The horses had to be walked for a little time, and the sun was just brushing the grass when both Aragorn and Gandalf agreed to make camp. Boromir got off his horse rather heavily, and started to go out of the camp for firewood, but Gimli pushed him back to the ring of stones where Aragorn knelt hunched over a small pile of kindling saying that he should really get some rest-riding all day was hard business. Boromir sat down dejectedly by the steadily growing flames, looking at Aragorn.

"Why is it you all treat me like I know not how to defend myself?"

"You are still weak from the wound, my friend. It needs time to heal. Now sit, and warm yourself. Gabrielin did not let herself be forfeit so you could die of chill. If you want to be useful, gut this." The ranger handed off the rabbits, which Boromir looked at with displeasure and took knife to. Gandalf, who had until now been staring off into the distance at the tiny red flaring speck that was the Eye, came to sit next to the fire.

"The veiling shadow that glowers in the east takes shape. Sauron will suffer no rival. From the summit of Barad-dûr, his Eye watches ceaselessly. But he is not so mighty yet that he is above fear. Doubt ever gnaws at him. The rumor has reached him. The heir of Númenor still lives." Boromir looked up from the rabbit to look at Aragorn, who was looking at the fire with a far off, forlorn look in his eyes.

"Sauron fears you, Aragorn. He fears what you may become."

Boromir nodded, understanding a little of what the wizard said. If the heir of Isildur could challenge Sauron, Mordor might be broken! What a chance for Gondor...for Gondor... Gandalf's voice called him back down from dreamland as the wizard carried on.

"And so he'll strike hard and fast at the world of Men. He will use his puppet, Saruman, to destroy Rohan. War is coming. Rohan must defend itself, and therein lies our first challenge for Rohan is weak and ready to fall. An old device of Saruman's enslaves the king's mind. His hold over King Théoden is now very strong. Sauron and Saruman are tightening the noose. But for all their cunning we have one advantage."

Looked up from his bloodied hands with a quizzical look in his eyes, Boromir pondered-what possible advantage does one have against supreme evil and a wizard who has fallen from grace with the light? Gandalf answered his unasked question.

"The Ring remains hidden. And that we should seek to destroy it has not yet entered their darkest dreams. And so the weapon of the enemy is moving towards Mordor in the hands of a Hobbit. Each day brings it closer to the fires of Mount Doom. We must trust now in Frodo. Everything depends upon speed and the secrecy of his quest."

Aragorn, now sharpening the sticks for a spit on which to roast the rabbit, looked at Gandalf and Boromir, both across the fire from him. Boromir handed him the rabbit meat, which Aragorn skewered on the stick and laid on the flames.

"Do not regret your decision to leave him. Frodo must finish this task alone." Boromir tried to offer what little wisdom he had for this time, but Aragorn paid it no heed. Gandalf looked troubled now.

"Frodo went on alone?

"Not alone. Sam went with him." The wizard seemed satisfied.

"Did he indeed? Good Samwise. Yes, very good. I never thought he'd have it in him. Sam..." The wizard looked at the fire, chuckling at the thought that the gardener from the shire had enough courage to follow his friend to hell itself.

-*-*-*-

Early the next morning, the golden grass rippled with the rising tide of wind, brushing the ankles of the four riders on the ridge.

"Edoras, and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong." The man in white's voice was grim. Be careful what you say. Do not look for welcome here. The loyalty to the king is the foundation of a building breaking. It is wise to tread upon such things with light feet." Gandalf spurred his horse over the ridge, towards the Golden Hall, Boromir, Aragorn, and Gimli following

Just before the gates of the city, Boromir looked up to see a lady in white, blonde hair flying with the breeze, in front of the golden hall. As he watched, the flag nearest her ripped off it's pole and flapped to where it landed at his horse's feet. Frowning at it, he rode on.

The capital of Rohan was still and sepulchral, the inhabitants watching with wary eyes as the wizard, dwarf, and men rode by. The entire city was as silent as the grave, clad in black as though in deep mourning.

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard." remarked Gimli morosely.

The company climbed the stairs to the parapet where Boromir had seen the white lady, but she was nowhere to be found. A stern-faced guard met them at the door.

"I cannot allow you before Théoden-King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of Gríma Wormtongue." he said, his voice curt. Gandalf nodded, and Boromir and Aragorn hesitantly unbuckled their sword belts, handing the weaponry to the guards. Gimli reluctantly gave them his axes, and Gandalf laid down Glamdring in the hands of the guards. The doorman looked at Gandalf, motioning to hand the stick over.

"Your staff." Gandalf looked as if he had only just heard him.

"Hmm?" He looked at his staff. "Oh. You would not part an old man from his walking stick?" The doorman frowned, but unbarred the doors for them, leading the foursome into the hall. Gandalf, as if he had aged a hundred years suddenly, took the arm Boromir offered him with a wink, leaning wizenedly.

At the end of the grand chamber, two man sat, one immensely old, with white hair and wrinkled skin, and the other, pale and dark. The pale one whispered in the king's ear.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King." Gandalf's voice rang in the soundless hall, silent save for the footsteps of the guardsmen and themselves. The wizard continued to walk forward, while Boromir, Aragorn and Gimli held back, watching the hostile group of men following them, clearly not Rohirrim corps. The pale one whispered in the king's ear again. When the king did speak, his voice sounded rusty and unused.

