They were to make for Helm's Deep, the famed fortress beneath the mountains that had saved the people of Rohan many times, protecting them from enemies with its high walls and strong gates. Celemîr had seen it once when she spread her wings century and a half ago, flying high over Gondor and the west, marvelling at the wide spaces of Rohan and the mountains. She did not know at the time that she would be so actively involved in defending them, riding with the king of Rohan and his people. It seemed that Théoden was embarrassed with the way he treated her, with the insults he spat at her in a brief moment of weakness; offering her a new cloak and extra supplies for the road. Celemîr had declined both and suggested he give it to someone in more dire need, seeing as Grima Wormtongue's rule had cost much of the city; many of the people were thin and ill, with little to no furs and barely any decent food. She did all she could before they set out, warming the hands of children and helping distribute food to lonely mothers.
"It is time," Aragorn had pulled her away from a young girl no older than sixteen and led her over to the stables, greeting Théoden King with a bow before readying his own horse. Théoden was wearing a handsome set of blue robes and the crown she had created for him, still shining brightly. He was strong for a father, lifting her like she weighed less than a feather, settling her gently on the back of Hasufel,
"I hope you well for the journey," he said, walking to his own horse and swinging himself up, much like his kin, Éomer and Celemîr felt her chest suddenly tighten. Gandalf had set off on Shadowfax three days ago to find the Rohirrim and was intending to bring them back for a battle only he foresaw. It brought her joy to think she would be able to see Éomer again, to talk to him, to stand next to him. Meeting in battle was not ideal but in the dark times ahead, Celemîr relished in the very thought of being able to see his smile again.
Théoden led the city-folk out of Edoras, riding with Aragorn and his chief guard, Hama at his side. There were hundreds of people following, carrying only the bare essentials and talking among themselves about what the future brought.
"You ride well," Éowyn was walking in between Celemîr and Gimli, both on horses and both struggling to keep their feet in the stirrups, "I hear elves have wonderful horses," she mused dreamily and Celemîr grinned, patting Hasufel on the neck,
"None like these," she replied, "The horses in Lorien are ceremonial and are tended to with the utmost care; they have seen too few battles to be called steeds – they are guides," Gimli shrugged, "And we do not have nearly the numbers as Rohan does,"
"Oh!" Éowyn let out an excited chirp, "This is only a fraction! There are towns all over the Mark, and the Rohirrim number three thousand and forty!" Celemîr did not miss the sly look the dwarf sent her,
"And they were a sight to behold," she muttered and quickly ducked her head when Gimli chuckled knowingly,
"As was their master," he said and Éowyn cocked her head,
"I'd heard that you met my brother, is he well?" Celemîr refused to answer so Gimli leant forwards,
"He was," he spoke with a grin, "Especially when he saw our young bird here," Éowyn let out a gasp, covering her mouth, "Nearly tripped on himself to get to her,"
"It was not like that," Celemîr scolded the dwarf, "He was humble and polite, and concerned for his king,"
"And dazzled by you!" Gimli continued gleefully, obviously finding tormenting her thoroughly entertaining, "Master Éomer could not take his eyes off you lassie! It's true," he added upon seeing Éowyn's look of utter joy, "They made a promise to meet again,"
"How romantic," Éowyn commented gaily, "I would be happy to call you my sister Celemîr," the woman flushed scarlet and let out a flustered huff, kicking Hasufel into a trot, toward the front of the procession. Théoden was riding silently before his subjects, holding the reins with one hand and looking ahead with such intense concentration that Celemîr didn't think he noticed her arrival,
"And I would be proud to name you my kin," he spoke gently, causing her to stare at him with shock lining her face, "It is unheard of for a Lord of Rohan to wed an elf but I should hope to see it happen between Éomer and you – to have you as both an ally and a niece would be a gift,"
Celemîr swallowed, "Thank you," she adjusted the pin on her cloak and blew into her hands to warm them against the chilly wind. They remained silent for the rest of the journey, sending slight smiles if they caught the other's eye but they spoke no more of Éomer, focussing solely on arriving at Helm's Deep intact. A few times they were forced to stop while Legolas scouted ahead for obstacles, only to come back with no such news,
"It is only a two day journey," Aragorn took his turn riding while Celemîr walked beside him, "We should be there by noon," their conversation was suddenly interrupted by two riders heading further afoot than the group, disappearing over a high rise in the ground. After a brief moment, Celemîr's ears picked up terrified whinnying and the snapping jaws of a creature only found in Mordor.
