A/n: Look, a quick update:D Aren't you proud of me? I told you I'm back. Now get back here all of my precious reviewers. I miss you. And why is it that I receive alerts that this story has been added to a favorites list yet I receive no reviews? Change that, please:D And enjoy.

Chapter 25: I have very bad thoughts.

WHERE THE HELL IS HE?

He needs to haul his Kingly ass over here and help Eowyn before I have an aneurism. I chop up a few orcs and jump to avoid a flailing sword, keeping an eye on Eowyn. Hey, we may not agree on a few things but she's still a pretty awesome chick and we're kind of, sort of, friends.

Or, I think we are.

This non-interference thing really sucks. But I've already caused enough havoc on the Grand Design and I think messing up something that was supposed to happen in Battle, yes, with a capital B, would just be pushing it.

After what seems like eons, Aragorn and Gimli finally come charging past and cut down the piggy orc that was about to slash Eowyn. Seriously, what took them so long? I sneak a glance at my terribly unfortunate looking watch and notice that not five minutes had elapsed.

WHAT?

I'm losing my sense of time too? Fucking fabulous. I feel a stinging in my side and turn to see an Uruk-hai slice at me. Fantastic; this is what you get for spacing out on a battlefield.

Stupid.

I bare my teeth at it, yes like a dog, and raise Keiko. It's a particularly big Uruk and it looks at me as if the very idea of a woman being there carrying a sword was laughable.

Great. A sexually biased monster. Have I mentioned how wonderful my luck is?

He leers at me and licks his lips.

Uh. Eeew.

That is an image I could have lived my entire life without. I make a face at him and give him the finger. I doubt he has any idea what it means but hey, it sure makes me feel better.

What?

I think I'm allowed to be rude and bitchy to a non-human entity that's twice my size and is possibly contemplating eating me. My grasp on Keiko's hilt tightens and I rush forward.

Don't look at me like that, I was getting bored. Until now, I never thought it was possible to feel objectified by an Uruk-hai.

Guess you learn something new everyday, huh?

OoO

HOLY CRAP.

WHY WON'T THESE DAMN THINGS DIE?

SERIOUSLY.

We've been at it for an hour now.

I've got another stomach wound and I have bruises in places I didn't know could bruise. He's missing an arm.

Yes, an arm. Yes, he's still alive and kicking. Hence my chief complaint that the damn things just refuse to leave the mortal coil.

He snarls at me and I notice his mouth foaming slightly. I grimace and force back the urge to gag.

Mordor really needs to improve its health care privileges.

We trade blows. I'm beginning to get very scared now. The thing's got one arm and a big heavy sword and I'm still not getting anywhere.

I sidestep his next swipe, spin around and slash at his chest. I miss. Damn my aim to hell and back. He retaliates with a quick jab and I bring a dagger up to block him. I dig my heels into the ground and try to stay in place as he puts all his weight on his sword to push me.

He grins at me; teeth bared out in all their yellowish glory as he quickly retracts his sword, sending me off-balance and then swings it upwards in a graceful arc. I barely have enough time to raise my sword for a block, when I fall to my knees, a sharp pain coursing through my left leg.

Oh my giddy aunt. I cannot move my leg.

Perfect timing to up and break down, leg. Just wait until I'm at the mercy of an Uruk with about ninety-nine point nine percent chance of getting killed.

Little White Men? You are all SO fired.

The sun shines high in the sky and reflects off of the sword trained at me and I cannot help but see the irony. The sun is shining, the grass is green, the birds are singing, and I'm going to die on a bloody battlefield and eaten by a one-armed Uruk.

Sort of makes me wish I'd kissed the damn elf.

NO. BAD THOUGHTS, SAMANTHA.

The Uruk kicks away my weapons and raises his, one last time as I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper the name of the first person that comes to mind.

"Legolas."

Now where'd that come from?

…

…

Still waiting for that death blow.

Hello? Anyone there? Am I dead?

