So I decided to update a day early in honor of the anniversary of the Destruction of the One Ring!! And I'm finally publishing this chapter! Do you know how long I've waited? SO. LONG.

*settle in for an 8,600-something long chapter*

When I awoke, I felt as if a stream of sunlight should've been streaking across me. Sunlight meant warmth, love. And waking up with Legolas next to me, his body so close I could feel it's warmth, certainly made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

But it also made a deep blush streak across my nose.

I was only wearing my nightgown. And he only had on a pair of trousers, for Eru's sake!

I wanted to sink into the mattress and let it swallow me whole or get up and put on proper clothes. Of course, I didn't need to worry about waking him, in a way he was already awake. Just... dreaming while awake. Elves are weird—

Battle.

I froze as fear curdled in my gut. Today I could die. Today people I know could die. Today I could fail at protecting.

"Lum?" Came Legolas's rest-infused voice.

Breathe in. Breathe out. I pushed myself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Frigid air rose the air on my covered arms. "I'm okay. Just nervous." Indeed, thousands of butterflies made their way through my core, to the tips of my fingers and toes.

I felt him through the energy zapping the air sit up. "I'll be there every step of the way."

I fumbled with my hands, pulled at the hem of my sleeves. Mithrandir said he needed to talk with me. "Thank you," I whisper.

"I'm—um—" Standing, I made my way to the door. "I'm going to change, then find Mithrandir. He—uh—wanted to talk to me..."

With my hand on the doorknob, I looked over my shoulder sheepishly. "Thank you—for last night."

He nodded.

Um... so... okay...

I swiftly left, praying to Eru that no one would see me leaving his room in only a nightgown. I don't want people thinking something that's not true.

Once in my chambers—bundled feet thoroughly numb from the freezing concrete, even though I wore socks—I quickly changed into something suitable. Battle gear. Well, a white shirt that would go under a breastplate and strong durable trousers. No dresses today. The actual armor would come later.

I smiled fondly at the open journal, inkwell and pen resting nearby. Such a relief to have my old friend back, my trusted confidant. Something sparkling set next to it.

The mysterious mirror, the one I found after I awoke in a strange place, gazed up at the stone ceiling. Stone—nothing strange and nonexistent—reflected in its face. If I looked hard enough, blue shimmers webbed across the surface, warping and worshipping what the mirror held.

Not knowing what I was doing until it was too late, I felt my fingers grazing my perfectly smooth ears.

I wilted, hand falling to my side, shoulders drooping under a weight called forth. Possibilities I could have explored more confidently destroyed because of some strange incident with my birth. What could've been never will be.

Not for the first time, I wondered if this was the consequence of being, well, me. Nature had to balance out. That means I can't live forever, not with so much power. Things must cancel out.

Sighing dejectedly, I strapped Gorthaden around my waist, followed by my long dagger at my thigh. I no longer had my assortment of knives. They're swimming somewhere in the waters of Isengard. Not that I would want them.

My boots clicked as I now made my way down the haunted walkways. Not many wandered these halls, as most were down in the caves below. In times of war, the rooms my friends and I were staying in were used for generals and soldiers ranked high enough for an honorable mention. Now some of the extra rooms went to those expecting or with small, red-faced infants. Like Sunngifu, who would deliver any day now.

I decided to try my luck in the room I had intruded into last night, however, no soul occupied it. Mess Hall, then?

Entering the dull roar of the cafeteria, I could easily spot out the stark whiteness of Mithrandir. Gandalf stood out like a vibrant flower in a mound of dull dirt. I hope he never decides to play as a spy. Or sneak around in general. He'd be absolutely terrible at it.

The wizard did not eat but instead discussed battle plans with Eomer and his sister and Aragorn. Despite the looming doom, the remaining people of Rohan acted normal. But the longer I looked around, the more I saw that that wasn't true. Some had tears in their eyes as they held their boys close, others packed down sustaining meals that would've been for dinner, not breakfast. Some already had armor on, although the orcs wouldn't show up until twilight. Many hands trembled as they handled their silverware.

I clenched my own trembling fingers.

I took a seat next to Aragorn, who greeted me a good morning. Resting my elbows on the table, I waited for Gandalf and Eomer to finish their debate.

"... salvaged and used in catapults," Mithrandir said hotly.

"I will not destroy living quarters to be used as weapons," Eomer rebutted, hand slamming down on the table.

"And why not, Eomer King? The living quarters are inhabitable, use the stone to destroy the enemy. When we survive, you can rebuild deeper into the mountain."

"You mean if we survive."

Mithrandir ignored the comment. "If you do not do this, you may as well catapult your own men over. I know you are grieving but think reasonably. Do what must be done."

"My grieving has nothing to do—"

"Ah," said Mithrandir, "Lumornel."

I lowered my head in greeting, a warm smile crossing my face. "Mithrandir."

"I do believe I have matters to discuss with you. Follow me." He stood up in a flurry of white robes and didn't wait for me as he strode away.

"Best not to leave him waiting, Lumornel. He's even grumpier than usual." Aragorn smiled faintly.

"Probably my fault," I responded, "I kept him up past his bedtime."

With that, I hurried after the wizard. I followed after him until we came to a stone courtyard looking over the encampment, connecting to the outer barrier; the Deeping Wall.

"I don't believe I need to inform you of this, for you most likely know, but you do know why you were sent here, yes?"

I hesitated but nodded. "To use this... gift... to protect the remaining people of Rohan."

"To put it simply, yes. But that is just the surface. The Valar often have deeper intentions, often ones we don't see until we're standing atop them. You were sent here, not just for the people of Rohan, but for yourself."

I snapped my eyes up to him, too slack-jawed to ask what in Eru's name he meant by that.

