Jadim carefully made his way down the rocky side of the mountain, doing his best to lead his men to the ground and search the battlefield for Karil and their father at the same moment. He did not pause to wipe the sweat and dust from his eyes, or catch his breath. There was no time.

Rock by rock the men swung down, ever closer to the chaos of the fight, and Jadim wondered if they had all gone mad. Certainly, it had seemed madness when his father had sent him forth that night seven days ago, a strict and urgent mission upon his shoulders. And the foolishness had only continued when he found himself here, leading men of Harad to fight alongside their longtime enemies, instead of against them.

It had been as insane as that long-ago day when they had been attacked by Karil's Orcs on their way to Gondor, and soldiers of Gondor had defended them. Only today, the battle was far greater, and much more deadly. Jadim still had little trust for the allies of the West, but he had none at all for the minions of Sauron. The future of Harad, he knew, did not lie in remaining in the darkness of her past.

They reached the ground, and Jadim ran forward into the battle with his men following, sword in hand, his long black hair whipping behind him, his dark golden eyes ever seeking for Karil and Adir. He had pleaded with his father not to ride to battle, knowing Karil would not let their father leave the conflict alive, but Adir had insisted, and the Chieftain's will could not be denied.

Now, as the battle raged around them, the dread feeling grew in Jadim's heart that it had been the wrong decision.

They came to the edge of the conflict, and plunged in.

----------------------

Three of the five siege towers were in flames by the time Aragorn and his companions had retaken the field. As Gimli and Legolas rode off to their armies, Aragorn and Imrahil galloped back into the midst of the chaos. The cheers that had greeted Eomer's horn had only just died away.

"Karil must be found and taken at all costs," shouted the King of Gondor as he plied his blade against the Orcs that now surrounded them. The clashing of arms that filled the air was deafening.

Imrahil looked out over the seething mass of thousands of warriors, all covered with large clouds of smoke and dust. "I shall extend the command to all of my Knights, sire," he replied as he skewered a Uruk who was trying to grab hold of his bridle. "For what he has done to Faramir, I vow Karil shall never escape this field!"

So saying, the Prince sawed his horse about and rode to where the Swan Knights were engaged. Aragorn looked to the fortress and saw Eomer tearing into the valley on his steed, hastening back to the fight.

With a grim expression, Aragorn led his soldiers onwards, their weapons striking down all who stood in their way, looking for Karil. He did not let the enormity of the battle daunt him, nor the idea that the Prince could truly be anywhere in this battle of eight thousand Men, Elves, Dwarves, Haradrim, Orcs and Uruks. His faith in the skill of his men and their cause, and the memory of Faramir's sacrifice, left no doubt in Aragorn's heart. Karil would be found.

A mighty roar split the air, and Aragorn turned in time to see one of the gigantic siege towers collapse in billowing smoke and plumes of flame. Orcish cries of rage and fear soon followed, as they hurried to escape the huge falling pieces of burning wood.

Aragorn's spirits lifted; it was one more step on the road to Karil's defeat.

He urged his men forward, and they fought on.

------------------

Adir charged his mount through the crowds of Orcs and Uruks, his sword now wet with black blood. All around the old Southron warrior was noise and confusion. They were in the thick of the fight, the air filled with the shrieks of the Orcs, the cries of men and horses, the unending ringing of metal upon metal. There was little time for Adir to think beyond instinct, other than to hope that their efforts this day might end such scenes forever.

He had pulled his sword from the head of an Uruk, and was turning in his saddle to find his next opponent. A cry split the air, but before Adir could discern its purpose, something slammed with agonizing force into his left shoulder, followed by a red eruption of blinding pain.

Adir reeled, staring in shock and anger at the thick-shafted arrow, with Karil's mark upon it, now protruding from the joint of his armor. Beneath his chestplate, he could feel the hot blood beginning to spill down his chest.

He fought to stay mounted, even as the sky began to swirl above his head. He heard the Orcs scream in bloodthirsty glee, and his men shout in horror. His hand slipped from the horn of his saddle, and he could feel his strength failing. An Orc was grabbing for him. Adir glared at the creature and thrust his sword into the beast's chest, falling on top of him as they both collapsed to the ground.

