Marie: Ah! This is my favorite chapter! Read.

Yelling, shouting, clanging, smashing, crashing, pushing, shoving, punching, stabbing. The whole scene was a mass of organized chaos with small charges here and miniscule battles lost and won there. Rannyn thought one could lose himself in such a conflict as this. He found it hard to keep track of who was winning and who was losing, although he had an idea of what the outcome was probably going to be. He did not wish to be negative about the whole thing but it was a little hard not to.

Slam!

He was rammed into the wall by a nearby orc and ducked only just in time to miss having his head lobbed off by an Uruk's blade. He certainly didn't have time to sit around thinking. The enemy was definitely keeping him on his toes. He quickly got the advantage against his assailant, stabbing him clean through the middle. Moving on to his next attacker he kept on fighting, wondering if and when it would end. When the rare moments came where he could look about him all he saw was death. Bodies were everywhere, piling up with each moment. Orcs, Elves, and Men were all dying on the same walls, their spilled blood pooling together on the stone floor.

After successfully living through another close encounter, Rannyn looked up to see Blaennyn fighting not too far from him. He had to admit that the young man had fire and he seemed to be doing alright for the time being. Cadoc, on the other hand, looked a little out of breath, but was surviving. Rannyn started to try and work his way over to the man. He saw that though the Uruks were larger, they weren't too much smarter than your average orc. Sure they had a shred more intelligence but they were still severely lacking in the brains department.

But after a while Rannyn began to think he may have doubted their capability in winning.

Maybe I underestimated them…

So many had fallen already and he was beginning to feel his energy level going down. A man could only take so much. He slaughtered another orc that tried to take him out and then, not bothering to stop in-between, moved on to the next. It seemed a never ending cycle- kill one orc, kill another, and another. It looked as if there was an unending supply of them.

Is it just me or does there seem to be more of them now?

Suddenly an explosion rocked the whole place, causing him to be thrown painfully to the ground. After a few moments of just lying there he gingerly pushed himself up from the ground and onto his feet. He quickly found his sword and looked in the direction of the blast, only to find it was not a pretty sight. Helm's Deep was breeched.

Totally unaware of the battle that was going on above her, Threwen had her eyes fixed upon the vision before her. Pale was the face and slow was the approach that belonged to one man, one creature, one thing which could strike so much terror in her heart as to make her want to break down and cry, to give up all hope and give in to the despair. She didn't know what to do. Her brief surge of strength that had come with the insolence towards Saruman, her small short victory in not being afraid of the wizard and the thrill and adrenaline rush that went along with it, was now leaving her, quickly slipping through her fingers as if it were grains of sand.

She took a step back. He loomed closer, moving forward. Soon she found herself next to a wall. She was trapped. Through the mist the Rider advanced, slowly but surely, toward his prey. Though she hated being weak she felt herself trembling.

I'm such a coward. He's dead. He can't be here. There's no possible way for him to be alive… He was closer now. She could see him… But he's a Dark Rider, he's a servant of Saruman, he's neither as stupid as an orc nor as cold as a Ringwraith, and he is in league with a wizard, a magician, a sorcerer. This was a man, now brought back from the dead for one sole purpose –to destroy her.

"Messenger," it rasped, coming closer and closer with every step of its feet.

Wait. Feet…feet?

Threwen looked down and blinked. He had no feet. It was like he was floating on the air. Surely a man raised from the dead would still have his feet. This new development at first made her think she had hope. This was another trick by that conjurer, Saruman. But then another thought struck her.

He must be a ghost…

This was worse and Threwen felt her blood run cold. If he was a ghost then he couldn't be destroyed. He was invincible and there was nothing she possessed or presently had in her power to defeat him. She felt regret, she felt anger, she felt sorrow, and she felt despair. Leaning heavily against the wall, her hand still clutching her throbbing, agonizing shoulder, she let herself slowly slide down to the ground, waiting for her doom.

So this is the end. I am to die, killed in the hands of the ghost, a specter, a spirit. He's a messenger of death.

She had to marvel at Saruman's gruesome sense of humor. She had been his Messenger, his way of contacting his spies, his only way of communication. Now the Dark Rider was his Messenger and his message to her was death.

As if he carried an air of morbidness, Threwen could sense the Rider's nearing presence without looking up. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to figure out how it would happen. Would he use a sword? Could ghosts use swords? Maybe he would simply poof her away and that would be the end of her existence. She wasn't sure what the usual method of killing spirits used. A few moments passed and she chanced a look up.

"Messenger…"

The eyes. Don't look at the eyes. They capture you under his spell. He'll get inside your head like the last time…

Like last time. She thought about that for a moment. How had he looked last time? His eyes were dark and evil, burning with the hatred Saruman had instilled in him. Now they were simply cloudy, glazed over with a look of death. He had also had feet, but she had already established that their absence was because he was a ghost. He had had a dark cloak and…

Wait…he never had any armor like that…

Threwen wondered if maybe she wasn't remembering right, but then she was sure. She knew what the Rider looked like. He had never had any armor whatsoever. She had sat staring at his body, unable to take her eyes away for several moments after what happened. The image was burned into her brain.

He has armor and that would mean that there's no…

The wound. The sword wound she had inflicted upon him. It wasn't there. There was only armor to replace it.

What is going on?

Suddenly it registered with her. This wasn't real. Saruman hadn't seen what the Rider had looked like. There were pieces missing so he filled them in. This was his magic. She had been right earlier. This Dark Rider was a vision, but that's all. No ghostly powers, no supernatural abilities. He was just an illusion. His only power was through Saruman. And that staff. He could be defeated.

Threwen's heart started racing faster, if that was possible, as she saw all the pieces falling into place. She knew what she had to do.

Break the staff. Break the staff. You break the staff, you break his spell.

A deep breath. And then she lunged. Her shoulder felt like fire and her vision was blurred but she kept on in the direction of the wizard. She dodged the Rider (although she supposed at later times that she could've just walked right through him) and raced toward Saruman. The look of surprise and utter shock on the old man's features was indescribable and gave Threwen more strength. She did what she only thought possible- she tackled him. Knocking him to the ground caused him to drop his staff, which slid away from his grasp. Though she knew her arm must feel like a thousand needles of pain she couldn't feel it. Her mission was the only thing that occupied her senses.

Grab it!

Threwen lurched toward and grasped the long rod with her hands, lifting it up. It was heavy and thick.

How am I going to break it? How am I going to break it?

She looked frantically about her, ever aware of the man struggling to stand up behind her, always noticing the seconds ticking by. She looked toward where the Rider was still standing. He hadn't moved at all, proving she had been right. The staff and the wizard controlled the creature. She gazed past that into the gloom.

The wall. The rock wall.

She raced toward, dragging the staff with her. Upon reaching it she took a deep breath and shifted the weight. She bit her lip, realizing how much of a sting it would cause her to strike the rock. The reverberations would cause excruciating pain and she knew it.

But I must be rid of this. This has to end.

She raised up the staff.

Saruman's eyes widened and he ran for her. "NO!'

But it was too late. The heavy rod struck the stone surface and Threwen cried out in pain, the resounding vibrations putting stress on all the torn muscles in her shoulder. She sunk to the ground. It was done. She felt blackness coming over her but not before seeing the staff near her, broken in two.

End Note: Happy now? I resolved her end. But what of battle above? Only the next chapter will tell.