The Horn of Rohan Shall Sound One Last Time: An Analysis of the Battle of Pelennor Fields

The Pelennor Fields, as described in The Return of the King, are the broad and fertile lands that lie before Minas Tirith, wrapped by the Rammas Echor and stretching outward toward the Great River Anduin, and they form a sort of green apron on which the great drama of the War of the Ring reaches its height. Here the folk of Gondor had long ploughed and planted in relative peace, shielding their city with a ring of life and labor. When war comes, this very openness turns the fields into a vast battlefield, where armies can be seen for miles and every movement is magnified. The Pelennor thus becomes both Gondor’s breadbasket and the stage upon which its fate is decided, lying between the hard rock of the city and the rolling waters of the river.

Most of the Pelennor is made up of open grasslands and neatly ordered tilled plots, crisscrossed by the small marks of steady work such as low hedges, scattered orchards, and narrow farm lanes. Tolkien notes the “fields and vineyards and orchards” that surround Minas Tirith, giving a sense of a well-cultivated landscape rather than a wild plain. These features break the monotony of the open ground without forming real obstacles to large bodies of troops. In peacetime they mark the patient care of Gondor’s farmers, but in war they become cover for skirmishers, places where infantry can rally, and lines that can either hide an advance or tangle a retreat.

The Pelennor is not a place of steep hills or deep valleys, but instead is shaped by subtle undulations, with gentle rises and shallow hollows that allow very long lines of sight across much of the field. Tolkien often speaks of riders and hosts seen “afar off,” and of the captains in Minas Tirith watching the movements of armies from the city’s higher walls. These smooth changes in height matter for tactics because they can conceal part of a force until it crests a rise, or give archers a momentary advantage of ground. The overall impression is of a wide, open arena where concealment is limited and any large movement is quickly visible to friend and foe, yet where a skilled commander can still use the slight folds of the land to mask reserves or screen a flank.

To the east runs the Great River Anduin, a constant landmark that frames the Pelennor and provides both life and danger, for it is the same river whose crossing points at Osgiliath and the fords have long been contested by Gondor and Mordor. The river acts as a natural boundary and line of communication, since boats and barges can move men and supplies up and down its length faster than carts on rough tracks. When Sauron’s forces cross above Osgiliath and send their black ships up from the south, they use the waterway as a highway of war. For Gondor, the Anduin is both a shield and a route of aid, yet during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields it becomes, for a time, the edge of a trap that is closing around Minas Tirith, until the unexpected sails of the Corsairs reveal instead the coming of Aragorn and reinforcements from the south.

Minas Tirith itself rises at the western edge of the Pelennor on a great shoulder of white rock that juts out from the northern spur of the White Mountains, built in seven concentric levels or circles that climb toward the Citadel and the White Tower of Ecthelion. Tolkien describes it as a city of stone, with each circle protected by a wall and gate, and a great rock spur running out like a keel that divides the lower levels. This towering structure makes the city both fortress and symbol, dominating the surrounding fields and offering commanding views of every movement on the plain. In the battle, its height gives the defenders the advantage of sight and the strength of solid fortification, yet it also means that if the outer defenses fall, the enemy can press the assault up through the rings of the city in a deadly climb.

Encircling the Pelennor is the Rammas Echor, an earthen embankment strengthened with stone walls and guarded gates, built in the later days of Gondor to close off the fertile lands and bring them within a defensible circuit. Tolkien notes that the Rammas had fallen into some neglect but was repaired when the shadow of Mordor grew, showing that Gondor understood the need to protect its fields as well as its city. In the battle, this outer wall becomes the first line of resistance as Faramir and his men fight a delaying action, yet it cannot hold against the overwhelming might of Mordor’s hosts and their siege engines. Once the Rammas is broken, the enemy floods onto the Pelennor, and the defenders must fall back to the more ancient and stronger walls of Minas Tirith itself.

Between the broken line of the Rammas Echor and the looming gates of the city lies a patchwork of house-farms, orchards, gardens, and lanes, the living ring that normally feeds Minas Tirith and connects it to the soil of Gondor. These small holdings and scattered buildings create a broken countryside that is neither deep wilderness nor open parkland. In the battle they quickly become trampled and ruined as hosts pass over them, but they also offer temporary cover where smaller companies can regroup or harry the flanks of a greater force. The contrast between these homely places and the massed engines and beasts of war makes the devastation more painful, as the everyday life of Gondor is literally ground under the feet of armies.

