[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Owacyn looked around and parried another stroke, reposting and piercing the orcs body, pulling hiw sword out he swung it around and beheaded another. He saw Elladan and Elrohir and smiled, they had been good freinds for many years, but he had hoped that he could have ended the friendship another way. Looking around he saw Arathorn shove his blade through an orc's throat, Owacyn spun around and hacked another orc to the ground. An arrow flashed out of the darkness and smashed into his left arm, just above the elbow, it tore through and punctured the other side. Owacyn let out a scream of pain and took his left hand off his sword, it was useless now. Wielding his sword one handed he spun it deftly in his hand and pushed it through another orc's sternum, wrenching it free in time to thrust it backwards into an orc's belly. He felt a blade push into his back, but it didn't go deep. Crying out he turned and brought his sword down with all his strength, the orc fell back, its skull cloven cleanly in two.

Owacyn looked to Hanindur, and watched him slay orc after orc as they came at him. Spitting blood, Owacyn took up a defensive stance and pulled his shield off his back with his left arm, the pain was excruciating, but it at least gave him some defence. Pushing aside an orc's slash with his shield he slashed its throat and it fell back, gurgling, pinning a smaller orc underneath it. A blade sliced across his abdomen, leaving a large cut, but not damaging any organs, Owacyn was losing blood fast now. He knew he would die, no medicine, elvish or otherwise, could be administered in time now...

Owacyn fell to one knee, still slashing calculatedly at the orcs approaching him. Thirteen more fell under his blade, until with all his strength, he stood up shouting a warcry, winging his sword around in a large defensive circle it took the lives of another three unlucky orcs. Another arrow came from the back, slamming into his right chest, just below the nipple, puncturing a lung. Blood now seeped continually from Owacyn's mouth, and every mouthful he spat out drained his strength more. Screaming hate he walked slowly forward slashing wildly, and clearing a large perimeter around him, where orcs were hesitant to enter. Smiling, he dropped his shield and took his sword in both hands and lifted it up, blade high, so that the hilt was in front of his face. He closed his eyes slowly anda great sense of peace came over him.

On the blank backs of his closed eyelids he saw Minas Tirith, the White City, in all its glory, with the sun reflecting off the white stones. He was running towards it, and looking up he could see his wife and child on the battlements, she held the baby up high and it gurgled happiness. A small tear fell from his eye and trickled down his cheek. Arathorn turned round just as this happened "OWACYN!" he cried, but to Owacyn the voice was strangely distant. He reached the battlements and began to climb the stone wall, ever closer to the top. The orcs around him murmured, and started to move closer. Owacyn heard them, but like Arathorn's voice, he felt it didn't really matter.

Reaching the top of the battlements he saw his wife only a few paces away, another tear trickled out of his eye. He would never see his child, not for real, or his wife, ever again. He looked at the child in her arms, it was a boy. "Seon," he whispered. Arrathorn and Hanindur heard his say this. "Seon," he said again, a little louder. Arathorn and Hanindur were no longer there to him. He felt the orc's sword enter his back, peircing his heart, but it didn't hurt so much. He felt his body contort as he fell backwards, and he felt the cold stone as his head smacked the floor. With a last gasp of air he murmured again, through his dead lips, "Seon."