The War Of Light And Shadow

by Freddie23

In a world changed by the rising of power in Mordor, Legolas gets entrusted with the life of a young boy. But he gets more than he bargained for as he must fight for his own life, for Aragorn's life and for the very future of Middle Earth. AU. Not slash. Complete.

79. The War Of Light And Shadow Part I

The War of Light and Shadow

By Freddie23

OIOIOIOI

Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

OIOIOIOIOIOI

Chapter 79

The War Of Light And Shadow – Part One

Dusk brought with it the overwhelming threat of attack. All the Men gathered in the mountains could now clearly sense the force waiting for them just out of sight. Aragorn had his army assembled and they worked quickly and efficiently in lighting enough torches for them to see what they were doing, getting their weaponry ready and getting the Men in the right places for the attack. They worked quietly, the threat of their impending doom hanging over them and stealing from them the need to make conversation or lighten the mood. Long had they waited for this moment and all were determined that they would not be deterred now, not when their salvation lay so close at hand. Each was focussed on what they had to do, on what was coming.

Faramir, Eomer and Aragorn stood tall and proud before the crowd, great kings of Men in their own right many times proven their worth in the eyes of their followers. Their presence was a balm for those awaiting the battle. After all, if the king was not afraid then it had to mean something. Men said that he had seen more than most of what lay ahead. The three of them gazed coolly into the distance, shrouded though the view was by the darkness of night and the impending battle with the Shadow. Behind them, stood their own army. Nowhere near as vast as the one currently locked in a showdown with them but to Aragorn impressive enough all the same. He felt pride stirring within him every time he chanced a glance over his shoulder at the sea of Humans who had pledged fealty and love to him and his cause. He admired them for their resolve and their bravery and hoped that despite his still nagging doubts he could match their valour.

The only thing lighting the field of battle now were the torches flicking on both sides and the occasional bolt of lightning that illuminated the grey skies overhead. No rain accompanied the storm as of yet but Aragorn feared that it was only a matter of time before the heavens opened. It always seemed to rain when they were in the midst of battle. This time though, he thought that maybe it was the Dark Lord's doing for although he could not see him Aragorn could sense Sauron was close, just as he could sense that the terrible Wraiths of Mordor had also come.

In his pocket, the Ring of Power thrummed both reassuringly and terrifyingly. It felt its true master close and it fought to get back to him. Aragorn found that he both longed to touch it and also wished greatly to recoil from its dark, frightening power. He fought valiantly against both impulses and tried to block it from his mind completely. He had, after all, plenty else to focus on at the moment.

"Ready for this?" asked Eomer from his side.

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Well then." He smiled at the man at his side and Eomer offered a tight smile back.

The thunderous noise that heralded the approach of Sauron's army finally started to come to an end as they halted and eerie silence fell again over the mountains. Aragorn shivered slightly, releasing his newly wound up tension with a long deep breath.

"Be ready," he said softly to Faramir and Eomer. They relayed the message back: the fight would start soon.

Another flash of lightning showed Aragorn a brief glimpse of what they had put themselves up against. The closest rank of the army of Shadow was closer than he had expected it to come. It consisted, as it had when they attacked Minas Tirith, of mainly Goblins. They were the fodder sent before the true fight began. Not that it mattered to Aragorn. Compared to the Orcs and Uruk-hai and other monsters that made up Sauron's Dark army, they would be easy to kill.

The flash of pure white light revealed just how massive Sauron's force assembled behind the ranks of Goblins was though. It eclipsed Aragorn's best efforts.

Clearly the other Men also saw what they were faced off with as Aragorn heard them shuffling uncertainly behind him for the first time since assembling.

"Hold the lines," he called back so they could hear him. He hoped it would settle them again, although to him their reaction was perfectly understandable and appropriate. Had he been standing amongst them and not before them he would probably have done the same. "Hold." Now was not the time to panic. He needed them to appear strong.

