Author's Note: The song in this chapter is "Shoulders" by For King and Country. I did not write it, nor do I own it, but I did edit a few words and a few lines to make it work better for what I wanted. :O) Enjoy the chapter and sorry it's late!

The third wave of orcs hit the ground ten meters before the third barricade and Aragorn leapt over it, Andúril flashing as a flame as he rushed forward and slashed the first two orcs across their throats at once. Hildanir and Mennev were on his left and right, just behind him, and Gondorians, Easterlings, and Elves came roaring over the barricades as well, swords and scythes slashing and slicing.

This was bloodshed at its most violent.

Bowmen stood back and let their arrows fly over the heads of their comrades, Fânrim and Jeret howling orders, orcs back in the multitude dropping like ripe fruit. They had no idea how many orcs were left to be faced as they had not time to count them. No amount of small injuries would stand in the way of their assault. Luglog took out four orcs as he spun in a circle, cutting off three of the orcs heads at once and catching the last taller one in the chest hard enough to chop him nearly in half and hit the orc behind him with the blade. Hildanir and Mennev moved as one unit behind Aragorn, slashing and bashing on either side of the King, taking out numerous orcs left and right. If one happened to stay standing, Ethring and his fellow men were there to take them as well, the two lines pressing against each other and beginning to mix.

Tauriel lunged forward despite her injuries, slicing into two orcs and bringing her dagger down into the shoulder of a third, spinning out of the way of his sword and kicking him violently backwards into his comrades, knocking three or four of them to the ground. She drove the blades down into two of them and then leapt over the others deeper into the fray where another larger orc tried to behead her. She ducked backwards at the waist, letting the sword pass over her and stabbed him rapidly three times in the gut, chest, and throat before he even had time to swing back. He was down; she kept moving forward.

Aragorn hacked away at an orc and then suddenly spun out of the way of a warg leaping through the others. The warg went straight for Hildanir and Aragorn brought all the weight of Andúril down to bear across the warg's head, forcing it to stumble to a halt as half its face was missing. He swung the blade back up and took out the rider's head as its beast fell. Hildanir had not even noticed; he simply kept swinging on the line he was on, continuing forward and taking out orc after orc, much as Mennev was doing on the opposite side of him.

There would be too many small courageous acts to count all of them that day, too many moments when the quick thinking of one saved the life of another.

Ghashbûr collected a few of his men for a small charge, the pouring rain pinging from their armor as their swords hewed through flesh and bone, driving the orcs to the ground or back to regroup. Ghashbûr knocked one down with sheer strength, stabbing him through on the ground. Another warg was nearby, tearing at two of his people as they attempted to kill it with their spears. He flung himself into the mud and rolled beneath it, lancing his sword up and into its belly repeatedly. As it reared back, the woman stabbed her blade through its throat and out the top of its head. When it fell down dead, Ghashbûr rolled out from beneath it and threw his arm in the air. His men followed suit, letting out bloodcurdling whoops and hollers before turning back to the fray. They would have their revenge.

They did not intend to leave one orc to contend with anyone else. If they were to wipe out every last one, the world would be a more peaceful place; there was no doubt in their minds about that. Every single one of the black-hearted, evil beasts were going to die today; they would see to it.

Noldore sat at the table, a mug of hot coffee before him provided by Dintîr's wife; both of the ladies knew that their husbands had a rough day of it, neither one willing to speak on what had happened or what had developed at the council meeting. He and Dintîr sat across from one another in silence, dinner long finished, their wives retired to the sitting room to leave them be for the moment. They needed it, as both of them were scrambling to think of what to do.

Dintîr sighed. "Noldore…"

"I know."

Dintîr frowned deeply, looking into the older man's face, each line showing every one of his sixty-nine years even though he would not meet his eyes. "I never thought we would be here. In this situation."

"I know."

"I thought," he said, uncomprehending, "that we would be attacking Nardur. I thought that we would be leaping down his throat, telling him where to stuff it, not, for heaven's sake, agreeing with him!"

"We…are not agreeing with him. He is glad, like Sair, that this is happening…has happened," Noldore said, taking a drink of his terribly bitter coffee. That was how he felt tonight, what he needed. "I feel as though I have been…misled."

"Used."

