Aragorn stared across the plains of Rohirrim and felt despair blanket him. He understood Theoden's reasoning that it would be easier to protect the people from Helm's Deep, but they were trapped within the huge stone walls. Legolas was right, 300 against 10,000 trained killers wasn't a battle, it was suicide. It was a lost cause. Helm's Deep would be lost within days. Slaughter would come to the innocent, and Aragorn, supposed to be their king, could not prevent it. He walked along the wall, aware that the army he had seen earlier in the day would march across the hill and annihilate them.

He continued pacing along the wall, and his mind was filled with troubles. If the battle was won, and Mordor defeated then Aragorn would claim his rightful place as the Heir of Isildur. But today, when he had ridden, bruised and sore, to Helm's Deep and he had seen the army of Isengard marching through Rohan, he had wished that he could have ridden away. The Fellowship was broken, two Hobbits captured by the enemy, the other two heading straight into Mordor, and a friend had died. He touched the jewel that Arwen had given him. He thought of her, of lost friends, and of lost hopes. The battle would take place tonight, and whether they were victorious, or defeated, lives would be lost.

Gimli stood and watched his friend, feeling unable to prevent the despair that he felt. Legolas sat near by perfecting the finish on his arrows. He was angry with Aragorn, and Gimli thought he knew why. The elf was contemplating his own mortality, he was 3000 years old, and immortal, but could still fall in battle. The elf was considering the fact that he might not live to see tomorrow. Gimli felt the same fear, but he would fight. He worried more that his axe might not taste orc flesh before he was felled. If Gimli had to die, he would take many orcs with him. Legolas had first experienced grief with Gandalf, but Gandalf had returned. Boromir was a Man though, and Gimli knew that the man's death had been difficult for Legolas to comprehend. Boromir would not return to the Fellowship, and 300 men, unskilled warriors, would take on an army of 10,000.

Théoden walked onto the wall. He saw Aragorn walking alone, and went to join the younger man. He started to address him, but his eyes slipped past the ranger, and looked into the distance.

"Surely, it does not start already?"

A small dust cloud had formed on the horizon, a single rider on horseback appeared over the crest of the hill, the same hill that Aragorn himself had ridden over earlier in the day.

"Legolas!" Aragorn cried to the elf, "We have need of your eyes."

Legolas and Gimli came to stand on the edge of the wall, staring out across the plains.

"It is a Man..." he waited for a second, until he was sure, "A warrior, a Gondorion warrior."

"Gondorion?" Aragorn was puzzled, "Gondor would not fight for Rohan, they have their own troubles with Mordor on their borders."

"Could it be...?" The thought had flickered into all three minds at once, but Gimli was the only one who would voice it. Stranger things had happened on this quest, Gandalf for one...

"A Gondorion warrior," Legolas confirmed, "But not..." the sentence did not need to be completed.

"Open the gates!" Aragorn commanded. "That is no enemy that approaches."

Théoden grasped Aragorn's arm. "We cannot open the gates. How do we know this is not one of Saruman's deceptions, sent to trick us?"

Aragorn shook off the older man's hand. "The Army of Isengard approaches, with 10,000 Urak-Hai. The warriors of Gondor are loyal and brave. We need all the swords that we can muster."

Théoden could not fault his reasoning. He sighed. "Then open the gates."

The rider cantered to a stop in the area just beyond the gate. They were dressed all in black, a tunic, trousers and cloak. A long sword was strapped to their back, a round shield, embellished with the Tree of Gondor slung onto their shoulder. Lithe and muscled, despite their lack of height, they were an opposing figure. Dark hair hung down their back beneath a silver helmet, as Aragorn approached, the figure swung gracefully down from the horse, and he could see the nose piece of the helmet was also shaped as the Tree of Gondor.

Théoden stepped forward to greet the newcomer.

"I am Théoden, King of Rohan; it is I who welcomes you here, friend, to this place of little hope."

The warrior removed their helmet. A dark haired woman with a strange beauty stood before him, her hair whipped by the wind. Her presence was both dignified and familiar. She glanced briefly at all that stared at her before replying.

"I am Daya, daughter of Veradan, daughter by marriage to Denethor II, Steward of Gondor, and wife of Boromir."

She used the Common Speech, and she spoke her titles proudly listing them fully as protocol demanded. Aragorn recognised in her the same pride that Boromir had contained.

It was to Aragorn to whom she now spoke, instinctively recognizing him as her husband's friend.

"I have come to claim my husband's place by your side, so that his spirit may fight for the good of Men, and his death revenged."

If Aragorn registered any surprise at her identity, he did not show it. Instead he took her hand.

"I welcome you, Daya, wife of Boromir, our departed friend. I thank you for your support, but I cannot ask you to fight here. We are outnumbered, and the force we face, are many."

She slipped effortlessly into Elvish.

"The Army that we will fight will arrive before dark. I saw them as I rode here, and they are travelling quickly. I had only a five league lead on them. Would you accept Boromir's sword in this fight?"