As Adir fell, he gave one last push on the hilt of his sword, defiantly driving the blade in even deeper. The Orc gurgled and went still, and Adir ground his teeth with disgust as he summoned enough strength to pull out the blade. Lifting his head, he looked around him, determined to fight to the end. The wound was rapidly draining his strength, but anger and resolve served to bolster what power he had left.

His men were running to his aid now amidst the ongoing strife, with shouts of alarm at their leader's fall. He felt someone lift him up by the shoulders, and he sat up, gasping. He could tell the shirt beneath his armor was now soaked with blood.

One of his men reached for the arrow, but the chieftain firmly pushed his hand aside.

"Do not bother with such things," he said in a rough manner, firmly palming his sword. "Only lift me up, for I would die on my feet!"

Before his men could comply, the Orcs nearby began to shout and cheer. Adir, still seated upon the ground, looked up to see the crowd of creatures part. Karil then appeared strolling through their midst, resplendent in his royal armor, his clothes and face splotched with blood, his black hair tousled and dust-covered. He ceased walking some twenty feet from Adir and smiled, his pale yellow eyes glittering and hard. In his hands was his bow, fitted with one long arrow.

"Greetings, Father," Karil said pleasantly, and lifted his bow once more.

A whizzing sound split the air, and the next time Adir blinked, he saw a Haradrim arrow embeded firmly in Karil's side.

The prince yelped and staggered, his shot going wild and wounding one of the Orcs in the leg.

Chaos quickly followed as Jadim and his archers appeared, the air filling with their shouts as they laid into the Orcs with bow and blade.

Jadim pushed through the thrashing mass of warriors, kneeling at once by his father's side. The old Haradrim was growing more pale by the moment, and shook his head as his eldest son looked anxiously into his face.

"There is no time," gasped Adir. "The West must win this day; see that it is done! That alone matters now."

His son gazed at him a moment longer, then nodded, and turned to face Karil. The younger son stood nearby, supported by one of the Orcs as he pulled the arrow from his side, glaring in naked hatred at Adir and Jadim all the while.

Jadim stood quickly, drawing his Haradrim sword and advancing on Karil.

"Is there no crime too vile for you, my brother?" Jadim growled. "Even the most foul-hearted among our people would not coldly murder those of his own blood!"

Karil laughed and unsheathed his own weapon, tossing the bow to one side.

"You and our sire have allied yourselves with the betrayers of our Lord Sauron," was the younger man's contemptuous reply. "You are not of my blood."

He sprang forward, and they met, the clashing of their blades ringing above the din of the battle around them. Despite his wound, Karil retained most of his strength, and it was not long before both young men had inflicted several minor wounds upon each other.

As the two bothers fought, Adir's men surrounded him, some doing their best to uphold and tend to him while the rest strove to hold off the encroaching Orcs. Adir seemed oblivious to all save the intimate battle before him, his eyes fixed on his warring sons.

They were grappling now, both covered with dust and blood. Karil had managed a savage strike to the side of Jadim's head with the hilt of his sword. As the older son fell to one knee, stunned, Karil lifted his sword, preparing to deal the killing blow.

It was a blow that never fell, for in the next instant the sound of galloping hooves and the horrified screams of Orcs reached his ears. Puzzled, he lifted his eyes in time to see a horseman almost on top of him, filling the air with his enraged cries in a foreign tongue. All of this happened in an instant, and before Karil could move, he was struck from his feet by the rider's mount.

Dazed, Karil rolled a short distance, then stopped. As soon as he was able, he sat up and shook his head, casting off the pain as a blinding rage filled his soul. Gripping his sword, he climbed at once to his feet, resolved to stand erect and face his enemies.

A wide area had been cleared before him, and the Orcs and Uruks on all sides were newly engaged with warriors of every race. Facing Karil now were three richly clad Men, one of them the now-dismounted horseman; an Elf, who now held his bow trained on him; and a Dwarf, who was eying him viciously and holding a battle-axe thickly covered in Orc blood.

One of the Men approached him now, sword in hand. He wore armor of silver and black emblazoned with a white tree, and Karil guessed his identity at once.

"Elessar of Gondor," the Southron said with a smile, lifting his blade. "How kind of you to bring your army here, and saving me the trouble of going to your land to destroy you."

The King of Gondor halted some ten feet away, and leveled the point of his sword at Karil's chest with a grim smile of his own.