"Ready yourselves," he called and behind him he heard the satisfying sound of hundreds of swords being drawn from sheaths. It was most encouraging and a small smile tugged at his lips. He hoped that it elicited some fear within the Dark army too. At the same time, he drew Anduril from its sheath and held it proudly aloft, taking a moment to look up and down the length of the marvellous long blade. It shone as bright and proud as ever, etched with Elvish runes which meant nothing to him but also filled him with hope. It was ready for battle; he could feel it. He was ready. He concentrated for a moment on the strength flowing down through the re-forged metal; the sheer impossible power of the Light gifted him by the Elves. Such a great gift and finally it was meeting with its destiny just as he was. Fate. It never failed to amaze him.

His reverie was disrupted by a sudden cry from before him. He couldn't understand the command for it was spoken in the Black Language, but he could guess that it was the Shadow's own call to readiness. This was confirmed a moment later when the relative peace was shattered by the terrifying sound of thousands of weapons being drawn. The noise was awesome, far exceeding that which Aragorn had hoped would unsettle the Shadow. Certainly his own Men were unsettled by the noise. He could feel the panic in them, the growing fear.

Aragorn's heart plummeted in his chest but he would not show his disappointment or fear now, not before his people. He raised Anduril up higher so that his troops could see it and the standard-bearers also raised the banners up, following his lead.

Glancing to his side, he saw Eomer and Faramir; both their own swords raised high as Anduril, unafraid. They had been waiting for this moment for a long time. After tonight they would either be granted freedom or be brought to their deaths. Either way, Aragorn imagined it would be a relief to finally know the ending. He locked eyes with Eomer and gave a small nod. Thanks, readiness and sadness all in one slight movement.

Turning away from his friends, Aragorn looked behind him. He could see his people, anxious and yet determined now. There was such love and trust upon their faces. That startled him to a degree. Before, they had merely followed him, as a subject would follow a ruler. But now, he knew for sure that they loved him. They wanted to fight, not for Gondor, but for him. It was humbling. How he longed to shake every hand in thanks, to offer a reassurance of peace. There was no time for such things though and he was secretly glad for this because he doubted he would have the strength. Perhaps when the battle was done and he had regained his confidence once more he would tell each and every Man what he thought of them.

He offered the Men no great speeches of encouragement now. The time for rousing speeches had long since passed. Instead, he turned back to the army of Shadow just in time to see their own torches slowly beginning to flare into life as they were lit. He knew what they were doing. Intimidation. Little did they know that it wouldn't work. His Men had met their kind before and they had emerged victorious, had stolen the Witchking from their ranks. That was no small feat. Let Sauron posture all he wanted.

Growing tired of waiting and seeing an advantage in their momentary distraction in trying to frighten their enemy, Aragorn raised Anduril higher once more and took one small step forward, bringing him out of line with the other men in his rank. He felt anticipation peak behind him. They knew what was happening now. The time had come.

Then, he, the King of Gondor, let forth a cry of attack and ran forward into battle.

Behind him ran Faramir and Eomer, just as they had sworn to do. Jecha also was close by as were the combined forces of the Rangers. All his friends, standing in fellowship by his side. It gave him strength. He took up a two-handed grip upon Anduril as he clashed with the front line of Goblins.

Not caught so much off guard that they couldn't fight, the Shadow army immediately leapt into action.

Aragorn didn't get far before he met his first real skirmish. Already Anduril had shed the black blood of the Enemy, the sword dripped with it, but it was Goblin blood and meant little to Aragorn. He wanted Orcs and Uruk-hai. They were the true enemy and he needed to get through them to reach the Dark Lord. Sauron, unlike the King of Men, would not stand at the front of his army. He would lurk at the back, hoping to avoid combat. That was where Aragorn was aiming for and he was determined that nothing would halt his progress.

The first Orcs he took down quickly, propelled forward by the rush of adrenaline of the initial attack. But the Uruk-hai were intermingled with their lesser brothers and it wasn't long before Aragorn met a line of them. He didn't mind though. One step closer.

It didn't seem that the Uruks knew who he was. Foolish, Aragorn thought. They would be praised greatly for taking down the king had they known. He beheaded two in a row, ignoring the splattering of thick blood he received for his troubles, and barrelled into another rank waiting for him. He was still ahead of the rest of his people, enveloped within the army of Shadow, their efforts keeping the Enemy distracted from his back. He impaled another Uruk and ducked as one sought to return the favour. Whilst down low, Aragorn took the legs out from under another two, quite literally. A downed Uruk was just as good as a dead one in battle; so Legolas had taught him.

