Author Note: Inspired by "Steady is the Hand" by rhosinthorn. Thank you for everyone who has read and reviewed my story.

The Shards of Sorrow

Review: The Hunters are reunited with Gandalf in Fangorn Forest and the Wizard reveals that he has returned as Gandalf the White—more powerful than before and as Saruman should have been. He shares his knowledge of the current state of affairs including the Hobbits in Fangorn with the Ents, the conflict between Mordor and Isengard as Sauron and Saruman both strive for mastery of the Ring, and the storm to come. He also tells how he fought the Balrog, defeated it, came to Lórien to fully heal, and then came to meet them. During the course of his talks, he has hinted of another to come as great as he that has given him hope of restoration of Middle Earth and that they shall come through Time and Death as he has come through Shadow and Flame.

They get ready to depart before Branwen asks Gandalf about crafting a Wizard's staff for her. Gandalf reveals that he can See more than he had before and that she is unable to use a Wizard's staff as such a staff binds the Great Song to her essence but her essence is already bound by the Shards of Sorrow. Branwen feels crushed but Gandalf promises to assist her.

Gandalf calls Shadowfax to him and the horses Éomer lent to them return as well. They are guided by Shadowfax through the day and into the night on a direct route to Edoras. When they stop for a short time in the night, Branwen questions Gandalf after the others have gone to sleep of what he knows of her. He reveals that he does know more of her than he can speak and hints of a binding upon him and references the Binding of Winds upon Branwen. Branwen is left questioning what are the Shards of Sorrow and goes to sleep.

Waking up long before the sun has risen, they depart again to Edoras and reach it shortly after the new day has dawned. They find the Rohirrim unfriendly and suspicious and that Éomer has been imprisoned by Théoden for letting the Hunters go and aiding them. They are eventually allowed into Edoras and give up their weapons, besides Gandalf's staff that they convince the doorwarden to pardon, before entering Meduseld. It is revealed to Branwen by Sight that Gríma Wormtongue is a servant of Saruman and has been using the Shadow of Saruman to bind Théoden and render him aged, impotent, and suspicious of all, even those he used to trust the most.

Gandalf breaks Wormtongue's power over Saruman's Shadow with the Light of Gandalf and frees Théoden before taking the king outside into the sunlight. Théoden is appraised of the current state of affairs and comes back into his senses as the Shadow of Saruman is lifted. Éomer is released and Wormtongue is then brought out and the doorwarden reveals that Wormtongue has been stealing items. Wormtongue is revealed as a traitor and Théoden tells him to take a horse and choose his own fate. Before Wormtongue flees, Branwen senses that he has stolen her circlet and means to make off with it. She takes it from him before slapping him, leaving gouges that will scar, and kicking him down the stairs when he tries to attack her. Théoden and Éomer are apologetic that the treasure was almost stolen but Branwen assures them it is fine before Théoden invites them into his hall to eat.

Chapter Twenty-Five – Helm's Deep

The Third Age – March 2nd, 3019

Théoden declared to their party, "Now, my guests, come! Come and take such refreshment as haste allows!"

Éowyn heard the command through the open doors of the hall. Gandalf and the assorted party clad in grey accompanied Théoden inside. Éowyn still felt a great disbelief in her heart but also joy. Her uncle had return to his former self, it seemed, and, of what she had heard from the men that had come running inside to inform her and the servants of the guests joining the king, Wormtongue had been expelled.

Théoden, his guests, and her brother sat at the long table to the side in the hall and Éowyn came around quickly with water to serve alongside the steaming pork belly, bread, and potatoes before she took her customary place behind Théoden on his left side to be ready to serve.

Her eyes went from Gandalf and then from one of the grey-clad party to the next. Éowyn had previously seen Gandalf the Grey but she had never before seen him so…potent. She had listened as he had addressed Théoden in his hall and rebuked Wormtongue and it had sounded as if Gandalf had come through some tribulations. Where before he had been silver and grey, he was now completely white and even his robes were purely white as well. He seemed almost to glow in the dimness of the hall before he had taken back up his ragged grey cloak and tall wide-brimmed hat.

Éowyn had seen Dwarves before and the red-bearded one that sat at the table seemed as stony and gruff as any other she had seen. She had never witnessed an Elf before though and he was very fair—pretty, one might even say. He was tall and blonde with bright blue eyes. He would have looked commonplace in Rohan with braids and a beard, if his face were not so beautiful.

The man that accompanied them was tall, at even height with the king and that was rare, and he boasted dark hair and bright grey eyes that she had witnessed in some Gondorian nobles before. Despite his travel-worn appearance and somewhat unkempt beard, his face was noble and handsome for a man. Éowyn could not deny that her heart quickened when his gaze, like moonlight, had met hers and she had recognized his own comeliness. It was not only his features that were noble but he also his bearing and his eyes reflected wisdom and education. She could readily admit she had never been as attracted to a man. Éowyn knew that he was Aragorn son of Arathorn, Heir of Elendil and to the Throne of Gondor, and she thought that she might already carry deep affection for him.

Her gaze saw there was a fourth grey-clad member of their party, but their hood was drawn up and, for some reason, Éowyn thought them rather unimportant and so paid no heed to them beyond placing a cup before him. She had not even looked on his face as Éowyn found her gaze drawn again to Aragorn's.

Éowyn could hear horns and raised voices from below in Edoras. The evacuation seemed to have begun as the city seemed alive with noise. As it was, the party was all eating and drinking quickly to more quickly move along. They were all silent as Théoden spoke pointedly with Gandalf about the Wizard Saruman.

Gandalf sighed as he answered, "How far back his treachery goes, who can guess? He was not always evil. Once, I do not doubt that he was the friend of Rohan. Even when his heart grew colder, he found you useful still. But for long now he has plotted your ruin, wearing the mask of friendship, until he was ready. In those years, Wormtongue's task was easy and all that you did was swiftly known in Isengard—for your land was open and strangers came and went. And ever Wormtongue's whispering was in your ears, poisoning your thought, chilling your heart, weakening your limbs, while others watched and could do nothing, for your will was in his keeping.

But, when I escaped and warned you, then the mask was torn for those who would see. After that, Wormtongue played dangerously, always seeking to delay you, to prevent your full strength from being gathered. He was crafty—dulling men's wariness or working on their fear, as the occasion served. Do you not remember how eagerly he urged that no man should be spared on a wild goose chase Northward, when the immediate peril was Westward?

He persuaded you to forbid Éomer to pursue the raiding Orc. If Éomer had not defied Wormtongue's voice speaking with your mouth, those Orcs would have reached Isengard by now, bearing a great prize. Not indeed the prize that Saruman desires above all else, but at the least two members of my Company, sharers of a secret hope, of which even to you, lord, I cannot speak openly.

Dare you think of what they might now be suffering or what Saruman might now have learned to our destruction?"

Éowyn listened quietly as the Wizard spoke so darkly. She felt she only understood a quarter of what was being said, as if the matters had already been discussed once and this was simply clarification. Her uncle responded to Gandalf, "I owe much to Éomer. Faithful heart may have a difficult tongue."

Éowyn felt some pride in her brother. Though he might be combative, he truly always had the best for the king and Rohan at heart in all he did and said. It warmed her own heart to hear her uncle recognize that again now that the foul Wormtongue had been expelled and was now revealed a traitor.

Gandalf replied to Théoden, "Say also that—to crooked eyes, truth may wear a wry face."

Her uncle accepted the gentle admonishment with grace and nodded, "Indeed, my eyes were almost blind. Most of all I owe to you, my guest. Once again, you have come in time. I would give you a gift before we go, at your own choosing. You have only to name what that is mine. I reserve now only my sword!"

Éowyn kept her face calm but felt great surprise. That was a powerful and strong gesture from her king and spoke deeply of the gratitude he felt. Gandalf spoke with no hesitation, "Whether I came in time or not, is yet to be seen. But, as for your gift, lord, I will choose one that will fit my need—swift and sure! Give me Shadowfax! He was only lent before, if loan we may call it. But now, I shall ride him into great hazard, setting White and Silver against Black—I would not risk anything that is not my own. And, already, there is a bond of love between us."

Éowyn thought the request near audacious but her uncle had said anything. Théoden showed he meant it as well for he only nodded and replied, "You choose well and I give him now gladly. Yet, it is a great gift. There is none like to Shadowfax. In him, one of the mighty steeds of old has returned! None such shall return again. And to you, my other guests, I will offer such things as may be found in my armory…or something more suitable for the lady."

Éowyn blinked as she realized that the last guest that she had overlooked was indeed a woman by her frame and shape, but her thoughts were turned away as Théoden continued, "Swords you do not need, but there are helms and coats of mail of cunning work, gifts to my fathers out of Gondor. Choose from these before we go and may they serve you well!"