Théoden reared his horse and shouted to Legolas, who had run toward the rise, "What is it? What do you see?"
"A warg!" the elf darted into action, shooting targets only he could see, "We are under attack!" he called back and Celemîr could hear the roars of the bear-like creatures that she hadn't encountered for sixty years, advancing closer and closer to the group. Théoden rallied his riders and ordered Éowyn to continue to Helm's Deep with the refugees, something she apparently did not want to do; the young woman wanted to fight,
"Your time will come," Celemîr clutched her arm and helped her gather a group of children, "and when it does, we will ride together – but now you must be a beacon I cannot," the princess nodded with thin lips and hard eyes, calling out for them to take to lower ground, to keep safe and quiet. Celemîr watched them go for a moment before turning to the battle, running forward with her bow ready, shooting the first evil shadow she saw; an orc sitting atop a grey warg. The wolfish creature fell with a cry and the orc spat at her, raising his weapon. A second arrow to lodged in his chest. Celemîr leapt over the body and observed the carnage, dodging swings and blows from the enemy, witnessing men fall and horses scream when they were hacked apart. Blood watered the grass, black and red for each side. Celemîr growled, thrusting the end of her bow into a passing warg's throat and adding to the stains surrounding her feet. She saw Legolas trying to aid Gimli, lifting at least three bodies off the dwarf and hoisting him to his feet; Théoden was still atop his horse, brandishing his sword like he had not battled for an age; Aragorn had been knocked down and had a gaze on his temple, but was fighting like there was nothing to lose.
"C'mere my pretty," a voice called and Celemîr grimaced, turning to face the oncoming enemy; it was a tall orc with tiny eyes and pointed teeth. It held a weapon with a serrated edge, pointing it at her, "Come lay your pretty neck on -,"
His head was rolling across the ground before he could finish, Celemîr's sword dripping with black blood and she kicked the body away. Horses and warg's charged all around her, weaving in and around, all engaged in their own battles. She was at a disadvantage without a horse, standing several feet below everybody else, struggling to strike the enemy,
"I fear we are outnumbered," Gimli huffed up to her, black fluid covering half his face, "The small ones seem to get no chance at battle,"
"I have killed a fair few," Celemîr retaliated and just to prove herself, shot an arrow at an orc that was chasing Théoden, "But I agree," Gimli laughed and launched himself back into the chaos with a roar, swinging his axe into the underbelly of any mutt that passed him. Celemîr was about to follow with a cry of her own but something caught her eye, something brown and moving fast towards the edge of a nearby cliff. It was a warg, smaller than the rest but no more foul and she saw someone hanging off its shoulder, being dragged along beside it, knocking into rocks and bodies. She only saw who was the creature's victim when it leapt over the side of the cliff,
"ARAGORN!" her shriek echoed around the field, so high and piercing that orcs had to stop to cover their ears, which only resulted in their brutal death. It seemed her anguish had won the battle, the remaining wargs being chased down and slaughtered by riders wielding long spears.
"Celemîr, where is he?" Legolas bounded up to her, not a hair out of place, "What happened?"
He held her shoulders and she sank to the ground, "It is a hundred foot drop, he would never have survived," the elf's eyes widened at her confession and at the blankness held behind her eyes. Legolas left her, running over to the only orc still breathing, the one who had Gimli's axe held to his neck, the one who cackled when Legolas asked where his friend was,
"Took a little tumble off the cliff," and the laughing ceased, something all who stood near was glad of. Celemîr remained where she was, kneeling helplessly in the blackened grass with her head bowed and her bow lain across her thighs. He was her friend, a guide through the darkest of times, a king who rallied them for battle and who led them through lands she did not even knew existed. She refused to believe Aragorn was dead - absolutely putting her foot down and shaking her head. There was a deep river at the bottom of the ravine, maybe he had fallen and gotten swept away by the current, too fast for anyone to be able to save him. Maybe he was only unconscious, laying on a bank not far away, waiting for someone to help him or waiting for his strength to be regained. Maybe he was on his way back to them, clambering over rocks with his sword still in hand …
"My lady," someone stood in front of her, "We must leave now," the soldier had a bandage on his forehead but he smiled kindly at her, handing her the reins of Hasufel, "It is only a few hours till we get to Helm's Deep,"
Celemîr fell into formation behind Legolas and Gimli, urging her horse to keep up with the others, staying in line as accurately as any of the Rohirrim. There seemed to be less than two hundred of them now and many were wounded, having to be supported by their companions or slung over horses like packs. It saddened her to leave the battle field, having not buried or burned any of those who fell for Rohan and she cursed herself for not doing it alone; her powers could have given them the funeral they deserved, turning them to a white ash that would simply blow away into the wind. She also cursed Aragorn because he was a fool, a fool to go for that warg and to think he could take it on without a bow or a spear. Although his sword was true and sharp, even she couldn't take one down alone on foot and so she called him a fool for thinking he could win.
