Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to
Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to
J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.
************************
THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter Eight: Grim Tidings
At length the Lady Galadriel released them from her eyes, and she smiled. "Do not let your hearts be troubled," she said. "Tonight you shall sleep in peace."
~J.R.R. Tolkien
************************
The rain outside showed no sign of letting up any time soon. Archer stood at the door, gazing out into the tempest, and sighed heavily. Already darkness stretched across the land, further obscuring any view into the surrounding countryside. He disliked this utter defenselessness, no warning whatsoever of any danger coming up the valley outside.
Behind him, the search team lounged around a crackling fire built with the remains of some of the old chests. They hadn't liked to break up the ancient boxes, but as the practical Crewman Johnson pointed out, there was nothing except old, illegible papers inside them, and those were mostly crumbled into dust. Archer had examined some of the larger fragments, illogically hoping to find some clue about what had happened to his officers, but he found nothing but long lines in an alphabet he couldn't even being to understand. The curving, graceful letters struck him as very beautiful, as if the writer had been a great artist as well. Only one fragment proved to be anything he could understand, and that was a corner of what appeared to be a map of the area, with the ruin they were presently in sketched out in some detail.
But the little map didn't offer very much help at all, since each place name was carefully labeled in the same unintelligible language. He smiled wryly, wondering why he had expected to find anything he could understand. Even Hoshi couldn't decipher a written language without some magic Rosetta Stone or some remnant of the original language preserved.
With a heavy sigh he turned away from the door and went to sit next to Trip, who didn't even look up from the fire. The engineer's eyes were clouded and weary-looking, but he hardly even blinked.
"Trip?" asked Archer, voice low so the security team, engaged in a somewhat subdued game of hearts, didn't hear. "Are you all right?"
Trip shook his head and blinked. "I can't figure out where they went, that's all. How do two people just disappear, Jon?" He looked up at his friend for a long moment and then sighed, gazing back into the crackling fire.
"You couldn't have known anything was going to happen," said Archer softly. "No one knew. There was absolutely nothing to indicate any sort of danger. Nothing at all."
"I know," said Trip. "I just..." He spread his hands helplessly, shaking his head. "I just wish there was something more we could do."
"Yeah, me too," said Archer. "But we are doing something anyway. We'll find them, Trip, eventually." He thought, but didn't add, alive or dead. "Come on, let's get some sleep."
"Doubt I'll be able to sleep," said Trip. "I haven't gotten much since Liz.... and now, with Malcolm and Hoshi."
"Well, just rest your eyes," Archer told him. "You'll feel better even if you don't actually sleep at all."
Trip nodded, and despite his claims of insomnia was soon snoring away with one of the field blankets tangled around his legs. Archer, however, sat up until all of the security crewmen headed to bed and even then, he did not drowse, staring awake into the darkness.
********************
"I don't believe it!" cried Malcolm, clambering up the steps in such haste that he nearly fell on his face. "How did you survive that fall?" He gazed at the bedraggled man sitting on the steps of the citadel in awe, hardly able to trust the sight of his eyes. Ten minutes ago a great clamor of cheers had gone up from the people by the front gate, but Malcolm had been all the way on the other side of the fortress and only able to reach Aragorn now.
Aragorn, face lined with weariness, cradling his arm as Éowyn tended to the bloody wound on his shoulder, merely shook his head. "I don't know, my friend. Brego, Théodred's horse, found me in the wilderness, half-dead from wound and water. If not for him, I would surely have perished."
Around them women and children streamed into the caves, speaking in low murmurs. "It is very lucky for us that you did not," said Malcolm, moving out of the their way. Éowyn gave him a quick smile as she finished and stood up.
"You will not think so when you see with your own eyes Saruman's army," said Aragorn. He got to his feet and flexed his arm, wincing slightly but quickly hiding it at Éowyn's disapproving look. "Ten thousand Uruk-hai. All bred merely to kill Men and nothing more." He nodded towards the line of men and boys waiting outside the armory and gripped Malcolm's shoulder briefly. "Come, we must get them armed."
