They were surrounded. Orcs crowded around them, not too close, but just enough to be a threat. No one moved, only stared. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as the man gripped the hilt of his sword. Behind him stood the midnight haired elf, her own weapon in her hand. The icy blue eyes of the ranger never left the many Orcs as he stepped backwards. Orcs were not a worry to the man when they were in small packs… but when they were in such a large group such as this, who knows what would happen.
With his sword out at the ready before him, Aragorn turned his head slightly in the direction of his love. “You must leave,” he hissed, knowing very well that such a thing would be difficult. But she was quick, and she was swift. If she left before anything began, she wouldn’t be caught.
Before he could say anything more, the Orcs charged. Aragorn turned his attention to the crowd, his mind torn between the fight and the safety of his companion. He lunged forward, penetrating the armor of an Orc’s through the stomach.
With fluid movements he slashed and dodged, his eyes every so often searching for the female. At times he would catch sight of her, but just as quickly he would be distracted once more. In his heart he knew she was doing well— she was a skilled fighter after all. And yet, he worried.
Distracted by his thoughts, an enemy was able to lay a hit on him; the sharp feeling of a blade slashing his arm jolting him from his mind. A small cry escaped his lips and he whirled around, slashing the Orc’s neck, cutting his head clean off. In that instant, he noticed the two of them had defeated a majority of the enemy forces. Only a few lingering Orcs remained. Aragorn continued to finish off the remainder of them, Arwen too ending their lives.
Just when he thought it was over, he noticed a movement in the corner of his eye. From behind a tree, an Orc stepped out, a bow in his grasp. It raised and aimed at the dark haired elf whom was currently preoccupied with her own fight. Eyes widening, a cry came from the ranger’s throat— quickly he darted towards Arwen. There he ran, so quickly he felt he was floating, that any moment he would kick off from the ground and glide away.
With wide arms, Estel stepped in front of Arwen, shielding her from the line of sight of the Orc. Without even realizing it, the said Orc fired, the arrow slicing through the air at an alarming rate. A silent gasp escaped the mortal’s lips as the arrow pierced his stomach. There, the world stopped. Everything went silent. No leaves fell from the trees around them, no wind traveled past, nothing. Wide eyes fixed themselves on the Orc, whom was fairly pleased with his shot. The sword, which was still being held by the man, was raised. Even though an arrow protruded from his stomach, Aragorn knew that if he did nothing, Arwen would still be in danger. Even if he knew that she could take care of herself. At that thought he dashed forwards, thrusting his sword into the throat of the archer. With a gurgling cry, the Orc collapsed.
There Aragorn stood, blood seeping through his clothes. The world seemed hazy, though he tried to stay awake and aware. He turned, facing Arwen, but not a second after his knees buckled and he collapsed.