The party finished shortly and rose to their feet to make way to Théoden King's armory as Éowyn felt a stab of jealousy—she too wished to bring her sword against the enemies of Rohan. However, her eyes instead followed the tall figure of Aragorn son of Arathorn.

҉

Branwen noticed that Aragorn and Legolas were quickly fitted with chainmail shirts that stopped about midthigh on them, helms that covered them easily, and circular shields. Gandalf declined any armor and stayed with his white robes. Gimli already wore a shirt of mail and had been since they had departed from Imladris. He took only a helm for his head.

Branwen's fitting was more difficult. First, Théoden seemed surprised to hear that she was to go into battle. He had asked, his eyes going to Aragorn and Gandalf for confirmation, "…Are you sure, my lady? Would you not be more comfortable staying with the women and children?"

She had had to set that in order straight away as her voice became sharp, "Do not allow my face or size to fool you, Théoden King, I have slain more evil men and creatures than I can rightly count or remember and having been doing so before you were a twinkle in your father's eye. My Elven blade is as sharp, if not sharper, than the best among your men and my Company can vouch for my skill."

To her annoyance, Théoden then looked fully at Gandalf and Aragorn to verify that. Branwen felt some warmth as Aragorn declared, "She is a fine swordswoman and, while traveling through the dark of Moria, killed two Orc captains among near a dozen other Orcs. There are few that I would trust more at my back."

Gandalf concurred, "Yes, you will be happy to have her on the battlefield where she will prove more useful!"

Théoden bowed his head to concede, "Very well, my lady… I think we may have some mail that can fit you."

It turned out to be a chainmail shirt that was meant for older children among the Rohirrim. It came down nearly to her knees like a short dress, but a thick belt over her waist kept it in order easily. The only helmet that fit her was a steel one boasting a large 'Y' shaped opening that revealed a great deal of her face. There was little other choice and it was far better than nothing. As for a shield, she and Gimli were both relegated to children's shields as the adult-sized ones for too large for either of them.

Gimli was given a green round shield with a white horse in mid-gallop upon it and the piece seemed perfect in size for him as if he bore a full-size shield instead. Branwen's was also green but bore no special designs. On her, it was much smaller than a full-size round shield but not nearly so small as a buckler. It suited her better anyway as she so very rarely trained with a shield at all.

Branwen stored her cloak and her bow and quiver full inside her pack. On the battlefield, she would not be an archer and she would not carry her bag into battle either. All that she would carry would be her sword and her knife, just in case. She fastened both weapons to her belt before rejoining the others in the hall.

Branwen felt ready for war.

҉

Éowyn watched and waited behind Théoden as their guests all re-entered the hall. Her eyes followed Aragorn and thought he looked even mightier a warrior now. Her eyes went past and saw the petite figure of the woman beside him, so much smaller than even Éowyn herself, but only felt a sharp pinch of longing to be allowed battle as well before her eyes turned back to Aragorn.

Gimli the Dwarf entered and bore a shield that she thought looked familiar for some reason. Théoden seemed to find some amusement in it as well and commented to the Dwarf, "May it keep you well! It was made for me in Thengel's day, while still I was a boy."

Éowyn then remembered she had seen it before. Théodred had used it for a short while before Théoden had her cousin made his own shield instead while still training. Gimli did not seem upset by that and only bowed, "I am proud, Lord of the Mark, to bear your device. Indeed, sooner would I bear a horse than be borne by one. I love my feet better. But, maybe, I shall come yet where I can stand and fight!"

Théoden nodded and replied, "It may well be so."

Her king then stood and that was her queue as she came forward with his golden goblet filled with wine. She declared, her voice loud enough to be heard by her uncle's guests, "Long live, Théoden! Receive now this cup and drink in happy hour. Health be with thee at thy going and coming!"

Théoden took a drink before he gave it back to her. Next to she went to Gandalf and greeted, "Master Gandalf, health be with thee at thy going and coming!"

He took it with a word of thanks and drank before she moved on to Legolas the Elf and then Gimli the Dwarf. She then came to Aragorn and he gave her a warm smile as their eyes met. She felt her hands trembling as he took the cup from her and their fingers met one another. Éowyn felt warmth in her breast as she greeted, "Hail, Aragorn son of Arathorn!"

He inclined his head and replied, "Hail, Lady of Rohan," but said nothing more and his eyes ventured to his side to the petite figure of the woman sitting next to him. As Éowyn approached, she realized that she had not learned the woman's name and wondered how that might have happened. It was odd that she had not sought it out as she had the others to greet them properly in this toast.

The woman turned to Éowyn as she removed her helm, showing thick ebon curls bound at the base of her neck beneath the lip of the helmet. Éowyn felt her breath halt altogether as she took in the loveliest face that she had ever witnessed in her life or felt she might ever again. Skin even paler than her own but appearing softer and more vibrant, a heart-shaped faced with noble features that were still small and dainty. Her lips were a good deal fuller than Éowyn's own thin lips and perfectly pink while her eyes were so utterly green that it seemed impossible.

Beneath her helm, there was a circlet that seemed to only just fit inside and that crowned her brow with silver that seemed far brighter and lustrous than any silver Éowyn had seen before and an dimly glowing emerald that matched the vibrancy of her eyes. The cinched waist of her chain mail showed that she was not simply petite but also quite shapely.

It was an Elf-maiden of such unparalleled beauty that even Legolas seemed plain before her. Éowyn saw the Elf-maiden seemed to regard her with rather cool indifference. Éowyn felt her words had failed her for a moment before she recovered. She suddenly wished to know more about this creature that accompanied Lord Aragorn. Éowyn inclined her head and said, "I am Lady Éowyn daughter of Éomund! My deepest apologies for not already knowing, but may I know the name of our guest that partakes of this cup of farewell?"

The Elf-maiden did not seem upset or even surprised that Éowyn had not learned her name. Instead she replied with little inflection, "I am Lady Branwen Anaroriel daughter of Elrond, Lady of the House of Elrond of Rivendell and of the Galadhrim of Lothlórien."

A daughter of Elrond? A lady of Rivendell and the Golden Wood? It was as if she stepped out of legend alongside Gandalf and Aragorn himself. Éowyn offered the cup of wine and said, "Hail, Lady Branwen!"

Branwen took the cup from her, their fingers brushed and Éowyn felt something almost like a spark or heat from the Elf's finger, and she replied, "Hail, Lady Éowyn."

She took a drink from the cup and handed it back. Éowyn went to take it back and saw Branwen's eyes were fixed upon her own in an unreadable expression. Then, deliberately, Branwen's eyes flicked to Aragorn and then back to Éowyn's with a certain coolness on her face. It took only a moment to understand what was being communicated silently—Lady Branwen had seen Éowyn's affection and did not approve. Éowyn felt something cold within her and then Théoden was standing.

Branwen turned from Éowyn and rested a familiar hand on Aragorn's shoulder as he was seated next to her and asked, "Estel, are you ready?"

As Éowyn stepped away, she saw that Aragorn favored Branwen with a warm expression and it was clear to Éowyn that there was affection there. He replied, "Yes, are ready to put your saber to use?"

Branwen's smile was as beautiful as it was anticipatory, "Let's put down some Orcs, shall we?"

Aragorn favored her with a short chuckle as he stood and they walked with Théoden to the doors of the hall. Though Branwen was a foot over a foot shorter than Aragorn, she walked with him, Théoden, and Gandalf as an equal and Éowyn felt sharp envy for more than just Branwen riding to war with the men.

Éowyn thought, even though she might be plain and even homely before such a devastatingly beautiful Elf-maiden, she would not necessarily acquiesce so easily.

҉

Branwen felt somewhat childish for her obvious warning away that she had given Éowyn but also found herself unable to care too deeply. The blonde had been near salivating over the man and had been almost reduced to a quivering mess when their hands had touched. Aragorn had seemed untroubled by the woman so Branwen knew that she should not think hard on it, but it had irked her.

While Branwen knew Aragorn was not meant for her, her sister loved him and he her sister so Branwen would protect that from outsiders.

They came out of the doors and Branwen saw many had gathered on the steps and below the terrace of Meduseld in the early afternoon sun —chiefs, lords, heralds, captains, and warriors. Théoden raised his voice, seeming worlds different than the man she had met just a few hours before, and proclaimed, "Behold! I go forth and it seems like to be my last riding. I have no child. Théodred my son is slain. I name Éomer my sister-son to be my heir! If neither of us return, then choose a new lord as you will. But to someone, I must now entrust my people that I leave behind, to rule them in my place. Which of you will stay?"

Branwen felt a twinge of pity for Théoden. She remembered that Wormtongue had said Théoden's son had only recently died. Despite Théoden's call, there was no one that answered to volunteer and stay.

Théoden asked, "Is there none whom you would name? In whom do my people trust?"

Branwen's gaze went to Háma as the doorwarden declared, "In the House of Eorl!"

The king replied, "But Éomer I cannot spare, nor would he stay, and he is the last of that House."