Noldore nodded. "Yes," he whispered, "by someone I thought I knew. I feel as…perhaps this is a bit ridiculous, but I feel as I would if it were Moraen committing adultery against me, and we have been married forty years, not ten. Yet we…love one another the same…or so I thought." His voice had lowered even more in his sadness.

Dintîr nodded in agreement. "I thought, after his words to us, I thought that we would be defending Elessar, not believing this madness."

"Hildanir does not lie," Noldore said, rubbing his hands on his own face. "Hildanir's second letter was even plainer than the first. It is not even a debate now; it is done…the deed is done, Dintîr. What does that…what does that mean?"

He stared blankly at his friend. "Well," he began quietly, "it means Gondor will soon have an heir if that is his goal and he is truly 'bedding her like a rabb—"

"By Elbereth, do not repeat that phrase," groaned Noldore, laying his head in his hands. "I cannot take it, Dintîr! I meant what does it mean? What does it mean for us?"

"You usually take the lead in situations of etiquette," Dintîr replied, his voice hoarse. "Perhaps I should be asking you that question."

Noldore shook his head. "I do not know! I can think of only two choices that we have. Two choices, Dintîr, and I hate them both. I hate them. And I hate him for putting us here, in this position, with only these two choices after all of his words!" He slammed his fist down on the table, his face red. "How will I even look him in the face again after this?"

"I do not know," he replied, "I have been asking myself the same question. I feel as though we knew him better than this…or we should have. How many times did he grow so angry with the Council? How many times did he question their motives? I mean, my god, he hit Nardur in the face!" He shook his head. "I do not know how to deal with this, how to understand it. I…I just do not know…"

"We have two choices," Noldore said again, sitting upright in order to confront the recent events and their two possible futures. "Our first choice: we never say a word about it. We allow the Council to continue as it is. We do not say anything to anyone, keep our mouths shut. Let everyone find out the truth on their own…" Even Arwen... He left the words off the end, but Dintîr heard them just the same.

"How…how can we do that?" he asked painfully. "How can we do that knowing what we know? Knowing how she will feel? Knowing how much this will—"

"Dintîr, I know," he snapped. "I am saying what we could do. Not what we should do. I cannot do that either. I would never be able to look in her face and not blurt out everything that was said in that meeting today. Ugh…my stomach is churning now simply thinking about our other choice…"

"Our only choice," Dintîr said softly, "but say it aloud anyway…just so I can feel my heart break as you do. Because it should."

"We tell the Evenstar the truth about her husband's betrayal."

Dintîr sighed. "Yes…that hurt as much as I thought it would to hear." He took a drink of the tea his wife had made him and looked into the face of his friend. "Noldore, she will not believe us. Not even us."

"She will not at first," he agreed. "In the beginning she will never accept it. Perhaps that is good; it is a good defense against such…awful news."

"She will be furious with us."

He nodded. "For believing it."

"For repeating it. And then she will want to know where the rumor began. She will never believe that a letter came from Hildanir…and that ring—"

"Do not, Dintîr…please, do not bring that up," he said, and Dintîr watched Noldore's eyes fill with tears. The older man looked away. "I am so…I am…"

"I know," he said softly, nodding. There was silence between them as Noldore swallowed and then took a drink of his coffee. "Should we go tonight? Should we tell her now?"

Noldore frowned. "I will tell her," he said softly, meeting his friend's gaze again. "I think it should be me."

"I do not want you to have to go alone," Dintîr said firmly. "We were both asked to take care of her while he was away, we should—"

"No, no," he said. "No, let me do this, Dintîr. I do not think both of us need go."

He held out a hand. "Noldore, you are barely composed here," he said gently. "Perhaps it needs to be me."

"No, it should be me, especially if she becomes angry. Let her take it out on me." He drank the last of his coffee.

"When…" Dintîr added, "when she becomes angry. She will; she is not going to believe it. I do not know when she will, or how she will react when she does, but—"

"She will be devastated," he said, coming to his feet. "It will be the worst betrayal of her long life." He set the cup back down on the table.

"Noldore, perhaps we should think about this more before you tell her," he said, his face worried. "What if telling her…what if telling her is worse than her finding out? What do you think she will do?"

"She will do what any other person who loves another so much they are fit to burst would do," he replied honestly. "Weep for everything she gave him that is lost. How any man can find love in the arms of someone not his own wife…disgusts me."

