A.N. :- Well, I'm back after a very, very long hiatus (aka major writer's block). Lots and lots of apologies to everyone whom I had waiting to read an update. It's been a really tough year so far with school and everything else but now that I've gotten a break, I'm really trying not to be horrible as not updating in almost two years L. Anyways, enough ramblings and here's the new chapter. Thanks to everyone who keeps reviewing this ole fic of mine :D
Skrahak howled in ecstasy as he positioned himself for the final blow, which would seal the fate of this warrior beneath him, eyes gleaming in anticipation of the kill. It was an excellent battle he thought, not since the War of the Ring had, he bested such a worthy adversary. Had it not been for his ravenous hunger, he would have enjoyed torturing this blonde woman more, he thought diabolically.
He stared briefly at the warrior beneath him, and shivered unconsciously. Here was the destroyer of the Witch King and his famed Steed. Even under Sauron's command, Skrahak was unwilling to venture close to the Nazgul in secret fear of his immense powers. Now here he stood, about to deliver the final blow to Morgul's destroyer. He knew who she was at first glance and here, ended the tale of the Shieldmaiden of Rohan.
His sword flashed briefly in the moonlight as he stayed his weapon above his head. His arm waiting, trembling yet savouring the moment. Confident that no help would come Skrahak played his hand, hoping for a slight movement to quicken the end but she gave him no respite. He paused, lowering his body for a moment to the fallen woman and sniffed her hair, licking the blood that seeped from her open cheek. It was sweet yet salty. He savoured how smooth her limbs felt and smirked that soon all left of the Lady of Rohan would be her armour strew carelessly about this darkened field. Laughing he rose quickly and repositioned himself for the kill.
It never came.
Skrahak never knew when the arrow was fired. He felt the whoosh of air and then the long wooden arrow, which entered, from the back of his skull, slicing through bone and fluid before its point found its way through his forehead. If mercy was granted to the Uruk Hai, then undoubtedly Skrahak was among the elite. Blood poured freely from his ears and mouth as he gave a half strangled cry, his muscled body falling to the wet ground in a dull thud, together with his offending sword.
Into the skirmish raced Aragorn and Legolas. The former racing to the aid of his lover, while Legolas dispatched easily the last of the Uruk Hai, whom had left Matejé briefly to battle the danger presenting itself.
"Éowyn, Éowyn!" Aragorn cried tearfully as he cradled the lifeless body in his arms.
He was injured as well, his forearm bleeding from a vicious blade during their own ambush with the Uruk. At the moment, Aragorn's concern was for Éowyn. She was barely breathing and he feared there would be broken bones to contest against. Glancing at their surroundings, he noted with great admiration, the pack attacking Éowyn and Matejé outnumbered theirs by at least ten. She had to live; anger took over Aragorn as he vowed to hunt every single pack of refugee Uruk Hai if she did not live to see the sunrise.
How pallid she seemed in the moonlight, but she was alive and that mattered most he thought as he lifted her gently, removing her from the putrid environment where death left its distinguishable scent. Legolas assisting Matejé behind him and the horses trotting slowly, their heads bowed in silence as Aragorn carried Éowyn to a clean camp.
"A fire, we need light Legolas" he instructed as his friend swiftly built another roaring blaze in short time. "My Lady are you well enough to assist?" he asked the elleth as she nodded gingerly. Matejé seemed dazed but without injury and he was glad, she was there.
"We shall have to remove her armour, I would prefer you do it if you can." Aragorn asked quietly as Matejé stepped forward and began deftly untying, the lacing holding the bulky armour as Aragorn and Legolas turned respectfully away.
"Valar!" Matejé's choked cry had both men running towards them. Aragorn felt numb as he witnessed the state of Éowyn's body. Her white skin was a sickly shade of deep purple around her stomach and he saw her weak attempts to breathe came across like strangled moans. Thankfully, he saw no signs of broken bones but he feared nevertheless for the internal damage that accursed Uruk had inflicted.
Bending, he passed his hands over her stomach, wincing with every laboured breath she gave, touching gently the affected areas. Her torso was intact upon closer inspection, no broken ribs he thought gratefully and he examined her carefully. She was unconscious due to the vicious blows to her head. Her cheeks and jawbone swollen from the impact of the blow she received. The blood already drying around her mouth, where her teeth had severed the tender skin inside her mouth from the impact of the strike.
The athelas released its inviting scent as Aragorn placed the herb into the precious vial of water, wiping the blood lovingly from her quiet face, and lathing her forehead and damaged body with its healing aroma. He called to her, whispering in her ear, as he did in the Houses of Healing, this time though with the hope of a lover not as the King to a Friend. He smoothed the golden locks and cleaned her as best as he could, bandaging her stomach. Holding her hand, as he stroked the lifeless fingers, hoping beyond hope, that they would intertwine with his, as the norm was for the past few weeks.
He called to her again. Caressing her name against his lips, with love and hope in his voice. There was no Éomer this time but Aragorn dared to believe she would awaken to his voice after all they had endured.
"You cannot leave now Éowyn, just as soon as we have found each other. I will not let you." He thought fiercely as he kissed her hand. A tear slipping unto the cold flesh and he bowed his head over her body in grief. Calling her, with every ounce of strength left within him.
"Aragorn." He heard Legolas' voice in the distance and felt a strong and upon his shoulder as he looked up gazing into the eyes of his friends looking on in sympathy.
"You need treatment for that wound." Matejé's calming voice resounded as he nodded gratefully, watching Éowyn's form for the slightest movement, while Matejé bound his forearm securely, pressing some of the athleas leaves to the gash. "You will live and so will her meladrim." Mateje comforted as Legolas took up post watching the darkened night for the slightest movement, his bow strung and ready.
"Thank you My Lady." Aragorn responded quietly as he flexed his arm, grunting in approval that it did not hinder his mobility. "I shall continue calling to her. I know she will hear my voice and rise again." He continued in hope, as Matejé nodded quietly and placed a loving kiss to her friend's cheek. Noting Éowyn's skin no longer seemed as cold and sickly.
"I take my leave for now. Together Legolas and I will stand guard for the night. Please my Lord you must rest as well. Tonight has been most enduring and frightful yet it would not bode well, if both you and the Lady Éowyn fell ill. That gash was deep and I am certain, you lost much strength in the battle and the healing of the Lady. I urge you to seek rest." Matejé counselled as Aragorn shook his head in disagreement.
"Having lost her once I will not, waste another moment again Matejé. What am I without Éowyn at my side? Tonight I will not leave her as I once did when she needed me the most. I have vowed the past shall remain in the past and she is my future in all of its glory. Dare I think of a void in my life without her? The Valar have brought us together again for a purpose and I will not let a small wound hinder their great design. She is of the utmost importance to me Lady and I cannot dream of another chance I have squandered with her, because of a physical wound. I shall remain with her for the night. She will awake, once this most grievous night is over or she will not awake at all." He stated quietly, his eyes never leaving the limp body before him.
"Very well my Lord. I was never one to hinder true love nor shall I ever be." Matejé replied as she glanced towards Legolas. Her heart sore with the thought of almost losing him tonight.
Placing a cape around the slumped shoulders of Aragorn, she left as quietly as she came. Turning once more to look at the King now lying beside Éowyn, his eyes never leaving her face and he stroked her hair, calling to her quietly. Reminding her, of all their memories. Matejé turned away not wishing to pry into the private moment, heading for the form of her own lover.
Falling into the arms of Legolas, Matejé weeped as silently as she would allow herself. The events of the night tiring her wise soul and she prayed devoutly for the recovery of her friend.