Author's Note: Hello all :)! I am on a roll! xD This is quite possibly the most updates I have ever done, ever. Well, anyway, here it is. The 'end' of the battle. To be perfectly honest, I had intended to make this chapter a long one, but that has been pushed back to the next chapter. I had absolutely no way of making this work. The next chapter will be full of reunions, romance, worries.. y'know, the usual stuff. Also, I realise that there was some confusion with Amelia's end of the prophecy - hopefully that's been cleared up in this chapter :). I have also gone ahead and set up a Twitter account, so, hopefully, that won't be a mistake, haha [link's on my page for anyone who's interested. It's weird. (bearing in mind it is my personal account and therefore will reflect on the oddity that is me.)]

Thank you to everyone who favourited, alerted, etc :).. Love you all. Excuse any little mistakes there may be :).

Thank You:

quidditchandsonicscrewdrivers - I love your reviews, can I just point that out? They always bring this ma-hoosive smile to my face that has everyone looking at me like "O.o" But, I have the intention of finishing with an epilogue after Aragorn's coronation :).
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You guys are awesome. Seriously. Like, as awesome as chocolate. Dipped in peanut butter. And milk.

Love you all!

I do not own Lord of the Rings.

Thirty-Seven: Victory at Minas Tirith

She was smiling. Concentrating, but smiling as well.

Amelia could hear Legolas and Gimli, counting aloud to themselves, slaughtering any orc that stood in their way. It was quite menacing to watch and she kept telling herself that she was happy she was on their side. If she were to go against either of them, despite Aragorn being her mentor, she was sure she wouldn't stand a chance.

She danced around the battlefield, beheading and stabbing, feeling more elegant than she thought she would ever be. She was breathing heavily, panting, but not tired. No. She was alive. Alive in the heat of the moment, of the battle. She loved fighting; loved the adrenaline it gave her, the rush. It was almost enough to draw her attention away from what had been worrying her the whole time they travelled to Minas Tirith.

In truth, Amelia was doing all she could to try and ignore her worries for now, putting everything she had into fighting. She caught a glimpse of their allies, of the Rohirrim, many of them without their horses but the majority still riding through the ranks of orcs. More than once, a ghost floated through her, sending shudder running down her spine and making her hesitate. And more than once she'd almost lost her life for it.

She swore they were doing it on purpose.

Amelia had yet to find Rae, or even Merry. She kept her eyes peeled but forced herself to think positive. What use would being pessimistic do? It would only upset her, unhinge her. She couldn't feel like that until after the battle. Until there was proof that her sister…

Unleashing a cry of anger, she swung her blade at a nearby orc, quickly beheading it. She watched in morbid fascination as it's head rolled away from it's body, eyes still blinking, mouth moving soundlessly. The body followed suit moments later, falling to the ground with a loud thump, the fingers still twitching. Amelia couldn't help it. What if Rae's life had been ended similarly?

She swallowed the lump in her throat with great difficulty, her thoughts now completely consumed with this terrifying, dreadful idea. God, where was she?

There was a cry behind her, an orc. She spun, lifting her sword, ready to block - but too late. She leapt backwards, hoping to dodge and dive back in again, feeling nothing as the blade swiped across her stomach. Had it even scathed her? With a glare, she jabbed her blade at him, watching as another body littered the ground around her. She glanced down where the dirty, orc blade had almost sliced the skin on her stomach open.

Only the creature hadn't missed.

Amelia could feel the pain now, could see the wound. It wasn't deep, much and such the same as a paper cut, only longer. She briefly wondered how much worse it would've been if she hadn't leapt backwards when she had. Would she still even be standing? Through her ripped tunic, she watched the blood pool at the long scar, wondering how much longer she would have to wait until she could have it seen to. There was pain, yes - a stinging sensation across her stomach that she feared would only get worse the longer she left it.

But there was no time for that now. With another, more feral and angry, war cry, Amelia charged back into action.

Everything hurt.

Why did everything hurt?