"He does not love her," Dintîr pointed out as Noldore put his hand on the door and pushed it open. "That much we know is true."

"What does it matter except to make it all the more despicable?" he replied, his voice full of both his disgust and misery. "I will return for Moraen shortly."

"I will be right here. Perhaps I will have a stiff drink for you as well."

"That would be most welcome."

God, I am caught deep in the valley

With chaos for my company

I will seek for comfort here

For I know that you are near

You can mend all that has shattered

Though I am bruised and battered

In the storm you are my fortress

Your mercy is relentless

My help comes from you,

You are there holding me, too

You carry my weakness, my sickness

My brokenness all on your shoulders

My help comes from you

You are my rest, my rescue

Though I cannot see I believe

You lift me onto your shoulders

As Arwen sat on the front porch of the King's House, she sang softly to herself. Legolas and Enguina had only just left her alone there, and she knew that tonight would be no different than any other night. Her sleeping hours had been few these last two months, but she attempted to keep pressing onward. She had to believe that what she was feeling: her despair, her hopelessness, her grief, her worry, that they would leave if she could only trust Ilúvatar with everything. She kept handing it to him, going to him with open arms and lifted hands and constant prayer. She could feel Aragorn tonight; he was in battle…in battle, his mind a frenzy. It frightened her too much now to reach out to him; she was so afraid that her dream had been a vision. Enguina and Legolas had stayed and prayed with her tonight. That had helped.

Fear…fear was her enemy. Every single thing she had been feeling for the past two months extended from her fear; fear that her people judged her, fear that she could not bear a child, fear that she was not enough and that she never could be, fear that something terrible was going to happen to her beloved…oh, it consumed her heart! How she wished that she could simply lump it into her hands and hold it out to the Creator of the Universe to take away forever. She wanted to feel the security that should have been provided by her faith; she did not doubt that he could take it away. Yet…why did he not?

She opened her eyes and looked out into the night sky above the garden; so constant were the stars, the very same she had seen in the sky for as long as she could remember, all her life in fact. Humming the song she had been singing softly moments before, she thought of the words again, repeating them in her mind. Ilúvatar was carrying her on his shoulders…she just needed to remember it. As she lowered her head and was about to close her eyes, she heard footsteps out on the stone street before the House. She glanced over and was overcome with surprise to see Noldore there coming up from the sixth level. At this hour?

"Good evening, Evenstar," he said, pausing at the foot of the steps. She smiled at him and made to rise, but he held up a hand. "Please, do not get up. May I sit with you a moment?"

"Of course, Noldore," she replied and he came up alongside her, smiling as he took a seat. "Good evening to you as well. I would never have expected you so late."

"I…did not anticipate coming here so late either," he admitted. "You look lovely tonight," he added frankly. "It seems I always forget how beautiful you are until I see you once again in the moonlight and I am suddenly reminded."

She shook her head, blushing. "You are so kind, Noldore."

"No…I am too honest," he said truthfully, and his smile faded. "That is why I came."

Her confusion at his words turned to worry. Anxiety curdled suddenly in her stomach. "Are you well, Noldore? Your words…worry me."

"Forgive me," he said softly, and she could see how serious this conversation had become. His eyes were sad, and her worry, her fear, increased. "You seem tired," he continued, and the turn of conversation was like a dousing in cold water. "Have you not been sleeping well?"

"I cannot hide that from anyone, it seems," she answered, studying his face. She could not pretend that his asking a question about something else had even caught her attention. "Noldore, what is the matter?" She could suddenly think of no reason why someone like him would come to her, this late in the evening, to sit with her and have sad eyes. Oh…oh Lord…oh, Father! Her face immediately became pale and her hands began to tremble. "Have you," she whispered, and then tried again. "Have you had word from Aragorn?"

He looked at her and understood what was happening. "Nothing has happened to him that I know of," he replied, and she began to breathe normally again. "But…there are some tidings that have reached the Council…and you should know of them."

She already knew that this conversation was not to be a pleasant one. "From where did the tidings come? Our men in the North?"

