I Needed You

By Rose G

Disclaimer - these are not my characters, and I have made no money from using them.

A/N - I've added this chapter before the original to give some background on Halbarad's final day - the Battle of Pelannor Fields, soon after Aragorn has met Eomer. I presumed that the Dunedain were mounted, although the book isn't too clear it does say that they 'rode away from the field' after the battle but nothing says if they fought mounted or on foot.

Aragorn drew a deep breath, shifting his grip on Anduril and allowing Roheyan, foam flecked and tiring, to gain his second wind. All around them was the dreadful sound of battle; steel clashed against steel; men screamed as their gallant steeds slipped and fell on the blood soaked ground, sending their riders to certain death under the charging hooves; riderless horses stricken mad from terror galloped wretchedly into enemy lines, screaming as arrows pieced their gleaming hides.

The Ranger could taste blood - it filled his mouth, the result of a well dodged strike from a sword that had glanced off his face, and he could smell the sweat and fear of the horses whose damp heaving flanks pressed hard against his long legs. They stood in a line, tossing their fine heads, pawing at the ground with strong hooves, champing their silver bits and to the Rangers, it was a familiar comforting sound. The sickening reek of blood and death assailed them, yet but for a certain tightening of their lips, none would have known these men were looking at a mass slaughter.

Grimly, he glanced at the men in line with him, the horsemen, and behind them, the foot soldiers and men whose horses had fallen under them, dying without complaint for the men whom they loved. He lifted Anduril, waving it over his head and touched Roheryan with his heels. The bay charger lept forward in a gallop, and Aragorn son of Arathorn led his men forward, his dark hair and cloak blowing back from the wind of his own speed.

He felt his steed slip and glanced down, seeing with grief that Roheryan's hooves had cut into the flesh of a fallen warrior. He gave the horse rein to recover, feeling him struggle even as he ducked the swift sword thrust of an Easterling. And in the midst of battle, Aragorn smiled from battle lust, and pulled Roheryan into a rear, until the stallion's forelegs pawed at the darkening sky. Almost hidden by his charger's flowing mane he swung Anduril down, swift and sure.

It clashed with a bright ring against the Easterling's sword, and then he leant down and struck again, this time finding his mark. The man fell stricken from the saddle, only to be trampled by his former troops. Instinctively, Aragorn parried a blow from another sword and Roheryan's forelegs dropped to the ground with a dull thud, crushing the skull of a grey horse that lay almost drowning in the mud.

The other men, the Dunedain, Gimli and Legolas, were hewing at the Orcs, all of them half blinded by kicked up mud and their own sweat. As Aragorn watched, a Ranger fell from his saddle, lost from the world. One of the footmen hurried up, catching the horse and swinging onto it's strong back. He had lead these men here but how many would he be leading back? Sighing, he called out to them in Elvish, his clear voice carrying over the din of war and they pulled back.

As he led his men back to regroup them, a breeze lifted his hair, striking chill against his damp skin. For a few seconds, they regarded the battle and it was obvious to them that it was nearly over. Roheryan snorted as another horse came up alongside, but Aragorn smiled at the newcomer - a tall man with raven dark hair and mahogany eyes in a fair face, mounted on a fine boned grey mare that danced underneath him.

'Well, Aragorn, you seem to have won this battle for us. Harken to the servants of Mordor screaming for mercy. I think one more onslaught should do it, my friend.'

'Halbarad, I am aware of that. One more, but how many of these men shall come back? It is hard to do this to them, to lead them into battle, to their deaths.'

'Aragorn, this battle is for a desperate cause. We must win, for the loss of lives is less evil than it would be to lose the battle. And if you do not win, then Elrond will not permit you to marry Arwen.'

