Usual disclaimers and thanks: nothing is mine, etc., etc. Many thanks to my betas, eekfrenzy, Amedia and Rose; all errors are mine.

Thanks again to my reviewers. And don't forget—all of Barbarella's kids are non-canon (i.e., my own) characters. I hope that my readers will still care about what's going to happen to them...

Section 11 Captain Barbarella

By the time the sun came up over the walls of the Keep, I was rumpled, grainy-eyed from lack of sleep, and aching from a night spent squatting on stones. The terror of the night had died down into a mere desperate foreboding.

All around me, clumps of refugees were beginning to rouse from sleep. Although still exhausted from the long march, they looked pretty cheerful now that they were safe behind the walls of the Hornburg.

Safe. Yeah, sure.

I too was ensconced within the walls of the Hornburg, but I wasn't feeling very cheerful about it. And I had no idea what I was going to do next—except, of course, that I desperately wanted to find a bowl of oatmeal and a clean washcloth.

Just then there was a sharp whistle right overhead and I heard a boyish yell. "She's here! It's Barbarella! I've found Barbarella!"

When I looked up, I saw a whole row of grubby, disheveled boys staring down at me from the parapet at the top of the Postern Gate stairs. Six, eight, ten—yes, all twelve of my kids were there. Even Haleth!

All of them were alive, at least for the moment.

Descending the stairs in a few bounds, Haleth asked breathlessly, "Where have you been? We've been looking for you since dawn!" The rest of the kids followed him in a ragged line.

"We need your help, Barbarella. You're our only hope!" That was Alfwine, who seemed practically glued to Haleth's side.

"They want us to go and hide with the babies!" Elric complained in his habitual tone of snark.

"Please, you must tell Marshall Éomer that we should stay in the fortress," Haleth explained. "Théoden King has ordered all save the warriors to wait out the battle in the caverns beneath the mountains."

To a boy, every one of them was incensed at the thought of being sent to the only safety there was. What can I say—it's the way they think in Rohan.

"Come on, kids—why should someone like Éomer listen to me?" I protested weakly. "Who do you think I am, anyway?"

Haleth sneaked a surreptitious glance at his cousin Alfwine, who shot back a conspiratorial grin back at him. I knew then that I was in trouble.

"Because you are our Captain," Haleth answered smugly.

"Because I am your WHAT??!"

"No, really," Alfwine interjected. "It was Marshall Éomer himself who placed us under your authority and commanded us to obey your orders. Isn't that what being a Captain means?"

"Come on, Alfwine, you know that's not what he meant."

"No, I suppose it is not." Alfwine airily conceded the point and then disregarded it as irrelevant. That boy was going to make a great barracks lawyer one day. "But Éomer cannot simply gainsay his order and there is no time now for an argument. So I believe he will let us stay here with the warriors if you can think of a good reason for us to remain."

Twelve pairs of eyes stared at me pleadingly. Every one of my kids was bound and determined to escape the only protection their King could offer them so that he could risk his life in the Battle of Helm's Deep.

And the decision was all going to come down to me.

I thought hard for a few seconds and then replied, "Okay, I'm with you guys. Let's go for it!"

Surprised you there, didn't I? What, did you think I wanted to cower in a cave while I waited to find out which side had won the battle? Look, I'm no shieldmaiden, but I'd sworn to myself after I watched the Twin Towers fall that no matter what, I wasn't going to die sitting in a chair waiting for the rescue personnel to show up. If somebody wanted to kill me, they'd have to hit a moving target.

But if that was the choice that I'd make, then my kids—who'd been raised from infancy to stand up and face the enemy—would surely make it too. We might have started in different places, but we'd all reached the same decision.

What I needed to do was to figure out a worthwhile project that my kids and I could do aboveground, and even more important, a project that Éomer and Théoden would actually believe that we were capable of doing.

Believe it or not, as soon as I nailed down the parameters and considered the facts that I already knew, the solution was obvious. Score one for the trained academic mind.

"I've got it! It's perfect! We can be stretcher-bearers," I announced to my smudgy little army. "I love you kids, but let's face it, you're not ready to fight orcs yet. What we are able to do is what the warriors won't have time to do—we can carry the wounded men away from the battle into a place of safety."

