This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!

Chapter 24

A tense air hung over the column. Though Eowyn had been doing her best to alleviate her people's concerns, aided by Boromir and Gimli, it had been impossible to keep news of the attack from spreading rapidly. For the moment the situation was calm but every warrior was alert and their hands never strayed far from their sword hilts. The atmosphere was as volatile as an oil soaked tinderbox. It would only take a single spark to start a panic.

For the most part they rode in silence, an extension of the almost deathly hush that swamped the column, though the silence was punctured by quick flurries of urgent discussions as information was brought, discussed, strategies conceived and just as quickly thrown away. The waiting was trying on everyone's nerves, not only did they know of the battle a few scant miles away, they did not know whether they would cross the next rise to find another army waiting for them and there was no respite from the tension that clung to them.

Boromir knew he would rather be fighting alongside Aragorn. He was a seasoned campaigner but though he had experienced the tension that comes from waiting for battle many times now, it did not make it easier to bear. It was far easier when the battle had arrived for then there was no time to think of nerves, only the constant flurry of strike and counterstrike, with his heartbeat singing in his ears. Fighting was far easier than waiting.

However he knew precisely why he had to remain and did not begrudge the duty. They were still over a day's journey from Helm's Deep and it made no sense to risk both of them in the attack, they both knew that even the most experienced warriors could be killed by a lucky strike. Eomer had trusted them to lead his people and they could not fail him and by splitting up they had the best chance of ensuring that they both made it to the Deep, and that the people were not left in hostile territory without commanders. It was his duty to protect the column and he would not fail.

He cast an experienced eye across the column. Instinctively the people had moved closer together and the pace had increased. It would make it easier if they were attacked, the column was now much smaller and it meant the diminished force of Riders could still keep a close guard and have the men to send out as scouts without noticeably reducing the security on the column.

So far none of the scouts had reported any sign of Uruk-hai and Boromir hoped that the army of Uruk-hai had been the only one Saruman had sent. It would make sense for he knew that had Aldred's company not been riding ahead of them and intercepted them, despite the number of warriors they had had, such a force would have massacred the column.

Elion shifted slightly in front of him, breaking him out of his thoughts as he cast a concerned look down at the child. Elion had not said anything and had sat as still and as stiff as a board since Aragorn had left, and looking at him now Boromir could see the child's eyes were trained in the direction Aragorn had rode off in.

A memory struck him suddenly. The first time he had gone out with the troops on patrol, he'd only been thirteen at the time and Faramir had been eight. It had only been a short patrol, a few hours and there hadn't really been any danger but Faramir had seen him off, and when he had returned he had found his brother where he had left him that morning, staring at the gate as he waited for him to come home. One of the guards had later told him that Faramir had only left when his tutor made him, and had returned immediately after his lessons were over. Looking at Elion now he was forcibly reminded of Faramir when he was young.

It unsettled him. Elion's inclusion in the Fellowship had been difficult for him from the start. He had originally viewed the child with contempt, resenting the fact that a child was being brought on such an important mission when he would be nothing but a burden. He had viewed it as an insult and to his shame he knew he had not treated Elion well, no matter what his personal issues with Elion's inclusion had been he should not have taken them out on the boy. His contempt had lasted for a long time, despite the hints he had received about Elion's previous life, but when Elion had saved his life it had been enough to shake his contempt away and he had been forced to acknowledge the child's worth and he had begun to respect his abilities.

However Elion had remained wary, not that he could blame the child, and he had never sought to learn more about the boy, settling into the mode of treating him as if he was a solider he was working with but of a different rank. Someone who's skills he respected and trusted on the battlefield but someone he did not interact with in a social context. It was only now that he, with the likeness to Faramir when he had been a young child so prominent, could really see that for all his skills and abilities Elion was still a child.

It made him realise that he had been treating Elion as an adult, and whilst he realised that Elion had earned his respect and rightly so - he fought well, possessed powerful magic and knew how to wield it but only raised it out of an honest desire to protect and help – he was still a child who needed guidance, protection and love. He felt another coil of shame in his gut when he contemplated what his reaction would have been to anyone treating Faramir the way he had and still treated Elion.

