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ELAMIR CLUNG TO ARAGORN'S waist as they galloped in the direction of the billowing smoke on the horizon. They knew not what they would find... only that the Uruks had been slain in the dead of night as they held Merry and Pippin captive. Knowing the chaos of battle, the four warriors had little faith that the two Hobbits had survived the massacre. But they had to try— to believe. When the group approached the charred remains of the evil beasts, the overwhelming smell of burnt flesh and crackling sounds overwhelmed their sensed. As Elamir slid off Hasufel, she lifted the back of her hand to cover her nose in an attempt to evade the stench.
One Uruk's head was impaled on a staff, it's blackened tongue hanging from between bloody lips. The Gondorian princess relished the look of horror that rested upon his hideous features. Quickly, however, she passed by the monster and continued to search for their dear, little friends. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli quickly followed behind and searched the plains in despair. They refrained from searching the pile of bodies, not willing to entertain the idea that Merry and Pippin could be lying in the rubble. But Gimli made his way over nonetheless.
He used the edge of his axe to gently dig through the burnt bodies. His movements faltered as he spotted a familiar garment. He turned to the three others with glossed eyes, showing them what he had found. "... It's one of their wee belts."
Elamir felt a tear dance down her cheek as Legolas whispered Elven prayers beside her. His words were swept away by the wind, into the air of Rohan to be lost with all the spirit that remained. Aragorn gazed into the distance, but a sudden anger overtook his figure. He searched for any way to express this frustration— this rage at his failure to keep his people safe. His eyes glanced briefly at Elamir before they fell to a rogue helmet on the ground before him. Before he knew it, the future king kicked the armor with all the strength he could muster, sending it flying across the clearing.
Elamir's heart clenched at the cry of heartbreak that burst forth from his lips. Aragron fell to his knees with his head hung low, and her feet took her to him. She laid a soft hand on his shoulder, rubbing the thick material of his cloak, hoping he could feel some semblance of affection from her touch. He could. He lifted his hand to overtake her own, still resting on his shoulder.
"We failed them," Gimli whispered, more so to himself than the others.
Elamir shook her head, but could not form the words to respond. There was no language that could express the pain in her heart at this terrible loss. She swallowed thickly in an effort to dispel the guilt that amassed in her chest, but it did nothing. Legolas set a hand over his chest and let it sweep toward the grave, as if sending what energy he could toward the lost souls.
Aragorn's head lifted from its lowered position as he sensed a change in the air. His hand slipped away from Elamir's, so she pulled her own back to her side. His eyes flickered across the ground, searching for clues in the dirt. He pulled himself to kneel near a small indentation in the earth and his fingers dipped into the grass momentarily.
