"When we are children we seldom think of the future. This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind." - Patrick Rothfuss

Chapter 12

"You look sad again," Lia said as our feet started moving once more across the vast plains of the Riddermark.

"I am not sad," I replied, Arton's hand grasped tightly in my own.

"It's alright to be sad, Mallory," she said, grasping the straps of her pack before jogging to catch up with Vanesse and the others. .

"Little twit," i muttered.

"What?" Arton asked.

"Nothing." I didn't mean it. Lia wasn't a twit. She was perceptive. All of these people were. How was it that they were able to read my face so well? Not just the Rohirrim, but Aragorn the Ranger as well. He didn't know me from Eve, and yet he seemed to know just how my mind worked. What to say to put me in my place. They were all human, like me. Well, at least that's what I assumed. Why was I unable to read them like they read me? How did I read the people in my life back home.

I overheard another traveler say we had reached four leagues. It was now midday. The sun was high in the sky. Winter was over now and spring was here. The sun shown hot above us, using it's rays to attempt to waken the flowers beneath the ground.

"Mallory, I'm thirsty!" Arton complained.

I grabbed my waterskin, uncapped it and handed it to him. He brought it to his lips, but it came back down with a look of disappointment on his face. "It's empty."

"Then you drank it all," I said. Of course I had been sharing it with some of the others, but between them and Arton, I had had maybe four small sips. Sweat lingered on the back of my neck. I hadn't bathed since we had left Aldburg. "We'll pass a stream soon."

"But I want it now!" he complained.

"Arton," I said, taking a deep breath and bringing myself down to his level. "We are all thirsty, but we can make it without water. We'll find some soon, I promise."

He wasn't satisfied. "Thirsty! Thirsty!" he cried, shaking the waterskin in my face.

"Arton, please," I begged. Though he was only five, he was usually more well behaved than this. These days of traveling were taking its toll on the entire group. Not just the orphans, Vanesse and myself, but I could see it in the eyes of our fellow refugees that they wanted nothing of this temper tantrum.

"The lad knows what he wants!" a deep voice said, coming up behind me and gently tapping the small of my back. I was about to jump away from his uncomfortable touch, when I realized he hadn't meant anything by it. It was just as high as he could comfortably reach. The Dwarf from Gandalf's party handed Arton his own waterskin and the boy took it, gulping down the contents.

"Thank you," I said gratefully, but still embarassed by Arton's outburst.

The Dwarf shook his head. "No need for thanks, fair maiden. I worried about the little ones when the Horse King proposed this trek. Fleeing to the mountains," his huffed though his thick beard. "Ridiculous. Stand and fight is what I say. A Dwarf King would never flee."

"Even to protect the children of his land?" I asked. But I realized that sounded supportive of this mission.

"Children would be defended, but through the smash of axes, not behind stone walls."

Arton handed the skin back to the Dwarf. "Why are you so short?" he asked.

"Arton!"

"No, no. Do not scold him," the Dwarf said, grabbing Arton by the shoulders and lifting him up off the ground. "Dwarves may be short, but they are strong, small lad."

He put Arton back on the ground and without another word, the child took off towards Vanesse, a fright in his eyes.

"I think you startled him back into place."

The Dwarf chuckled. "Does no good to argue with the little ones. Show them your point, however and they will back down."

I smiled. "I'm Mallory."

His eyes lit up. "Eomer's lass?"

I rolled my eyes. "Sure."

"Gandalf was sorry to leave without speaking to you."

"He was?"

"Aye. Said he would help when the time was right, if he could. Lord Eomer made a convincing argument for you. Though he didn't explain much."

"It's hard to explain."

He held up a gloved hand. "Many people need help. Gandalf does what he can. And his aid will come, lass. Gandalf isn't one for failures."

"Thank you...um…"

"Gimli," he said with a small bow. "Son of Gloin."

I smiled. "It's good to know that someone out there is at least a little interested in helping me. Thank you, Gimli."

"Not just one person," a voice said behind me.

I turned and looked up into the face of the Dwarf's traveling companion. The Elf with silver hair. Up close in the sunlight and not hidden behind squinting eyes and torchfire, I gasped. He was...well, beautiful. His shining silver hair was mostly loose, save the front strands which were braided behind his head. Across is back was a bow and quiver and at his waist were two thin swords. His features were perfect. Symmetrical and sharp, but with sinewy thickness that ran across his whole body. His eyes were a harsh but bright green, showing a fierceness I had never encountered. I had never seen someone so handsome. So unnaturally fair. And I didn't like it.

He bowed slightly. "I have been waiting for an appropriate moment to speak to you, Mallory Gilmore."

"Why?" I asked. Just like Aragorn, he did not know me. I doubted that, just because he was an Elf, that he could help my situation any better than another in this traveling column. And if he wanted me to relay my story to him, I didn't wish to. I assumed if he knew my name than he already knew my story. While Gimli was a Dwarf, the only difference I could see between us was height. This Elf was unnatural. Different. Scary.

