This is a collaborative effort of a whole bunch of us - me, Elanor, Finrod, Gilrean, Holly, Lana, Nimbrethil, Witch King and Wizard. Other than the respective characters ie. me (Laurendil, Mas); Elanor (Elanor, Haldarin), Gilrean (Gilrean), Holly (Holly), Lana (Lena), Nimbrethil (Nimbrethil), Witch King (Beomir) and Wizard (Wizard), we do not own any of the other great Tolkien works. This was originally an RPG we played and have put together as a story. Hope you enjoy it.

It was only a few minutes, but it had felt like hours. Elladan and Elrohir shouted their battle cries as they led the mounted force forward, while Anárion had the archers send the arrows ahead of them in a rain of death. The Orcs seemed disoriented, unable to comprehend the attack from all around them. They saw with widening eyes the advancing elf twins, the rain of arrows piercing its targets all around them, the Wizard with his staff ... everywhere, the Orcs were the ones who were now badly overrun. Screaming in panic and fear, they ran. Right where they were being steered to – the valley. Legolas and Nimbrethil continued to fight, clearing their way to Aragorn.

"Seventy-four, Seventy-five," Legolas still kept count under his breath as the Orcs fell one by one.

Soon the Orcs were trapped in the valley. Laurendil signaled to Anárion and the army flowed down to join the fight. The air was filled with the cries of war – though it was made sweeter by the fact that it was mostly the terrified cries of the Orcs. Elanor found her strength draining as she swung her sword with both hands. Orcs all around her though began to fall, pierced with arrows. Looking to see where they were coming from, Elanor though she saw a glint of silver hair and smiled in spite of her pain. "Ay, the second time that elf has saved me!" she thought to herself.

The Orcs began to fall back and retreat to the valley. Her cousin moved from her side to fight off the remaining Orcs with the King. A pair of Orcs moved towards her, swords ready. One fell a foot from Lossefalme, an arrow in the back of its neck. The other she managed to gut with her sword. Her vision began to blur, the world to sway. With a cry, she fell from Lossefalme and blacked out. Seeing Elanor fall, her Gondorian cousin let out a shout and ran to her side. Removing part of her armour, he could see that the wound was serious. Kissing her forehead for luck, he then placed her on Lossefalme, slouched low over the horse's neck.

"Lossefalme, bear her swift and harmless back to the gates. Hurry!" He patted her rump and off Lossefalme went. Then he ran off with the King to defeat the Orcs.

From afar Laurendil saw the spotted mearas and its wounded rider flying lightly towards the gates of Rivendell. There were still scattered Orcs about so the elf maiden shot them down one by one, ensuring safe passage back to the Homely House for the Rohirric pair. As they drew closer, Laurendil ran down, leaving Anárion in charge, with a terrifying thought in her mind: what if the girl was already dead! The form had been still throughout the journey, and it was only through skill of the horse that its burden had not been dislodged.

The brave mearas thundered through, and caught the eye of Gilrean. She stopped fighting for a moment, taking deep breaths, and looking about her at all the battle scenes. From behind she heard a shattering breath, and turned to see an Orc, knife raised, and ready to strike her. She acted quickly, and stabbed him, but the edge of his blade caught her hand.
She gave a small shout of pain.

Nimbrethil turned, and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Gilrean replied, through gritted teeth as she turned to fight another Orc. "Fifty-six." She said under her breath.

The wizard had heard Gilrean shout, and did not think it to be a small matter. "Your hand! Will you be alright?" he asked Gilrean.

"I'm fine," replied Gilrean.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes worried as he looked at her carefully.

"Yes," insisted Gilrean.

"You should get that treated," replied the wizard, nonplussed. He then turned around to look for more Orcs as he thought out loud, "Who planned this, and who could have gotten an Orc army?" The wizard, now a little bit madder then he was before at the Orcs and who ever planned this, kept looking for any Orcs that might remain.

Though everyone's attention was on the battle and no one noticed, there on top of a hill, stood a handsome grey steed and on him was an elven woman, hidden under her silver cloak. If her cloak was to be off, folks would see that she had a pale face along with light golden hair like the pale sun. Her eyes were a deep blue that never seemed to close. This was Nessima Silverleaf, from the Enchanted Lake hidden in Lorien. Her sword was still in her sheath and she did not ride down to help right away. Instead, for a moment, she stood and watched, memories of other battles coming back to her. Memories, she would rather forget.

Back at the valley, Laurendil took one look at the battle scene, and knew that the others had it under control. Laughter and singing was even wafting through to her. Her eyes rolled upwards as she recognized the laugh. Gods, that darn elf is enjoying himself too much! No wonder Namo threw him out, she thought ruefully ...

Letting loose her last arrow, she whistled to a nearby horse and swung herself atop with ease. Riding towards Rivendell, she hardly noticed slicing Orc throats as she rode by them, so automatic were her actions. Finally catching up with Lossefalme as the both of them rushed through the doors of Rivendell, Laurendil quieted the horse. She jumped down from her own steed and took the unconscious Elanor down and headed towards the Quad.

She was relieved to see that some of the elf maidens had taken the initiative to set up some beddings and medicine for the returning wounded. Some were already being attended to. Waving one elf aside, but Laurendil put Elanor down and checked the wound. It was deep, and most likely poisoned by the looks of it. Laurendil sighed, taking out the athalas she had. It was a good thing that Elrond had imparted his knowledge to her all those years ago. Tearing the shirt slightly, Laurendil began to work.

Back in the midst of battle, Finrod had no imagination of time. There may have been hours, maybe only minutes, the latter probably true. The only thing the elves understood at the time was death: either theirs or of the Orcs. Finrod had no arrows in his quiver and he was using his long sword for some time already. they were moving towards the sound of the horn.

The high time of the battle seemed to be over. There were no new Orcs coming from any direction, and the remaining ones were slowly deciding, that facing three elves and a dwarf, who are still outnumbered, may not be a wise decision at all. Some of them tried to flee, some managed to do so. They did not chase them but fought the remaining ones, now side by side with Aragorn. The young Gondorian soldier was there, unharmed. The Rohirrim girl was gone, either lying dead somewhere or taken to a safe place; Finrod assumed the latter. He noticed that some of the Orcs are killed with Laurendil's arrows, and smiled at the sight. Nothing could have pleased him more...

Meanwhile, the Gondorian knight continued to swing his sword at each Orc. He was beginning to get tired. Just then, an Orc appeared on his left that he did not see. He felt the Orcs breath, and turned, just as the Orc's sword came down across the side of the young knight's face. He immediately dropped his sword for a quick moment to clutch the wound. He did not scream, only grunted. He grabbed the Orc by the neck and snapped it 180 degrees. The Orc crumpled to the ground. The son of Faramir picked up his sword again and blew his horn a little louder.

The sound was picked up by the sharp ears of Laurendil, who had just patched up the now sleeping Elanor. She smiled, as this time, it was a sound of victory. The Orcs were being slaughtered. GOOD thought Laurendil as she went about the wounded. It wouldn't be long before the Men ... and women ... returned. Things needed to be ready.