Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR characters, whose births are credited to J.R.R. Tolkien.
Aragorn comes to find me later. I had found a comfortable seat out of the way of the people rushing about, preparing for the siege. I stayed on this same ledge, scrying on the lazy breeze. Aragorn finds me later, and signs to me, The king has decided not to call for aid.
Of course he would, I sign at him. You should know the state of your kingdom now, how isolated and spiteful it has become. The king of Horse Lords is in the right. The kingdom of stone has fallen. You know this. What guarantee does he have that they will come?
It cannot hurt to try! He will not even send for his nephew! A great Host with the best warriors of his country!
My son, the king is an old man. He has just realized his trusted advisor had been poisoning his mind for many years and reporting his activities to the enemy, he has had to move his people to his forefather's greatest fortress so soon after his only son's funeral the earth had hardly hardened by the time he set out. He has had to leave behind the body of his faithful steward, as well as other loyal horsemen, in the wake of an ambush on their journey here. You have just told him a great army is coming to destroy all of his people. And you, the heir to the throne of his country's old allies, a Ranger of the North and elf-friend, have just asked him to swallow his pride and ask for aid from a country that has betrayed his own many times before. I let my words sink in. The king is frightened, son. Frightened enough that he dares not send out a horseman to find his nephew because what if the enemy finds this horseman first? That is one less man to protect the fortress. And there is also the chance that the nephew is as stubborn as his uncle, and will refuse to come to almost-certain death.
Mother, I still cannot condone his stubbornness. Please tell me, is there anything you or I can do to convince him otherwise? It is already dusk.
Help will come.
Aragorn is confused. "How?" he asks.
Just then, a horn sounds in the night. Soldiers run to the parapets and peer cautiously over the edge. Aragorn and I look towards the sound. Legolas runs to our side, his face also facing the valley before us. "That is no orc-horn," he says with a twinkle I recognize as hope, in his eye.
A shout rings through the air. "Send for the king!" I see a messenger detach himself from the lookout to search for his sovereign. "Open the gate!" The same voice shouts. Aragorn walks quickly to the gate, his hand holding mine. I'm clearly holding him back, and I'm not able to keep up with his pace, so I let go of his hand and push him ahead of me. I can hear the voices of the new arrivals and I know that this will be a welcome surprise for my son.
By the time I reach the crowd of newcomers, Théoden has just finished welcoming the reinforcements. I hug Arwen warmly, I didn't expect you to come, yourself, I whisper in her mind. I was sure your father would have made you board a ship already.
"He did try, but ultimately I refused and he had to let me go," Arwen smiled. "I cannot sit by idly while the rest of you, my friends, fight for survival. Especially you, my second-mother, I cannot leave you behind just yet." Her hand comes up to my cheek and I hold it there briefly.
Aragorn stands close to Arwen. "Your forces are a welcome sight to see, my Lady, they will be a great help in the battle to come. Give your soldiers a brief rest, I'm sure the journey was long…"
Unbidden, I'm swept up in a vision of black monsters painted in white, savage growls and clanging metal.
Two hours!
My hand found Arwen's before I realized it. Arwen jumped at my voice, interrupting whatever Aragorn was planning with Théoden.
Her eyes ask me, What?
Two hours, I repeat in a calmer voice. The orcs will be here in two hours.
"Aragorn?" Théoden tries to get my son's attention.
"Mother, did you say something?" Aragorn asks me.
"She said we have two hours to prepare," Arwen answers.
"How do you know we have two hours?" Théoden asks suspiciously.
"Lady Lyraniel can scry on the wind," Aragorn answers. "If she says the enemy forces are two hours away, I believe her. We must prepare."
Théoden is silent. This paranoid king, so distrustful of everyone and too proud to ask for help.
"Tell the men to get ready," he finally says.
There is a flurry of action. Aragorn strides quickly to find men to spread the word. The king and his entourage go back to the Inner Keep to strap on their own armor and sharpen their swords. Within moments the elven guard are lined up on the fortress ramparts and the soldiers of Rohan, with their mismatched rusted gear and grim faces, shuffle close to the wall.