*******************
Even Malcolm could tell that the weapons in the armory were little more than garbage. Chipped and rusted swords, ancient, brittle bows and arrows so old the fletching had fallen off, dented helmets---these were the weapons of last resort.
Yet what was this, if not last resort? Malcolm thought wryly. Faced against ten thousand orcs, with no help to hope for, what other choice did they have? His own sword was old but in much better repair, having been from the armory of the well-equipped Edoras. Not that it really mattered, since he was little better than a beginner at the sword anyway; he would have to trust to luck if it came down to hand-to-hand combat.
Aragorn had evidently reached the same conclusions about the poor weaponry, because he tossed the battered sword in his hand back onto the table with a look of disgust. "Farmers, farriers, stable boys," he said to Gimli, Legolas, and Malcolm. "These are no soldiers!"
"Most have seen too many winters!" Gimli said.
"Or too few," added Legolas. His pale eyes swept over the room, taking in the improbable army of men young and old, all untrained and untested for war. "Look at them. They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes." The room went silent as all the Men stared at the Elf in surprise. "Boe a hyn: neled herain... dan caer menig!?" said Legolas derisively. Malcolm had no idea what the Elf had said, but Aragorn's eyes flashed dangerously.
"Si beriathar hËn ammaeg nâ ned Edoras." Aragorn's tone seemed calm but his face belied his irritation. Malcolm wished Hoshi were here to translate, although he really had no idea if she knew whatever language they spoke.
Legolas' jaw worked, his lips thinning in anger. The usually calm and collected Elf's shoulders were tense with fury, like a coiled snake about to spring. "Aragorn, nedin dagor hen ú-'erir ortheri. Natha daged dhaer!" he spat.*
"Then I shall die as one of them!" cried Aragorn. The room went silent once more and with a disgusted exhalation Aragorn strode out of the room, eyes blazing. Legolas started after him, but Gimli put his hand on the Elf's arm, keeping him still.
"Let him go, lad," said the Dwarf. "Let him be."
"What did you say to him?" asked Malcolm, stunned by what had just taken place. Legolas merely shook his head.
"I underestimated his loyalty to his people," said Legolas. "I will say no more than that."
Malcolm saw the Elf's blue eyes flicker and knew there was more to it than Legolas admitted. "You're afraid," he said softly.
Legolas' head whipped around. "What did you say?"
"Ten thousand Uruk-hai," said Malcolm. "You fear what will happen this night." For a split second Legolas merely stared at him, and Malcolm wished desperately that he knew how to keep his mouth shut. "I am too," he added. "Ten thousand of those things? ONE of them nearly killed me once before. The odds are abysmal." He didn't want to keep talking, but something inside had cracked and he could not stop. "We may not last the night. We may all die before this reckless hate brought by Saruman to our doorstep!" Malcolm chuckled, though he saw nothing funny about any of it. "I'm not even supposed to be here! This isn't my world!" His breath caught in his chest as he thought of Enterprise, and suddenly he could not breathe at all. For a moment he struggled to bring air back to his lungs as the world around him blurred and darkened. Finally he gasped and oxygen flooded into his chest.
He realized he was sitting on the ground with Gimli sharply whacking his back and Legolas' hands gripping both of his shoulders. "You are very brave, Malcolm Reed, to fight for a world that is not your own," said Legolas firmly as Malcolm's shoulders slumped, his breath finally coming easily. "Do not believe otherwise."
"Are you all right, lad?" said Gimli, coming around to face him. "Were you hurt earlier? Lady Éowyn will fix you up if you need it."
Malcolm felt his cheeks redden; silly to have a panic attack, when he'd lived through an Uruk-hai's assault and a Warg raid, silly to be brought down by fear. As if he heard Malcolm's thoughts, Legolas said, "The rigors of the mind may prove more deadly than any injury, Gimli." Standing up, he held out a hand to Malcolm and pulled the still-shaky man to his feet. "You speak truth, my friend, and I was blind to it. I do fear what will happen this night... much as I do not like to admit it."