"Why should I... welcome you, Gandalf...Stormcrow?" The pale one, whose name could only be Grima Wormtongue, whispered in the king's ear, and stood.

"A just question, my liege." He began to walk forward to meet Gandalf. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell spell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest." Gandalf's voice was stern and abrupt.

"Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind you teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!" He raised his staff, which had been hidden by his robes, and pointed it at Grima. The counsellor looked at it with a fearful look.

"His staff!" He began to back away, talking to the guards as he went. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!" The men in the shadows pounced, and soon the room behind Gandalf erupted into a fistfight. One of the Rohirrim was held back by his commander as Gandalf continued to approach the king.

"Théoden, son of Thengel, too long have you sat in the shadows." Boromir caught the traitorous counsellor trying to sneak away, and pinned him to the ground with a boot.

"I would stay still, if I were you, or you will be dead carrion by this time tomorrow."

"Hearken to me! I release you from the spell." Gandalf's eyes were closed in concentration, but they flew open as the old man in the throne began to laugh manically.

"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!" at this, Gandalf threw his grey cloak back, the light blinding the hall and forcing the king back in his carven seat with a yell. The wizard pointed his staff at the king.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound." The woman in white rushed in, anxious to see what the noise was, and tried to run to the king. Aragorn held out an arm to stop her.

"Wait."

"If I go. . .Théoden dies." Saruman's voice came disembodied from the mouth of Théoden, and he was thrown against the chair back with a flick of Gandalf's staff, gasping.

"You did not kill me, you will not kill him!" Again, the aged man spoke using the former white wizard's voice.

"Rohan is mine!"

"Be gone!!" The lined king was thrown back in his chair, and with a moan, began to collapse forward. Aragorn let the young woman go, and she ran to his aid before he hit the ground. Gradually, the lines on his face faded, revelling a much younger Théoden. His eyes, once cloudy, returned to their lively blue, and he looked into the young woman's eyes, trying to remember.

"I know your face. Éowyn... Éowyn." The king's niece, his sister daughter; the young woman wept with joy. Unsteadily, she helped Théoden stand, the older man testing his legs. He looked at the White Wizard with uncertainty.

"Gandalf?" The wizard smiled.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend." Théoden looked around.

"Dark have been my dreams of late."

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better... if they grasped your sword." The door guard ran up with the sword in its sheath, and with trembling hands, the king unsheathed it. Grima trembled as the king's gaze fell on him, and Boromir, along with one of the Rohirrim, threw him bodily from the hall, falling down the steps with a groan of pain. The traitor called beseechingly to Théoden.

"I've only ever served you, my lord!"

"Your leech craft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" The worm continued to grovel.

"Send me not from your side." Théoden raised his sword to strike, the peasantry looking on as the king was to deliver his justice, but Aragorn stayed his hand.

"No, my lord! No, my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account." The worm scrambled to his feet, and pushed his way through the crowd.

"Get out of my way!"

The doorkeeper cried "Hail, Théoden king!" and the whole assembly knelt. Théoden looked at the faces waiting for him on the parapet, his face perplexed.

"Where is Théodred? Where is my son?" Aragorn looked at Boromir again, who was begging to tip again, his face still ashy pale, and ran to steady his friend as the rest of the nobles of Rohan processed solemnly back inside. The Gondorian clutched his chest. Aragorn looked from Gandalf to Boromir's chalky face.

"It is the poison; it attacks again." Gandalf's worried lines creased more.

"Get him inside! Get him in! Make way!"

Once inside the healer's chambers, Aragorn made to take the younger man's coat off; he burned with fever from the very fires of Orodruin itself. Boromir offered no resistance, simply staring up at the ceiling as the older wrapped the covers around him.

"It is over." Boromir laid a hand on Aragorn's arm as he washed the soldier's forehead with water. Aragorn looked Boromir in the eye. The man of the south seemed to have lost hope.

"The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness... and my city to ruin." Aragorn grasped Boromir's shoulder.

"I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the White City fall...nor our people fail!"

"Our people? Our people." He grasped Aragorn's hand for dear life as Gandalf came in, followed by healers bearing a bowl of water, cloths, and sachets of herbs.

"I would have followed you my Brother...my Captain...My King!" The warrior who believed himself so near death closed his eyes, succumbing to the sweet call of sleep.

"Be at peace, son of Gondor." He turned to the healers.

"Treat him as if he were the son of a king- he is of a nobility oft forgot." The head healer looked at the sleeping captain.

"The son of the steward is well respected in these halls, Aragorn of the North. Take some rest yourself." She gently pushed him out to the hall, closing the door silently behind her.

Several hours later, Aragorn looked in on his sleeping friend. The healer who had herded him out looked up from sponging his brow to speak with the warden of the wilds.

"The steward's son has great strength. And the wizard, extraordinary skill. There were still some shards of arrow in the wound. Now that they are dislodged, he should be better soon. That was strong venom on that tip. How long ago did you say you removed the shaft, ranger?" Aragorn thought.

"Seven days past." The healer gaped.

"There was poison strong enough on that bolt to kill a cave troll. Your friend will live, but he shall have some strange dreams to tell of when he wakes. You will keep his watch?" Aragorn nodded, and took the cloth from her hands. The healer turned to leave, and stopped.

