Silence fell in the caves as they stood in their positions, waiting. There was nothing else to say. Lisswyn tried to take a deep breath, but quickly changed her mind. The room was smoky from the firebrands, and stank – of orcs, orc blood, and burnt orc flesh.

She heard the screams and cries of the orcs pounding up the path, obviously a great many more than the first scouting party had entailed. Grimly, she tightened her grip on her knife. It would all be over soon. She glanced toward the front of the cave, wanting a final clear view of the King, but the smoke made it difficult, blurred him. She was not even to have that, then.

The orcs burst into the cave furious and screaming. Or at least they tried to do so. The narrow entrance and the bodies of the fallen orcs worked against them, limiting the number of orcs who could come through at once.

Again, the King managed to take down the first one by catching him by surprise, but this time, the others who'd made it into the cave immediately turned on him. There was no way he could do battle with so many at once, and she caught Eoden's eye. As a team, they surged forward. Lisswyn went low, used her knife to slice across the backs of the legs of the two of the creatures the King was currently fighting. They squealed and turned in outrage, only to be cut down completely by Eoden. He didn't get all of his blows in, but he got the ones that mattered.

More orcs were forcing their way into the caves, an impossible number. Some stopped to go after the King, others focused on separating her and Eoden, both from the King and each other. And yet others went past them, targeting Maegwen and Brecka.

There was no hope. It was surely only a matter of moments before they were all dead. She ducked beneath an orc's arm, came up behind him, tried to slice the back of his neck. His helmet frustrated her, and he spun around, squealing and leering at her as she realized one of his companions was now on her other side. She could never dart around both of them at once, could never defend herself from two of them with only a hunting knife.

She saw the King was now fighting closer to them, in their midst, and was comforted by that fact. He'd obviously been struck at some point, as it looked like he had a shallow gash across his chest. But he was still fighting, cold fury on his pale face.

She ducked low, escaped from the orc on her left in the only way possible – by sliding between the legs of the orc on the right. It worked better than she'd hoped, as the left orc swung wildly at her with his blade – and killed the orc whose legs she'd crawled between in the process. She jumped to her feet, energized by that small victory, and went after the other orc again.

She sliced out at him, ducked his sword. Turning, she realized she was once again dealing with two of the creatures, and that the one she hadn't seen behind her was even now bringing his sword down. Desperately, she tried to duck, but the only possible place to go would put her squarely in the path of the first orc. This was it, then. She was trapped.

Dimly, she saw the King spin, use his sword to knock away the arm of the one that was about to decapitate her. Because she moved at the same time, she felt the blow on the side of her head, was flung by the impact against the wall. She slid down it, stunned. Waited for death.

After a second, when it didn't come, she raised a trembling hand to her head and felt the knot, a little blood. But not the gaping gash she was expecting. Her ears were ringing, her mind full of cotton, but understanding finally penetrated. The King had deflected the blow, and though it had still hit her, it had somehow been with the flat of the blade and not its edge. She had a hideous headache, but was yet alive.

She tried to move, to get back up. They needed her. But her body wouldn't move, wouldn't obey.

Through the haze of her own pain and the smoke, she saw Eoden, still fighting. He, too, was bleeding from a gash on his forehead. How much longer could any of them go on?

She tried again to struggle to her feet, even as she saw another orc target her. Or maybe it was the same one, realizing she hadn't been killed, after all.

She crawled up the wall, turned to face him. It was hopeless. Her coordination was off, her head throbbing. For a moment, the desire to just let it be finished washed over her, and the thought shocked her. That was unfair to the rest of them. As long as she was in the battle, there were orcs not targeting the others.

Tears were on her face, though she did not remember beginning to weep. She brought her knife up.

And then, through the pain and confusion, she heard a noise from outside the caves, one she couldn't place. But it was apparent the orcs did. They squealed louder, and began to fight harder.

