Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any of the characters or settings in this story, except for the one I made up.
Elrohir and Elladan, my two distant older brothers. I was slightly surprised I even recognized them. They had been so little a part of my former life; they were not even present at my hearing or exile. The only family member I could still consider family was my sister, my dying sister.
"My apologies," Elrohir muttered, straightening his back, "I was being childish."
Yet the glares still presided over their faces. I returned them, my face morphing into stone, and I turned and sped away before I was forced to face my past even more. Legolas broke his rank and followed me.
"Wait, Laira!" he called, catching me, grabbing my hand to tether me down.
"I have to leave," I said sullenly.
"You cannot," he replied smoothly, coolly, sure I would listen. Like a lame duck, I laid my head on his shoulder.
"I know."
He ran his fingers through my short hair, his breath sending the wisps dancing along my forehead.
"I have not overstepped my boundaries; I have not broken the terms of my exile; there is nothing they can do to me," I said resolutely. Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, they were worth the pain of facing my past.
Avoidance was key, and I consider myself a master. Not that I was sitting around in idle boredom over the course of the day. There was a battle to prepare for, and I found myself locked in the armory, handing out swords, mail shirts, shields to any man who could hold them, young or old. The hopeless eyes passed by me in an endless line, but not one of those eyes was the eye of a coward. These were people, man at his finest hour. Not overwhelmingly, blindingly brave men who charged on white horses into battle, thinking only of stinking glory, but men who knew what they had to do, knew what they had to protect, knew what the end looked like, without a shadow of a doubt, and yet still faced it head on. They were scared, frightened out of their very minds, and here they were, grasping swords they could barely hold to fight an evil they had not the minds to comprehend.
What it was that drove these men on, I could never say. I have no fear of death, because the only time I encounter it is when I wear the mantle of Death himself. But these men did, and I could see it. Why did they not run, save themselves from the ultimate end? I could see no excessive pride in their slumping shoulders, no pride for homeland or king. There were a few of those, and I knew they were most likely going to be among the first killed, charging foolishly out on their proverbial white horses. No, it was not pride I saw in them.
During that day, however, I found hope in the hopeless men. I know not the roots of it, and I do not fully understand it, but there is something to be said for men that are usually trampled over like bugs during a battle, the men that know they will be and pick up a sword anyway. Not all of us can be like Aragorn or King Theoden, great leaders against the evils of the world, and the universe will not cry when we die, but it was enough for me to see that those men simply picked up their swords in spite of it.
Not long after our Elfish allies arrived, the Uruk-Hai did. It was dusk, and standing at the front of the battlements, looking out onto the valley, we waited and watched their coming with shaky hearts and shakier arms. There was a moment of tender lightheartedness as Legolas, Gimli, and I stood in the ranks of Rohan's people. I smiled at my friends and hoped against hope that this was not the last time I was to see them.
Legolas and I had already had a farewell of sorts; about an hour we spent lovemaking before we were called to arms. It might have been a foolish way to spend an hour that had an encroaching battle on its tail end, but we needed each other at that time more than ever.
And now we stood next to each other, calmly awaiting the fight. I smiled slightly at him when he glanced at me, and he wound his eyes around mine for a moment. I wanted to whisper some matronly blessing, some "be safe, my love", to him, but I knew it would be foolish.
The orcs started stomping their feet down in the valley, filling it with such a rumbling that I thought Doom himself was rising from the earth. In fear, an old man let fly an arrow, drawing the first blood of the Battle of Helm's Deep.
After the anticipation that built up, the start of the fight was like the tiny crack that causes a dam to explode. There was nothing for me to do now but exhaust my arrow supply; I had no business going into Bloodwrath in the midst of so many of my own. Ladders started flying up from the gloom, and when one landed closest to me, I hopped on top of it before the others could push it away, flying down the ladder with my scimitars leading the charge, Bloodwrath blinding me.
I felt the zing of an arrow as it pierced my shoulder, the slash of a sword as its steely blade bit into me, and I buried the pain. All that mattered was the next kill. The hours blurred past. I needed no rest in this state, no nourishment. As my companions fought to keep the enemy out of the hold, I was down at the bottom of the valley, my back pressed against the stone, letting them come to me.
At one point, they stopped charging me, and I raced back up a ladder that still stood against the battlements. At the top, men scattered away from me faster than the orcs did, but I knew there was no enemy here. The Bloodwrath was subsiding for a moment, but I had yet to feel the draining of energy that came with the end. I was living in a rosy pink world rather than a blood red one.
I found Aragorn and Theoden, planning one last desperate charge against the horde. My brothers were with them, as were Gimli and Legolas, much to my joy. But they all kept a wide circumference from my blood-soaked self.
"Would you like to lead the charge?" Aragorn asked, wanting me in front rather than behind. I grinned devilishly.
"Of course."
"I bet she has racked up more kills than the both of us combined," muttered Gimli to Legolas, who nodded.
"Are you fair? You look horrible," Legolas said, approaching me and taking my hand. Even I was unsure of my control at the moment, and so I cannot imagine what fear the others had for Legolas, but he had none.
"I am fine," I said, pulling away to a nice cautious distance.
As we opened the gates, I am not sure who unleashed upon whom, but I think the attack was in our favor. Once again, I was lost to the swirling of swords and death.
As we fought upon that ledge, the sun showed her face on the bloody field. And with the arrival of the sun were Gandalf and the Riders of Rohan, as promised. They came soaring down the hillside, saviors, and even through the red I saw a saving white light.
The battle was over; we had miraculously prevailed. It took not more than a minute for me to crash, and I think perhaps the most unbelievable part of the battle, in fact, I am not sure still if it was a dream or not, was Elrohir pulling me into a hug as I sagged to the ground and whispering, "My sister, Aria, you have proven yourself tonight."
Author's note – I misspelled the name Aria in the last chapter. I had it in my mind, so I'm not sure why I didn't type it like that, but I was looking over the chapter and noticed it and changed it. Sorry, again. Also, I deviated from using the lyrics of the Styx song" Renegade" for my chapter titles, because the Led Zeppelin song "the Battle of Evermore" is just so much more perfect. I might change them all now.