~Chapter Thirty Five~

For You

I've Got This Passion;
It's Something I Can't Describe.
It's So Electric; It's Like I've Just Come Alive.
I Feel This Freedom, Now That My Past Is Erased.
I Feel The Healing; I Found The Meaning Of Grace.

If Only You Could See Me Yesterday,
Who I Used To Be Before The Change.
You'd See A Broken Heart;
You'd See The Battle Scars.

It's Funny How Words Can't Explain,
How Good It Feels To Finally Break the Chains.
I'm Not What I Have Done;
I'm What I've Overcome.

I Know I'll Stumble.
I Know I'll Still Face Defeat.
These Second Chances Will Define Me.

I'll Make Mistakes,
And I Might Fall.

But I Won't Break.

~What I've Overcome, by Fireflight

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

Note: Song For This Chapter Is Inspiration For Entire Story! Fun Fact. ;)

The King of Rohan remained silent for another moment, (rare) good mood vanishing, and then firmly said, "We will win, Lord Aragorn, because these young women and their children – our children and grandchildren – depend solely on us. It is the duty of warriors to protect their precious ones." He stared directly into his eyes. "We must fight for their happiness."

"I will fight for you and for those that cannot defend themselves," Aragorn solemnly stated. His fingers trailed to his neck, where his keepsake – once mine – continued to rest beside his heart. He touched the small golden ring and smiled faintly with affection brimming in his silver eyes. "…and I will fight for her."

"What shall happen if Lady Samantha is lost to us?" King Théoden quietly asked; his voice was wary and concerned about the wellbeing of his people because, if Aragorn left, then the Fellowship would follow in his wake.

"Honestly, I do not know, King Théoden," Aragorn softly responded to him, his stormy eyes warm and thoughtful in the glow of the campfire, which bathed his tan face in hues of red – blood red. "Somehow, I cannot quite picture the future without her standing beside me anymore..."

Heart in my eyes, ears, and throat, I blinked back tears and clutched at the tunic over my chest. I breathed in and, in the next exhale, I desperately whispered, "Oh, Aragorn, I love you so much, and I will always, always be here for you. We will win this war!"

My Twin wordlessly placed his hand in mine.

"We have to…"

For us.

Samantha…

Red irises glared down at me, a cold fury simmering in their heartless depths, burning hotter than fire and yet colder than ice. My heart clenched in stark fear, and I tried to take another step back into the light, the sunshine that I could feel just beyond the brush of ten fingertips stretched out to the sun. All I could make contact with, however, was a very cold and brutal darkness, which reached out to claim me. My soul; I could tell the Wraith wanted to steal it, consume me, and leave nothing but bones and ash. And I –

Everything! I lost everything! My precarious footing ripped out from under me an instant later – falling, diving, soaring from the edge of the cliff – and I reached out for Heaven, trembling, hands outstretched. Instead, I fell into cold, skeletal hands.

…HIS hands…

DEATH IS HERE.

You might have escaped the cold embrace of Death the first time, and perhaps the second, but in the end, I will have you. Death smiled unkindly, his hands brushing through the bloodied hair that clung to my eyes, which stared unseeingly into his, and the lips that silently turned blue. You are mine, Samantha May Steel.

Eyes of sky blue opened wide, and I stumbled through the familiar motions of the releasing the blankets from snow white knuckles and inhaling the next few breaths, feeling sick and tired and too disoriented to know the difference between down or up. I reached for the cold lips that I still vividly remembered turning blue, bluer than the ocean, and whimpered in relief because I could feel them, dry and chapped and hot. My brain sluggishly processed this information – not dead, not dead, not dead, dead, dead – and caught up as my memories siphoned from the nightmares.

Fact, fiction, and fantasy.

If God is real, then…

Slowly, I slipped back into the empty warmth of the blankets. My heart calmed. My stomach settled. I subconsciously listened to the physical signs, to the slower breathing and gentled pulse, but I could hear it, and I shivered all the same. I sensed the presence of another nameless entity, lingering where it should not be. A familiar hand – small and delicate, but comforting all the same – was over mine in the next moment, warding the creature away. It gently whispered: Safe.

Wind curled the flap of the tent to the side, and I shifted restlessly, face half turned to the beauty of the falling crescent moon. I clutched the smaller hand between both of mine, desperate to have that tiny semblance of safety, imagined though it might be, and breathed. My breath whispered out from between parted lips. "Thank you."