The more he considered it the more ashamed he felt. Watching Elion now was driving the point deep into his mind. The child had already lost his birth parents and now he had to sit by and watch as his foster father rode off to battle, and Boromir knew that no matter how good a man was not everything could be anticipated. It only took one lucky hit. He felt a rush of sympathy towards the boy and his mouth moved before he was really aware of his intentions.

"Aragorn will be alright," he reassured him quietly, "He is the best warrior I have fought with or against and I am sure he will return safely. You need not fear."

He saw the boy start and then Elion nodded once, his eyes betraying his pain and fear before they turned once again to the horizon, searching for the first sign of returning riders.

They could hear the clash of swords before they crested the ridge. Checking his horse Aragorn gestured sharply and the ranks quickly fell into formation and there was a steely whistle as half a thousand swords left their sheaths. He raised his sword in salute before nudging his horse into a rapid trot, quickly eating up the distance to the ridge.

As they crested it, Aragorn sharp eyes took in the situation at a glance. True to his predictions the men of Rohan had fought valiantly but now the sheer numbers were beginning to overwhelm them as roughly a hundred riders tried desperately to keep three times their number pinned in a cordon that was rapidly becoming thin and ragged, particularly in the centre.

Turning swiftly to the commanders he issued his orders, "Baldor, Eadmod take your companies down the flanks. Haleth take your company round and fall on their rear. Dunhere, Guthlaf with me." He received sharp nods of acknowledgement as he raised his sword and issued the command. "Forward!"

It was not a charge. A charge would have killed their own men just as swiftly as it would have killed the Uruk-hai and they could not afford that, but the fresh riders bore down with a grim determination to engage the enemy. The hundred who remained of the original six hundred, many unhorsed and weary, gratefully fell back slightly, letting the fresh riders take their place in the front lines and snatching a necessary breather before raising their weapons once more and diving back into the fray.

Aragon's mouth was pressed into a grim line as his sword flickered around him forming an impenetrable barrier for the Uruk-hai he fought. The hillside was littered with bodies, Uruk, horse and human and the stench of death hung heavily over the field.

Block, parry, thrust, stab, evade, parry, slice, thrust. Aragorn flowed from one move to another, his sword flickering out in a deadly dance of skill. The Uruk-hai were trained fighters, strong, fast and brutal but they had been fighting for over an hour, whilst Aragorn and the riders were fresh and their superior numbers were beginning to show.

Slowly, implacably, the cordon tightened, pushing the Uruk-hai into a tighter and tighter circle. Riders were still falling but for every rider that fell there were another two to take their place as the noose was drawn tighter, as behind them blood stained the grass red.

The Uruk-hai were getting desperate. This had not been an army of berserkers but the rage and hate that lurked in every Uruk-hai had come clawing to the surface and the creatures fought with a snarl on their faces and a gleam of madness in their eyes. They could not be stopped by injuries, even injuries that were fatal seemed hardly to phase them and they fought until they collapsed to the ground dead. The berserker rage had been woken in their desperation and they fought with a ferocity Aragorn had never seen.

He gritted his teeth as he pulled his blade up to parry a strike. The Uruk-hai had brute strength on their side, and while normally Aragorn would use his agility to evade the full strength of their blows, the cordon was greatly reducing both his manoeuvrability and that of the rest of the riders. But despite the battle-rage that had been awoken in the monsters they could not halt the steady advance and as the numbers continued to fall that advance quickened.

The end of the battle came suddenly.

The force of Uruk-hai had been whittled down until a small group of no more than twenty were left in the centre of a ring of Riders, vastly outnumbered. They had lost any sense of self or self-preservation as they threw themselves at the Riders, madness gleaming in dark eyes and with howls ripping from their throats as their final, suicidal charge was ended with a series of swift strokes.

The battlefield fell abruptly silent.

Aragorn drew in a single, deep breath, sombre eyes scanning the battlefield. Out of Aldred's company only sixty riders remained, Aldred not among them and of the Riders that had accompanied him roughly four hundred remained standing. The horses had fared better than the riders and a swift glance told him that they had enough for every man who was still alive.

"Get the wounded on horses. Leave the dead."