It was also evident that the King did, as well. He looked stunned for a moment, and then a renewed fierceness settled on his face. "Riders!" He shouted the word in her direction, and then spun around taking in the rest of them. "Fight!"

She heard the noise again, and this time it made sense. Horns. Riders, an eored, someone, had arrived and were attacking the orcs on the plain. If they could hang on for just a little while longer, they might yet have a chance.

But her vision was still off, and she couldn't tell whether it was one orc coming after her or if she was seeing the same one twice. Her movements were jerky, uncoordinated. She thrust out with the knife, and the creature laughed, darted closer, taunted her with his sword. The arm holding her knife faltered, and she leaned against the wall, tried to clear her head. She couldn't do it. Wasn't going to make it.

"Lisswyn!" The King roared her name, followed it up with a particularly strong oath. She glanced in his direction as the orc slashed out at her. She managed to sidestep him, but knew she wouldn't be so lucky the next time. She looked back at the King, and saw two of him. And they were both angry with her. Coldly furious, were swearing again, even as he killed another orc, seemed to be trying to get to her. "You will fight!"

She swallowed, shook her head again, felt the pain of that. The desire to give up, to slip from the pain and confusion into the darkness that hovered was fierce, but it was matched by shame that she was letting the King down. He was angry with her. Disappointed in her. She forced back the darkness and moved toward the orc, aware that she was wildly swinging the knife.

The orc slashed down toward her midsection. She stumbled back, managed to deflect the weapon. Felt the breeze as it cut too close to her side, sliced into her lower left arm. Terrified to look down lest she discover the cut had severed the limb, she swung out again with the knife. And knew the satisfaction of watching it slice into his neck.

He went down, and she staggered back against the wall. Finally found the courage to look at her arm, sagged with relief. A wound, yes, but it didn't appear to be as deep as she might have feared. At least her wrist was still attached. She closed her eyes against the spin of the room, knew it was over for her. Not even to please the King, to avoid his anger, could she go up against another orc.

As she stood there, breathing heavy and trying to push back the darkness – perhaps after all, it would be nice to at least stay semi-conscious – she realized the tone of the fighting had changed. There were fewer orc noises echoing in the cave. She opened her eyes as she heard other men arriving, realized some of the riders were coming into the cave. They would help defeat the last few orcs in the room.

They'd all made it. Somehow, they'd all survived. It wasn't real, couldn't be. The king was making his way to the front of the cave, still fighting.

And then she heard a hideous noise, a shocked cry. Peering through eyes that still refused to focus, it took a moment to understand what she seeing. Eoden furiously fighting, stabbing an orc through the chest with a fury on his face she'd never before imagined. And on the floor next to him, Maegwen, an ugly orc-knife buried deep in her ribs.

"Oh, no. No." Lisswyn pushed away from the wall, staggered over, dropped to the ground next to her. Instinct said to reach for the knife, but to do so would accomplish nothing but increase the pain. It was hopeless. She looked into the eyes of her friend, saw that Maegwen knew it as well. They weren't all going to make it after all.

"Lisswyn…the boys?" Maegwen whispered it, which was more than Lisswyn could manage. She could only nod, could not get out the words of the promise the other woman was asking for.

The boys were now on the other side of her, and Maegwen managed to turn toward them, but seemed to be having trouble focusing. "…so proud of you both. Your father, brothers…would be proud, too." Her voice a whisper, she faded for a moment, then her eyes sharpened again. "You must remember…" She faltered, struggled to get words out. "There is more to being a good man… than using a sword." Her eyes closed, and Lisswyn was afraid it was for the last time.

Dimly, Lisswyn realized the King had come up, was awkwardly kneeling next to the boys. "Maegwen." His voice was hoarse. She saw the other woman's eyes open again, her unfocused gaze turned toward him. "I'll remind them." He cleared his throat. "They will be cared for. I promise you."

"You are a good man, Eomer-King," she murmured the words, then looked back at her boys, was focused on them when the light in her eyes went out.

