This is a long chapter. Yes, stating the obvious much, but it is. I just had so much...fun? adventure? while writing it, I couldn't stop. So I hope whoever is reading this is willing to endure the chapter, and - because I am admittedly very excited about it all - I hope you will review. Because I'd love to get opinions on this.
As always, thank you SO much for reading, and take care :)
Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.
They had been riding hard all day, and now finally came to a rest beside a large, sparkling pond. The country was a rich gold, with hills and boulders littered about it. If she hadn't known better, Alandria would have thought this was the same lands she had ridden through for many years. But she had never been this far east. The two women slowed their mounts to a trot, and split away to be by themselves, away from the company of men that might recognize them. Alandria dismounted, and then helped Merry down. He was unsteady after such long riding, and wobbled carefully over to a deteriorating log that lay on the ground. She tossed him a small pack, and he immediately rummaged in it for something to eat, while she glanced around their rest-site. Some men were still on their horses, walking them around slowly, others were at their sides, feeding and watering them and cooling them down; some were sitting down, taking their own rest and finding something quick to eat before they began again. She heard a familiar voice then, and turned to see Éomer trotting Firefoot quickly down a slope towards his uncle.
"...report Minas Tirith is surrounded. The lower level's in flames. Everywhere legions of the enemy advance."
"Time is against us.." She barely heard Théoden breathe in reply. "Make ready!"
Alandria sighed heavily, and rubbed her fingertips into her eyes. "We've only just stopped.." She muttered, and took a gulp from her waterskin. "Does he really expect us to continue like this for another two days, and then go into battle?"
Éowyn shrugged weakly in reply, sliding off her own horse. "It has been done before. Not for many years, since the time of Eorl the Young, but it has been done. We will rest some tonight though, I am sure."
"We had better. Dustling isn't used to this." She rubbed the muzzle of her tall steed affectionately, and he sighed in reply. She smiled faintly.
"I'm not either!" Merry exclaimed, chewing on a chunk of bread, his own helmet laid at his feet. Alandria envied their gold hair, allowing them to free their heads from the stifling metal. "I've only been riding along, but already I'm tired. It's such a long way to go too.."
Éowyn removed her helm for a moment, enjoying the brief freedom from it. She sighed and watched the camp move about. "Take heart, Merry." She said softly. "It will soon be over."
Alandria glanced at her friend, unnerved by her tone, and wasn't comforted in the least by her friend's somber expression. She looked quickly at the hobbit then, and saw he was considering Éowyn critically as well.
"My lady," He started in reply, "you are fair, and brave, and have much to live for. Many who love you. I know it's too late to turn aside. I know there's not much point now in hopin'... If I were a knight of Rohan, capable of great deeds- but I'm not. I'm a hobbit. And I know I can't save Middle-earth.."
Alandria stopped listening then, sobered and thinking over the hobbit's speech so far, turning her gaze back to the rush of men and horses preparing for travel. His words were wise, for a being that was often so foolish. He, even though being a hobbit, was no less capable of 'great deeds' that any Rider. Frodo and Sam were on their way to accompishing the greatest deed. But it was too late to turn aside, and likely no point in hoping-
Her reverie was interrupted by a dark hazel stare locking with her emerald gaze. She was taken aback for a moment, as she could feel the Lord's stare pentrating the shadows of her helm and bulk of her armor - he knew who she was. It was clear in his handsome face, she could read it in his eyes. He saw her, and knew it was her. Yet he made no move, simply stared for a moment, and then turned to reply to a soldier that had been talking to him. She shivered slightly, and then swung herself into Dustling's waiting saddle.
"Prepare to move out!" Éomer's command sounded almost as if he'd been waiting for her to mount, and was followed by Théoden's orders.
"Make haste! We ride through the night!" A horn bellowed after his announcement, and the rush to be back in the saddle and ride again increased. Merry and Éowyn had finished their conversation, and she nudged her steed towards them.
"Merry, do you mind riding with Éowyn now? It might be better if we exchange you back and forth on our horses." She paused, and then looked at her Lady for permission. "My lady?"
"Of course, Alandria." Éowyn nodded, and forced her helm back on. Merry did the same, and then Éowyn lifted him into her saddle she mounted behind him, and looked at Alandria, fair features dirt and sweat-stained and firm. "To battle?"