"We will fight," said Gimli. "That is what will happen this night." He grinned wickedly and gripped his ax with both hands. "Ha!! Bring them to my ax and they will feel the might of a Dwarf!"
"More will fall to my bow," said Legolas, smiling. "Nothing that a Dwarf does can an Elf not do better!"
"Is that a wager?" cried Gimli. "Let us count the score, then, and we shall see who is more fit for battle, an Elf or a Dwarf!"
Malcolm laughed and shook his head. "I will stay out of this wager," he said. "You two have the advantage on me any day."
"We will all do our share and more beyond!" cried Gimli, eyes alight with excitement. "You will have as many victories as any other man here tonight, lad. And many songs will be sung about this night, and they will proclaim how great is the might of the Dwarves!"
Malcolm shook his head again, chuckling, and went to the door. The sun outside was setting, casting deep shadows over the fortress. Soon it would be dark. He could hear the women and children murmuring and scuffling outside as the last of them went into the caves. "I'm going to go find Hoshi," he called to the still-arguing Legolas and Gimli, and went up the stairs behind the last of the women.
Éowyn stood at the entrance to the caves, pointing people to an empty place to sit. When she saw Malcolm she quickly directed the last group away and ran over to him. "What is wrong with Hoshi?" she asked, eyes wide. "She barely spoke to me at all this whole afternoon, and she moves as if she is in a dream."
Malcolm followed her gaze to the dark-haired woman at the far end of the cave, currently carefully helping an elderly woman settle herself. She was moving rather slowly and hesitantly, and though he could not see quite well enough to confirm, she didn't appear to be speaking either, just mechanically putting things in order. As he watched she finished and went on to a mother and three tiny children perched between a pair of stalagmites. "She is kind and helpful as always," said Éowyn, "but silent and stony at the same time. What did you say to her?"
"I don't think I said anything that would make her react this way," Malcolm replied, not taking his eyes from Hoshi. "I apologized for going off with the warriors and she didn't say anything. I thought she was angry. I asked her what she wanted me to say and she simply got up and walked off." But he remembered her blank gaze, and remembered the confusion in her eyes. She had not seemed to know him.
"I don't know," said Éowyn. "I shall try to speak to her tonight, if I can." She glanced quickly over her shoulder, out to the fortress proper, to the quickly falling twilight.
A horn blew outside, a very strange horn that did not sound like any horn Malcolm had ever heard before. Éowyn's eyes widened in surprise. "What is it?' Malcolm asked.
"Elves!" she said, running past him. Malcolm followed quickly, and they gazed over the edge of the parapet to see a line of elegant, cloaked warriors marching up to the gate. He gazed at them in wonder, for he was used to Legolas by now but had never seen any other Elves. "They come to fight! Look, they are armored," said Éowyn. "I have glimpsed Elves in the forests, and sometimes when they pass through our lands they visit Edoras, but never are they clad in the gear of battle."
A surge of relief swelled in Malcolm's chest; perhaps there was some hope for this night after all. "If they are half the fighters Legolas is, they are very welcome indeed."
Éowyn smiled. "Hope remains," she said, and turned away, heading for the caves once more. "Good luck this night, Malcolm Reed," she added.
"Good luck to us all," he whispered when she had gone, and with one last look at the dark valley before him, went to find Aragorn to see what he should do in the battle.
*******************
Shoot. Reload. Shoot. Reload. Shoot. Grab more arrows. Reload. Shoot.
He hardly knew how long they had been standing atop this wall, he was hardly conscious of anything except the seething mass of orcs and Uruk-Hai below. The battle drums pounded in his mind and the cries of the dying echoed in his ears. The iron tang of blood and the dampness of rain mingled in his mouth and nose; the water from the storm dripped from the edge of his ill-fitting helmet.
