Authors notes: - Thank you for all the reviews. Posting could become a little irregular soon as my exams are approaching. Please forgive me and stick with the story!!! As usual any comments would be gratefully received. Enjoy!

**

Eomer groaned and tried to open his eyes but they felt like they had tiny weights attached, keeping them closed. Groaning again he struggled and after what seemed like an age his eyes opened. What he saw was a scene of complete devastation and for a brief moment he considered closing them and pretending he was still unconscious. Not a kingly action he thought bitterly but oh so tempting.

Cursing anyone and anything to high heavens he started to push himself up and promptly fell face down in the dirt with an 'oaf'

"Graceful, very graceful." He muttered as he attempted the action again. Finally he managed to prop himself up and leaned against a nearby tree. Looking around he saw that he was alone, luckily, for he wouldn't have noticed if there had been a hundred orcs when he had woke up. He was in a clearing which appeared hazy, whether it was from smoke or if he had a head wound he did not know.

"Unconsciousness is appealing to me more and more."

After a few seconds of wondering whether anyone would notice if he stayed here, he decided to move. Clutching at the tree he hauled himself to his feet. Nausea swelled and he fell back down throwing up violently. Slumping back against the tree he shakily gasped for breath.

"Definitely a head wound." He muttered and welcomed the darkness that encompassed him.

* When he woke again it was dark and it had appeared that no one had ventured through the clearing, hence him still being alive and propped rather awkwardly against the same damn tree. Deciding that he needed to expand his repertoire of curses he tried to rise to his feet. With that small victory achieved he decided that he needed to find his men and the others. Wishing that he was an elf he stumbled, clutching trees for support in a random direction. He had no idea where he was, the last few moments before he had been dragged from his horse and hit across the head eluded him. He remembered that he had become separated from Aragorn and Gimli, with only a few warriors. They had swiftly become surrounded and overcome, which lead him to the question of why they did not kill him? It would have only taken a few moments to determine he was still alive. Deciding that pondering this question would get him no where he thanked the Valor for small mercies, whether or not he actually felt it, and continued on his way.

The wood was strangely silent. In the aftermath of a battle there was rarely silence, screams and cries of the wounded would have echoed almost unendingly and shouts of troop commanders attempting to rally the survivors, but it was still. Unnaturally so and it immediately caused him to tense up as he realised that all was not as it should be. He didn't think he had been pushed so far from the tide of the battle that there would be silence and with a jolt he wondered if it had all gone wrong, if the alliance had fallen before it could get started.

His thoughts were interrupted when he tripped on a tree route and fell flat on his face. Cursing colourfully again he shifted onto his side, pain rippled through his body and as darkness encroached for the second time he decided that he was going to stay put until he was sure he could stagger more than a few feet.

** Gimli muttered oaths that would have made his father blink as he ducked another orc blade aimed to take his head off. He had lost track of Aragorn, what seemed like an age ago and the course of the battle he thought belatedly. Nothing mattered except retaining possession of all his body parts and living to see the end of this battle, taking as many of these vile creatures out as possible.

"For Legolas." He muttered. "This is for every punch." Gimli thrust his axe into an orc. "For every burn." Another orc lost his head. "For every broken bone." "For every humiliation and torture you put him through. For every scream you drew from his lips I will make you bleed."

"Will you indeed Master Dwarf?" a mocking voice commented. Gimli turned to see Legolas standing casually in front of him, a smile on his face.

"Coward." Gimli spat. He looked around to see orcs gathered in a tight circle around them.

"You should concentrate on your surroundings more Gimli son of Gloin, you are far from help."

Legolas walked towards him and Gimli almost flinched as he stared into the elf's cold black eyes.

"Now I wonder how long it will take to for a legend from the fellowship of the ring to die. Well as much as I want to know I have an appointment with a certain wizard I need to take care of."

Legolas touched Gimli's cheek with a hand that was as cold as ice.

"I can sense your raw power; I can see why Legolas liked you. Side with me and you will be reunited."

Gimli laughed bitterly. "You are not Legolas. My friend is good and pure, nothing like you. I will never join you and even if I die here I know my friends will kill you."

"They are already dead dwarf. No one will kill me in this body. This pretty elf is valued too much by too many."

"That is why you will fail. We would rather see Legolas dead than in your possession and I am sure that is what he would wish anyway."

"Go on then." Legolas knelt in front of the dwarf and lifted his head so Gimli would have a clear shot at the elf's pale throat. Gimli could not tell if the elf was looking at him and shuddered as the elf whispered. "Kill me."

** Aragorn looked around the haggard group of soldiers, each wounded and exhausted but regarding him with an air of hope.

'Why does everyone always expect me to perform a miracle at times like these?' he thought despairingly.

'Because your father named you Estel so at times like these he could watch you suffer like he did when you were a tiny terror' he heard Legolas say in his head. The elf always mocked him when he became morose and moody.

Aragorn would always deny it and then Legolas would regale him endlessly with tales from his childhood in Rivendell. His heart clenched in barely restrained grief as he pictured the elf laughing lightly, his eyes sparkling.

'How I wish you were here with me now mellon'.

"Well it seems that at the moment its just us. King Thranduil mentioned caves and I think we should head there, treat our wounds and rest before setting out for the citadel. That is where we were all headed before the attack and that is where everyone will go."

The men nodded all eager to be moving away from the site of battle and not to be wondering aimlessly through the dark foreboding forest.

Aragorn set off followed closely by the twenty men. The signs of battle were everywhere. Scorched earth and trees, weapons and arrows littering the ground and the bodies of the unfortunate soldiers who did not make it. The air was filled of the stench of death, the metallic tang of blood and the smell of smoke from fires scattered through the forest. They set a fast pace, the adrenaline flowing through their veins over – riding their need to rest their weary, wounded limbs.

Suddenly an orc horn echoed through the forest making the hearts of everyone present skip a beat.

"They are behind us. Quickly, this way." He said ducking into the tree line. They needed to keep moving quickly, the blood from the more heavily injured soldiers would lead the orcs straight to them.

A few seconds later they were knelt in the trees watching the caves on the other side of the clearing. Aragorn heard a rustling behind him and turned to see another soldier appear.

"Orcs right behind us." He gasped. That decided it for Aragorn.

"Two at a time run for the caves. We will cover you." He commanded. Indicating the two soldiers closest to him, he snapped "Go".

The two ran as fast as their legs would carry them and disappeared within the cave.

Quickly all the soldiers were across the clearing. Aragorn rose to his feet and ran but as he was halfway across the clearing he heard a sound he hoped he would never hear again. An ear piecing screech and the dull beating of wings. Turning he saw the object of many nightmares, a Nazgul.

"Great, just great! Why can't I be dreaming?"

**