"Does the son of the steward have a lady friend?" Aragorn nodded stiltedly.

"His fiancé. Rhoswen." The healer nodded.

"He cried out her name in his fever...I thought it wise to tell you." She left, and Aragorn looked to his friend. When the healer had gone, Boromir cautiously opened one eye.

"Is she gone?" Aragorn nodded.

"You feigned sleep?" The Gondorian shook his head in affirmation sheepishly.

"I am not accustomed to being cosseted by women healers. In Gondor, when wounded, I stayed at the battle field and put my trust in the soldiers in my command who had some herb lore." Aragorn thought about this, and looked the younger man over. His brow was creased, trying to remember something.

"You seem troubled, friend. What ails your mind?"

"While I slept, I saw my father, crying, the great horn cloven in two upon his knees; and Rhoswen, weeping over my body...I was dead. And I saw a child...a baby in a cradle in Rhoswen's room...my child. I saw my father burning...and Faramir dying... I saw the White City, but...it was broken, and there were bodies...bodies on the Pelennor, smoke rising from the city. Aragorn, what was it that I saw?" the ranger smiled seriously.

"You saw the other path...the path that would have been if Gabrielin had not come. She told me of what she saw...and found that she thought your life was better lived then hers. She wanted you to have this. To remember her by." He drew her medallion from his pocket, and pressed it into the bedridden man's hands. Boromir was close to tears.

"That was her 'golden path' then?"

"Yes. Rest now, and eat something."

"How can I rest when I am only now reminded of the death I helped to make? I was the cause of her departure, the cause of her suffering. How can a man come to grief with a woman's death, a woman who died for him?"

"It was a choice she made, Boromir. Neither her brother nor me could stop her. It was not your frailty that she saw- indeed, she saw naught but strength- but your heart that she found most worth saving." Boromir was taken aback. "Love is a golden thing abused by those who do not know it's worth. And she thought 'twas better to have one live with love than one without. Now get some sleep." Aragorn made to leave, but Boromir held him feebly back.

"Please, Aragorn...I realize that when...when we first met, I was proud and did not think of any other path save for the one under my feet. But with a chance, could you find it in your heart to count me as a friend?" Aragorn smiled broadly.

"Boromir, you have made yourself a friend a hundred times over, and a hundred times again. And if a man's death wish is to be regarded in the highest of honours, then whether he lives or dies, his wish shall be held steadfast." Boromir smiled weakly, lay back down, and closed his eyes, and Aragorn left, wondering why it was that the steward's son tormented himself so.

Later, in the golden hall, Boromir and Gimli sat, the former sipping soup while the latter munched bread. Aragorn was smoking, and Gandalf was nowhere to be seen. The doors to the hall burst open, and two of the Rohirrim guards entered, Gandalf and Théoden behind them. The guards were carrying two small children.

After they two children had been fed, they told their tale. They were from the Westfold, the wildmen had attacked their village, and would the nice lady (that was Éowyn) know where mamma was? After gently interrogating them, Éowyn looked at her uncle.

"They had no warning. They were unarmed. Now the wildmen are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot and tree."

"Where's Mama?" the little girl asked. Éowyn shushed her. Gandalf turned to Théoden, his voice grim.

"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent for he is driven now by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children." He leaned forward to rest a hand on Théoden's chair. The king of the Riddermark looked at it uneasily. "You must fight." Aragorn took the pipe out of his mouth to speak.

"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak. Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king." Théoden got up, and began to pace.

"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now. Éomer cannot help us. I know what it is that you want of me. But I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war." Boromir normally would have had some exchange in the verbal sparring, but he meekly continued to slurp down soup, watching Théoden and Aragorn argue.

"Open war is upon you. Whether you would risk it or not."

"When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan." Gimli burped, and Boromir nudged him.

"Mind your manners. There are lady folk about." Boromir chided his friend.

"Then what is the king's decision?" Gandalf looked at Théoden, still pacing the grand chamber.

Later that day, Hama could be heard outside telling the people of the king's choice.

"By order of the king, the city must empty. We make for the refuge of Helm's Deep. Do not burden yourselves with treasures. Take only what provisions you need." The foursome made their way to the stables. Gimli was complaining, per usual.

"Helm's Deep! They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight. Who will defend them if not their king?" Boromir looked at his small friend.

"He's only doing what he thinks is best for his people. Helm's Deep has saved them in the past." Gimli harrumphed as they entered the stables. In the farthest stall, Gandalf was conferencing with Aragorn.

"There is no way out of that ravine. Théoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he's leading them to safety. What they will get is a massacre. Théoden has a strong will but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan. He will need you before the end, Aragorn. The people of Rohan will need you. The defences HAVE to hold." Aragorn nodded, confident.

"They will hold." The wizard looked at Shadowfax, murmuring softly to the horse. He mounted up, and turned back to Aragorn.

"With luck, my search will not be in vain. Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East." The ranger opened the stall gates, letting horse and rider through the stable. Gimli and Boromir had to jump back to avoid being trampled by the horse. Boromir looked at Aragorn, still gazing out at the white blot on the yellowing fields.

"We should prepare to leave. Come, brother. There is much to do."

