"In every battle there comes a time when both sides consider themselves beaten, then he who continues the attack wins."
-Ulysses S. Grant

"Jesus Christ almighty…" Amelia whispered hoarsely as a flash of lightning lit up the approaching invaders.

It had started to rain just as Amelia took her place beside Legolas and Gimli on the ramparts, shaking archers lined up on their sides. If Amelia turned, she knew that she could see Boromir standing with the king high up on a platform overlooking the keep and the field in front of it, a place of honor, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her do so.

The army of Uruk-Hai marched forwards, stretching as far as the eye could see, a black sea of thick armor, broad shields and black spears. It was more than Amelia could have ever dreamed and she was grateful that, in the darkness and the rain, no one could see how her face went as white as a sheet.

Worst was the fact that the orcs didn't snarl or growl, but moved in silence, letting the ominous sound of their marching do all the intimidation they would need.

The men around her were terrified. They weren't soldiers or guards. They were farmers, stableboys and craftsmen. Most of them had probably never held a sword or shot an arrow in their lives. It was cruel, it was hard and it was necessary. It made Amelia want to vomit, but she easily kept down her latest meal. Concealing her emotions was something she was good at, but despite it, her fear still made her pale.

Amelia was aware that, since Helm's Deep had been built into the end of a ravine, the army of orcs effectively cut off any escape route they might have been able to take.

"What is it?" Amelia glanced down at her side to see Gimli, who, with his low height, was unable to see what was going on because he wasn't tall enough to see above the walls of the ramparts. The sight made a silly smile light up her face briefly before it fell again. Aragorn began to walk back and forth on the ramparts, behind the lines of men.

"Show them no mercy…" He cried in a clear, commanding tone. Amelia wondered why her friend, the ranger who feared his own heritage, was acting like a king while the actual king, Théoden, hid up on his pedestal, overlooking the battle as if it didn't apply to him. "For you shall receive none!"

Then, seemingly without sense, the army of orcs stopped and Amelia's grip on her sword tightened. They didn't march further on the keep. They merely stood there, as if they were waiting for something.

"What's happening?" Gimli tried to jump, to see what was going on, but he had little success.

"Shall I describe it to you?" Legolas smiled a strange, grim smile and looked at the dwarf. "Or would you like me to find you a box?" Amelia snorted and Gimli laughed up at the elf, despite the severity of their situation.

Then, a guttural roar came from the dark mass of Uruk-Hai and, as if they had been practicing, they began slamming their weapons into the ground and banging on their shields, creating a deep, terrifying rhythm and Amelia could feel the vibration in the stone beneath her feet. The archers on the walls drew their bows and put arrows on their strings, each taking aim, but Amelia saw that several of their hands shook. The fact that they didn't have any elven archers assisting them didn't improve their confidence either. Amelia had expected aid to arrive from Lothlórien, but the night had been silent and Rohan had to fend for itself.

An elderly man, with weakened arms and a dirty, white beard let his arrow go with a shocked expression, as if the movement of his own hands surprised him and the arrow flew through the air, embedding itself solidly in the neck of an orc on the frontal lines. Abruptly, the steady thumping of the army ceased as the orc fell forwards with a pathetic grunt and lay in the mud, as dead as it could ever get. Its fellow orcs snarled and threw their heads back, roaring into the night and they set into motion, storming towards the walls of the Hornburg with maddened fury.

"Oh dear…" Amelia nearly stuttered, but managed to keep her voice steady.

"Prepare to fire!" Aragorn shouted and those who hadn't drawn their weapons and readied their arrows followed his orders without hesitation. Watching him command troops was inspiring; he was a ranger, a wanderer, covered in dirt and grime, but when faced with an army of orcs and men to command, his determination made him shine like the king he was born to be.

"Their armor is weak at the neck and elbows." Legolas informed the archers loudly, but he had barely spoken the words before Aragorn shouted again.

