Guess what? That's right, I don't own anything save Ari, Durian, Merrill, and Tristan.
Review!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The battle joined ferociously, the Elves and Rangers soon becoming separated by the hoards of Orcs that swept over them as they escaped the tunnel. No matter how many fell, a thousand more seemed to take their place. Durian fought ferociously, trying to keep his eye on the Elvin commander at the same time. He took a particularly vicious swipe at a taller Orc, severing its head neatly from its shoulders. A shadow fell across the field, then the chilling scream of the Nazgûl echoed across the plains.
"Down!" he screamed, and the men around him ducked as the claws of the beast scathed above their heads. Durian scanned the horizon, seeing eight more flying in from Mt. Doom. Cursing, he wheeled his mount around and tried to find Ari, but she was no where to be seen.
"Durian!" he heard someone yell. Turning, he saw Tristan valiantly hacking his way towards him, face running red with blood flowing from a gash on his scalp. "We must retreat back to the City! The Nazgûl are afoot!"
As he spoke, a flash of white light lanced from the City, driving back one of the beasts that was harrying a Gondorian catapult. The beasts circled higher in response, plucking up soldiers from the levels higher above the wizard.
"We must stay," Durian responded, ducking an ax and killing its owner. "Rohan will come. They must come."
Tristan's face paled, but he nodded and was drawn back into the fray by a warp-faced Orc. Durian resumed hacking and killing, settling into a deadly rhythm. Presently, he became aware of a ringing horn call, quite unlike the horns of the Orc hoards and the warning calls of Gondor. Turing, he blinked when he saw a huge host at the top of the rise, clad in green and carrying the standard of-
"Rohan!" the cheer went up from the men and elves on the field, as the fighting slowed and the Orcs rushed to defend their right flank against the new intruder. For a fleeting second, the field was clear around the elves and men, and he could see clearly Elentàri against the darkness of the sky behind her. Unfortunately, so did one of the Nazgûl, and it struck with astonishing speed. Before Durian could move, she had been knocked off her horse, and the battle swelled again to surround him.
"Ari!" he tried to push his way towards her, but was thwarted by the crush of Orcs retreating before the Rohrrim's onslaught.
The next hours passed in a panicked blur for the Ranger. The Rohrrim and what was left of his and Ari's force fell back before the Oliphants of the Haradrim, but were greatly aided with the arrival of Aragorn and the lost host of the Mountain. He could barely remember seeing his half brother take the field, or the spectacle of the ghost army destroying the remnants of Sauron's great host. All he wanted to do was find Ari and assure himself that she was alive.
"Durian." A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned quickly with his bloodied dagger raised.
"Brother." He lowered it wearily when he saw the haggard face of his sibling. "Congratulations. This is a great victory."
"You are falling off your horse. Who himself looks as if he would fall over." Aragorn ran a fond hand over his muzzle. "This would not have been possible without your men."
"Or Lady Elentàri's," he sighed. "I fear she may have fallen. I should tell her brother."
"This is a most grievous tiding indeed." Aragorn looked deeply troubled.
"Given your leave, I would look for her. I-"
"Ask me nothing brother, for you do not have to explain to me. I shall take Telume here, and give this fine warrior the treatment he deserves."
Durian dismounted slowly, and staggered when he hit the ground.
"You are wounded." Aragorn dropped the horse's reins and steadied his brother.
"It's nothing." He wrenched away his plate armor on his leg to reveal a nasty looking cut that ran from thigh to ankle. "I've had worse."
"And I've seen better." Worry crinkled Aragorn's already troubled face. "I would have you return to the City."
"Aragorn, I must find her. If she has died..." despair fell across his pale features.
"Be careful." Aragorn clapped him gently on the shoulder. "I shall see you when you return. The both of you."
Durian smiled weakly, then stumbled off to where he thought he had seen her fall earlier in the battle. It took him nearly and hour to reach her, between the mounds of dead, a fallen Oliphant, and the searing pain in his leg. Finally, he came to a relatively clear area, where a large beast lay, arrows and sword slashes having nearly severed its head from its neck. Moving nearer, he noticed a crumpled piled of black rags, and a rusted pair of metal gauntlets and foot-covers. Kicking them in contempt, he looked despairingly around for the princess. A groan caused him to spin so quickly he made himself dangerously dizzy-upon righting himself he noticed a slender arm encased in a familiar gauntlet protruding from the carcass of the beast.
"Bless the Valar." He set about shoving the carcass off of her, but when he finally managed to do so he was rewarded with a heart-rending sight. The princess lay in a pool of blood, left arm mangled and twisted from where it had lain under the beast. Her beautiful face was marred by bruises and blood, and a silver-handled knife was deeply embedded in her side. Blood leaked from the corner of her mouth as he knelt next to her.
"Elentàri," he whispered, gently taking her good hand in his own. "Elentàri. Don't die, please. Not now. Not like this."
"Durian?" she croaked, eyes fluttering open slightly before she began coughing wetly. "I....kill..."
"If that's an incentive to live, then fine. You have to live to kill me, come on now!" he was nearly hysterical. "By the Valar Ari, it wasn't supposed to end like this."
Hoof beats broke into his consciousness, and looking up he saw a very blonde Elf riding towards him. The white stallion skidded to a smooth stop beside the kneeling man, its rider dismounting in a fluid, catlike movement.
"You have found her." He knelt beside the fallen woman.
"She's dying."
"The strength of the Valar has not left her yet." Legolas Greenleaf, heir to the throne of Mirkwood and brother to Elentàri passed his hand over the blade in her side. "Morgul blade."
Durian started. "She will pass into shadow." Wrapping his hand in the tatters of his cloak, he grabbed the hilt and yanked the offending object out. As soon as it gleamed in the dying sunlight, the blade dissolved into dust and vanished. The elvin woman let out a choked scream, and began to shudder. Without speaking, her brother swept her gently into his arms and somewhat miraculously remounted without jostling her.
"If I find you had anything to do with this, I personally will make sure that your soul never sees the Undying Lands." Legolas' piercing blue eyes bored into Durian's from his seat atop the stallion before he spurred it back to the City.
Finally alone, Durian fell back on the hard earth. The blade had shot a current up his arm so strong that he could barely feel it. Pulling back his sleeve, he grimaced at the black tattoos that adorned his forearm. Normally a faded grey, the Mordorian letters burned black and seemed to writhe after their contact with the Dark Lord's energy. Sighing heavily, he awkwardly refastened the sleeve over his arm, then let the darkness at the back of his head take him away.