The three lower circles of the city were on fire
and the townlands within the Encircling Wall black
with Orcs and Southrons, great grey mumakil towering
over them all. And in this mass of enemies bands of
green cloaked Rohirrim gallantly fighting on against
impossible odds.

   "So...you pity us, Queen of Gondor?"

   Arwen jumped a little, turned to find the King of
the Dead suddenly at her shoulder. "Yes I do." she
answered and shivered. "No crime deserves such a
punishment."

   The empty sockets seemed to study her for a long
moment. Then the King said quietly. "Ours did." Arwen
saw her husband's head turn and his eyes narrow. "I
thank you, Lady, for your kindness to my people." the
phantom bowed to her then turned to Aragorn. "What are
your orders?"

   "Relieve the city first." he ansered flatly.
"Destroy the Orcs, but if the Men flee, let them go."
then to her. "Arwen, do what you can for the wounded."

   *If any.* she thought bleakly. This enemy usually
left naught but mutilated corpses.

   Their ship slid silently into dock. A mass of Orcs
approached the docks, a stunted specimen with a Man's
skull as a crest to his helmet pushing his way through
them to shout at the ships: "Late as usual, pirate
scum! There's knife work here that needs doing. Come
on, ya sea rats! Get off your ships!"

   Aragorn smiled that small, deadly Ranger smile.
"Come gentlemen, let's not keep our hosts waiting."
and lept over the side, followed by three Men,
Halbarad carrying the banner, two Half-Elves, a full
Elf and a Dwarf.

   As they advanced upon the nonplussed Orcs Arwen
heard Gimli tell Legolas: "There's plenty for the both
of us, may the best Dwarf win!"

   And then the Dead swept into being, flowing around
her like a chill wind and onto the docks, driving all
before them like withered leaves before the storm.

   Arwen went to fetch Asfaloth. By the time they got
back on deck the little harbor was empty and the
battle front far away, close to the city. She mounted
and rode onto the field.

   Amid the litter of dead Orcs she saw a number of
fair haired Rohirrim, on the ground but apparently
unhurt, their horses in huddles of two or three
shivering, eyes rimmed with white.

   She reined up before the nearest of the Men, one of
rank judging by his elaborate leather and steel
corselet. His helmet with its white horsehair crest
lay beside him. "Are you all right?"

   He looked dazedly up at her, squinting against the
brightness of the sky, said wonderingly: "I was
thrown. I haven't been thrown since I was eight years
old."

   Arwen frowned and dismounted for a closer look. His
skull was sound and his eyes reacted normally to
light.

   "What was that?" he asked her helplessly.

   "The army of the Dead from Dunaharrow." she
answered.

   He stared at her blankly for a moment, then his
bewilderment vanished in a fierce blaze of delight. He
laughed aloud, slapping the ground. "Aragorn! Though
all the armies of Mordor were between he said, I
should have believed him!" he scrambled to his feet,
whistled piercingly. "Firefoot! to me."

   A dark, almost blue, grey with lighter dappled head
and dark and light mingled in mane and tail, walked up
to the Man, head drooping.

   He patted the beast reassuringly. "There's my brave
lad. Never fret, not even Felarof himself could have
stood fast against that!" then swung around to shout
at the scattered Men around them. "Mount up Eorlingas!
There's still a battle to be fought here! The living
as well as the Dead will follow the King of Men!"

   He looked back at Arwen, brows drawing together in
frown. "But who are you, Lady? and how do you come to
be here?"

   "I am Arwen, the Lord Aragorn's wife." she said,
and saw a stricken look flash over his face, as it had
over King Theoden's, but this time she knew why. "I
came from the North with the Rangers."

   He bowed. "Eomer Eomund's son and Third Marshal of
the Riddermark at your service, my Lady." he looked
uncertainly at the battle front, then back at her.
"But we cannot leave you here alone and unprotected."

   "I'll be safe enough I think." she said. "The
fighting is at some distance now. I am a healer, my
lord asked me to tend to the wounded."

   He nodded. "I will leave some of my Men to aid you.
Ceorl, Eadwy, Athulf, Ethelwold and Framgar, I trust
the Lord Aragorn's lady to you. Guard her with your
lives." then he swung up into the saddle and galloped
toward the fighting, all but the five Riders he'd
named surging behind him.

   Arwen looked up into their solemn faces. "Let's see
if we can find any living Men in all this death." But
as she had feared they found naught but mangled
corpses. Unhorsed Riders had been instantly hacked to
pieces by the Orcs around them. Then she saw a flash
of Ranger grey on the ground and her heart stopped.

   Trembling she dismounted and knelt over the body.
It was Halbarad. At least he'd died quickly and
cleanly of a spear through the chest, she told
herself, and not suffered or been mutilated. But that
didn't keep the tears from coming.

   "He is kin to you, Lady?" Ceorl asked gently.

   She nodded, unable to speak. Images of a laughing
child chasing another, also long dead, down the paths
and covered walks of Rivendell; of a handsome young
knight adoring her from afar; and finally of the grim
Ranger overburdened by grief passed before her
brimming eyes.

   "This was my uncle; Halbarad son of Barahir son of
Argonui Isildur's Heir, born of the blood of Elros
Half-Elven." she choked out at last. Then found
herself saying words she had heard many times from her
Ranger kin. "He had much sorrow in his life, but now
all griefs are healed and he will find peace." and
began to cry in earnest for the child she'd helped to
raise; the young man who'd loved her; and the uncle
who'd blessed her marriage.

   Trumpets sounded and she looked up to see a great
force of Men issuing from the broken gates of Minas
Tirith to join the battle.

   "Mundberg is safe." said the Rohirrim, he touched
her shoulder gently. "We will bear your kinsman into
the city where he may rest in honor."

   "Rangers are buried where they fall." Arwen said
numbly, remembering the customs of her adopted people.

   "That would not be fitting." Ceorl said firmly. "He
cannot be left lying among this carrion, Lady."

   He sounded very certain and perhaps he was right.
Halbarad's spirit was gone to the Halls on the edge of
the World but its empty house was still deserving of
reverence. And Arwen suddenly felt very unsure of
herself, this Rohirrim had been a Man all his life but
she was very new to being a Woman; perhaps she should
listen to him. "Very well."

   They improvised a litter from spear shafts and
cloaks and carried Halbarad's body slowly towards the
city, the horses following them faithful as large
hounds. There were other small groups heading for the
broken gate; Gondorim with wounded Men, and what
looked unnerving like a formal cortege; Riders of
Rohan on foot bearing two litters surrounded by a
mounted honor guard with green penants flying from
their spears.

   They met under under the city wall and Arwen could
see the apprehension in Ceorl's face as he asked;
"What burden do you bear, Horse Brothers?"

   "Theoden King." was the solemn answer. "He is dead
and Eomer King now rides in the battle."

   "And who else?" asked Ethelwold, looking at the
second bier.

   "The Lady Eowyn, Eomund's daughter."

   "No!" Arwen pushed her way through the file of
Riders to look with anguish on the still white face
she remembered only to well. Aragorn would never
forgive himself for this, she thought unhappily, nor
would she find it easy to forgive herself for her part
in it. "Oh, child, child, could you not have waited
just a little? Given yourself time to heal?"

   She touched the pale cheek and it was cold. But
Eowyn's flesh did not feel empty, as Halbarad's had.
Arwen drew her dagger and held the bright blade to the
Woman's lips, gave a great gasp of relief as a faint
mist formed upon it. "She lives! Quickly, we must get
her to aid before it is too late."