The Men wasted no time in collecting their weapons and beginning to sprint to their stations. Based on the scout's report, they had no more than fifteen minutes to prepare for the Orcs' coming.
Before Boromir and Faramir could run off and leave her, Avalain grabbed their arms and asked, "What will you have me do? I can fight with a sword and with my bow."
The brothers exchanged looks and immediately and simultaneously responded, "Shoot with the archers. You'll be safer there."
Avalain blinked. "And what about you?"
"We shall be commanding the Men from below," said Boromir. Noting Avalain's worry, he grinned and exclaimed, "Worry not, Avalain. We shall be fine where we are. If it pleases you, however, find a building and try to cover our backs. I would not put it past these beasts to try and flank us as well."
The She-Elf nodded, knowing that he was certainly right with this last. She could only hope that there would be enough archers to keep the Orcs at bay and prevent the creatures from flanking the Men… Knowing that time was preciously limited, she only said, "May your swords be sharp," before clapping a hand on their shoulders and rushing off to follow Malum, who was waiting for her.
All was chaos in the streets as Men struggled to reach the positions that had been so hastily assigned earlier that very day. Avalain was forced to grasp Malum's hand in order to not get lost.
After what seemed like forever, she and the archer were positioned atop one of the tallest buildings in Osgiliath. She helped to push a bunch of boulders in front of the main door as a barricade. Once it was deemed to be enough, they had climbed the stairs and sat across the rooftops, waiting for the shouts and clashes of metal soon to come.
While they sat and waited for the inevitable, Avalain sighed and glanced around the faces of the Men. They no longer appeared frightened, but determined. As if she had really inspired them and filled them with a courage they had so desperately needed.
"How do you fare?" asked Malum softly, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the Captains below.
Avalain glanced at Boromir and Faramir, who were standing on a tall rock just slightly above the rest of their kinsman. She saw how stoic their expressions were, how tensely they were standing. And she swallowed, suddenly and utterly consumed by the fear she held in her heart for their well-being.
"I have been better," confessed Avalain without taking her eyes off her friends.
Malum chuckled. "As have we all." He then glanced over her face and noticed what clear concern there was for Boromir and Faramir upon it. He stood up then and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Fear not," he added. "They are skilled beyond most in battle."
"So was my Dwarven prince, Malum," murmured Avalain, the same feeling of foreboding filling her. She recalled how her chest had hurt during the middle of the battle, as if her very heart had been wrenched out of her chest and twisted and torn in half.
She would be dead before it happened again, be it to her friends, her family, or a new love she would be protecting.
"History does not always repeat itself," said Malum softly.
Avalain opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, he gently clasped a hand over her mouth. She narrowed her eyes in protest, but he just pointed to the other side of the building.
She followed his gaze and withheld a gasp. Her keen eyes could detect the Orcs creeping across the bridge towards the western portion of the city… they were being uncharacteristically stealthy…
Until one of them tripped over a trip wire and lit the flare.
The Men instantly hushed hearing the scream of the flare and seeing it explode against the pitch-black sky. Avalain stared across them and noticed that their eyes regained a small amount of fear and foreboding.
That, however, was when she heard Boromir's voice shout, "Stand tall, my brothers! The night will be ours!"
A resounding cheer sounded through the air, enraging the Orcs. As quickly as the Men had cheered, they released their bestial screams and started sprinting across the bridge. Many of the Orcs on the front lines fell due to oil traps or bear traps or flares. One of the traps actually combined a tripwire to an oil trap, lighting half a dozen Orcs on fire.
Avalain watched with fascination as her strategy unfolded. It was a beautifully chaotic thing to watch; everywhere she turned, she saw collapsing Orcs. She couldn't help but grin, knowing that this plan would certainly save more than one life throughout the night.
Despite the setbacks, the Orcs made it to the Men on the ground fairly quickly. Avalain swallowed and, as the other Men started asking whether or not they should shoot, murmured, "Hold your fire. We must wait for the prime moment."
The Men were uneasy, but did as she bade.
Only a second later, the monsters and the Men collided. Screams erupted through the air, along with the harsh sound of metal against skin or more metal. Avalain sighed and closed her eyes, suddenly transported back to the last battle she'd taken part in.
But she couldn't lose herself now. There was a job to do.
She watched as all the Orcs crossed the bridge and towards the Men, the archers remaining unseen. She waited and waited, her hand raised, for the best opportunity to shoot the enemy in the back.
From the ground, Boromir found her eyes and shouted, "Avalain, now!"
"Fire!" she shrieked, and an avalanche of arrows rained down from the buildings into the backs of the beasts.
The Orcs screeched and reeled around to try and locate where the arrows had come from—upon noticing that the roofs of buildings housed the archers, a few stray Orcs began stumbling towards the barricaded doorways and windows to try and ascend to the roofs themselves.
