The battle dissolved into chaos as soon as they hit the Mordor armies with a brutal ferocity. There was no tactics, no strategy. Just bodies pressing close with barely enough room to swing a sword. A putrid suffocating press as everyone fought not to die and to kill their opponents. Too many orcs and nowhere to move. Namir lost track of the others almost immediately and it was only the consolation that he could feel the steady presence of Legolas along their bond that he didn't panic. The lack of space and the fetid stench of orc filling his nose was bringing back memories of dark heavy walls and the coldness of Isengard. It made his throat burn. 

He didn't know how long he struggled for. Minutes, an hour or two? Blood coated his hands and teeth, the forced closeness having led him to resort to his claws and teeth. At one point he had half climbed, half wriggled his way up to standing on a orc's shoulders as he broke the creature's neck. As the body began to slump to the ground, he stepped onto the next helmeted orc. His cat reflexes allowing him to throw himself across the battlefield as he used the orcs as stepping stones. 

As he moved he thought he caught a glimpse of blonde hair and he turned instinctively to catch it but it was swallowed up the crowd. That distraction proved to be his undoing. A orc made a half desperate slash up and caught him across the calf. Namir yowled and toppled over. He would have fallen onto awaiting blades if Gandalf, who had been nearby, had not managed to grab him and yank him to the side. His weight hitting a orc and knocking him to the ground in was small space there was in this section go the battle. He made sure to drive his claws into the creature's jugular as he went and the spray of black blood coated white robes. 

"Namir!" Merry cried out as he tried to stand. The cut shooting pain up his legs and he half collapsed again. The hobbit, who had been hiding in Gandalf's shadow with Pippin, ran out with a strip of cloth. Another orc lunged but Namir drew his sword and spun it over their heads to behead the creature and it's body dropped as the head went bouncing away. 

"Hold still", the hobbit instructed as he tried to bandage the wound enough for Namir to rise. He hissed as the cloth tightened and the pain flared. "Sorry!" Merry yelped. 

"Merry!" Pippin gave a shout as another orc bore down on the halfling and the sitting skin-changer. But he got there first. Ducking around Gandalf's legs as the wizard held back five more orcs and thrusting his sword up and under the orc's breastplate. It wheezed and gargled before falling back. 

As soon as the bandage was tied tightly Namir pulled himself up with his longsword as support. "Keep close to me", he instructed the hobbits. He did not hear their replies through the din of clashing metal and the dying screams. Yet he hoped that they listened and did not get lost in the chaos. He had already seen someone be crushed to death under the turmoil and did not relish what could happen to two little hobbits. 

With his leg injured he couldn't climb around the same way as before. He was effectively stuck fending off attacks in an effort to stay alive. It was a horrible position to be in and he knew it. If he couldn't dodge then he was a sitting duck. Nothing more than trapped prey. But nothing was more dangerous than a cornered animal and he was going to make sure that these forces of Mordor knew it. 

Merry and Pippin only reached his stomach when he was standing tall. His longsword was taller than them. So it was easy for him to set about swinging the sword around at shoulder level, using the weight of the weapon as momentum to spin it around his shoulders to slice any creature that came too close. Merry and Pippin armed with their own short swords stabbing at any orc that aimed to get under the blade. It was a risky and very skilled move that would have him slicing his own throat if he wasn't careful. As it was he had almost cut off his braid a few times already and the thought of Legolas missing his hair was the only thing that warred with his annoyance with it at the moment. It was long and inconvenient in this fight. 

It was the memories of Legolas braiding his long wavy strands that kept him calm. Of soft fingers, warm scents and of being safe and relaxed that stopped the panic rising despite the ever present growl emanating from his throat. Soon he was dripping with sprays of black blood and there was a circle of dead orcs around their feet. However, his sword was heavy and he was only growing used to the blade again after twenty years without any practise. His arms were growing weary with exhaustion and he could feel it. Could feel his motions slowing and dragging. Cat eyes narrowing on the orcs around him. They didn't need to strike fast, just wait until he tired himself out. There were more than enough opponents to exhaust him. 

"Namir", Pippin called to him as his arms faltered and the sword dropped a few inches. A opportunistic orc thought to duck in close and strike. Namir flipped the blade around with his wrists and it slid cleanly through the orc's throat like a strike of a snake. His chest heaving as he tugged the sword back out. Surely this would be over soon. This must be enough. 

Instinctively his eyes sought the crowd around him for his elf. Another orc charged and he gutted him in a clean move, sword slicing through it's breastplate like butter. More blood spilled and the corpse dropped onto two of it's dead fellows. Namir breathed heavily and concentrated on the bond in his chest, on the arrowhead scar on his collarbones. 

Legolas was close. So close. Yet through the noise, the suffocating press and the stench of rotting blood, he couldn't see him. It was disorientating to say the least. 

A was cry from Merry as he stabbed his sword through the knee of a charging orc roused him and Namir turned just in time to see Pippin cut off the orc's head as it collapsed. The head and body joining the now three deep wall of dead orcs surrounding them in a circle. Their bodies serving almost as defence against the rest of them. 

