The night passed far too swiftly for everyone. To most, it seemed that no sooner had they lain down to rest than they were being awakened once more. And in many cases, it was the truth given the way the night watches had been divided and the lateness of their evening and earliness of their rising. Once more, the Rohirrim ate a hasty breakfast of cram before mounting to continue their march to Isenguard. Only this morning, something changed.
Before the army could move out, a figure appeared on the horizon. It appeared human and was stumbling, though with exhaustion or injury none of the Rohirrim could tell at such a distance. As he grew closer, it became apparent that he was one of their kin, his blonde hair shining in the rising sun where it was not matted with filth, though the cause of his stumble was not so readily apparent.
"Éomer," he called as soon as he was within earshot. "I must speak with the Third Marshal." He continued in that manner until his cries drew the attention of the man in question.
"Allow him to come," Èomer said, gesturing him forward. "What drives you here in such urgency and such a state?" The third Marshal's trained eye raked over the Man and found that, though he was covered in both the black blood of orcs and the red of men, he had no serious injury that needed tended prior to the delivery of his missive.
"I must speak with Èomer," the man repeated, his tone more desperate than before, his eyes flitting around as though searching for an invisible foe and his movements skittish as a hare. "I have news from the Fords that must reach his ears. If not rapidly-"
"He stands before you," the Third Marshal replied levelly. "What name do you bear and what news have you?"
"My Lord," the man said bowing his head momentarily before grasping Éomer's arms and staring into his eyes. "There is no time for names. War comes to Rohan."
"Aye, and we ride to bring it," Éomer said simply. "I would know with whom I speak."
"No, My Lord," the man corrected. "War has already come. My company and I were patrolling the Fords where we were attacked by a band of . . . I know not what they were. They resembled orcs however . . . they were larger and more ferocious than any orc I have ever faced."
"Uruk-hai," Aragorn supplied. "Great half-breeds capable of moving under the sun and planning like Men but with the ferocity and bloodlust of Orckind."
"They destroyed my company," the man continued. "I was the only one to survive. My commander sent me to deliver word of the attack and warn the country before we are overrun."
"My eored and I have faced this breed and left their carcasses for carrion," Éomer said dismissively. "These beasts shall fare no better."
"Forgive me, my Lord," the man said, shaking his head, his blue eyes haunted. "Even so numerous a force as this stands no chance against what comes from Isenguard."
"We number nearly a thousand," Éomer returned, looking at the man as though he had lost his ability to see.
"And they in the tens of thousands," the man replied, his blue eyes wide, wonder and horror coloring his tone. "In open battle we will be destroyed."
"We are to march on Isenguard by order of the King," Éomer said after a moment's pause. "Any deviation from that course would require the approval of Théoden King."
The man scoffed. "We have not the time to ride to The Golden Hall for his approval, My Lord. If you continue on this path you will be destroyed. If you turn back, it is likely you shall meet the same fate. Helm's Deep is our only sanctuary. And if we tarry . . ."
"Then for once of late, fate smiles on the Mark," the Third Marshal replied. "For we need not waste time in retracing our steps. Théoden King is among us. Present your case to him directly." With that, Éomer stepped aside to reveal the king.
"My King," the man breathed, dropping to his knees and bowing his head. "I apologize, Sire. I was unaware that you had left you halls. Ceorl, at your service, Théoden King."
"You are forgiven your ignorance," the king replied. "I am certain that many, myself included, never thought to see me leave my seat until I was placed in the earth. Now rise and tell me this. If we flee to the mountains what of my people? Would you have us leave them defenseless against this horde to save our own skins? Or should we face it and at least make an end worthy of song in their defense. What would you have us do?"
"These lands are empty, Sire," the rider replied. "Long have orcs pillaged here and the people have fled, either to other parts of the Mark or to Helms Deep. Perhaps we should dispatch one swift rider to Medusled to warn them to evacuate."
"Medusled has been evacuated," Théoden replied. "We knew we rode to bring war and sent the women and children to the hills."
"Then I would have us make haste to Helms Deep, Sire," the rider said. "I assure you, we will not prevail in open battle." Théoden was silent, his expression guarded as he considered this new information. It did not sit well with him to flee to the mountains like a child, however he could not see sense in dooming them all with his pride. If only there was a way to know which path would lead to victory and which to ruin. It was as he looked in the faces of his men that his eyes landed on the only female among them, her copper hair catching the light of dawn and drawing the eye like a beacon amongst the golden tones of his people. Perhaps, like a beacon, she could shed some light on the situation.
