Notes, Warnings etc

HIGH LEVEL OF ANGST

MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

Semi-graphic description of battle injuries

Chapter Nineteen -
Even The Mightiest Warrior Must Have A Final Hour

The Fields of Pelennor were a mass of dead bodies, Gondorian, Dúnedain, Rohirrim, Orc, Mûmakil, Haradrim and Easterling. Blood, black and red mingled together, stained the once green fields with the unmistakable mark of death. Those who were able now searched the bodies for the living and injured, though few were found and each passing hour resulting in a darker cloud of depression.

Éowyn and Théoden were among the first to be removed, their people having swarmed around the moment their King fell. They had been taken to the City where they would undoubtedly be laying in state. Éomer refused to surrender to his grief just yet and helped search for survivors. Merry had been found, wandering in daze, by Pippin and the youngest Hobbit had helped his cousin to the Houses of Healing, desperately clinging to the hope that Merry had not fought his last battle. Six of the Dúnedain were yet unaccounted for, including Halbarad and his sons. Every one of the Dúnedain had suffered some form of injury but so tight were the bonds between the forgotten warriors of the north that no amount of persuasion would see them enter the Houses of Healing until the last of their number was found.

Beleg and Herion were the first to be found, the former struck in the chest with an Orc's flailing mace, smashing his ribs and impaling his heart and lung, killing him almost instantly. The latter had been skewered in the stomach with a Dirk by an Easterling. Once fallen, he had been left to slowly bleed to death while the battle continued to rage around him. Pethurin was found next, a spear pinning him to the ground through his right shoulder. He might have survived had it not been for the arrows, both friendly and enemy, that had either glanced his skin and landed in the ground or had embedded themselves in his skin. His death had also been slow and painful as blood loss and poison worked together to drive his soul to the Eternal Halls. Two further Dúnedain were found dead before Fate decided to kick the Dúnedain while they were down.

Halbarad was found sprawled spread-eagled on his back, his pewter eyes wide in surprise while his skin was punctured by numerous arrows. Beside him lay Arahael, tucked up as though to protect something and with a look of pain across his features. Aragorn choked at the sight and a few tears escaped his cobalt-blue eyes.

"Halbarad?" he whispered, kneeling beside the body and running a shaking hand over the weather stained features, ignoring the fact that his shoulder was throbbing mercilessly from the arrow bolt that had been lodged there. Halbarad offered no response and the rapid cooling of his skin made it all too obvious that he was dead, just as Dídauar had foreseen. Aragorn bit back a second sob and closed Halbarad's eyes.

"Farewell my cousin. May you find rest in the Eternal Halls," he murmured. Glancing around, he caught sight of the well used sword favoured by Halbarad. Taking hold of the hilt, he pressed it into Halbarad's hand and rested the arm across his chest.

"Farewell," he murmured again pressing a kiss to Halbarad's forehead before moving to tend Arahael.

Rolling him flat on to his back, Aragorn inhaled sharply and fought down the urge to throw up. A large slash reached across Arahael's torso, beginning with a deep incision at his abdomen and ending a fraction of an inch below his heart. Thankfully the rib-cage had done its job and protected a majority of the organs but blood stained the leather armour and began to flow anew when Aragorn moved the younger man.

"Please, Valar, let him be spared," he whispered, running a shaking hand to Arahael's throat, testing for a heartbeat. "Please!"

Arahael's breath was shallow and rattled in his throat as tried to open his eyes. "Arahael please," whispered Aragorn, grasping Arahael's hand. Arahael turned his head in the direction of Aragorn's voice and released a shuddering breath which sprayed Aragorn's arms with a fine mist of bloody saliva.

"Arahael!" commanded Aragorn, gripping the hand in his tighter. Arahael's eyes fluttered open and he licked his lips before trying to speak.

"Sorry," he said hoarsely. Aragorn blinked.

"What for?" he asked.

"Fath……" began Arahael before screwing his face up in pain as pressure was applied to his chest. Culas has arrived and grabbed the nearest piece of cloth, balled it up and pressed it to the wound on his friend's chest.

"Tried to save……Haradrim got……sorry……should be me……" breathed Arahael through the pain and the increasing difficulty he had in fighting the pull of the Eternal Halls.

"Never say that!" hissed Aragorn. "Never wish to take the place of the dead!"

"Sorry," repeated Arahael, his eyes falling shut once more and his head lolling to one side.

"Oh no you don't," growled Culas, increasing the pressure on Arahael's wound. "Strider go. Find Shadow before she finds us!"

"Who is left to find?" asked Aragorn.