A soft series of quiet breaths whistled through the air, all brushing softly against my nose and cheeks with less weight than the cold, dark breeze that flitted in through the tent flaps, but with the bite of frost all the same. My charge, Freda, shifted until her shoulder touched mine, and I relaxed into the touch of her hand atop mine. She continued to inhale and exhale, her chest rising with the breaths caressing my cool skin. I shivered, fighting the urge – the need – to burrow further into the moth-eaten quilts wrapped around her shoulders and mine, and I stealthily climbed out from within the bedroll, instead. Her hand dropped. Empty.

…I feel empty.

"Good morning, Freda," I whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss the forehead of the girl that I considered to be a younger sister. My expression softened at the sight of her sweet smile, which widened into a yawn as my charge began to dress, before I turned to face her older brother, Ѐothain.

Young Ѐothain whined softly in his sleep, shifting restlessly, face contorted in stark fear of the nameless entities that chased him in his dreams. I softly ran a pinky finger down his cheekbones, hoping to calm him somewhat, and secretly marveled that this boy, with his ancient eyes, could have such soft skin protecting his old soul. But Ѐothain continued to squirm until I succumbed to instinct and brushed gentle hands through his windswept hair, which continued to grow in length and overtake his thinning face. He settled quickly into peaceful sleep, and I smiled because this must be something his Mother did quite often to comfort him. I frowned. A Mother…

What would it be like to have one? My heart hurt, and I inhaled desperately through the silence, the thudding pain within, to recollect myself. Would I be different than I am now? Would Seth and I still be here, in Middle Earth? Would –

"Papa," Ѐothain whispered brokenly, his brow furrowed in concentration, hands reaching out for someone, someone incredibly special – and lost to him. "Where are you? Where? Papa…!"

Death stole something from us.

"…Would Daddy love us…?"

No.

Silently, I stared into nothingness, questions frozen between teeth that chattered faintly from the cold of the early morning air. No one would have answered, the truth hidden beneath space and time, but I still yearned to release the questions from their icy grave. My heart might have hurt less, and I –

"Breakfast, Ѐothain," I murmured into his soft hair, lips pressed to the top of his head because it felt…right. My heartache eased, if only enough to make it easier to smile, and smile I did when the boy stumbled out of his bedroll and into his only extra – and clean – set of clothing. He blinked sleepily at me.

"What time is it, Mama?" Ѐothain tiredly asked the innocent question that would, to him, have been said without the intention of hurting me. It did hurt, though, and I could not help but find it hurtful when the boy – young man, really – flushed in embarrassment and apologized quickly to me. "Sorry, Lady Sammy…"

Smile wide, fake, and altogether too sweet, I brushed their comb through his tussled hair and then turned to help Freda with hers, taking the time to gently remove a mess of tangles from her long hair. I mumbled something nonsensical, something about it being fine and not to sweat it, which confused the two children beyond their comprehension, and then I mindlessly muddled through the rest of the usual morning routine. We dressed, brushed the comb through hair, mindful of its broken teeth, washed dirty faces with dirty cloths, and hurried to the main campfire, where a meager and relatively tasteless breakfast would be served by Eowyn.

Today, however, I skipped the last step, instead sending Ѐothain and Freda ahead to claim their breakfast before the warriors arrived for seconds, and sometimes thirds. I wasn't really hungry in the mornings anymore, and although I usually went with the children, I pretended to eat and then passed the food off to them. If Legolas wasn't staring at me, anyway…

Me? I could handle skipping meals every now and then because, well – let's face it. I'm used to it…

My charges, with their young and growing bodies, needed it much more. Both Ѐothain and Freda required the extra sustenance, the extra boost from the calories, to keep traveling at such reckless and breakneck speeds, especially since their dried meats would be eaten while walking – to Helm's Deep.

Why does it feel like I'm fattening them up and sending them off to be slaughtered? In Helm's Deep. Eyes closed, I inhaled sharply and swiftly corrected: Hell. It sounds like Hell's Deep…

My face cracked in half; the stone mask I carved around it disintegrated the moment Ѐothain and Freda disappeared into the endless line of Rohirrim. I blindly snatched at the cloth satchels and outerwear, including the cloak Eowyn gave me, and pulled both on, my arms swiftly slipping in through the leather strap connected to the front of the satchels. I slowly stepped back from the bedroll, pulling myself out of the low crouch I rested in and into the standing position that I needed to vacate the tent. I left and the shadows, like children, began clinging to me.