One or two of my young warriors-in-training seemed a bit perturbed that I hadn't figured out a more spectacular way to get them all slaughtered. But Haleth, who'd seen up close and personal what I was talking about, said firmly, "Barbarella is right! There can be no greater honor for us than to help our fallen warriors!"

Every one of those kids knew exactly what Haleth had gone through to get his father to Helm's Deep, so any urge they might have had to protest was instantly stifled. Then Haleth yelled, "Hurrah for Barbarella!" and all of the rest of them followed suit—with cheers, or whoops, or yells of "Woo hoo!" or whatever.

That's why Haleth is such a primo sidekick—he always comes through in a pinch.

***********

If I'd had the tiniest notion of what I was letting myself in for, I would never have dared to volunteer. Not because of the risk—everybody within the walls of the Hornburg was facing a horrible risk. Because of the responsibility.

Think about it—we had maybe two days (if I was lucky) to pull together what amounted to a MASH unit right in the middle of a terrified mob of refugees. If my kids and I were going to have any chance at all of success, we needed at the very minimum a dedicated staging area, lots of stretchers and blankets, all the medical supplies I could scrape together, and the full cooperation of the healers from Meduseld. And we would have to scare this up all by ourselves. Théoden's warriors would be far too busy to spend a single minute overseeing us. We'd be on our own, and for good or ill, I'd be the one in charge.

To look on the bright side, though, there's nothing like working like a crazy woman to keep your mind off any lingering feelings of doom. And believe it or not, we did what we needed to do in under twenty four hours! How did we accomplish all this, you ask? In a word—networking. When it came right down to the crunch, my kids' families came through for us.

First off, when Haleth and Alfwine told their dads that we needed a central location, Háma and Gamling agreed that we could set up in the west wing of the Great Hall. Bronwyn, Breca and Freca's washerwoman mom, sorted through her laundry to find cloth that we could turn into sheets and bandages, and Éomer's éored allowed their three young squires—Faegan, Caedmund, and Wulfhelm—to scrounge through the warriors' practice yard for sparring poles and horse blankets that we could turn into stretchers. Wulfhelm in particular was a real Corporal Klinger—he scored us a horse trough and a bunch of leather buckets. That was a major triumph, because it meant that we could carry water to the warriors as well as transport the wounded.

And finally, Wiglaf's mom was pure gold. The biggest challenge we had was getting the healing women to stay topside—those old ladies all wanted to scuttle into the caves to shiver out the battle in comparative safety. But I guess they were more scared of Audhumbhla than they were of the orcs! If she could stay, they could stay, she told them. Audhumbhla had decided to remain in the kitchen and cook for the warriors, since her husband Ingemer had vowed to keep on fletching in the armory until the last orc was dead.

By the evening of my first full day at Helm's Deep, our 'hospital zone'—a 20'x10' corner of the Great Hall that was cordoned off with ropes—was starting to shape up. Once the big kids finished spreading piles of straw onto the stone floor, we'd throw blankets over the piles and they'd become hospital beds. Meanwhile, Wiglaf, Drogo, and Wilibald were helping Guthrun to arrange drugs on a long trestle table. Every now and again either Guthrun or one of her middle-aged assistants would stop and give me another dirty look. I didn't think they'd forgive me about keeping them out of the caves for quite a while.

Assuming, of course, that we managed to survive quite a while.

Meanwhile, warriors pulling on newly repaired armor kept coming up the stairs from the armory in the basement of the Burg. As they passed by the Great Hall, many of them looked inside and gave us quick, grim smiles. They understood what we were trying to do, and they appreciated the thought. So my plan might be crazy, but it wasn't utterly stupid.

Then one old man with bushy white hair and an almost-square beard tottered up to me—nearly tripping over the ropes in the process. He looked like he was about seventy—that meant he was sixty, really. The Rohirrim lived hard. His piecemeal leather armor practically shouted 'no longer attached to an éored.'

"Lady Barbarella?" he quavered. "I am Aldmore."

'Lady'? Uh oh—nobody called me 'lady' unless I was in trouble for something.