All around him, the Shadow writhed and slithered, already slick with the blood of their comrades. Sauron's army was like a giant, terrible living beast threatening to swallow him up and digest him in its evil. He fought with all his might. He would not be beaten or bested by these monsters. Creatures that he had never seen before, horrific monstrosities that didn't bear close consideration, came at him as he forced his way through the ranks, determined to stay ahead of the rest of his own army and gain ground. The banners of the King were far behind him now, stubbornly flapping in the breeze, but he didn't care. The gold band in his pocket would be just as an effective herald for Sauron of his approach.

The things he saw in the semi-light of the torches, the horrors undreamed of even in the worst nightmares, turned Aragorn's stomach. There were Orcs, Goblins and Uruks, all of which he had faced before. But there were other creatures too. Men some of them may have been once. But mutilated beyond all recognition and filled with passionate rage. It was as though Sauron had been experimenting in the dark depths of Mordor and these distorted creatures were the product of that experimentation. More troublingly, Aragorn was sure that a couple of times, he spotted Elf creatures amongst the writhing mass of monsters. He recognised the vague light in their eyes, as he had seen in Legolas in his final hours on this earth. This perhaps hurt him the most, for it reminded him of the Dark Lord's intolerable cruelty and the taking of his own guardian, the closest thing to a father he could claim to have, who had been snatched from him by this evil Shadow.

Orcs and the like, Aragorn was satisfied to strike and leave on the ground to perish in agony. He cared not one bit for them. But the Men and Elves, already stripped down and forced into something so grotesque and against their nature, he made sure to kill outright. Clean deaths, painless if possible; beheading mostly. It was more merciful. He knew them to be too far gone to be brought back from the Shadow. They were all beyond salvation now. The only mercy he could give them was a quick and painless death.

Nothing stopped his progress entirely though. Or at least nothing stopped his attempts at progress. Most of the time, he felt like he was fighting a losing battle. Every time one Orc fell another immediately replaced it. His arms ached with the strain of wielding his sword constantly in the same motions and in such confined space. Each step he took forward, he was forced back two paces. It was infuriating and it was only his focus on making progress through the army that kept him fighting without despair.

However, when he found himself pushed back so far that he was surrounded by his own army again, he let out a roar above the noise of the battle and struck out even more viciously at the approaching Orcs attempting to cut him down.

There was no time to assess how they were doing on whole, nor how his people were faring, although he saw plenty of the bodies of his comrades lying on the ground amongst the plentiful corpses of the Enemy. He was not given an opportunity though to ponder upon this though.

"Aragorn!" a shout of warning reached his ears and he looked around, startled both to find Eomer standing near him and also that the sky had brightened enough to be able to see the man. Grey dawn was upon them already. Surely that was impossible. It seemed only a couple of hours before that he had called the charge at night. "Aragorn, look out!" Eomer's voice pulled him from his idle musings and he turned in the direction that Eomer pointed to see the threat bearing down on him.

Never had he seen such a beast. It stood almost as tall as one of the Mumakil they had met on Pelennor Fields but it was no brainless beast of burden. Shaped almost like a man, it was huge, grey in colour and pounding through the Shadow's forces towards him, stampeding over anything unfortunate enough to be in its way. It swung a huge mace back and forth, taking out far more of the Enemy than anything else. Walking before it were at least twenty Uruk-hai, each holding a chain as if guiding it through the field of battle to be unleashed upon its target.

Eomer reached Aragorn, knocking an Orc on the head as it tried to chew on his neck, and grabbed the king's shoulders.

"What is it?" shouted Aragorn over the screams of terror at the approaching devilry.

"A Troll?" shouted back Eomer. Such things had been spoken of around the fire during his childhood in Rohan but he had never actually seen one. And he wished he never had to again. It was truly a fearsome sight to behold. "Deadly, Aragorn!"

It was true. The thing was massive enough to take out dozens at a time and even more deadly with the club-like weapon in its hand. It could not be allowed to reach the bulk of his army. It would devastate them. And there was more than one. Coming forward from the back of the Shadow's army were dozens of trolls, roaring and stampeding their way through the Orc ranks, spread out so as to cause the most possible damage.