Back in the golden hall, Boromir was lifting tables with the rest of the household staff, packing away furniture, when he turned to see Éowyn, sword in hand, go through the first three positions of a practice run with the sword. She turned, and met Aragorn's blade. They parleyed for a minute, after which both weapons were sheathed. But Boromir could see something in the lady's eyes...some spark of revolution hidden beneath a visage of demure womanhood.

Gimli was chatting pleasantly with Éowyn as the dwarf rode, the shield maid holding the reins. From behind them, Boromir and Aragorn rode in silence, both stoics for the lighthearted conversation in front of them.

"It's true you don't see many Dwarf women. And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, that they're often mistaken for Dwarf men." The blonde haired woman smiled, and turned to glance at Aragorn.

"It's the beards..." The young woman held in a giggle at Aragorn's comment. The dwarf continued.

"And this, in turn, has given rise to the belief that there are no Dwarf women. And that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!" Éowyn laughed animatedly, which left Gimli looking pleased.

"Which is of course ridiculous... Whoa!!" The horse he was riding started, and Éowyn lost her control of the reins, causing Gimli to gallop a short distance before falling off. The shield maid rushed to help the fallen dwarf, who struggled to get up

"It's alright, it's alright. Nobody panic. That was deliberate. It was deliberate." The laughing woman helped the stern dwarf up, her smiling face looking back at the two men, framed with sunshine and golden curls, the perfect picture of happiness. Boromir moved closer to his friend.

"She reminds me of Rhoswen, a little...her smile, at least. And every time she looks at you, I see you cannot help but smile. I never met your elven princess, Aragorn, but she must be like yonder king's sister daughter." Aragorn frowned.

"No...the two are as unlike as the sea and the sand, one raven and the other gold, one the evening and the other the day. And I would not forfeit the love of the moon for the kiss of the Sun." the ranger said cryptically. Boromir smiled.

"It is obvious that Éowyn loves you...but whether as the commander her warrior's heart sees, or the handsome man who rides with her uncle, I could not tell. You do not speak often of your princess, do you? Tell me of her." Aragorn smiled sadly. Boromir pressed on; he knew Aragorn was loath to speak of the woman whose pendant he wore 'round his neck, and whose heart he wore on his sleeve. "At least her name."

"Arwen Undómiel...the daughter of Elrond." Boromir's brow rose, but his questions remained silent.

The next day, the sun had not fully risen when Aragorn and Éowyn found themselves walking along side each other in contented silence.

"Where is she? The woman who gave you that jewel." Aragorn smiled, reminiscing. He stayed silence, his lips set in a firm line.

"My lord?"

"She is sailing to the Undying Lands, with all that is left of her kin." Boromir watched the expression on the young woman's face change from query to quandary. He could tell just from that disappointed flicker that Éowyn had desired a union with the next king of Gondor, but could see by her face that she knew her beauty was no match for elven kind. Hama and the king's guard Gamling rode by, faces grave. He handed his mount off to Aragorn, a hand on the hilts of his sword; Aragorn gave him a strange look.

"What is it?"

"Something fell is on the air-a foul stench is not good reckoning for tidings. I am going to see the front." Jogging over the ridge, he saw the horses began to get nervous, stamping their feet as they sensed danger. Just then, a wolf standing nearly five feet tall jumped from the rocky outcrop above, slaughtering Hama and knocking his horse to the ground. Gamling shouted

"Wargs!" As the door warden unsheathed his sword, and the creature turned on him. Boromir ran up, catching the rider with his sword, and lopping off the festering creature's head. Both men ran their swords through the wolf as it reared; the burden on it's back gone. Boromir looked it over, shoving the carcass off him.

"A scout!" Théoden rode up to Aragorn.

"What is it? What do you see?"

"Wargs! We are under attack!" This made for widespread alarm among the villagers, who began to panic and scream. Aragorn mounted up on his horse, shouting over the frenzied din

"Get them out of here!" Théoden shouted commands to his riders.

"All riders to the head of the column!" The dwarf tried unsuccessfully to get himself up onto his mount.

"Come on, get me up here, I'm a rider! Argh!" With some help, he finally mounted, and them, with some stuttering, got Arod to move forward. Behind him, Théoden was having a hurried and harrowed conference with Éowyn. Reluctantly, she turned and began sheparding frightened villages in the general direction of the fortress, taking command of the confused line. The king shouted to the riders, spurring on his horse Snowmane.

"Follow me! Yah!" Éowyn was heard to be shouting,

"Make for the lower ground! Stick together!" she looked back, and caught Aragorn's glance for a moment, then turned her eyes to Boromir, who had run back to mount his horse. Neither men smiled, their mouths set in firm lines. Hasufel and Brego were spurred to catch up with Théoden, sword unsheathed, shouting the charge.

The fury of battle was upon the company; orcs were felled like trees for firewood. Gimli had fallen off his horse, and was staring down a rider less warg, the two circling. Just as the warg lunged, it fell short of Gimli; a spear embedded in it's back. Gimli looked from the carcass to see a grinning Boromir.

"Argh! That one counts as mine!" The man of the South shrugged, and turned to lop off another head. Gimli looked around, turning just before another lunged, pinning him to the ground, his axe embedding itself in its heart. The fallen rider looked over the top of the smelly animal mass, and the dwarf, giving up all hope of disengaging his axe, swiftly twisted it's neck. As he was lifting the rotting creatures off him, yet another came to sniff dead flesh, but was promptly killed with a stroke of a sword from Aragorn.

