It should never had happened. She wasn't supposed to be the one to suffer. She shouldn't have been in the line of fire.

A tall man with long dark hair and sad gray eyes stood motionless over the woman laying in the hospital bed, still as death, the cuts on her beautiful face jagged and splotched...but the breath support connecting to her mouth and arms triggered the heart monitor, the only proof that she still lived. The machine that was keeping her alive. But for how long?

Everything was mute around him, except for the sound of her breathing. The beating of her slow, steady heart. Too slow. It was a heart that should have been fast and lively for every minute of every day...most especially when he held her. When had he last held her? Months ago? Before he left her.

He waited. For two whole weeks, he waited...for her to open her eyes. Her beautiful, sparkling chocolate-brown eyes that melted his ice-cold heart like snow near a hearth every time he gazed into them. How they glowed often with laughter and strength, how they blazed when she was angry, or how determined they were when she was strong!

He wanted to see her smile. Just once more. He wanted to kiss her, every part of her. He wanted to...

He closed his red-rimmed eyes and rubbed a hand over his tired face, feeling his small beard and sighed heavily. When he checked in the mirrors last, there were dark circles under his eyes, deprived from sleep. He hadn't slept very well since that day. The day of the car accident. The man internally growled with malice.

He knew very well that it was no accident. He knew very well who was responsible. And they will be coming for him. He will be ready for them.

The nurse had said five more minutes until visiting hours were over. Five minutes. Time had never felt so heavy until now. It didn't matter. He could not stay long. He had no choice.

Silently, he knelt at the bedside to watch her a minute longer. He took her hand. It was small and cold in his. With his other, he reached out to gently tuck a carmel colored lock behind her ear.

Carmel. Golden brown. Once lively and lush with waves that spills in wild ripples, catching in the sunlight like gold and bronze, now flat and still like her unconscious form, framed with cuts and bruised stitched back together from the car crash. Her face was pale as a ghost, lacking its usual peachy color that blushed pink, the freckles on the nose bridge standing out, every time he charmed her, or stirred her in any way with his intimidating presence. Her words, not his.

It was a miracle that she was alive. The crash had broken her, internally wounded her. It should have killed her. But he had found her, hearing the crash over the phone when she was on his way to meet him. Everything else had been a blur until he reached the accident. Until he had carried her out...called 9-11...then there was black, black, black with the stench of death...but she was alive. They had saved her. After surgery, she had been like this ever since.

"When had we come to this?" he whispered, stroking her head gently. His hands trembled when he touched her. "I only wanted to protect you. You and our children. I never meant-" He broke off in a whisper, bowing his head when hot tears streamed down his face. Taking a deep breath, still clutching her limp hand, he looked up again to see her face. "Forgive me, my love," he croaked. "I should have done better. I should have told you the truth sooner. It should be me in your place...and much worse. I am so sorry." He kissed her hand. Another tear escaped and fell on her hand.

After a few minutes of gazing at her unchanged form, the man placed her hand down and stood up. He then leaned over to kiss her forehead, inhaling her scent as he lingered. "Wake up, Laura," he whispered. "If not for me...then for them. For Maia. For Kyle. For Lori. Little Lori...They are waiting for you. They stay with your mother and father. They love you with all their hearts."

He hesitated and swallowed the lump in his throat. It felt very much like his heart. "As do I," he breathed. I love you, Laura. I always have." He forced a small smile, but it faded quickly. He had never said it to her before. He had always expressed his feelings with his actions, not so much with his words. Even back when he had met Laura, it had been hard enough to express his feelings through actions when he had been so closed off, tense, and wary.

And now he deeply regretted it, especially when the one time he finally tells her, twenty years later after first meeting her, and she is unconscious. Possibly not hearing him. Even more possible that she never will again.

Arthur kissed his wife one more time, pressing his forehead to hers. Then he whispered in a dialect he had not spoken for a very long time, "Boe anid gwad. Guren niniatha n`i lu n`i a-govenitham. Le melin, Laura. Novaer!"*

Then he swiftly left the room, forcing himself not to look back. Her scent was still on him. He would remember that like an imprint on his heart. He would remember her cheerful, feisty, lively self. In both mind and heart, whatever happens tonight.

For this could possibly be the last time Arthur Dainson would ever see her again.