Celemîr's mind remained restless, following the Rohirrim as they began to ascend up a steep path, climbing higher and higher until the ground levelled out, forming a ledge at which Legolas and Celemîr halted their horses. Before them lay the mountains of Ered Nimuras with jagged peaks and cloud shrouded summits, and the ground situated far below them was flat, bare and barren, with tiny rivulets trickling downwards to the River Isen. The only colours they could see was brown, grey and beige; the colours of a land that had suffered many battles. At the base of one of the mountains stood a magnificent stone structure, a wall measuring approximately one mile ran from one sheer edge of the mountain to the other, curving into an even larger fortress with many levels and layers. A raised causeway ran from the mud flats right up to the huge wood and iron wrought doors that opened upon Théoden's call. The keep itself was a thing of marvel, hundreds of tunnels and corridors that all eventually led to the Hornburg; a grand hall situated within the deepest depths of the keep and was partially dug into the mountain, with a huge great tower upon which were four horns to sound when battle was upon them.
Celemîr rode through the keep, swerving and backtracking between impossibly high walls, dodging refugees who were scattered about the place; some weeping, some comforting each other, some injured and some already dead. The horse's hooves were almost deafening, metal screeching against stone and echoing throughout the streets, causing many to shrink away from the riders. Legolas dropped from his horse as soon as it stopped, walking away into the Hornburg and leaving Gimli to make his own way to the ground. Celemîr pulled up and helped him down before handing the two horses over to a stable guard, noticing a flash of gold beside her,
"Éowyn," the woman had mud on her face and a rip in her dress but was otherwise unhurt, and she ran to Celemîr's open arms,
"I am glad to see you," she felt tears wetting her shoulder, "I am sorry about Lord Aragorn,"
Celemîr pulled away sharply and her face grew stony, "Don't apologise where there is no fault," she dipped her head, "I believe he had not left us yet,"
"You hope is something we all envy," Éowyn touched her hand and they looked at each other,
"It has kept me alive, and it will keep you alive too," Celemîr explained, "believe that Aragorn will return my lady, that he will return to you," tears began falling down Éowyn's cheeks but she still managed to smile,
"Like you believe my brother will return for you?" she said sweetly and Celemîr flushed pink, but nodded all the same, "Then I hope for life,"
It was three days before there was any news of Aragorn, and it turned up in the strangest of ways. Celemîr was aiding the king in making plans for the future of Rohan, on where to put the women and children should battle be thrust upon them, how to defend the Deeping wall and the Hornburg. She was leaning over a map of Middle-Earth with a quill pressed against her lips while two of Théoden's advisers were arguing loudly. Over the ruckus and the echoes came another voice, clear and strong. It was a voice she knew well speaking just outside the Hornburg and a familiar laugh tore right through her chest,
"Aragorn," Celemîr dropped the quill, ignoring Théoden's shouts and questions, "Aragorn!"
The doors burst open like they weighed nothing, her strength nearly splintering the wood and causing several people to cry out in fright. Legolas managed to step out of the way just in time, laughing as Celemîr threw herself into Aragorn's arms, slinging her legs around his hips and burying her face into his neck,
"You fool," she wept, "You absolute fool!" her tears soaked his overcoat but he only laughed, "Don't you dare laugh! No, stop!" Celemîr clutched his shoulders tighter, "I saw you go over, the warg took you over,"
"Your kin kept me in the light," Aragorn set her down and looked down into her tear stained face, "Your hope and hers gave me strength," she knew he was speaking of Arwen, of the connection they had because of their undying love. She wondered if the she-elf was well, considering her father had plans for her to move into the West, "I must speak with Théoden,"
Celemîr pointed back to the Hornburg and Aragorn kissed the top of her head before darting away, the wound on his shoulder no longer bleeding or raw. Gimli returned to her side,
"He's a lucky lad," he spoke tiredly and Celemîr nodded, "lucky he's alive,"
