Nemireth had grown up with stories of war.

She had laid in bed for hours with yellowed and dogeared pages lit only by a slowly fading candle, greedily consuming every tale, every tome. The chittering crickets had been her only company, until the roosters had called at the breaking of dawn and yet it never stopped her reading.

She had read of the War of the Last Alliance, where Sauron had been vanquished from Middle Earth by the great heroes of elves and men. She had read so many stories of war in kingdom's history; the Brother's War, when Archion II had murdered his older brother only to be killed in turn by his younger, or the Darkest Night, when Minas Luin itself was besieged by orcs and only liberated by the Ellayan tribesmen riding to the rescue of their queen's love. That was what she had taken from them, they were stories of love, glory, revenge, defeat and ultimately triumph.

None of the stories had ever mentioned this part.

She stood in the shadow of the Deeping wall, or at least what remained of it, boots still sinking into the mud. That was all that felt familiar to her though, for in front of her, the great gap that had been blown open by Saruman's wizardry, like it had been torn out by a giant's hand. Beyond, the Uruk-hai army that she had laid eyes on just that night, the one that had come to see an end to the land of Rohan was no more. She could feel no joy at the sight, none of the triumph she had felt when reading her books, for instead she was standing amongst the cost of that victory.

The ground was strewn with elves and men, with the living now moving amongst the dead sombrely. Most were Éomer's men, the defenders happy to take the chance to rest and find comfort with their loved ones within the caves. Half of the families within would not have that chance and already she was sure she could hear the wails of grief on the wind, though perhaps that was the spirits of the Ellayans weeping for the fallen of Aeanor.

Xiphos' company had come to Rohan with four hundred men. Four hundred of the King's Guard had ridden into Edoras just a few weeks ago. They had withstood the ferocity of their enemy, the hostility of their hosts and the ineptitude of their defence. They had ridden to the Ford of Isen only to be ambushed and forced to retreat. They had marched to Helms Deep and there they had held the breach in the impenetrable wall until it could be held no more. Four hundred men.

Now, only twenty remained. Ten survivors of the hundred and fifty from the battle before and ten who had been too wounded to take part.

They were helping the Rohirrim and surviving elves line up their dead, so many felled by blows from behind, victims of the chaotic rout that she had called.

Nemireth heard her name called, Amathor stood close to the steps, bandages still wrapped tightly about his shoulder. It took only a quick glance at his expression to know who he had found.

Xiphos lay surrounded by the fallen of his company, the men he had so effortlessly led. He could have been asleep, eyes closed gently just beneath his helm, no sign of the wound that had killed him. His skin was pale, so much paler than she remembered it. It looked like his lips were curled up at the corners, as if he were still mocking her even in death.

"I am so sorry, your majesty," Amathor solemnly handed her the two tokens he had worn about his neck. One was a small bronze feather, the symbol of a King's Guard. The other she saw was a little horseshoe, carved of wood.

The Princess dropped to her knees beside him, uncaring of the mud mixed with blood, uncaring if Amathor or anyone else watched her. She took his hand in hers; rough, calloused and cold. It felt like the coldness was seeping through her skin, seizing at her insides and leaving her numb. Nemireth placed the tokens back in his hand and carefully closed his fingers around them, lowering her head to touch the tip of his helm.

The tears came then. She couldn't stop them, didn't want to stop them. Grief washed over her like waves crashing against a dingy; swamped, overwhelmed.

"Nemireth…"

The voice was gentle, recognisable, but she didn't look up. It could have been Sauron for all she cared.

"Nemireth, stand up."

No response.

Hands took her by her shoulders and she felt herself pulled softly to her feet. The Princess allowed her too be handled, limp as a new born pup before she found the strength to lock her knees. When she looked, she saw it was Legolas who had lifted her, features blurred and concern in his whispers, "Be strong, Nemireth. Be strong for them, be strong for him."

With a sniff, she nodded and wiped at her eyes with a muddy sleeve. He was right. Xiphos would not have tolerated her lying and sobbing like some court-bound maiden. She was a soldier of the Blue City. She was the Captain-Commander of the King's Guard. She would be strong. For them. For him.

Vision cleared, she saw that Gimli stood beside him, axe held over his shoulder. What grabbed her attention though was Legolas, the pain hidden behind his mask.

"I'm alright," She had never felt less alright in all her life but Gimli's look, one of pity and worry, convinced her to declare as such, "I'm alright."

