Chapter 2
His attention was torn. Arwen was riding toward him, a look of horror on her face. His wrist was becoming numb, he knew it was broken, and the pain was crawling its way up his arm. But it in no way prepared him for the piercing pain that came next.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Aragorn heard a horrified scream.
Searing pain tore through his chest as the Nazgul thrust his blade into Aragorn's back. The would-be-king could feel the steel bend and snap as it came into contact with the chain mail but the Nazgul kept the momentum of the thrust. The mail twisted and bent, finally breaking from the pressure.
Aragorn coughed as he felt the broken steel pierce once-protected flesh. Blood immediately welled in his throat and began to drip from one corner of his mouth, halting any cry of pain that might have escaped his lips.
Time slowed and Aragorn could see the shocked looks on the faces of those that surrounded him.
Legolas screamed a long string of elvish curses as he re-doubled his efforts to reach his friend. He violently cut through each foe, fear clouding his normally clear gaze. Several times he halted his elven blades inches from a friendly throat as anger blinded him to all but his urgent effort to reach Aragorn.
Gimli had reached Gandalf and the two were merely steps away. They fought through their foes as refreshed elven warriors appeared around them. They dropped the Orcs where they stood and cleared the path for the Dwarf and Wizard.
Arwen swung wildly at any Orc or uruk in her way, slicing them cleanly in two with her elven blade. Her eyes were wet with tears, her hair in disarray as the wind and her stallion's rapid gait mussed the long, dark locks.
"Your time for rebellion is at an end!" The Nazgul hissed. He pushed Aragorn toward Asfaloth and drew the broken blade from his opponent's back with a splendid flourish.
Aragorn coughed and blood, bright red, dripped from the corner of his mouth. He could feel darkness approaching his mind and he prayed to Elbereth that death would be swift. The poison that was the morgul blade had begun its work and small shards from the broken blade had already embedded themselves deep into his back. Aragorn could feel the instant fever spreading through his body. Fear enveloped his mind as the realization struck that the Nazgul wouldn't let him die easily.
Then he was falling, unable to feel his limbs, unable to slow his descent toward the ground. He watched Arwen leap from Asfaloth, screaming a vitrolic string of elven curses that would have made any man, be he elf or dwarf, stop in their tracks. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Their eyes met for one brief second before he lost sight of her and hit the ground. Eyes squeezed shut in nearly unbearable pain as Arwen rushed the Nazgul with the speed and fierceness of five Gondorian soldiers.
"You will have to eliminate the entire race of elves and men before you will take this City and its King!" Arwen spat, driving her blade fiercely toward the Nazgul. With each swing she came a step closer to cleaving his un-dead flesh. Its broken blade parried each of her thrusts, though with increasing difficulty.
The creature hissed in response. "She-elf. You will die as swiftly as Isildur's heir!"
Arwen trembled with fury. She didn't need to turn to see her father and Celeborn dismounting their steeds and rushing to Aragorn's side. She didn't need to see the rage in her father's eyes as he left Aragorn in Celeborn's capable hands and raced after his daughter.
Arwen's blade moved faster than the eye could see, catching pieces of the Nazgul's cloak and shredding it to pieces. She would not give her father the pleasure of destroying this creature.
The Nazgul made one small mistake, and Arwen caught the sword arm at the elbow and tore apart the un-dead flesh. It hissed in pain as elven steel sliced through tendon and bone. The long, thin blade broke as it met with the poisoned flesh. The Nazgul screeched and flailed, hissing a long string of inaudible words in its ancient tongue. Arwen raised her broken blade and whirled away from the Nazgul as it reached for her with an iron-covered hand.
As she thrust the broken blade into the creature's side, it's hands clawed wildly at her. She stumbled backwards, the hand only catching the fabric draped along her arm, tearing it.
"Your king will take my place!" It hissed before falling into a heap, its black blood searing and burning everything it touched.
Arwen exhaled a deep breath just as Elrond skidded to a halt behind her. He wrapped long arms around his daughter's shoulders, embracing her tightly. Relief flooded his embrace and he exhaled a long, deep breath, grateful to Elbereth that Arwen had come out of the confrontation intact. When she attempted to turn, to make her way back to where Aragorn lay, Elrond held fast.
"No, father. You cannot…" her protest was firm, her voice unwavering.
Elrond remained silent.
Arwen wrenched herself from Elrond's grasp, eyes piercing his heart with their determination.
"Arwen, don't…" His words fell on deaf ears as his stubborn child rushed away. So determined was she in reaching her love, she didn't notice the men and elves alike part like the sea and close once again after she had passed.
