There are too many of them; too many of these foul orcs. Now indeed, I need aid. I raise my horn to my lips, and blow upon the Horn of Gondor. Yet, even as I do so an arrow sinks into my shoulder. I gasp with pain nonetheless, I keep on fighting. I will not fail in defending the two little hobbits. I raise my sword and plunge it into my opponent. I turn around to block a blow with my shield. Another arrow pierces my chest. I take up my horn again and wind it, and its call echoes through the trees. But as a punishment, an arrow hits me. I raise my sword another time, and once more end many of the foul creatures. Yet, no matter how many I kill, many more rise in its place. I blow upon the Horn again, and alas! It falls from my grasp and an orc slices it in two with his sword, a malicious grin on its face. Another arrow strikes me. I am weakening, but I shall not give in, not now. The hobbits and perhaps the rest of the Fellowship are depending on me. My sword finds its mark on an orc's neck, but even as I do so, I receive yet another arrow. I raise my sword and stab at another hideous orc, but as I dealt my blow to him, my sword broke upon its armor. An arrow comes, and I fall to my knees. The orcs rush upon Merry and Pippin, who I have failed to protect. The orcs quickly take the hobbits captive, and leave me to my death. Death indeed is evident. I sit; with my back against an old tree, and moments pass unnoticed by me. Aragorn comes, yet will he forgive me for what I did? I tell him my misdeed, and that the orcs have taken the two small hobbits. Knowing my end is nigh, I bid him farewell and beg him to save my City and people, for I have failed. He tells me I have won victory and Minas Tirith shall not fall. A sweet peacefulness comes upon me, and in the distance, I hear the calling of silver trumpets beckoning me home.