He nodded. "We received word today and also not long ago. I…" he frowned and shook his head, his hands clasping in anxiety. She had never seen him so distraught before. "I should have told you when we received the first word, but…we were not sure until now that it was true. Dintîr and I debated long about…mentioning it at all." She was shaken; she wished he would simply get to the point so her mind was not going a million miles a minute with a thousand hypotheses of what had happened. He reached out and took her hands in his own, but he could not look into her eyes. "Neither one of us could believe…we could not believe, but there is evidence…"

She stared at him, uncomprehending, full of incredible fear. "Evidence? Noldore, for the love of Heaven, speak plain! My heart cannot take any more of your cryptic words."

"My heart is so burdened by this rumor that has reached us, by words of a wicked deed that has been done. And I must tell you; my conscience, Dintîr's conscience, will let us do nothing else."

She thought to Dintîr's words to her about rumors within the Council that might be out there simply to hurt her, that he had been worried that something was coming. Had they known about something and not told her? What could possibly be worse than any other rumors that had already been spoken of her or to her? How could more lies come from the Council? What more could they say?

"Noldore, please…end my suffering," she whispered. "Tell me."

"I fear that this will only bring you more," he answered honestly, and her heart dropped into her toes. He sighed heavily.

"Speak. I cannot bear to ask again."

He did not ask her to go inside and speak in private, but he did lower his voice in hopes only the two of them would be heard. "Two letters were sent by Lieutenant Hildanir explaining the journeying of the soldiers and so far, what has been accomplished and where they are. A rumor has taken hold, with evidence provided in these letters by Hildanir himself, that…that the King made this journey for more reasons than the one provided by the Council."

"Aragorn left on this mission because of the Council," Arwen reminded him. "It was a mutual agreement; he saw the need for it."

Noldore nodded. "Yes, but Hildanir mentioned that there were other reasons, not least of which was that he was traveling so long with a particular person, taking this person under the guise of traveling with them for safety, yet for a reason entirely different." He paused and Arwen's mind flew forward into the realm of impossibility: Aragorn having secret motives? Did the Council even know him? "His true purpose was to travel with the Lady of Lórien…with Erumar."

Arwen stared at him, her expression one of total confusion. "What?"

"The King's true purpose in traveling was to spend time with her…alone…if you understand me," he said gently. "He made plans, even before he left, to become close with her before traveling to Eryn Lasgalen."

"To…to 'become close with her?'"

"The King…intends to lie with the Lady before his return." Noldore said the words so softly that Arwen had to repeat them in her mind four times so that she could grasp their meaning.

The King intends to lie with the Lady before his return…the King intends to lie with the Lady…Aragorn intends to lie with the Lady…Aragorn intends to lie with Erumar…

"What?" she asked and shook her head in disbelief. "I…how can you…he…I…" She shook her head again, this time vehemently. Her lips firmed and she replied, rather harshly. "No, Noldore! How could you believe such a thing? This is Aragorn you speak of! Aragorn! Such a thing is—"

"Not possible," he agreed. "I know." His face was so terribly sad that it flooded her with fury.

"You know? Then how could you come to me with such ridiculousness!" All her worry, all her fear in the last five minutes was unfounded…it made her think he was laughing at her. "How could you say that he would do such a thing? You know him! I know him! Why would you even think of coming here and telling me such nonsense!"

She met his eyes and saw nothing in his that was even remotely defensive. He simply sat, listening to her berate him for bringing her such information. It was this non-reaction that put her fire out almost immediately. She tried to remember to breathe past her anger, breathe past the fear that was gnawing at her stomach. She remembered his words from earlier.

"You…" she stuttered out, trying to think around this conversation. It was nearly impossible. "You…you said there was—"

"Evidence. Yes."

She almost did not hear him as he spoke. He said something more about Hildanir—Hildanir!—and two messages, something about words spoken before the Council of doubts and insecurities, something of their hesitation to mention it to her, something about her bearing a child, something more about the journey having another purpose to fulfill Gondor's need, and that the need was fulfilled, that it would be certain, that the deed had already been done…that the Council no longer needed to worry about an heir. But there was more, he had said, and when he began again, she held up her hand.

"No," she said, shaking her head as she stared into his eyes, "no more, Noldore." She pulled her other hand from his and set them both in her own lap. "Nothing…nothing disturbs me more than that you have believed this nonsense. The Council lies…it is all lies, all of it!"

"Hildanir—"

"Who knows what Hildanir supposedly wrote and what he did not? Who was trustworthy enough to identify his writing?" she asked firmly.