"Good job", Namir panted, chest heaving. Pippin shot him a worried look but said nothing. There was nothing to say. It was a battle and they were one mere unlucky moment from dying. 

Namir turned and raised his sword as more orcs came changing. The first struck and steel rung as he deflected the blade before twisting round it to dismember the arm before turning to the next. He was just pushing back the fourth, arms beginning to shake with effort, when a fifth lunged from his right. Merry and Pippin were busy stabbing a orc on his left and couldn't move in time. For a second Namir saw the oncoming blade and knew that he couldn't block it. He was going to die. 

He pushed the blade down, the orc he had been fending off striking at his thigh. He yowled again as it slicked through muscle and ducked under the fifth orc's blade. He was just reaching up to rip the creature's foul throat out with his claws when something shiny came spinning towards them. It sunk into the orc's skull and the creature stilled. Namir glanced back to stab the orc that had just slashed open his other leg and when he turned back the orc had dropped. A familiar silver hilt of a elven dagger sticking from it's head. 

Namir yanked the dagger free and raised his head with a wild grin. This time, and the sight made his heart soar, he spotted his elf. Legolas was tied up in his own fight fifty yards away. Blonde hair moving as he sliced down enemies with his long hunting knives, quiver empty and bow hanging from his back. Eomer was near him and the two fought with a few Gondor men who had yet to be swept away by the chaos. 

As Namir watched a orc was seeking to lunge at Legolas' unprotected back. With the knife in hand, he raised it and threw it as hard as he could. It spun over the battlefield in a silver arc before sinking into the orc's throat just as Legolas turned around. The elf pulled the blade free and the orc dropped. He looked up and the two of them met eyes over the crowd. For a second everything was fine. 

A rumble shook the earth. Namir's head whirled towards Mordor and the noises of battle stilled as everyone paused to watch as mount doom erupted in the distance.  The glow of lava and the grey of smoke clouds filling the sky. Namir felt his sword drop in his hold as he watched. Around them orcs, trolls and goblins began to run as the tower of Sauron began to crumble. The eye of fire exploding into nothingness, the shockwave of which radiated out over the black lands. It caused the ground to shake and Namir watched as orcs all disappeared. Either swallowed up by the cracked earth or fleeing. Nazgûl's were struck by the debris from the volcano and the very land of Mordor seemed to be being reforged. The dark magic that plagued it gone. 

Namir felt the hilt of his sword drop from his hands into the earth as his legs gave out and he collapsed against the wall of dead orcs around him. At his side, he was aware of the two hobbits staring towards the volcano with worried mutters over Frodo and Sam. He was too tired to pay them much mind as he took in his body. His arms were screaming at him from over exertion, hands shaking as he flexed his cramped fingers. His legs were worse. The deep slice circling round his left thigh oozing blood and the temporary bandages on his right were seeped through. He was glad that the cut on his thigh wasn't deep enough to bleed him out, but it was still serious. 

"Miog". 

He turned at the voice. Legolas was haloed by the sun and it glinted off his hair, still mean despite everything. There were a few shallow slices on the elf's arms and a nasty one across his shoulder that looked more painful than detrimental. But he was mostly unharmed, which made Namir smile sleepily at him. 

"Legolas", he yawned. "I am so tried. My arms hurt". 

The blonde chuckled as he  hopped over the dozens of corpses surrounding them and fell to his knees at Namir's side. With practised hands he pulled a roll of bandages from his belt and set about binding the wound on his thigh. Namir growled at the pain but the elf gently shushed him as he tied the knot tight. 

"I dass carnen. It is over".  Legolas's tone was soft, breath relieved and tired. Namir leaned forwards and wrapped his shaking arms around the blonde's neck as they fell into each other. He buried his head into the blonde's shoulder and inhaled his comforting scent. 

"it's over", he shuddered, unable to believe that it had finally happened. That the forces that had destroyed his race, that had haunted his life and taken his freedom, that the beings that haunted his nightmares were dead. It was dizzying. 

"It's over", Legolas repeated, tone less surprised now and more of a statement. "We can go home". 

'Home'. Namir could finally go home. The thought brought tears to his eyes and he wept into his lover's tunic. Legolas cradling him tightly as the elf whispered comfortingly in his ear. The blonde hugging him for as much comfort as Namir was seeking. They were alive and they could go home. It felt unreal. So as the remains of their army picked themselves up and began counting their dead, as Gandalf summoned the giant eagles and flew to rescue Frodo and Sam. Through it all they sat cradling each other until Namir dozed off against the Elf's strong shoulders. For the first time he was unburdened by the threat of orcs or dark creatures who would seek to wipe out the last skin changers. He could live freely. 

unedited 

long chapter but it felt weird to try and separate this into two chapters. The battle is over. Only a few chapters left to go now. The recovery and the ending. 

I dess carnen- the task is over.

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