The wall exploded, and Malcolm wondered at it briefly.... he did not know they had gunpowder. But he did not have time to peruse it further, because orcs poured in through the gap and he had to shoot but aim carefully so he did not hit any of the Men or Elves mixed amongst the Uruk-hai. Aim, shoot, reload, aim, shoot... This was nothing like a battle in space. Nothing. And he hated it more than anything else in the world.
But he kept fighting.
The retreat had been sounded; they were fighting hand to hand in the keep now, no more arrows, just stab and turn, stab and turn, dodge, stab, kick, punch, duck, kill, run, start it over again. He dared not look out to the valley and see how many were left. So many Uruk-hai out there, just waiting until they could actually get close enough to kill the weary Men and Elves in Helm's Deep. Such terrifying, relentless hate---he wanted to stop and just lay down, let it all pass away into the darkness, be washed away by the rain...
Théoden shouted at the men to get inside the keep, quickly now, hurry, hurry... Malcolm saw and moved without thinking between the king and an Orc that rushed toward his back, throwing the old man out of the way and blocking the vicious blow of the Orc's sword with a violent, desperate parry. He had done this now so many times that he simply let instinct take over fighting the Orc.
But he had battled too hard, fought too long with exhausted arms, and was simply too slow. The Orc blade slid home, crunching through his ribs and into the left side of his chest with uncanny accuracy. For a moment pain exploded through him, as he looked down dumbly at the crude black blade. In an instant that seemed like a lifetime he toppled to the ground, his sword clattering loudly on the stones.
And there he stayed, eyes wide and unblinking, staring up at the first rays of dawn that streaked red through the clouds. Aragorn passed by, quickly falling back as per order, and saw nothing within those pale blue eyes; gently, in a stolen moment of quiet while the battle raged around him, he closed them and retreated back to safety inside the keep.
The first light of the sun shone through the clouds, and the darkness was no more.
****************** * Translation: Legolas: "And they should be...three hundred against ten thousand!" Aragorn: "They have a better chance defending themselves here than in Edoras." Legolas: "They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!"
************************
THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter Eight: Grim Tidings
At length the Lady Galadriel released them from her eyes, and she smiled. "Do not let your hearts be troubled," she said. "Tonight you shall sleep in peace."
~J.R.R. Tolkien
************************
The rain outside showed no sign of letting up any time soon. Archer stood at the door, gazing out into the tempest, and sighed heavily. Already darkness stretched across the land, further obscuring any view into the surrounding countryside. He disliked this utter defenselessness, no warning whatsoever of any danger coming up the valley outside.
Behind him, the search team lounged around a crackling fire built with the remains of some of the old chests. They hadn't liked to break up the ancient boxes, but as the practical Crewman Johnson pointed out, there was nothing except old, illegible papers inside them, and those were mostly crumbled into dust. Archer had examined some of the larger fragments, illogically hoping to find some clue about what had happened to his officers, but he found nothing but long lines in an alphabet he couldn't even being to understand. The curving, graceful letters struck him as very beautiful, as if the writer had been a great artist as well. Only one fragment proved to be anything he could understand, and that was a corner of what appeared to be a map of the area, with the ruin they were presently in sketched out in some detail.
But the little map didn't offer very much help at all, since each place name was carefully labeled in the same unintelligible language. He smiled wryly, wondering why he had expected to find anything he could understand. Even Hoshi couldn't decipher a written language without some magic Rosetta Stone or some remnant of the original language preserved.
With a heavy sigh he turned away from the door and went to sit next to Trip, who didn't even look up from the fire. The engineer's eyes were clouded and weary-looking, but he hardly even blinked.
"Trip?" asked Archer, voice low so the security team, engaged in a somewhat subdued game of hearts, didn't hear. "Are you all right?"
Trip shook his head and blinked. "I can't figure out where they went, that's all. How do two people just disappear, Jon?" He looked up at his friend for a long moment and then sighed, gazing back into the crackling fire.