"By protecting these peoples, you will be proving your capability and strength to yourself. The Valar must infer you need this courage for what is to come."

"And," I said slowly, "If I'm to find this out later, then why tell me at all...?"

"I can see in your eyes that you feel as if you're going to fail."

"How did you..."

"Your eyes tell it all, Lumornel." He chuckled, then continued. "You needed a touch of confidence to do what you must do today. Know that the Valar sent you here to learn about yourself, so they will surely pull you though. Do not fear of dying this day. Keep your courage close and caution even closer."

I nodded, mulling over the words. "Thank you."

"I have preparations to see through. I'll meet you next in battle."

He left me alone with my thoughts and the roaring wind. I'd definitely have to make sure my braid tonight is tight.

*********

"What are you doing?" Legolas, after several hours, seems to have found me.

"I hate being around this many people," I glanced around at the women and children down here in the Glittering Caves, worried that although I spoke in Sindarin, they'd somehow understand me.

Legolas chuckled and sat with crossed legs on the glittery ground with me. These caves looked as if the stars lived amongst the stone. Strange that something such as the stars, who lived so high up came down to meet with something so far down. It was absolutely beautiful.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because there's more energy around people. So I'll suffer." I needed to slowly draw in energy so as to be prepared for tonight. I need to be at my strongest.

A ball of twine bumped against my foot.

"Looks as if you have a visitor," Legolas announced.

Looking up, I saw a timid girl of the age four or five. Her clothes were ripped in places, their true color masked by dirt. She inched forward, glancing warily at Legolas. Not for the first time, he wasn't gazed upon in fascination, but in fear.

His deft hand plucked up the ball. "Is this yours, child?"

She didn't answer. She backed up a step.

"What is your name?" He crouched down to her level.

I knew what was going through his mind. He sees a monster reflecting back in the girl's eyes.

Come on, kid, answer him.

"I am called Legolas, and you are?"

The girl glanced at his bow, which I had reluctantly given back.

"Would you like to hold it?" The kindness of his heart shone through his smile.

She had taken a step forward. Her blonde curls bounced as she nodded enthusiastically.

He shrugged out of the bows embrace, careful as to not ruin the taut string. He held it out to her, a twinkle in his eyes, posture relaxed. And yet the way he was biting his cheek told a different story.

He didn't move forward toward her but instead allowed her to come to him. The girl's bare feet padded along the floor, curls dancing along her shoulders. Despite her ragged clothing, she was well bathed. But her feet reminded me of a hobbits'; calloused and black-soled. She even had the coiled hair.

I smiled, but it faded. How was Sam, Merry, and Pippin? Had they even reached Gondor? How much longer would we have to wait? Are they even alive? Or is an orc filling his belly with their bones?

Her small, fairy-like hands took the bow but didn't go far. The unarmed weapon was twice her height, it dwarfed her.

It makes her look even more hobbit-like! I laughed.

"You, my dear, are holding a piece of a very special tree. Do you know what it is?" Legolas asked, eyes alight.

She shook her head, tiny fingers placing it back in his hands, so she could feel the grooves.

"It is a mallorn, from Lothlorien. A magical place filled with elves." He leaned forward slightly to point out an engraving, his hair sliding forward—

Her nimble hands darted out and grabbed his ears.

Legolas stopped midsentence, eyes bugging out. The child pulled at the tips.

I slapped my hand over my mouth.

The stunned expression left Legolas, instead, he adopted a look of curiosity as he brushed aside her curls and pinched the top of her ears in his fingers.

"What are you? An elf?"

She giggled, withdrawing her hands to her chest. She shook her head, those pin-curls flying as she stuck out her finger and pointed at him.

"Me?!" He opened his mouth in shock. "An elf?"

Her dimples showed as she nodded, still giggling.

"I don't believe it," he said astonished. He looked to me. "Do you?"

"No, I had no idea," echoing his exaggerated emotion. I huffed a laugh.

Legolas picked up the ball of twine and handed it to the little girl. But a curling smile split her face. She motioned with an inching finger for Legolas to come closer. Legolas did so quizzically.

Come closer, her finger beckoned. Mischief twinkled in her eyes.

It was only when Legolas was practically inches from her that she ordered him to stop. Then, quick as lightning, she pecked him on the cheek. Her quick hands snatched the ball of twine from Legolas' stunned fingers, she ran away giggling, stumbled through her cackling.

*********

The whetstone hissed in our ears.

It would take me hours to sharpen Gorthaden and considerably shorter for Sunngifu to sharpen my long dagger. Of course, we could make this process much easier by going to the grinding stones in the Armory, but I wanted to waste hours. I wanted to lose myself in the process of sharpening my sword.

I hadn't sparred since Lothlorien. Sure, Aragorn and I had a few playful rounds on the journey here, but we weren't really into it. Not with the Ring nearby. Among other things. And did teaching a couple boys how to wield a sword count? Not really.

Maybe... Maybe later, before the battle, I could find a sparring partner. Not Legolas—he'd be too... distracting. Could I pull Aragorn away for a few hours? I saw Eowyn waving around a blade earlier—even looked skilled enough to face Braiglach back in Lothlorien, maybe I could pull her away.

I needed my Thrandies back. I had lost them to Saruman. And if it wasn't for the remainders of the Fellowship, I wouldn't have Gorthaden or the dagger Father had given me before leaving Mirkwood. A bow sounded delightful as well. Legolas's... maybe I could lend it again...?

Could Gandalf really mean what he said? That I wouldn't die today? His logic didn't seem to have any faults, no fractures. Maybe a tiny crack about my confidence, but besides that, I could see nothing wrong with the argument. The Valar might very well have brought me here to protect these people. For if so, why wouldn't they send the vision of the approaching army? Nine hours away now. Time was too short. I didn't—

Well, I could. But... how about 'no.' I'll... just procrastinate more.