I open my eyes and find, much to my surprise, my Uruk (yes, I'm possessive.) lying dead on the ground. Arrows poking through his mouth, chest and stomach.

From about twenty feet away I see the elf standing on top of an Oliphaunt carcass, blond hair shimmering in the sunlight and billowing in the breeze. All that's missing is a pink dress and a crown and he'd pass off as Sleeping Beauty.

He's a Fairytale Princess that just saved my life.

Oh my stars.

OoO

And just like that, the battle's over. The Army of the Dead swept over the fields like acid over wood. And we took care of the stuff they overlooked. All in all it was a good arrangement, until I got so rudely beaten up by a severely chauvinistic Uruk-hai that I was supposed to name until he started trying to seriously kill me, in which case I deemed him unworthy of cool names.

"Are you alright?" Legolas asks as he picks me up from where I lay on the ground in a useless heap.

"I'll live." I answer, grimly. He lowers me to the ground and I cry out as pain shoots up my leg.

Owie.

"I think maybe my foot is broken." I state nonchalantly. He gives me a bemused look and sweeps me off my feet again, take that however you want to, and starts walking.

"Did I not say you should have stayed aboard the ship?" he mutters quietly. He sounds bitter, and I quirk an eyebrow at him wonderingly.

"Did you really think I'd agree to stay on the ship?" he shakes his head, no. I laugh.

"It does not change the fact that you should have." He's pouty, like a child and I raise a dirty hand and wipe it across his face.

He looks at me like I'm crazy and I give him a grin that would have made an insane person proud and admire my handiwork.

"That is what you get for being all chauvinistic on me." I told him crossing my arms across my chest haughtily.

Oddly enough, he looks really cute when his face is all dirty like this.

…

…

EARTH, OPEN UP AND SWALLOW ME WHOLE. RID YOUR FACE OF MY PATHETIC-NESS.

OoO

So, after walking for about ten minutes, we finally reached Aragorn who looks like he's heading a faction of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Naertho waves at me from somewhere in the sea of green and I wave back spiritedly.

Oh puns.

He glides over to where Legolas and I stand and gives a little bow before grinning at me. It's creepy because they have a habit of flashing all the stages of decay but I grin back.

Just because he's dead and supremely creepy doesn't mean he's any less cool.

Yes, I am aware that I have massive perspective issues.

"Sam!" a voice pipes up and I look around from the elf's arms in search of it.

"PIPPIN!!" I squeal, possibly shattering the eardrums of the elves present but do I care? Uh, no. My favorite hobbit is here!

Legolas shakes his head, but an amused grin is on his face so I figure I'm safe. He puts me down on a dead Oliphaunt, probably the one he was standing on earlier when he was imitating a Disney Princess and saved my sorry ass and I thanked him.

"You're hurt?" The hobbit asks, frowning at me. I give him a bemused grin as I nod. It's weird, y'know, having someone that's half your size look at you in such a severe manner.

"I had a particularly nasty run-in with an Uruk-hai." I tell him. "But I'll be fine; I'm bionic, don't you know?"

He looks confused. I don't blame him; I make too many pop culture references for my own good.

"I think you should just smile and nod Pip." I advise laughingly.

He obeys.

I always knew he was a smart hobbit.

Silence rushes over everyone as Aragorn walks up to face the Long Dead King, otherwise known as Pale 'n' Pasty. Why?

I don't know. When have my ramblings ever made enough sense to warrant explanation?

"Release us." He lumbers. Well, to be honest it's more of a do as I say or I take you down to the pit with me kind of statement as opposed to the sweet as sugar and nice all around stuff he should be saying, since, you know, he's the underdog here.

"Bad idea." Gimli pipes in from beside the Kingly Ranger dude and I almost have to punch myself in the face to keep from laughing. "Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact that they're dead/"

Oh Gimli, I love you so.

"You gave us your word!" the ghost cries out indignantly. As indignant as a ghost that's basically your own private home movie of the decaying process can be. Which is a lot.

