The next thing I know, I'm sorrounded on three sides by orcs, and an Elf and a Dwarf on the other. Gimli shouts something in Dwarvish, and Legolas lets out a cry that sounds like 'Lasgalen!' but I could be wrong.

An orc snarls right in my face, and starts to bring down his sword. I block, duck right, and bring up my other blade to open is gut, then bring the other one down to slit his throat. But right behind him is another, and another, and another. Somewhere, I hear a cry of 'Imladris' -- that would be the twins -- and another Dwarvish holler.

At least everyone's enjoying themselves.

I jump to the side as this short, scrawny, ugly guy with goofy eyes tries to cut me. I bring my left blade down through his skull and try to block a big, smelly one from my right. Well, they're all smelly, but this one seems to be smellier than the rest. Goofy Eyes goes down like a bag of rocks, and Smelly slices my hand.

I hiss through my teeth and start to swear. Next to me, Haldir raises his eyebrows and sweeps his sword across to chop Smelly's head off.

Spin, duck, block, chop, and bleed. Any warrior who paints romantic pictures of glory and valor should be drug out in the street and publicly castrated, I swear. Hal and I are doing an all right job of covering each other, but it's only a matter of time before we're overwhelmed and then it's bye-bye blackbird.

Please, the next battle I'm in, can my side NOT be outnumbered ten to one? Just once? After awhile it just gets ridiculous.

Another orc snarls at me. I hiss back and bury one knife in his throat. He manages to bring his short sword up and slice me above the eye.

Ow! Ow, ow. Why is it always ME? Why is it that nobody else ever gets a bloody scratch? The Gods of this world have a nasty sense of humor, let me tell you.

His blade slices down over the left side of my face as he falls, and I curse. I wipe blood out of my eye and spin to face the next one.

111

I seem to have lost Hal. But I found Merry and Pippin, so that's cool, right? They're good with their little swords, a helluva lot better than you'd expect. We're covering each other as best we can, but Merry's limping and Pippin's holding his left arm tightly to his chest.

"ARAGORN!"

Oh, shit. What now?

Without a word, the three of us start to try and hack our way to where we last saw his Reluctant Highness.

"Pip, left!" Merry yells, and Pippin brings his little sword around and slices through the orc's leg at the knee. Merry brings his up under it's ribs.

See, what'd I tell you? They're good.

I hear a high, piercing cry, like some kind of cracked-out bird, and the rush of wings, and look up.

Fucking-A, those things are UGLY! Eowyn wasn't exaggerating in her description. So, yeah, those are the Nazgul, and things have suddenly taken another turn for the worst. And just when you thought it could never get any worse. Hah!

Suddenly, Merry starts to yell. "The Eagles are coming! The Eagles are coming!"

Is it just me, or does that sound alot like "The British are coming! The British are coming!"

Yeah, probably just me. Sorry. I'd say it won't happen again, but I hate to lie.

I grab Merry by the collar to keep him from being trampled by a running troll. Pippin points over my shoulder. "Look! Look at the mountain!"

I turn, and stop, and stare. Mount Doom is erupting, spewing lava everywhere. And the ground starts to shake, and collapse around us. I grab Merry and Pippiin and pull them close, sheilding them as much as they'll let me. A split second later, Legolas is buy my side, his hand on my hair, and Gimli's close behind him. Pippin starts to scream. "Frodo! Frodo!"

Legolas grabs my arms and yanks me to my feet. "We must go!"

I struggle against him, clawing and scratching like a girl. "No! Frodo and Sam!"

He twirls me around and tilts my head back. "Look! Gandalf and Gwaihir have gone to search for them!"

I collapse back against him, and Merry and Pippin lean against me. Suddenly, we're all very, very weak. Legolas loops an arm around my waist to keep me standing. Pippin presses his face into my tunic.

It only takes a few minutes until we're all gathered around each other, leaning on each other, in most cases, watching Mount Doom erupt. There's very little fighting going on, unless you count the Riders and Gondorians tripping and clobbering some of the orcs that run by. Eowyn and Faramir are standing with their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Boromir is leaning on Aragorn, taking the weight off a nasty-looking gash in his thigh.