"I have heard from my friend Ingemer what you are doing here. I beg of you, Lady—permit me to join your company." Aldmore's protruding Adam's apple went up and down pathetically as he said, "My three sons will be fighting for our King on the Wall, but he thinks me too old to stand with them. Allow me to serve with you so that I may be of some use in this battle."

I was just about to say 'sorry' and brush him off when I noticed the white horse's head embossed on his stained leather cuirass. Aldmore had once been a Rider for King Théoden himself! This senior citizen, shabby or not, was a seasoned fighter. "You used to be in Théoden's éored, weren't you, Aldmore?"

"Aye, for twenty years I fought with the King's men," he said wistfully. "I rode for him in many battles."

An old warrior like Aldmore would be invaluable for this project of mine. My kids were strong and willing but they didn't have a clue about actual combat. And neither did I. So I made a snap command decision. "Okay, you're in. I can use you—I could use a dozen like you!"

"Then a dozen like me you shall have!" Aldmore's humped back straightened proudly and his wrinkled face filled with joy as he gave me that little finger-to-forehead tap that the Riders use to honor their leaders. "I am not the only old warrior who has been refused a place on the Wall."

Wow. Did that make me 'Captain Barbarella'?

Yeah, right. Only in the movies.

As he hurried off to gather up his troops, my newly-revivified recruit was practically skipping over the rope dividers. Glancing past him, I saw Princess Éowyn over by the doorway of the Great Hall. She was staring right at me with a stern expression. I dropped the horse blankets that I was holding and ran over to explain that I had a really, really good reason for going AWOL. "Captain Háma said that we could use this space—" I blurted out.

Distractedly, Éowyn waved one hand to dismiss my abortive apology. She was wearing the blue slate overdress that I'd packed in her saddlebag, but she hadn't gotten around to brushing her hair; it was streaming down her back in blonde tangles and made her look like a Valkyrie. "Gamling told me what it is that you do here. I am proud of you—it is a worthy deed! If only I could join you! But Théoden King has said that I must descend into the caves with the women and children. What renown is there in that?"

Uh oh. I nearly freaked out then and there. Throughout all of history, if there's one thing that can really screw up a project, it's having your boss come in at the last minute to 'help' you. Éowyn was my Princess, sure enough, but I didn't want her shoving me aside so she could lead my kids into 'glorious' combat.

I did feel sympathy for Princess Éowyn, but she had to face facts. Stepping close to her, I said in a low voice, "Look, we both know what's really happening here. Théodred is dead—if you and Éomer get killed too, there'll be nobody left to carry on King Théoden's royal line. Besides, if the worst comes to the worst, the people down in the caves will need you to take command."

"To command them to flee!" Éowyn sighed wearily and combed back her hair with her fingers. "I know that what you say is true, and I shall obey my King as I have always done. But I wither from lack of use—I wither! Will my time for deeds of valor never come?"

Hearing her sigh like that made me feel terrible. I was Éowyn's handmaiden. It was my duty to support her dignity and her dreams, and here I was cutting her off at the knees. "Your time will come, Éowyn. I swear to you—your time will come."

Promising Éowyn 'pie in the sky' sometime in the future indefinite sounded like a snow job to me, but somehow she didn't take it that way. She surprised me by saying, "You, of all people, swear this? I do believe you, Barbarella. We must talk about this—but not here. There is a better place for me to hear your counsel—come along with me." Without another word, she half-hauled, half-dragged me through the Burg and down the stairs to the Rear-Gate.

If it was privacy that we needed, the Rear-Gate landing was a good place for it. It was a secluded spot—the nearest people who could overhear us were twenty feet up on the Deeping Wall. Technically, it was just past sundown, but the entire flagstone walkway was already dark and shadowy. Those incredible Thrihyrne Mountains went up and up and up like vast alien monoliths and cut off all of the direct sunlight. I don't think a sunbeam could ever reach there, except maybe at the stroke of high noon.

I waited quietly. Whatever Éowyn was thinking, it had to be pretty major. Eventually she broke the ominous silence by demanding, "What did you foresee for me in your dreams?"

"F-foresee?"