A lot scarier than you'd think, I mean.

Aragorn looks like he's seriously contemplating heeding Gimli's words before he sighs and looks back at the ghost. "I hold your oath fulfilled. Go, be at peace."

The King of the Dead gives a blissful grin, and I try not to freak out, and fade away. I hear Naertho whisper a goodbye and do a complicated bow and I wave goodbye to him.

My ghostly companion is finally at peace. Good for him.

Annnnd, we're bowing to the King.

OoO

"Every able man must search through the carcasses for any survivors." Aragorn commands to the very bleak looking populace.

Boromir nearly bowls over some soldiers as he makes his way towards me. I grin cheerfully up at him. He can't possibly want to hurt me if I look as nice as I possibly can, right?

Right.

"You are going to the Houses of Healing, now." He snarls. He looks pissed and there's a gash on his arm.

"So are you, bucko." I retort, grinning smugly. He looks at me like I'm insane.

I get that look a lot don't I?

"Hello? Wound on shoulder. BIG wound on shoulder with red, icky blood pouring out. "I reinforce when he doesn't get it. He shrugs and shakes his head.

"Tis nothing. I can handle myself." He glares. "You, meanwhile, are going to the Houses of Healing to set your leg right."

He picks me up easily, like a bag of yesterday's trash, and carries me off whilst I glare darkly at him and mutter about elves that should learn when to shut their mouths.

OoO

By the Valar's grace, GET ME OUT OF HERE.

I can't stand it anymore.

There are women flipping everywhere. And no, I have not suddenly turned my back on my own gender. There so many female healers here and all of them are paying attention to anything and everything that isn't me. I realize that sounds conceited, especially since there are probably a hundred wounded soldiers in need of much more healing than I do.

That's my point right there. If somebody could just give me five minutes then maybe I can actually be useful and help in finding survivors.

A large, old woman walks by me and I quickly grab the edge of her apron to stop her.

"Hey." I offer my best nice girl smile. "I don't mean to be rude or anything but I've been here for two hours now and no one's looked twice at me. I know there are about a bajillion others who are worse off but if one of you could just put my leg in a splint, I can go back out there with Boromir and help find the other survivors."

She gapes at me for a few minutes.

Sure, take your time. It's not like I've got anything better to do. Jeez.

"Of course, of course," she says helping me off of the chair and onto a proper erm—place? Whatever. I have no knowledge of these terms. Let's just call it a bunk.

"Do you have word on the status of Eowyn and Merry?" I ask her as she works. She looks up at me in confusion and I'm forced to elaborate. "The Lady of Rohan; you know, the pretty chick with the fair skin and golden hair. And the Hobbit; really tiny chap with lots of curly hair and big hairy feet."

"Ah my lady, you would not wish to hear of it." She says, sighing.

Psh, like that'll really stop me. I press on. "They're my friends. I must know."

She shakes her head. "They sleep as though they might never wake, their piteous screams and constant shivering, the only things that tell us they still live."

My face falls. Shouldn't Aragorn have healed them by now?

"We are doing the very best we can for them, of course, such is the way of Gondor but there is naught much we can do. Would that there were a king on the throne and we might've had a little bit more luck with this. My father used to say that the hands of the king are the hands of a healer, you know."

Chatty isn't she?

I just had to grab her apron.

In my defense, she looked like the quiet type. It figures that my judge of character would be—hang on a minute.

"What did you just say?" I demand, grabbing her shoulders as she finishes.

"Such a pretty young thing as you should really be more careful?"

I wave a hand in her face dismissively. "I'm incapable of that; clumsy as hell, is what I am but no, before that."

"The hands of the King are the hands of a healer, my lady." She recounts. "Tis an old wives' tale."

"Woman, you have no idea how awesome you are." I grin exuberantly at her, jump off the table and proceed to limp out of the Houses of Healing.

"Aragorn!!" I scream jubilantly through the halls.

They're going to be alright.

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