"Nelly!"

I snapped my head up, "huh?"

"I've been calling your name for the past minute! Eru's name, you really are scatter-brained."

I blushed, rubbing harder with the whetstone and let my hair drape forward. "Sorry."

"Bah," she waved her hand as if clearing the words away. "You're listening now, that's what matters."

I raised my brows, "and?"

"You're thinning that section of your blade too much. Go any further and the blade with shatter when striking bone." She flipped my long-dagger over, working on the other side of the edge.

I almost set my sword and whetstone down, but I had too little time, so I kept working. "How do you know so much about blades?"

Her sharpening turned almost furious. The raging whispers of the stone filled the silence.

"Sormer," she started, not looking at me, "taught me."

She flipped the dagger over again although she didn't need to. "He wanted me to be able to defend myself properly. And I was interested."

"I," she tucked away a strand of hair, "wasn't like other girls, to mother's dismay." Sunnwyn called her agreement from the kitchen table. "I wanted to join an eored, although it wouldn't be allowed."

She fell silent again, pursing her lips.

"And?" I pressed.

She sighed, but her grip on the dagger tightened. "And Sormer gave me some blades. Taught me how to stab. That's it."

Oh, there had to be more, but I let her keep the memories to herself. Perhaps someday she'd share them with me.

We fell quiet again, listening to the singing of our blades mingle with Sunnwyn's humming.

"Have you thought of a name? For your baby?"

"Yes."

I sighed. "And?"

"Valar, girl! You're relentless, aren't you?" She shook her head and gave in. "I thought about naming him Sormer but..." Gifu bit her lip.

I understood plenty. Naming her baby after her deceased lover would only bring pain. "Any other names?"

"A few."

"I may be relentless, but you, mellon, are stubborn."

"She sure is!" Sunnwyn waved around a bracelet she was weaving. "Can't get the girl to agree with anything!"

"Ah, but Mother, that's called being indecisive. And I am far too opinionated to be called that."

"But why would she call you indecisive, or even opinionated, when your name is Sunngifu?"

"Ah-ha!" Gifu pointed my blade at me in a flurry of action, making me flinch. "I knew there was some clever wit buried in there!"

I laughed. "I've been learning."

"Good, but you better hold your tongue when you get back to Mirkwood—Lothlorien—wherever you're returning too. I doubt high-elves would appreciate a wit-spouting-mouth running around like a headless chicken."

A... what? "I don't think I'd run around like a headless chicken."

Sunngifu just smiled.

An hour of silence—mixed with mindless chatter—later, Gifu handed my dagger back to me. "It's as sharp as I can make it. You, however, are going to need more practice. That sword looks almost butchered."

I took the dagger with a frown. I guess Gorthaden did have some uneven dips here and there, but it wasn't as bad as she said it was... right?

"That reminds me. I have something for you."

"Wha—" She left the room before I could finish.

I took the time to rest my hands and sheathed my dagger. She had the sharpening skill of a blacksmith.

"Daughter, don't torture the poor girl," Sunnwyn berated.

"Oh hush, Mother. She'll come to love me for it in time." What...?

"No peeking!"

I huffed and held out my hands. Something dropped into my hands, cold and heavy. Well, it was quite light but heavier than I thought it—

I opened my eyes. And peered at the object in curiou—

I flung the knife from my hand, scrambling back, almost cutting myself on Gorthaden in the process.

"What—how—why would you do that Sunngifu?!"

She carefully picked up the glinting knife. "It felt natural, didn't it? It didn't feel evil, or even harmful, just like a dagger, but shorter."

"No, it didn't! Sunngifu, you can't just do that!" My face flushed deeply.

"And why not?" Her voice turned grim. "Not being able to handle a knife is going to get you killed, Lumornel."

"Sunngifu, I don't need a knife! I have power beyond the sharpness of that devil of a blade!"

Her jaw clenched, she took a step forward. "You can't rely on what the Valar gives you, girl. They'll take it away from you."

I clenched my fists, the smell of the brewing tea vanishing from my thoughts. "Just because your husband died doesn't mean the Valar will leave me powerless!"

She marched up to me, her face looming like a storm cloud. "You keep up that ignorance of yours and not just your life will be taken. Everyone you hold dear will die too."

"You—you—!"

Too enrage to form proper words, I scooped up Gorthaden and my dagger and stormed from the chambers. I made a show of forcing the door to slam. I didn't feel the least bit guilty of the splintered frame.

How could she! She couldn't just play on my fears like that! It wasn't fair! And I was as sure as the Valar's existence that I did not need a knife. I could fend for myself without the little devil. Sunngifu was wrong.

But as I made my way further and further from her chambers, I began doubting. What if not having a knife got someone killed? What if Legolas was being held at knifepoint or an orc was sneaking up being him, blade drawn? A bow and arrow would be too slow to draw, he'd be dead. But if I had a knife, I could throw it.

But a knife!

I shook my head, stomping my way down corridors. I didn't know what to make of it.

*********

I didn't try sneaking up on Melnare, her elven ears would hear me anyway. So, I ghosted—more like labored my up the long, long flight of stairs leading to the balcony Melnare rarely left. My nose and eyes were very glad to see a new set of clothing on her—spare her now clean cloak. Seeing that cloak... it made me think of Isengard. And that light can be found even in the darkest of times.

Much like that fire Melnare seemed to have.

"If you came here to plead for my blade in battle, you should turn around now."

I leaned against the stone wall, right next to where she sat upon it, her legs dangling dangerously over the ledge. She glanced over at me.