"We've been sent to get ye, lassie," Gimli reached out and patted her arm, an awkward gesture but she appreciated what he was trying to do and offered him an empty smile in turn, "Gandalf wants a word with us."

She looked between the two of them, smile weakening, "I…I can't. I should…stay here…" Her voice was thin and tired, hoarse from shouting and screaming.

"We can keep working, your majesty," Amathor had retreated a respectful distance but now stepped up again, "It's not a problem."

The Princess was given no chance to argue further, Legolas taking her in hand and gently steering her towards the keep, where the horses were kept.

Up the stairs she went, half walking and half-limping, supported by Legolas, eyes downcast and heavy already, now sore and puffy as well. Legolas' words echoed in her mind. Be strong…

She just couldn't find it. All she wanted to do was lie down and hide.

The keep itself had been cleared and a few people had been allowed out of the caves, mostly tending to the wounded or preparing food for the fort's many occupants. That would mean…

"Nemireth?"

She heard Éowyn's voice before she saw her and when she looked up, she saw that the maiden's face was alight with hope, hair blowing in the breeze. It was the hope that struck at her heart harder than any uruk-hai ever could. The optimism, the blind belief. Slowly, that hope faded as their eyes met. The Princess of Aeanor could not find any words. Instead, she pushed away from Legolas and took Éowyn in her arms. She felt the princess of Rohan sag against her and suddenly it was she who was having to support the Rohirrim lady. She could feel her body shaking gently in her grip and in turn, Nemireth's eyes were stung with further tears. How long they spent in shared grief she could not tell, but then she felt Gimli tap her gently on the elbow.

"I'm sorry lassie, this can't wait."

"Of course," With the greatest reluctant she parted from Éowyn, able to see how her eyes had reddened and the light had left her cheeks, just as it had when Théodred had passed. Even through her own misery, she felt a stab of pity. How much more loss would the poor girl have to suffer?

"I'll stay with her, don't you worry." Gimli was as good as his word, taking Éowyn and steering her by the elbow into the keep. Quite what form dwarven consolation would take, she dreaded to think but it was better than her being alone.

Now it was just she and Legolas, the princess of Blue City and the heir to the woodland realm. No longer did she need his support to walk, but still she stayed close to him and he did not push her away. The awkwardness grew between them and she knew she should say something, but she just could not summon the effort nor the energy to do so. He seemed to understand the same, for he did not speak but instead just pulled her closer to him. All he did was whisper into her ear, "I am sorry."

She just nodded numbly. He squeezed her tighter to him. She welcomed the contact, the warmth until they reached the horses and, only with the greatest reluctance, they parted. Súletal was waiting for her, watching as she approached with intelligent and baleful eyes, pawing at the ground before her with head bowed. It was all she could to pat his flank as she lifted herself into the saddle, and Legolas had mounted his own stead.

There were far fewer of the Rohirrim out before the Hornburg but it was here the enemy lay thickest. So many lay on their fronts, clearly cut down as they had. It gave her a sick pleasure to see to many had fallen in that manner, hewn down by the Rohirrim as they had reclaimed the field from the army of Saruman. Gandalf sat atop Shadowfax with Aragorn and Haldir to one side, and Théoden and Éomer to the other. The king was a far cry from when she had last seen him, flushed with victory rather than in the pits of despair. She met Aragorn's eyes only briefly and he gave her a small nod in turn.

"…Sauron's wrath will be terrible," Gandalf was saying. Ahead of them, in the distance were flashes of orange lightning against a black storm cloud. Mordor, "His retribution will be swift."

There was more to come. Nemireth exhaled deeply, eyes closed as she looked to the heavens as the wind whipped against her face. It brought with it fresh resolve, a new spark of fire within her belly. Xiphos, Théodred, all of her men, all of those elves and Rohirrim who had died. Their deaths would not be in vain. She would not let it be so.

"The battle for Helm's Deep is over," Gandalf leant against his saddle, staff in hand, "The battle for Middle Earth is about to begin."

AN: And so ends the Two Towers! My initial thoughts on this fic were based in Rohan so it was a real joy to write! Sorry that it took so long sometimes between chapters but when the block hits, there's not much else to do.

A big thank you to everyone who's stuck with me so far! I can't promise there won't be more gaps but I will do my best!

As Gandalf himself said, the Battle of Middle Earth is about to begin! On to the Return of the King!