First of all: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's characters, settings or any part of Lord of the Rings that is used in this piece of fanfiction.

Second of all: Yes, this is a Mary-Sue fanfic, but I am doing my best to keep it somewhat readable and enjoyable. It all started because of a thread on the IMDB Orlando Bloom Forum when another member suggested we "describe a day we would spend with Orlando". I decided to take it on a spin and use a variated version of a Dungeons+Dragons character of mine interjected into the story, and it sort of took off from there and took on a life of it's own. Though it begins during events of the books/movie, it continues past Tolkien's story and into it's own.

Damiarena had been tracking a large hoarde of uruk-hai for several nights. When she had first come upon their tracks, she had been astounded that the orcs could travel by day. Her foreboding grew as she drew nearer. These were not ordinary orcs, the devilry of Saruman was apparent. He was growing in power, as was Isengard. "The palantir..." she muttered to herself as she stalked through the forest, skirting the trail to Amon Hen.

I knew he was falling from grace... if only I could have found a way to stop him... now I fear it is too late. Sauron has a hold of him, and he will not relent until all of Middle-Earth is crushed beneath his grasp. I pray that I do not follow in my father's footsteps. I never imagined he would be capable of such a thing, the leader of the council, deceiving everyone... deceiving me... if I, as his daughter, am not safe from his velvet tongue and veiled deceipt... then no one is. What of Gandalf the Grey? Would a Maia as powerful as he know of this treachery... I fear to hope, but that is all I have...

She pushed the disquieting thoughts out of her mind as she paused to survey the sky. The patches of dark blue sky visible through the tall canopy of trees seemed to be brighter, the stars dimmer. Dawn was approaching. It had been days since she'd slept. Yet such a vast number of uruk-hai, determined on reaching whatever goal in their sights, she took as a grave omen of evil. She had to find out what or whom they were searching for, and foreboding grew heavy in her heart since Damiarena knew that she would have to stop them.

I can only pray to the good spirits that Gandalf knows of this treachery... he would know what action is necessary... if only I could find him.

She had let her weariness slow her down during the past night, and the tireless uruk-hai were several miles ahead of her, so she quickened her pace to bridge the gap.

Just remember what the ranger taught you... keep an eye on your enemy, but do not let your enemy feast their eyes on you....

By mid-afternoon her muscles were burning with exertion, and sweat dripped into her eyes, but the image of the palantir glowing with an eerie light, and her father's hand upon it, kept her moving.

Suddenly, the ring of steel against steel and war-cries assailed her ears. The uruk-hai had either met resistance, or reached their goal. She drew her bow and forced her aching legs to carry her faster, onward. Bounding over rock, root and bush, she finally came within sight of dozens of uruk-hai scampering towards the ruins of the what once was the tower of Amon Hen. She fit an arrow to her bow and sought cover.

...do not let your enemy feast their eyes on you... not until it's too late and their eyes are shut for the final time....

As she focused on her target, the din of battle faded in her ears to a dull roar. Using a technique taught to her by the Maiar, she imagined the arrow being drawn to the target, the exposed line of flesh between chest-plate and helmet of an unwary uruk. In her mind, that tiny line of grey flesh became all of her vision, the arrow sailed through the air and the uruk fell to the ground in a heap of flesh and armour. Her first victim had not even hit the forest floor when another arrow was flying from her bow, finding the target with ease and yet another uruk took a fatal hit to the throat. Damiarena fired off a half-dozen more arrows, and moved silently through the trees, always forward. Leaving dozens of bodies in her wake, she made her way to Amon Hen, where the sounds of battle rang fierce and bloody. She ran full-speed up the hillside, and quickly the battle at hand was revealed to her eyes.

I must have fallen under some spell... how could this be?

Below the ruins, letting loose a deadly barrage of arrows, was Legolas Greenleaf. It had been years since Damiarena had been in the halls of Thranduil's kingdom. It had been years since she had laid eyes on the elven archer, his piercing gaze, the graceful way he took every step,. the lilt in his gentle voice as he spoke her name.

Just over two hundred years... so little time for an elf... even for one of half the blood as myself... yet it seems an eternity when one must leave that which one values the most... and an eternity is not enough time to heal old wounds or forget scars of times past...