He knew the order sounded callous, but he also knew that they could not afford the time that it would take to bury the fallen. If Rohan won the day at the Deep they could return then and give the Riders that had perished here a proper burial but at the moment his priority had to be for those who were still living and he knew they were needed back at the column.

As the Riders scrambled back up onto their horses, some of the wounded having to be lifted into the saddle, Aragorn's eyes swept over the carnage, lingering on the prone bodies of the fallen. Solemnly Aragorn raised his sword in salute, a simple tribute to those who had made the greatest sacrifice for Rohan. There was no time to honour them beyond that simple motion, but he knew he owed it to them to acknowledge their actions.

"Rest in peace," he murmured before he wheeled Brego, cantering away from the killing field and back to the refugee column, Legolas by his side and the Riders following in a somewhat ragged formation.

If they had looked back they would have seen the single crebain circle over the blood drenched hillside before flying at a ferocious pace towards Isenguard.

Saruman was livid.

His army had been routed by that insufferable man. The so called Heir of Isildur and King of Gondor. Mentally Saruman scoffed but he couldn't deny that the man would be an annoyance. He had met the man when he was but a boy, and again when he had been a young man and even then the man had shown an annoying gift for leadership, a strong mind and a talent for strategy and swordmanship.

He would stand no chance against Saruman in a magical duel, there were few on Middle Earth who now had a hope of opposing him in terms of pure magical strength, Sauron was one and the elves another. While he could easily best individual elves Saruman was honest enough to know that he would not want to go against the strength of Galadriel and Elrond. There was a reason Lothlorien had remained untouched despite its relative proximity to Isenguard.

It was far easier to manipulate men. They were so deliciously weak. Easy to sway with his tongue, the wise he could persuade and the lesser he could daunt and each had greed and darkness lurking in their hearts. It was such fun to bend and break them, until they grovelled at his feet in their proper place as his pathetic servants and the imbeciles they were.

It was a rare man that could withstand him, and unfortunately the ranger was one of them. Gandalf always did surround himself with the less idiotic mortals, he had had a knack for finding the ones with promise and unfortunately that meant that of all the men to be leading Rohan, it had to be the one with the greatest gift for strategy and leadership who had a somewhat decent idea of what he was capable of.

A low hiss escaped from between his lips and reflexively his hand clenched on the arm of his throne. He would not show it, or admit it to anyone but himself, and even then reluctantly but he was made a little uneasy by this turn of events.

He had lost a thousand Uruk-hai, and whilst they had killed several hundred Riders they had not reached the column that was winding its way to Helm's Deep, and they had not struck the blow he had been counting on to demoralise the Rohirrim and wipe out their people. They had been wiped out instead, and with the wounds throbbing in his chest and causing that cursed tremble in his hands he could not finish the devices to destroy the Deeping Wall.

A snarl contorted his lips. He depended on conquering Rohan if he was to best Sauron and claim his throne and he could ill afford another setback like this defeat, but he knew with the loss of a thousand Uruk-hai, the Deeping Wall intact and the men of Rohan led by that wretched man the potential for defeat was increased and that was something that he could not abide. He refused to fail and he would claim the Key of Barad-dur itself, the staffs of the five wizards and the crowns of the seven kings!

It meant however that he would be forced to come up with a new strategy that would cement his victory. He would not risk his ambition on an attack that he was not certain he could win and as distasteful as it was to admit his strategy had been less than effective he would not let his distaste stand in the way of his ambition and when the battle had been won he would drag Aragorn before him and he would take great pleasure in forcing the man to kneel at his feet before he killed him.

He reluctantly forced his mind away from those pleasant thoughts, turning back to the problem at hand. To defeat Rohan he had to bring down Helm's Deep for while Rohan still had that fortress they would still possess the will and the ability to defy him. And to breach Helm's Deep he needed to breach the Deeping Wall.

He knew the history of Rohan, and the history of the fortress. If the Deeping Wall was breached his army of Uruk-hai would easy take the fortress, the loss of a thousand would make little difference when they were able to overwhelm the men, men far used to fighting on horseback than walls. They would be vastly outnumbered regardless and they would not stand against the unstoppable tide of black flesh but only if the Deeping Wall was breached.