Háma responded, "I said not Éomer! And he is not the last. There is Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, his sister! She is fearless and high-hearted. All love her! Let her be as lord to the Eorlingas, while we are gone."

Branwen glanced around and saw many nods of approval from the gathered. It seemed Éowyn was well-loved by her people. Good for her, Branwen supposed, but that did not mean Branwen would let the woman try her wiles upon Aragorn.

Théoden seemed to notice the approval of the gathered as well and declared, "It shall be so. Let the heralds announce to the folk that the Lady Éowyn will lead them!"

҉

Branwen watched with a neutral expression as Éowyn kneeled before Théoden, now seated again of one of the stone chairs outside his door. She was clad in mail now as well and Théoden had just presented her a sword. Théoden then said, "Farewell, sister-daughter! Dark is the hour, yet maybe we shall return to the Golden Hall. But in Dunharrow, the people may long defend themselves, and if the battle go ill, there will come all who escape."

Éowyn replied, "Speak not so! A year shall I endure for every day that passes until your return."

Branwen felt her stomach curl as Éowyn's eyes slid past Théoden to Aragorn as she said that. The blonde's gaze then went to meet her own with some defiance. Branwen felt her face was now icy as she maintained a neutral expression. This girl would not like the consequences if she attempted to push Branwen's buttons.

Théoden, nor anyone else, seemed to notice the byplay and said to Éowyn, "The king shall come again. Fear not! Not West but East does our doom await us."

Théoden then rose and Gandalf walked beside him as they strode down the stairs. Gimli and Legolas followed them and Branwen trailed next to Aragorn. The lords, chiefs, heralds, and captains followed behind their party. Branwen glanced back as Éowyn seemed near pained as they walked away from her—whether that was because Aragorn and her loved ones were leaving or that she could not go with them, Branwen did not know.

Aragorn asked her, breaking her out of her thoughts, "Have you fought in a true army before without magic?"

Branwen snorted, "I still have magic…but no, I have never fought in such a mundane army before, only in forces made up of other Wizards and Witches. Fear not! I dare say it will be easier than having to avoid blowing my comrades into bloody chunks."

Gimli had heard that last statement and eyed her with a green tinge to his cheeks. She chuckled, "Have no fear either, Gimli! That only happened once many decades ago, but it was not even me that had done so!"

Aragorn laughed lightly in response before his face became more somber, "Many men will die in this battle…"

Branwen nodded, "Yes, but they shall die defending peace. I do not believe there is any glory in Death…but, if there were a way to die…it would be that way or in your sleep."

Aragorn nodded, "Agreed."

They exited the gates and found an army of more than a thousand men. Branwen took a second glance and revalued that statement—a thousand bodies. Not all were men. Many were old and grey and even more were far too young. But all carried a tall spear and raised them in a mighty roar as Théoden came forward.

Some men held the King's horse, Snowmane, ready for him and also their party's horses as well. The man holding her horse looked at her with surprise, skepticism, and awe at her face as she approached Fléotig and patted him. The horse butted her hand affectionately as she told the stallion, "With luck, you and I shall cleave many Orcs soon. We will avenge your old master and, should we both make it through, I shall petition Théoden for you so that you might accompany me."

Fléotig gave a happy neigh and the man holding the great dark stallion seemed surprised. Though the man offered his hand to assist her, Branwen easily leapt up into the stirrup and threw her other leg over the stallion in a singular movement. She smiled and said, "Mount up, lad! Worry less about me or you shall find yourself falling behind in hewn orcs."

The soldier gaped at her but nodded hastily and ran off to his own horse. Branwen saw little point in maintaining her Veil at this point and simply dropped it. She was here as a warrior and no longer as an agent of stealth. This is what she had wanted far more than secret missions—to bring the fight to the Enemy.

Gimli had not yet mounted with either Legolas or Aragorn before Éomer approached and called, "Hail, Gimli Glóin's son! I have not had time to learn gentle speech under your rod, as you promised, but shall we not put aside our quarrel? At least, I will speak no evil again of the Lady of the Wood."

Branwen snorted quietly as Gimli seemed to purse his lips as he replied, "I will forget my wrath for a while, Éomer son of Éomund, but if ever you chance to see the Lady Galadriel with your eyes, then you shall acknowledge her the fairest of ladies, or our friendship will end!"

Branwen burst into loud laughter at Gimli's pronouncement. The Dwarf's devotion was near fanatical. Éomer looked at her with a smile on his face, "Is Lady Galadriel so fair that she surpasses Lady Branwen?"

Gimli stammered, "T-they're different types of beauty!"

It was Aragorn's turn to chuckle and he told Éomer, "Lady Branwen Anaróriel and her sister, Lady Arwen Undómiel, are twins in appearance and beauty unsurpassed and acknowledged as Lúthien Tinúviel—the fairest amongst either Elves or Men to ever grace Middle Earth—returned to the Elves. Lady Galadriel even acknowledges as such."

Branwen felt her cheeks blaze and Éomer gaped at Aragorn, "Lady Branwen has a twin?"

Aragorn answered, "Her older sister. Lady Arwen that dotes on her and Lady Branwen adores back! She is…or should be, North in their father's home—the House of Elrond. However, Lady Branwen is a consummate warrior and you shall see her put steel to the test!"

Branwen sniped at Aragorn, feeling incredibly embarrassed, "Shush, you mouthy brat! It appears you never broke that habit of yours!"

Aragorn laughed uproariously and asked, "I speak only the truth, Lady Anaróriel! Do you blush because I complement your skill or speak of your devotion to Undómiel?"

Branwen ground her teeth but did not say anything. Éomer said, "You will have to explain what these other names mean to me, Aragorn, as I feel they have significance! But first, Gimli, until such time that I can ascertain whether Lady Galadriel is indeed fairer than Lady Branwen and her sister unknown to me, please pardon me and, in token of that pardon, ride with me, I beg! Gandalf will be at the head with the Lord of the Mark, but Firefoot, my horse, will bear us both, if you will."

Gimli nodded with a pleased look on his face, "Very good! I say nothing to detract from Lady Branwen's or Lady Arwen's beauty, but Lady Galadriel is simply a different type of beauty! And I thank you, I will gladly go with you if Legolas, my comrade, may ride beside us."

Branwen sighed in exasperation, hoping this topic would end, as Éomer replied, "It shall be so! Legolas upon my left and Aragorn and Lady Branwen upon my right, and none will dare to stand before us!"

Gimli was lifted up and assisted to the saddle as Legolas came onto his left and Aragorn on his right. That left Branwen on Aragorn's right and that suited her just fine. She then heard Gandalf's Voice raised up as a whistle from near Théoden and Shadowfax came out of the fields like living silver. Éomer looked in awe and commented, "Were the breath of the West Wind to take a body visible, even so would it appear."

As the Wizard mounted Shadowfax, Théoden commented and then declared, "The gift seems already to be given. But hearken all! Here now, I name my guest, Gandalf Greyhame, wisest of counsellors, most welcome of wanderers, a lord of the Mark, a chieftain of the Eorlingas while our kin shall last, and I give to him Shadowfax, prince of horses!"

Gandalf replied loud enough to be heard, "I thank you, Théoden King," before he threw aside his hat and cloak. His Shroud was parted and his Light was visible again. Aragorn declared loudly, "Behold, the White Rider!"

There was a massive clatter as spears banged against shield and the soldiers responded all together, "OUR KING AND THE WHITE RIDER! FORTH, EORLINGAS!"

There was a mighty trumpet of horns and Théoden raised his sword forward. Branwen nudged Fléotig forward and his hoofs joined the rolling thunder as they departed under the afternoon light. She knew what her duty was in this battle above all—protect Aragorn.

As they began their ride, they fell in the line just behind Théoden and Gandalf. Before long, Éomer turned to Aragorn and asked, "Aragorn, so then, what does these other names you refer to Lady Branwen and her sister by mean?"

Branwen squirmed as Aragorn asked, "Have you heard of Lúthien Tinúviel and Beren son of Barahir?"

Éomer replied, "It sounds as if it might be familiar, but I cannot recall."

Legolas spoke up and said, "Then I shall tell you of the tragedy of Beren and Tinúviel! While I am sure that Aragorn knows it well, having fostered in the House of Elrond and Lord Elrond is descended of their union, the Elves have mourned her passing ever since. For she was the only Elf-maiden, and most beautiful of us as well, that was given the Gift of Men and passed into Death never to return!"

Legolas began to sing at length and Branwen listened only with one ear. She had heard it now before, having taken the time refamiliarize herself after returning to Imladris. By the end, Éomer and the men surrounding them appeared in awe and sadness. Éomer proclaimed, "What great tragedy! Her sacrifice was powerful indeed and, though the Elves are saddened, I am sure she left happily in love after their return by the grace of the Valar!"