Back in his old farmhouse, Arthur Dainson had all the doors and windows locked, barred with wooden planks, though he knew they would not do much good. He was wearing his jeans, leather jacket, and cowboy boots, his gun tucked away in his holster next to his knife.

He hastily went to the storage, shoving many items and boxes from the top shelf, letting them falling carelessly with a loud crash...until pulled out a long lengthened bundle.

Unwrapping the quilted blanket, the sight of its silvery gleam stole his breath away. His grey eyes steeled with weariness. After so many years of hiding it, trying to forget it, unwanted memories came rolling back as dark as the oncoming ocean of night. Smelling of blood, death, fire...these familiar thoughts terrified him now, but also trigging an old sense of thrill like a flickering flame that would never completely go away. If grown any brighter, it burned. Too bright, and it would consume both him and everything in his path.

It was that of a fighter. A warrior. And something else far more deadly. Hesitating, he began to reach for the twisted hilt-

Rrrrriiiiiinnnnnngggggg! The sudden sound of the phone ringing jumped him out of his trance. Cursing for the loud noise, he rushed over in the kitchen and snatched the phone from the receiver, just to quiet the racket it made. "What?" the man snapped in the phone.

There was a brief pause on the other side. "Daddy?" A little child's voice squeaked, sounding uneasy.

Arthur froze. The familiar little voice shocked him out ice-fire driven state. "L-Lori?" he managed to say.

"Hi, Daddy!" Lori sang out, sounding more cheerful now. Her baby voice sent warmth through his veins. "Whatcha doing?"

Her voice twisted his heart, crushing him, leaving him breathless for a minute. His four year old daughter, as if she was standing right next to him, here in the cold, empty solitude of his kitchen. Feeling weak in the limbs, he leaned heavily against the wall.

"Daddy? You okay?"

"Yes...yeah. I'm...I'm sorry, baby," said Arthur, trying to compose himself. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. His chest hurt. Everywhere hurt. He gripped where it hurt and messaged it before continuing in a normal voice, "How are you doing? It's past your bedtime, isn't it? Are you alone?"

"No, Maia and Kyle are with Grandma and Grandpa in the other room," announced Lori. "We're watching 'Back to the Future!'"

"Is it good?" said Arthur.

"Uh-huh! I wish I can travel through time, too! I wanna see how you and Mommy got married an' all! Can we find a time machine, too, Daddy?"

"Maybe," he whispers. "I wish so, too, child." How a time machine would help him solve all the problems he had caused from his past...but then his children would have never been born.

"When you coming home, Daddy?"

Arthur gripped the phone and his chest tighter, as he slid slowly down the wall. "Soon," he whispered.

"Do ya ever go see Mommy?" Lori said quietly.

"I just visited her tonight." He tried to sound positive, even though it never truly matched the rest of his family's enthusiasm. That was on Laura's side.

"When's Mommy gonna wake up? I miss her a lot!"

"I miss her too, Lori!" He took a deep breath. "And I miss you, Maia, and Kyle. More than you know."

"Why'd you go, Daddy? We don't see you anymore!" Lori whimpered. Arthur dug into his jacket and pulled out a photograph. It was of them: Maia, Kyle, and Lori. Maia and Kyle were on either side with their baby sister, Lori, gathered in the middle, trapped in their arms. They were smiling brightly, very much like their mother. He traced a finger gently over their faces, wishing with all his existence that he could hold them in his arms, at least for one last time. "Can we see Mommy together? What if she wakes up if we're there together?"

Then he heard another muffled, female voice on the other. "Lori! What are you doing? Who's that on the phone?"

"Daddy," Lori answered, sounding bright. "He's gonna come home soon! He said so! Wanna say hi?"

There was more murmurs on the other side. Meanwhile, Arthur was still staring at the photo sadly, until Lori finally spoke up, "'Kay, I'm putting on Maia."

Maia. Arthur smiled a little. "Thank you, Lori."

"Daddy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Kyle keeps saying you won't come home 'cause you don't like us anymore. I know he's being mean, but...are ya really gonna come home?"

"I am going to try, sweetheart."

"You promise?"

"I promise." It was the truth. Tonight, when they came, he was going to try to find his way home. Fight his way back. Back to his children. "And Lori?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you. All three of you. More than anything. Always remember that," his voice cracked slightly. "Will you tell your brother, please?"

