for quite a while, then found themselves in a circle that was protecting the King of the Haradrims.
They hadn’t seen the King for a long time, has he had gone to Mordor before them, but they naturally obeyed to his orders, and followed him into the fight.
For all they could see, this fight was going on well for Sauron, and Minas Tirith’s fall was just a matter of hours.
Perhaps they would survive, after all.
But then he heard the sound of an horn.
The King of Harad cursed, looking at the forthcoming riders grouped at a few hundred paces of the battlefield.
”Rohan! I thought they were held by Saruman! You cannot trust a wizard!”
So Gondor had allies, it seemed.
In the euphory of near victory, Jyras wasn’t really frightened by this miss in Sauron’s plans.
It was just a little problem to deal with, and no more.
He would see Bar Makan again. He would!
Jyras’ look changed when he saw the lines of orcs being cut off by the fantastic power of those mighty warriors.
But soon, the Rohirrims slowed, and they just became part of the battle again.
All went well.
With Hashar, the King and the rest of the group, they soon began to also fight Rohirrims, and as they were fresh in the battle, it became harder and harder.
But they held firmly to their ground.
This battle was going to be a victory, even if it meant the end of freedom on Middle-earth!
A fiercer group of riders appeared suddenly in front of them.
One of those looked strangely old, but an air of malicious madness shone in his eyes.
He was there to fight, and to die if it came to it, but he would fight to the end.
The King of Harad muttered in his back.
”It’s Theoden King! He was supposed to be almost dead by now, only an old man into Saruman’s hands!”
Theoden fixed the King and began to move forward.
Breathing heavily, Jyras began to defend his king.
He met Theoden’s sword with his own blade, and he soon saw nothing but Theoden’s arms moving, and the iron slashing.
This old man was a skilled warrior!
But then Jyras wasn’t bad at all with a sword.
He fought with all his hearth and all his head, meeting Theoden in strenght and swiftness.
Blade against blade.
Iron against iron.
He tried a tricksy hit on Theoden’s side, but felt suddenly a rush of pain in his stomach.
He looked down, and saw Theoden’s sword, firmly held, finding its way up to his hearth.
His mouth fell open with surprise.
Darkness took him, and he felt his spirit rising.
So he wouldn’t come back to his land. He wouldn’t see his family again.
”It’s perhaps better”, he thought.
”I won’t see the land falling to the Shadows. I won’t see my land in the hands of orcs.”
He heard a hard sound of something falling close to him, then a shout rising around him.
”Nazgul! Watch out for the Nazgul!”
All became dark.