Alandria nodded firmly. "To battle."
"To battle!" Merry echoed, and a slightly smile flickered on Alandria's lips, before quickly fading as hoofbeats approached her. As she turned to face the arrival, Éowyn turned hastily and trotted several yards away with Merry.
"What company are you with?" Éomer asked roughly, his features not showing that he knew her identity.
"Elfhelm, my lord." She answered formally, hoping she was making her voice convincingly gruff. She thought she saw a flash of a smirk as she spoke.
"You will ride with me now."
His declaration caught her off-guard, she gaped for a moment before clearing her throat. "Uh, my lord, may I enquire why?"
He stared at her for a long moment again, dark gaze boring into her, making comments his voice did not. "I need another Rider."
She almost laughed at his weak excuse. "Just one other? Is that not..well, pointless?" She prayed he didn't see the smirk the kept twitching her lips.
Éomer's features stayed straight, giving nothing away. "You will ride with me." He repeated, and then turned and trotted away.
Alandria stared after him for a moment, and seriously considered disobeying his order and staying with Éowyn and Merry. But then another part of her twisted with a want to be near him as they rode into battle, longing for the pride that would come with that post: being under the order of Éomer, sister-son of the King, Marshall of the Mark. It was a foolish aspiration, she knew, but knew no other reason for why she longed to be at his side as they rode to war. And so she glanced to where Éowyn and Merry stood watching her from a distance, waiting to see what Éomer had said or done, and what she now would do. She raised her hand briefly, and then turned Dustling and trotted towards Éomer and his large group of Riders. She kept her head low, but none gave her so much as a second glance. Not that there was time to, either. The moment she had come a stop at Éomer's éored, horns blew again, and Théoden cried for movement. Horses jostled for a moment, and then rushed forward in a wave of flesh and metal.
Three days they'd been riding, several times during the night as well. The sun was just rising now, bright and gold, adding little warmth to the chill air. Alandria felt the strange rush of adrenaline begin to course through her veins as they neared a low hill. Her tense body jumped uneasily at the first blast of horns; they cried out low, and strong, wailing proud notes that she knew would be heard even in the city before them. She feared what they would see once they came to the crest of the hill. Would the White City have fallen already? Would it be grey now, a pile of ash and flames? Would the fields before it also be black, with the bodies of foul orcs and other creatures of Mordor? The thoughts pulsed through her head, and she found it difficult to breathe in the midst of the thousands of Riders. Suddenly she felt too cramped, locked in by the bodies, surrounded and unable to escape, unable to survive. Frantically, her dark eyes roved over the bodies before her, searching. They all looked they same: brown horses, tall men with long blonde hair hidden beneath helms, strong bodies covered in metals and leathers, spears and axes and bows and swords in hand. But she managed to find him: Éomer, sitting proudly upon his tall, dark grey, dancing stallion, a long lance in hand. He was in the first row of the army, whereas she was three behind him. Then the sea of men and horses stopped moving.
Alandria stared past the rows of Riders before her, down the golden hillside, to the startling and unnerving image below. Her fear of a sea of black bodies had not been entirely incorrect - she'd never seen so many orcs and foul creatures in one place. She hadn't thought so many existed. They were formatted into enourmous squares and rectangles, and trailed nearly a mile before the great city of Minas Tirith. Even with such a huge number before the city, she could tell plenty were already inside it: fires and smoke rose from the lower levels. Upon noticing this, she turned her observations to the city for a moment, remembering all Boromir had told her of his city. She could see even now - with monsters at it's gates, smoke rising from it's streets, and walls and towers smashed and obliterated from evil weapons - the beauty and power he had spoken of. It was like a grand pearl against the darker mountain; dirtied now, perhaps, but strong and hard and glowing palely in the sunrise. She could only imagine the splendour inside it. Inside. They would never get inside, if they did not defeat the hoards of monsters still outside the City's walls. She glanced around the immense wave of Mordor's minions nervously, and swallowed, before becoming distracted by a white horse breaking away from the formation of éorlingas, and prancing back and forth before them. It was Théoden, galloping across the length of his Riders.