"What say you, Seer?" he finally said, facing her fully. When she did not reply, or even acknowledge that she had been spoken to, he repeated her moniker. "Seer?"
"Excuse me?" Emily asked, blinking owishly at being addressed. Her face tense with the stress of their situation and creased with lines of worry that only knowing how things would come to pass could place on one so young.
"What say you?" Théoden repeated, slightly more gently at the reminder that she was young for such a heavy burden as foresight. "Which path will lead to victory for Rohan? Should we meet them on the open plain or cower in the mountains?"
"I . . . Um . . . You're asking me?" she breathed. While things were different with the Fellowship, from what she remembered from the movie, women weren't given much of a vote in matters of politics, or much else for that matter. Why would he ask her? He did execute his advisor on you word, her consiciene whispered. Why would battle plans be different? She was about to refute that idea herself when Théoden himself confirmed it.
"You are gifted with foresight, are you not?" he asked, his tone edging towards dangerous once more at her causing delay when time was so precious. "I ask that you use that gift for me now. Which path should we take? The fate of Rohan rests on your visions."
Emily couldn't speak. While she knew that they were supposed to go to Helm's Deep, Grima was dead. There would be no reason for Sauruman to have sent out his army to Helm's Deep without that bit of information from him. There was no guarantee that they would march on the mountain if they weren't led there. There was also no way they could survive in battle on a field against them. But even if they went to Helm's Deep, Éomer was already with them and he and Gandalf had been the ones to win the battle for them with the whole over-the-ridge charge thing. Without that surprise would they still win or would it turn into a siege and starve them out? Maybe they did have the numbers to be able to stand and fight if they split the army and . . . And what then? She wasn't a general. She didn't know anything about war. How could she make the right decision when she knew nothing about strategy and war? Hell, she couldn't even play chess!
She felt her chest get tight as she realized that no matter what she said men would still die. Things had changed so much that she couldn't tell how this was going to go. She knew what she needed to say but Grima's empty, dead eyes kept flashing in her mind as he lay on the ground accusing her of his death. Then they changed and it was Boromir's gently grey eyes and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She couldn't say that she didn't know, but no matter what she chose they could die. They could all die. But if she told the truth . . . No. She couldn't do that. She knew that if they went to Helm's Deep the elves would come and they would have more help still. Perhaps, behind the walls, more could survive than would on the open plains. Especially since she knew Saruman's secret weapon. Maybe they could all survive there. Helm's Deep. That was the only option.
"The mountain, Sire," she choked out. "We must go to Helm's Deep. Their army is too big. We can't beat them without the help of the wall." Théoden nodded, his expression closed, hearing the conviction in her words but not pleased with the answer to hide rather than to face the enemy with honor.
"Give the order," he said to Éomer before turning and walking back towards his waiting horse.
"I hope you chose correctly, Seer," the Third Marshal said before following his uncle back towards the army, calling out in his own language. Emily didn't say it but she hoped the same.
"What of Erkenbrand?" the man who had survived the first attack asked. "Should we not send someone for him? He rode north to raise the Westfold. Would not his aid be welcome?" Emily's eyes narrowed at the unfamiliar name. She didn't know of anyone that could influence the battle that wasn't already there.
"Shadofax and I could reach him and return him to Helm's Deep in mere days," Gandalf offered.
"Seer?" Théoden asked, reluctant to send for a Lord whose lands he had neglected—under Gríma's influence, yet neglected all the same—to save him in his time of need, especially at the cost of Shadofax and the White Wizard.
"Everyone we need to win is here already," Emily replied, certain that someone she didn't know couldn't matter enough to risk not having Gandalf at the battle. Théoden nodded at her words and Éomer gave the signal to ride. Again, she had a sinking feeling in her belly and hoped he hadn't just doomed them all.
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After a day of hard riding, the vale of Helm's Deep was in sight. So, too, was the army of Uruk-hai. What had been first a mere shadow on the horizon, had now grown in size and clarity until it was clear that it was a massive army nearing them at a disturbing pace. It seemed that everyone's fear that the Uruks would pass and leave Helm's Deep in favor of attacking the Mark itself were unfounded for they were moving in the same direction as the Rohirrim. While it appeared that if both armies kept their pace the Rohirrim would win the gate, it would be a close thing. Too close a thing.
"They must already be there," Emily muttered, eyeing the encroaching Uruks with trepidation.
"What did you say, Emily?" Aragorn, who she was still riding with, asked, concerned about the consequences such proximity to the Uruks would have to one who had so recently been their captive.