"You're not ready for battle. I can see it in your eyes." What's up with people and my eyes? "But people are rarely ever 'ready' for things such as this. Anger tends to be the only motivation that can prepare a person. But rage and vengeance end in an unfocused mind and disaster."

Her eyes went back out to the faraway horizon. The sun dangled dangerously above in a sea of fire. Three hours. Three measly hours until 4,000 orcs descend upon us like vultures.

"Can you see them? The army?"

"Yes. Thousands, as you said. Black and looming as a storm-cloud."

Squinting, I tried seeing what she did. But my mortal eyes were no good. Just a dark stretch of land blurring into the never-ending sky. "Would you... come back to Lorien? If I asked it of you?"

She said nothing for a while, thoughts swirling and tumbling over each other in her head. Her ever-growing tan hand traced an unseen pattern on the rock she sat upon.

"I cannot say. For thoughts and events may change my mind."

I stood straight, astonished. "But what about your son?!"

"He's survived this long without me," she said gravely, "I'm sure he can go a little longer."

"You're the only family he has left!"

Her head turned so sharply I thought it would fall off. "You forget you are his family. And what of Galadriel? Did you not tell me about their union? Or of Elrond and his marriage to their first daughter?"

"You... you know what I meant." I wilted, resting my elbows on the half-wall, setting my head on them. I'm tired of arguing. Let it be gone from the world.

I bit my tongue, trying to let the blowing wind give me courage. "So... will you fight with us? The people of Rohan need every blade they can get."

"No."

"But—"

"No." The word seemed able to floor a man.

"They need—"

"No, Lumornel. They need you."

"And you—"

"When there comes a war when I am needed, I will fight. But this is not a war. It's a slaughter."

I clenched my teeth. "So, you'll let innocents die while you sit here idly and watch the horizon? Where's the honor in that?!"

"My honor," she spat, "is staying here. Glued to this stone. Where no innocent can be slain by my hand."

I sat back on my heels. She was afraid of becoming Sarae, of when she had killed hundreds in a vengeful hunt for a maia.

"You won't... you'd never kill any of the Rohans... They're women, children... "

Her molten eyes were livid, but a type of sorrow cooled and hardened them. "There was a time when that wouldn't have stopped me."

She turned back to a horizon aflame.

*********

"You should've rested."

I didn't challenge Legolas' words as I sat down next to him on the bench. He's right. I am exhausted. After Gifu and I's argument, I had stormed off to find a sparring partner—which ended up being Eowyn. And after that, I talked to Melnare—failed—and then tried a quick nap but felt too guilty to do so. The only thing I got out of the effort was shame, the breakdown assessment of my own sweat, and the discovery of the fact that the ceiling above my bed is very boring.

"I'll be fine," I hoped. On my walk here to the armory, I had slowly siphoned off energy. My skin felt abuzz with life.

Women—and the few men who were here—were silent. A few spoke in murmurs, but most had a determined set to their shoulders as they armored up and grabbed their weapons. Fear trembled within their hands, their eyes.

I couldn't blame them, it would be impossible to overcome the overwhel—

"What are you doing?" My eyes widened as Legolas continued scratching at the wood of his bow with a knife. "You're ruining its beauty!"

"No," he said smugly, "I'm only adding to its greatness." He blew away the stray wood chips and held the bow up. I squinted and saw, in the narrow space where the string connected, inscribed in tengwar: 'Legolas Thranduilion.'

"Now," he said pointedly, "you can't steal it."

I smacked his arm. "How rude!"

"What in Durin's name is the lad doin' now?" Gimli lumbered up, chainmail hanging ridiculously down his legs.

"I am merely claiming this bow as my property and not that of a kleptomaniac." I narrowed my eyes at Legolas's smile.

"I am not a kleptomaniac."

Legolas merely smiled wider. "Says a kleptomaniac."

"That, lassie, I cannot argue with."

I sniffed and moved away to grab a chainmail shirt. Finding one that looked about the right size, I shrugged it on over my shirt. A leather tunic followed, so did a pair of leather vambraces. Hopefully, they wouldn't have to be used. They could only withstand scratches, anything deeper would break flesh.

"Rrggg." I pulled at the string with my teeth, using my other hand to pull the other string. These vambraces did not want to tie!

"Here, let me." Legolas's nimble fingers took the string from me, careful to stay away from my biting teeth. I wouldn't bite him. Would I? Nah.

"Thank you," I whispered, looking around at the frightened and barely trained soldiers. If you could call them that. Then, silently put out my other vambrace for him to tie.

He nodded.

"They're going to be alright," he motioned towards the others around us. "Some will live, others will die. But the living will move on knowing they fought for their freedom. They'll rejoice eventually, for having lived. For having family or friends still walking Arda. And they'll be grateful for you, whether you live or die, for having fought beside them." He finished the knot, then leaned over and snatched Gorthaden and my belt from the bench.

"Fight for this land so others may once again rejoice in seeing the trees sleep in the winter, flowers blooming in the spring, and for seeing their young prance in the grasses. Fight for honor and for life. Don't lose hope, and if you do, look to the stars."

Legolas finished, voice strong and flowing, and handed me my sword. I took it gingerly.

"You've given that before, haven't you? To your warriors back home?" The words were too perfect, too confident and poised to be anything other than a practiced and tried speech.

Those blue eyes of his held long ago memories. "It's what a prince does."

"No," I said firmly, "it's what you do."

"Hey, Gim!" I called out, watching as he turned. He really needs to fix that chainmail, I thought as he almost tripped turning around. "Can you toss that dagger and harness over?"

"By Durin's beard—!" He stumbled, catching himself on the benches. Several ladies snickered, myself included. "Blasted metal!"