"Release arrows!" The troops obeyed and a rain of arrows made the first lines of orcs stagger backwards and many fell, but they had thousands more to take the place of the fallen.

"Did they hit anything?" Gimli shouted, jumping up and down, and Amelia nearly laughed and wept at the sight. Another wave of arrows killed more orcs, but it seemed as if there was no end to the approaching mass of Uruk-Hai. Then, men around her suddenly screamed as the orcs' own archers fired their crude bows and crossbows and one of them fell down from the wall, only to be stomped on and trampled by the orcs.

"Ladders!" Aragorn shouted as the orcs began to slam ladders up against the wall of the keep, swinging them upwards to they would land right in the middle of the men waiting for them.

"Good!" Gimli's exclamation drew some odd looks.

The tops of the ladders slammed down on the walls and the orcs descended upon the men of Rohan, who scattered and shouted wildly amongst themselves, most of them waving their swords desperately and with such inexperience that Amelia thought to herself that, if their swordfighting didn't kill the orcs, they would probably die of laughter from the pathetic display.

Amelia didn't have time to scream or to think as black, twisted shapes descended upon her. They showed and utilized the same raw power that those at Amon Hen had, only there were many more and Amelia suddenly felt regretful that she had insisted on partaking in the fight at all.

She felt a blow to her stomach and she realized that, when she had blocked a blow from above with her sword, something that she had been taught not to do, she had bared her stomach and her opponent had taken the chance to kick her in the stomach. Amelia scrambled backwards as it raised its spear at her, but then Gimli leapt into the fray and cleaved its legs off of its body, sending its legless body rolling away from Amelia.

"Legolas!" He shouted triumphantly, too caught up in the bloodbath to realize had had just saved Amelia's life already. "Two already!" The elf whirled around with a grin.

"I'm on seventeen!" His retort was met with a loud grunt of disbelief.

"I'm not letting some pointy-ear outscore me!" He slammed his axe into the crotch of an orc emerging up the ladder and when it fell forwards, sent his weapon crashing down on its back. Amelia got to her feet and leapt back into the chaos, remembering stay light on her feet. She got the peculiar feeling that the orcs didn't know how to anticipate her blows, but then she realized that, much like Aragorn, her time spent training with elves, Boromir and Aragorn himself, as well as her own moves she had developed instinctually when she got in a fight, had probably left her with a style that didn't fit in with any group of fighters in Middle-Earth. She didn't have time to think any good or bad thoughts about the unexpected revelation, for there were still thousands upon thousands of orcs massing against the walls of Helm's Deep.

As she turned once again, she met the eyes of a young boy. His helmet lay broken beside him and she only met his panicked, grey eyes for a short moment before an uruk-hai descended upon him from behind, cleaving his skull clean through with a mighty axe and blood sprayed.

"Nineteen!" Legolas' shout made Amelia oddly furious. They were in a battle, a bloody, brutal battle with people losing their lives around them and the elf and the dwarf made it up to be a game, a competition.

"I'm on eleven!" She shouted and she heard Gimli laugh in his frenzy. "Twelve- no, thirteen!" In one fell swoop, she sent two heads flying through the air and her leather cuirass became splattered with black blood. Her blade was slick with it.

She twisted where she stood and, since her blade had gone and gotten itself lodged in the ribcage of an uruk-hai, she had to knee the one that had been approaching her from behind in the groin. She quickly pulled Aeglos out of its victim and brought it to its next. She had to push hard and deep, but Aeglos slid into the orc's skull and it gurgled on its owl howl of pain as it fell. Instead of wallowing in her moment of triumph, Amelia actively sought out her next victim. The same rush that had seized her in Moria had come again.

A shout caught her attention and she saw Aragorn pointing at the entrance to the keep, where orcs were approaching the door. The archers turned towards them, firing arrows, but Amelia narrowed her eyes. The orcs weren't so stupid as to try to enter through the front door alone. Her eyes widened then and she looked down to see several Uruk-Hai carrying large bombs, covered in spikes, down a small water outlet and placing them there in a pile.