"Your husband was oath sworn to us, and I would be heartened by his presence here."

"I was raised close to my husband but I am not of pure Gondorion blood. My family came from the Northern Lands, a tribe where a woman could wield a sword in her own right. I trained under the same man as Boromir, learnt the same skills as he did. I fight well, and my skills shall be tested here tonight."

Aragorn looked into the dark eyes and saw the determination in their depths. This woman would fight whether he permitted it or not. He nodded slowly.

"If you are set, then your sword is welcome here at Helm's Deep."

Théoden had remained silent for too long. "I will not have a woman fighting here tonight! We have enough men to defend the keep. She will not fight with my men."

Daya glanced coolly at the King of Rohan, before returning her stare onto Aragorn.  He nodded.

"Then she will fight with my men."

The preparations for battle had been going on for some time, but a sense of urgency had settled over the keep. Every able bodied man was called to fight; there were few skilled warriors, but plenty of farmers. These were the men that would face the Urak-Hai tonight. They would fight to protect their country, their wives, their children and their lives.

The shadows were drawing long as the sun sank lower in the sky. Daya watched the afternoon slip away, a sense of finality surrounding her. She closed her eyes and prayed, swearing an oath to fight well, and to die bravely. As she opened her eyes she saw a blurred image of the Tree of Gondor before her. Aragorn had taken Boromir's vambraces after his death, strapping them to his own wrists so that the Fellowship would continue, and the Captain of Gondor would not be forgotten. Daya raised a hand out to touch them, tracing the pattern with her finger, feeling the warmth radiate from them, and she was reluctant to raise her eyes, to the face that she knew was not her husband's.

"He died bravely," Aragorn murmured to her. "Protecting two hobbits that travelled with us."

"Hobbits?" She frowned at the unfamiliar word.

"Halflings. From the north."

A memory of a sentence cried out whilst in pain. "The Little Ones."

"That was what Boromir called them."

"Are they safe?"

A dark look struck the ranger's face as he thought of the four hobbits, recalling the horrific uncertainty of knowing not where they were, or how they fared. His relief at Gandalf's reassurance that they were safe.

"Two were captured by Urak-Hai during the attack on your husband. But they escaped and we have been assured by Lord Mithrandir that they are safe. The other two escaped with the One Ring."

"My husband feared the One Ring. He called it his doom."

"Boromir was tempted by the power of the Ring. He died redeeming himself for those temptations."

"The Ring has destroyed those far stronger than my husband." She half smiled. "I would have been drawn to its power."

She gazed at him, meeting his eyes without shyness, and when she spoke she used Elvish once more.

"I know who you are, Elessar. Your identity vibrates from every cell of your body, Heir of Isildur. Boromir was troubled by your presence, but swore loyalty to you before he died. I pledge my loyalty to you as my husband did, Aragorn, Son of Arathorn."

He did not deny her words; instead he merely nodded at her accuracy.

"I was with your husband when he died, and though I did not know it until today, your name was on his lips as he passed from this Earth. He did not speak of his marriage, or of you, he was a private man, but I am proud to have fought along side him, and I shall be proud to fight along side you, tonight, Lady."

He thought her eyes were damp, but as she stared at him, he could see she was dry eyed. "I heard him call my name. He calls for me still. I shall be reunited with him soon."

"You fear you will die tonight?" Aragorn was chilled by her words, said with a ring of prophecy, and he realised that he was in the presence of one with foresight.

"I do not fear death." She looked away, and saw the sun was lower in the sky. "You should look to the sunrise." Her words echoed Gandalf's.

For a moment they stood in silence, and then Daya touched the vambraces once more.

"Tell me of Boromir," she asked.

They spoke of the warrior until the sun had nearly sunk below the horizon. The enemy was coming, heralded by an enormous dust cloud, and the Earth trembled under their weight. It was time to fight.

Night had fallen, and the rain had come. Her hair plastered to her head, Daya stood on the wall, alongside Legolas and Gimli. Her sword was drawn, and she readjusted her grip on the blade, thankful for the leather strip she had bound around the hilt, giving her extra purchase on the slick metal. The Elven warriors had come, and it was Aragorn who commanded them, exhorting them to show no mercy, for they would receive none. Arrows arched over her head and she saw them strike in the ranks of the monsters that stood before them. The enemy began to fall, but the dead were instantly replaced. They used ladders to breach the fort, and suddenly the enemy were among them. Her sword blade reflected the light of the torches that struggled to stay alight amid the rain, the blade rapidly dulling with dark blood. Daya did not think, she simply used all that was taught her, ignoring the cries of agony around her, or the weight of the foul creatures as they crashed against her, she simply killed.

The explosion, when it came, flung her off her feet. It struck the battered masonry of the Keep, and a surprised mixture of stone, men, elves and Urak-Hai was hurled into the night sky. She landed among elves, bruised and battered, her helmet lost in the fall, and as she was helped upright to her feet, she winced at the gash that graced her forehead. She shook the blood, diluted by the rain water, out of her eyes, and searched for the Fellowship among the chaos.