Aragorn nodded, "Indeed, that is what the songs speak of. So, now that you know of Lúthien Tinúviel, I must explain the tradition of epessë. It is both a name and title given later in life to Elves—most often my close kin. Lúthien's epessë was Tinúviel—meaning in one Elvish tongue 'Nightingale' as she was blessed with great power of song and voice. It is said her voice was so beautiful as to turn winter into spring. In another tongue, it means 'Daughter of Twilight'. Lady Arwen is Branwen's elder by many centuries and was thought of as both the return of Tinúviel and a sign of the Fading of the Elves. Thus, as she grew into her maturity, she was named Undómiel—meaning Evenstar, as a homage to Tinúviel and the Fading of the Elves.

Lady Branwen's is Lady Arwen's younger sister by many centuries. Her epessë is an homage both to Tinúviel, Lady Arwen, and…"

Aragorn then turned to her and raised an eyebrow. Branwen had long since accepted the topic of conversation and the nearby men seemed simply fascinated by the lore. She met Aragorn's gaze and realized what he was asking. She shrugged and declared, "It matters not. If circumstances had been different, I would be approaching this battle much differently. I have no plans of undercutting myself either, so best that it be made clear now."

Éomer and the other men were looking at her curiously before Aragorn nodded and continued, "As I was saying, homage to Tinúviel, Lady Arwen, and her own great magical power."

Éomer exclaimed, "So you are a sorceress then! You spoke into my mind back near Fangorn!"

Branwen nodded, "Yes, I am a Witch. Lady Galadriel, my grandmother through my mother, Lady Celebrían, gave me this circlet that I entrusted with you to acknowledge me as an Elf-Lady and Elven-power. Though, I confess, my staff was broken weeks back and I have yet to replace it…and I have been told that I cannot either. My grandmother and Gandalf both have told me that I must go without and master myself. It is most…vexing. In any case, my power is currently diminished until I 'master' myself…"

Legolas declared, "She has a gift for fire! She put on a grand performance before our departure from Rivendell and made the night sky appear inside with green flame!"

Branwen felt her cheeks warm again before Aragorn said, "Yes, she has a powerful gift for magic and flame. During my travels with her, I have seen her repel the Black Riders of Mordor with my own eyes. The first time, she had cast five of the Nine off the hillside of Weathertop by wind and flame. The second time, she had banished eight of Nine with a river of fire into floodwaters. Her epessë, Anaróriel, means the Morningstar—both a star of twilight and herald of light and heat!"

Éomer looked at her with renewed awe in face and asked, "Pardon me if this impertinent, but might you cast a spell now? Just a small one?"

Branwen saw the men behind them were looking anticipation and Gandalf had even cast back an amused look. She sighed and whispered a wisp of light into existence and it was met with gasps of awe. She sent it floating to Éomer and he regarded it with a mixture of awe and terror. He asked, "Will it burn me?"

Gimli, in front of Éomer, snorted, "Don't be a coward!"

The Dwarf thrust a hand through her Witchlight to show it had no affect on him before dropping his hand. Éomer put a finger through it with the wonder of a child and Branwen laughed in amusement. Mundane Men, when they were like this rather than terrified, could be funny.

After a moment, she dispelled the Witchlight and Éomer asked, "What else are you capable of?"

Branwen said, "Many things. Fear not, Éomer son of Éomund and heir of Théoden! I am a good Witch…the best, you might say, and I only use my magic for good and for knowledge."

Aragorn nodded, "As I have said to Théoden King, there are few that I would trust my back to more than Lady Branwen! Her prowess with magic is matched by her skill with a blade! Her elder brother, Elrohir, taught her many decades ago and she has only become much better."

Legolas said, "Her skill with a bow could use practice but I have seen her spell her arrows so that they shall not miss and they curve in flight to strike their target!"

Branwen wondered how long this would last. It seemed the novelty of a female warrior was not quick to wear away with the Rohirrim.

Thankfully, after a while, stories then began to change to past battles, experiences, and songs and away from her. The sun began to descend, painting the fields of grass first gold and then crimson. They rode on at a fast past, the Mearas of the Rohirrim pounding along at great speed, as they were driven to the battlefields of the Western front.

It was night before they finally came to a halt to rest their horses and their bodies. From Edoras to the Fords of Isen, it was a distance of one-hundred and twenty miles in straight line and they could not hope to do that in only half a day. Still, in five hours, they had come nearly fifty miles which was incredible on horses and spoke of the vitality and strength of the Mearas.

The grass was soft, even treaded on my horse hoofs, and Branwen laid down between Aragorn and Legolas. There were no fires as they were going blind into the battle in the next day or two and did not know placement or scouts of the enemy, but, between the near-spring air and the warm of bodies of Men and horses, it was plenty warm in the center of camp.

There were some more stories and songs passed quietly among Éomer, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and the men that had ridden close with them, but Branwen was happy to let that lull her to sleep.

҉

The Third Age – March 3rd, 3019

Branwen was awoken the next morning abruptly by horns as dawn broke on the East. She cleared away the drowsiness from her eyes and took a drink of water and a use of scouring spell to get the taste of sleep out of her mouth. Rations were eaten and soon they were on their way.

It seemed abnormally warm and humid as they progressed, as if a storm might form above them. The Shadow of Saruman grew darker and heavier as they came North and West. Branwen could see that the distant Isengard was like a cesspool of blackness…and it seem to be overflowing down the river.

After a while, Gandalf dropped back to speak with Legolas, "You have the keen eyes of your fair kindred, Legolas, and they can tell a sparrow from a finch at three miles off. Tell me, can you see anything away over towards Isengard?"

Legolas, in a sinuous motion, rose into a crouch on Arod's back and stood to look out as if he were surfing. He reported, "Many miles lie between. I can see a darkness! There are shapes moving in it, great shapes far away upon the bank of the river, but what they are, I cannot tell. It is not mist or cloud that defeats my eyes—there is a veiling shadow that some power lays upon the land and it marches downstream. It is as if the twilight under endless trees were flowing downwards from the hills."

Gandalf then turned to her, "Branwen, can you See anything of the magics in front of us…and behind us."

Branwen stood in her stirrups, not bothering to try and replicate the feat of Legolas, and opened her Sight fully. She sucked her teeth and related to Gandalf, "Saruman seems to have summoned his Shadow into the World of Light and now I can See a vast force of Orcs and Men that march beneath it," she then turned in her saddle and looked at the black clouds in the East, "And the Shadow of Mordor, of Sauron, lays heavy in those clouds as well."

Gandalf sighed, "As I had feared… It will be a black night."

The Wizard rode back up next to Théoden and they rode onward. An hour or so after noon, the dark clouds of Mordor had fallen over them and turned the day into dusk as they neared the end of the White Mountains. In the glow of the setting down, hidden by cloud and Shadow, Branwen Saw a horseman approaching. Legolas had noticed as well and called out to Gandalf. Théoden called a halt shortly after to await the horseman.

From the distance, Branwen could not hear the horseman very clearly, but it sounded as if things had gone very poorly for the West Mark since the fall of their Marshal, Théodred, and they had been driven into a retreat. The forces of Saruman were indeed made up of Orcs, but also the Wild Men of Dunland. Erkenbrand of Westfold, a name not familiar to Branwen, had retreated with his men to Helm's Deep. Théoden eventually went forward to the messenger and exchanged some words until he ordered loudly enough that she could hear, "Give this man a fresh horse! Let us ride to the help of Erkenbrand!"

Branwen had noticed Gandalf had moved away some as Théoden had spoken to the messenger. Now, the Wizard returned and bid Théoden, "Ride, Théoden King! Ride to Helm's Deep! Go not to the Fords of Isen and do not tarry in the plain! I must leave you for a while. Shadowfax must bear me now on a swift errand."

Gandalf then turned to Aragorn, Éomer, and her and ordered, "Keep well the Lord of the Mark until I return. Await me at Helm's Gate! Farewell!"

And he was gone before Branwen could ask a word in edgewise or anyone else for that matter like a bolt of silver across the twilit grass. She glanced North and Saw only the deepening Shadow of Saruman and a great host of Orcs and Men that she could not even begin to estimate—their combined aura appeared only as a great mass in her eyes.

Branwen muttered, "Damn that Wizard… Running off without a word."

Aragorn said, "He always has a reason and his counsel has yet to steer us wrong."

In the end, Théoden turned the host about and they rode back South to go to Helm's Deep in hopes of regrouping with Lord Erkenbrand. Branwen was feeling some weariness as they rode past sunset and into the night for some hours until they came to the long canyon that wound deeper and narrower into the mountains—Helm's Deep.

It was as they were approaching the mouth of the valley that there was sudden eruption of horns from ahead of them. Branwen loosened her sword in her sheath as a scout rode back at full gallop to report to Théoden, loud enough for her to hear easily, "My lord! Warg-riders are in the valley before us! And a great host of Orcs and Wild Men are following from behind, my lord!