The steep terraces and high walls of Minas Tirith turn any direct approach from the fields into a grueling ascent, one that runs through narrow streets and switchback ways cut into the mountain-side. The outer gate, the Great Gate of the City, is the main entrance from the Pelennor, and once breached it opens into a constrained upward path that favors defenders who know every twist and angle. Tolkien describes how the streets climb sharply, with walls and houses looming close, so that an attacker would be forced into close quarters and exposed to missiles from above. During the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, this topography weighs heavily on the enemy’s plans, for even after the Witch-king breaks the gate, his hosts do not simply pour into the city, and the threat of street-to-street fighting hangs over the defenders until his downfall changes the course of the day.

Gondor’s main strength is gathered closest to Minas Tirith, forming a defensive concentration near the walls and at key approaches from the south and west, where roads and lanes lead up to the city. Denethor and his captains position infantry and archers to guard the Great Gate and man the walls, while also holding forces ready to respond where the enemy presses hardest. Reinforcements from the southern fiefs, such as Dol Amroth, arrive in time to join this line, swelling the ranks with fresh men-at-arms and knights. The focus is on keeping the enemy from closing completely around the city and on preventing breaches in the main defenses, so the Gondorians accept that much of the Pelennor will be given up in order to preserve the core positions near the city’s base.

The Rohirrim, summoned by the Red Arrow and guided in secret by the Wild Men of Drúadan Forest, approach from the west and southwest, crossing the open country beyond the Rammas and breaking into the Pelennor at dawn. Their riders rely on the long sight-lines of the plain to form up in great éoreds before charging, seeking ground that is firm and gentle enough for full-speed gallops. Tolkien’s description of their charge shows that they come in ordered lines, their king at the front beneath the banner of the White Horse upon green. The openness of the western Pelennor allows them to unleash the full shock of their mounted strength, turning the field south of the city into a killing ground where they crash into the flanks of Sauron’s hosts that are pressing on Minas Tirith.

Sauron’s armies, including the forces from Minas Morgul and from the east, establish their main camps and siege lines on the outskirts of the fields and on any nearby rises that give a better view of the city. They bring with them great siege-towers, rams, and engines, along with ranks of orcs, men of Harad, Variags, and others, and they use the wide plain as a place to array their strength in terror-inducing displays. Tolkien mentions the dark hosts and their banners, along with the looming shapes of Oliphaunts, massing outside bowshot of the walls. These encampments spread across the Pelennor, with fires and trenches marking their positions, and they serve as bases from which the enemy pushes forward rams and storming parties toward the Great Gate and lower walls.

Behind these forward positions both sides must keep their reserves, baggage, and supply lines as secure as the exposed plain allows, usually closer to the main roads and the river for ease of movement and possible retreat. For Gondor, the roads leading south to the fiefs and those running to the river are vital arteries that can bring late-coming levies or allow non-combatants to be withdrawn. For Sauron’s forces, the captured crossings at Osgiliath and the long line back to Minas Morgul and the Black Land are the channels by which reinforcements and supplies have already come. The presence of the Anduin means that whoever holds the riverbanks can also threaten or protect these lines, a fact that later becomes critical when Aragorn arrives on the black ships, turning what was expected to be an enemy reinforcement into a sudden blow on the rear of Mordor’s army.

The gentle folds in the Pelennor’s surface, with their shallow hollows and modest rises, subtly shape how troops can move and fight, because cavalry in particular needs a clear run of ground to gather speed before striking. The Rohirrim time their charge so that they emerge from behind slight swells and then thunder down upon the enemy in long lines, using downward slopes where possible to add to their momentum. Foot soldiers, by contrast, can shelter for a time in the low places or on the reverse sides of these minor ridges, protected from direct arrows or observation. This interplay between open stretches and slight shelter allows both mounted and foot forces to find their strengths, but it also demands quick judgment from commanders who must read the land and commit their riders only where they can maintain formation and pace.

The hedged lanes and orchards scattered across the inner Pelennor create broken patches of cover that can hide small groups but also interfere with wide maneuvers, especially for long lines of horse. As the battle swirls closer to the city, companies of infantry may use these features to mask their movements or to hold temporary positions against stronger foes. Yet for cavalry, low hedges and tree-rows can break up formations if the riders are forced to thread between them or leap obstacles at speed, which is part of why Théoden chooses a broad, more open front for his main charge. In Tolkien’s brief but pointed descriptions, one can sense how the ordered beauty of fields and fruit-trees becomes a cluttered and sometimes dangerous obstruction when thousands of men and beasts clash among them.