"Éomer!" He called. "Take your éored down the left flank.. Gamling! Follow the King's banner down the center.. Grimbold! Take your company right, after you pass the wall." The appointed men moved their horses to better match up with their companies, and barked short orders at their riders. "Forth! And fear no darkness!" The King slowed to an energetic trot, becoming more personal with the mass of Riders before him. "Arise! Arise, Riders of Théoden! Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered! A sword day - a red day. Ere the sun rises!" The Lord's voice bellowed out with his last words, as he galloped along the line again.
Alandria felt what she knew they all felt - no more worry, no more fear, only a burning strength and eagerness to be in battle, and make the King's words true. As if on cue, the Riders around her lowered their spears, so they pointed almost directly in front of them. Alandria did the same, with a lance she had acquired amidst their riding. She trembled with anxiety as Théoden unsheathed his sword, and raised it to knock against all the spears pointed before him as he charged down the line. With every second that passed, she could feel the fiery tension of battle in the air thicken.
"Ride now!" Théoden cried as he rode. "Ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin, and the world's ending!" The words seemed to echo across them, and Alandria closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. "Death!" Théoden's bellow forced her eyes open, and she saw he stood before his Riders, sword raised towards the enemy before them.
"Death!" The men around her echoed like a roar of water on rocks.
"Death!"
"Death!!"
"Deeaatthh!!"
"Deeeaaattthhhh!!!" Their cries, Alandria's included, flooded over Théoden's cry, and the black mass of orc-horror before them seemed to tremble with the sound. The horses were jumping, crying, biting at each other in anxiety.
"Forth éorlingas!" Théoden swung his sword forward, and the bold, elegant horns bellowed out their charge. Théoden and Snowmane started forward, and the horses behind followed eagerly. Dustling, who had never been in a proper battle, did not even need the faintest encourgement to go on. He leapt forward with almost dangerous eagerness, and Alandria roared out a cry again with the men and horses surrounding her. The trot her steed jumped into seemed slow for a while, until the Riders before her sped up, and the ground appeared between riders. With the room, Dustling broke into a canter, a fast canter, and soon became part of the galloping mass of horseflesh that surrounded Alandria. She could hardly breathe, knowing now that this was battle. This was what she'd been preparing for all these years, more so on this journey than ever before. Who might have ever known that she, a Rider's daughter, would ever travel to Rivendell, and ever become part of something so huge, to land her in the midst of one of the greatest battles Middle-earth had ever seen?
The great, black mass of orcs was nearer now, nearer with every passing second. Keeping her wits about her, she remembered to steer Dustling to follow Éomer and his company to the left. Théoden and his huge legion of éored sped forward, the white steed Snowmane bright against the others Riders, and flying ahead with astonishing speed. But the white horse was not her lead - the huge dark dapple was. Then a horse to her left suddenly dropped, squealing, and disappeared. Two more up ahead did the same - falling, rolling head over heels, smashing their Riders. Arrows, a part of her said, they're shooting arrows. Another horse screamed and fell as if to prove this. But on Dustling galloped, and the wind threatened to whip her helmet off. She could now see the orcs before them, as they inched nervously backwards, shifting in fear. Good. They were closer now, closer. She could see the sharp weapons in each monster's hand. She could nearly see the whites of their eye-
Clashing metal, screaming horses, thudding flesh, squealing, roaring orcs, yelling men, thundering hooves - all the sounds suddenly collided like a clap of thunder. Alandria was no longer steering Dustling - he moved wherever the turmoil of battle thrust him. She barely remembered the lance in her hand, and stabbed it downward only just in time to slay a large, snarling orc. She tore the weapon out, and then thrust again, into another monster. But she was quick to realize the spear was not for her. Tearing it's blackened and bloody head out of the stomach of an orc, she twisted in the saddle and flung it with what strength she had at a wolfish Warg that snarled and snapped nearby. It lodged just in the chest, and the beast yelped, before collapsing. She turned Dustling, and he whinnyed as his shoulder collided with several orcs. Alandria quickly drew Ealdorhelm, and the blade flickered dangerously, before slicing deep into an orc's shoulder. Still her mount tried to gallop on, and as he swiftly moved among the battle she swept the singing blade from side to side, cutting down the foul creatures quickly. But the mess of battle was quickly becoming too thick, and Dustling was slowing, trying to pick his way between the moving bodies.