"Time to find the others," I breathed. Heartbeat loud in my ears. Voice far too quiet in the loud and overwhelming hustle and bustle of the chaos that always preceded the packing and then the unpacking of camp.

The Rohirrim separated swiftly to let me pass, a sea of people that swirled around, and not in front of, me. Men politely inclined their heads, bowing low to me, and Women smiled kindly to me and curtsied. Children sweetly waved their small, skinny hands at me. Possibly, I surmised uneasily, because I'd claimed responsibility for both Ѐothain and Freda in the absence of their mother. People acted similarly in front of Eowyn, too. She devoted much of her time to the children. Nobody would otherwise bow and curtsy to the likes of me.

"You will make a wonderful Queen," Oromë proudly muttered in my ears.

The Vala was wrong.

…wasn't he?

"Lady Samantha!" Captain Brynn exclaimed from behind the mountain of sharpened swords in his arms. He passed the readied pile of weaponry over as another Man stepped forward to take them. "Lord Aragorn requested that I inform you of his whereabouts should I see you."

"Thank you very much, Captain," I gratefully said, listening to him ramble off the direction and turns that would lead to Aragorn. The Captain bowed at the waist and stalked off with purpose. I walked in the opposite direction with my own purpose. My smile faltered. Purpose…?

"Good morning, Samantha," A warm voice rumbled into my ear as someone moved from behind to touch me, and thumbs gently stroked the flesh beneath the tunic under which his battle hardened hands moved with familiarity. "I hope you and the children slept well."

Smiling shyly, I leaned into his touch and raised pink lips to be kissed, loving that his lips moved almost perfectly against mine. I kissed him once more. "Morning, Aragorn. We slept relatively well, all things considered, I guess. How 'bout you?"

"Well enough, though I missed the warmth of your touch," Aragorn breathed into the kiss, his mouth hovering over mine. Hands, rough and calloused, brushed through the soft hair at my nape.

Another kiss, which caused several of the Rohirrim Men to whistle teasingly, passed between us, and I blushingly mumbled, "So, Captain Brynn mentioned that I needed to search for you…?" I glanced at him through the curl of bangs that fell into my eyes.

"Yes, I…" My Ranger swallowed somewhat nervously, his throat moving up and down with the weight of his words, and Aragorn hesitantly said, "I have something I wish to speak of with you."

"What is it, Aragorn?" I asked, fearing the explanation behind his suddenly tense posture and solemn expression. My heart hammered against the tired bones firmly, tirelessly keeping it place. "Has anything happened to those in the Fellowship? What about Seth? I –"

Lips pushed against mine to halt the endless litany of words. Still, Aragorn smiled faintly in amusement, before pulling back to chuckle at me. "Worry not for the Fellowship, Samantha. We are all safe. Your brother, too, is…er, relatively safe."

"My brother is 'relatively safe,'" I warily repeated this last bit because of the strange phrasing and glared darkly at him through narrowed blue eyes, warning him to spit his explanation out before I became violent. "What exactly is 'relatively safe,' Aragorn?"

Eyes dancing in laughter, Aragorn dryly stated, "Your brother is safe enough. Unless the Lady Eowyn has managed to ply him with her strange bread – heavy like bricks, it is – this morning, of course."

"Oh…" I stupidly said to him in response, to which Aragorn smirked in amusement, and then –

Laughter bubbled within, boiling like water, and then erupted to the surface. My face was open and bright and happy. And Aragorn smiled, too, his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth. Husky laughter mingled with my own. We continued to laugh, relieved to have actually something to laugh about at the moment, and stepped closer to each other, if possible. I hugged him around his waist – which, I noticed sadly, seemed thinner now – and kissed his tan neck. My lover tenderly rubbed his cheek against mine, and I giggled lightly at the sensation of his stubble brushing against the softer skin. In Elvish, Aragorn hummed sweet words into my ear.

Elvish, while beautiful, wasn't something that I could understand yet. My lover and I typically conversed in the Common Tongue because I could speak it. His Elvish heritage only whispered to the forefront of his mind during intimate interactions between us. Sex, I noticed, made him particularly romantic, and Elvish would rain down upon me. Certain phrases, like I love you, were now more easily recognizable, but the rest of the melodic language sounded only like instrumental music.