Blushing, he blindly threw the sheathed weapon and leather to me. I barely caught it, as it went a 'bit' too far to the left.

I hoisted my leg up on the stone bench and did up the clasps on my thigh. There, long-dagger tightly—and safely—secure.

"You," I said, reaching around to pull my hair back in a tight braid, "better go help that dwarf."

Legolas nearly snorted. "Valar knows he needs it." And, with an elven phrase of good luck, he left.

*********

"Have you ever been in something like this?" Leofwyn whispered in my ear. I resisted the urge to rub the feather touch of her words away and instead focused on the march. Legolas's back was inches away from my face. I couldn't see my surroundings, except for glimpses between heads.

"No." I had been in not-so-small-at-the-time skirmishes with orcs in the woods of Lothlorien, never something to the scale of this.

Fingers threaded through mine. Looking up to see who the owner of the hand was, I saw Legolas. But he wasn't looking at me, instead, he pulled me through the throng of soldiers. The sea of heads cleared and—

A wide expanse of dark land, the sun having just set. Marching dots appeared over the horizon, materializing out of the last of the sun's light.

My legs went weak.

This wasn't it. This wasn't the war I had envisioned. That terrible vision wouldn't happen.

At least not here.

Aragorn gathered with Eomer and Eowyn further down the wall on a raised dais. Even here I could see his strength. Proud, sturdy stance, pulled back shoulders, steely and unmoving gaze. No one could doubt that he is King.

A felt a surge of pride for my friend. I could see him, then, before a white joyful crowd, a mighty crown on his head. If we could get through this journey, then maybe I would see that come true.

The straining of bows pulled my attention.

I started. How long had I been staring, lost amid the jumble of my thoughts?

The orcs were upon us, stopping just behind a great bolder. What appeared to be their leader stood atop the rock, shiny helm reflecting both the night sky and the light of a hundred torches. The creature roared, scimitar thrust up high. The army's responding roar shook the ground, threatening to engulf us.

Valar save us all.

The vast expanse of enemy surged like a wave as their spears and swords and scimitars pounded against the earth.

Already I could see our archers' arms quivering from the strain.

Come on... What are you waiting for?

Legolas tilted his head to the side, lowering his bow slightly.

"What?" I asked. Was he hearing the orcs? Did they have—

"We're preparing something. I do not know what."

Just then a deafening rushing of air soared above our heads. Looking up I saw a shadow blocking out the night sky the size of several large beds.

What the—

It barreled through the wind towards the orcs. They shuffled, nervous—the shadow collided with them, some being thrown meters into the air. A rock, appearing to be part of a stone wall had smashed a handful of orcs. The women around me cheered at the deaths. But it was only a handful out of their 4,000 strong ranks. They still had numbers more than double ours.

"Release!" Eomer's voice penetrated through the ranks. Hundreds of strings thwacked as arrows soared through the sky, arcing and hitting many of the orcs with dull thuds. Most glinted off armor.

"Did they hit anything?" Gimli asked eagerly, jumping up and down to get a peek.

"Their armor is weak at the neck and beneath the arm!" Legolas yelled to the archers that could hear as Eomer called for them to nock arrows once more.

Enraged, the orcs flew forward. The clamor of their armor and weapons created a haunting song.

In a surge, arrows arced overhead, gliding down to feast.

"Send them to me! Come on!" Gimli clutched his ax, bloodlust alighting his eyes.

Legolas whipped his hand back and drew forth another arrow, releasing when the others were commanded to do so.

"Ladders!" Aragorn warned. "Swords! To arms!"

Gimli arranged his feet in a battle stance. "Good!"

Not good, not good. I started backing away but bumped into a fellow soldier. A surge of panic rose up my throat as an enormous ladder grew larger and larger as it came closer and closer to the wall. More, so many more, clanged dully against the stone. Orcs roared in approval.

It was then that I noticed berserkers clinging to the ladders' rungs.

I pulled free Gorthaden, arm trembling at the sheer numbers about to overwhelm us. Yelling, Gimli jumped forward and swung his ax wildly. Legolas sent arrows flying to necks.

"Lumornel!" I swung around to see Aragorn lunging for an orc who was about to decapitate me from behind.

"Thank yo—" An orc's scimitar grazed my arm. Crying out, I swiveled away and rose Gorathden wardingly. I dashed out with the blade, parrying and thrusting. The orc fell dead to my feet.

Following Braiglach's advice, I kept my feet from being rooted to the ground. My booted feet danced dangerously around the battlefield, allowing me to duck and turn away from blades. But I had to make myself separate from the death and pain around me. It threatened to engulf and carry me away.

Ahead, a young woman was reduced to a knee, gritting her teeth as she pushed back the scimitar with her crossbars. But she was wavering. And the orc knew it.

I sprinted, dodging blades as I did so, and swung my sword at the orc's head. His headless neck spurted blood before falling lifelessly to the ground.

I helped the women to her feet, using some of my preciously stored up energy to blast away the orcs that tried to rush at us. The woman nodded her thanks, throwing up a sword to deflect an enemy blow.

Musty, iron-tanged air clung to everything, my body, my tongue. Blood pounded heavily in my ears but somehow, I was still able to hear the deafening blows of steel, the screams and grunts, the roar of feet on stone. Panting, I painstakingly fought my way to army-command.

"Togo hon dad, Legolas!" I spun around at Aragorn's voice, searching the writhing mass of bloody people. There.

I spotted the elf pulling back his bowstring, sighting an unseen target.

"Dago hon! Dago hon!!" Aragorn sounded frantic. I rushed forward to the edge to see why it would be so urgent—

Oh no...