The old roads from Osgiliath and from the riverbank act as natural funnels that channel the movement of armies toward Minas Tirith, both in the build-up to the siege and during the battle itself. Sauron’s forces advance along these routes, bringing their engines and heavy gear along firm, known ways rather than risking the softer fields with such burdens. Defenders must therefore concentrate watch and strength along these axes of approach, knowing that the enemy’s greatest pressure is likely to fall there. In The Return of the King, the narrative of Faramir’s retreat from Osgiliath and the crossing of the Pelennor follows these very lines, and later the enemy’s siege lines also align with these roads, confirming how strongly the existing pathways shape the flow of war.

The wide and relatively unobstructed stretches of the Pelennor strongly favor shock tactics when used by a disciplined and courageous cavalry, as seen in the charge of the Rohirrim where the full weight of mounted warriors is brought to bear on an enemy flank. Théoden’s decision to form his éoreds line abreast and to charge in song and with trumpets takes advantage of the open terrain so that the riders can build up great speed and hit with maximum impact. Tolkien’s description of the Orcs breaking and the Southrons being driven back shows how devastating this kind of attack can be when unleashed on a host unprepared for a blow from that direction. The open ground south and west of the city thus becomes a place where a smaller mounted force can shatter a larger but less agile host, at least for a vital span of time.

Because the Pelennor offers few places to hide great bodies of troops, the timing and location of deployment matter even more than sheer numbers, especially once the initial shock of battle has passed. When Théoden arrives, the Mordor-host has already invested the city and grown confident, making his sudden appearance like a storm breaking on a clear horizon. If he had come earlier, his riders might have been drawn into a more even fight; had he come later, Minas Tirith might have fallen or been fire-gutted. Similarly, Aragorn’s arrival on the captured Corsair ships is timed so that he falls upon the enemy when they are already heavily engaged with both Gondor and Rohan, turning the balance at a critical hour despite his relatively modest overall numbers. On such a plain, where all can see banners rise and fall, a force committed too soon or in the wrong place can be wasted, while one held just long enough can rescue a failing line or turn a looming defeat.

Coordination between the defenders of Minas Tirith and any relieving forces is made both easier and harder by the long lines of sight across the Pelennor, for each side can see the other’s distress yet must guess how best to help. Denethor’s despair nearly breaks this coordination from within, but Gandalf strives to hold the defense steady until aid can come. When Rohan arrives, their horns are heard in the city and hearts are lifted, yet no messenger has carefully planned their exact point of attack. Later, when Aragorn’s standard unfurls on the river, both foes and allies see it from far off, and the captains on the field adjust as quickly as they can. The plain is large, and riders and runners must still carry word, yet the visibility means that major moves can be answered, and that an unexpected ally’s appearance can transform not only the tactical situation but also the courage of those already fighting.

The choices of leaders during the battle repeatedly depend on how quickly they can read the shifting situation on the ground and decide when to commit the last of their reserves, since once those are spent there is little left to hold back disaster. Denethor fails in this task, overcome by despair and the vision granted by the palantír, and he withdraws from his role at the most crucial moment. Gandalf, by contrast, constantly weighs where his own presence can have the greatest effect, riding from gate to wall and then finally leaving the defense of the city when he must go to meet Faramir and later to counter the Witch-king. Théoden also shows keen judgment, first choosing his ground for the charge and then committing himself fully at the head of his riders, even though he knows the odds are long. These moments reveal that in such an open and fluid battlefield, the reading of the land and the timing of a single commander’s decision can outweigh any simple count of spears and swords.

From the terraces and walls of Minas Tirith, commanders gain broad views of the Pelennor, enabling them to see movements far beyond the immediate fighting at the gate, but the same height and distance also limit how quickly help can be sent to a particular spot. Tolkien tells of the captains standing on the walls, watching the hosts gather and the smoke rise as siege engines batter the city; they can see but cannot instantly reach the threatened points. Orders must be carried down winding streets and then out onto the field, which costs time that may be measured in lives. Similarly, when Théoden rides, he can look up and take courage from the sight of the White Tower and the banners on the walls, yet he must rely on his own judgment once he descends among the enemy, beyond the reach of shouted commands from the city.