They fought together, close to the main gate. With a primitive cry she carved her way through the approaching hordes, a formidable opponent, the rain soaking her, the night enveloping her.

Almost unnoticeably the sky was getting lighter, and Daya sensed that dawn was close. Summoning her strength she gave a giant leap up onto the battlements, and saw ahead of her Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Théoden. She sprinted forward towards the group, but her way was blocked by the huge Urak-Hai bearing a crude blade. For a heartbeat they studied each other, oblivious to carnage around them, and then suddenly he lunged. She had lost her shield, and had to spring backwards, and to the side to avoid the wicked blade, already bringing her sword in a backhanded parry. The blades met with a damp clang, and for a moment she worried, but the sword held. They fought on. It was the first opportunity Daya had to study one of her husband's killers up close. They were a vile sight, as black as night, with burning eyes, and rotting teeth. They had been bred to be killers, they were a race of killers, and they knew nothing but the desire for death. They had killed her husband, and with a sudden certainty, Daya knew that she faced her own killer.

Her grandmother had been killed fighting Sauron's masses, and it appeared that Daya was also destined to die at the hands of her enemy. A calmness fell upon her, and with another cry she launched into a whirling onslaught, feeling her warrior blood rise within her. She would fight for Gondor. Her arms ached, the muscles in her neck had tensed up, and with every move, every meeting of blades, she grew wearier still. But she fought on, she was beating him back.

The thrust when it came was sudden, and a shock. Instantly she knew her mistake had been losing her shield. The crude blade had jabbed upwards, reaching the tender flesh of her abdomen, where it lodged. He had to twist it to free it, but before he could do so, realising that he was trapped, Daya was turning, ignoring the foreign object burning beneath her diaphragm, raising her sword up, and burying it in the brute's shoulder. His sword came free, and she nearly cleaved him in two as her weight fell behind her blade. He died with a single scream, and pulling her blade free, one arm clasped to her stomach, she ran for the trio of the Fellowship.

Théoden had sounded the retreat into the Keep, and Daya caught up with them. As Aragorn and Gimli fought to protect the barricade she helped to keep the heavy door closed against the masses outside. Finally, Aragorn and Gimli returned, and it was decided that a gesture was needed. They would ride out, led by Théoden, into the sunrise, and inspire the men to fight. If they were to die, they would die bravely, in the sunlight, not hidden, trapped in darkness within the stone walls. Aragorn turned to Daya, who stood near a wall. She was breathing heavily, and seemed weary. He called her, and it was with great effort that she lifted her head to look at him. She took two steps, staggered, and fell.

Aragorn ran to her, she was trying to raise herself to a standing position, but could get no further than her knees. He saw the darkness glistening on her tunic, the vivid red liquid that stained her hands, and realised that she had been fighting wounded for some time. He helped her into a lying position, and tried to gauge the extent of her injury. The rent in her clothing and the amount of blood that now surrounded her, gave him little cause to be hopeful. She gripped his wrist and he gave a sudden shiver, reminded of Boromir's death.

"The dawn. Look to the sun."

"I shall look, and so shall you." He moved a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes.

She shook her head. "Boromir. I want you to send me to him. The river." Aragorn had told her earlier of her husband's funeral. He knew immediately what she wanted and he nodded mutely, his promise.

"Hail, Heir of Isildur," she smiled weakly but pain turned it into a grimace. "I fear that many of Gondor's warriors shall fall before Sauron is defeated. I am not the first, and I shall not be the last. Go with honour, Aragorn."

'With honour, Daya, Warrior of Gondor." He tried to return her smile. "And tell your husband that I honour his friendship, and miss his companionship."

Daya nodded, and despite the pain he could see her unusual beauty, and her quiet dignity, and he saw why Boromir would have fallen in love with her.

"I shall," she promised. Her eyes closed briefly as a spasm of pain tore through her, but she forced them open, trying to focus on the sun that poured through the high window. "Boromir" she whispered, and she died.

At the sun rise Gandalf had come, and with him the Riders of Rohan, and led them to victory. The price of victory was high, many lives were lost, not least Haldir of the Elves, and Daya. Aragorn kept his word, and he placed Daya's body in a small boat, provided by Théoden. They had found the small fleet of vessels in the depths of the caves, apparently for use in escaping along the streams that ran deep in the cave. It would have been lunacy to try, but some previous ruler of Rohan had placed them there. They carried the boat to the Entwash, and Aragorn himself carried Daya. He remembered the struggle that Legolas, Gimli, and he had had in carrying Boromir's fallen body, but he carried Daya like a child in his arms. At the small stream they placed her in the base of the boat, along with her sword, and the helmet she had lost. It had been recognised by Gimli among the rubble, marked by the Tree of Gondor, and brought it back to the fallen woman. They set the boat to float upon the Entwash, and they knew the stream would lead the boat to the Great River Anduin, so that she could make the same final journey as her husband.

It was her destiny.

She would be reunited with Boromir only through death, and she had accepted that without question, without doubt.

It was her fate.