Disclaimers: I don't own any characters or settings from Lord of the Rings.

Act V

Chapter 33: The Aftermath of Helm's Deep

On the morning of March 4th, 3019 TA, the sun rose over Helm's Deep, casting its golden light upon a scene of both mourning and resilience. The survivors of the battle, weary but determined, began the arduous task of burying the dead and burning the bodies of the Uruk-hai. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the somber atmosphere of loss.

The women and children, who had taken refuge in the Glittering Caves, emerged into the light. Their faces were etched with worry and exhaustion, but also with relief and a renewed sense of purpose. They joined the soldiers in their labor, their hands eager to help heal the wounds of war.

Eomer, tall and resolute, moved among his men, offering words of encouragement and solace. His presence was a beacon of hope to the people of Rohan. He directed the efforts to bury their fallen comrades, ensuring that each one was laid to rest with the respect they deserved. Beside him, Éowyn, her fair hair flowing in the morning breeze, worked tirelessly to tend to the wounded. Her hands, skilled and gentle, brought comfort to those who had suffered in the night's battle.

Gimli and Legolas, their friendship forged in the fires of combat, also lent their strength to the efforts. Gimli, with his stout frame and unyielding spirit, aided in moving the bodies of the fallen, his heart heavy with grief yet buoyed by the determination to honor them. Legolas, his elven grace undiminished by the night's trials, helped organize the repair efforts, his keen eyes spotting damage that needed immediate attention.

Aragorn, the future king, walked among the people, offering both physical aid and the strength of his presence. He helped lift the wounded and guided the repair of the gates, his every action infused with a quiet authority that inspired those around him.

Nearby, Gandalf conferred with King Théoden. The wizard's white robes shone brightly in the morning light, a stark contrast to the grime and blood of the battlefield. Théoden, though worn by the weight of leadership and the losses suffered, stood tall beside him. They spoke of strategy and the next steps, their words a mix of solemnity and determination.

Arien, still cloaked in Legolas' garment, moved among the wounded with a quiet resolve. She had washed away the grime of battle, her hair now clean and loosely braided. Her presence was a strange mix of familiar and foreign as if she were both a part of this world and an outsider. She tended to Haldir, who was recovering from his injuries, ensuring he was comfortable and cared for.

The scene was one of industrious mourning. The clash of hammers repairing the gates and walls echoed through the valley, mingling with the sound of shovels breaking the earth for graves. The air was filled with the murmur of voices, some in prayer, others in quiet conversation, as the survivors shared their grief and their stories.

Eomer, pausing in his labor, looked out over the plains, his eyes narrowing with determination. "We have won this battle," he said to those near him, "but the war is far from over. Our enemy will not rest."

Éowyn, hearing her brother's words, nodded in agreement. "We will rebuild, and we will stand strong," she added, her voice firm. "For Rohan, and for all who fight against the darkness."

As the day wore on, the survivors of Helm's Deep found solace in their work and in each other. The dead were honored with solemnity, the wounded were cared for with tenderness, and the repairs were carried out with a shared purpose. They were a people united by their suffering and their resolve, ready to face whatever came next with a strength born of both necessity and hope.

The day progressed in a somber, yet determined cadence. The sight of bodies being respectfully removed, buried, or burned was a constant reminder of the cost of their hard-won victory. Though the blood-stained earth bore silent witness to the ferocity of the battle, the wounded were diligently treated, their groans and murmurs mingling with the sounds of reconstruction.

Gandalf and King Théoden, deep in discussion, had decided on the next course of action. On the morrow, the remaining members of the Fellowship, along with Éomer and a contingent of Riders of Rohan, would set out for Isengard. The survivors, along with the rest of the Riders and Éowyn, would return to Edoras. Haldir and the elves would make their way back to Lothlórien, their mission in Rohan complete.

The plans were set, and as evening descended, fires were lit throughout Helm's Deep. The warm glow of the flames flickered against the stone walls, casting dancing shadows. The scent of cooking meals wafted through the air, a comforting contrast to the earlier stench of blood and death. The soldiers and survivors gathered around these fires, seeking solace and a moment of reprieve from the day's grim duties.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli found a spot near one of the fires, their faces illuminated by the soft, flickering light. They sat in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, yet finding comfort in each other's presence.

Éomer moved among his men, ensuring they were fed and had a place to rest. His sister, Éowyn, busied herself with tending to the wounded, her hands gentle and sure as she moved from one injured soldier to another. Her determination to help was matched only by her grief for those they had lost.

Arien, still wearing Legolas' cloak, found herself in a quiet corner high in the standing walls. She watched the flames, her mind a whirl of emotions. She had done her part in the battle, but the weight of her secret pressed heavily upon her. She knew that Legolas had seen through her disguise, and the thought of facing him again filled her with a mix of dread and resolve.

Haldir, resting and recuperating, was weary, his injuries a constant reminder of the price they paid for victory. The elves resting next to him, along the fire that burned near by.

As the night deepened, Gandalf and Théoden joined the gathering, their presence a calming influence. Gandalf's eyes, sharp and knowing, surveyed the scene. He saw the exhaustion, the grief, but also the flicker of hope that had not yet been extinguished.

King Théoden, standing tall despite his weariness, addressed the gathered company. "Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we ride out once more. We have won a great victory, but our journey is far from over. Let us honor those we have lost by continuing the fight they gave their lives for."