We have found many of our folk lying slain as they fled to Helm's Deep! And we have met scattered companies, going this way and that, leaderless! What has become of Erkenbrand none seem to know! It is likely that he will be overtaken before he can reach Helm's Gate, if he has not already perished!"

Branwen felt her stomach clench. This was not a good start to things. Théoden asked the scout, "Has anything been seen of Gandalf?"

Branwen could only wonder what that old man was up to as the scout nodded, "Yes, my lord! Many have seen an old man in white upon a horse, passing here and there over the plains like wind in the grass. Some thought he was Saruman. It is said that he went away before nightfall towards Isengard. Some say also that Wormtongue was seen earlier, going northward with a company of Orcs."

Branwen sucked her teeth and muttered, "…Should've killed the bastard after all…"

Éomer looked at her but Théoden either did not hear or did not acknowledge it as he remarked, "It will go ill for Wormtongue if Gandalf comes upon him. Nonetheless, I miss now both my counsellors, the old and new. But in this need, we have no better choice than to go on, as Gandalf said, to Helm's Gate, whether Erkenbrand be there or no. Is it known how great is the host that comes from the North?"

The scout bowed his head and reported, "It is very great, my lord. The force is many times our own and made up of thousands."

Éomer declared, "Then let us be swift! Let us drive through such foes as are already between us and the stronghold. There are caves in Helm's Deep where hundreds may lie hidden and secret ways there up onto the hills."

Branwen nodded in agreement as the king said, "Trust not to secret ways. Saruman has long spied out this land. Still, in that place, our defense may last long. Let us go!"

Théoden ordered them forward again and Branwen rode beside Aragorn with Éomer and Legolas in the vanguard. In the distance, she could See bands of Wargs and their Orc riders atop. However, they kept far in the distance so that even if she had her bow and quiver or spoke over Legolas' arrows, they would not reach. Before the spearhead of their great formation, the Orcs fled away and did not engage.

Éomer huffed in annoyance as yet another pack of Warg-riders fled away, "It will not be long, I fear, before the coming of the king's host will be known to the leader of our enemies, Saruman or whatever captain he has sent forth."

Branwen replied, "There is little point to be concerned of that now. I only hope that this fortress of Helm's Deep is as impregnable as I have heard it to be. We will likely be hemmed in by the enemy that comes behind us."

Aragorn stood in his stirrups to gaze behind them and commented, "It is a great host and follows us hard."

Théoden looked back as well and shook his head with some mourning, "They bring fire and they are burning as they come—crop, livestock, and tree. This was a rich vale and had many homesteads. Sorrow for my folk!"

Éomer encouraged, "We need not fly much further! Not far ahead lies Helm's Dike, an ancient trench and rampart scored across the valley, a quarter mile below Helm's Gate! There we can turn and give battle!"

Théoden declared, "No, we are too few to defend the Dike. It is a mile long or more and the breach into it is wide."

Éomer nodded in acceptance of his uncle's wisdom and said, "At the breach, our rearguard must stand, if we are pressed."

Branwen was not liking how this was shaping up to be thus far. There was something cold that she felt as well—as in a shadow was in her heart and warning her of some great upheaval to come. She kept her lips closed though and only hoped that it could be averted, whatever it was.

Finally, they came within sight of the fortress and Éomer declared, "We've come to Helm's Gate! Look! There on the North cliff, called Hornrock, is the tower Hornburg! The Deeping Wall that bars the Mouth of the Deep is taller than three men and four men might walk abreast along its top! Even should a siege be laid, the Deeping-stream brings fresh water from the White Mountains before it falls into the Dike!"

Branwen could admit that it was quite impressive and would likely have been more so under some light, but the black clouds heavy with the Shadow of Mordor, looking like they might send down acid rain, lightning, ash…or maggots, blotted out the sky completely.

Éomer then rode ahead and their party accompanied him. As they approached, Éomer called, his voice booming against the rock walls, "The Lord of the Mark rides to Helm's Gate! I, Éomer son of Éomund, speak!"

A sentinel on top of the great wall replied, "That is good tidings beyond hope! Hurry! The enemy on is on your heels!"

The leadman of the forces that were currently in Helm's Deep came out of the fortress before their party, along with a younger lad, and reported to Théoden and Éomer. He was an elderly man but outfitted for war and introduced him, "My lords, I am Gamling son of Gamdred! I have been put in charge by Lord Erkenbrand to hold Helm's Gate! We have a great number of men that the lord left to make that possible and more have come here since."

That was the first happy news in a while and Théoden asked, "How many are with you, Gamling?"

Gamling reported, "Maybe, we have a thousand fit to fight on foot. But most of them have seen too many winters, as I have, or too few, as my grandson here. What news of Lord Erkenbrand? Word came yesterday that he was retreating here with all that is left of the best Riders of Westfold. But he has not come!"

Éomer looked grim as he said, "I fear that he will not come now. Our scouts have gained no news of him and the enemy fills all the valley behind us."

Théoden shook his head with both regret and grief, "I hope that he has escaped. He was a mighty man. In him, lived again the valor of Helm the Hammerhand. But we cannot await him here. We must draw all forces now behind the walls. Are you well stored? We bring little provision, for we rode forth to open battle, not to a siege."

Gamling nodded and delivered good news that eased a bit of the coldness in Branwen's heart, "Behind us in the caves of the Deep are three parts of the folk of Westfold, old and young, children and women. But great stores of food and many beasts and their fodder have also been gathered here."

Éomer seemed glad to hear that but informed the old man, "That is well. They are burning and despoiling all that is left in the vale."

Gamling frowned deeply but declared, "If they come to bargain for our goods at Helm's Gate, they will pay a high price!"

Théoden declared, "Very good! Open up the Gates of the Hornburg so that our host may enter."

Gamling bowed, "At once, my lord! With your men, we now have the numbers to man both the Hornburg and the Barrier Wall!""

The Gates of the Hornburg were opened shortly and there was only a short but steep ramp that connected the elevated gates to the valley floor below. They had to dismount and go up only two abreast at a time leading their horses. Their company went through with all speed possible, very aware of the host behind them, but did so carefully to avoid injury to Men or Horses up the ramp that came to the gates.

The men of Westfold already there behind the wall very overjoyed to see fresh reinforcements of fighting men. Éomer took charge quickly as commander over Helm's Deep and began to order the captains and men about.

"Háma, Éothain! You and our household shall stay with Théoden King in the Hornburg! Gamling, your most experienced men there as well! Should the Barrier Wall be compromised, that is where we must fall back to!"

"Captains! Send your most experienced and strongest men up onto the Barrier Wall! They will be expected to repel those who would climb! Any man that carries a bow and quiver is obliged up as well either on the Deeping Wall or on the Wall of the Hornburg!"

"Take the horses back into the Deep with as little a guard as can be spared! We do not want a stampede should they become frightened but cannot spare many!"

"All others, form up behind the Barrier Wall and be ready for anything!"

Branwen stood with Aragorn and Éomer atop the Deeping Wall and Legolas and Gimli were only just removed from them. Out in the darkness, the rearguard of the few Riders of Westfold had gone out to buy time so that the last of the gathered from Edoras could enter. Aragorn asked, "What do you See?"

Branwen sighed as Aragorn and Éomer looked at her, "Nothing good. The Shadow of Saruman is below and the Shadow of Mordor is above. Regardless of their infighting, it appears that they both wish for the strength of Rohan to be broken. There are many Orcs and Men and they appear almost upon the Dike. The rearguard will come under attack soon… The only good thing is that the Wild Men are leading with torches and so they will likely not see the Riders until their spears are in their necks."

Only a few moments after, there was sudden shouting as it appeared a battle had erupted. The Wild Men at the fore had made for the breach in the Dike to cross and the Riders of Westfold had charged across the breach and now filled the deep Dike with corpses of the enemy. However, Branwen could See that there were simply too many, as Wild Men and now Great Orcs advanced, for the limited force of Riders to hold the breach and soon there was a horn blow to call a retreat.

The Riders galloped back over the quarter mile as fast as they could before entering through the Gates of the Hornburg. The Gates were then shut before one of the Riders came to report to Éomer, "The enemy is at hand! We loosed every arrow we had and filled the Dike with Orcs and Wild Men! But it will not halt them long! Already, they are scaling the bank at many points, as thick as marching ants. But we have taught them not to carry torches!"

Indeed, now there was only blackness for any who could not See or possess Elven-sight like Legolas. Branwen remarked to Éomer and Aragorn, "Yes, it's as he says. The small width of the breach may have delayed them had they all been Wild Men, but the Orcs are simply jumping into the Dike and crawling and climbing over the dead and one another to the other side."

Éomer scowled, "Damn Orcs…"

There was a flash of lightning just above, followed by a roll of thunder, and, for just an instant, it revealed how incredibly massive the host truly was—a boiling and frothing sea of limbs and blackness only broken by the white hand etched into each helm. Rain began to patter down gently and then quickly grew into thick sheets of water. The Shadow of Mordor now seemed to freely intermingle with the Shadow of Isengard as sky met earth.