She felt like she'd been trampled a hundred times over by the Rohirrim. Her cheek was throbbing, her head felt like it was about to explode, her muscles were aching… There were sounds of a battle near her but she wondered if her ears were deceiving her. Elf ears, after all, could hear at a distance as if the noise was right beside her.

Rae opened her eyes with great difficultly, finding the bright blue sky directly above her. There were clouds dotted about and the sun was shining. She wondered if it was a sign of good things to come. Not too far away (though she wondered again if that was really the case. Everything seemed unfocussed to her eyes, closer than they should've been, or further away. Why was that?) was the city of Minas Tirith, proud and regal, even though it had taken quite a beating.

She tried to sit up but nothing would cooperate. She was exhausted; she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Yet she was constantly aware of the fact that she was lying in an active battlefield with possible enemies still near her.

She had to move. No matter how much of a challenge it was going to be.

Rae rolled onto her side, her hazel eyes immediately narrowing in on something on the ground beside her hand. In her dazed and tired state she was able to make out the shape and colour and she recognised what it was immediately. Kalina. She gripped the blade - though she doubted she would be able to fight off an attack in her current state - and began to try and crawl along. She eventually began to stab the one blade she had left into the ground, pulling herself along and ignoring her protesting muscles, and smiling softly to herself in satisfaction as she made progress.

This wasn't difficult at all.

"Legolas!"

Amelia's head snapped up at the sound of Aragorn's voice, immediately locating him not to far away. As he continued to battle, she saw he was gesturing to one of the elephant-things. Her eyes fell back to the Elf, who nodded grimly. Oh, he wasn't going to-

Apparently, he was.

She watched, mouth hanging open, as Legolas effortlessly leapt onto the thing's leg, clambering up with all the grace he possessed. She glanced away for a second, taking care of a few orcs who had tried to sneak up on her, before making her way to Gimli.

The Dwarf was grunting, swinging his axe dangerously, massacring any enemy in his path.

"Gimli," she called, slightly out of breath. He grunted in answer, not even looking at her. "Have you seen what Legolas is doing?"

The Dwarf turned to her then, huffing and puffing, blood splattered in his beard. "What? Where is he?"

"He's there."

She pointed to where the Elf was and the two watched as he stepped to the head of the creature, nocked his bow and shot it in the head. As the thing tumbled to the ground, he elegantly jumped onto the tusk, sliding down and leaping onto the ground as if it was something he did everyday.

"I'm starting to think you do stuff like that on purpose," Amelia grumbled, folding her arms across her chest and blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. Gimli growled under his breath.

"That still only counts as one!" he snapped at Legolas before turning and walking away, hefting his axe and embedding it in a nearby orc, taking out his anger on the creature instead of someone else.

"Any sign of Rae?" asked Legolas suddenly, quietly. Amelia met his gaze, worry immediately consuming her again. Legolas hadn't spotted her with his amazing eyesight and she hadn't seen her anywhere…

Amelia shook her head, looking away and biting her lip in an attempt to keep her emotions at bay. As her eyes began to water, she watched the Army of the Dead flood into Minas Tirith, killing the remainder of the orcs, and managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of Éomer, galloping across the battlefield and taking care of any stragglers.

Things had quietened down enough for Rae to believe the battle was over.

Her grip slackened on her weapon and the blade fell in front of her silently. The hilt was stained, the blade covered in dried blood, but it had served her well. Her head dropped onto the grass again and as her eye lids began to droop, she stared ahead at the maimed body of a Rohirrim soldier. His dark eyes were wide, staring straight back at her, unseeing, his mouth slightly agape, blood dribbling down his chin and pooling on the grass. There were wounds all over the body and an orc blade protruding from his right temple.

But none of that was the worst part for Rae. She could stand the blade, the blood, the wounds - she couldn't stand the face. Because, through all the blood, she recognised him. And as she fell into darkness again, the man stared back her, accusing, angry. Hurt. She could almost tell that this was going to haunt her for the rest of her life.