On open ground such as the Pelennor, where many thousands can see long distances, the moral influence of symbols, sounds, and visible leaders plays a powerful and sometimes decisive role, for hope or dread can run like fire across the ranks. Tolkien emphasizes the horns of Rohan echoing in the dawn, the shining standard of Dol Amroth, and later the Banner of Elendil unfurled by Aragorn on the river, each of which lifts the hearts of allies and chills their enemies. The Witch-king himself is a dark counterpart to these figures, for his very presence brings fear that saps men’s strength, and his fall at the hands of Éowyn and Merry sends a shock through Sauron’s armies. Trumpets, drums, cries of “Gondor” and “Rohan,” and the sight of kings and captains riding at the front make the battle not just a clash of arms but a struggle of wills that stretches across the whole field.

When the fighting is done and the hosts have withdrawn or been destroyed, the Pelennor Fields bear deep scars that show the cost of victory, with trampled crops, churned earth, shattered hedges, and burned or ruined farmsteads across the once-orderly landscape. Tolkien hints at this aftermath in his references to the many dead and the work of clearing the battlefield. Improvised graves and cairns arise where men and horses fell, especially for those distant allies whose bodies cannot be borne home, such as many of the Rohirrim who remain near where their king died. The plain that had long been a place of sowing and harvest is changed, at least for a season, into a vast charnel ground, and its people must face both the material loss and the memory of terror written upon their very fields.

As time passes, the Pelennor does not remain a wasted land, for Gondor must live, and its people begin to repair the Rammas, replant the orchards, and tend the lanes and farms under the renewed kingship of Aragorn. Yet the sites of the fiercest fighting and of great deaths become places of memory and honor, especially the burial mounds raised for Théoden and for the fallen of Rohan, which are later echoed in the burial customs of the Mark. Chronicles of Gondor surely mark out where the standard of the King first flew, where Prince Imrahil broke through to rescue Faramir, and where the Witch-king fell. In this way the Pelennor becomes a layered landscape, where new life grows over old wounds but does not erase them, and where farmers and travelers alike know that their daily paths cross ground once soaked in blood.

Over the years, the lanes, stones, and remaining earthworks of the Pelennor come to serve as markers that hold the story of the battle in a more physical way than any written scroll, preserving in quiet forms where great deeds and sacrifices took place. A bend in a lane might be pointed out as the place where a company of Dol Amroth stood firm, or an oddly placed stone might be all that remains of a hastily raised cairn for unknown warriors from distant lands. Tolkien often suggests that landscapes remember, and in the case of the Pelennor this memory is sharpened by the presence of both royal tombs in Minas Tirith and humbler graves outside its walls. Thus the very ground teaches those who walk it, reminding them that the safety of their city was bought at a price, and that their tilled earth once shook under the feet of marching hosts.

In the years after the War of the Ring, the Pelennor Fields stand in Gondor’s remembrance as the place where the city was saved yet nearly lost, embodying both the pride of victory and the sorrow of the fallen. Songs and tales in Minas Tirith recall how the darkness was lifted when the Rohirrim arrived and when the black ships revealed friends instead of foes, but they also remember the burning of the gates, the despair of Denethor, and the many who did not live to see the dawn. For Gondor, this battle becomes the turning point that closes the long decline and begins the Reunited Kingdom, yet its glory is never simple triumph. The very name “Pelennor Fields” carries in their speech a weight of history, like the names of Dagorlad or the Gladden Fields, where joy and tragedy mix.

Life returns to the Pelennor with plough and seed, and its farms, vineyards, and lanes are once again reclaimed and cared for, yet even as they flourish the memory of that day remains alive in songs sung in the city and in the Mark of Rohan. Tolkien suggests that such memories pass into both high poetry and more homely tradition, so that harvest feasts or royal visits might include stories of the charge of the Rohirrim or of the ride of the Black Captain. Children growing up in Minas Tirith after the war would learn to connect ordinary features of the landscape with these old tales, so that the act of tending the land takes on an added meaning. In this way the Pelennor becomes not merely a productive plain but a living memorial that binds together city and countryside, present and past.

The physical shapes of the land around Minas Tirith, from the terraces of the city to the repaired Rammas Echor and the subtle remains of battleworks on the fields, help preserve the story of the Pelennor as something that can be seen as well as heard. Visitors walking the lower walls can look out upon the same stretches of ground that Théoden saw before his charge, and the embankments and mounds can be pointed out as places where crucial stands were made. Monuments and royal tombs in the City of the Kings echo this story in stone, while more modest field-marks and boundary stones keep it present in the daily life of farmers and herdsmen. Thus the topography itself becomes like an open book in which future generations can read the history of Gondor’s greatest battle of the Third Age, understanding that their peaceful days rest upon the courage and sacrifice once poured out upon those fields.