Branwen whispered light into her hand and cast her Witchlight high above and over the Deeping Wall like a flare. She clenched her hand as she channeled the strength of the Shards and the Wyld that would listen. At once, it grew bright and it showed the lightning had not lied. A host of ten thousand or more marched before them.

The Witchlight did not seem to scare the host, rather, now that they were revealed in their strength, they instead seemed invigorated. The Orcs and Wild Men howled and cried as they stomped feet and slammed spear butts into the earth that was being slowly filled by rainwater.

Éomer gaped, "…By the Valar, I've never seen such a host of Orcs…"

Legolas commented, "These are not just any Orcs. These are large and strong… I have not seen such before our encounter at Tol Brandir."

Aragorn said, "These are not simply Orcs. These are Great Orcs—Uruks, they are called. Only have I seen them within Mordor or among Sauron's forces. I had thought that Saruman might have only a few and he had sent them to interfere with our Quest at Tol Brandir… I had not thought he had bred any army of them. This will not an easy battle…"

Gimli declared, "Let them come! My axe has felled not but wood since Tol Brandir!"

Branwen a mix of despair followed by the anticipation that filled her before every battle. She snarked, "I estimate around ten-thousand… There are five of us, so two-thousand apiece? That sounds doable! Do try to keep up Éomer, though I am sure we will be happy to lend a hand if you need some help to mop up the remains."

The Men and Elf chuckled as Gimli let out great laughter, "Aye! The Lady speaks truth!"

There was a sudden whistle in the air and Legolas called, "Arrows!"

Branwen ducked down behind the wall as she let her light go out. No need to help the enemy see what they were doing. At least the Wild Men would be groping about in the darkness, even if it did little to impede the Uruks.

There was little that could be done here. Had she had her staff, she might have carved some boulders from the canyon walls behind them and then lobbed them over or turned the descending rain over the enemy into needles of ice to disable or even kill anyone unlucky enough to have an exposed head or neck. That lay beyond her now and it burned her to be able to do little more than huddle behind the wall.

They force came up to the Deeping Wall and broke upon it like a wave. The main concern though was the Wild Men and Uruks that came up the ramp to the Gates of the Hornburg with great battering rams in tow. They were driven off by the archers on the Wall of the Hornburg and the Deeping Wall closest to the ramp, again and again, but they returned each time like the tide, coming higher and higher.

Branwen hissed as she Saw they adopted a formation like a Roman phalanx, not that they would know that, and the two battering rams finally kissed the Gates of the Hornburg. Arrows and stones rained down on them from above from the men on the Hornburg, but for every Uruk or Wild Man killed, three more sprung up in their place to take up the shield of its fallen bearer. She realized that Aragorn and Éomer could not see in the darkness and Legolas and Gimli had gone farther down the Deeping Wall a while ago. Branwen called, "They're at the Gates of the Hornburg!"

She shot forth a flare of light over the ramp and ducked near immediately as Orc archers had marked her in that brief instant. Aragorn and Éomer saw though and Aragorn declared, "Come! This is the hour when we draw our swords together!"

Aragorn and Éomer ran quickly away, their long legs carrying them faster than she could follow as Branwen scrambled up from the ground where she had ducked after avoiding Orcs arrows. Even as she ran after them, they lost her in the crush of bodies on the Deeping Wall. She knew that they were headed for the Gates and so made for the Wall of the Hornburg above the Gates. They were either there or were staging at the Gates themselves to meet the oncoming swell—she would find Aragorn either way if she went above the Gates.

Branwen pushed, shoved, and elbowed her way through until she made it to the Hornburg Wall above the Gates. She did not see either Aragorn or Éomer here nor below with the men bracing the Gates and ready to meet the horde that was pounding at the entrance.

She heard a shout behind her from a man on the wall, as she looked down behind the Gates among the men there, "Andúril! Andúril goes to war! The Blade that was Broken shines again!"

What…!?

Branwen immediately pushed and burrowed through crowding bodies to get to a cleft in the wall. She looked down and Saw Aragorn and Éomer were on the ramp outside the gates and slaying Wild Men and Uruks with abandon. How the fuck did they get out there!?

Fear struck her like freight train as she could only see Aragorn, with only one friendly sword besides him, against a vast host of evil. Branwen ripped all the strength that she could from the Shards and bodily shoved one man aside, causing him to fall into the group next of him to clear space. She shoved her arm through the cleft and howled, her Voice shaking the ramparts of the Hornburg, "Stormhammer!"

A bolt of lightning shot out of her right hand and slammed into the crude iron shields of the Isengard phalanx before Aragorn and Éomer. The men near her leapt back with fear but the phalanx was sent smoking, spasming, and some very dead to the ground. Aragorn and Éomer looked up with shock and Branwen ordered, more fury and rage in her than she had felt in decades, as her Voice continued to rock the Hornburg, "Get your asses back inside! NOW!"

Aragorn nodded and said, his voice just carrying over the din of rain, "The doors will not withstand another such battering!"

Branwen yelled back, "I don't care! Inside! NOW!"

Éomer said, "The lady is right! Look!"

The disheartened forces were surging back again, ready to reclaim their battering rams and begin again. Branwen felt too drained to recast that spell, especially after how she had so violently pulled on the Shards. Éomer waved his hand to Aragorn, "Come! We must get back and see what we can do to pile stone and beam across the gates within. Come now!"

Branwen felt sharp relief as they quickly made their way back inside. As they passed, some of the Orcs that had only been stunned then surged back to their feet and Éomer fell as he was tripped. Branwen felt her heart in her throat, ready to cast Stormhammer again and damn the consequences, before Gimli suddenly leapt from the shadows, "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!"

With two quick strokes, two Uruk corpses collapsed one way as their heads rolled another and the rest fled down the ramp to rejoin with their main force. Aragorn assisted Éomer back to his feet and Gimli held the rear as they fled around a corner and out of sight. Branwen let out a breath she had not realized she was holding.

As she turned, she suddenly realized the men around her were looking at her with awe and fear. Branwen, recalling some of her leadership training as an auror and thinking on what Aragorn might say, declared, "Good work, men! Keep repelling the enemy! The gates must be held and there is no finer force for it! The Free Peoples of Rohan depend on us!"

There was some hesitation before one of them shouted with approval and the rest soon joined. Branwen departed from there and found the postern door that Aragorn, Éomer, and Gimli were coming through. Gimli barred the door shut as Éomer took a moment to recover.

She was so upset, she could hardly think was she was doing, as she marched forward. Though he was so much taller, Branwen reached up and grabbed the edge of Aragorn's mail shirt to pull him down. He made an odd sound, "Urk," as his face was dragged down to her eyelevel.

Branwen's words were furious as she began to tear into him, "You, fool! You utter, stupid fool! How dare you do that!? How dare you!?"

Then her voice became thick as she felt tears join the rain and sweat on her face, "Do you have any idea how worried I was!? Do you understand how I felt when I Saw you standing there with a force of thousands before you!?"

Aragorn was looking at her with a mixture of emotions as she ranted in his face. Then her anger broke and there was only grief as her fears were unrealized, in that moment. She asked, her words now quieter, "…How could you do that to me…? Why would you leave me behind…? …What if…what if Death stole you away from me too…and you left me behind forever as well…? You stupid man…"

By the gods, it hurt so much as the tears streamed down her face. Though she had tried so hard to deny it and to not think of it, in that moment charged with emotion, there were three words above all others that she wanted to say—to make him understand why it had filled her with so much fear and nearly killed her to see him standing alone.

Aragorn's hands came up and gentled pried her fingers loose. He held her small hand in his much larger ones and he gave her a sad smile, "My apologies, my lady… I know now that I should have not gone into battle without you at my back. Truly, your magic broke the charge and likely spared me and Éomer. I hope that you will forgive me."

Branwen took her hand back to wipe her tears, trying to recover both her pride and calm her emotions, and said, "The next time you do that, I'll kill you myself and be done with it. Thank Gimli as well! If not for him, your goose would be cooked!"

Branwen looked and saw Éomer and Gimli looking at her with wide eyes. What? Had they never seen a pissed off Witch before?

҉

Éomer watched as Branwen marched up and yanked down Aragorn by the collar of his chainmail to bring his face to hers. She then began yelling in an Elvish tongue directly into his face as Aragorn was silent with wide eyes. Éomer asked Gimli quietly, without removing his eyes from them, "What is she saying?"

Gimli replied just a lowly, "I do not speak much Elvish and she is speaking far too quickly for me to understand… I heard her call him a fool a few times though."

Éomer observed as the anger began to break in the face of fear and grief until the anger was gone completely. Aragorn's face had softened as well and Éomer was suddenly aware of what he was seeing—there was great affection for the other in each of their eyes.