Herubrand.

Amelia, though she was reluctant to do so, paused in her search for her sister to watch Aragorn free the Army of the Dead. Mostly, she wanted to make sure he did it. After all, she'd gone through all the trouble of telling them about him, been teleported in and out of a creepy mountain, proceeded to almost throw up afterwards and then almost died because a few of them had distracted her through the battle. She wondered vaguely if that was her part in the big 'prophecy'. If it was, then it wasn't very exciting. Rae was taking down some evil King (she bit her lip at the mere thought) and she was making friends with the King of the Dead.

Then again, did she really want anything more?

She and Rae were two different sides of a coin. Maybe it was good that Rae got the bigger part of the prophecy - after all, she was the more outgoing one, the stronger one. Amelia just worried all the time.

Amelia stood between Legolas and Gimli, noting that Legolas was actually looking anywhere but in front of him, continually scanning the battlefield. She fixed her gaze on Aragorn, watching him sigh. Hesitate.

"Release us," barked the King of the Dead. The King stood directly in front of Aragorn, his army behind him, looking menacing. Amelia sensed Aragorn's uncertainty. She frowned.

Gimli said, in a low voice that could easily be overheard, "Bad idea. Very handy in a tight spot, these lads - despite the fact they're dead."

Amelia glared at the Dwarf, a silent warning, before stepping forward to stand beside her mentor. The King of the Dead seemed to glower at them both but Amelia had a funny feeling his words were meant for her.

"You gave us your word."

Amelia took a deep breath and placed a hand on Aragorn's arm. He looked at her and she merely nodded.

"You have to Aragorn," she said quietly. "You promised them. What kind of a king will you be if you don't keep your promises? Hm?"

He stared at her and she held his gaze, never looking away. She had to show him that releasing the army was the right thing to do, even if it was hard to do so.

After a moment, he smiled grimly, "I hold you oath fulfilled." He looked to the King of the Dead. "Go. Be at peace."

Amelia tried not to shiver as a great gust of wind blew past her and the King of the Dead smiled. The ghost met her eyes one last time before he and his army disappeared completely.

She wasted no time in turning from the scene, barely noticing that Gandalf and Pippin had arrived at all. The Hobbit looked genuinely pleased to see her again and she allowed a quick smile and a passing hug, before murmuring her apologies. Pippin seemed confused.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking up at her. Amelia sheathed Lote en' Arvandor. "Where's Rae?"

Amelia swallowed. "I don't know."

"Oh," said the Hobbit quietly. "Oh."

She could see his realisation; the way his face fell at her words. As she began to walk away, she looked over her shoulder at Legolas. The Elf stood stock still, hands clenched at his side, lips in a thin, hard line. Pippin had to jog to keep up with her.

"I'll help you find her," he said. Amelia only nodded, not trusting herself to say a word in reply.

She'd already been looking for an hour when it happened.

A cry pierced the air, male and tormented. Suffering. Amelia could barely recognise the voice, so unused to hearing him sound so broken. She scanned the battlefield but saw nothing. Her feet carried her through the soldiers, Gondor and Rohan alike, until she found the source.

She could feel her heart breaking. Her eyes filled with tears.

Oh, God.

Éomer, crying and shouting and screaming, was cradling Éowyn's still form to his chest, rocking back and forth. She stood, frozen, tears spilling down her cheeks as Pippin approached her again, clutching some kind of fabric in his hands. When she pulled her eyes away to look at him, her heart shattered.

It was Merry's cloak.

Amelia nearly sobbed aloud, getting to her knees in front of Pippin and gripping the cloak with him. She felt so helpless. There were so many bodies. So many dead. So many unconscious. How long would it take to find all the wounded? For the unconscious to wake?

"We'll find him," she managed to whisper. "We'll find them both."

But the image of Legolas finding Rae like that was burned into her mind. She hoped - prayed - that it would not be the case. She had to give her sister more credit.

She would be alright.