The shield resting above her left thigh proved immensely useful, as she cut and thrust primarily to her open right. She felt a hammering blow shake the wooden shield and turned, to see a black orc with orange-red eyes snarl and swing his crude blade at her leg again. Again his blow knocked against the wood, leaving a deep mark. Alandria yelled, and smoothly thrust straight into the beast. Ealdorhelm slid easily through the tattered leather armor, skin, and breastbone, coming to a stop deep inside the orc's chest. It squealed hideously, and Alandria merely snarled before yanking the blade back out. Turning back to her right, she hacked at a large, hunched and armored orc, her blade ringing against it's thin, black shield. Two more blows and she broke through the shield, then thrust down into the creature's back as it turned to try and foolishly flee.
Once the creature fell, she nudged Dustling forward again. The gelding was bewildered by the bloody chaos of the battle but remained loyal, attempting to go where she pressed him. He eagerly bit and kicked at any that got too close to his head and rear, and took down several orcs on his own. Alandria continued her attacks, thrusting and stabbing and slicing with snarls and yells. Once or twice the orcs would manage to land their own blows on her, but they were weak compared to her armor and the height upon her horse, resulting only in tears of her clothing or an unseen bruise. After slicing the blackened blade of Ealdorhelm down across the shoulders of yet another orc, Alandria sat straight for a breath, her eyes finally roving the battle around her.
All around her was a massive, continuing sea of black. It moved hectically and savagely, but constantly. Rising out of it every few meters was a horse and rider, battling the monsters below them with all their might. Although now and again a Rider would fall, drug under by the mass of black creatures, more often, Alandria was surprised and pleased to see, the warriors would manage to cut down a clear path. The squeal of another orc caught her attention, and she quickly turned to her left to stab at it, and take it down. Then while facing her left, she saw the large, grey, dappled horse that stamped and pranced wildly less than six meters away. It's Rider cried out savagely, thrusting the lance he still held through the head of a monster, the sharp point bursting brutually out the back of the skull. But his savage attack proved troublesome. The lance stuck, and in the brief moment that he tried uselessly to tug the weapon back out, the massive swarm of Mordor-scum that surrounded him leapt forward. An axe-blow just missed his arm as he jerked it back, a sword sliced weakly across his back, a spear stabbed crazily at his steed, who then shrieked and reared in pain and terror. Éomer was thrown off-balance, and grasped the pommel desperately. Alandria had pushed her way through by then though, and quickly hacked away at the the orcs around the man. Dustling stood beside the larger, dark steed of the Lord, and the protection he provided to that one side allowed Éomer to right himself again. He glanced at Alandria, and she caught the edge of a smile on his dirtied features. But he only nodded, then quickly turned back to the work of slashing and stabbing and killing. Alandria did the same, finding reassurance and greater strength in seeing the tall man, and gladly thrust Ealdorhelm deep into the bowels of another monster, just as a new horn sounded.
The tribal-bay of the horn came from behind her, and with it she noticed a strange pounding, like immense drums. But drums strong enough to shake the earth. Alandria froze, lowering her blade, as the orcs fled past her with a frightening sort of cheer and enthusiasm. She tried to discern what was happening purely from sound, but none of it made sense. Slowly, seeing other Riders staring past her with horrified and awed expressions, she reluctantly turned around. And immediately wished she hadn't.
Huge, impossibly huge, Mumakil marched in a line across the Fields of Cormallen, each immense beast carrying small, open houses atop them, brimming with grinning Haradrim. The creatures stood taller than the largest houses Alandria had yet seen, each with several long, wickedly curved ivory tusks protruding from their tiny mouths, and odd assortments of armor decorating them. Panic began to creep into her system, freezing her muscles and speeding up her heart. She stared at the new terror, wide eyed and horrified, her belief that the battle could still turn in their favor dissolving quickly. The Mumakil were impossibly enormous, despite the stories she'd heard. Horses would be crushed under a mere footstep. And she wasn't blind to the spiked ropes strung between their tusks, so that when the beasts moved, anything that tried to go between the giant tusks would be cut down. Brutually.
"Reform the line! Reform the line!" Théoden's voice broke through Alandria's terror, and she obeyed with what was left of the Rohirrim, riding towards their King. He waited only a moment for the Riders to assemble, and then led another attack upon the approaching Haradrim and their mounts.