If not for the helms they both wore, Éomer thought they might have shared a passionate kiss. Aragorn then loosened her fingers from his collar and held her hand ever so gently in his own. Éomer would not have been surprised if he had placed his lips upon her knuckles as he spoke kind and apologetic words back in the same tongue.

Branwen then pulled her hand back suddenly and wiped her tears as if she were a man attempting to salvage her ego and declared, "The next time you do that, I'll kill you myself and be done with it. Thank Gimli as well! If not for him, your goose would be cooked!"

And like that, the moment was broken as Branwen looked at him and Gimli. Éomer turned his gaze away from hers, still able to see the affection that she was tamping back down back inside, and looked at Gimli. Quickly, he declared to the Dwarf, that had also turned to look at him rather than Branwen, "I thank you, Gimli son of Glóin! I did not know that you were with us in the sortie. But often the unbidden guest proves the best company! How came you there?"

Gimli quickly responded, "I followed you to shake off sleep! But I looked on the Hillmen and they seemed over large for me, so I sat beside a stone to see your swordplay."

Éomer replied, more genuinely this time, "I shall not find it easy to repay you…or Lady Branwen for breaking their formation either! A bolt of lightning, itself!"

Gimli laughed, "I cannot speak for Lady Branwen, but as for me, there may be a chance before the night is over! But I am content now. My axe has hewn something other than trees now since Tol Brandir!"

Éomer glanced back and saw that Lady Branwen appeared now fully recovered. Her bright emerald gaze was now fixed on Aragorn and he did not think she would part her eyes from him for a while yet now.

Aragorn was a lucky man to have the affections of such a beautiful, strong, and passionate maiden. Indeed, Aragorn might not be worthy if he was anyone less than who he was.

҉

Branwen allowed herself a few deep breathes to center herself. Now was not the time to become emotional. She trotted after Aragorn and Éomer back up to the Deeping Wall now. Gimli had run off to go find Legolas and report that he now had two kills. They were apparently running a tally against one another.

As they came back up onto the Deeping Wall, Branwen thought she might have recovered enough for a powerful spell again. It irked her that she could not simply rain down destruction as she should have been. After this was over, she was going to pluck out Gandalf's beard, hair by hair, until he gave up his secrets. If this battling was to be the norm, for however long, she refused to be just another sword. She was a Witch, damn it all, and she would not fight like a medieval Muggle!

The Shadow of Mordor seemed to be weakening as the storm magic was starting to break in the distance. The gaps in the clouds showed that the moon was sinking behind them. However, it did not seem that the enemy forces were any less. In fact, it appeared that there were now more. Had reinforcements come from the rear?

There was a sudden clang next to her and Branwen saw a grappling hook had come over the wall and was now clutched at the stones. It was joined by hundreds of others and Branwen Saw ladders rising, pulled by counterweights on mechanisms attached to the hooks. She commanded, "CUT THE ROPES!"

Her Cýron flashed and the rope was cut, however, the ladder was already on the downward arc toward the wall and an Uruk was atop it with malicious glee. It jumped towards her just before the ladder met the wall and Cýron flashed again as the Orc fell to the ground, his head hanging only by a thin strip of flesh. She pressed a foot against the top of the ladder, just an Uruk hand reached the rung just below, and pushed.

There were screams from the Uruks and Men on the ladder as they plummeted back down to the writing mass below. Aragorn and Éomer were dispatching their own Uruks and Branwen let herself fall into a battle trance as she flowed around Orcs near whisper-soft—blade through Achilles' tendons and backs of knees, across throats, through armpits into hearts, and biting into spinal cords. All the white, grappling hook ropes were cut and ladders sent back down into darkness. Whenever an Uruk or Wild Man met her eyes, their minds were flayed into ribbons in an instant before their voices were silenced forever—either by steel or sent floundering over the wall back down below.

Finally, it seemed the assault had come to an end for the time being. Branwen looked back and saw she had cut a bloody and violent swathe through the invaders. Aragorn was looking at her with pride as Éomer and the other men around her were struck with awe. Éomer said, "You had asked me at our first meeting, my lady, if we would cross swords. Let it be known that I would never wish to do so with you in mortal combat!"

Branwen was then aware of the cruel grin on her face but did not reply. Instead, she yelled at the men gawking, "Send these corpses back over the wall! Let them know what their fate shall be if they dare to climb!"

It showed the respect she had won with her display as the gathered men responded together, "YES, LADY!"

Bodies and extremities were hurled back down like projectiles and there were cries and shouts from below as others died from corpses, heavy from armor, crushing them from twenty-some feet above. Legolas had joined them at some point and remarked, "Between your lightning on the ramp and now repelling from the wall, I think you might be ahead of myself and Gimli, my lady!"

Branwen laughed, "Did I not say two-thousand apiece for each of us!? We have a long way to go to meet our numbers!"

However, even that was not enough. The number kept rising and, now, the dead below were being piled so that, even if all their ladders should fall, eventually they might rise up and climb over the Deeping Wall by virtue of sheer numbers. Up and down the wall, arrows were running out and armor, shields, and weapons were showing wear from the unceasing assault.

Andúril blazed with white light many times and its sight rallied the men to cast the enemy back even as Branwen twirled and danced her way across the top of the wall, but never too far from Aragorn. Branwen began to doubt, even if she had had her staff, she would have been able to make a large difference in the sheer numbers that came before them.

It was simply too much.

Then there was a cry from below that sounded like Old Man Gamling, "The Orcs are in the Deep! Helm! Helm! Forth, Helmingas!"

Branwen Saw that some smaller Orcs must have stacked enough corpses to reach the small tunnel elevated off the valley floor through which the Deeping-stream flowed into the valley and then the Dike. However, there were already more enemies coming over the Deeping Wall and she would not part from Aragorn's side. Gimli had run down to help with Dwarven war cries and his axe held aloft.

After repelling yet another wave, Branwen looked down and Saw the Orcs were dead down below and Gimli and the men there had blocked up the small tunnel with stones, boulders, and even corpses. The Deeping-stream, heavy now with the endless downpour, began to fill the area behind the wall.

Branwen caught her breathe even as Aragorn and Éomer leaned against a wall to recover. Aragorn groaned, "This is a night as long as years… How long will the day tarry?"

Gamling had come to join them, looking even more worn, and answered, "Dawn is not far off. But dawn will not help us, I fear."

Aragorn responded, "Yet, dawn is ever the hope of Men."

Branwen replied, "I understand, Aragorn, but, between the Shadows of Sauron and Saruman handing over this place, I wonder if the sunlight will even be that strong, despite the clouds starting to break. Also, whatever Saruman had done to allow these Uruks to stand the light of day as we had pursued that company from Tol Brandir… Not even mentioning the Wild Men."

Gamling nodded, "The Lady speak truly. The Wild Men have hated the Rohirrim for centuries and are gladdened by our doom. Even now they speak cursed things in their ancient tongue at us, wishing for the death of the king… Saruman has inflamed the old hatred within them and the Wild Men will not give way for dusk or dawn, until Théoden is taken or they slain."

Aragorn declared, "Nonetheless, day will bring hope to me. Is it not said that no foe has ever taken the Hornburg, if Men defended it?"

Éomer said, with some pride, "So the minstrels say."

Aragorn raised his sword, "Then let us defend it and hope!"

BOOM—!

Branwen had not heard that sound in nearly eighty years or more—a bomb had just been set off and a big one at that. In the center of the wall, a massive gap had break broken open and the dammed-up Deeping-stream was now pouring out. There were cries of pain, shock, and fear as the men on the wall there were killed nearly instant as they were thrown into the air, torn apart by shrapnel, or some combination.

The Deeping Wall had been breached and Uruks and Wild Men were pouring into the gap.

Aragorn cursed as he rushed forward, "The Devilry of Saruman! They crept into the culvert again and lit the fire of Orthanc beneath our feet!"

Branwen was on his heels as he raised Andúril high, again it was aflame with white light, and Aragorn leapt down into the breech. Cursing him under her breath, she followed and sent an Uruk headfirst into jagged stone with a nasty crunch as she broke her fall.

She was back-to-back with Aragorn as he was bound and determined to hold the gap while the others retreated to the Hornburg. Branwen lost count as corpses piled up around them but they slowly retreated back to the stairway that went to the rear gate of the Hornburg. Legolas' voice then carried from the top of the stair, "Aragorn! Branwen! All who can are now safe within! Come back!"

Branwen let out a spell, "Howling Flame," to cover their retreat but, between the rain and her exhaustion, it did little. She turned to run with Aragorn, but then he stumbled next to her on the stair. An Uruk had braved the flame and leapt with his short sword to pierce Aragorn.

Branwen, before she could think or reason or do much of anything else, leapt in front of the blow and the sword bit through mail, breast, muscle, and bone and into her heart. An arrow whistled to plunge into the Uruk's throat and she heard a dull scream from the top of the stair that sounded like Legolas.