"Pretty," I softly murmured to myself. Because I did not understand the meaning behind the sweet melody, though, I stared straight into his stormy gray eyes and curiously asked, "What does it mean?"

"'Always know that I stay here, in between soul and heart, and do not fear, for we will not long be apart.'" My hands in his, Aragorn kissed their knuckles, which tightened with each passing word. We stared into the other's eyes. "What must I do to convince you to stay beside Lady Eowyn and with the rest of the Women?"

Emotions whirled around inside like the winds of hurricanes, but I did not speak up. I was angry, very angry, and yet I could not bring myself to tell him that nothing would convince me –ever. My heart ached at the sound of his voice, at the desperation which colored his voice bleak and low and sad. So I continued to walk in silence, between Brego and Aragorn, until I could find the words that I needed to express my own concerns.

What if something happens that I could prevent? What if somebody gets hurt? What if…

"Shouldn't I stay with you?" I carefully asked, fearing the worst – fearing that if I separated from the others, from Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli, that something terrible and irrevocable might happen to the people that I cared about.

A picture of the cliffs, of Aragorn falling, flashed before my eyes.

…What if I lose you?

"While I would love to have you near me at all times, I do not believe that I could properly fight if I feel concerned for your safety and wellbeing, Little One," Aragorn explained, his words also careful, and brushed his fingers over my nose.

Pouting, I petulantly crossed both arms over my chest and mumbled, "You fight exceptionally well for the old Ranger that you are…"

"Thank you," Aragorn dryly said, but I remained stubbornly set against listening to him for the moment, and the Man sighed in exasperation, his expression becoming equally stubborn in its set. A growl rumbled in his chest. "Samantha! Do not make me carry you into the Caves!"

My mouth dropped, hanging at the hinges with the shock that Aragorn would actually threaten to carry me to the Caves. The Ranger, while much older, could certainly do so. He was strong and muscled, with the determination and stubbornness needed to match my own. Somebody smaller, like myself, would stand little hope in successfully running from the lean Man and fighting him off. Then, I instantly imagined him chasing me, my smaller form suddenly tossed into the air and curled around his shoulder, legs kicking to get away. No chance. None. Nope…

Blushing madly, I backed off to push halfheartedly at his chest and hissed, "You wouldn't dare, Aragorn, Son of Arathorn!"

My hands were captured between both of his, and I stared straight into his eyes. He slowly smirked down at me, a warm gleam of mischief whispering in their molten silver depths, and his tan face lowered to brush together our noses and lips. Breath trembled from within me. Another thought, of his large hand reaching up and cupping my rear, made it hard to stand still. My belly and cheeks bubbled with warmth at the thought of his hands on me.

"What naughty thoughts paint this pretty blush for me?" Aragorn huskily whispered to me as my mouth trembled against his in want, in desire, and the legs that tried to keep me up and standing began to falter. "Does the thought of being in my arms warm you?" He nosed the pulse beating erratically in my neck. "Your heart; it beats swiftly. Does it wish to be at my mercy? Do you?"

"Oh, God," I mumbled, before stumbling out of his arms and whirling around to walk along the side of the line which, in retrospect, made it much easier for him to corner me. I hastened to back away as my mischievous lover leisurely followed behind me. Nervously, I barked, "Dammit, Aragorn! Stay the fuck away!" He reached for me. "Oi –!"

My Ranger ignored the undignified yelp that I released when his hand connected lightly to my rear, and it remained there in the shock that followed this gentle spanking. Embarrassment made it hard to stutter anything other than a couple of Oh, Gods, and I prayed to them in that moment that nobody had witnessed that little love tap Aragorn had just given me – on my ass. Seriously! What…the…fuck?!

"Do not dare defy me," Aragorn said softly; the spark in his eyes was a warning to be good, with the promise that good girls would be well rewarded, and I shivered. "You are my concern, my responsibility, and I will do everything in my power so you remain safe."

How to respond? My mind made little sense. I made little sense. My inner feminist grumbled in frustration – and defeat – but the romantic in me was overcome with happiness that Aragorn cared that much for me. So I settled with fighting off another blush, staring at him with the sweetest smile that I could muster, and –

"Okay," I sighed in agreement, his stern words making sense enough that I could not, in good conscious, argue with him. I only wanted him safe; if Aragorn claimed I would distract him, then chances were my presence would make him careless and possibly put him in danger. "Yeah, I'll stay behind, with Eowyn, and help her to keep everybody else calm…"

My lover, who had opened his mouth to undoubtedly respond in kind to whatever argument I spewed at him in the hopes of tagging along, faltered and blinked down at me. Aragorn hesitantly questioned, "Y-You will stay in the Caves?"