The heavy drops of rain that start falling onto us do nothing to obscure the vibrations of the orc-march's steady advance. Standing at the highest point of the fort, I can see everything on the wind. I tap Arwen's hand impatiently as her eyes scan the far horizon. Until I was crippled, I'd never liked waiting much. The feeling before a battle is even more unbearable. Tension, adrenaline, silence, darkness, and now, rain increases our anticipation and our need to survive.
Before long, everyone else can feel the ground move rhythmically under their feet. Synchronized growls and grunts grow louder and tall black pikes and flags appear on the horizon, followed by hundreds of glowing torches and shadowed Uruk-hai. The elves, true to their nature, look apathetically out at the crowd, analyzing their numbers and finding openings for their arrows. In contrast, there is a definite quiver of fear in the stances and weapons of the Men.
"Ha!" The lead orc shouts and the march comes at a halt. Archers draw their arrows on all sides, and the two fronts end up staring impassively at each other, waiting for an invisible signal to begin the battle. Arwen's hand suddenly clenches mine tightly. The emotion in her grip doesn't reveal fear, only something akin to anger. I release her, and she loosens her shoulders, torchlight catching the smooth silver ends of the arrows in her quiver. She jumps down to join the archers at the wall. An arrow screeches through the air and strikes one of the orc in the front. And then it starts.
A glint in the black sky followed by a rain of thin shadows rain on the Uruk-hai. Return shots miss our archers, but those who are unlucky enough to be in their path die instantly. Those who manage to survive the arrow are pushed off the wall to fall to their deaths. While Théoden shouts commands to the Men of Rohan, Aragorn translates these commands and advice to the Elves. Everything seems to be going well until the grappling hooks appear on the edge of the wall. At the same time, a battering ram is marched to the front gate, covered by stocky Uruk-hai holding black iron shields, covering them from arrows on all sides.
Our forces split in two. Aragorn shouts for the Elves to aim for the orcs covering the battering ram, but as one falls, another takes its place. And the archers aiming at the battering ram are attacked by the orcs climbing up the wall. Legolas is in charge of defending the wall now. And when all the hooks are crawling with the battle-thirsty monsters, the Men and Elves draw their swords and charge into the enemy. It becomes too obvious that that we are greatly outmatched. Who knows what is happening to those poor farmer boys, who had never held a sword in their hands until now; or if those rickety old men, elders of this country, will be able to survive yet another war. This battle is chaos and carnage, there is no glory to be found here, only annihilation and death.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The wall of Helm's Deep explodes in quick succession, and everyone on the wall goes flying in all directions. Arwen stops, about to call on the weak stream of water to wash the invaders out, when Legolas jerks her out of the way of an orc-axe flung in the direction of her head. Arwen attempts to escape his grasp, but Legolas forcefully jerks her behind, tactically retreating as the last of our Elven reinforcements rush forward to protect the lady. Orcs flood through this entry way and a slaughter unlike anything else I've ever seen, is unleashed. It is a blood-frenzy that only these creatures can have and survive.
"The gate! Hold the gate!" Someone shouts. he orcs have us pinned against the face of the mountain: one force forces us backwards while the other two forces close in from the sides. It will be almost impossible to survive this. Arwen realizes this, and turns to meet my eyes.
"Lady Lyraniel, you must flee, save yourself!" she shouts at me.
Aragorn and Gimli disappear through a side door and reappear in front of the raging Uruk-hai. They leap in front of them and dispatch as many as they can, allowing Théoden's men to reinforce the doors with more lumber, but Aragorn and Gimli cannot keep the pace up for long, and the men cannot open the doors for just two allies, no matter how much of an asset they are.
My wings tear violently from my back and I fly into action.
"No! My lady!" Arwen yells.
This time, I don't hold back my anger. With one angry scream aimed at the orcs gathering at the front gate, I am able to force them off the ramp. Their pikes point dangerously at me, but I continue my assault. When enough Uruk-hai are forced to clear the ramp, I swoop down and haul Aragorn and Gimli into the air.