Alandria's fear transferred down to Dustling, and he shied whenever another Rider came too close, flinching at each heavy stomp of the Mumakil. His discomfort reminded Alandria to calm herself, and slowly she was able to - focusing more on the Riders around her than the beasts before them. She was merely able to notice that a surprising number of Riders still rode - and then the thunderous footsteps of the Mumakil were louder, and louder, and she was forced to pay attention. The huge, tusk-ed monsters were horrifyingly close, their shadows cast upon the sea of moving horses. And then the beasts began to shake their heads as if to rid themselves of a bother; Alandria realized quickly what they were really doing - swinging their great tusks back and forth to knock down any creature that ran past, the spiked ropes between some sets of ivory further preventing any escape. Fear and helplessness struck her clean through then, as at the same time the first of horses clashed into the giant Mumak.
The screams and squeals of crushed and slaughtered horses rung through the air, sounding in pattern with the great thuds and roars of the Mumakil. Horses and Riders were flung into the air and across the field by the swinging tusks, some were driven down by the spiked ropes, and others were merely crushed underfoot. Alandria flinched at the noises, her heartbeat in her ears, but still drove Dustling on towards the monsters. He came nearer to a huge beast, and she could feel him tense but he still obeyed her commands and galloped on. She held her breath as they rushed forward, timing their pass so that the swing of the creature's head was in the opposite direction, and praying to all the gods that they would make it through. And they did. The sun was blocked by the monstorous forms of the Mumakil, but Alandria and her mount wove safely between two of the great beasts, and emerged to the other side alive. They came upon the mass of orcs that had swept behind their reinforcements, and Alandria dashed Dustling forward to hew down a handful of the creatures before wheeling him about to face the Haradrim again. Still their giant mounts stamped and bashed and slaughtered the Rohirrim, and Alandria watched the great number they'd had diminish before her eyes helplessly. Those that survived passing through the now-scattered line of Mumak turned about as Alandria did though, and then charged back through, swinging their seemingly-tiny blades, and shooting their pin-prick-arrows. With a yell, Alandria kicked Dustling into a gallop again, and rushed forward to offer what little service she could.
Still the giant Mumakil towered overhead, and as they approached, fear struck Alandria again. But she shoved it aside, steering Dustling with her legs as she replaced Ealdorhelm in it's sheath, and reached over her shoulder to grasp the short bow she'd brought. Arrows were stowed in a saddle-side quiver in front of her right leg, and she settled one on her bow just as she nudged Dustling faster. The gelding responded obediently, and Alandria took a moment to steady herself, before looking almost directly up and aiming for a moment at the throng of men amidst the house-like structure on the Mumak, and then released her dart. She didn't bother to see if it flew true before notching another, and releasing it to the same spot. And then she lowered the bow, holding it with her right hand, and grasped the reins with her left to cautiously weave Dustling through the the trunk-like legs of a Mumakil. They emerged from the side, avoiding the tusks, and galloping behind another creature. The Haradrim's mounts were no longer in a line, but scattered crazily throughout the field, trampling and killing whatever was unfortunate to get in their path. Alandria dropped the reins again to let Dustling find his way, and fired arrow after arrow up at the stacks on the creature's backs. She considered shooting at the beasts themselves, then quickly dismissed the thought. It would take an entire army to take down a single Mumakil, and she had not the time to waste on one creature. Instead she resolved to shoot at the men controlling them, hoping to have some effect.
A bellowing roar caught her attention, and she grabbed at the reins in alarm as only a hundred yards ahead, one of the monstrous beasts turned sharply and crashed straight into another. It's head caught under the other's legs, both fell clumsily, and bellowed painfully. Riders swarmed to the location to further hew at the helpless - although still dangerous - beasts, and to kill their now-vulnerable drivers. Alandria let them do their work, and instead kept to shooting at the Mumak that still roved by, bellowing and slaughtering still more Riders. A shadow suddenly dropped over Alandria and Dustling, and she barely had time to glance up before the immense Mumak that has risen to it's hind-legs toppled over, shaking the ground and causing anything nearby to drop as well. The force of the creature's collapse was not near enough for it to land on the lady-Rider, but enough to shake her loose from the saddle. Her left foot slipped loose, and she slid the same direction, her right hand barely finding a hold on the pommel. She would have stayed on, but the orcs she had nearly forgotten were still swarming everywhere, and a handful saw her slip. Before she could manage to pull herself right again, they rushed forward, and rather than be struck down half-in the saddle, she let herself drop to the ground. The sound of wood that she knew was her bow splintered beneath her, but as she fell she drew Ealdorhelm to be ready.