An uruk-hai ran forth with a lit torch. Straight towards a large store of gunpowder in a tiny storm drain. In the fortress wall.

"Kill him!" I shouted, joining in with Aragorn. I reached reflexively for my bow, but I did not arm myself with one. An arrow pierced the uruk's torch-carrying shoulder. But the creature kept running, one damning footfall after another.

And fell alight into the bomb.

A deep, terrified shudder shook the stone, vibrating up into my frame—

Arms wrapped around me—

Thunder louder than I've ever known roared as if the earth had been building its rage over the centuries and released its fiery breath—

And then nothing but white and a piercing ring.

Lumornel. Lumornel.

"Lumornel!"

I groaned, rolling my head to the side. Something warm and sticky flowed out of my ear.

"I'm... I'm fine," I said hoarsely, coughing through the flying dust and debris. I could barely hear myself through the ringing.

I then sat up, like a spring that could not be held down. Legolas had used himself as a shield to protect me.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded. But I saw an angry red creeping around the skin of his neck. He wouldn't follow my advice for him to see a healer so, I let it go.

A quick turn of my ringing head revealed bodies of those who had been less fortunate than us. Red jelly and a pair of Rohan feet peeked out from underneath a large chunk of stone. I looked away.

Wiping at my eyes, I got to my feet and retrieved Gorthaden.

"Well. That took care of several orcs." But why did that feel like their loss was also ours?

"Indeed." He seemed to agree with my thoughts. Or least his voice did. He didn't even grimace as he picked up his blood-covered knife.

It was as if the surrounding battle didn't even notice the explosion. No one stopped and looked at the carnage it wrought. No one surged forward to pull out those who were partially pinned by stone—their screams and moans of agony went unnoticed. It was as if Legolas, myself, and the few survivors in the blast area were in another world, separate from the crazed confusion of chaos.

But the separation didn't last. Slowly, the fighting seeped through. Like a sponge, the chaos expanded.

"Can't stay here forever." With that, Legolas bound forward, twin knives in hand. I hesitated. I didn't want to go back into that bloodbath. I didn't want to kill, no matter if it's orc or human. I couldn't. I wouldn't.

But I should. It's what's right. For those small children and sick down below in the caverns. For those who would be at the mercy of the orcs next, after they moved on from our broken corpses.

I wouldn't leave those caught unprepared or those unable to protect themselves to death. Not while I still draw breath.

Taking in a shuddering inhale, I gripped Gorthaden tight in my hands and ran into the madness.

I didn't go killing quietly in silent determination. No, I screamed my face red, letting my enemies see my eyes. I didn't want them to die not having a chance of defending themselves. But I also wanted to see the fear and surprise light their hating eyes.

Gorthaden cut air, then enemy flesh, the blade reflecting the eyes of those it protected.

A fist came rushing at my face and I rolled to escape it. I rose and kicked the creature in the back, making it stumble, but it didn't fall. Growling, I went forward before it could regain footing and slammed my sword into its neck. Warmblood splattered my cheek, my hair.

The fighting lasted ages. Ages. My muscles tired, but were forced into action by a mad orc's intentions. I raised my weapon, again and again, waiting for the loll in the enemy's ranks. But it never came.

"Behind you!" I spun at the warning, throwing my sword up into a parry. Metal clashed with metal as the creatures dark face leered. Orc spittle sprayed me as it snarled. Disgusted, I pushed back and ducked under the orcs sweeping cut. And rose to drive the edge of my blade into the orc's back.

Howling, the creature turned and stumbled as it took a step. My blade thrust forward into its heart.

Another eager orc took its place and with labored breathes I engaged it—

A shattering, cataclysmic groan made me falter, earning me a blow on the side. Wheezing, I restrained from doubling over and pushed forward.

The orc having finally fallen to my steel I ran to a raised chunk of stone and searched for the cause of the maddening sound. Well, the unusual—the strange—Valar Forsaken! I searched for the source of the sound that had caused me to falter.

Desperate cries came from the women and few men who guarded the gate. I gazed on horrified at what remained of the barrier. Thick wood hung in places, where in others it laid helplessly on the ground where orcs overrun it. The Rohan warriors formed lines quickly, trying—and failing to push back the surge of enemies.

I rushed as quickly to their aid as I could, but annoying stupid orcs kept getting in the way of my blade! Stupid of them to do so.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Aragorn and Gimli run off and away from the battle. Where were they going? They aren't abandoning us, were they? It was obvious that we were losing, maybe they were just trying to save their own necks.

Frustrated, I kicked the last of the orcs in my way off the ledge. I didn't stop to watch him splat.

"King Eomer!" I yelled, ducking and dodging steel as I made my way to him. I put my back to his, protecting his blind spot while he did the same for me. He grunted for me to continue.

"What would you have me do?"

He yelled back over the chaos. "Footrunners have informed me of the Main Square being overrun. Help the squadron there push back the enemy forces. Do what you can." The message was clear.

"Will do!" I scurried off through the maze of orcs and made my way to the destinations as quickly as I could.

Running around the enemy force, I stumbled upon the squadron leader. Leofwyn. And a young man who looked startling like her. Blood covered her front.

"Leofwyn!"

She turned to me after slaying an uruk, grinning through bloody teeth. Was that her blood or an orc's? "Nice of you to finally show up! We could use a Prophecy-Written right about now!" Although she smiled, sorrow and rage kindled in her eyes. Her numbers were being depleted. And none too slowly.

"Are you injured?' The amount of blood covering her chest and torso was alarming. She may be annoying, but I didn't want her dead. Unfortunately, I couldn't inspect her for wounds for a uruk decided I'd look good as a corpse.

"It's not mine. The blood. It's..." She trailed off, and I imagined her face grew grim.