As Aragorn watched Gimli try to disentangle himself from the growing pile of corpses, one warg rider came up, grappling with the Dunadan and tossing the man from his horse. Aragorn held on for dear life as he killed the orc, but found himself stuck to the harness on the stinking creature's body. Then the earth fell away, and his mind went blank.

Boromir looked around for Aragorn, and seeing Gimli still stuck, shoved the carcasses off him.

"Aragorn?" There was Brego, seemingly dead, and Théoden, looking around at the bloodied faces of riders and orcs alike. The Gondorian peered over the cliff, seeing the splattered body of a warg, and the rushing currents of a small river. There was a wheezy laugh form behind him, and it was all he could do to keep from killing the poor creature. Gimli stood over the orc, his axe to the creature's throat.

"Tell me what happened and I will ease your passing."

"He's dead. Took a little tumble off the cliff." The man of the south looked warily at the cliff edge, and pulled the orc closer, his voice a snarl.

"You lie!" The orc chortled, and died. Boromir let go, and at a glimmer, looked in the orc's slimy hand. Nestled in it was the Evenstar. He looked at it, and then walked back to the edge of the cliff, and the body below, willing himself not to cry. Théoden was talking to his men, his voice strained.

"Get the wounded on horses. The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead." He laid a hand on Boromir's shoulder, and the taller man looked at him, his face as if he were about to cry. "Come. Mourn not overmuch-he died with honour." He left Boromir and Gimli to stare- half-heartedly hoping Aragorn was not dead- at the river.

It was a much bloodied and disheartened company of Rohirrim that found Helm's Deep, Gamling calling ahead as he rode-

"Make way for Théoden! Make way for the king!" Éowyn rushed up, and her face fell as she looked at the half dead and the missing.

"So few. So few of you have returned." Théoden looked at his niece. His face was set.

"Our people are safe. We have paid for it with many lives." Gimli approached Éowyn hesitantly, Boromir coming up behind him as he handed the reins of Hasufel to one of the stablemen.

"My lady..." Éowyn looked around, dreading his news.

"Lord Aragorn, where is he?"

"He fell..." Éowyn looked at her uncle, but all he could do was turn away, withholding tears. The young woman pursed her lips, tears welling in her eyes. Boromir laid a comforting hand on her back, and she pulled closer, crying. It was all the captain could do to keep from crying as well.

"He died as he lived-bravely, in battle, and with honour. He would have no undue sorrow at his passing. Come, Éowyn, you must be strong." The younger woman dried her eyes on a sleeve, and sniffled, shuffling off to the keep. Boromir looked after her, wondering what Rhoswen was thinking now.

When the sun had risen higher, and the newly arrived troops were stabled and bunked, Théoden commanded soldiers from the battlements.

"Draw all our forces behind the wall. Bar the gate, and set a watch on the surround." His lieutenant Gamling hurried behind him as the king paced the upper wall.

"But what of those who cannot fight, my lord? The women and children?"

"Get them into the caves. Saruman's arm would have grown long indeed if he thinks he can reach us here." The gates creaked open, and a bloodied Aragorn rode in, to the amazement of many. Gimli pushed his way from the ramparts to the yard by the doors.

"Where is he? Where is he? Get out of the way. I'm gonna kill him! You are the luckiest, the canniest and the most reckless man I ever knew! Bless you, laddie!" Aragorn smiled in a worn, tired way. He needed rest, and food, but that was the least in his mind now.

"Gimli, where is the king?" the dwarf nodded to the inner hall, and the tired, wet ranger began to climb steps at a brisk pace. Before the doors, he met Boromir, who had just come out.

"You're late. We thought you got lost, but...when is a Ranger ever lost?" Aragorn smiled at his friend's joke, but Boromir was peering at the Ranger' arm, which was bleeding. "You look terrible." The captain heir opened Aragorn's hand, and closed it around the Evenstar, the Dunadan smiling in relief as he clapped Boromir on the shoulder.

"Thank you, brother." Boromir nodded discreetly to the side, where Éowyn was standing, looking at him with sheer joy.

Théoden's expression could be expressed as nothing more than amazement as a wet, dripping, and ensanguined Aragorn thrust open the double doors. When Aragorn's wound had been bound, Gimli and Boromir were called in for conference.

"A great host, you say?" the ranger nodded.

"All Isengard is emptied."

"How many?"

"Ten thousand strong at least."

"Ten thousand?!" The king's voice was unbelieving that such a force even existed. Aragorn went on with his grim tale.

"It is an army bred for a single purpose: to destroy the world of men. They will be here by nightfall." Théoden walked towards the doors, confident and resolute.

"Let them come!" Théoden strode purposefully out the great doors to set his troops in position. "I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready for battle by nightfall." Gamling nodded and walked back to the armoury, where Théoden's generals waited. Théoden looked out from the causeway, the clear sky no indication there would be blood on the grass tonight.

"We will cover the causeway and the gate from above. No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall or set foot inside the Hornburg."

"This is no rabble of mindless Orcs. These are Uruk-hai. Their armour is thick and their shields broad." Gimli's rumbling baritone was reminding the king of what he probably already knew. Théoden turned shortly on the dwarf, annoyed.

"I have fought many wars, Master Dwarf. I know how to defend my own keep." Boromir held the stoic dwarf back as the king went back up to the ramparts, watching for any sign of the advancing doom.

