AN: I don't own any of the LOTR characters and all that jazz… Hey guys! I'm so sorry I haven't updated in forever! I just couldn't think of anything to write and this school year seems to have taken its toll on me! So, hope you enjoy and I have no idea how long it will be until my next update…

Rusty

Chapter Three: Battle Scars

Legolas ran his sword through yet another orc and sliced off the head of one more. Through all the painful screams and triumphant shouts, he could hear Aragorn yelling.

"Pull back to the second level! Pull back!"

Legolas replaced his sword and pulled out his bow. He shot a few orcs from his position atop the battle before grabbing a shield and sliding down the nearest set of stairs, commonly called 'stair-surfing' by Aliana.

He drew his two knives and fought his way back towards the main gates of the next level. He glanced behind him to see how many people were still hurrying towards the gate. Quite a few soldiers of Gondor and many of Legolas's men were still fighting back orcs to ensure the safety of the city.

Suddenly someone clasped Legolas on the shoulder. He turned around and saw Aragorn, his shining armor dimmed and bloody. He was reminded of his last battle with Aragorn in front of the black gates. But now his hair was grey and his face wrinkled and his eyes wearier.

"So, my friend, do you think we've still got a chance?"

Legolas nodded his head and replied in an exasperated tone, "Yes."

"Good!" Aragorn said, fighting off an orc with one hand on his sword. "And if this be the day we die, let us die together with honor!"

"I think the old age is getting to you, my friend. We shall not die this day."

Aragorn only nodded and began shouting commands to pull back once again. Legolas strung his bow around the neck of an orc and pulled it tight, watching the blood flow from his neck before removing it and wiping the bowstring clean on the ground.

"Itherian!" Legolas shouted towards his second in command. "Take the rest of our forces to the third level battlements and open fire!"

His remaining forces rushed past him and towards the battlements. Legolas stayed in the city to ensure that no townsperson was left behind in the desperate attempt to clear the second level.

He glanced through windows and broke down doors while killing many an orc with his elven daggers. Aliana had been right when she said she could handle this, but he dared not risk her life in a situation where her help was not needed.

Suddenly a sharp pain seared through his shoulder. Old wounds were reborn and memories of Ivellios came flooding back. But of course he knew it was only an orc with particularly good eyesight.

He spun around and without looking, sliced the body of the orc in half. But the pain in his shoulder was too much to bear without stopping for a few seconds. He leaned up against the cold stone wall to catch his breath.

He looked down at his wound. There was a huge gash in his shoulder. The orc must have used a halberd or some other large weapon. The blood had already dripped down his chest and left a sticky residue on his sheathed sword.

"Damn that's deep…" he muttered, realizing how much it hurt.

He closed his eyes tightly to blot it out. Hopefully when he opened them it would be gone. This sure isn't turning out like I thought it would. There were a lot more orcs than I thought there'd be. I suppose it's better this way. If I'd have known…If Aliana had known! Aliana!

Lost in his thoughts he was caught off guard and there was another sharp pain in the side of his head. A large rock clanged to the ground beside him. He collapsed on his knees in a sudden shock and pain. Blood dripped in his eyes, but he still saw and smelled the foul looking orc hovering above him.

A boot rammed into his stomach. He heard the sound of a bone cracking somewhere in his upper body as the boot came back for another swing. Suddenly his face stung with pain. He could no longer see anything. Only the pain surging through his body kept him awake.

"Are you alright?" came a loud cry from somewhere to his left.

The last thing he remembered before his vision dimmed and he became unconscious was Aliana. If only he'd listened to her. He couldn't die here! How could he have been so stupid to close his eyes and let his thoughts wander!

Aragorn took a deep breath as he withdrew his sword from the body of a fallen orc. He looked around him with a tiresome glance, taking in every person, every speck of damage done to the city. No living orc stood anywhere within his sight. Gondor had won and driven their remaining enemies back into the unknown land they now inhabited.

He cheered in triumph, raising his sword high into the air.

"Men of Gondor, friends from distant lands, we have won!" There were a few scattered cheers, but most were too exhausted to utter a single word. "The orcs have run off with cowardice! Tonight we shall celebrate this victory with our brothers and pay tribute to the dead!"

After a few more cheers, men began to head back to the upper levels in search of their neighbors and families. The elves of Mirkwood came huddled together and whispered in low tones, as if they still weren't very trusting of these humans, even after the War of the Rings.

Aragorn followed his people through the cluttered second level and made the long walk back towards the Hall of the Kings where he knew Arwen would be waiting for him. Many people lay battered in the streets, run through by blades or nearly dismembered by an axe, but he kept walking.

Something urged him on. Maybe not towards Arwen, but towards something else. Unaware of this inner influence he made his way up many stairs and through many streets until he came to the house of healing.

Here he found many of his men lying wounded on stone slabs. Others attended to them, cleansing their cuts with healing water and bandaging their wounds with cloth. His feet led him to the corner of the room, somewhat near an open window.

His feet stopped. His hands rested on the edge of the table. When his eyes met the face of the man it bore, he cried out in shock and sorrow. None could have imagined the anguish in his face.

Immediately he sent for Arwen.