Cycle of Life and Death

Envisage the scene. A tall grey castle on top of a grassy hill. A blazing sun. A few flecks of high cirrus. A gentle breeze. The castle has two doors, one on top of the hill and a lower, main door, further down.
I emerge from the higher door with another man, both running. Around a dozen orcs and goblins attack us with razor sharp swords, bows and arrows. We are also armed with short stubby swords. I turn to attack two identical goblin twins, stabbing both through the chest. We run down the hill towards the safety of the lower door. Black arrows whizz past. I wait for the piercing pain of a hit.
I know what the arrows and swords feel like as they enter my flesh. This is not the first attack by the Tolkienesque band of warriors.
I know that we will have to go through the castle again and again, emerge from the upper door and run the gauntlet of the goblin/orc band. Sometimes we do not survive.
Must be a resolution waiting to be found.
Perhaps I need therapy.