Looking behind him, confident that Eomer would guard him from harm for a moment whilst his attention was lapsed from the battle, Aragorn shouted as loud as he could manage to the nearest spearmen and swordsmen.

"Bring it down!" he bellowed above the roar of battle, gesturing wildly at the great beast approaching him. "Kill it!"

His command was heeded immediately. The spearmen signalled to the swordsmen, who efficiently surrounded them in a protective ring, keeping the Orcs and Uruk-hai at bay while they worked to bring down the Troll. They threw their spears high up in the air, aiming carefully for the approaching creature because the weapons were few and far between and could not be wasted on poor shots. They were well trained, just as Aragorn had wished them to be and their spears hit true.

The great Troll recoiled at being struck by the long spears, as though it had not been anticipating resistance from its enemy. It plucked at one of the darts, that looked so small, piercing its thick grey hide and brought it close to its face to examine it, poking its great finger against the tip and staring in amazement at its own blood that stained the sharp tip. More projectiles hit it then and it recoiled again, looking equally as puzzled that the attack continued. Then, to Aragorn's amazement, it attempted to turn and run. But it could not flee the battle. It was held back by the Uruk-hai holding it. Aragorn saw the rings piercing its skin, attached to which were the chains. It was a prisoner. A clueless creature of war held by pain and suffering by the Shadow.

Sympathy was not an option though despite the agony the creature might have been enduring. It may have been innocent in some respects but it was still the enemy and it had to be killed before it killed the entire host of Men in its panic at being restrained and injured.

"Eomer, the Uruks!" he shouted to his companion and they both charged forward, aiming for the Troll's wranglers.

Eomer called others to him, pointing at the Uruk-hai holding the chains. The Men got the purpose of the renewed attack almost immediately and started hacking their way through the masses to reach the Uruk-hai wranglers. Aragorn ran ahead, shoving the Orcs blocking his progress aside without bothering to strike them down.

He saw his men reach the Uruks and immediately become surrounded by the other creatures in an attempt to stop them; the Enemy were not entirely stupid, they recognised what the armies of Light were doing and were being directed to prevent them achieving their goal. Aragorn couldn't do anything to help his men though. He was trapped in a battle of his own now. Eomer was stood beside him, fighting off any creature that dared attempt an attack on the king. Unfortunately though, they were surrounded and the Troll was becoming more and more agitated by the moment, tugging more violently at its chains and stumbling backwards and forwards, still stunned to be the centre of an attack it didn't understand. Projectiles continued to pelt it but they were not making enough of an impact to severely injure it and after a few more minutes, the leader of the soldiers called a halt to the attack, realising that they were having no effect and that it was just a waste of weaponry.

Aragorn couldn't blame him for that. It was the right decision and one that he would have made eventually anyway. Still now he knew it was only a matter of time before the Troll regained what few senses it had and went back on the attack. Then his people would be easy prey. It might not have been witty enough to attack with purpose but the creatures forcefully guiding it knew their target well and would not be put off so easily.

Finally, Aragorn reached the Uruk he had been aiming for and without preamble hacked its head off before it even realised what was happening. The chain went slack and the Troll lurched, surprised at the sudden lack of a tension. Another chain went slack then. Then another. His men were slowly taking out the Uruk-hai.

However, the Troll, now suddenly free, did not know what to do with itself. It floundered for a moment and then tugged at the few chains still binding it. Without the support of so many Uruk-hai though, they could not hold it and they backed away, loosening the chains as they did so and giving the creature free reign. The Troll stumbled again and then looked down to the mace still clasped in a massive, chunky hand. Aragorn wondered whether that too was attached in some wicked way. Either way, clearly it was not going to give the weapon up. It whipped it back, surprised at its new-found freedom, and then brought it down, not upon the Men yet but upon the Uruk-hai gathered close to it. It didn't care what it hit. Perhaps, Aragorn thought, it had no choice. All it knew how to do was kill with the cruel mace as it had been chained. Instinctively, it was bound to follow that programming.

Despite the Troll no longer being controlled by its wranglers, who had wisely backed away from the flailing creature, Aragorn knew that it was only a matter of time before it blundered into his army and ended up taking out more of them, whether through malice and panic. He had to stop it.