"You couldn't have known anything was going to happen," said Archer softly. "No one knew. There was absolutely nothing to indicate any sort of danger. Nothing at all."
"I know," said Trip. "I just..." He spread his hands helplessly, shaking his head. "I just wish there was something more we could do."
"Yeah, me too," said Archer. "But we are doing something anyway. We'll find them, Trip, eventually." He thought, but didn't add, alive or dead. "Come on, let's get some sleep."
"Doubt I'll be able to sleep," said Trip. "I haven't gotten much since Liz.... and now, with Malcolm and Hoshi."
"Well, just rest your eyes," Archer told him. "You'll feel better even if you don't actually sleep at all."
Trip nodded, and despite his claims of insomnia was soon snoring away with one of the field blankets tangled around his legs. Archer, however, sat up until all of the security crewmen headed to bed and even then, he did not drowse, staring awake into the darkness.
********************
"I don't believe it!" cried Malcolm, clambering up the steps in such haste that he nearly fell on his face. "How did you survive that fall?" He gazed at the bedraggled man sitting on the steps of the citadel in awe, hardly able to trust the sight of his eyes. Ten minutes ago a great clamor of cheers had gone up from the people by the front gate, but Malcolm had been all the way on the other side of the fortress and only able to reach Aragorn now.
Aragorn, face lined with weariness, cradling his arm as Éowyn tended to the bloody wound on his shoulder, merely shook his head. "I don't know, my friend. Brego, Théodred's horse, found me in the wilderness, half-dead from wound and water. If not for him, I would surely have perished."
Around them women and children streamed into the caves, speaking in low murmurs. "It is very lucky for us that you did not," said Malcolm, moving out of the their way. Éowyn gave him a quick smile as she finished and stood up.
"You will not think so when you see with your own eyes Saruman's army," said Aragorn. He got to his feet and flexed his arm, wincing slightly but quickly hiding it at Éowyn's disapproving look. "Ten thousand Uruk-hai. All bred merely to kill Men and nothing more." He nodded towards the line of men and boys waiting outside the armory and gripped Malcolm's shoulder briefly. "Come, we must get them armed."
*******************
Even Malcolm could tell that the weapons in the armory were little more than garbage. Chipped and rusted swords, ancient, brittle bows and arrows so old the fletching had fallen off, dented helmets---these were the weapons of last resort.
Yet what was this, if not last resort? Malcolm thought wryly. Faced against ten thousand orcs, with no help to hope for, what other choice did they have? His own sword was old but in much better repair, having been from the armory of the well-equipped Edoras. Not that it really mattered, since he was little better than a beginner at the sword anyway; he would have to trust to luck if it came down to hand-to-hand combat.
Aragorn had evidently reached the same conclusions about the poor weaponry, because he tossed the battered sword in his hand back onto the table with a look of disgust. "Farmers, farriers, stable boys," he said to Gimli, Legolas, and Malcolm. "These are no soldiers!"
"Most have seen too many winters!" Gimli said.
"Or too few," added Legolas. His pale eyes swept over the room, taking in the improbable army of men young and old, all untrained and untested for war. "Look at them. They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes." The room went silent as all the Men stared at the Elf in surprise. "Boe a hyn: neled herain... dan caer menig!?" said Legolas derisively. Malcolm had no idea what the Elf had said, but Aragorn's eyes flashed dangerously.
"Si beriathar hËn ammaeg nâ ned Edoras." Aragorn's tone seemed calm but his face belied his irritation. Malcolm wished Hoshi were here to translate, although he really had no idea if she knew whatever language they spoke.
Legolas' jaw worked, his lips thinning in anger. The usually calm and collected Elf's shoulders were tense with fury, like a coiled snake about to spring. "Aragorn, nedin dagor hen ú-'erir ortheri. Natha daged dhaer!" he spat.*
"Then I shall die as one of them!" cried Aragorn. The room went silent once more and with a disgusted exhalation Aragorn strode out of the room, eyes blazing. Legolas started after him, but Gimli put his hand on the Elf's arm, keeping him still.