"They will break upon this fortress like water on rock. Saruman's hordes will pillage and burn; we've seen it before. Crops can be re-sown; homes rebuilt. Within these walls, we will outlast them."

"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or villages. They come to destroy its people. Down to the last child." Théoden drew Aragorn in, his voice dangerously low.

"What would you have me do? Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance."

"Send out riders, my lord. You must call for aid."

And who will come? Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead.

"Gondor will answer." Théoden looked at Boromir, who had heard nothing. He was staring off into the fields, his fingers gently touching the hilts of his sword.

"Gondor? Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us? Where was Gon... – No, my lord Aragorn, we are alone." He walked away, still shouting orders. "Get the women and children into the caves." Gamling ran up behind him, jogging to keep up with the king. "We need more time to lay provisions for a siege, lord-" Théoden cut him off sharply. "There is no time. War is upon us!"

In the armory, Aragorn looked around at the fear filled faces surrounding him-young lads and old men both. He examined one of the swords, and tossed it back on the waning piled disdainfully.

"Farmer, farriers, stable boys. These are no soldiers." Boromir looked at him, a shard of hope in his eyes.

"At least they fight for their own lands- does that not give men valour in such deeds as these? And there are better chances to win here than at Edoras, you must know that!"

"That alone will not hold the defences through the night."

"Have you so little faith in these men that you cannot trust them to the protection of all they hold dear?" The Gondorian captain's voice was little more than an anger-hardened hiss. Aragorn scowled and pulled away, his face cynical. The room fell silent as Boromir stalked off. Aragorn made to go after him, but Gimli held him back.

"Let him go, lad. Let him be."

Aragorn looked at the array of weaponry and armour before him, smiling sadly at the thought of all the young men out on the battlements who would never have a chance to grow old, raise a family. Knotting another tie on his jerkin, his hand reached out for his sword, and someone handed it to him. He looked up into Boromir's eyes.

"We have trusted you this far. You have not led us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to doubt what you would have as your opinion."

"There is nothing to forgive, Boromir. Your point is a just and well thought one." The younger man smiled a little.

"Now will you let me help you, as a dutiful brother should?"

"If you must." Aragorn nodded, and the taller man pulled the embossed leather over his head, and knotted ties. As he was finishing, Gimli came up, struggling to get chain mail worked for a Rider over his head.

"If we had more time I'd get this adjusted." The bundle constricting his chest dropped, hitting the floor with a resounding clank. "It's a little tight across the chest." Both men bit back smiles, when there came a strange, unearthly horn from the plains in front of them. Boromir cocked his ear at the sound.

"That is no Orc horn." Aragorn and Boromir ran to the battlements as the gates were opened, and two hundred Galadhrim in midnight blue streamed in, the device of Lothlórien waving in the night breeze. Théoden was awestruck.

"How is this possible?" Haldir, sternly serene, began his greetings.

"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together." He looked up at the steps to see Aragorn and Boromir, and his eyes dimmed a little, but his smiled brightened. "We come to honour that allegiance." Aragorn bowed in front of the March warden, giving his welcome in Elvish, and them embracing the stern elf with sheer joy. Reluctantly, the elf hugged him back. Haldir turned from a broadly grinning Aragorn to Boromir, who felt himself shrinking under the cold, disdainful March warden's eye. The only thing he said to Boromir, as he embraced the captain quietly, in a soft, murderously cold voice,

"So she is dead, then? Live out the night, man of the south, and I will consider your debt repaid." Boromir's face was set, eager for a challenge, as he looked the elf in the eye.

"My sword shall sing with your bow." The elf turned back to Théoden.

"We are proud to fight alongside men, once more."

On the battlements, Aragorn stood amongst the elves on the Deeping wall, Boromir and Gimli beside him. The dwarf was mumbling complaints.

"You could have picked a better spot." Boromir smirked. Gimli looked up at Aragorn. "Well lad, whatever luck you live by, let's hope it lasts the night." Thunder resounded in the ravine, and lightning flashed, showing the seething mass of Uruk-hai troops below. Boromir swallowed.

"Your friends are with you, Aragorn." Gimli turned back to the wall.

"Let's hope they last the night." Aragorn clasped Boromir's hand before leaving.

"Brother." The captain heir looked him in the eyes, matching ferocity.

"For Gondor; for the king."

"How I wish it was not so." Aragorn smiled sadly, and strode off to the command of the elves, shouting in their foreign tongue. Outside the walls, the noise increased. Gimli struggled to see over the wall.

"What's happening out there?" The taller grinned.

"Shall I describe it to you? Or would you like me to find you a box?" The dwarf chuckled.

The stamping and yelling from outside the walls intensified, and in the midst of it all, a single arrow was released, spinning and hitting its target with a clunk. Aragorn cried for the elves to hold. There was silence, then the soft clunk of a body hitting the ground dead, and a rumbling of some war machine newly constructed. Théoden looked out on the hordes.

"So it begins." Aragorn was shouting commands, the elves drawing arrows, notching them, and preparing to fire with swift, fluid movements. Boromir wished Faramir was here to help; he could draw Gabrielin's bow and use it, but his brother was the better shot.

"Leithio i philinn!" Aragorn cried, and a rain of shafts came down on the advancing enemy. Gimli was itching to kill.