"Bring it down!" he yelled to his warriors but they had no idea how to go about that. How did one bring down such a beast? No one had ever faced anything like it. The Mumakil on Pelennor were not, after all, malicious killers.

Seeing their uncertainty, Aragorn ran as fast as he could towards the Troll, much to Eomer's shock. Upon seeing his approach though, the massive creature brought the mace down in an attempt to stop him but it was poorly aimed and crashed into the dirt a couple of feet from Aragorn, leaving behind it a small crater and a very startled king. Had he been beneath that, Aragorn knew he would have been killed immediately. However, he could not be deterred. Regaining his balance, he plunged onwards, aware that behind him ran Eomer, uncertain of what he was trying to do but loyal in his charge all the same.

Up close, the Troll was impossibly huge. But that had its advantages. He could get close to it without it being aware of his position. Thankfully, the creature also seemed extremely dim-witted, although Aragorn didn't know whether this was a trait shared by all of its kind or whether it was some torture devised by the Shadow. Upon losing sight of him as he skidded to a halt at its feet, it turned around on the spot, searching for him as though bemused that its prey had just disappeared into thin air. Aragorn almost smiled. It might have been physically impressive but he had found its flaw. He couldn't have asked for better under the circumstances.

As the Troll turned its head around searching pointlessly for the threat, Aragorn drew Legolas' white-handled knife from its sheath and, along with Anduril, stabbed a blade deep into each trunk of a leg. The Troll reacted immediately. It screeched, throwing its great head back and shouting at the sky. Anduril and the knife both slid out thick with black blood. Still though the beast remained standing, staggering this way and that in an attempt to keep its balance through the pain.

Unsatisfied with this result, Aragorn dropped to his knees and thrust the knife into the creature's exposed foot, not stopping until he felt hard ground at the tip. On his right, he heard Eomer do the same on the other foot. Essentially, they had pinned the Troll to the ground with their knives. It roared again and pulled at its feet. The daggers would never hold, Aragorn knew that, so he tugged his own dagger out and watched as Eomer followed suit.

"Get out of its way!" Aragorn yelled as the creature staggered even further. He thought back to Pelennor when the giant Mumakil had fallen and crushed soldiers as it fell. He did not want to be trapped beneath a giant Troll and he didn't want anyone else to meet the same fate either.

Scrabbling to his feet, he turned and ran, grabbing Eomer's arm and dragging him away as he did so. They ran as fast as they could manage. Fortunately, the Uruk-hai and Orcs had also seen what was about to happen and had backed away from the creature giving them some space to move without fear of immediate attack.

With no time to lose, Eomer and Aragorn plunged immediately back into the fray, taking out Orcs as they re-joined the main battle with cries.

Aragorn did not see the Troll fall but he heard the crash and thump as it hit the ground and felt the earth tremble slightly beneath his feet. The creature had fallen. He felt a small surge of pride swell in his chest. It might not be dead but it wasn't going to take out any of his men either. That was a small victory in this great battle at least. And all around him, he heard cries similar to his as leaders instructed their men on how to bring the fearsome creatures down.

The Troll might have fallen thanks to the diligence and determination of the King and Eomer, soon to be finished off by the gathered Men, but there were still plenty of agents of the Shadow to remove before the battle was anywhere near won.

OIOI

"Master?" The Uruk approached him cautiously. He knew his master was watching the battle unfold with interest and increasing irritation and that that would not improve his already dangerous mood. An Uruk might prove a decent target for the Dark Lord in his moment of frustration. All night they had been standing there on the edges of battle watching and waiting for the Men to be crippled. He could tell that his master was annoyed. It should not be taking this long. They should have beaten the Men back within a couple of hours at the very most. It was long past dawn already. And they had just watched the Trolls, one of their greatest weapons, go down amidst a sea of fighting Men.

Sauron's hands tightened into fists at his sides, his leather gloves creaking under the tension, and beneath his hood, his eyes narrowed. This was Aragorn's doing. He just knew it. The boy king was responsible for this humiliation.

"Master? Orders, sir?" prompted the Uruk uncertainly, bowing low in the hope the action might just spare him.

"Unleash the Wolves of Isengard. Let us see if the Wizard served me well."