A small shrug of the shoulders answered him this time. "Ѐothain and Freda will be afraid to be left alone, and I need to help them find their mother," I explained, though the explanation only covered half of the truth, half of what I wished to say.

"Thank you," Aragorn breathed, his face buried in a wave of soft hair, and kissed the top of the head that I lifted to smile sadly at him. To him, I only whispered, "You're welcome."

So much else I had wanted to whisper: Beautiful, inside and out. You are so strong. I love you.

Everything that I wanted to tell him – how much I loved him, how much I appreciated his protection and his concern – was never voiced, though, at least not in that moment. My words, stolen, vanished beneath the threatening howl of Death. An Orc squealed out in protest because Captain Brynn and Legolas charged forward to attack him and his companions. Arrows whistled through the air, sinking into tender flesh with ease. A sword accompanied the arrows and made quick work of the Orc Scouts.

Immediately, Aragorn removed his hand from my person and darted forward to meet his friend, handsome face determined, though panic flickered in his eyes. A soft pant escaped with his breath, but the Ranger clearly asked, "What is happening, Legolas?"

"A Scout," Legolas grimly informed him, with his hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of the sword that remained buried in the dark, broken corpse. He removed it efficiently, if not too quickly because of the resulting squelch of metal and blood, and snarled silently in disgust. "Other Orcs will have heard his cry. We must move! Quickly…!"

The Ranger whirled around without further words and returned to us. Although I remembered vividly what happened in this part of the book and the movie, I could not understand anything through the screams and the fear pounding inside my eyes, and chest, and veins. My teeth throbbed with the hot blood – and the cold, icy fear – that rushed through me.

Hand at his sword, Aragorn raised his voice and strongly called, "We are under attack!"

Chaos erupted; King Théoden barked orders. Men grabbed their weapons and their shields; Women screamed in fear; and Children cried out for their parents, half of whom left to defend their families. The Riders, the few that yet remained through the tyranny of Gríma Wormtongue, climbed into the saddles of their warhorses and galloped to the front of the line. A flash of golden blonde hair, green eyes, and his sword, Bone Biter. My brother was one. Seth…

A hand grabbed the strings that tied shut the cloak I wore. My mouth, opened in surprise, was soon wet, hot beneath the strong and bruising kiss that Aragorn seared into me. He buried his tan face into my warm, golden hair, but I could not feel the weight of his lips, which pressed another soft kiss to my crown. Words, all in the Common Tongue, were spoken. It did not matter; I still did not understand him because I could not hear him through the screaming, the roaring of the wind, and the cries of war. War stole something from me.

"Come, Sammy!" My friend, Eowyn, cried through the chaos that surrounded her people – her friends and mine. "We must make haste to Helm's Deep! It is the only way! We must go!"

I stayed, standing motionless, and watched Aragorn mount his horse and ride away.

A scream ripped through her – through me.

"Samantha!"

Electricity jumped from my eyes. Magic exploded from with me, my eyes, mouth, and skin glowing with the blue light of the Blue Wizard. Musical notes. See, I could hear, and I could touch, and I could feel the music inside of me, a war of treble and bass and the cries of heavenly voices. I've got this passion; it's something I can't describe. It's so electric; it's like I've just come alive.

Whirling around, I calmly and instinctively whipped both hands upwards to channel the Magic inside of myself and form the fireball in the middle of their palms. I distantly heard the cries of Ѐothain and Freda, who clung tightly to my pants, and the pleas of Eowyn, but I paid them little mind. The Rohirrim continued to scream and panic and retreat to the shadows that encircled the sanctuary of Helm's Deep. None of that mattered right at that particular moment. My main concern now was to end the miserable life of this Creature. I feel this freedom. My past is erased. I'm alive.

Death smiled darkly at me, and I stared calmly back, disinterested in anything that the Beast might wish to speak of with us. I did not wait for him to speak, to taunt and provoke and belittle. I did not wait to hear him speak the words – Weak, Stupid, Ugly – that used to define me. I feel the healing. I've found the meaning of grace. My past is erased. And I'm alive. No, I did not because I could feel that I wasn't anything but strong, and smart, and beautiful to those that would love me. Aragorn.