"Stop them!" shouted Avalain, pointing their direction. "If we are lost, so are the Men on the ground!"
Unquestioning, the Men obeyed. Soon, bodies of Orcs helped to barricade the doors along with the gray stone already in place. Meanwhile, the rest of the Orcs were desperately fighting the Men on the ground. Their panic, however, was making their technique sloppy, and many were soon cut down with ease.
Avalain watched and waited before withdrawing her own bow and, using her keen Elvish eyes, searched for Men who truly needed help. One-by-one she brought the monstrous creatures down, doing her best to save as many mortal lives as she possibly could.
"Your aim is uncanny, Avalain!" laughed Malum. It was the first time she had seen a real and oddly enough, considering their situation, careless grin on his face.
The She-Elf laughed as well and was about to reply, but an arrow to Malum's stomach cut her off.
Malum toppled to the roof, his eyes swiftly losing light. Avalain gasped and dropped her weapons, catching him in her arms.
"Malum?!" exclaimed Avalain, grasping his hand in her own.
There was no response.
Avalain shuddered and squeezed his hand as tightly as possible. His bright eyes were still open, and with shaking hands, she gently pulled his eyelids closed. After taking a deep breath, she withdrew the arrow from his stomach and placed his body to the side, where he would not be stepped on.
Once the battle was over, she vowed, he would receive a proper funeral. It would be the least she could do for him. But there was no more time to grieve; Avalain grabbed her bow and the arrow, stood back up, and shrieked.
There stood an Orc commander at Faramir's back—his scythe was wickedly sharp and raised.
"Faramir!" screamed Avalain.
The Man barely heard her warning and dashed forward, away from the scythe—but still it was long enough to leave a decent sized gash across Faramir's shoulder. She heard him cry out and, with pure bloodlust and rage, Avalain released her arrow straight into the Orc's head.
It roared as it went down, but die it did. Once it was dead, the She-Elf exhaled harshly. She hadn't known she'd been holding her breath as she shot.
Faramir then locked eyes with her and waved a hand in gratitude. Although Avalain smiled at the gesture, she noticed that he winced when he held up his hand. Clearly, that cut was going to need tending to as soon as possible.
But as Avalain looked around, she saw that there were still a number of Orcs that needed to be offed. She picked up some of Malum's arrows—although she kept one beside her feet, to remember the Man who might've been her friend—and began to nock them into her bow.
For an hour more, the Orcs continued to put up a fight, and Avalain scoured the battle for Men she could save. More than once, however, she was unable to release her arrow in time, or the place the arrow landed was not a killing blow to the Orc. Although those failures haunted her, the She-Elf pursed her lips and continued to release arrow after arrow, hoping that she could save as many Men as the Valar would allow.
That, however, was when an arrow lodged itself just to the side of her waist.
Avalain cried out and fell on her knees on the roof. Hearing this, Boromir looked up—upon seeing what had happened, she heard him shout her name.
"I'm… fine," she gasped. "I'm fine."
She motioned for Boromir to continue fighting, but he still looked immensely worried. Noting their Captain's distraction, the Men upon the roof with Avalain carefully grabbed her arms and pulled her out of the way of further harm; though they tried to be as gentle as possible, she still gasped in pain as she was dragged across the cold stone.
Oddly enough, it was Uthrain who gently set her aside and looked into her eyes to help calm her down. Avalain saw that she had grievously misjudged this young Man, this Lieutenant, as he grasped her hand and murmured, "You're going to be alright."
Avalain nodded. She knew she would be, but still she couldn't help breathing heavily, feeling jittery. She had just been impaled by an arrow, a weapon of which she considered herself a master.
"It's shock, I know," added the Lieutenant, squeezing her hand. Avalain responded to it, grateful that he was present. "It'll be alright. I'm going to leave it there for now so you won't continue to bleed, but I forbid you from moving anymore. Is that clear?"
The She-Elf nodded, although she wished she could continue to help the Men. Seeing this look on her face, Uthrain chuckled.
"The battle is almost over," he promised. "Sit tight until then."
Before Avalain could say or do anything more, he stood up, bow in hand, and marched back to the edges of the roof. For a while, she watched him nock arrows and release them: arrow after arrow. It was a calming process, nearly therapeutic. She was grateful to watch him.
True to Uthrain's words, before long the battle was over. The last screeches of the Orcs died out as the sun began to rise over the horizon, casting the sky in colors of purple and orange and yellow.
As soon as it was established that the Men had been vastly victorious, Uthrain returned to Avalain and ordered, "Put your arm around me. I've been asked to bring you downstairs."
Avalain nodded and did as she was bade. She managed to stand up and walk, with some support, with Uthrain down the stairs of the building they were standing upon.