Bowing lower still, the Uruk backed away uncertainly for the first four paces and then turned and ran to pass on the order to a herald. Moments later there came a terrible snarling as the Wargs of Isengard were unleashed upon the unsuspecting Men.

Sauron smiled thinly. Aragorn had not overcome him yet.

OIOI

Eomer knew the sound well. All the Rohirrim did. He heard it clearly even over the roar of battle. It chilled him and his men to the bone.

"The Wargs!" he yelled in warning just as a blur of matted brown fur and glinting white teeth flashed past him. His call was not fast enough for one unfortunate soldier, who found himself suddenly with a slice out of his midsection courtesy of the Warg-rider's scimitar. Eomer whipped around but it was too late to help. The man cried out in panic and pain, grasping at his middle. But there was no time to dwell on the terrible wound. Almost immediately he was set upon by the ravenous Warg and within a minute he was ripped to pieces simply for the joy of doing it.

"Aragorn! Wargs!" shouted Eomer again, hoping to alert as many people as possible before they met the same fate as the soldier.

Most of the Men had met these creatures in battle before. They knew how to kill them effectively but it was not easy. Eomer thought that he would have preferred another slow, dim Troll over these far more intelligent and dangerous creatures.

Snarling surrounded him then. There were at least forty of the vicious creatures coming from all sides of the battlefield, indiscriminately killing any Man or creature of the Shadow they came across. It didn't matter to them whether they took Rohirrim or Gondorian or Ranger. They seemed to have no preference and no orders other than to kill whatever they could.

"Spears!" Aragorn called, hoping to take at least a few of the beasts from a distance. However, by now the long weapons had dwindled to almost nothing. The men had attempted to retrieve any darts left behind, even if they had belonged to the Shadow at some point. It didn't matter where they came from only that they were sharp and flew true. One or two had even managed to scavenge bows and arrows off of the fallen Goblins. They were hardly the best of weapons and of poor quality but it didn't matter to the soldiers. Any weapon was good enough.

A few arrows flew past the soldiers and took down two Wargs and their riders but it wasn't enough. Men fell all around, pounced upon and dismembered by the awful Wolves.

"Eomer, kill them!" Aragorn yelled, hoping that Eomer would gather together the Rohirrim who were more adept at killing perhaps their worst foe; but the Rohirrim had become separated and scattered in the midst of battle and were no longer as one unit. He cursed to himself and turned in an attempt to find some warriors and bring them together again. They should not have become so terribly separated.

"Faramir!" He found the man not too far away from him – the first time he had seen him since the beginning of the battle. "To me!"

Immediately, his command was obeyed and Faramir, accompanied by his loyal lieutenant and a dozen other warriors, joined him, sword already prepared for the order he knew was about to be spoken.

"Take them down."

Within minutes, Faramir and his men had managed to get six of the beasts on the ground and rid them of their riders. They didn't bother with killing blows, so long as they were suitably disabled and could not harm anyone else. More soldiers came to them, realising the aim of the small group of warriors. They wanted the Wargs dead too before they killed more of their comrades.

"Come together! Kill them!" Aragorn encouraged as he slit the throat of another Orc who attempted to stop him.

The bulk of the Warg crashed into him before he even realised what was happening. He found himself face-down on the blood-soaked ground struggling to drawn in breath under the terrific weight of the foul creature. He found that he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything. The crushing pain was overwhelming and he squeezed his eyes shut as he fought for breath. He felt heavy paws, rough and wet, pressing down on his back, keeping him pinned to the ground and unable to lift his sword arm. The creature stank of death and decay and he flinched as he felt hot breath on his neck. It was sniffing him.

"Look to the king!" a desperate shout from an unknown voice went up and then he heard complete chaos erupt all about him.

The Warg holding him down shifted, as though checking about itself for danger or as if worried that someone was attempting to take its prey away from it. Aragorn used the slight shift above him to draw in a heaving breath of fetid air and made a half-hearted attempt to struggle free or at the very least regain his hold on his weapon. It was useless though and his attempt was thwarted when the Warg realised what was happening and pinned him tighter to the ground than before.

It growled possessively over him and sniffed his neck again. It could smell Human blood so close. Then it raised its head, ready to sink its jaws in.

"Aragorn!"