"Dever! Duck!" The brown-haired man having her likeness heeded her words. Leofwyn then took out a knife and flung it at a coming orc who had been trying to kill him from behind. He leaped back up, not even throwing a 'thanks' her way. His face was set with smoldering determination. He's obviously seen many battles. Or maybe just a gruesome one.

"How many did you see surrounding us?" Leofwyn asked, grunting as she twisted her blade in the stomach of an orc.

"Orcs? Hundred and fifty maybe?" That number versus Leofwyn's small number of twenty-five. And they were going to corner us in the square, slaughter us like pigs.

An uruk flew at me, scimitar raised in a snarl. Two more rushed me from my other side. I blocked the first one's blade, kicking him in the torso a second after I did so. Whirling, I swept out my blade in an arc, hoping to catch the two uruks by surprise. They jumped back, Gorthaden only grazing their leather armor.

Wiping sweat from my stinging eyes, I advanced with a twist of my blade against theirs. A scimitar clattered victoriously to the ground.

"Ah-ha!" Caught up in the small victory, I lunged forward and drove Gorthaden into the uruk's stomach, all the way to the hilt. Black blood warmed my hand, its putrid dying breath almost made me gag. The whole battle area smelled like that, but up close and personal it was ten times worse.

Leofwyn screamed.

I turned to the direction of her cry—but the two uruks stalking me pounced. I cried out as a scimitar ripped through the flesh on my bicep. An uruk kicked me in the back, sending me stumbling to my knees, Gorthaden dropping from my hand. The second uruk kicked me to the ground, stood over me, pulling back his sword arm to drive his scimitar through my throat.

No!

I scrambled for my sword. An uruk kicked it away with a laugh and stepped on my hand. I felt something crunch. I screamed in agony as he twisted his boot into my hand, the ground.

The other uruk stepped up and kicked me in the stomach, sending me gasping onto my back. The impact jarred my head, I tasted blood on my tongue. He stepped over me, one foot on each side of me as torchlight illuminated his figure. He raised his scimitar high. And brought it down.

I scrunched my eyes closed in expected pain, waiting for the darkness of death, but nothing came. The clashing, grunting, and moaning sounds of war still held firm to my world. Carefully, I opened my eyes.

No uruk stood over me. Instead, the creature was tangled in a mess with Dever. Dever raised a long knife and plunged it into the monster's chest. Pulled it out with a sickening scrunch.

A hand grabbed my uninjured one—the arm with the torn bicep. I grunted in pain but went along with the pull and stood. Leofwyn met my gaze.

"You're not dead?" I asked, eyes wide with amazement. I had heard her scream, hadn't I?

"I should be asking you that," she said, eyes wandering off where Dever fought with a handful of different uruks.

"Who's that?" I asked through the increasing pain. The brown-haired man fought with such a vicious ferocity that some orcs actually backed away in fear.

"Brother. And darn lucky to be alive, that one." She pulled me to the side of the Square. "Come on. You need a healer."

"No." I pulled out her grasp. "There's still others out there who need my help. As it is, I could've killed several orcs who are killing others right now."

She scoffed. "You're no use anymore." Well, thanks. "Look at you, you can hardly use your hand, nevertheless your arm. How would you pick up your sword?"

"I'll manage." Already I could feel blood seeping down my arm. Even breathing sent twinges of pain through my mangled hand, each breath pumping crimson warmth down my fingers.

"No," Leofwyn jerked me back by the shoulder. "I don't like thinking I'll be blamed for your death."

"Then I won't die," I retorted, escaping once again from her grip. Where was my sword? I spotted it next to a small puddle of blood. Probably mine.

"Go find Aragorn, then!" Leofwyn called out as I ran to Gorthaden.

Begrudgingly, I obliged. Here she's captain, so I'm forced to follow her orders. Even if the order probably would make Aragorn send me down to the caverns.

I twisted in a circle, struggling to find a sense of direction in the madness. That building over there looked strikingly familiar, but with that blood splattered over it and the bodies piled before the door, it looked remarkably like a building a little further over.

Finally, I gave up on finding a quick, logical direction and instead ran off into a less orc-infested path. Shouts, cries, and screams wound their way around each other in the bedlam, separating and twisting unremittingly into a strange concoction of panic.

"Horses! Get the horses!" The cry rang out against the others, mostly because it was actually words—not screams of pain or of survival, but words of urgency.

Why the horses—?

They're planning to storm the causeway.

Filled with a new urgency, I surged forward faster. If they were to surge the causeway, they'd all die. Horses would be speared on uruk weapons, people impaled or pushed off the stone. Valuable lives lost! Surely someone would be able to see through this lunacy!

But this was the action of a desperate people. What else could they do? Every action would lead to death, so why not go out in an act of defiance and glory?

"Aragorn!" I yelled, having returned to the last place I had spotted him. "Aragorn!!"

I pushed and shoved my way past orcs and rohans to the stone ledge upon the high wall, a thick rope piled high near its foot. Slapping my hands down on the rock, I pushed myself up. In a flash of agony, I fell to the ground, clutching my ruined hand and arm to my chest. Tears slipped free of my eyes, mingling with blood as they slid down my cheek. I caught sight of a bloodied middle-aged woman, mouth agape as she lay motionless on the ground while feet pounded around her corpse.

Purpose and adrenaline made me rise, momentarily pushing down the pain. I snatched up Gorthaden and sheathed it. Then, I struggled atop the ledge and searched the sea of bloody heads for my friend. Golden hair stood out against black, like shining stars amidst the darkness. Legolas stood amongst those golden stars, bowstring pulled back with an arrow pointed at an enemy down belo—

A hulking uruk stalked up quietly behind him, a mighty war ax gripped in its meaty claws. Legolas—he didn't seem to notice the creature about to kill him—

I leaped down and sprinted across the stone, and frantically blinking blood-mingled sweat from my dry and heavy eyes, and drew Gorthaden in my uninjured hand. I wouldn't be able to wield it as skillfully as I could in the other hand, but it'd have to do.