"Tarcil," replied Culas. Aragorn nodded before heading in the direction of the river bank where a couple of the Dúnedain could be seen hunting.

TTEOARTTEOAR

Tarcil was found wandering aimlessly about the Pelennor, fortunately physically unharmed, save for a multitude of shallow wounds that would heal on their own once the crusted dust and blood was rinsed away. His mental and emotional state was another matter entirely. No one knew that he had watched both his twin and father go down. His grief and anger found a very rapid outlet as during the battle he lashed out at anything that moved. Once the battle was over, he calmed down and shut down. He wouldn't speak, barely responded to anything anyone else said and seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings. Eventually it had taken Nemír kicking his legs out from beneath him that got him to sit down so that he could examine the extent of Tarcil's physically injuries.

Dídauar sat behind him, hugging him tightly and just providing her physical presence, waiting for Tarcil to decide when he was ready to speak. She nodded gratefully to Nemír once he had finished wiping the grime from around most of Tarcil's wounds.

"Tell the others he is safe," she said and Nemír stood. The younger man nodded and waved Aragorn over, making his way to meet him half way. Dídauar however failed to recognise the presence of her twin. She coaxed Tarcil into resting his head back against her shoulder and swept his hair from in front of his eyes, kissing the bared skin of his forehead.

"Speak to me little one," she beseeched, increasing the grip of her other arm around his torso. Tarcil remained limp against her and only his smoky-grey eyes betrayed his pain. He licked his lips and made as if to speak but no sound came out, save a tortured whimper. Dídauar hushed him gently, wiping away the tears began to form and run unheeded down Tarcil's cheeks. A shadow fell across them and Dídauar glanced up, her gaze meeting with that of her brother. It was not a joyous glint that shone in his eyes but one of pain, the glaze intensifying when he glanced at Tarcil.

'No,' she whispered. Aragorn dropped to his knees and continued to watch her with pain filled eyes. Dídauar choked before letting out a howl, sounding exactly like the wolf many claimed coloured her personality. Aragorn gathered both her and Tarcil into his arms and held them, Tarcil continuing to gaze unseeingly at what his eyes rested on while Dídauar's free arm wrapped itself round Aragorn's neck, the younger of the leader twins biting down on the leather shoulder of Aragorn's armour in an effort to silence her cries. Aragorn too used the crook of his twin's neck to quieten his grief.

TTEOARTTEOAR

How long the three cousins sat huddled together in the shadow of Minas Tirith, no one was entirely sure but none dared approach the grieving leaders, each one being as potentially vicious as a wounded animal when emotionally distraught. Eventually, as dusk settled on the battlefield, bringing with it a harsh wind, Legolas made his way cautiously over to the three.

"Aragorn?" he asked, crouching beside the eldest of the trio and resting a hand on his shoulder. "Will you not come beside a fire?"

Aragorn turned bleary eyes to his Elven friend, the Mirkwood archer gasping in shock at the decrepit state of the future King of Men.

"What of the others?" he asked, not releasing either of his kin.

"The dead have been moved to the Citadel, where they rest with honour along side the fallen Lords of Gondor and Rohan. The wounded are housed within the Healing Houses, your kin who are able and Elladan and Elrohir lending what aid they can to the injured," reported Legolas. "The rest have set up a camp just a few yards away."

"What of the City?" continued Aragorn.

"The Prince of Dol Amroth is temporary Steward, Denethor having fallen and Faramir ensconced within the Houses," replied Legolas and Aragorn increased his grip around Dídauar's shoulders as he felt the leather about his shoulder tighten once more in her grip.

"Take Tarcil," ordered Aragorn, releasing the new Commander of the Dúnedain. "Take him to Arahael and Halbarad so that he maybe given the chance to say farewell."

"The dead can wait," said Legolas as he moved to catch Tarcil before lifting him to his feet as though he was a small child.

"Arahael yet lives," he said, tipping the Dúnadan's head back and smiled gently. Tarcil blinked at the Elf and choked before catching him about the shoulders. Legolas held him briefly before coaxing him in the direction of the Main Gate. After watching them go, Aragorn turned his attention to Dídauar, persuading her to look up and him.

'Tell me,' he said simply. Dídauar tried to duck her head but Aragorn refused to allow it. 'Tell me.'

'I have joined the oath breakers,' she said. Aragorn blinked in surprise.

'Who did you swear an oath to?' he asked in amazement. To have Dídauar swear an oath to a person was almost unheard of, Haldir and Elrond being the only ones who had managed to extract such a binding promise from the Dúnadan.

