“Focus on my voice.”
Focus on my voice.
And that, he did. Or in truth did he try. The world around him spun, though he was still as the most motionless of stones. Upon the ground he lay, unmoving, his breathing shallow. Pain pierced through his abdomen where he had been speared. Though the forces of Sauron had been defeated long ago, a few Orcs still wandered about in small groups. What they did was beyond him— most likely bandits of sorts. The King, older than he was during the War of the Ring, grabbed his sword and headed towards the Orcs. Deemed unwise it may have been, he did not care.
Elessar defeated them with ease, even at his age. When his daughter approached, and a hidden Orc with a bow and arrow showed itself, he panicked. Kicking off from the ground, running towards her as quickly as his legs could carry, he shielded her. His form jerked as the force of the arrow slammed into him. Where the Orc disappeared to, he did not know, for everything became still. The world froze, and his form collapsed— to his knees first, and then to his back. The wound was deep, life threatening, but not completely hopeless. If he received help now, if he was bandaged and healed now, he would survive. Time was of the essence.