Then just as suddenly as it had come, the weight above him was gone and he gasped gratefully for air, rolling onto his side and bringing up his arms to cradle his bruised, aching ribs. His vision was slightly blurred but he saw that two Men were currently slaughtering the beast and its rider that had attacked him. Two swords were plunged into the creature's heart and the Orc was beheaded for its troubles.

"Are you all right?" Faramir demanded above the noise, crouching next to him.

Aragorn nodded breathlessly, not having enough air in his lungs just yet for a verbal response. Perhaps he would have been better off telling Faramir 'no' as the Man nodded back and gripped the King's arm and hauled him up to his feet.

Patting the man's arm encouragingly, Faramir ensured he was steady before bending to retrieve Anduril from the ground where it had fallen.

After a quick self-assessment, Aragorn determined that he was not seriously hurt and took Anduril back from the Gondorian man.

"Thank you," he gasped, clutching his chest with his free hand.

"You're welcome. Come on. There is more yet to do."

Aragorn found himself being pulled along back into the heart of the fray. He was given no time to recover but that didn't matter. He was hardly going to rest up whilst his men were fighting to remain in control of the Orc legions.

OIOI

"Master." This time it was one of the Wraiths who spoke.

"What?"

"Is it time?" hissed the voice, tinged with rare impatience.

Sauron sighed beneath his hood. They were eager to join the battle. Understandably so. They wanted revenge for the loss of their brother. But Sauron would not set foot on the battlefield until he was certain that he had the advantage and he could not yet be sure of that. There was no point in risking his life for their need for vengeance. And he would not let them go ahead of him. He needed them. He knew that Aragorn would try to come for him. If, by some miracle, the young king did succeed, he wanted the Wraiths near to protect him.

"Not yet. Be patient. Your time will come."

The Wraith stepped back into formation around the Dark Lord without further comment or complaint. It was not the place of the Nazgul to dictate the way this battle progressed. They were servants and nothing more. They knew their place in the scheme of things and they would obey despite their desire to spill Human blood.

"Soon," the Dark Lord assured to assuage them. "Soon your time will come. And you will be avenged."

OIOI

"Tell me, please, does he live?"

"I don't know. Please, I have no time for this."

"You must have seen something. Does the King live? What of Eomer?"

The soldier halted abruptly in his impatience and turned to Eowyn with a stern look. "My Lady, I just don't know." His face softened beneath its mask of dirt and dried blood upon seeing the pain written on her face. "I am sorry. I'm sure that someone will be able to tell you something soon." He walked away then without another word, returning to the battle.

Eowyn turned and looked back at the camp. She had been left behind, just as she had expected to be. Of course Eomer would not allow her to actually go into battle and Aragorn would never have overruled him in that order. He had tried to placate her, of course, told her that she was to be left in charge of the healers whilst the commanders were locked in battle with the army of Shadow. It was a ridiculous assignment, she knew. But many of the women deemed unable to fight for whatever reason but who had wanted to help the soldiers had been offered the same assignment and she knew that despite her irritation at it, it was an important duty that might well be vital to the war effort and defeating the Dark Lord.

"My Lady, we need more help."

The camp was busy. Everywhere patients lay on the ground. Some were silent in their agony, whilst some screamed. Others impatiently harassed the healers, begging to be let back out onto the field even though their wounds were severe enough to prevent them from joining their comrades. Those in that last group were never in the camp for long. The healers would not hold them back if they wished to return. Many soldiers were needed out on the field of battle and the healers and physicians were stretched almost beyond their limits.

Eowyn led another soldier away towards the camp, searching for a free space. Women were dragging bodies away all the time, clearing space for the newcomers. She lowered her burden to the ground and looked about for a healer. She feared though that there was little to be done. This one was silent. That usually meant that no help could be given. She had learned that during her short time. The screamers were usually left until there was a lull, for a physician told her that if they had the energy to scream then they would live a little longer.

Occasionally, she would look at the mutilated soldiers who stumbled into the camp, sometimes alone, sometimes aided by hasty comrades, and thanked the heavens that Eomer had ordered her stay behind. She hated herself for thinking thusly though because her brother, her friends, were out there, just a split second of bad luck away from meeting the same fate.