"Aragorn!" She had doubted he would hear her, but he turned towards her direction immediately, pushing through the fighting orcs and men as if his life depended on it.

"Amelia?" He slid to a halt in front of her. The stones under their feet were slippery with blood and covered in bodies of both sides already.

"Look!" She pointed towards the clear glow of a torch moving through the crowd of orcs and Aragorn's eyes widened.

"Legolas! Shoot him!" He pointed at the orc and not a moment later an arrow embedded itself in the shoulder of the orc carrying the torch, but it kept going, no doubt knowing that a fate worse than death awaited it if it dared stopping. "Togo hon dad, Legolas! Dago hon! Shoot him!" Another arrow hit the other shoulder of the orc and Amelia realized that she and Aragorn were standing right atop the water outlet.

"Aragorn, we have to…" She cried, but then the orc carrying the torch threw itself into the water outlet and the words died in Amelia's throat as she locked eyes with Aragorn.

Then, she flew. She was a bird that had lost control of its wings as she was hurled through the air. Her eyes watered and her eyes rang painfully. She saw dark sky, then ground, then sky, then ground again. The ground approached quickly, but Amelia was so caught up in the intense pain flaring through her shoulder and the strange ringing sound in her ears that she didn't realize that she was falling until she landed right on her injured shoulder. She felt force ripple through her and something warm and wet begin dripping down her shoulder, but then the pain slammed into her and her mouth opened in a silent scream. She had landed in a puddle on her shoulder and a spasm wrecked her body.

All she knew was wet, throbbing, warm pain coursing through her veins, making them burn like liquid gold. In the distance, she heard her name, but it was like an echo, a distant whisper and then she was being pulled, pulled upwards by her good arm and someone slung her good arm around their shoulders and dragged her through the muck. She had no sense of self or sanity any longer; all she knew was the pain and the fear, the fear and the pain. Her mouth moved, as if she was talking, but no words, other than moans and groans of pain came out.

"Kill me…" She wasn't in control of what she said, but her plea came honestly. Anything to make the pain go away. If she had to die to make the pain go away, she would gladly do so.

Then, she was put on the ground, sitting against a wall and she got a vague sense of how much time had passed and what had happened.

Whoever had dragged her to safety was already rushing off again. She was in the king's hall of the keep and men were working on the door to it. A fair amount of time had passed then, if they had had to retreat to the King's Hall.

"The fortress is taken. It is over." She heard someone declare, she couldn't remember who the voice belonged to, to the men working to desperately bar the doors.

"Fuck you." She told the voice weakly. It didn't seem to care. The slight sense of self she regained faded away and, once again, she knew only pain and the warm, wet feeling spreading across her throbbing shoulder. Her head rolled to the side as she bled out over the wall and the floor, gritting her teeth against the pain. She could feel some abyss, whether unconsciousness or death she did not know, but she fought against it with every fiber of her being, who she had been, who she was and who she hoped to become.
She felt like only a few minutes and several years passed all at once. Her thoughts felt sluggish, as if they had to wade through a sea of syrup before she could actually think them.

Her hands fell from where it had been clutching her side, limp and pale as bone.

The first thing she felt was her own emotions. Fear. Anger. Stubbornness. Then, her sense of tenacity of self-preservation. Then, she felt that she was lying on something rough and bulky, but not uncomfortable. Her shoulder was throbbing again, but she would feel worried if it didn't. A pain in her shoulder was something she was growing used to. Her voice felt cracked and dry, but she attempted to use it anyways. All that came out was a weak groan. Faintly, as her hearing cleared and returned to her, bit by bit, she heard moans around her, as well as stressed voices. She forced her eyelids to open, unwilling as they were, but she only saw blurry shapes hurrying back and forth, all in dirty colors.

"You broke more than a single rib." A calm voice spoke to her, helping to ease her frayed nerves. "And your wound opened again. It appears that a slight infection prevented it from closing."

