Elrohir and Elladan reached the top of a hillock and met with Aragorn and Éomer. Miril, still with tears flowing down her face mixing with the dried blood on her hands and face, gripped the Standard of Aragorn in one hand and her sword in the other. They dismounted beside the two warriors.

"We meet again, my friends," Éomer said. "Beyond hope. Though much ruin has come this day. Lord Théoden has fallen!"

Miril looked at him, eyes hard as stone. She nodded and looked at Aragorn who noted at once that she bore the standard. He saw on her face tear lines, and her hands were dark red with blood.

"He has perished, then," he murmured. "Halbarad met his doom here, just as he foresaw."

Miril refused to respond with more than a curt nod. Elrohir placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I will bear the standard now," she finally said. "I will finish what my father started."

Aragorn, a tear slipping down his cheek, nodded. "Then let us fight. Fight so that neither his death nor King Théoden's was in vain!"

Miril insisted Elrohir leave her on the ground. He responded by saying that he too, then, would fight on foot beside her. Elladan frowned but insisted on joining them. It was then that finally Aragorn, Miril, Éomer, Elladan, and Elrohir fought as one on the battlefield. Their enemies fled before the rage in their eyes. For all had lost dear friends that day. But in the end there was yet more damage to be done. For she had made an awful mistake. She had said something in her rage that would be her undoing.

A great winged creature circled around them. Miril had become separated from the group in the fray and fought with sword and standard. She was angry. She was furious.

"Flee before the descendant of Fëanor!" She shouted yet again, not heeding the cry of the fell beast far above her.

But she had little choice when it landed before her on the ground. She was knocked down by the force of the wind that the wings of the beast created. She stared in horror at its ugly face. It was black, just like the figure that rode atop it.

"The Eye demands your death, child of Fire," spoke the Nazgûl. "You are to be extinguished."

Miril stood up and plunged the Standard of Aragorn into the ground. She fastened her grip on Galmegil.

"Your master will learn to fear the Spirit of Fire yet again, foul creature," she shouted, rage still hot within her. "You will pay for the death of my brother and my father!"

The Nazgûl laughed. "You are but a child. I am Khamul. Second of the Nine."

He ordered his fell beast forward but Miril stabbed it in the eye and it reared, throwing the Nazgûl off its back. The Fellbeast fled back, cowering in the face of her shining sword. But she still had the Nazgûl to deal with. He had stood up and was approaching her now, dark sword out and ready for a duel.

Miril stalked forward towards him. She held up Galmegil, ancient sword of Valinor. It was the Sword of Light against the Sword of Darkness. As they clashed, a piercing ring of steel on steel was let out. She ducked as the Nazgûl swung at her neck. In return she tried to stab him, but he was too quick with his sidestep.

They were evenly matched, Nazgûl and Ranger. Miril was growing tired, her arms aching from all the fighting she had done that day. She was growing sloppy. And it would cost her.

Miril swung her sword and managed to knock the Nazgûl's blade from his hand, but dropped her own in turn. Khamul the Easterling, second in command of the Nazgûl of Sauron, had other tricks up his sleeve. He reached forward, gripping Miril by the neck. He lifted her up off the ground. She kicked, struggling to break free. She felt a chill creeping from her neck up to her face and down to her chest.

And then it stopped. A piercing scream was let out. Miril fell to the ground. She could barely focus as Elrohir, Galmegil in hand, raced to her side. The Nazgûl was nowhere to be seen and Elladan was finishing off the Fellbeast. Her eyes closed and she passed out, a chill over her entire body.

"Mir!" Elrohir cried, kneeling beside her. "Little one, come back to me."

He leaned over and listened for breathing. He sighed in relief when it was there but he knew he had little time. The battle was all but over; Gondor was victorious. But they had to Miril to the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith.

"Brother! She is deathly ill," Elrohir called to where Elladan had just finished with the monstrous Fellbeast.

Elladan nodded and picked up the standard of Aragorn. "We need to get her to Aragorn quickly."

"Are you injured, sirs," someone called out a top a horse, his colors blue and white with a swan upon them. "We have extra horses!"

"Our comrade needs healing immediately!' Elrohir raced over to him. "Who are we to thank for this help?"

"Prince Imrahil is my name, Lord of Dol Amroth," said the man. "Aragorn sent me out to find you."

They thanked him and mounted two horses, Elrohir holding Miril and Elladan carrying the banner. The four rode with all speed back to Minas Tirith. Elrohir could feel the life fading from Miril's body. It was a race against time.

When they reached the city gates, Aragorn was not there. They left the standard of Aragorn with the Dunedain with orders that it be furled back up. Imrahil led the brothers into the White City and through its many gates up to the Houses of Healing.

"Aragorn is within. Eowyn and the hobbit took deathly ill like your friend. He is with them." Imrahil dismounted his steed. "Follow me."

He led the Twins inside, Elrohir with the dying Miril in his arms. He didn't want to think about what might happen should she die. Besides his own feelings towards her, she was also needed to fulfill a prophecy to hopefully defeat more evil within Middle Earth.

A woman stopped them. "Who are you to enter the Houses of Healing?"

"Our friend needs healing from the newcomer who is within," Elladan insisted.

Imrahil added his authority. "Allow them to pass. Upon my authority as Prince of Dol Amroth."

The woman bowed quickly and looked at them quizzically as they passed but said no more. When they reached the inner part of the Houses of Healing, the scent of Athelas filled the air and they relaxed a slight bit. The three men spotted Aragorn and raced over. He looked up in surprise and then his face blanched upon seeing Miril's pale, deathly white complexion.

"She confronted Khamul the Easterling," Elladan explained quietly. "He gripped her throat before we could find her."

"Lay her down," he ordered immediately. "I must work quickly.