"Let him go, lad," said the Dwarf. "Let him be."
"What did you say to him?" asked Malcolm, stunned by what had just taken place. Legolas merely shook his head.
"I underestimated his loyalty to his people," said Legolas. "I will say no more than that."
Malcolm saw the Elf's blue eyes flicker and knew there was more to it than Legolas admitted. "You're afraid," he said softly.
Legolas' head whipped around. "What did you say?"
"Ten thousand Uruk-hai," said Malcolm. "You fear what will happen this night." For a split second Legolas merely stared at him, and Malcolm wished desperately that he knew how to keep his mouth shut. "I am too," he added. "Ten thousand of those things? ONE of them nearly killed me once before. The odds are abysmal." He didn't want to keep talking, but something inside had cracked and he could not stop. "We may not last the night. We may all die before this reckless hate brought by Saruman to our doorstep!" Malcolm chuckled, though he saw nothing funny about any of it. "I'm not even supposed to be here! This isn't my world!" His breath caught in his chest as he thought of Enterprise, and suddenly he could not breathe at all. For a moment he struggled to bring air back to his lungs as the world around him blurred and darkened. Finally he gasped and oxygen flooded into his chest.
He realized he was sitting on the ground with Gimli sharply whacking his back and Legolas' hands gripping both of his shoulders. "You are very brave, Malcolm Reed, to fight for a world that is not your own," said Legolas firmly as Malcolm's shoulders slumped, his breath finally coming easily. "Do not believe otherwise."
"Are you all right, lad?" said Gimli, coming around to face him. "Were you hurt earlier? Lady Éowyn will fix you up if you need it."
Malcolm felt his cheeks redden; silly to have a panic attack, when he'd lived through an Uruk-hai's assault and a Warg raid, silly to be brought down by fear. As if he heard Malcolm's thoughts, Legolas said, "The rigors of the mind may prove more deadly than any injury, Gimli." Standing up, he held out a hand to Malcolm and pulled the still-shaky man to his feet. "You speak truth, my friend, and I was blind to it. I do fear what will happen this night... much as I do not like to admit it."
"We will fight," said Gimli. "That is what will happen this night." He grinned wickedly and gripped his ax with both hands. "Ha!! Bring them to my ax and they will feel the might of a Dwarf!"
"More will fall to my bow," said Legolas, smiling. "Nothing that a Dwarf does can an Elf not do better!"
"Is that a wager?" cried Gimli. "Let us count the score, then, and we shall see who is more fit for battle, an Elf or a Dwarf!"
Malcolm laughed and shook his head. "I will stay out of this wager," he said. "You two have the advantage on me any day."
"We will all do our share and more beyond!" cried Gimli, eyes alight with excitement. "You will have as many victories as any other man here tonight, lad. And many songs will be sung about this night, and they will proclaim how great is the might of the Dwarves!"
Malcolm shook his head again, chuckling, and went to the door. The sun outside was setting, casting deep shadows over the fortress. Soon it would be dark. He could hear the women and children murmuring and scuffling outside as the last of them went into the caves. "I'm going to go find Hoshi," he called to the still-arguing Legolas and Gimli, and went up the stairs behind the last of the women.
Éowyn stood at the entrance to the caves, pointing people to an empty place to sit. When she saw Malcolm she quickly directed the last group away and ran over to him. "What is wrong with Hoshi?" she asked, eyes wide. "She barely spoke to me at all this whole afternoon, and she moves as if she is in a dream."
Malcolm followed her gaze to the dark-haired woman at the far end of the cave, currently carefully helping an elderly woman settle herself. She was moving rather slowly and hesitantly, and though he could not see quite well enough to confirm, she didn't appear to be speaking either, just mechanically putting things in order. As he watched she finished and went on to a mother and three tiny children perched between a pair of stalagmites. "She is kind and helpful as always," said Éowyn, "but silent and stony at the same time. What did you say to her?"