"Ohh! Ohhh!" Gimli shouts and squirms. Aragorn hands on to my hand tightly.
It is a heavy load for my weakened wings, but I will not let them fall. I had intended on just dropping them behind the gate, but looking at the state of the defense, it will be much safer for them if I just fly them to the Inner Keep. I set them gently down and I sign quickly, Mount your defenses, the fortress is overrun.
"Ohhhh," Gimli groans. "I never want to do that again. Dwarves are meant for digging, not flying," he says, looking a little green despite the amount of dirt and black blood on his face.
"What will you do?" Aragorn asks as I quickly uncork my waterskin and drink the purified water.
I can hold them off.
"There are too many!" Legolas rushes into the Keep, having run out of unbroken arrows to loose. Arwen is close behind him.
You underestimate me, I smile, I can fly, I can escape.
"They are Uruk-hai, they'll follow you. You'll need to land to rest sometime, and the Eye of Sauron will be looking for you."
There is no time for this, I brush off his concerns. Shut the gates after me!
I glare at the horde of snarling beasts below me and shriek as loud as I can, channeling all of my power into shattering their heads with my sound. The walls of the fortress tremble a little, enough to loosen large boulders from the mountaintop to fall down and crush some of the orcs in Helm's Deep. The monsters directly in front of the Inner Keep fall down, spasming wildly before laying completely still, snarls on their faces.
When I reach the edges of the horde, I turn around and make another pass. But I can feel myself growing weaker with each round. I do not risk drinking from waterskin now, in case a stray arrow knocks me out of the sky. Gradually my sound knocks out fewer and fewer orcs. I wish I had taken a bow and quiver with me, I curse my carelessness.
"Get the bird! Shoot it down, you worthless maggots!" I hear their leader growl. Like a band of gorillas, the Uruk-hai grunt in growing determination and their attempts to kill me are strengthened by their conviction.
In pain and growing desperate, I grab a pike from the horde below, lifting the Uruk-hai holding it clear off the ground before flinging him into the mountain, hard. A foul smell blows into my face from the pike. At least the Uruk-hai smell better than their lesser orc counterparts, most of the smell composed of weeks-old sweat. I release the pike as soon as I can, right into four Uruk-hai heads nicely lined up below me. I repeat the same killing, over and over again until even my arms begin to lack strength to even spear one of the creatures. Now, it's all I can do to even keep myself high enough to fly out of range of their spears and arrows.
Right when I decide it is time to make my escape, the doors to the Inner Keep burst open dramatically and the host of King Théoden gallops majestically down the fortress and out the front gate, spearing as many Uruk-hai as they can, unafraid of dying with their king at their head. And as the dawn breaks over the surrounding mountain range, a supernatural light shines brilliantly and confidently. Gandalf the White, sitting upon Shadowfax, smiles proudly. He is joined by Éomer, and the Riders of the Mark. With these reinforcements, the tide has turned and it is the orcs' turn to be afraid.
They run in all directions, futilely trying to escape their demise. The riders on the ridge rush down, hundreds and hundreds of horsemen stampeding down towards the black pikemen. Its a scene out of the old legends we were told as children, avenging righteous riders of justice raining fire and fury on the offending creatures. In just a few moments, the battlefield is littered with dead bodies, the fleeing orcs having headed towards the trees of Fangorn Forest where they are promptly crushed.
"Ha ha!" The men laugh, cheering at their victory. Grim-faced and exhausted, I land where Gandalf, Théoden, Éomer, Arwen, and Aragorn are gathered, watching the retreat of the Uruk-hai.
"Do we need to go after them?" asks Éomer.
"Leave them for the trees. Their kind has angered them greatly," Gandalf says.
"What happens now? Will Saruman launch another assault?" asks Théoden.
Gandalf sighs. "Now, we fight the last Great War of Middle-Earth.
AN: Let me keep it brief: I think this story may be coming to a close in a couple of chapters.