An orc was upon her before she could get back to her feet, but she simply thrust Ealdorhelm straight up into his stomach. The black blood flowed down the blade and to her hands, making them slick with it, but she merely kicked the monster off the end of her sword. She rolled to avoid the swift blow of another orc, realizing only then she'd lost her helmet and her dark hair hung freely, and then scrambled clumsily to her feet, her legs weak from the riding. The creature snarled and swung crudely at her head, which she easily parried, and then swept quickly around to slice at his stomach. She opened a cut in his side, elicting another snarl, and then hacked down upon his shoulder and chest, forcing him down with a dying gurgle. She limped a step on half-numb legs, then was met with another foe. She blocked once, twice, and stumbled back to avoid a wide swing taken towards her stomach, then slashed the creature across the side from the left, and thrust her blade into his gut.
"Rally to me!" Théoden's muffled voice broke through the clash of blades and screams of horses, Mumakil, orcs, and men. "To me!" Alandria paid his command little attention, her sword already locked in battle with another orc. But her blows where shaken as a piercing scream shattered through the senseless din of battle. It was high pitched, screeching, and it struck an almost numbing icicle of terror straight into her heart. Shaking slightly, Alandria forced herself on, and to not look to see what had made such a noise. Once she had disemboweled the creature before her, she turned to where the King's voice had come from. But as she turned, she saw only a great, black, winged, serpent-like horror crouched where Théoden should have been, and in the small mouth attached to the body, something was flung to the ground.
Dread began to creep upon her, but she could not linger on the scene as more orcs swarmed forward, demanding her attention. A scrawny, pasty-faced piece of scum leapt at her, only to be quickly hewn beneath Ealdorhelm. Another small creature leapt at her from the side, latching onto her and causing her to stumble. She quickly dropped her blade, and spun to beat the orc off of her. He only managed to slash uselessly at her chain-mail-covered arms, then land a weak punch on her left cheekbone, then she got him to drop, and stabbed him repeatedly with a discarded orc-blade until he ceased to move. Her hands were again slick with the disgusting black blood, and she could smell the reek of decaying orc flesh all around from her position on the ground. With a disgusted grumble, she wiped her hands on her trousers, and then looked for her blade. A growl came from nearby, and she glanced towards it just in time to avoid the swing of a large axe. Alandria rolled towards where she knew Ealdorhelm lie, and away from the big brute of an orc that had suddenly appeared. She only just grasped her sword and clambered to her feet when the orc swung the broad axe straight at her head. She ducked, and stumbled, but quickly caught her balance. She didn't dare try to block his blows with her weaker blade, and instead lunged quickly forward to thrust at the orc. He dodged, and swung back. She danced away, and then swiped. He avoided the attack with only a scratch through his leather tunic. They continued their pointless duel for over a minute, and sweat was beginning to finally slide down Alandria's brow. She now understood Éomer's short 'lesson' those days ago outside of Edoras. Finally the great orc over-swung, and stumbled forward with his miss. Alandria took the moment to cut him deeply from shoulder to thigh, and then thrust Ealdorhelm quickly into his soft stomach, twice. He snarled viciously still though, and swung once more with his axe. Alandria had relaxed after her attack, and had not been ready for the final blow. The flat of the axe struck only, but it slammed into her left side with the force of a horse's kick. Alandria wasn't sure if she felt the small snaps or heard them, but was thrown to the ground with a cry, and lay there for a moment, stunned by pain.
Slowly, after a moment that felt like eternity, she climbed unsteadily to her feet. The left side of her ribs felt as if she was being stabbed with knives with every breath, and her steps were uneven with the pain. But wounds or no, the orcs that still covered the Fields of Cormallen like a deathly shadow would not be swayed. More leapt at her, and she knocked them away with winces and grunts and gasps. One orc that was a few inches less than her in height leapt forward with a screech, bright gold eyes glittering bizarrely. He seemed to snicker savagely.