"Evenstar," he said gently, "Hildanir is Nardur's nephew, so—"

"How convenient!" she snapped angrily, suddenly laughing in disbelief. "Another scheme of the Council's doing! My god, it should be scattered to the four winds! Insults against me," she said, her eyes welling up with infuriated tears, "I could tolerate, but slander against Aragorn? Against the most honest and kind-hearted and…no! It shall not stand! Never. I will hear not one word, Noldore!" She hated Nardur so much in that moment that she could hardly think straight. If he was standing beside her right now, she might have run him through. She was so angry that she thought she still might find his home and murder him in his sleep.

She stood. "I cannot believe that you would believe this! To trust someone who has lied and has said so many hateful things all this time!"

After all this time, the men who were Aragorn's closest friends on the Council were doubting his character! How could she stand it? How could she even hear it? Aragorn was all that was kind and good and generous and loving, loving, loving in the world! He would never betray her! Had he not just pledged himself to always tell her the truth? Had he not pledged that he would never, ever love another? Had he not told her that she was all he had ever wanted since he was twenty years of age; that she was all he needed to be happy; that he needed her to survive, to have peace, to be himself? No, it could not be. She would not hear another word!

"I do not want to, Arwen," he said, his voice gentle as he tried to diffuse her. She should have taken pause at the use of her name, but she was too angry to notice. "I do not want to believe it, to trust Nardur, but there is little choice…Hildanir…"

"It is a ruse," she said, shaking her head. "Noldore, can you not see? No one knows Hildanir as he does! He wrote the letters himself! It makes me sick! I am done with this; finished with the Council, finished with the lies, the deceit! I am finished with him. Nardur needs to be silenced, and it is clear to me now that I need to be the one to act."

He stood up beside her, blocking her path from the House towards the sixth level. "This moment is not a good time to confront him," he offered, trying to placate her. "It is late, and already you are seething with anger. The Council is not behind this, not this time; I know in the past they have done so much to hurt you—"

"Vändir nearly destroyed our marriage!" she cried.

"Yes, but he is dead, and most of the Council are not men like him," he said honestly. "Most of them are good men—"

"Who are being misled," she insisted. "Nardur is poisoning all of you with whatever sort of scheme this is! I will not stand for it, Noldore."

"I…" He hesitated. There was nothing more that he wanted to believe than that this whole thing was some sort of scheme made up by Nardur; he wanted to believe it so badly and shove away every negative thought he had about the King; the King was his friend. He reached out and took her arms in his hands. "You are undeniably angry right now," he said, "and rightfully so. Take a moment to listen to me, to catch your breath. I have never given you ill counsel before."

"Aside from now," she said firmly, but she let him hold onto her. That at least was a good sign. He leapt at the opportunity, refusing to be hurt by her words.

"I agree that confronting Nardur is an excellent idea. The letter is suspicious when looked at in the light of Hildanir being his nephew. This confrontation, however, cannot happen tonight. You will get nothing out of him; in fact, he more than likely will not even answer the door at this hour."

"I…do not wish to wait," she stated, but he could tell she was trying to calm down.

"I understand, but I think if you were calmer, you would be able to discuss things longer without lunging down his throat. Let it…let it go until morning. Then you can force him to tell the truth. I will come with you."

"No," she said, resolute. "It will be me, myself, alone. Aragorn is my husband, and I will not listen to such lies about him. Not from anyone, Noldore." She said firmly. "Anyone."

He understood exactly what she was saying. She would not tolerate another word about it even from him…or Dintîr for that matter. She was making that perfectly clear. He nodded slowly; oh, how he wanted to believe in that moment! How he wanted to have her unshakable loyalty, her extreme devotion, her unwavering love and affection for the man whose heart she knew better than her own! How he wished he had not heard the things he had, had not seen what he had seen; perhaps then, perhaps he could have had her faith!

"Yes, Evenstar," he said gently, releasing her arms. "Forgive me, for upsetting you, for angering you. I know that rumors abound in this City; I thought you needed to know about these, most especially. I want you to disprove them," he added.

"I will," she said. "I am grateful, Noldore, that you came…that you told me of these rumors. I am sorry that I lost my temper and that I was angry with you. You were only the courier."