Gimli and Gandalf backed away as Arwen knelt at Aragorn's side. She clutched his un-broken hand in a grip so tight the fingers turned white. She exchanged a worried glance with Celeborn, who simply shook his head and lowered his gaze. Her heart plummeted into her stomach and her eyes widened with fear. When she reached down to press a trembling hand to the side of his face, his eyes turned to her, clouded with pain.
When he tried to speak, she simply pressed a finger to his lips. "Save your strength, my love."
With effort, he shook his head and pressed a weak kiss to the finger that rested against his lips.
His eyes held a pain so deep that it broke her heart. Tears slid down her dirty cheeks, marring a very visible path down the smooth skin.
Arwen lifted his head into her lap as she struggled to hold back a sob. Trembling hands smoothed sweat-slicked hair and she could see clouded eyes struggle to focus on her face. After several tries, words croaked from between parched and bloodied lips. "Will not - become…" His body trembled and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "…. one of - them. Must - die. You - must…"
"No!" She leaned toward him and captured his lips in a determined, silencing kiss. When they parted, his blood covered her clothing, her lips, and tears fell in large drops down her cheeks. "You can't," She sobbed, "ask this of me."
Legolas fell to his knees beside Arwen, his head tilted, his eyes wet. For one who lived so long, death was as alien to him as grief. But the Mirkwood Prince was faced with both, now manifested in the fading life of a dear friend. Legolas could do nothing to stop the pain that tore at his heart.
Gandalf and Gimli stood behind a kneeling Celeborn. The elves hands were covered in blood as he attempted to diagnose Aragorn's injuries. It was clear that the elf had stopped without a thorough examination, realizing the inevitable outcome.
"Father is the best healer Middle-Earth has known," Arwen's voice cracked as her eyes pleaded with her beloved to fight. "You too, have the power of a healer, Estel."
Aragorn's eyes fluttered and Arwen shook his shoulders to keep him from falling into the death sleep would bring.
"You are the King. You have the hands of a healer." Arwen sobbed, slapping his face to make sure she received some acknowledgment of understanding.
Aragorn coughed as Elrond knelt beside his daughter. Pain was clearly visible in the Elven Lord's eyes as Arwen looked to her father for help.
"It is…"
"Do not speak unless you offer something I want to hear." Arwen snapped, her fingers brushed away a few stray strands of hair that had fallen across her beloved's face.
"He can be healed. Try father!" Arwen pleaded, her breath coming in gasps as she could no longer hold back the sobs. "I will not watch my betrothed die in my arms!"
Elrond closed his eyes, resolving to use every skill he possessed to save his foster-son, and began to shout orders in his native tongue as the warriors of Gondor and Rohan looked on in disbelief. Celeborn called to his stallion and mounted immediately, riding off toward the black forests that surrounded the bloodied fields. "Celeborn will gather the necessary herbs." Elrond said calmly to his trembling daughter. "We must move him into the City. We cannot linger here."
Eomer, followed by high-ranking Gondorian captains, appeared beside the injured heir. Elrond's sons unfolded the King's banner and draped it over two outstretched lances. The jeweled banner was secured tightly before Aragorn was lifted onto the make-shift litter. Arwen watched in stunned silence as they laid the nearly unconscious man onto the banner she had made for him to carry into proudly Gondor – as proof that he was the rightful heir to the throne. Instead, it was carrying him. It was almost too much for her to bear as they carried him across the battlefield and into the city.
People gathered along the edge of the street, poked their heads out of windows and doors, to see their un-crowned King being carried by his people. Elves and Warriors of Gondor and Rohan walked together, the battle won but their faces solemn masks of sadness.
Arwen held tight Aragorn's hand and whispered to him in the ancient language of the elves. He was barely conscious but Arwen kept his attention by dropping pleasant kisses to his cheeks, lips and by gently blotting away the blood that dripped relentlessly from his mouth.
"To the house of healing!" one of the captains cried.
"No, to the White Tower," Eomer said softly.
Arwen caught his sad eyes and she nodded in understanding and approval.
At the confused look of the surrounding guard, he added, "Though he may be un-crowned, he is still the King. If his end must come, it will come in the place where his ancestors once dwelled."
Elrond, Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf followed the host of litter-bearers through large double doors, up the spiraling marble steps, and into the Kings chambers; a room that had gone unused for generations; a room that had been kept clean and fresh until the expected arrival of their rightful King. Little did they expect, that their King would arrive on his deathbed.
------------------------
This was the original end.
But there may end up being one more chapter.