He had developed his weapon for that reason but, he thought bitterly, feeling the agony course through his chest, Gandalf had rendered that weapon unusable for weeks and those were weeks he did not have. His face twisted into a frown as he considered the problem. He could not trust another to finish the weapon for him. No other had the skill and knowledge necessary and even if they did he would not allow anyone close. He knew he was vulnerable like this and he would do nothing to loosen the grip he held on his creations.

He would therefore have to seek other methods of breaching the walls. Saruman's eyes narrowed in concentration and he stared intently at the black wall of his throne room even as his mind whirled through possibilities, conceiving and discarding them in an instant.

Saruman may have been mad but he possessed one of the keenest intellects on Middle Earth and an insatiable thirst for knowledge. He had delved deeper into the mysteries and forbidden knowledge than any alive save Sauron, for the elves refused to explore the deep arts further. They had been burnt before and they would not be burnt again.

But Saruman had mastered the deepest, darkest magics and from them he had wrest the knowledge that had shaped his Uruk-hai. All that magic, all that knowledge, all that power his to command! And slowly a cruel smirk rose on his face. It was the dark magics and skills that had given him his army and it would be that knowledge and magics combined with his immense power that would bring down the Deeping Wall and give him his victory.

The board was set and the pieces were moving. Soon Rohan would be his, and then he would move on Sauron and claim Middle Earth for his own.

The campsite had been chosen with care. It was situated at the foot of a mountain, with an almost sheer cliff rising up behind it but it was still high enough that there were good views of the surrounding plains and Boromir had been pleased to note that there were no signs of another attacking force moving towards them. Finally a small mountain river bubbled happily along the left side, while this was no deterrent to an attacking force, crucially it provided a source of clean, fresh (though astoundingly cold) water which was an absolute necessity for a column of this size.

It really was remarkable, Elion thought, how quickly the Rohirrim had managed to set up a working camp and fall quickly into the problem of making supper. He had wandered for a little while through the tents, moving somewhat aimlessly though and looking at whatever caught his eye in an attempt to try and stop his mind dwelling on the ranger and how the battle was faring.

It hadn't worked very well.

He would manage to think of something else briefly but then he'd catch sight of something, a man sitting on the ground sharpening his sword the same way Aragorn always did or a little boy leaning sleepily against his father's side like he did whenever he was tired and Aragorn was there and he'd instantly find his thoughts returning to the ranger and the fact he wasn't here and that he might not come back.

He tried to reassure himself, thinking about what Boromir had said and the fact he knew his Ada was a good warrior, one of the best and that he'd fought in far worse odds and battles and had survived. He didn't really have any cause to worry, Aragorn would be fine, or so he tried to tell himself but logic was unsurprisingly a rather weak force when pitted against his fear, the desperate worry that he was going to lose another parent.

Without him realising it his feet had carried him away from the hustle and bustle of the centre of the camp to the very fringes. Elion glanced back towards where he knew the rest of the Fellowship were gathered with Eowyn and the remaining generals but he rapidly decided that he did not want to be back there, being smothered by Merry and Pippin's worried questions.

He sighed and plopped down onto the grass intending to wait there until Aragorn and Legolas returned. He definitely did not want to be back with Merry and Pippin right now. Intellectually he knew they were only worried and trying to help and he didn't resent them for it, not really, but they couldn't understand and hadn't realised that the last thing he wanted right now was their questions that constantly reminded him that Aragorn was not here, all he really wanted was to be alone, to wait and hope.

He shivered. It was getting cold. The worst of the winter might have been over but it had been late afternoon when Boromir had finally called for a halt and as sunset approached a chill wind had picked up and was whipping through the grass, successfully robbing him of what little warmth the evening sun could give him. Shivering he pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them in a vain attempt to try and keep warm as he stared back out over the mountains, eyes straining as he tried to pick up any sign that the riders were returning.

He didn't know how much time had passed but the shadows were getting steadily longer, he was cold all over and his legs were starting to go to sleep when he felt a heavy weight and warmth settle across his back. Blinking he tore his eyes away from the mountains and looked up to see Gimli looking down at him, a kindly glint in his eyes. "I thought you'd want that," he said gruffly.

