Marie: This is the last chapter in The Messenger. I was going to do two instead of one, but it was so short that I decided to combine it.

Rannyn felt anger coursing through him. For Rohan. For Rohan. Those words would forever be etched in his memory. He stared down at the body of Caraedry, now motionless, limp. It was the body of a husband, a brother, a son, a friend, but what was now going through Rannyn's mind was one word that described him. Warrior. He had died defending his country, his people, and that will, that goal, would not die, not on that day.

Not while I have strength left.

He looked down at Threwen, who had tears slowly making trails down her face and Caraedry's head cradled in her lap, and he knew. He knew that he wouldn't let another person die when he could die in their stead. The young woman looked up at him, a strange light in her eye. There was sadness, but there was also strength. Her face seemed to echo the man's last words, as did everyone who had been around to hear them. Threwen saw Rannyn looking at her and nodded.

"Threwen…" he started softly, bending down so that they were at equal level.

She smiled faintly and put a finger to his lips. "Go." She understood.

Rannyn looked into her eyes for a moment, hoping never to forget what he saw in those bright green spheres. For a moment their gazes were locked, unmoving, unflinching. And then Rannyn took her head in his hands, placed a kiss upon her forehead, and stood up. He was going to find Isidien and they were going to do what Aragorn said. "Ride out and meet them."

When one who has been through such a traumatic, unforgettable experience like the Battle of Helm's Deep, one's memories of it seem to go in slow motion. Each breath-taking moment, each chance taken, and each action that costs a friend's life, takes forever to wade through in the back of their mind.

This is how the remainder of the battle went for Rannyn and his fellow men. They charged through the city gates, destroying and trampling all in their path and though there were too many of them, they were going to fight to the death. And then everything changed with the turning of the tide, the coming of reinforcements. After the event, Aragorn told of Gandalf's promise to return with aid, at first light on the fifth day. And, as always, he came through. At dawn, there they were, Gandalf and Eomer and the entire Riddermark, sending the remaining forces from Isengard running as though there were whips behind them.

However, this small triumph was rather bitter in both Rannyn and Threwen's eyes. They had lost something that could not be brought back. Cottages could be rebuilt and crops re-grown, but nothing could bring back something as important as a human life.

Like the battle, the returning to the caves seemed also to pass extra slowly in Threwen's memory. She felt as if she watched herself from afar, looking on as the miserable scene unfolded before her. There she was, trudging toward her friend who was hopefully awaiting her husband's return. Threwen could feel the heartbreak that appeared in the woman's eyes. She could sense the agony that passed through her body as she crumpled to the ground in a sobbing heap as her sister-in-law's arms went around her. The young sixteen-year-old simply stared into empty space, her brain not quite registering the news. Though Ruthiel felt its full effects immediately, Cerrarien did not entirely comprehend her brother's death until much later.

A few days afterward…

"We survived."

Threwen looked up to see the blonde-haired Rider coming toward her.

My blonde-haired Rider.

She had been concentrating on the sun that was slowly sinking down behind the hills, casting an eerie glow on Edoras. So many had not returned from the battle fortress of Helm's Deep and some of those that had were now mere ghosts of who they had been. One in particular was Cerrarien, who was just then feeling her brother's death and was being hit very hard by it. Blaennyn seemed to keep her going, though there were times when it seemed she had no strength left. Ruthiel, on the other hand, though still in the shadow of her husband's death, seemed to understand it and was learning to cope.

Rannyn came up beside her and gazed out at the view. For a while they just stood there, taking it all in, reflecting on everything that had happened to them. Finally Threwen broke the silence.

"It all feels so bittersweet."

Her male companion glanced at her and then looked back out across the plains. "He died for his country."

"But how long will his country last?" she asked, an edge of fear in her voice.

"You heard about the beacons?" he asked quietly, still surveying the magnificent golds, purples, and pinks that the sun was casting on the fields of Rohan.

She nodded. The beacons of Minas Tirith were lit, which meant Gondor was calling for aid. "Was it all for nothing?"

Suddenly, Rannyn turned to her and looked her straight in the eye. "Nothing is for nothing. Remember that. He died honorably and his death was for reason. Nothing is without reason."

Threwen's eyes widened at his outburst. He had apparently been thinking about the same thing. For a moment all she could do was stare at him in surprise and then she just felt herself wrapped in his arms. She laid her head against his shoulder.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "You're safe with me. You're safe."

Threwen sighed and closed her eyes, the last rays of sunlight warming her face.

We're safe…for now.

Marie: Don't worry. The sequel will be coming soon!