He knew Kyle was still angry with him. Eventually, the boy's anger came to the point of refusing to speak or mention his father at all. For leaving them. For breaking their mother's heart. Arthur didn't blame him. Kyle was so like him in so many ways-strong, feisty, stubborn, hotheaded, reckless, especially while mirroring his dark hair and grey eyes-that he could read his twelve year-old son like an open book.

Despite being at odds with each other, the man could not have been more proud of the young lad. Especially when also inheriting his mother's humor, charm, and wit.

"Okay, Daddy," echoed Lori, sounding genuinely happy, bless her. He chuckled, imagining her beautiful smile. Her daddy never said that out loud before. "I love you, too."

"Thank you," he whispered, as he heard her pass the phone on. Dear little Lori...Forgive me.

"Dad?" It was Maia.

"Maia," he said quietly, his heart skipping a beat. She always sounded like Laura over the phone. A voice that always sounded musical to him. "How are you?"

"Fine," she answered plainly. "Movie night."

"I know. Lori told me." There was a pause. "How is Kyle?"

"He's fine. Well, technically he's being the same, old little twit throwing firecrackers at his neighbors and scaring the horses, but that's one way to recover, right?"

Arthur actually laughed. If he weren't feeling like he was at the end of the line, Kyle would normally get the scolding of his life. "Tell me I will remember that the next time I see him."

"Will you?" Maia said quietly. Her tone made him wince. "Dad, we haven't seen you in seven months, and you only called twice. Tonight doesn't count, because Loriwas the one who called you. Even after Mom's accident, we still hadn't seen you, and you're the one who brought her in. You're always some place else. It doesn't make any sense!"

Arthur sighed heavily. "It's complicated, Maia."

Maia made a small, stammering sound. Dear Maia. "Are you-I-I mean, not-not that I would believe it-but are you with someone?"

"No," he replied. He may have lied to them before, but at least he was happy to not lie about this one. "I swear that there is no one else, Maia. I had no intention of leaving you behind...but I had to."

"Then why? Dad, what's going on?"

He was about speak when then came a loud thumping from the front door. Then the thumping came from the boarded windows. Then the roof. The thumping, the splintering of the wood, was everywhere. There was a chorus of loud shrieks, like that of a pack of animals. He knew that sound like the back of his hand, the hair on his scalp rising at their call.

Arthur leapt to his feet and was instantly in the living room. From the bundled cloth on the small square table, he yanked out a long, lethal sword from its sheath with his free hand. One of the twin black swords.

The iron-metal, forged into the darkest of ebony, glowed a bright blue-silver light, stained scarlet at the base like licks of flame over blood, along its sharpened edges.

"What was that?" Maia demanded, who must be hearing the noises from the phone. "Dad-"

"Maia, listen to me! No matter what happens, you have to look after your brother and sister. You are responsible for them."

"Are you at the farmhouse? That sounds like the farmhouse." There was a shattering of windows, followed by the multiple crushing sounds of wooden boards. Through one of them, a hideous deformed face with beady yellow eyes snarled at him, showing its sharp, jagged teeth as it tried to crawl through-only to be swiftly stabbed in the face by the sword. He felt the familiar crunch of bone and flesh as he pulled back, the body dropping heavily to the floor while more started charging.

Maia was still talking, "Look, Dad, I'm going to drive over and-"

"NO! DO NOT COME OVER!" Arthur bellowed in the phone, as he chopped off the head of another incoming creature. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? DO NOT COME OVER!"

Then they came: crashing through all the windows, the door, and even the roof.

Orcs. They charged at him from all sides, but he was ready.

He was capable of slicing them down all with one twin sword, the phone in his other hand, swinging it gracefully through the air while making slightest ringing sound that filled his ears with a deadly tune. The orcs charged and they fell-the blind, predictable, and disgusting fools!

One swung its sword, clipping his shoulder, but Arthur moved with the blow, flipping backward across the couch before swinging his blade upward, severing the orc from beneath the chin.

It seemed like time had passed when Arthur fought the orcs with grace and determination, bearing no more than a couple of nicks (not poisoned, thankfully) and a bloody nose from direct punch. He was rusty, but none that came at him survived. Every time they even attempted to attack him, they met the single stroke of his blade as though it were the stroke of death itself. A death stroke.

Kill them, the blade coldly hissed to hm under each fell stroke. Kill them. KILL THEM ALL.