"'ey girlie, wuz a lady doin' out 'ere? Yeh gots yerself a hurtin' did yeh?" He pointed with his black blade at her left side, which she leaned towards and kept gently holding a hand to, then snickered again. "Yeh should've stayed at home, Horse-whore."
Alandria snarled and rushed forward, ignoring the splice of pain in her ribs. She swung strongly, and her sword clashed with his, then was thrust aside. She stumbled only a second, then pulled back, and managed to jam her blade into his ribs. He bared his fouled teeth, and hammered the hilt of his sword brutually into her jaw, cheek splitting upon teeth. She stumbled, still holding to her sword, and he bashed into her jaw again. Grinding her teeth together, Alandria thrust deeper into the orc, until he sagged against her blade. She let him slide off the sword, spat the blood that filled her mouth, and continued in the battle.
A bizarre image met her eye, then. She thought she saw a flicker of green from the corner of her vision. It came again. After slicing Ealdorhelm smoothly across an annoying orc's throat, she turned to further understand the green. Yes, it was green. A strange, bright green she hadn't seen before. And it was moving. Moving, like a wave, and leaving nothing but destruction in it's path. Dead orcs lay in heaps behind it, yet not one dead green-being could she see. It didn't make sense. She watched in awe as the great wave split smoothly apart, swarming up to take down the giant Mumakil with horrifying ease, slaughtering orcs, and then speeding towards the city. Her awe was shattered by her own scream then, as a stab of fire thrust into her right thigh. She fell to her knees, balancing primarily on her left leg, and gasped with electricuting pain. Wave after burning, searing wave of pain coursed through her body, breaking out a suffering sweat across her skin and forcing her to gasp for a safe breath. Hesitantly, her eyes dropped to where the main source of pain lay in her right leg. A long black arrow shaft protruded from her thigh, the dark red and gold feathers on the end showing it to be of the Haradrim. One, either from one of the few still-standing Mumakil or simply from the ground, must have shot at her while she stood still. And now the arrow lay embedded deeply in her thigh, blinding her sight with white sparks of pain. A feeling like heavy, warm water began to course steadily down her leg. She refused to look at it, shuddering at the horrid sensation, and then wincing with a small gasp again.
Then, one of the orcs she'd nearly forgotten existed sprung into her sight. He grinned savagely, obviously assessing the pain she was already in and the easy target she made. She stood unsteadily, sweat coating her skin, panting heavily from the pain she was so unused to. The orc lunged forward, and she sloppily blocked his blow, stumbling afterwards. He sneered and lunged again, knicking her arm. Fear for her own life finally seeped past the pain and into her system. It startled her, shook her, and blinded her to pain for the moment - she stepped forward with her left leg, lip curled back, and slashed left, right, throwing the orc's defending blade aside, and then sliced cleaning across his stomach twice, before thrusting quickly in, and tearing back out, letting him collapse with a squeal.
And then the world seemed frozen, horribly silent and still. There were no more screams of battle and pain; no longer the clash of sword and whistle of arrows; no creatures roaring or neighing or screeching. The air was still and quiet, and Alandria did not move, but looked around herself slowly. Scattered men and horses limped about, regrouping or, like her, just taking in the horrorified victory. A wave of pale, sickly green shimmered a hundred yards away, but she was too dazed to wonder again what it might have been. Giant mounds lay scattered about the huge battlefield - fallen Mumakil, the huge elephant-creatures still intimidating even dead. Stray lances and arrows and abandoned shields and swords littered the ground. Then her eyes fell on the corpses. Corpses everywhere, everywhere she looked. At her feet, to her right, to her left, yards and yards away. Bloody, blank, rotting corpses of Orcs, and foul Men, and horses, and Rohan Men, and even the few Gondorian Men. Arrows protruded from their still forms; limbs were hewn off and throats slashed; their blood soaked the ground. When she spotted the first familiar face - just a man that she had seen in Meduseld a few times; she didn't even know his name - she forced herself to look away. But the dead were everywhere, and her legs felt weak as she began to stumble aimlessly away from the body she had just seen.