"Mallory!" Mariel called with tears in her eyes, running up to me a tugging on my skirt. "Tara tripped me."

"Are you hurt?" I said, turning my back on the Elf and kneeling down beside her. She pulled her own skirt up, showing a scrape in her knee. I huffed. My water was all gone and I had none to wash her scrape with. I tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and picked her up, grateful for this excuse to bring me away from the Elf. I cast him an attempt at an apologetic look and made my way further down the column, towards Vanesse, not looking back at the strange creature.

"They will attack tonight," Theoden said from atop his steed.

"We haven't the numbers to fight an army bred by Saruman," I argued. And it was true. "With the eoreds alone, there are only about fifteen hundred men, in total."

"With the men in the refugees, we could increase that number to two thousand."

"Uncle, what men in the refugees? All the men of fighting age in Aldburg have joined the third eored. I assume the same for the other two."

"There are men no longer fighting who once served their time well. Their arms can still wield swords. And the younger ones have little practical training, but have watched their fathers take arms."

"You speak of elders and children," I said, agast.

"I speak of the Riddermark's people who would defend her despite seeing too many or too few winters."

"Is this really what all this comes down to? Is that why you ordered refugees to Helm's Deep? Because the numbers of the eoreds are too few?"

"Eomer, you have always been an old soul. Wise for your age and a great leader. Do you really think the people of the Mark would rather succumb to Saruman's forces unwillingly in their homes, or would these people rather fight for their land and country in one great stand, even if it is to be the last stand?"

But is it really your right to make the decision for them? I wanted to ask. But I knew better. Aragorn had already tried to persuade my uncle against this ride and now he was all but lost in his favor. Gandalf's favor was spared only through his recent show of dedication by getting rid of the Worm of Meduseld.

"The people will follow your bidding, my lord," I said, rather than protest like I wanted to. I was tired. Sleep had not found me easily in the few days since I had left Aldburg. I had tried to tell myself that it was because of Theodred's death. Because of the impending battle waiting on us at the Hornburg. But I knew in my deepest parts it was because I was near her no longer. I could no longer check on her before retiring to my own quarters. I shared my meals with my men, not in her quiet room of the barracks. We never talked much, but that never bothered me. When I was with the men, there was no silence. No sense of solitude. No peace. She was my peace.

"Eomer, my sister-son?" Theoden asked, bringing me back from my thoughts. "Where has your mind gone?"

"To the nearing battle, Uncle," I lied. But he saw through it.

"You thoughts stray to that girl. They have been since she arrived. Since before."

He was always so perceptive. I had almost forgotten. In the years since Grima had tampered with his mind, that part of him faded. But now it was back and there was no hiding my thoughts from him. "I have angered her. Again."

"Your thoughts dwell where they shouldn't," he said. "Gandalf has promised her his aid, when the time comes. That should be enough. Your focus on the people is what matters most now."

Now that Theodred is dead and I am to take his place. It was true. To deny it would be catastrophic to the fate of Rohan and I loved her too much, had given up too much, to refuse her my service.

"Speak to her when we arrive," Theoden said. "Put your thoughts of her behind and clear your mind before battle."

I didn't want to, not yet. But I agreed. "Aye, Uncle. As you wish."

I couldn't carry Mariel for long. My feet ached too much from the weight and my arms cried for freedom. When her tears passed, I made Tara apologize and the two were as they had been before. Children were so simple. With age, you are supposed to grow and learn and get better at life. But sometimes children were more put together than us grownups. It's why I became a teacher. Sometimes I felt like I learned more from them than they learned from me.

Gimli and the Elf traveled side-by-side the remainder of the way, Aragorn with them. He shot me glances every now and then, but I ignored them. The only thing that had been made abundantly clear to me was that I was not going home until this war was over. ANd the less of a distraction I was, the sooner that could be accomplished.

We reached the Dike by sundown. The crashing waters of the river were loud and with the fortess in sight, the feet of the column moved faster, yearning for rest. The Dike lay at the east of Helm's Deep. A large forest to the right. From where I stood, I could see our destination.

Though more similar to Aldburg than Meduseld, it still couldn't compare. It stood high into the air, larger than any man-made structure I had seen since falling into this land. It was built into the mountains, like it was a part of the nature. A giant stone wall surrounded it, and it seemed impenetrable. Everyone in the column spoke of how these walls had never been breached and I now understood the king's confidence in it. Looking at it in all of its grandeur, I couldn't see a tank tearing it down, much less Orcs, Wildmen, and their swords.

Elfhelm directed the women and children to various rooms inside. The soldiers and citizens who had already arrived were busy distributing cots, chamber pots, water, and food to these rooms. But they were small. Vanesse and the littlest ones were given one room. Myself, Lia, and Fion given another beside it.

Fion fell onto his hay cot in minutes, collapsing and sleeping within minutes. Lia took to her knitting once more and seemed just about as thrilled with this setup as I was. So we sat in silence as I stared up at the stone ceiling, waiting for whatever would come next. It didn't take long.