"Did they hit anything?"

"Give them a volley." The command ran from Théoden's mouth through several junior officers, and Rohirrim arrows found heads, hearts and chests. But the lines never seemed to end. Gimli grew impatient.

"Send them to me! C'mon!" Boromir looked in amazement at his small friend. If they only had ten such dwarves in Osgiliath, the city could never have fallen. Aragorn shouted something, and the elves drew out their long, scythe like swords. That could only mean one thing. Boromir peered over the battlement.

"Ladders." was the only thing he could say. All Gimli could say was,

"Good!" The Uruks climbed over the wall, and Gimli was in his element. "Boromir, two already!" Gimli held up two gloved fingers.

"I'm on five!" The dwarf was outraged.

"Argh! I'll have no filthy human outscoring me!" Boromir shoved one of the ladders off the wall. It fell right into the seething mass, squashing some. He looked at it for a minute, and then shouted.

"Call it twenty!" Gimli was still hacking away.

"Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen! Twenty! Twenty-one! Twenty-two! You're behind now, Boromir!" At a shout from Aragorn, arrows began to whistle towards the gates, where Boromir could see a turtle-like formation of Uruks trumping up the pathway. But there was something happening below, too. A path was being cleared, and an orc carrying a torch was running towards the wall. Haldir stepped in behind Boromir, arrows flying, trying to hit the runner. Boromir could hear Aragorn's furious screaming, and then there was an explosion to his left, and he watched as orcs, stone and Rohirrim alike flew in all directions at the blast; Saruman must have made an explosive. Orcs streamed through the broken wall, and at the causeway, the heavy plated shield drew back to reveal a battering ram. Boromir could hear a call from the rampart.

"Brace the Gate! Hold them! Stand firm!" Aragorn stands directly in the path of the invading horde, and Boromir rushed down the stairs to meet them at the bottom, hacking wayward orcs as he went. Gimli jumped off the battlements, right into the fray, taking orcs down with him like a storm. Aragorn picked up the little warrior and ran back to the keep, hearing some obscure command from the ramparts, and shouting the retreat to Haldir and the other elves. The dwarf was still in the battle heat, protesting as Aragorn and Boromir hauled him away.

"What are you doing? Argh! What are you stopping for?"

But Haldir fell out of the corner of Boromir's eye, and he gave up Gimli and ran to help him. The elf was dead before Boromir could tell him that he was truly sorry. With a resolute face, he picked up the fallen elf's quiver, and unbuckled Gabrielin's bow from his back, heading up to Rohirrim at the ramparts, shooting as he went.

"Brace the gate!" Gamling shouted as Aragorn and Gimli arrived on the scene. Théoden was backing up from the melee at the gate, clutching his shoulder.

"Make way! We cannot hold much longer." Gamling looked at the king.

"Hold them!" He was solid in his decision that they should not give up just yet. Aragorn shouted to him.

"How long do you need?" Théoden looked at him as if he were mad.

"As long as you can give me!" Aragorn grabbed Gimli's shoulder, and dragged him out a side door. Behind them, they could hear commands being shouted.

"Timbers! Brace the Gate!" Aragorn and Gimli peered around the ledge.

"Come on! We can take 'em!" Aragorn looked warily at the dwarf.

"It's a long way."

"Toss me." Aragorn gave him a funny look

"What?"

"I cannot jump the distance! You'll have to toss me!" he thought about this for a moment, and then said. "Oh! Don't tell the Gondorian." Aragorn smiled.

"Not a word."

On the other side of the fray, timbers were being brought to shore the door. As the last timber is about to be put in place, Théoden shouted through the door.

"Gimli! Aragorn! Get out of there!" Boromir shouted from the rampart, throwing down a rope.

"Aragorn!" The Dunadan grabbed the rope one handed and grabbed Gimli, still hacking away with no mercy to the last man. As he pulled them up, Boromir looked at the huge ladders being pulled into place. He pulled the duo the last remaining feet, and looked at Aragorn. The older man smiled.

"Did I tell you yet you didn't have to stay? Gondor needs its captain heir." Boromir looked at Aragorn, and smiled wearily.

"Rohan needs the captain heir more now; a symbol of the friendship between the two if he should die or live." Aragorn considered this while Boromir took another arrow, aimed, fired, and snapped one of the ropes hauling the ladder up, causing it to fall and squash another group of orcs.

"Pull everybody back! Pull them back!" Boromir heard the withdraw being yelled from the ramparts.

"Fall back! Fall back!"

"They've broken through! The castle is breached. Retreat!"

"Fall back!"

"Retreat!"

"Hurry! Inside! Get them inside!" Aragorn herded the remaining elves back, recalling the troops to the keep.

"Into the Keep!" Boromir, running half backwards, fired behind him as he went and the doors of the keep closed behind him.

Théoden watched his men shore up the doors with tables, looking hopeless.

"The fortress is taken. It is over." Aragorn put the table he and Boromir were carrying at the doors, and looked at him.

"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it! They still defend it! They have died defending it!" He looked at the king. "Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" There was and uncomfortable silence. "Is there no other way?" Gamling spoke, wringing his gloved hands

"There is one passage. It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far. The Uruk-hai are too many." Aragorn shoved this aside with the knowledge that at least some would survive what would become a blood bath.

"Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass. And barricade the entrance." Théoden appeared to be in a trance.