His attention was torn. Arwen was riding toward him, a look of horror on her face. His wrist was becoming numb, he knew it was broken, and the pain was crawling its way up his arm. But it in no way prepared him for the piercing pain that came next.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Aragorn heard a horrified scream.
Searing pain tore through his chest as the Nazgul thrust his blade into Aragorn's back. The would-be-king could feel the steel bend and snap as it came into contact with the chain mail but the Nazgul kept the momentum of the thrust. The mail twisted and bent, finally breaking from the pressure.
Aragorn coughed as he felt the broken steel pierce once-protected flesh. Blood immediately welled in his throat and began to drip from one corner of his mouth, halting any cry of pain that might have escaped his lips.
Time slowed and Aragorn could see the shocked looks on the faces of those that surrounded him.
Legolas screamed a long string of elvish curses as he re-doubled his efforts to reach his friend. He violently cut through each foe, fear clouding his normally clear gaze. Several times he halted his elven blades inches from a friendly throat as anger blinded him to all but his urgent effort to reach Aragorn.
Gimli had reached Gandalf and the two were merely steps away. They fought through their foes as refreshed elven warriors appeared around them. They dropped the Orcs where they stood and cleared the path for the Dwarf and Wizard.
Arwen swung wildly at any Orc or uruk in her way, slicing them cleanly in two with her elven blade. Her eyes were wet with tears, her hair in disarray as the wind and her stallion's rapid gait mussed the long, dark locks.
"Your time for rebellion is at an end!" The Nazgul hissed. He pushed Aragorn toward Asfaloth and drew the broken blade from his opponent's back with a splendid flourish.
Aragorn coughed and blood, bright red, dripped from the corner of his mouth. He could feel darkness approaching his mind and he prayed to Elbereth that death would be swift. The poison that was the morgul blade had begun its work and small shards from the broken blade had already embedded themselves deep into his back. Aragorn could feel the instant fever spreading through his body. Fear enveloped his mind as the realization struck that the Nazgul wouldn't let him die easily.
Then he was falling, unable to feel his limbs, unable to slow his descent toward the ground. He watched Arwen leap from Asfaloth, screaming a vitrolic string of elven curses that would have made any man, be he elf or dwarf, stop in their tracks. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Their eyes met for one brief second before he lost sight of her and hit the ground. Eyes squeezed shut in nearly unbearable pain as Arwen rushed the Nazgul with the speed and fierceness of five Gondorian soldiers.
"You will have to eliminate the entire race of elves and men before you will take this City and its King!" Arwen spat, driving her blade fiercely toward the Nazgul. With each swing she came a step closer to cleaving his un-dead flesh. Its broken blade parried each of her thrusts, though with increasing difficulty.
The creature hissed in response. "She-elf. You will die as swiftly as Isildur's heir!"
Arwen trembled with fury. She didn't need to turn to see her father and Celeborn dismounting their steeds and rushing to Aragorn's side. She didn't need to see the rage in her father's eyes as he left Aragorn in Celeborn's capable hands and raced after his daughter.
Arwen's blade moved faster than the eye could see, catching pieces of the Nazgul's cloak and shredding it to pieces. She would not give her father the pleasure of destroying this creature.
The Nazgul made one small mistake, and Arwen caught the sword arm at the elbow and tore apart the un-dead flesh. It hissed in pain as elven steel sliced through tendon and bone. The long, thin blade broke as it met with the poisoned flesh. The Nazgul screeched and flailed, hissing a long string of inaudible words in its ancient tongue. Arwen raised her broken blade and whirled away from the Nazgul as it reached for her with an iron-covered hand.
As she thrust the broken blade into the creature's side, it's hands clawed wildly at her. She stumbled backwards, the hand only catching the fabric draped along her arm, tearing it.
"Your king will take my place!" It hissed before falling into a heap, its black blood searing and burning everything it touched.
Arwen exhaled a deep breath just as Elrond skidded to a halt behind her. He wrapped long arms around his daughter's shoulders, embracing her tightly. Relief flooded his embrace and he exhaled a long, deep breath, grateful to Elbereth that Arwen had come out of the confrontation intact. When she attempted to turn, to make her way back to where Aragorn lay, Elrond held fast.
"No, father. You cannot…" her protest was firm, her voice unwavering.
Elrond remained silent.
Arwen wrenched herself from Elrond's grasp, eyes piercing his heart with their determination.
"Arwen, don't…" His words fell on deaf ears as his stubborn child rushed away. So determined was she in reaching her love, she didn't notice the men and elves alike part like the sea and close once again after she had passed.