Halbarad smiled at his oldest friend, and without speaking, he lifted the standard again, the sign of the Kings of Gondor. A great cheer rose and they raced forward again, the thunder of hooves and the cries of men going ahead of them. And together in the lead rode Halbarad and Aragorn, sword and standard upraised. They rode fast, not flinching from the dead who lay on the grass, not moving from the blood that struck their faces, these two men of the line of Elendil who would not give in as long as the other was there. A friendship such as there was between them had not been seen before in Middle Earth, these two Rangers who had lived and fought and ridden together for all their lives.

They rode into the Orcs, their horses trampling the fell things under foot, and their swords sang through the gloomy air, tallying uncounted numbers of Orcs, although they kept a rough account, yelling it to each other in the heat of the battle, continuing a game they had started long years before. 'Thirty-one!' Aragorn called, only to be answered joyfully by Halbarad 'Forty!'

The evil of the battle seemed less now as most of the enemy had been destroyed, and Aragorn chanced a look around him. It was at that second that a Southron man, separated from the others, charged him, sword raised. 'Aragorn!' Halbarad screamed, turning away from the few remaining Orcs that were being hunted down by Legolas, who had his bow drawn and Gimli, whose axe was swinging wildly.

Aragorn swung his horse round, the sudden movement nearly unbalancing him. His seat unsafe, it took a vital second before he could lift Anduril and spur Roheryan on. Nearer, nearer, drew the man on the black horse, seeing that Aragorn wasn't as invincible as he thought. His blade whistled down, the wind of its passing making Roheryan shy away to save himself.

The black horse broke into a gallop, charging head on at Aragorn, who now had Roheryan steadied, but it was too late. Again, the dreadful blade was raised, and the Ranger felt his mouth go dry with fear. He did not want to die here, in battle. Time slowed down. The image of Arwen filled his mind.

A grey streak shot before the black shadow. The black horse broke its pace, the sudden jolt unseating the man, who swung wildly with his sword. Aragorn stared on, hearing the scream that is man's lament for his forthcoming death. Halbarad's grey was knocked over by the speed of the black, falling and rolling with her rider. The man fell and Legolas, distracted from his Orc slaying by the scream, loosed his bow and shot him. The black horse bolted.

Silently, Aragorn walked Roheryan over to where the grey mare was plunging to her feet. He slipped down, loosing his horse in the knowledge the animal would not wander. Halbarad lay still, his face contorted with pain and fear, and blood came gushing from a wound he dare not look at. Aragorn knelt beside him, taking his hand gently and touching his face with a shaking hand.

'Halbarad, you saved me there. Thank you.' His voice shook, and Halbarad looked up at his oldest friend.

'Aragorn, my friend' His voice trailed away, his breath raking painfully and he coughed slightly, his whole body trembling. For a second his eyes drifted shut, then he looked up again. 'Farewell.' A smile touched his lips.

'Be at peace, Halbarad, for we shall met again, I swear, somewhere beyond the stars. And thank you.' Halbarad shivered slightly, then his hand went limp in Aragorn's. Looking up, he saw the battle was nearly over, and he stayed where he was, silent and unthinking. The grey mare that Halbarad rode walked over, dipping her elegant head to nose at her fallen master, and her calm acceptance of death brought grief welling up into Aragorn's throat and he cried out.

Later when the battle was fought and won, the three members of the Fellowship left the Fields in a group. At the head rode Gimli, who had fought on foot, but had been persuaded to ride a small hill pony so as not to slow them down. Legolas rode easily on Arod, alongside Aragorn who rode with bowed head on Roheryan, leading the elegant grey with bloodstained coat, who walked lame from her fall. He would not speak to the others.

And later, when the work of burning the dead began on Pelannor Fields, for there were too many to bury, he wept long for his old friend who had given his life so that he might live. Under his breath, he took a silent vow 'They will remember you, Halbarad, my friend.'

I was re-reading 'Return of the King' the other day, and I realised that no one had ever written the story of Halbarad's death, so I wrote it. I always thought he must have died heroically in that battle but Tolkien didn't even mention him in the poem. Please review, and does anyone know if Halbarad's gonna be in the third film?