"Who…" She coughed and blinked again. Her vision cleared at last and she saw Aragorn, covered in dirt and blood, with an exhausted air about him, sitting at her bedside. "Aragorn." He hushed her gently.

"Rest easy." He spoke to her as if she was slow or dim-witted by nature. It annoyed her, but more so did the obvious weakness she felt in her entire body. "You have been through an ordeal." She was lying down, on a bed made out of flour sacks, and her shoulder and arm was bandaged tightly. She leaned backwards again.

"We all have." Her hair was loose and she wore nothing on her upper body, not even her bra. She still wore her pants, but her feet were bare. "You… broken ribs?"

"Yes, as well as your arm in two different places." Aragorn gestured towards her left arm, which was lying passively in a rough sling. "I did my best, but a surgery had to be performed. They nearly cut your arm off to save time for the others, but there were some here who were quite vocal about that not happening. Your arm is set now and, with my speeding things along, it should be back to normal in three or four weeks." Amelia hummed, not feeling up for arguing against it, since she knew that it would lead her nowhere. "You took a bad hit to your hip as well, but as far as I can tell, nothing there is broken."

"Yay. So I'll just have a sore bum from now on."

"Good to see that your sense of humor hasn't gotten hurt as well." Amelia suddenly leaned forwards.

"And Boromir?"

"He is fine." Aragorn gave her a strange, almost teasing smile. "Only minor scrapes. He was present during your surgery."

"What, he wanted to watch them lop off my arm for the fun of it?" Amelia did not like the feeling of anyone seeing her in such a frail state. Aragorn shook his head at her, as if she was being hopeless.

"Gandalf rode to our aid." He said instead. "He brought Éomer, the king's nephew, with him."

"Hallelujah." Amelia sulked a bit. "When will I be able to get out and about again?"

"Not so soon if I have anything to say about it." Amelia's eyes snapped to Boromir, who looked like he had been dragged backwards through the depths of hell itself.

"If you will excuse me, there are others who require my attention." Aragorn rushed off before Amelia could protest, leaving Boromir to take his empty chair. Amelia sighed at him and turned her eyes away.

"We made it through the night." Her opening line was terrible and she knew it.

"You almost didn't." Boromir sounded quite angry, but Amelia couldn't imagine why. She chose, against her natural instincts, to avoid an argument right off the bat.

"Look, I know. Better than anyone. I could feel how I almost died out there. I still can. But I know I shouldn't have gone into that battle, so please don't ask me what I was thinking or what I was doing, because I am honestly asking myself the same questions." She closed her eyes, finally confessing what she truly felt. "I want to go home… But I can't. Not yet. I am just so… unbelievably… tired." That was the word for what she felt. "So tired."

"Amelia…"

"I want to be alone." Her voice grew cold and hard. "Just leave me alone." There was a heavy silence, but then she heard him stand up and leave. She didn't feel regret at sending him away. She only let herself feel the throbbing of her shoulder, her desire to return home and the deep, profound exhaustion that had settled within her body. The kind of exhaustion that would never be chased away by sleep or rest.

Then, Boromir returned and Amelia turned her head towards him as he held out a black lump of something.

"I told you, leave…" Her demand died in her throat as she stared at her backpack, held out like a peace offering.

"It was tied to a horse, one that returned after it was lost." Boromir stood, with her backpack dangling from his hand, but then he sat down and put it beside her bed. "I thought I would bring it to you." Amelia stared at him in silence and he returned her stare evenly, calmly. Then, with her good hand, she slowly reached out and grasped his shoulder.

"Thank you." She whispered, unable to convey how much his simple gesture meant to her. "Thank you so much." He nodded and stood again, but strangely, after returning her backpack to her, Amelia felt a little sorry to see him go. She settled back into her bed in the lazaret, content with a weak-willed attempt to ease her exhaustion by sleep rather than deep thinking.