True to her suspicions, the soldier she was helping passed away just a few minutes after being laid down. There was nothing she could do for him now, this she knew, but she lingered at his side all the same. So many she had seen meet their end here on the edge of the battlefield and mostly she had seen them from a distance dying alone and in agony, far away from friends or family and it evoked such great pity in her heart. She knew how it felt to be alone in misery waiting for the end to come. She had felt enough of that during her time in Helm's Deep. She had been liberated in the end by Legolas and now she wished she could bring to others the comfort he had brought to her. It was a small thing, an unnecessary thing, to linger with the body after death, but it brought her some comfort.

Taking the limp hand of the deceased soldier, she closed her eyes and thought briefly upon his life although she knew nothing specific about it. She wished him peace and thanked him for his contribution to their freedom.

Finally, she let go of his hand and it dropped lifelessly to his side coming to rest upon his sheath. The sword lay still inside the leather, waiting for its owner to take it up again. Eowyn lowered her hand to the handle of the weapon, feeling the fine leather. It was well looked after. Perhaps a family heirloom that had survived all the troubles. She pulled at it, testing its weight and quality. She was not well practiced in such weapons, although she had been given lessons at her request alongside the other young men and women who had wanted to fight alongside the warriors. But nevertheless, it seemed like a good weapon to her.

Casting a glance around herself, she checked that no one was watching but they were all too busy with their individual tasks to take any notice of her. Then, she pulled the sword entirely free of the man's sheath. It was impressive, a good work of art, she thought, but deadly at the same time. She tested it in her grip. It wasn't as heavy as she had thought it might be. In fact, it suited her quite well.

Getting to her feet, she moved the sword about a little, getting used to the weight and balance.

Her mind had been made up for a long time, ever since Eomer had ordered her stay where it was relatively safe, behind the battle lines. Never had she been one to rebel. She had spent a good part of her life under the control of others and that institutionalisation had been deeply ingrained into her mind. It felt wrong to go against orders, to go out on her own. And yet, standing there with a stolen sword, every advantage for following her heart presented before her, she knew that it was right.

No one paid her any attention as she slipped away with the man's cloak, sword and dagger. Wrapping the cloak tightly around her, she hurried away, following the path she had seen many men walking up seeking help from the healers left in camp. No one halted her. People going back into battle were not paid any heed, in fact they were more often than not treated as returning heroes, having survived the healing camp and then willingly returning to battle.

As she had suspected, it was chaos in the field of combat. As she neared, the noise nearly overwhelmed her and she almost turned back, thinking this a foolish escapade and her courage failing her at the last. But she found herself at first drawn by the thrill of battle pulsing through her veins and then swept up amongst Human warriors surging back towards the battle and unable to turn back. She was shoved and pushed down the incline and into the pit of battle.

Her first Orc kill was clearly a straggler. It rushed at her and she merely had to raise her arm to let the frenzied Orc run into her sword. It dropped dead and she felt a thrill of excitement at having killed one of the Shadow and terrible fear at what might have just happened to her had she not been so fortunate. There was no time, she knew, to rest or wallow in her terror. She was pushed onwards and found herself deeper than ever in the throes of war.

Not one person recognised her and she could recognise none of them. She simply fought to stay alive, knowing that her choice had been made and she now had to follow through with it. There was no going back She prayed that she would not meet her brother on the field. He would not fail to recognise her and would be furious with her for her betrayal of his orders. Or perhaps he would be proud. Either way, she did not want to have to confront him.

Surprisingly, she found herself doing rather well. Better than she thought she would. Orcs, it turned out, were fairly easy to kill. Mostly they simply walked head-long into their deaths and they wore no kind of armour and so died quickly and easily upon being impaled. She worked alone, as most Men did, fighting off anything that came close enough to strike. Her arm ached and her eyes watered from the smoke and stench of blood. But it felt right. Her fellow women had taken to the field and it felt a shame to be left behind to tend the dying.

Her initial confidence was shattered soon after when the terrible sound that struck terror into the hearts of all Men resounded across the entire battlefield. They had all heard it before and they all fought to keep from dropping their weapons to cover their ears.

She lost the battle and dropped her sword and threw up her hands to banish the terrible sound. Clenching her eyes shut, she cried out loud as the pain of the sound ripped through her.

The Nazgul had joined the battle.

To Be Continued…