Elion stared at him in confusion for a moment before he realised that the warmth around his back and shoulders was his heavy winter cloak. "Thank you," he murmured as he pulled the thick wool securely around him, luxuriating in the sudden sensation of warmth that spread through his limbs.

"It's nothing lad," the dwarf reassured him even as he settled down on the grass beside Elion, "Aragorn would have my head, and you'd receive a fine scolding if we let you get sick and we can't have that now can we?"

Elion had initially stiffened at the ranger's name but as Gimli continued he couldn't prevent the giggle that escaped when the dwarf directed a conspiratorial wink in his direction. Elion waited to see if Gimli would say anything further but the dwarf merely rummaged in his pouch before extracting a pipe and a small wodge of pipe-weed, settling down to join the watch as he puffed away on the pipe.

Elion was perfectly content with that. He had thought he didn't want company but it was only now that he realised that he just hadn't wanted to talk and there was something comforting in not being alone in his silent vigil. It confused him slightly that Gimli had known that this was what he needed, he didn't really know the dwarf that well and he didn't think he was that easy to read but somehow Gimli had realised where he would go in his worry and what he needed.

The sun was setting over the mountains, staining the sky a deep gold when Gimli spoke. "Did Frodo ever tell you about his Uncle Bilbo's journey?"

Elion jumped, startled but soon turned to Gimli, shaking his head as he seized gratefully on the distraction. His fear had only been increasing the longer he waited and he was grateful for anything that could divert his thoughts, even for a few moments. "Tis a long tale but perhaps it will help while away the time until they return." So saying the dwarf launched into the story and Elion listened as attentively as he could though he still kept his eyes on the mountainside, and the story wasn't fully able to occupy his mind.

Gandalf had just bested the trolls when the younger of the watchers sat up suddenly, his eyes scanning the dim landscape and his ears straining to catch a hint of the faint sound he'd heard. A few moments later Elion let loose a cry. "Hoofbeats Gimli! I can hear hoofbeats!" Green eyes scanned the horizon once more and a second later he pointed excitedly, "They're there, I can see them!"

Grunting slightly Gimli pushed himself to his feet. "Aye I see them lad." He squinted in the bad light, "Definitely Rohirrim," he added after a moment, "Too far to see faces though."

The approaching horsemen had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the camp. Healers hollered orders and people scurried round as they prepared for the incoming wounded and it was not more than a few seconds later that Boromir and Eoywn joined them, the hobbits and the rest of the generals not far behind them. The tension that had enveloped everyone and increased hour by hour was beginning to lift and for the first time in many hours Elion saw smiling faces.

"It's a large party."

Elion wasn't sure who had spoken but he caught the relief in the words and the unspoken message behind them. If a large party was returning it meant that they had won the day because they all knew that the Riders would have been slaughtered to the last man before they allowed a single Uruk-hai the chance to reach the column, so they would only return in large numbers if they had been victorious.

Elion was standing on tiptoes in an attempt to try and see the approaching horsemen more clearly, trying desperately to peer through the dim light and make out the faces of the riders. Strangely he was more anxious now than he had been earlier. They were so close and yet time seemed to have slowed to a crawl as all his worries and fears exploded in his mind, all jostling for space and attention.

He spotted Legolas first. The elf was fairly distinctive with his lack of a beard, bow instead of shield and he was easily taller than most of the men. Elion felt a small surge of relief when he saw the elf but that was quickly overshadowed by worry as his frantically scanned the men around him, knowing that Legolas would most likely be riding close to Aragorn.

The riders were coming closer and closer and more and more faces were becoming apparent but still he could not see the ranger. A sick fear rose up inside him, wrapping its tendrils round his heart. He couldn't lose Aragorn, not his Ada! He'd lost too much already, he couldn't, wouldn't lose Aragorn. He didn't want to mourn another father. Hot tears welled up and spilled over pale cheeks. Where was he? Why wasn't he here?

The tears were blurring his vision but he kept on doggedly searching the sea of faces. Aragorn had to be here, he just wasn't looking hard enough that's all. In another moment he'd spot him and everything would be alright again. It would.

