Chapter Eleven - The Rock Fall Before An Avalanche
Battle raged on through the night, another lull in the fighting occurring just before the dawn, not that this dawn held much hope for the defenders, the Orcs no longer fearing the light and warmth of the Sun so assured of their victory as they were. They were spurred on by a mass of Dunlendings whose traditional hatred of the Rohirrim had been inflamed by Saruman. Continually cries of battle and death sounded from the Men along with cries for Théoden to be brought out to them so that 'justice' for the enforced migration out of Rohan in the time of Brego and Aldor and the death of Freca and King Helm's hand could be meted out.
An hour before dawn, the Keep was rocked by a fierce explosion, a huge fissure being cloven into the Deeping Wall by some wizardry of Saruman. Rubble was sent flying into the air, killing both aggressor and defender where it landed. Orcs and Dunlendings flowed through the gap and began to hack and hew at everything in their way. Aragorn, Háma and Haldir quickly realigned their forces to stop the invasion. Haldir fought like a thing possessed, Orophin's face clouding his vision as he lashed out. It did not help matters that the incursion had separated him from Rúmil as the Elf, along with Éomer and Gimli were forced to retreat into the caves which had no way of escape save for a hidden passage that would be missed in the heat of battle and panic. Háma, tiring from the heavy and prolonged fight, eventually succumbed to the overwhelming force of the enemy and was slain by a sword thrust to the chest. The Dunlending who had killed him cheered and shouted to his companions who each took a mutilating swipe at Háma's corpse with axes and swords as they past him. Gamling hurled himself into the fray, Dídauar directly behind him, the two warriors defending their fallen friend from any further dishonour.
"We have to retreat!" yelled Aragorn to Gamling over the clamour. Gamling looked mutinous at the idea. Aragorn hacked his way through the mass between him and his companions.
"We cannot stay here otherwise we will be lost as well! We have to retreat if we are to have any hope of victory," he shouted, continuing to fight.
"I will not leave him to be despoiled. I care not of how things are done by your people but we do not leave our dead to be sullied by their butchers," snapped back Gamling.
"Then gather him up but we have to retreat. Now!" fired back Aragorn.
A small group of warriors gathered in the main room of the Keep. Legolas stood with Haldir in his arms, restraining the Lothlórien Elf from tearing back outside and most likely getting himself killed, Haldir convinced that the Orcs had now taken Rúmil from him as well. Théoden stood with Aragorn, the two arguing heatedly over their next course of action, the younger man beginning to lose hope that his people would survive the hatred of Isengard. Dídauar stood, gazing at the western wall and mouthing a prayer for the fallen, beseeching Námo to accept each of valiant dead into his Halls while Halbarad sat with Tarcil in his arms though whether he was giving and seeking stability, it was unclear, it being discovered that Arahael had not made it to the Keep. His family could only hope that he had been forced to retreat into the caves where there was some chance that he would survive and was not buried beneath the carnage that had been left by the explosion. The Orcs had also managed to separate Gambling from his companions as they fled the battlefield.
"Prepare to ride," said Aragorn, resting a hand on Dídauar's shoulder. "We ride out with the King at first light." He could have phrased it as a request but Dídauar was in no state to respond to such. By phrasing it as an order, Aragorn was assured that she would follow and he could keep an eye on her for a few minutes more.
"Yes my Lord," replied Dídauar automatically, with a dip of her head. Aragorn gripped her shoulder before going back out to the wall, Legolas going with him and Haldir being dragged along as well. Those left with Théoden readied themselves for a mounted charge, preparing three extra horses for Aragorn and the two Elves for when they returned. As Dídauar pulled herself into her saddle, a horn echoed around the cove and the Rohirric riders on either side of her puffed up their chests in pride. The horn of Helm the Hammerhand sounded in the Deep once more, calling the Rohirrim to valour and arms, instilling the hope that seemed to have evaporated as soon as the Deeping Wall had been breached. The horn continued to sound as Aragorn came charging back into the room and quickly mounted Roheryn, Legolas leaping atop Arod while Haldir pulled himself onto Hasufel's back.
"Helm for Théoden King!" yelled a couple of warriors in the vanguard behind them, others taking up the call as Théoden himself took up the charge. Kicking Snowmane into a cantor as quickly as he could without causing the horse permanent injury, Théoden led his mounted warriors from the Keep, down the causeway and steadily cleaving a path through to the Dike. The dawn light glinted off swords, spears and the metal rims of the shields, blinding any who looked up at the riders. Weapons sliced through flesh, blood staining the ground beneath them. Behind them cheering began as the warriors who had been cut off by the invading Orcs fought their way back out of the caves, appearing at the various entrances just in time to spot their King and Captains charging as in stories of old. Their attention was soon grabbed by a blazing arrival from the east that wasn't the rising sun, but a mounted warrior with a red shield, a horn blaring at a different pitch from the horn of the Hammerhand. Foot soldiers, numbering at least a thousand, charged down to the fray, slaying a large number of Orcs, using the sun to their advantage.
"Its Erkenbrand!" yelled one of the Rohirrim to his King. Théoden swung around to see the bear like man seated upon his horse, a figure in white beside him. Together the two charged down the hill, the figure in white seeming to glow more brightly than the sun itself. Dunlendings fell to their knees and awaited their fate with the Orcs shrieked in pain as Saruman's enchantment that made them impervious to the Sun's rays was broken. Abandoning the fight, they ran for the welcome shade of nearby trees, only to be slaughtered once the last one had been encompassed by the dark.