The room was silent for a moment, and then Lisswyn heard Andric start to weep. She scooted away, needing desperately to put some space between herself and this latest blow. Maegwen. Oh, Maegwen, no.

She tried to get to her feet, felt the room spin. Fell back. Forced herself up again. Staggered. Confused, she tried to look down at her feet. And noticed how wet her dress was. Blood. Her blood? The room spun faster, and she touched her arm. The orc blade had bitten deeper than she'd thought. The blackness rushed up, and she let it, was only vaguely aware of the King's cry as her battered body connected with the hard floor.

His own body was still weak, still off-balance with only one arm, and it took Eomer long precious seconds to get to his feet and get to her. Kneeling next to where she'd fallen, he rolled her over.

She was so pale. He'd known she was injured, had been amazed that she was able to stand at all after taking that blow to the head. But there'd been no time to check on her. And now, all he could see was what he'd missed earlier – that she'd suffered more than just the head blow.

Blood. There was so much blood. He clamped his hand over the wound on her arm, grimly aware of how wet it was. The wound did not seem to be bleeding profusely, but the amount of blood on her dress made that a small comfort at the moment. Was the bleeding slowing because the wound was beginning to seal, or because there was so little blood left in her body?

If so, she would die, and he…he wasn't sure he'd recover. He knew for certain he'd never forgive himself. He'd been prepared to die for them. For two of the women to have died while he lived was unbearable. And if one of them was Lisswyn…

He looked back over his shoulder at Eoden and Andric. Eoden was staring at Lisswyn in shock, while Andric simply looked terrified at the thought of losing her as well as his mother.

Eomer understood the feeling. "Eoden." He allowed his voice to be sharp. "I need your help."

The boy glanced at him, confused, and then struggled to his feet. "Yes, sire."

"Take her knife, and cut these cloths off of me." They were dirty, but at the moment, making sure the bleeding stopped was more important than worrying about infection.

Obviously trying to still his trembling, Eoden obeyed, finding it easier to simply cut both the shirt and the cloth strips off of him. Awkwardly, cursing the arm he still had no real control over, Eomer wrapped the first one around Lisswyn's arm several times. Then he looked up. "Hold your hand there." He placed Eoden's hand on top of the bandages, and pressed down.

So much blood. How much blood was there in a person's body? Fear hammered inside him. Some of the blood was perhaps Maegwen's, but most of it was not. And the blow to the head in addition to the loss of blood – how much abuse could one body stand before succumbing?

He heard a noise, looked up. Several of the men from his guard stood in the entrance to the cave, shifting anxiously. He'd started toward them when he'd heard Lisswyn's cry as Maegwen had fallen, and they were still standing there. Waiting. Watching. Thedhelm!" He snapped the younger man's name out.

"Sire?"

"Is there a healer among the riders?" He still didn't know exactly which eored had joined his guard in coming to their rescue. At Thedhelm's uncertain nod, he shouted, "Then get him up here!"

The man bolted and ran. Eomer turned back to Lisswyn, and swore again when he noticed the cloth beneath Eoden's hand was turning red. He picked up another piece of cloth and awkwardly tried to tie it tightly above the wound, angry that he hadn't already done so. He should have thought to do so immediately – it might result in the loss of the arm, but a lost arm was better than a lost life, and he simply had no idea how much blood she'd already lost, how much more she could afford to lose.

Long moments passed. He was carefully lifting the top layer of cloth – the bleeding seemed slower – when he heard the sound of riders coming up the path and into the cave. "Did you find a healer?" he asked, without looking up.

"Will I do?"

He froze at the quiet voice, wondered for a moment if he was becoming delusional in his fear and exhaustion.

He slowly lifted his head, stared. Aragorn, King Elessar of Gondor, fresh from battle, stood in the entrance to the cave.

Lisswyn's chances of survival had just improved considerably.