"The Elves," Emily clarified. "There will be no way for them to get in once we're there. Looks like we'll just barely make it before they do. So they must already be inside the walls."
"No," Aragorn said with certainty. "There will be no Elves in the Hornburg. The men of Rohan are loyal and fierce but they are not trusting of outsiders. In such times of war, no Elf would be allowed within sight of their stronghold without the express orders of their King."
"Lady Galadriel is sending Elven archers to help us," Emily said firmly. "As a peace offering to honor the old alliances. I've seen it." Aragorn said nothing but part of him hoped that The Lady had done no such thing. He could only imagine the consequences if Elves from the Golden Wood marched armed on Théoden's lands in times of war with Isenguard, even under the banner of peace. Another part hoped that Emily spoke true. Aid from the Golden Wood might just turn the tide of the battle in a siege, which he had no doubt this would become given the size of the force upon them.
As night began to fall, it was clear that the Uruks were gaining more rapidly than they had realized. What had been a hard, but steady ride during the day turned into a gallop towards Helm's Dike and safety. While it would not offer the protection of the Deeping Wall, it would offer more than open air and field. Between the ditch and the dike itself, there was hope the fortifications would impede the Uruks, though none believed it would stop them outright. As the last of the Rohirrim crossed the bridge and the gate was barred behind them, Théoden turned to the defenders for news.
It was as he had feared, there had been great losses at the Battles of the Fords and the Hornburg only held an equal number to the force that rode with him. Only 2,000 Men against the mass of Uruks. It was a dark time in the Mark, indeed. They would be fortunate if three days hence there was a Mark for the sun to shine upon. Théoden gave the order to continue on to the Deeping Wall, instructing the Men at the Dike to abandon it and follow. There was no need to lose life when the Dike would do little against the waves of Uruks to follow.
"Tell me," Emily said to one of the Men who had joined them on the journey across the field to the massive fortress, "are there Elves inside waiting for us?"
"No Elves have passed through the Dike," the Man replied, scorn dripping from the word Elves."Save yourself and your companion, of course."
"Thank you," Emily said, attempting to be polite despite the ice flooding her veins at the pronouncement. No Elves. Éomer with them, so no final charge. A Dike she knew nothing about and an army already here before they were inside. No fall of Aragorn. Already that was too many changes for her to predict what would happen. Add to that that Éowyn was not in the caves, there had been no ambush on the road. Aragorn couldn't arrive at the last moment from the dead to rally the troops. There'd been too many changes. Too much had been altered and now they might all die because she stuck her nose in and rejected reinforcement. Not that that was all she'd done. Gríma was dead, Boromir was alive, Aragorn was here, Gandalf and Éomer were here. It was too much. She'd done too much and the delicate timing of the battle was destroyed. Gandalf was right. She should have just left well enough alone.
The next she knew there was a hand on her arm. She looked up in shock to see that they were now inside a hall and Legolas was beside her, attempting to gain her attention and lift her from the horse.
"They're not here," she muttered, her haunted eyes begging him to understand that she may have just doomed them all with her assumptions.
"Who, penneth?" he asked, barely resisting the urge to stroke her hair back as he would any distressed child. He could see the horror in her brown eyes and wished that she had stayed in Lothlorien and been spared the trauma that had befallen her. First the Uruks and now a battle that she never should have seen, poor child.
"The Elves," she whispered her voice thick with tears. "There are supposed to be Elves here. They were supposed to come and help us. They're supposed to be here. But I'm not and Boromir's supposed to be dead. Gríma's supposed to have gone to Isenguard. Éoywn and the women and children were supposed to have come with us here and there was supposed to have been an ambush of Warg riders and Aragorn was supposed to have fallen into the river, been believed dead, had a vision of Arwen and come to boost morale. "
"Penneth," he sighed, reaching out for her. "I understand that seeing the Uruks again—"
"No," Emily said, batting his arm away with her forearm. "You don't understand! The vision with Arwen that gives him strength causes Elrond to reforge the sword that was broken and bring it to him at the massing of the Rohirrim for the battle of Minas Tirith. He also suggests the paths of the Dead. Without the vision, there is no sword so he can't command the undead army and win the Battle. We'll lose the war. I've doomed us all."
"Emily," Aragorn said, "I have the sword. It was reforged prior to our departure from Rivendell. All is not lost. It is for the best that Elves did not march armed across Rohan. Do not despair. Hope remains." As she listened to the clamor of the Uruk army outside the walls, she couldn't find it in herself to believe him.
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