Erkenbrand and the White Rider slowed their mounts to a stop beside Théoden and dismounted, bowing in respect. Aragorn realised a little to late what Dídauar's reaction to seeing the White Rider would be and tore after his sister, yelling at her to stop. Dídauar ignored him and swiftly crossed the distance that was between herself and Théoden, her bloodied knives crossed and settling upon the rider's shoulders.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you," she said, panting slightly with the mixture of excursion and adrenaline. "Why should we accept you as a friend when you have left nothing but betrayal and death in your path?"
"Because I am a friend," chuckled the rider. "If I meant harm, you would not be standing as you are."
"Is that what you told the Dunlendings? The people of Rohan? I have seen what you have wrought and I tell you they are no actions of a friend!" snarled Dídauar.
"Dídauar drop your weapons!" barked Aragorn as he appeared beside her. "Now!"
Dídauar spared Aragorn a startled glance but did not remove her weapons. The rider chuckled again.
"It seems your memory is not as good as it used to be, mellon nîn," he said, his eye twinkling as he looked at Aragorn. Aragorn scowled at him, gripping Dídauar's wrists. (my friend)
"Dídauar I mean it," he growled. "This is not Saruman."
"Aragorn, that would not convince me," smiled the rider. "Sadorennor, I see that word of my fall has reached you but your companions have forgotten to mention that I have been returned." (Faithful to Middle-earth)
Dídauar gasped at the name. It had originally been given in jest by King Thranduil of Mirkwood one midsummer when Dídauar had found herself in the middle of a debate as to why she wandered from The Lune to Umbar to the shores of The Rhûn and never seeming to swear loyalty to an individual, preferring instead to serve the people, regardless of race. However Gandalf, upon hearing the tale, had commented on how the name suited her and it became a pet name between the Dúnadan and Istari. Very few others knew of the name, let alone used it.
"You can't be," she whispered, the grip on her knives relaxing slightly.
"Why not?" asked the wizard, smiling gently. "Glorfindel fought a similar battle and he was returned. Why not I?"
"I……" squeaked Dídauar, her ability to speak having vanished. She dropped her knives and wrapped her arms about the rider's neck. He chuckled once more and half returned the embrace.
"Something good has come out of so much death and darkness," murmured Dídauar. Gandalf pulled away, a small smile on his lips.
"Such is usually the case if one clings to hope rather than seeking despair," he said. Aragorn rolled his eyes but any comment he was going to utter was cut off by a shout from behind. Turning the group watched Éomer descend from the caves, Gambling limping beside him and Gimli, bloodied and bandaged, but proudly proclaiming his final total of 42 Orcs slain by his hand. Tarcil was also with them and the young man charged towards his father and twin, nearly knocking them off their feet as he collided with them. Also came Rúmil, looking ready to collapse and not from exhaustion of the battle but from the severing of his soul. Slowly, he made his way across to the red-cloaked Elf that was Haldir, as though he was approaching a startled beast. A few words were exchanged before Haldir pulled him too and the two Elves stood in on the battlefield, trying to come to terms with the premature and violent death of their kin, not least their brother.
"This victory was bought at too high a cost," said Aragorn, watching as Gamling came to his knees beside Háma's corpse which he had been forced to abandon in his own flight.
"But still it is a victory," said Théoden. "And such is the way of war."
"I may only be a Dwarf and have spent most of my life in a cave, but I swear there was no forest at the edge of this cove when we arrived yesterday," piped up Gimli as he appeared in their midst, Legolas at his side. "What wizardry have you conjured this time, master Gandalf?"
"The trees are no magic of mine," said Gandalf. "They are a power far older and was walking this earth in a time that not even the eldest of the Elves have the ability to remember."
"You are not going to tell us?" asked Théoden.
"I can show you if you follow me to Isengard," replied Gandalf. All immediately stiffened at the suggestion and the dagger on Dídauar's wrist found its way into her hand.
"We do not have the strength to assault Isengard otherwise we would have done so many years ago," protested Théoden. "Even should I gather all the men of the Mark to my banner we will still lose."
"It is not to a battle that I seek in Isengard but a parley," replied Gandalf. "I will command none to come with me, for it will be easier should they volunteer. If you do not wish to follow, I bid you wait for me at Edoras where I will join you before the moon has waned once more. Those who will to travel with me should rest now, for it is a good days march to Isengard and it will not do to appear on Saruman's doorstep looking like beggars off the road. Fallen he may be but he is still a mighty being and rightly commands respect."
The survivors of Helm's Deep spent the rest of that day tending the wounded, burying the dead and sending out riders to the far reaches of the Mark proclaiming the victory at Helm's Deep and baring summons for all able bodied men to head for Edoras with speed. In the mid afternoon, the surviving fifty Elves of the Lothlórien army departed the cove, bearing but one body with them – Orophin. They had burnt the bodies of their other comrades at the Deep, in as much of a Elven ceremony as the surroundings permitted but none could bring themselves to light the pyre that would destroy Orophin's body. Though taking him back to Lothlórien was only going increase the pain of his death, the Elves had pressed upon Haldir and Rúmil to allow his body to be returned to the Golden Wood and let the Lord Celeborn set the torch within his flesh. The two brothers had agreed but refused to walk with the litter. Their men understood and four departed half an hour before the rest.
"Try and stay alive," said one of the Elves as they took their leave. "Haldir and Rúmil cannot lose another and we cannot lose our captains."
"We will," said Aragorn, inclining his head to the Elf.
"Look after them," said Dídauar.
"I will. We all will," promised the Elf before inclining his head and hurrying after his people.