Mangled bodies piled around the house and quickly lifted an odor that reeked of tar, filth, blood, and decay.

As he butchered them, knifed them, and even shot at the them until he used all his rounds, a predatory grin appeared on his face, as a sly thought occurred to him: if he survived this, he would have to burn the house to the ground. Cover the evidence, before the police find out. His family...

My family. His grin faded, while staggered another orc tackled him, clawing at his hair. With a snarl, he gripped the orc's horny armor, flipped it over, and snapped its neck. Panting, covered in sweat and black orc blood, he began to stand up-

A sudden burst of flame exploded in his right shoulder, hitting him with a heavy force that made him cry out. He stumbled and felt his back hit the wall. Spots covered his vision. His body felt heavy as a mountain crushing him downward. Through his deafening haze, hearing heart pounding from the waves of agony, he slowly turn his head right and groaned when seeing a long, black arrow sticking out of his right side.

As his vision became foggy, his eyes fell upon his sword, which was sprawled across the wooden-planked floor, stained heavily of thick orc blood that can only be seen pooled around the red-blue glow radiating around the black metal. Next to it was the kitchen phone, also splattered, and still buzzing with Maia's voice yelling, "Dad? Dad! Oh, my God! Dad! No-I-I-I don't know-h-he didn't hung up, but he's not answering! Dad! Please, answer! Daddy!" Her voice broke into a panicked sob.

There were heavy, purposeful footstep coming this way. Before Arthur would look up, the voice changed in the speaker, "Dad! Dad, are you there? Can you hear me? We're freaking out here, Dad, what's going on? IS ANYONE THERE?"

"Kyle," his lips formed. At the sound of his son's voice, finally speaking to him after so long, his fingers twitching as he tried to reach the phone, but his body was so heavy and so full of fire that he slumped back down. A groan escaped him, his mouth tasting blood like copper.

Large heavy boots appeared in his vision, bearing thick, muscular legs that paled like moonstones, but decorated with lines of scar tissue from many battles. The owner had heavy breathing like that of a wild beast, and this was only when he was calm. Arthur's stomach dropped in dread.

No, it can't be.

A thick, pale hand reached down and picked up the phone, which was still buzzing with Kyle's shouting. Arthur, blinking away the mistiness in his vision, his body trembling from painful spasms of the arrow in his shoulder, slowly forced his chin up to meet the face of the orc. He had hoped he was wrong, that his wound was only making him delirious, but the sight of the huge intruder standing over him, holding the phone near his scarred facade, listening with a predatory grin on his wolfish face to the sound of Kyle's continuous demands, "Hello? Who is this? Where's my dad? Hello?", was all too real, bringing back the memories of his past like the fire seizing his body.

"Hey! I can hear you breathing, you creep! Where the hell is my father?!" Kyle was now yelling. "I'm talking to you-"

The huge pale orc crushed the phone with his bare hand. Kyle's voice was gone.

"You!" Arthur managed to gasp. He struggled to sit up straight, grunting as the arrow shifted and sent another wave of dizzying agony. "How-it's impossible-it can't be..."

Azog the Defiler chuckled menacingly, dropping the remains of the broken phone on the floor. Then he knelt down at Arthur's level, ice-blue inhuman eyes staring right into his gray ones like a wolf eyeing its prey. Arthur did not look away. Even when vulnerable before one of the dangerous beings he had ever met, he would not break.

"I am very much real, boy! Real as the arrow stuck in your hide," Azog sneered in Black Speech. The pale orc then lifted his other arm, which now to Arthur's shock was replaced with an iron claw. A gesture shortened the tale. The claw that tucked dangerously under the man's chin, pressing against his throat.

"Did you really believe that our Master would not be able to search you out? That you were the only one who would find a way to escape his sight?"

Arthur spat out blood in Azog's face, his face twisted in a predatory snarl. "Go eat Warg shit, Defiler!" he hissed in Black Speech.

Azog growled menacingly and trapped the man's throat, while raising his claw.

"For your cowardice, Aravìr Matum-sorgh, and your defiance...you shall know the true meaning of fear."

Sindarin Translation:

I must go. My heart shall weep until I see you again. I love you, Laura. Farewell!

Black Speech:

Matum-sorgh = Death-cleave (stroke)

Crush, Shatter, destroy- shat^up

split, cleave, stroke- sorgh