Magic roared through the dark wasteland that surrounded both of us. Out of the ground, I rise to grace. "You will not have him," I solemnly declared through the silent whimpers of Ѐothain and Freda, through the harsh breathing of Eowyn, and through the strength that defined the new me.

Critically, Death eyed the three courageous people that refused to abandon me. He sniffed disdainfully, finding the three lacking in worth, and lowered his scythe from its perch atop his bony shoulder to point it at me – us. I shouldered in front of the three, blindly removing hands and legs from around the limbs I needed to fight with, and aimed another fireball at the Beast. I refused to wait for him to make the first move; my palms, steady and strong, shot the magic out and towards him without preamble. He would not win.

Death stole something from me.

"Eowyn," I called to her through the haze, the focused and unfocused concentration needed to battle another, but I did not turn to her for fear of being wounded. "Take Ѐothain and Freda! You need to leave and lead the Rohirrim!"

Desperately, Eowyn tried to run over as my person was moved to the side by the staff of the scythe, but another swipe sent her tumbling backwards. She stared at me, eyes wide, and tearfully cried, "No! I will not leave you!"

"Dammit, Eowyn," I snarled, hitting the tip of the scythe to unbalance him and using the right palm to send another fireball, which seemed to grow smaller and smaller in size, to force him into retreat. "Everyone needs you! The Rohirrim need you! Ѐothain and Freda need you!"

"YOU need me!" Eowyn screamed through the tears that rained down her pretty, pale face. My friend, with all of the strength and determination in her beautiful soul, charged forward to tackle Death.

Frozen, I could only stare at Death, who slowly reclaimed his full height and towered high above her, above Eowyn, at eight feet tall. My friend groaned quietly, her head in her hands, and lifted it to face the dark and demonic smile of the Beast. She trembled, body shivering with fear and the cold of the wind that nipped at her bare arms and neck. Arms wrapped tightly around her terrified form, Eowyn waited, weaponless and completely terrified, for her Fate.

"Your time is up," Death chillingly intoned, his voice numb, colder than ice – and the metal of the scythe that screamed hauntingly through the air to meet the scared, defenseless young woman. "Die, Eowyn of Rohan!"

A single tear trailed down her cheek, falling to the grass, and then, Eowyn whispered, "Seth…"

"NO!" I shrieked, before I moved, from here to there, in the timeframe of mere seconds.

In the midst of everything, I distantly wondered how I could possibly meet him – Death – and the swing of his scythe with such speed. Months from now, when the single question haunted everything within, however, I would remember him. I would hear him speaking deep from within me –

Left, right, swing, dodge, run, move, jump, left, left, counter, right, dodge, turn, twist, charge.

Head to head, toe to toe, I met him blow for blow, fighting with everything within me. Fire, ice, and the occasional explosion of electric blue lightning sparked between us as my magic fought long and hard to keep the balance between us. A scythe, ten feet in length and made of silver, flashed through the empty air in front of me, nearly separating head from neck, but I listened. And Manwë began to speak again.

My voice deepened, and through lips I could not control, I declared, "You will not touch her."

The Dead Entity widened his eyes a moment, surprised to find the strength with which I battled, the strength of the allies who provided their assistance, and then charged forward to meet me. A sheet of ice coated the left forearm I raised to parry a swipe of his scythe. With that icicle used for the shield, I could defend myself, but I needed to attack again. So I summoned another for the other arm and used this icicle to slash at his face.

Death barely retreated in time and furiously slashed his scythe over me, a useless and wide angle that I decided to use as an advantage, then. My icicle slipped through his left eye and partially blinded him, but the other began to glow enough to blind and disorient me as well. The Beast screeched at me. I wordlessly screamed back at him. We charged again.

Squelch. I heard it, the sound of metal slipping through skin, tearing through muscle, and breaking through bone. I felt it, the hot slime of blood, tissue, and matter that slithered down the outstretched forearm. And I tasted it, the iron of blood that sprayed into the mouth I opened to breathe sharply in surprise. We, Death and I, stared almost blindly into opposing eyes.

"How is this p-p-possible?" Death whispered through the blood that gushed from between his fangs; his bloodied, ruined fangs. "You should not have been able to best m-me. Y-y-you –!"

"I," Breath short, I finished his sentence with cold, determined words: "I'm the Heir of Manwë."