"Hey! You!" My voice was lost in the madness. Panicked adrenaline fuzzed my brain and I leaped onto the uruk-hai mid-sprint, dropping my sword in the process.

The creature growled and threw back its shoulder. But I held strong, digging my nails into its flesh, my muscles and broken bones screaming agonizingly in protest. The uruk gave up on its effort to shake me off him. Wha—

He raised his blood-shining war-ax in both hands, swinging it down onto his shoulder where I clung—

I jumped off, barely keeping to my feet and swayed dizzyingly from blood loss. I watched as the stupid oaf brought down his own ax upon his shoulder. He howled in anguish. Serves you right.

The massive uruk spun around, then burst into a wrath-promising scream as he charged. I froze, unable to move away from the enormous monster barreled towards me, deadly ax raised for my death—

An arrow shot through his forehead.

And Legolas kicked him in the back, pulling free the arrow as the body fell for the ground.

"Haven't seen you in a while." He smirked while searching the surrounding area and placed the arrow back in his quiver.

I rolled my eyes and shifted on my feet from the remaining adrenaline. "I've been busy."

"Watc—" His eyes widened as he took in the blood coating my arm and my mangled hand. He reached for me—

I sprinted away, determined to stay in battle and not rotting away on a healer's table. Guilt pricked at my mind, but I banished it from my thoughts and returned to my hunt for Aragorn.

"Thirty-six! Thirty... thirty... Die ye insufferable orc! Thirty-seven!" I spotted Gimli not too far away, swing his ax about him skillfully. And where two of them gather... there, Aragorn fought menacingly against a pack of orcs.

I jumped amidst the fray, picking up a fallen sword and pushing down the sorrow of having lost Gorthaden. I kept my broken hand to my chest, gritting my teeth against the pain in my arm as I strained it.

I placed my back against Aragorn's, shouting out a greeting to let him know not to kill me and joined in battling orcs with a sword not my own.

"The Rohans are planning to storm the causeway!" I grunt as I forced the unfamiliar sword through an orc's ribcage.

"Yes, Eomer inform me." He lurched away for a moment, then came back to rest against me.

I faltered, nearly earning me a bleeding neck. "And you agreed?!"

"You can't change a dead man's opinion, Lumornel," he said grimly.

I nodded—even though he couldn't see. I had already pondered over this. Between the shoulders of orcs and women, I eyed the causeway. The soldiers there had retreated several meters since I had last been before the broken gate. They now gave up on trying to mend it. Orcs and uruks now dominated that area. A severe blow to our could be victory. Had the orcs back at the Main Square slaughtered Leofwyn and Dever, making their way into the caverns?

As I watched, a hundred horses and their mounts prepared to go to their deaths.

"I'm going down there."

"What?! No—!" Aragorn unable to spin around, backed up and tripped over his feet.

I helped steady him. "You would do it, wouldn't you? Don't worry about me. Save these people, Aragorn, while I go save those."

I shouldered my way between the fights, ducking and dodging blows. I could see the death-ready women mounting the horses—

I froze.

A boy's face stared lifelessly towards the heavens, thick blood trailing down the side of his innocent face. Jeden's guts trailed out of his torso and littered the ground. His small hands rested on his belly, as if in his last moments he had tried placing his insides back in. Blood slicked his fingers.

Pain coursed through my being. But not from anything physical. I fell to my knees, tears gathering in my eyes.

The enemy had done this—killed an innocent child. And I hadn't been here to protect him.

Pushing out the gaping pain in my chest, I gently closed Jeden's eyes, trying not to remember his young laugh, his smile, or the enthralled way he had held Gorthaden.

May you be at peace.

And so, I rose to my feet, a new determination strengthening my resolve, and put more strength behind my shoves. I needed to find a quick way over to the causeway—

Aragorn. Gimli. They hadn't been running away earlier, had they? Quickly, I twisted my way over to where they had disappeared earlier. I was careful not to strain my injured arm, keeping my hand safely tucked against my body. Adrenaline kept the pain and fatigue at bay, although I could sense it prowling just out of reach, waiting to pounce at a moment's notice.

A dark door hid in the shadows of the wall. I made my way too it, hissing as the tip of a rohan blade sliced my cheek. I stopped as I got to the indention in the stone, resting my pounding head against the cool solid. So that blow early had done some damage.

That fatigue started to creep forward, but one glance at that door set anxiety and determination thrashing through me. Taking in a deep breath, I opened the door and revealed a dark winding staircase. The sounds of the dying sent me rushing through.

Finally, I emerged from the dank stairwell and into cool air that carried the scent of blood, sweat, and excrement. Carefully, I tiptoed along the ledge, not trusting myself to look down. And then there was the causeway, swelled full with orcs. I didn't have time to be afraid.

I jumped—leapt—down onto the causeway, surrounding myself with the enemy.

The orcs and uruks stopped in surprise, a few even lowered weapons, then roared in rage and confidence. They held their blades and spears aloft, rushing at me to pin my guts to the ground.

And then I unleashed that storm swelling in me loose.

*********

"I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend"

        --J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

... *hesitantly asks* What'd you guy think..?

This is the first time I've written a battle--not a simple skirmish--so I hope you all thoroughly enjoyed it. Anything I could do to improve? Tips?

What do you think is going to happen next???

Novaer mellyn,

~awatin~