"I know that you possess the Second Sight," Éowyn said as calmly if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "When I lay at your side in Meduseld, I heard you cry out in your sleep about Helm's Deep and Saruman's orcs."

"But that's not supernatural," I equivocated. (Nothing to see here, folks…move along…) "Anybody might have anticipated that."

Crossing her arms, Éowyn directed a sharp raptor stare down at me. She's Rohirric, okay? They're all tall! "You called out to Legolas and to Gimli by name."

Busted.

Éowyn's haunted eyes entreated me. "From the first day you arrived in Edoras, I have given you my trust. You have served me loyally, but today more than ever before I need your help. If I do not know what I must do in this great battle, I fear that I shall fail my people."

Now that was a stunner. I'd never wanted to talk about where I'd really come from, or about the Tolkien trilogy that I'd never bothered to read. For one thing, it would have marked me as a nutcase. And for another, the little that I knew about LOTR couldn't have helped anybody in Rohan, while if I let the wrong word slip, it could have caused Frodo a world of hurt. But Éowyn's plea to be told the truth absolutely nailed my feet to the floor. I'd begged Gandalf for the exact same thing—and all I'd gotten from him was wizard B.S.

"All right, I'll tell you." I hadn't watched the second movie, but as you can imagine, Mom had shared a few spoilers with me. My dear feminist mother had made a big deal about Princess Éowyn, the "only three-dimensional female character in the entire trilogy."

"Well?" Éowyn said after a long pause.

Would Éowyn actually benefit from my recollections of what was, in the end, only a piece of fiction? Once I passed on what Mom had told me there'd be no turning back. Finally I asked, "Did you ever hear of the Witch-King?"

"Yes," Éowyn answered without hesitation. Of course she had—my boss was no dummy. She'd read every chronicle to be found on King Théoden's shelves. "He was one of the most terrible sorcerers of the Third Age, second only to Sauron. He ruled the Witch-Kingdom of Angmar a thousand years ago and his armies laid waste to the last principalities of the Elder Kingdom of Arnor."

Her reply gave me cold chills—absolutely cold chills. It was so much worse than I'd thought! I'd assumed that the Witch-King was just a Sith or something, but it sounded like he was practically the equal of Saruman!

"The Witch-King is now the leader of Sauron's Nazgûl, the Nine Black Riders," I began reluctantly.

"And what has this to do with me?" Éowyn's face grew pale as she started to connect the dots.

"A long time ago…." I swallowed hard. "A long time ago it was prophesied that the Witch-King would never be slain by man of woman born. But that doesn't mean that he can't be killed—there's always a loophole. I foresee that you are destined to fulfill the prophecy and slay him."

Princess Éowyn was fearless, yes, and she burned for renown—but when she heard me say that, she still shivered. "I am? When? Where?"

What was the name of Boromir's White City? It was hard to remember place names from Middle-earth that had meant zip to me when I heard them in the theater. "It will be sometime after the Battle of Helm's Deep and it will be at the gates of the capital of Gondor."

"Will I…will I live?" she asked with quiet dignity.

Completely shredding my own dignity, I half-yelled, half-sobbed, "Oh, Éowyn—I DON'T KNOW!!! Things aren't happening the way they're supposed to happen! I thought that Aragorn was going to live, but somehow he got killed! I don't understand what's going on anymore—why should I be here and know all these things if they don't come true?"

Pulling me so close that my nose hit her collarbone, Éowyn patted me softly on the back. It was her turn to comfort me. "Shhh, shhh—it's all right. I know now what I am supposed to do, and that is the greatest boon that anyone could give to me."

"But Éowyn, I ought to be able to tell you…"

"Do not distress yourself. It is not given to mortals to know their own fate. If our hearts are true, that is enough." Éowyn pushed my chin up with the heel of her hand and gave me a confident smile. It was as if having me to worry about had made her feel braver. Then she slipped back into the Burg and left me to my thoughts.

I have to tell you, my 'dark imaginings' were getting pretty bad. But if Éowyn believed that courage was 'enough,' then maybe I could believe it too. Maybe I was ready to face these dark days alongside Éowyn's people.

And ready or not, I would have to.

*************