"Do not be," he said, shaking his head. "If you did not care what was said about him, how much would it show that you loved him? Please…if you do wish someone to go with you—"

"I will be fine, Noldore. I want to confront him alone. I will handle this."

It was not much later that Noldore left. Little did the man know that after all of the chaos that the past few months had been, he had provided the perfect wedge between her and the darkness of the night, the terror her dreams had been bringing her—her furious anger cast out everything in her mind except what she was going to say to Nardur before she cut out his tongue.

Though it was not easy to fall asleep, once she had, it was the first night she slept with not a single dream. The worries in the back of her mind paled in comparison to thoughts of forcing Nardur's foul words down his lying throat.

"Drive them back!" screamed Mennev, swinging his sword high in the air as he rallied the Gondorians nearby. "Drive the bastards back to their hiding holes!"

An answering cry came from down the line of warriors. "Slay them all!" That was the voice of Luglog, and the Easterlings let out their frightful cries that should have induced terror into the hearts of the orcs, if they feared anything at all.

But they should have feared these men and women, at least by now. Night had fallen heavily and the morning was almost here; thankfully the rain had ended. Their ranks had dwindled to less than a hundred. The battle had gone on all through the day, numerous times the orcs had to scramble back and regroup to reform their line. Several Gondorians had taken to their horses and had been racing along the edge of their ranks, cutting down the orcs on the end. This had been Hildanir's idea, and Aragorn thought it a great one. In fact, the orcs had run out of arrows long ago, and the horses were in much less danger than those on the ground. With only brief respites, the hours of fighting were wearing on them, but they were determined to finish the job. They had beaten them back past the second set of barricades, and Aragorn was impressed with their small force and its accomplishments…and how much Ilúvatar had been watching over them. They had, thankfully and amazingly, only lost about twenty men.

Finally, after an assault that had lasted nearly thirty-two hours, the orcs at the back turned and began to retreat. It did not take long for the last fifty-five orcs to decide that there was no way they were going to succeed. Fânrim took aim as they ran away, shooting two in the back and dropping them. Tauriel sheathed her daggers and stood, staring out at them as several Easterlings took off running after them, spears in hand, ready to chase them down until their deaths.

"Tauriel," Fânrim said, still aiming, "we should finish them." She nodded as cheers were taken up around them by numerous Gondorians. He whistled long through his teeth, back in the direction they had come. Tauriel turned to Aragorn, who wiped and sheathed his sword. He was filthy from head to toe, covered with mud and orc blood and had a few scrapes of his own; mostly his hands from physical assaults. Tauriel was favoring her shoulder and leg, but other than that and the scratches upon her throat, she seemed to be all right.

"By your leave, my Lord," she said, "let me take a small battalion and finish them."

"I do not tell you what to do, Tauriel," he said softly. "But you have my blessing, if that is what you seek. I am sure Luglog and Ghashbûr would—"

"Let us come with you," growled Luglog, hefting his scythe. "I will help you finish them."

Tauriel bowed her head to Aragorn. "I would welcome any who wish to come. It should not take long."

"We will come," answered Ghashbûr. Several Gondorians came to her side as well as a few Easterlings. As they waited for their horses to arrive, Fânrim touched Tauriel's arm.

"Do you think we should send messengers to the King? Let him know the battle is finished, won?" He looked around as many Gondorians and Easterlings were already piling bodies and searching for wounded comrades.

"Perhaps Lithair will go?" she asked and Fânrim nodded.

"Where Lithair goes, I go," Jeret said suddenly. The two of them had fought together on the battlefield for many hours, and the elf smiled at the man's outburst. Jeret bowed his head when he looked to the King. "That's if you'll give me leave, my King."

"Go with your friend. I am sure he will need help explaining what happened here. Urge Thranduil to hurry, please…we are in need of his supplies and aid."

The horses arrived in the meantime, and Tauriel, Fânrim and their battalion mounted up. Ghashbûr also prepared several riders to go north to the encampment where the women and wounded had been staying and bring them the good tidings more quickly until the men would follow. They would all travel North up the Celduin and meet there within a little while; Aragorn and his men when the land was cleansed from the battle, and Tauriel with her battalion after their business with the orcs was finished. Lithair and Jenet also set out at that time, heading north as Tauriel headed south, Mennev among the troops.

"Ethring," Aragorn said, turning towards him as the riders set out, "where is Lieutenant Hildanir?"