A nudge on his shoulder tried to distract him but Elion ignored it. He couldn't afford to be distracted now, not when he still needed to find his Ada. He was prodded again and this time he half turned, but whatever things he had intended to snap instantly left his mind when he saw what, or rather who, Merry was pointing at. His eyes widened and the tears poured faster, but unlike the earlier tears these were tears of pure relief.

The riders crossed the last few hundred years and a sharp command from Aragorn saw the column split up, riders heading for healers, water and food until only Aragorn, Legolas and the Captains remained, fatigue visible on all their faces, though relief was mingled with it. "How fared the battle?" Eowyn asked once they were close enough.

Briefly Aragorn recounted the casualty lists, a grim look in his eyes, a look that was increasingly being mirrored in the eyes of those who had remained with the column, before he slowly dismounted. The ranger had barely moved two steps from his horse when he had to steady himself as a small body collided with his legs. Elion had not been able to wait any longer, the moment Aragorn he dismounted he had run to him, needing the proof that his Ada was really here, alive and unharmed.

Elion clung onto his Ada, burying his tear damp face in the ranger's cloak. He was here, he'd survived and suddenly all the worry of the last several hours seemed like a nightmare that he really wanted to forget. Gentle hands reached down to try and get him to let go but Elion only tightened his grip. He was not going to let go now Aragorn was here.

The hands withdrew and then fingers started combing through his hair, "It's alright little one," Aragorn murmured, the elvish words soothing Elion further. "That's it, come on now, you're alright..."

Unconsciously Elion's grip had loosened and before he really realised what was happening the ranger had lifted him and settled him on his hip. Completely comfortable in his new position Elion snuggled up against his Ada, letting all the residual fear fade away in the face of the ranger's presence.

He didn't pay too much attention to the harried conversations going on around him. He knew they were about the war and at another time he would have paid attention but it was late and though he had not realised it Elion had been running on pure adrenalin for the last several hours and being carried was rapidly lulling him towards sleep.

He was almost asleep when they reached their area of the encampment and as Aragorn moved carefully around the fire Elion was jostled slightly. A soft noise of protest escaped as his position was shifted and his head came to rest against something sticky. He frowned sleepily, the ranger's tunic wasn't supposed to be sticky, other things were sticky like honey and pollen and syrup and blood. He was instantly awake, and in the flickering torchlight he could see Aragorn's tunic was ripped and below it a long, thin cut seeped blood.

"You're hurt." It was more an accusation than a statement.

"It's only a small scratch tithen pen," Aragorn replied quietly, his voice soothing but Elion was not going to be calmed easily. His earlier fear was a very old one, and very real for he had lost so many people, so many that were close to him that it had been deeply burned into his psyche and never vanished, it was only buried and with the ranger so recently returned the sight of a wound, no matter slight was enough to pull that fear straight back to the surface.

"You're bleeding." This time there was a slight shake in the words and Aragorn evidently heard it for he sat down and settled Elion securely on his lap, blue eyes meeting frightened green. "It's only a shallow wound," he said calmly, "I reopened it when I dismounted, that's all. It's almost stopped bleeding already."

Elion glanced up and saw that the ranger was right, the steady seepage of blood that had alarmed him had already slowed to a mere trickle and as he watched it stopped altogether. "You see," Aragorn murmured, one hand rubbing Elion's back comfortingly, "It's alright. I'm here and it will soon be healed."

Slowly Elion nodded, his eyes fixed on the small cut. It hadn't resumed bleeding and the longer he looked at it the smaller and more innocuous it looked therefore he didn't protest when Aragorn drew him closer. Elion smiled sleepily and nuzzled up against his Ada's chest, the sound of Aragorn's strong heartbeat helping to reassure him and push him further towards slumber.

"Lothao tithen pen." Aragorn's voice was tender and wrapped safely in his Ada's arms Elion found it very easy to follow that instruction as his tiredness rapidly claimed him and he fell asleep tucked in his father's embrace.

AN: And here's the next one! A huge thanks to all who read, reviewed, favorited etc, I'm humbled to see the amount of of interest in my story, despite my long absence. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and please review!