After a moment, Aragorn leans over and claps Legolas on the shoulder. The Elf shifts, tearing his eyes away from the mountain to look at the King. "Come, we must gather the Men and return to Minas Tirith." He glances at me. "Can you walk, Kayli?"

I manage to nod. "Yes, my Lord."

He glances at me sharply, given the title, then gives a small, ironic smile. "Then you get to support your brother, my Lady, while the rest of us round up the troops."

I make a face. "Well, I suppose."

Boromir gives a sad excuse for a laugh and leans on my shoulder. "Thank you, dear sister."

I grunt. "Thank me if you make it back alive. You weigh a ton."

Faramr laughs at that, and follows Aragorn. I lead Boromir to the horses. "Shall we, my Lord?"

111

It's an odd feeling, to enter a city a hero.

Or to enter with a group of them.

The people are cheering, laughing, and I've seen more than a few tears from my place beside Boromir. Tears as mothers rush out to greet sons, sisters to brothers, husbands to wives. If they don't knock it the hell off, it's gonna start to affect me. I hate to cry.

We dismount in the courtyard. Faramir is immediately at his brother's side, letting him lean on his shoulder as we all limp toward the Halls of Healing. We don't even discuss where we're going, we just go. And I'm proud of myself. I only trip over my own feet once.

Is it even humanly possible to be this tired? You wouldn't think so. Ai, I think the room is spinning.

Without a word, Legolas takes my arm and lets me lean on him. Ah, that sweet, sweet Elf. I could kiss him.

But that would lead my mind down the path of badness, and I just don't wanna go there. Must think pure thoughts...Hmm, pure.

Do I smell doughnuts? No, seriously, I smell doughnuts. I miss doughnuts. And Coke. And Pixi Stix, and pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. Yum. My teeth, however, are probably holding a party. 'No more sugar and grease! Woo! And may I add a big hoo!'

I never thought the one hugest thing I would miss from my world, other than family and friends, would be freaking junk food. Learn something new every day.

Legolas gently deposits me in a chair as Faramir leads Boromir to a bed and rushes to find one of the Healers and some athelas. Legolas goes to search for a basin and cloth so he can wash the blood of my face. I'd forgotten about the gash on my fash entirely until he brought it up. Of course, now it hurts like a bitch.

Merry climbs into the chair on one side of me, Pippin on the other, and they curl up into my sides and almost immediately fall asleep. I so wish I could do that.

Legolas is suddenly just there, right in front of me, kneeling with a basin of cool water and a cloth that feels so good against my face. He begins to gently clean away the blood and winces at the gash above my eye, which I'm sure is very not pretty. "Will I live, Doc?"

He nods slowly, engrossed in his task. "Aye, although this cut will require stitching."

I jerk back out of his reach. "Uh-uh. No. Nope. Not a chance in hell, buddy."

He frowns at me, looking cranky for the first time since...ever. "What now?"

"Nobody is coming near my face with a needle."

Pippin blinks up at me. "You're afraid of needles, too?"

"Only when I need stitches."

Legolas growls under his breath. Yes, growls. It's very attractive, in a disturbing kind of way. "You will allow the Healer to stitch the cut, or I will knock you unconcious and do it myself. And I assure you, my Lady, my stitches will not be as neat."

That was a threat, yeah? I do tend to recognize one when it walks up and bites me in the ass. I'd tell him to try it, but I have a nasty suspicion that I'd wake up sometime next week looking like the Bride of Frankenstein. He'd feel sorry about it later, but that wouldn't make me any less scary. I flop back in my chair. "Fine, be that way."

He rolls his eyes and wrings out the cloth. "Sweet Elbereth, now she's pouting."

I glare at him for a second, then give in and laugh. "All right, all right. You've made you're point. Let the Healer at me, Dr. Frankenstein."

He stares at me. "What?"

I laugh harder and throw my arms around his shoulders. "You're too perfect, you know that?"

He shakes his head and unwinds my arms from around him. "You are very strange, did you know THAT?"

I girn at him. "Oh, yeah, some thing's never change, handsome."

The Elf stares at me for a long moment, then slowly shakes his head, smiling slightly. "Then may the Valar pity us all."

TBC...