There was a boom as a boulder was cast from above to roll over the Uruks that had been advancing in her fading vision. She heard a rush of the tide and knew the cold waters of Death were reaching out to her once more. A face entered her dimming sight and she recognized Aragorn looking at her with fear, yelling something maybe, but he was safe and all that mattered. She thought she might have said that aloud to him. Then her eyes closed and Death pulled her down.

She would be back soon…she always was.

҉

Aragorn felt he might as well have been stabbed with the sword for the agony he felt as Branwen's hot blood poured from beneath her chainmail. He thought he might be screaming something, he did not know what, but she only smiled at him and whispered, "…You're safe…that's all that matters…"

Her eyes closed and her head dropped to the side as her sword slipped from her grip. Aragorn howled in anguish. He knew and understood that she had claimed to be immortal, but that did nothing to ease the pain of seeing her like this. She had also never spoke at length on how it happened. Was she simply unkillable or did she pass into sleep and wake back up?

He did not know and he just wanted her to open her eyes again.

Legolas was there at his shoulder, Branwen's sword in his hand, and grabbed him, "Aragorn! We must go!"

Clutching her feather-light form to his chest with his left arm and Andúril in his right hand, Aragorn prayed that a host of Uruks might fall on him at that moment. He would slay every last one of the them down to the most pitiful wretch among their number.

…But none came and Legolas dragged him inside the Hornburg. The tears streamed down Aragorn's face hot and heavy as Branwen's body grew cold in his arms. The blood had stopped and her face was white as snow, no blood to be found in her ashen lips. She was utterly limp as her mouth lolled open and Aragorn could see no indication of this immortality that she was supposedly cursed with. Now that he thought of it, she had said she had not died since waking in the long-destroyed Lake-town… Had coming to Middle Earth broken her curse?

Legolas said with heavy sorrow, his voice breaking Aragorn's thoughts, "The world if too cruel to take one such as her."

Aragorn found he could not speak of her curse, to give hope when, he wondered if he had any himself. How did one come back from this? There was not beat of her heart, no breath in her lungs, no glow to her skin or eyes, and it seemed her spirit had departed her entirely.

Tears were still coming down his face as he stood… What if she did not come back…?

When she had yanked him down and screamed at him earlier that night, in anger and fear, Aragorn had been so very tempted to tell her then and there. His heart belonged to Arwen…but it belonged to Branwen as well. He could not have chosen between them if he tried. Arwen was peace and home while Branwen was passion and adventure.

He had never planned to share his feelings…but now…if she did not come back, Aragorn thought he might regret for the rest of his life that he had not…

…And what of Arwen…and Elrond? If Branwen did not return, finally finding Death, would it not destroy their hearts…? Would Arwen even be able to look upon his face, knowing that Branwen had died to save him?

Aragorn could not think or speak as he walked with Branwen's cradle in his arms into the citadel. He heard Legolas following his footsteps and he saw the men around him staring in shock and sorrow, but Aragorn took no heed.

Legolas spoke with men here and there, news it sounded like he was gathering, but Aragorn only felt numb. More than anything, he wanted the sun to touch on Branwen's stiffening corpse so that she might gain back some color, some warmth, or maybe wake her from this Endless Sleep that she appeared to have entered.

In that pursuit, he passed inward deeper until he came to the tower of the Hornburg and higher and higher he went. Aragorn entered the highest chamber and realized that it was Théoden's quarters where the king now stood like a pillar looking out through the slit-like window. Théoden turned and his eyes went to Branwen in Aragorn's arms and the king's face fell.

Théoden bowed his head, "…My deepest apologies, Aragorn…"

Aragorn felt that must be a sign then that…it might be over. Her curse finally broken; however it had come to be. Aragorn laid her down gently onto the stone floor as Legolas came inside. Legolas spoke with the king, Aragorn listening as he slowly took the helm from Branwen's head to reveal her crown and soaked ebon curls.

Legolas reported, "The Deeping Wall is taken, Théoden King, and all defense is swept away, but many have escaped here to the Rock."

"Is Éomer here?"

"No, lord. But many of your men retreated into the Deep and some say that Éomer and Gimli are amongst them. In the narrows, they may hold back the enemy and come within the caves. What hope they may have, I do not know."

Aragorn heard Théoden's reply, "More than we. Good provision they have, it was said. And the air is wholesome there because of the outlets through fissures in the rock far above. None can force an entrance against determined men. They may hold out long."

Legolas said, "Yes, but they have some weapon they used to breach the Deeping Wall."

Aragorn's voice felt raw as he spoke, as he carefully removed the mail from Branwen, "Devilry from Orthanc. They have blasting fire. If they cannot come in the caves, they may seal up those that are inside."

Legolas continued, "However, now we must turn all our thought to our own defense."

Théoden sighed heavily, "I fret in this prison. If I could have set a spear in rest, riding before my men upon the field, maybe I could have again felt the joy of battle, and so ended. But I serve little purpose here."

Legolas replied, "You are guarded here by the strongest fortress of the Mark, so says your men. More hope there is to defend you here than they would have elsewhere, methinks."

Théoden spoke, "It is said that the Hornburg has never fallen to assault, but now, my heart is doubtful. The world changes, and all that once was strong now proves unsure."

Aragorn felt tears coming to his eyes again. Was that what had happened to Branwen here and now?

The king's voice continued, "How shall any tower withstand such numbers and such reckless hate? Had I known that the strength of Isengard was grown so great, maybe I should not so rashly have ridden forth to meet it, for all the arts of Gandalf. His counsel seems not now so good as it did under the morning sun."

Aragorn felt his heart latch onto the idea of Gandalf suddenly. Maybe, since her curse was magic, he would know what could be done to bring her back? It was selfish and cruel, but he could no more imagine a world without Branwen in it as he could without Arwen.

Aragorn spoke, a bit harsher than he meant to, at the doubt he heard in Théoden of the Wizard, "Do not judge the counsel of Gandalf until all is over, lord. Until we are all as cold as Branwen lays now…hold fast."

Théoden did not remark on the rebuke in Aragorn's words and instead declared, "The end will not be long. But I will not end here, taken like an old badger in a trap. Snowmane, Hasufel, Arod, and the horses of my guard are in the inner court. When dawn comes, I will bid men sound Helm's horn and I ride forth. Will you ride with me, Legolas?"

The Elf bowed his head, "With honor."

Théoden then asked him, "Will you ride with me, Aragorn son of Arathorn? Maybe we shall cleave a road or make an end as will be worth a song—if any be left to sing of us hereafter."

Aragorn looked down on the blood-soaked tunic Branwen wore that had been pierced beneath the mail. The armor had been discarded to the side in a crusted piled of ichor. Branwen appeared still dead, cold, and not a stirring or any indication that she would come back…but still so very beautiful.

If he should die in this place, then he would do so…but not without a blaze of glory and vengeance that would be sung about whether there any left to sing it or not!

Aragorn stood suddenly, Andúril blazing in his hand, as he proclaimed, "I would ride with you Théoden King! In this moment, if I had the strength, I would mow down these Orcs and Wild Men before going to Isengard and tearing down Orthanc itself and leaving Saruman's corpse for his beloved crows! I would ride upon the very Gates of Mordor to cast down the Dark Tower! I would put this blade through Sauron himself and all his servants!"

Théoden nodded gravely, "…Yes…there can be no less when the maiden you love dies in your arms in battle…"

Legolas looked at Aragorn sharply but Aragorn did not speak. He had not said the depths of what he felt to Branwen when she was alive and, now that he feared she may not come back at all, he would not speak of it to any other.

Instead, he said, "One of my most dearest and trusted friends has fallen because I stumbled. I would see her avenged. I will show these foul monsters what real reckless hate is."

Legolas only looked at him sadly, but Aragorn did not care. He crouched back down next to Branwen and gently stroked her frigid cheek.

҉

She sat in the middle of a field of perfectly white flowers that came to her knees. Even the stems and leaves were white while the ground seemed to be made of mist below them. The field was infinite and stretched off into oblivion. Even the sky above was white and there was not a hint of breeze or sound.

Branwen knew this place.

She was alone…and no one would be coming to speak with her. No one had come since she had been told of how she had been cursed… There was no place for her among the Dead.

This has certainly been one of, if not her most, glorious and heroics deaths by far. She hoped that Aragorn would not take the sight of her body too hard while Shards of Sorrow repaired her. For now, she would sit here alone until it was time to go back.

"Hello, Branwen."

Branwen whipped about and she saw a woman dressed in white. The woman was beautiful—over six feet tall, dark hair with lovely pale skin, and blue eyes. Physically, she appeared maybe a decade older than Branwen's own form appeared, somewhere in her early thirties. If she had been in any other company than Branwen's own, she would have been stunning.

Branwen's were wide with wonder. It had been over century since any had been her with her in this place and, what was more, she knew this woman before her.

"…Gilraen…?"