My forearm, already firmly lodged within his chest cavity, twisted to the left. I butchered everything within reach because I did not know what it would take to kill him, and I could not possibly fathom the extent to which I would have to wound the undead creature to prevent him from healing and coming back for me. His heart, which had been still before I impaled it with the icicle, remained still, silent, and cold. It did not beat. It did not love.

"Goodnight, Death," I quietly wished, because in the end, Death would not be gone. He would always be here, to stalk through the bloody battlefields to claim the departed, and to glide through the endless night to claim the Souls of the Dead.

A hand at my arm, warm and reassuring in its feather light touches, guided the body but not the mind from the strange, motionless corpse. Eowyn, I could remember her name. And I could hear her.

"Come, Sammy! You, the children, and I must leave now. We must return to the others before nightfall. Your foe might have been vanquished, but others yet remain."

Brave Ѐothain, his hands shaking, slowly moved to hold the other arm. Warm fingers touched something cold, like ice, and I dimly remembered the two icicles clinging to my arms, a shield and sword. I blinked down at the glistening sheets of ice, feeling oddly disoriented, and then thought back to the fireballs that had burst from the palm of these hands. Ice melted. Water washed the crimson blood into nothingness, but not the memories.

My memories would live forever…

Sacrifice.

Small voice filled with fear, Freda gently touched her fingers to my arm and asked, "Does it hurt, Lady Sissy? It looks like it might hurt…" A tiny, delicate hand – that little hand that selflessly offered comfort this morning – slowly curled around mine.

My hand in hers, I could breathe again, and I could hear, see, move again. A voice that sounded like mine returned, if only for the moment, because when I whistled and called out for Orion, I could feel the bumps and rough skin inside, like sandpaper. Still, Orion responded to the call, familiar with its sharp cadence, and galloped from within the distance, leaving the trail of the Rohirrim.

After quickly climbing into the saddle, I pulled both Ѐothain and Freda to me. Eowyn was an experienced rider and hoisted herself into the rough saddle without assistance, though it became difficult to remain seated with four riders in the saddle. We were all relatively small in stature – at least, Ѐothain, Freda, and I were, as we were much shorter than most Men and Women – and the weight did not bother Orion. My horse entered his favorite gallop and darted to the start of the dirt trail that had been left in the wake of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of boots and horses' hooves before us.

Swiftly, I permitted Orion to have his head, and the horse ducked down to release the full extent of his speed and to reach his full potential. My brilliant warhorse, with his sharp, strategic mind, sensed how imperative it would be for Eowyn, Ѐothain, Freda, and myself to reach the safety of the fortress before nightfall. We needed to heal, to rest. And Eowyn needed to guide the Rohirrim.

What is my purpose?

Oromë smiled faintly.

"You will make a wonderful Queen."

Soon enough, Eowyn and I shifted because of the damp cold, which sent chills down our arms. I glanced behind, to where Eowyn rested in the saddle, her arms over my waist, and smiled tiredly at her. She smiled back, her expression of relief broken only by the short, almost hysterical bust of laughter that followed. My right arm, curled around both Ѐothain and Freda, moved to hold tightly to the reins with the left, pulling backwards to slow Orion. We stopped atop the hill, staring past the line of Rohirrim and into the shadows of the monstrous stone structure that bathed their forms in blank ink.

"We're finally here," I whispered, softly, and with the strongest rush of relief. We were safe, scared but safe. My friends might not yet be here, but I had Eowyn with her determination, Ѐothain with his bravery, and Freda with her sweet kindness. We would stick together and retreat to the Caves.

"Where are we?" Freda questioned, head turned to me, eyes open and filled with curiosity.

Together, Eowyn and I breathed, "Helm's Deep…"

***Author's Note***

Hello again! I'm still posting the edited version - Edited 2015.

Dun, dun, dun!

What shall happen since Death is "out" of the picture? Who knows? Not me! :D

IMPORTANT NOTE: Manwë possessed Sammy, by the way. He speaks in bold letters. He is also the reason our cantankerous heroine sounded all-powerful toward the end. She is not; far from it, in fact! She will not be given these powers again. So do not freak out about it, please!

By the by, I apologize that this is later than I promised, but I was told to study for the Praxis II, which advisors decided to make test dates for without telling me. Yay...

Anyway, I must sleep, uh, study again...

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!

Update = ~485ish Reviews

:)