"It is your destruction that shall occur this day, Karil," was Aragorn's reply. "Your machines of war are burning, and your forces falling to the blades of the West. The fortress has been taken, and your defeat now only a matter of time."

Karil laughed, not taking one step in retreat. "You may take the fortress; nothing there is of value to me, including the pathetic mess you called your Steward," he answered with a cruel grin. "Shall I tell you how quickly Captain Faramir broke beneath our efforts? It was disappointing to see how weak he turned out to be. The slightest amount of pain, and he could not divulge the secrets of your army fast en-"

Karil had no idea how the horseman had moved so swiftly. Before he was aware of it, the man of Rohan had rushed forward, knocked his sword aside, and slammed him to the ground. A series of blinding blows to the jaw left Karil's mind reeling, and when he regained his senses, all he could see was the Man's infuriated face filling his vision.

At first the man was screaming at him in Rohirric, but when he saw Karil staring at him, his words flowed out in Westron.

"Do not befoul the name of Lord Faramir by pronouncing it upon your lying tongue!" the Man was shouting, his dark eyes wide and blazing as he throttled Karil. Foam flecked his lips. "We know that he said not a word despite your vile tortures, so do not waste your breath on such lies! You have little enough of it left to you."

Karil ignored him, and struggled mightily against the Man's brutish strength. The sound of footsteps reached his ears, and he looked up to see the third Man peering down at him, the point of his sword almost touching Karil's cheek. Upon his blood-spattered armor was the image of a swan.

"Eomer King speaks the truth," the Man said softly, his voice trembling slightly with barely contained rage as he spoke, "although we would have known my nephew would nobly withstand all of your cruelties, even without hearing it from the lips of your own minions. Know that Lord Faramir has survived your vain attempt to destroy him, and sleeps even now in peace within the fortress walls. He shall be healed, surrounded by faces loving and beloved, while you shall know naught but conquest and judgment. It is over for you, Karil, Prince of the Seventh Tribe. You are defeated."

The young Haradrim glared at the man, his teeth bared in rage, too consumed with passion to articulate his hate. He then sensed someone standing at his left hand. Bending his eyes upwards, he saw Jadim there, staring gravely down at him. Leaning down, the elder brother picked up Karil's sword and stood, giving his sibling one final look of disdain before walking away to his father's side.

In the next moment, Karil felt himself hauled to his feet by Eomer, whose hands remained firmly closed around Karil's collar.

Aragorn was regarding him sternly. "It would be a kindness to simply kill you now, but you do not deserve such leniency," he declared in a cold tone. "Your crimes are many, against many peoples. You shall be bound over for justice, and endure the pains your defeat has earned you. Understand that, for what you have done, I will not be inclined to mercy."

He turned to two Gondorian soldiers standing nearby. "Bind his hands and feet, and lock him in the cell that once held Lord Faramir," he commanded.

The soldiers nodded, and as they stepped forward.
Karil glared at them as one of them reached forward and wrapped his hand around the Prince's collar, nodding to Eomer as he did so. Eomer gave Karil one final look of utter contempt, then released him to the soldier's grasp.

It was all Karil needed.

In the space of an instant, the Prince violently wrenched himself free from the Gondorian's grasp, withdrew a hidden dagger from his armor and aimed its blade at the back of the King of Gondor.

It never left his hand, for an instant later, Anduril was buried to its hilt in his chest, his throat was impaled with an Elvish arrow, and a Dwarvish throwing axe was embedded in his forehead.

The entire act took but a breath. As all watched, Karil staggered slightly, the blood pouring from his deadly wounds. A horrid gargling sound issued from his open mouth. His wide-staring eyes went lifeless as the dagger slipped from his fingers and fell useless to the ground.

Aragorn's expression was one of righteous satisfaction as he pulled his sword from Karil's chest. The body swayed, then toppled over into the dust, its pale yellow eyes still gazing blindly into the bright summer sky.

Panting, Aragorn looked scornfully at the corpse, then glanced over to where Adir sat on the ground, Jadim at his side with one hand on his father's shoulder. They had not turned aside, but were watching keenly, and when Adir met Aragorn's eyes, the elderly Southron's pale face became grim, though a sadness shone in his eyes.

"Do not regret it," Adir murmured as he slightly shook his head, his voice faint.