"So much death. What can men do against such reckless hate?" Aragorn looked at him.

"Ride out with me. Ride out and meet them." The king's weary eyes shone with determination.

"For death and glory?"

"For Rohan. For your people." Boromir peered out the window, through which streamed the dawn's first light.

"The sun is rising." Théoden got up, empowered with the idea.

"Yes. Yes! The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep one last time!" Gimli ran to mount the stone steps to the great horn. Théoden turned to Aragorn. "Let this be the hour when we draw swords together. Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath! Now for ruin! And a red dawn!" Grimly, he put his helmet on, the joy of battle running clean in his veins again. As they mounted up, the horn rang with a bellow of war, and the gates crashed open with a great roar.

"FORTH EORLINGAS!!" Théoden lead the charge out of the gates, through the Hornburg, slashing fiercely as he went. Without second thought or glace, they rode through the sea of orcs to the causeway below, pushing orcs this way and that as they rode. Beside him, Boromir saw Aragorn look to the east, a white light rising on the ridge. The Dunadan echoed what Boromir was thinking.

"Gandalf." The wizard said something, and another rider came up behind him; and behind their captain, even more. The marshal raised a hand. "Rohirrim!! To the king!" Théoden looked up in amazement.

"Éomer?" The riders and wizard charged down the slope, blinding the Uruks and rendering the ravine into a blood bath. Théoden, momentarily stunned, rode through the ranks, hacking, chopping and slicing as he went with vigour and hope renewed.

Looking at the killing field later, littered with wood splinters, forgotten weapons, and the acrid stench of burning orc flesh, Gandalf spoke.

"Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift. The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-earth is about to begin. All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits. Somewhere in the wilderness." Aragorn looked from Gandalf to Boromir, tousle haired and weary, watching the light play off the orc sword in his hands. The big man looked close to collapse.

"Boromir, you should sleep. Go get some rest." Boromir shook his head.

"I should help with the dead." He gestured with a sweep of his head to the crew of riders with shovels, burying the fallen. Aragorn sighed.

"Boromir, as your friend, your brother, and least importantly, your king, I command you to get some sleep."

"It shall be as my lord commands." Boromir's shoulders slumped with reluctantly shown fatigue, and he walked back to the castle, casting the sword aside as he went.

Aragorn was sleeping soundly in the room where he and Boromir were bunking for the night when he heard a strangled yell.

Boromir was sitting bare-chested and upright, sweat streaming down his tanned skin, gasping for breath.

"Boromir, what is it? What ails your dreams of late?"

"He saw me, Aragorn. He saw me, and spoke to me, and tempted me, and I refused him."

"Calm down, brother, and tell me of your dream." Boromir took a steadying breath, and began.

"I was walking in a desert...no, it could not have been a desert, for all was black and dying. It was swirling oblivion, a shadow realm, with fen and fell mists creeping about like souls ...seeking release ...in the deepest circles of hell. And then...I saw the Eye...more terrible than can be imagined. He said to me, You could be a king...I can give you rule over all lands...nations will bow at your feet, and people will worship your name. I told him that the king was coming, and I did not want lordships. He offered me the love of the most beautiful woman in the world, but I told him that I had what love I wanted, and that was enough...then he took me to Minas Tirith, and stood me on the rampart of the city, and said, if you would worship me, and you fell from this tower, I would save you. Would your friends be able to do that? I told him no, but if I fell, then my loss would be mourned, and that was enough for me. The eye, Aragorn, was displeased, but I was close to breaking...I am weak...."

"Did he ask anything else of you?" Aragorn pressed on.

"He showed me Rhoswen...and said that he would kill her if I did not submit...he filled my mind's eye with her corpse and her screams...but I couldn't give in. Rhos told me something...her voice was the only pure thing in my dream."

"What did she say?"

"Something she said before I left Osgiliath...I understand now why you have never loved before; to put a woman before your country could mean death for everyone. It is better that one die than have all perish, and I would rather die a tortured death than be the reason Gondor falls. So I said... 'This woman would die for Gondor; kill her, if that is your wish.' And he shrieked, and I woke...I cannot think he killed her, I cannot!" Boromir put his face in his hands, and Aragorn laid an arm around his shoulders.

"It is good to know that your lady thinks as such. But Sauron is not called the lord of lies for nothing. All he offered you was air, and you passed his test- you are not as weak as he supposed when you succumbed to the ring's pull. My faith in you is none the worse, either. And for your nightmares you have shown that Gabrielin's sacrifice was none the misplaced."

"But I feel as if I have failed... I feel weak, for letting it happen." Aragorn could not help but wonder whether it was Gabrielin's death to which he was referring, or his recently established communicance with the Nameless Bane of Men.

"Sauron has dark devices in plenty, and the question of your strength is not an issue, as I have told you countless times for your melancholy. Now go back to sleep, and may you find better sailing in your dreams." Both men sunk into their beds, and closed their eyes, but what either dreamt stayed in their thoughts alone, for neither stirred after that.

-*-*-*-*

Ahh...Boromir shirtless...a very pleasing thought.

Anyway...I think all thanks have been given and dully noted.

In reviews (which I know you'll give me because you are nice people) I would like you to tell me specifically what it was you liked, if I can improve, how I can improve, and what I can improve on.

Thank you for your continued cooperation and support.