"I don't think I said anything that would make her react this way," Malcolm replied, not taking his eyes from Hoshi. "I apologized for going off with the warriors and she didn't say anything. I thought she was angry. I asked her what she wanted me to say and she simply got up and walked off." But he remembered her blank gaze, and remembered the confusion in her eyes. She had not seemed to know him.
"I don't know," said Éowyn. "I shall try to speak to her tonight, if I can." She glanced quickly over her shoulder, out to the fortress proper, to the quickly falling twilight.
A horn blew outside, a very strange horn that did not sound like any horn Malcolm had ever heard before. Éowyn's eyes widened in surprise. "What is it?' Malcolm asked.
"Elves!" she said, running past him. Malcolm followed quickly, and they gazed over the edge of the parapet to see a line of elegant, cloaked warriors marching up to the gate. He gazed at them in wonder, for he was used to Legolas by now but had never seen any other Elves. "They come to fight! Look, they are armored," said Éowyn. "I have glimpsed Elves in the forests, and sometimes when they pass through our lands they visit Edoras, but never are they clad in the gear of battle."
A surge of relief swelled in Malcolm's chest; perhaps there was some hope for this night after all. "If they are half the fighters Legolas is, they are very welcome indeed."
Éowyn smiled. "Hope remains," she said, and turned away, heading for the caves once more. "Good luck this night, Malcolm Reed," she added.
"Good luck to us all," he whispered when she had gone, and with one last look at the dark valley before him, went to find Aragorn to see what he should do in the battle.
*******************
Shoot. Reload. Shoot. Reload. Shoot. Grab more arrows. Reload. Shoot.
He hardly knew how long they had been standing atop this wall, he was hardly conscious of anything except the seething mass of orcs and Uruk-Hai below. The battle drums pounded in his mind and the cries of the dying echoed in his ears. The iron tang of blood and the dampness of rain mingled in his mouth and nose; the water from the storm dripped from the edge of his ill-fitting helmet.
The wall exploded, and Malcolm wondered at it briefly.... he did not know they had gunpowder. But he did not have time to peruse it further, because orcs poured in through the gap and he had to shoot but aim carefully so he did not hit any of the Men or Elves mixed amongst the Uruk-hai. Aim, shoot, reload, aim, shoot... This was nothing like a battle in space. Nothing. And he hated it more than anything else in the world.
But he kept fighting.
The retreat had been sounded; they were fighting hand to hand in the keep now, no more arrows, just stab and turn, stab and turn, dodge, stab, kick, punch, duck, kill, run, start it over again. He dared not look out to the valley and see how many were left. So many Uruk-hai out there, just waiting until they could actually get close enough to kill the weary Men and Elves in Helm's Deep. Such terrifying, relentless hate---he wanted to stop and just lay down, let it all pass away into the darkness, be washed away by the rain...
Théoden shouted at the men to get inside the keep, quickly now, hurry, hurry... Malcolm saw and moved without thinking between the king and an Orc that rushed toward his back, throwing the old man out of the way and blocking the vicious blow of the Orc's sword with a violent, desperate parry. He had done this now so many times that he simply let instinct take over fighting the Orc.
But he had battled too hard, fought too long with exhausted arms, and was simply too slow. The Orc blade slid home, crunching through his ribs and into the left side of his chest with uncanny accuracy. For a moment pain exploded through him, as he looked down dumbly at the crude black blade. In an instant that seemed like a lifetime he toppled to the ground, his sword clattering loudly on the stones.
And there he stayed, eyes wide and unblinking, staring up at the first rays of dawn that streaked red through the clouds. Aragorn passed by, quickly falling back as per order, and saw nothing within those pale blue eyes; gently, in a stolen moment of quiet while the battle raged around him, he closed them and retreated back to safety inside the keep.
The first light of the sun shone through the clouds, and the darkness was no more.
****************** * Translation: Legolas: "And they should be...three hundred against ten thousand!" Aragorn: "They have a better chance defending themselves here than in Edoras." Legolas: "They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!"