'Halbarad and Thengel,' she replied. 'Now Arahael is inches from death and Tarcil is ready to follow him. And I promised Thengel that his son would live to see the days of the King.'

'Why would you swear that to a Rohirric King?' asked Aragorn, incredulously.

'You know what Ecthelion was like and Thengel was worried the Denethor would follow in his father's footsteps, severing the ties between Rohan and Gondor completely. I promised that Théoden would live to see the unity between Rohan and Gondor restored to the glory of the days Eorl,' explained Dídauar.

'But the unity was restored,' protested Aragorn. 'Théoden answered the summons. Rohirrim and Gondorians fought and died together.'

'Because Mithrandir manipulated,' replied Dídauar. 'Not because the Steward genuinely wanted aid. And a King is yet to sit on the Throne of Gondor.'

'You have broken no oath,' murmured Aragorn, pressing a kiss to Dídauar's forehead. 'The glory and honour on Rohan was never in question and unity has been restored. Do not torture yourself over the fact I have yet to enter Minas Tirith again, the King has returned to Gondor. Théoden saw that and Thengel will have done so as well. And Halbarad will not hold you to account either. He knew the dangers that his sons rode towards and he did not forbid them doing so. You are no oath breaker, but a brave warrior and loving leader.'

Dídauar did not look convinced but didn't say anything. She settled between her brother's legs and gazed up at the stars, quickly pinpointing Haldir's star and that of Eärendil. Neither shone particularly strongly in the dusky sky but both were still present which was enough to offer hope, however thin a shard.

'Receive your kin, Eärendil. Show them the way to the peace they have earned,' whispered Dídauar. Eärendil's star seemed to glow brighter momentarily, causing a faint smile to grace Dídauar's face. The Elf-mariner had heard and would do as he was bid.

TTEOARTTEOAR

That night, the wounds that Dídauar had received during the battle, and subsequently ignored in light of her cousin's pain, made their presence known with particular vengeance. The cuts to her skin were shallow and would have started to heal on their own, had they not been made by Haradrim and Easterling blades that were laced with the slow acting venom of the desert scorpion. Dídauar had also suffered internal trauma after a hand-to-hand battle she had engaged in with a Haradrim who had taken exception to inflicting damage to her torso. As quietly as her Dúnedain name sake suggested, Dídauar collapsed in the middle of the campsite, catching her shoulder on a loose weapon that had been overlooked in the clearing of the site before pitching. The Orc blade delved deep into the gap between her collar bone and rib, narrowly missing her lung and there she lay, unconscious, until Culas and Nemír reappeared, sent by Gandalf to beseech Aragorn's presence in the Houses of Healing and to find rest themselves.

"No I am not entering the City," barked Aragorn as he stormed out of his tent. "Gandalf knows my reasons as to why. I cannot believe he would stoop so low as to use emotional blackmail to have me bend to his will. I am not……" Aragorn tapered off as he caught his footing and stumbled slightly. Cursing, he turned to see exactly what he had tripped over. He was on his knees a second later.

'Kalya?' he asked, pulling Dídauar on to her back. She remained completely limp, her head lolling to one side as Aragorn pulled her up into his arms.

'Kalya, no echui,' he said, shaking her gently. Dídauar didn't respond. (wake up)

'No!' snarled Aragorn, clutching his sister to him. 'You will not have her! Not now. She survived the battle, you will not demand her soul now.'

"Strider what……" began Nemír, only to falter as he took in the situation. "Give her to me."

Aragorn looked quite prepared to protest but the determination that shone from Nemír's eyes caused the words to die in his throat. Nemír quickly assessed the damage to Dídauar's body before yelling for Culas.

"Find Lord Elrohir," he barked. Culas took a quick assessment of the situation he was obviously meant to relate to the Elven Lord and nodded before shooting off back to the Houses of Healing.

"Where are you taking her?" asked Aragorn, sounding anything but the returning King.

"To the Houses. There is little I can do for her here," replied Nemír as he stood, hoisting Dídauar into his arms. He whistled for his horse and settled Dídauar on its back, there being no way that he was going to be able to carry her up six levels of the City and still be of use once he actually reached the establishment. Swinging on to his horse's back, he gave Aragorn a look of mingled sorrow and determination. Aragorn met the gaze but remained quiet, not even bothering to stand as Nemír kicked the animal into trot.

'Am man theled?' the uncrowned-King whispered once he was alone, clutching a hand over his heart as his soul fought the loss of its constant companion from before they saw the light of day. Sobs beginning to shake his frame, the salty-tears mingling with blood on his face and clothing as he turned his gaze skyward, begging Námo not to accept the spirit of his twin that day. (For what purpose (Why))