By the time she reached Boromir and Faramir, however, Avalain was gasping and grasping at her side. The arrow was buried somewhat deep under her skin—luckily, it hadn't punctured any of her innards, but it hindered her breathing and made deep breaths painful.
"Avalain," whispered Boromir, immediately grabbing her and picking her up.
Avalain yelped in pain as her midsection bent. Boromir looked immensely guilty, but it was with concern and promise in his eyes that he said, "I'll take you back to our encampment. I'll treat you there."
She nodded, unable to say anything for fear of another bout of searing pain. As Boromir walked, as carefully as he could, she focused mainly on steadily breathing, and trying to find what type of breath she could take that would not be painful.
Luckily, the walk was a short one. When they reached the camps, Avalain was gestured inside a tent that the Men had just finished setting up for the wounded. It was there that Boromir set her down upon a blanket on the ground. When she looked up, she noticed that Faramir too had followed them, and they both wore identical looks of concern upon their faces.
"You two should go back to your Men," she asserted calmly. Though their presence brought her comfort, she knew that she would be fine after a few bandages and salves. "They need you more than I do."
"We worry about you," replied Boromir, his eyebrows furrowing.
Avalain laughed and almost instantly regret it. Her laugh turned into a cough, which hurt even worse than her laugh. She laid her head down and smiled grimly. "That much is clear. But you really should go to them. They will need their Captains after this battle."
Boromir and Faramir seemed to exchange looks and have another conversation that still Avalain could not read. It lasted for all of ten seconds—after this, Faramir declared, "I will go tend to the others. But at least allow one of us to remain here, to look after you. You are, after all, our best strategist."
And with a teasing smile, he bowed and exited the tent.
As soon as he was gone, Avalain rolled her eyes and smirked. "Cheeky devil," she muttered, making Boromir laugh. When she winced, however, that was immediately silenced.
"Here," sighed the elder Captain. He reached behind him and grabbed a roll of thick cotton gauze. He then turned back to Avalain and glanced at the arrow embedded in her side.
"This might hurt," he warned. Avalain nodded and felt one of his hands press against her side. She clamped her eyes shut and restrained a groan as he swiftly yanked the arrow out of her side.
Avalain shuddered feeling a spurt of blood start seeping across her side; Boromir seemed to sense it and asked, "Are you alright? Are you cold?"
"Don't worry," she replied breathily. She looked up at the ceiling of the tent—it was bright with the sunlight streaming atop it. "I'll be fine."
"If you insist," responded Boromir, although it was clear he was not quite convinced. He glanced down at Avalain's newly opened wound before catching her eyes again. He looked extremely repentant as he added, "Sorry about this."
Before Avalain could ask what he was going to do, Boromir retrieved a knife from his belt and in one motion sliced the fabric of her dress away. Avalain exclaimed in shock, but that shock morphed to pain as Boromir grabbed a clear bottle and began to pour some of its contents over her injured side. As the liquid sloshed over the wound, her skin burned and Avalain clenched her teeth to prevent from groaning again.
"Sorry," he repeated, his eyes truly showing it. Without any other words, he took the gauze, gently lifted her up, and began to wrap it around her side where the wound was.
Although she was now cold, Avalain did not want to admit it. As it was, she was grateful for the white underskirts she wore—even if now they were stained dark red—or else she would've been embarrassed as well as cold. Even so, she squirmed slightly, still a bit uncomfortable.
Boromir noticed this and respectfully laid out her green dress over her pale skirts. He smiled apologetically and repeated, "Sorry. But I had to so I could…"
He trailed off and just looked at her.
Avalain swallowed and offered, "Bind my wound?"
"Yes. Exactly that."
The She-Elf nodded and propped herself up on her elbows so she could look at him. He was glancing about the tent, the only two other occupants of it being healers, waiting for Men to treat. She took in his stance, the way he was crouched, how his hands were wringing.
"The battle was won," she murmured.
Boromir smiled again, looking at her. "Yes, indeed. And it was thanks to you that it was."
Avalain chuckled and waved off the praise. "It was not I who did all the fighting and commanding. You and Faramir should take the credit for this, not I."
"Yet you were the one who formulated the strategy that paved our success," retorted Boromir, raising an eyebrow. There was a bantering grin threatening to occupy his face, and Avalain could hardly restrain her own after noticing it.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other. This time, however, the silence was not so uncomfortable.
After a minute, Avalain cleared her throat. "You should go help your Men."
Boromir blinked and glanced toward the doorway before sighing, "Yes, you are probably right. I should go."
He then rose and turned to leave—but just as he reached the exit, he looked over his shoulder to say, "But be warned. I shall be here to pester you about your condition before much longer."
"Very well," laughed Avalain, allowing herself to lie back down on the blanket. "And Boromir… thank you."
"Anytime, Avalain," he replied softly. Then he was gone, and Avalain closed her eyes so she might gain some much needed rest before the brothers would return.