The man pointed out, far afield. "He is riding about with several other men, searching for wounded." Aragorn set his hand on his shoulder.

"Sit down, son," he said, "you are exhausted." Gratefully, Ethring took a seat on the ground. "Every man fought hard, fought well here today. You have each earned your rest." He smiled at them, and the men who were still milling about began to sit down, just as Ethring was. "Take a moment and recover from battle."

He could see Erumar with several of the other bowmen, collecting many arrows that were still useable from some of the bodies and the ground. He watched her, impressed by both her stamina and her dedication to this cause when she had simply been along for the ride. He was proud of her sacrifice. Each one of them was exhausted, but there was still work to be done. He had every intention of walking about among the dead as well. He needed to be sure that every one of his men were accounted for. There were at least ten Gondorians and ten Easterlings that had fallen, and he would not leave a single one of them to be burned among the carcasses of orcs.

He walked out from among the men and headed back towards a set of barricades that they had erected, walking carefully in between the bodies for some time; dawn had come and this morning the sun began to shine. As he approached the barricade, his eyes followed Hildanir in the distance, back the way they had come, already searching. He should find Brego among the horses and follow suit shortly. This had been a victory, but there were still dead, and they had slaughtered many as well. It followed, with his mind so focused on what had happened, the dead and the path now for the living, that something coming at him from behind their homemade barricade would not be seen at all.

A snarl was all the warning Aragorn had; he had no time to draw his sword or even turn his head. The warg leapt out of the bushes and landed beside him, its heavy jaws snapping down over his right shoulder and upper arm with a ferocity that could not be matched, piercing the mail he wore and digging in deep. The immediate pain was excruciating, the rancid breath of the warg all he could smell, but Aragorn reached with his left hand and snatched the hilt of the dagger he wore at his back, twisting it in his hand to stab it repeatedly into the wolf's muzzle.

He heard some furious shouting that he assumed was about himself, but he kept stabbing, unable to even think about anything else as the warg held fast. Snarling and already wounded, the huge animal's jaw gripped harder as it lifted him bodily and shook him like a rag doll as he yelled in pain. It finally released him, flinging him into the air. Aragorn landed hard, his body crumpling, but he forced himself to spin away. Rolling over and over before coming to a stop against an orc body, trying to catch his breath. The warg leapt for his throat even as two or three arrows pierced it, and he forced himself to roll over and out of the way—into and under the barricade. There were snarls and howls as he reached the other side, and then the warg's rider appeared from behind the make-shift bushes, stabbing downward towards his face.

Aragorn knocked the swing aside with the knife, left-handed; the blade slipped from its target and pierced his already destroyed shoulder, breaking through the mail where it had become weak. He did not waste any time as he tried to stab his attacker in the side of the head, missing by mere centimeters as the orc shied away, yanking his sword out and trying again to run him through. Aragorn's right side was almost completely useless and barely moveable, so this time, Aragorn rolled away in the opposite direction, but sluggish and in pain, he could not get out of the way fast enough. The orc's downward stab had not been headed for his chest; it had been headed for his stomach. His rolling saved his life, but did not get him far enough away as the sword blade sliced underneath the rolled mail and pierced his right hip. The momentum of the stab carried the orc forward further than he thought.

No time to yell in pain, no time to think. Aragorn backhanded the orc's face with his knife instead of trying to get away and then jammed the blade upwards through the orc's chin and into his skull just as two arrows thudded through the orc's chest. Aragorn released the dagger and the orc fell, but the blade still pinned him. He wanted to writhe on the ground, he was in so much pain, and he could hear voices much closer, but there was no response he could make. He could hardly breathe in, each breath almost a wheeze. He could tell the rings from the mail were embedded in the wound from the pressure of the warg's jaw.

"To the King!"

"My Lord!"

"Elessar!" That was Hildanir. He was not sure why he singled his voice out, but he knew vaguely it was his. Normally, Aragorn was better at these things…at keeping awake…at dealing with pain. He had never been in such a state; he could not feel his right arm—he wondered, vaguely, if it was still attached to his body or if it was just the mail holding it to him.

"Aragorn…!" That was…Erumar… He felt her fingers touch his face, tried to open his eyes and was unsuccessful. He was fading fast and he simply let himself go.

Aragorn!

That was…Arwen…