A scream broke the odd silence then. It was the most chilling, heart-wrenching scream Alandria had ever heard - more so than the high-pitched screech she had heard before, what felt like hours ago. It was deep, rough and heartbroken and male, but filled with a tortured agony she had never experienced before. She turned at the sound of it, just as it broke into shorter screams, sobbing screams. Vague, shaky disbelief passed through her as she saw it was Éomer who screamed so horrifyingly. He knelt, his strong body still shaking with sobs, and grasped a body in his arms. More disbelief, followed by an unrealistic numbness, hit her then as she recognized the body as that of the Lord's sister, her close friend, Éowyn. Éowyn. Dead? No. But the echoes of Éomer's horrible screaming said different.
Slowly and unsteadily, Alandria limped forward, and was vaguely aware that Éomer and Éowyn were collapsed beside a white horse, bright against the stained earth. The arrow still lodged firmly in her thigh fought for her attention and flared in protest, but she wasn't feeling it. Instead she approached the sobbing man slowly, just as Aragorn rushed towards him from the other direction. She stumbled to a stop then, still several yards away, and unconsciously gasped in pain, watching the scene before her intently. Aragorn somehow persuaded Éomer to release the body of his beloved sister, and then the Ranger carefully studied her face before leaning forward and placing his ear near her mouth. After a moment he leaned back, relief clear on his rugged face. Éomer visibly relaxed as well and at Aragorn's words, gave his sister and the Ranger some room. Aragorn placed his hand carefully on her forehead, features intense again, and then with words Alandria did not hear, he called for assistance. Two un-wounded Rohan Men appeared to help, just as the first black patches tainted Alandria's vision. She shook her head to dislodge whatever it was that clouded her sight, but now there seemed to be a mist about everything. She muttered a curse in aggravation, and stumbled another couple steps forward. The Men heard her then, and all looked up in surprise.
"Alandria?" Éomer cried, dark eyes widening in fear and rushing forward, just as her legs gave out and she collapsed to her knees. His strong arms caught her just as she fell forward, strength sapped with agony. Her gasp of pain was audible to even Aragorn, as the searing burn of the embedded arrow hit her afresh. Only then did her wounds truly begin to hurt: the right side of her face ached and stung, her left ribs seemed to stab her inside with every breath, her right leg throbbed with fire at the arrow, and the half dozen other smaller cuts and bruises she'd received seemed enhanced. "Oh gods.." The Horse-lord breathed, and she felt his breath against her cheek, just as more spots of darkness further blinded her.
"Éomer.." She mumbled, suddenly finding the pain unbearable and her body too weak and hurt to move.
"Shh, sweetheart. I've got ya." The words were lost on Alandria, and the tall man gingerly lifted her into his strong arms, flinching as she gasped and moaned in further pain. "Aragorn!" He cried, looking desperately towards the Ranger, who was still kneeling beside Éowyn. He walked back towards the dark-haired man, careful as he could not to jostle Alandria.
Aragorn rose to his feet, and quickly his turquoise eyes roved over the woman's wounded body. "Take her to the healers as fast as you can, Éomer. Have them remove the arrow, and staunch the bleeding. I should be there by then, and will see what I may need to do." He was trying not to look worried, but Éomer could see through it. Both men knew, although they could only see the arrow wound and bruise on her face, Alandria couldn't possibly be strong enough to endure much beyond those injuries.
But the Horse-lord nodded, glancing down at his sister once more. "And Éowyn?"
"I am waiting for the litter I called for to arrive. Then she too will be taken to the healers, and I will follow." He sighed. "There will be much work to be done."
Éomer said nothing in reply, merely glanced down at the body in his arms, her face pale and bruised, her lip split and bleeding, dark hair loose and haggard, emerald-green eyes half-open and glazed. His dark brow furrowed in deep worry, and he turned to carefully walk to the walls of Minas Tirith, and the House of Healing. His movement unsettled her for a moment though, and she whimpered softly.
"I'm sorry, love. It'll be better soon." She gave no reply as the hazed glimpses she had of his handsome face further faded. She whimpered faintly again, muttered something incoherent, and unconsciously her blood-blackened right hand reached up to grasp the firm collar of his breast-plate. It did not loosen as her mind and eyesight fell to darkness.