Gimli and Gandalf backed away as Arwen knelt at Aragorn's side. She clutched his un-broken hand in a grip so tight the fingers turned white. She exchanged a worried glance with Celeborn, who simply shook his head and lowered his gaze. Her heart plummeted into her stomach and her eyes widened with fear. When she reached down to press a trembling hand to the side of his face, his eyes turned to her, clouded with pain.
When he tried to speak, she simply pressed a finger to his lips. "Save your strength, my love."
With effort, he shook his head and pressed a weak kiss to the finger that rested against his lips.
His eyes held a pain so deep that it broke her heart. Tears slid down her dirty cheeks, marring a very visible path down the smooth skin.
Arwen lifted his head into her lap as she struggled to hold back a sob. Trembling hands smoothed sweat-slicked hair and she could see clouded eyes struggle to focus on her face. After several tries, words croaked from between parched and bloodied lips. "Will not - become…" His body trembled and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "…. one of - them. Must - die. You - must…"
"No!" She leaned toward him and captured his lips in a determined, silencing kiss. When they parted, his blood covered her clothing, her lips, and tears fell in large drops down her cheeks. "You can't," She sobbed, "ask this of me."
Legolas fell to his knees beside Arwen, his head tilted, his eyes wet. For one who lived so long, death was as alien to him as grief. But the Mirkwood Prince was faced with both, now manifested in the fading life of a dear friend. Legolas could do nothing to stop the pain that tore at his heart.
Gandalf and Gimli stood behind a kneeling Celeborn. The elves hands were covered in blood as he attempted to diagnose Aragorn's injuries. It was clear that the elf had stopped without a thorough examination, realizing the inevitable outcome.
"Father is the best healer Middle-Earth has known," Arwen's voice cracked as her eyes pleaded with her beloved to fight. "You too, have the power of a healer, Estel."
Aragorn's eyes fluttered and Arwen shook his shoulders to keep him from falling into the death sleep would bring.
"You are the King. You have the hands of a healer." Arwen sobbed, slapping his face to make sure she received some acknowledgment of understanding.
Aragorn coughed as Elrond knelt beside his daughter. Pain was clearly visible in the Elven Lord's eyes as Arwen looked to her father for help.
"It is…"
"Do not speak unless you offer something I want to hear." Arwen snapped, her fingers brushed away a few stray strands of hair that had fallen across her beloved's face.
"He can be healed. Try father!" Arwen pleaded, her breath coming in gasps as she could no longer hold back the sobs. "I will not watch my betrothed die in my arms!"
Elrond closed his eyes, resolving to use every skill he possessed to save his foster-son, and began to shout orders in his native tongue as the warriors of Gondor and Rohan looked on in disbelief. Celeborn called to his stallion and mounted immediately, riding off toward the black forests that surrounded the bloodied fields. "Celeborn will gather the necessary herbs." Elrond said calmly to his trembling daughter. "We must move him into the City. We cannot linger here."
Eomer, followed by high-ranking Gondorian captains, appeared beside the injured heir. Elrond's sons unfolded the King's banner and draped it over two outstretched lances. The jeweled banner was secured tightly before Aragorn was lifted onto the make-shift litter. Arwen watched in stunned silence as they laid the nearly unconscious man onto the banner she had made for him to carry into proudly Gondor – as proof that he was the rightful heir to the throne. Instead, it was carrying him. It was almost too much for her to bear as they carried him across the battlefield and into the city.
People gathered along the edge of the street, poked their heads out of windows and doors, to see their un-crowned King being carried by his people. Elves and Warriors of Gondor and Rohan walked together, the battle won but their faces solemn masks of sadness.
Arwen held tight Aragorn's hand and whispered to him in the ancient language of the elves. He was barely conscious but Arwen kept his attention by dropping pleasant kisses to his cheeks, lips and by gently blotting away the blood that dripped relentlessly from his mouth.
"To the house of healing!" one of the captains cried.
"No, to the White Tower," Eomer said softly.
Arwen caught his sad eyes and she nodded in understanding and approval.
At the confused look of the surrounding guard, he added, "Though he may be un-crowned, he is still the King. If his end must come, it will come in the place where his ancestors once dwelled."
Elrond, Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf followed the host of litter-bearers through large double doors, up the spiraling marble steps, and into the Kings chambers; a room that had gone unused for generations; a room that had been kept clean and fresh until the expected arrival of their rightful King. Little did they expect, that their King would arrive on his deathbed.
------------------------
This was the original end.
But there may end up being one more chapter.