"Let us think no more of Karil," said Jadim, standing quickly, and he began to give several orders in Haradric to the men around him. The men moved swiftly, lifting Adir with great care and carrying him away while the rest of their number provided safe passage by beating away all who dared assail him.

"Bah! That was too quick," grumbled Gimli as he yanked his axe from Karil's head. "If only he'd lived to face his punishment. I know some Dwarvish methods of execution that would have suited the scoundrel perfectly."

"I fear we have no time for such thoughts, my friend," Aragorn said, looking at the battle still raging around them. "The head of the monster is dead, but its body still lives. The day's work is not done yet."

Eomer stepped forward. "Then let us hasten it along," he said, and reached out his hand to Gimli. "May I have the service of your axe, Master Dwarf?"

Gimli nodded and handed his large battle-axe to the King of Rohan. Turning, Eomer walked over to where Karil's body lay, already stiffening in the sun. Imrahil was already there, studying the corpse, a fearsome aspect upon his gentle features.

For a moment, Eomer simply stood and stared at Karil, his expression one of blatant, furious loathing. Then he and Imrahil looked up at each other across the body, the same gleam of somber pain in the eyes of both men.

Without a word, Eomer handed Imrahil the axe.

The Prince of Dol Amroth accepted it solemnly, and peered one last time at the man who had been the source of Faramir's long torment. He then lifted the axe and brought it down with a mighty swing, severing Karil's head completely from his body.

Eomer reached down, then stood, Karil's head clutched by the hair in one hand. While Imrahil returned the axe to Gimli, Eomer moved with rapid strides to his horse.

"Let it be known to the legions of Karil that their Lord has fallen," he declared, and with one hand the King of Rohan mounted his horse and galloped away, holding Karil's head aloft as he dashed into the fray.

Within moments, Aragorn, Imrahil, Legolas, and Gimli were behind him, heading back to their armies, determined to see the fight brought to a swift end.

----------------------

A mighty cheer arose from the armies of the West as they beheld Eomer riding through their midst, Karil's bloodied head on full display. Inspiration seized them anew, and they strove all the harder, knowing that Faramir had been truly avenged and victory was merely a matter of time.

Karil's forces soon fell to disarray at the news that the Prince was dead. The destruction of their might was complete now; the fortress had been taken, and all of the remaining towers were ablaze now, falling one by one into burning rubble and covering the battlefield with their black smoke.

Leaderless now, the enemy forces dissolved into disorganized shambles in the span of less than an hour. The few Haradrim commanders who had survived thus far were quickly slain by their rebellious Orc troops, who decided it would be far better to save their own skins and flee than continue to follow orders for a master who no longer lived.

To the last of them, the Orcs and Uruks who had not yet fallen broke from the fight and began to flee. They were rapidly pursued by the mounted legions of the West. Some were driven into the deep chasms that rimmed the valley, while others were followed into the depths of Mordor.

Less than two hours had passed since Karil's death when the last Orc abandoned the field. As the sounds of pursuit faded into the mountains, the valley fell silent, save for the groans of the injured and the roar of the fires as the debris of the siege towers continued to burn.

At last a banner was hoisted above the fortress, signaling the end of the fight. Despite the grim devastation surroounding them, a cheer arose from the throats of many as they beheld the standard, for upon its black field shone the White Tree crowned with seven stars.

The West had won the day.

----------------

Aragorn strode swiftly through the battlefield towards the citadel, bone-weary yet satisfied that they had accomplished their task.

A cool breeze blew across the valley, where all manner of carnage from the fight now lay strewn beneath the summer sun. Soldiers of all the armies of the West now moved across the field, tending to the dead and the wounded. Many of them were hurriedly binding wounds, doling out water, and offering solace to those who would not survive to see the healers arrive. At the edge of the field, the rubble of the siege towers still smoldered, sending clouds of gray smoke to drift over the scene.

Legolas and Gimli had departed to their regiments, Eomer had rode off to summon the healers and bring Eowyn to her husband, and Imrahil had dispatched his sons to gather reports on the status of the Swan Knights and the Haradrim who had joined them. Now the Prince walked beside Aragorn, matching the King's pace stride for stride.

"From what I have been told, they feel Adir will live, although the wound was grave," Imrahil was telling his King, "His healers are tending him now."

Aragorn sighed. "The pain will be even greater, as the blow was dealt to him by his own son," he murmured sadly. "There are days, my friend, when I wonder if Sauron's evil will ever truly be vanquished."

