[Arry]

In the midst of battle, unwelcome death . . .

Lord Ereglin waved them on. The trio had ridden somewhat beyond the area where the Orcs were fully engaged with the Dunedain troops, and had stopped to look back on the fighting. Rôsgollo and Gaeredhel kept close to Ereglin’s mount, making sure the Elf was strong enough to maintain himself astride the horse. He assured them he was, urging them with his motions to join in the fray.

The Orcs were disorganized, frantic in their fighting. Striking out wildly against the Dunedain onslaught. For their part, the brothers mowed down a good number of the creatures that came against them. But, then, Gaeredhel grew tired; his right shoulder increasingly painful. The strokes of his blade were slower, less forceful. And several times he was almost unseated as an Orc with a lance pushed past his blade and struck against him.

Rôsgollo had been keeping parallel with his brother, and seeing him falter, he drew nearer to him, cutting through the few Orcs that crowded about him. Two Orcs with lances now harried Gaeredhel, and Rôsgollo could see, as his brother shifted in his saddle, the stain of blood enlarging on his right shoulder. Gaeredhel’s wound had opened up, and even now the blood trailed down his side beneath his shirt, a small rivulet running red down his high boot. An unfortunately aimed blow from one of the lances knocked the Elf to the ground. The two Orcs bore down on Gaeredhel, the one’s club bashing soundly against the Elf’s head with a sickening sound as the other drove his lance just above the neck line of the mail shirt, where the exposed throat lay.

Too late Rôsgollo came close enough to strike a blow against them. Already he could see the light fading from his brother’s eyes. With a cry he drove the Orcs away from his fallen sibling, slashing at them with grim determination. He drew his horse to a halt very near Gaeredhel’s now still form, dismounting quickly. He stood over him, slicing at the oncoming Orcs with a precise economy of strokes. He would hold them off, he thought, until he could secure his brother’s body from the foul creatures.

The Orcs, for their part, were attracted to one of their foe on foot. They pushed in against him in increasing numbers until the very weight of them bore him under; their clubs and blades bringing him to the same still repose as claimed his brother. Like ants over dead leaves, the Orcs swirled in their frenzy and just as quickly dispersed seeking other prey . . .