Catharsis
Author's note: willowbark tea is the ancient predecessor for aspirin.
Gimli and Legolas kill Orcs when on their periods, and Aragorn makes them tea. Because that's what friends are for.
There was no word quite sufficient to capture the sound of Gimli's axe slamming into an Orc.
It started with a clang but then it very quickly changed to a disturbing squelching sound as it passed from the Orc's "pathetic excuse for a helm" to the "brains, if such a creature can be said to possess them" and continued to squelch until the Orc was neatly bisected at the legs. Aragorn carefully did not look below the Orc's waist.
There were some things it was better for a man not to know.
Of course, some things had already been seen, and could not be unseen. The smirk beneath Gimli's beard was one of them, as were the artistically hewn corpses of the first two Orcs. Aragorn didn't look below their waists either.
"Three!" she bellowed at Legolas.
Legolas' reply was disturbingly cheerful, as her hands nocked, drew, fired in a blur of white. Another archer would be very surprised at the angle of her bow's elevation, unless that archer had kept careful track of the moon cycle and had noticed the fury in the face of the normally merry Elf. "Five! Do keep up!"
Aragorn sighed.
The monthly game of slain and castrated Orcs in Ithilien was getting a little old, honestly. Not to mention that Arwen and Éowyn were beginning to raise the possibility of her joining the expeditions as well.
No matter, he thought, trying to comfort himself. The first day's always the worst, Ada said. Now, where did Faramir say those willows were?