The older man placed a comforting hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "I believe we have made a good effort this day in that direction, Sire," he assured him.

They passed a group of Gondorian soldiers gathered beneath a makeshift tent. They were all aiding each other in the tending of their wounds, and at their approach, those who were able stood in respect, and one of them offered a salute with his bandaged hand.

Aragorn paused and nodded. "You have done well this day, soldiers of Gondor," he said. "Your King shall be forever grateful to you."

The one who had saluted, a tall man with long black hair, smiled at the words. "We are honored to fight for our land, your Majesty," he said," an' I imagine if more Orcs appeared just now, we could go and thrash them again."

The King smiled. "That bravery does you credit, Captain...?"

"Faelor, sir," the man replied, saluting again. "And it's no more than those monsters deserve." He hesitated, his tone growing more anxious. "Sir, we've heard tell from some of the men who went inside the fortress...Captain Faramir...is he going to survive, sir?"

Aragorn's expression turned somber. "His injuries are most serious," he admitted, "but I am going even now to tend him, and do all within my power to restore him to health. He will not die, if your King has any say in the matter."

At these words, all of the occupants in the tent seemed to relax.

"You may all take your rest now, for you have earned it," Aragorn said, preparing to journey on. "The healers' wagons will be here for you shortly."

Captain Faelor shook his head. "We're fine, sir, now that we know Captain Faramir will be well looked after. From the sound of things, our nicks an' cuts are nothing to what he went through. If your Majesty could just let him know that he's got every soldier of Gondor behind him, the rest of us will manage well enough."

He saluted again, and Aragorn nodded in return.

"It will be done," promised the King, and they walked on towards the fortress with rapid steps.

Beside him, Aragorn heard Imrahil take a deep breath.

"At times I forget how well-loved my nephew is among his men, Sire," he confessed. "It has always been so, such that I take it for granted. How pleasing it is to see that it has not changed, though he is Steward now, and a Prince of Ithilien."

"Men such as Faramir are never forgotten by those who have been touched by their nobility," was Aragorn's quiet reply as they entered the fortress. "And I swear, to you and all who love him, that I shall take no rest until we have delivered Faramir safely from the shadow of death."

-----------------------

Eowyn had given up the pretense of remaining occupied.

The sun had finally passed its noonday position a short time before, and was now making its way to the horizon. Eowyn had barely noticed, so absorbed was she now in standing beside the wagon and watching for any sign of news from the battlefield. The noises of war had faded, then ceased, but there was no telling yet if this was for good or ill.

She stood now motionless, barely moving, her every nerve stretched thin as she peered up the pass. Her entire being was consumed with thoughts of her husband; she could almost feel how much he needed her with him, as much as she needed to be by his side. She could think of nothing else, and had at last ceased to try.

Then, at last, when she had begun to suspect that the West had been destroyed, there came up the pass the growing sound of thudding hoofbeats.

She gasped and took a step forward, still wondering if it was friend or foe. It sounded as if there were many riders, bearing down on the wagons with great speed.

Suddenly Henvain was at her elbow, his sword at the ready. When Eowyn glanced at him, she saw the same uncertain aspect in his expression that she knew lay in her own, a mixture of hope and dread.

Then the riders came into view, and she saw that they bore the banners of the West, with Eomer at their head.

As one, the members of the camp came forward to meet the riders, and Eomer was off his horse and in his sister's arms before the animal had even fully halted. He was covered with dirt and blood, but a smile graced his features.

"The West has triumphed this day," he announced to all, to the cheers of those around him. "Aragorn has sent this escort to bring the healers' wagons to the field as swiftly as possible, for there are many brave wounded among our number."

He looked at Eowyn. "Now, sister, you may come with me, for there is one whose healing will not truly begin until he sees your face."

She could say nothing to him, able only to gaze silently at him for a moment, trembling with joy and unable to believe that the awaited time had finally come to pass. Impulsively, she gave her brother a grateful kiss and embraced him, her eyes damp with tears. He held her tightly for a moment, clearly as relieved as she was that Faramir still lived.

Within moments, the both of them were on Eomer's horse, and before the healers' wagons had fully prepared to depart, the King of Rohan and the White Lady were flying up the pass towards the citadel, and Faramir.