She was shaken out of her reverie by the sound of a large, armour-clad foot stepping behind her. She suspected the uruk had believed itself to be stealthy, but not to her trained ears. In a flash, quicker than the uruk could make it's felling blow, she drew her sword with one hand, and hooked her bow on her back with the other.

"Yrch!" she spat the word venomously as she brought her sword up in a parry, locking her gaze with that of the creature's yellow eyes. In what seemed to be one motion, she snapped her foot up and behind the orc's knee, drove her sword forward into the parry and reversing her swing, drawing a bloody line from her assailant's ribcage to his shoulder. The numbers of the uruk-hai gathered around Amon Hen were overwhelming, and sooner than the light went out in her opponent's eyes, two more tried to flank Damiarena. Behind her, she could hear the sound of a blade moving quickly towards her exposed back. She stepped forward, just barely out of the range of one blade, to swat a second attack away with a downward stroke of her sword, then quickly sweeping her sword horizontally across and into the third orc's flank. She released her two-handed grip on the longsword, bringing her left arm up and driving her elbow into the jaw of a very surprised attacker who had been revelling in the fantasy of an easy kill and the promise of fresh meat. As the orc on her left reeled back, she removed her bloodied blade from the guts of the orc on her right, arcing her sword across her body again, and over her left shoulder, driving it deep into the foe behind her. The one remaining orc had gathered its wits at that moment, when Damiarena had her sword behind her back, her entire body vulnerable to attack. As the orc lunged at her, its cruel blade aimed at her chest, she used the momentum in her last blow and kicked her feet up, her left kicking at the attacker's swordarm, deflecting the blade and sending it flying harmlessly to her left, as she pushed off with her right foot and sent it into the air to follow her left kick, she brought her right foot across and over, delivering another blow to the orc's skull. Mid-air, she let go of her sword which was still wedged securely in the dead orc behind her, and landed deftly on her feet. Unfortunately, her one last opponent was still standing. A greedy grin spread across the orc's features as it faced off with the unarmed woman. The grin did not last long as a yellow-feathered arrow plunged deep into its' forehead. With more orcs streaming into the fray, Damiarena swiftly knelt to dislodge her bloodied sword from her fallen foe's ribcage.

She took a quick glance towards Legolas, just as his eyes met hers, his concentration wavered for a moment, and she saw him whisper her name silently. With an ache in her heart, she forced her gaze away, moving through the battle like a deadly dancer of blades. Damiarena heard the sound of arrows whizzing through the air, an entire barrage of them released like a force of nature from the hand of the elven archer. For a moment, a wry grin spread over her face for she knew Legolas was just as deadly of a fighter now as he had been years ago. She also knew she did not dare distract him.

Or let his presence distract you... can't stop your father when you're dead... can't... won't lay your eyes on Legolas ever again if you're dead...

As she circled around the stone structure, she encountered yet another whom she knew well... Aragorn, son of Arathorn... though last time she had seen him, he had preferred his moniker of "Strider". As she moved further through the battlefield, over countless bodies of slain uruks, she heard a gravelly, low voice roaring obscenities in a guttural language over the clang of steel.

A dwarf! How strange... maybe there is hope for middle-earth yet... if unity is seen in small cases, it cannot be unattainable...

"ELENDIL!!!!!" came Aragorn's battlecry, strong and clear over the malaise of guttural yells from the uruk's throats.

The inhuman sounds turned to bloody gurgles as countless uruk-hai fell under axe, sword and arrow. In battle, time seemed to slow to a crawl, every thrust and parry of Damiarena's sword seemed to glide through the air as if suspended by some magical force, descending time and again on flesh and bone. Though she took several hits, and dark red splotches were beginning to appear on her deep green garb, the adrenaline that rushed through her veins numbed them entirely. Yet suddenly she was drawn out of her concentration as the sound of a horn blew in quick bursts from below the rise. The sound drew the uruks like a moth to a flame, and the warriors followed in their wake.

As Damiarena ran in pursuit, Legolas and the dwarf came running beside her, cleaving enemies down as they leaped over the bodies.

"It cannot be..." she gasped.

"The horn of Gondor... Boromir is in need..." Legolas replied.