His words, though few, carried a weight that resonated with everyone. They nodded in agreement, their resolve strengthened by his leadership.

As the fires burned low and the night grew colder, the survivors of Helm's Deep found what rest they could. They knew that the dawn would bring new challenges, but for now, they took comfort in each other's presence and in the knowledge that they had survived to fight another day. The quiet murmurs and occasional laughter that drifted through the camp were small signs of resilience, a testament to the indomitable spirit of those who had stood against the darkness and prevailed.

After midnight, Legolas was no longer sitting near Aragorn and Gimli. Both his friends had fallen asleep, with Gimli's snores echoing throughout Helm's Deep and Aragorn more resting than deeply asleep. Legolas quietly made his way over to his horse, rifling through his belongings until he found a small jar filled with healing paste. He retrieved some clean cloth and a waterskin with fresh water.

The elf had spotted her hours ago, and he had waited to see what would happen. After no action was taken, he sighed and resolved to take matters into his own hands. He climbed up the walls with practiced ease until he stood a few steps away from her.

He paused for a moment, watching her sit with her back against the wall and her legs drawn up under her arms. His cloak was still wrapped around her, concealing her secret. He stood there, observing her. Now that he knew, it was somehow obvious she was an elf maiden. However, did that matter at this point?

Not really. Legolas would be doing the same if he still knew her as Elenion. As he had said before, he did not like Elenion and found him irritating. But that did not mean he would ever wish harm to come to him.

Legolas had noticed her demeanor. He needed time to process what he had found out, so he did not approach her immediately. But noticing that Arien had not even tried to heal or at least clean her injuries made him a little worried. Back then, Legolas had not only noticed the non-male chest but also that there was a minor cut along her chest.

Finally, he skipped lightly to her side, making his footing heard and earning her attention. Legolas sat across from her, within arm's reach. Arien gazed at him speechless, many emotions playing across her face—from feeling worse for lying to him, from feeling embarrassed by the way he found out about her, to being confused that he came to meet her, and to looking at him in awe. Despite going through the same battle as she, he seemed only a little weary and dusty.

Legolas did not acknowledge any of her reactions for the time being. He was there for another reason. He placed the waterskin, clean cloth, and jar next to her. Then he reached over, unfastened the brooch, and gently pulled the cloak away from her chest area. His touch was delicate, his face remained unreadable.

Arien's eyes widened in disbelief, not understanding what Legolas was trying to do. She grabbed the cloak along with his hands. "No, I need it until I find clean clothes to change," she murmured in a low voice, one that Legolas had never heard from her before.

"I am not taking it away," he assured her, drawing his hand back and leaning forward to inspect her cut. "You were injured," he observed, his fingers lingering near the wound. Then, lifting his gaze to meet hers, he added, "As I suspected, you did not tend to your wound."

"I didn't," she agreed, trying to push his hand away, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She was ready to curse herself, how could she end up feeling like a foolish fangirl again? "I will take care of it now!" she added, looking away and trying to move out of Legolas's reach.

However, the elf gently but firmly grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving. "I am not as skilled as Aragorn in the healing arts, yet I have treated many wounds. Permit me to assist." Legolas insisted.

Arien didn't argue. What she wanted was for him to move away so she could breathe. So, she nodded, leaning back against the wall, feeling her heart race. She fidgeted with her clothing, unsure of how to react.

Legolas worked quickly and with precision. He removed some of the fabric, revealing the wound over her neck and close to her chest, though still in a safe area. He grabbed the clean cloth, poured some water over it, and started cleaning the cut. He blew gently on it to dry the area before applying the healing paste. Then he secured the brooch and wrapped the cloak around her again, handing her the small jar.

"Reapply the paste every six to eight hours, or if you feel the wound itching. Make sure you clean it first," he instructed, his movements slow and deliberate, his demeanor calm.

Arien took the jar, still feeling her cheeks burn, and nodded. "I will, thank you," she managed to say.

Legolas glanced at her once more, noticing her usually pale face was now a deep shade of red. He tilted his head, confused. Reaching out to check her forehead, he asked, "Are you not feeling well?"

Arien almost swatted his hand away and stood up abruptly, causing Legolas to look at her with a puzzled expression. "I am fine, I don't have a fever, I..." she mumbled, her words tumbling out incoherently.

Legolas ignored her flustered reaction, recalling how Elenion had often behaved similarly. Why would that change now? He stood up and gently touched her forehead, ensuring she had no fever. "Rest now, we leave at dawn," he said, stepping back.

Arien watched him leave, still leaning against the wall, her heart pounding in her chest. She crumbled down, taking a deep breath and cursing her silly reaction. How could she again act so foolishly? She felt as defenseless as a lovestruck girl, despite all the changes she had undergone. The anxiety of facing Legolas without looking strange had not disappeared.

Legolas returned and sat back with Aragorn and Gimli. He did not dwell on Arien's reactions; Elenion had accustomed him to strange and awkward behaviors. He had accepted by now that he could not do much about it, at least not for the time being. After all, it didn't matter, since they still had a war to face and battles to fight.

Aragorn, sensing Legolas's return, didn't open his eyes but asked quietly, "How is she?"

He had noticed hours earlier that Legolas kept glancing towards the walls where Arien was. Aragorn had observed her too, wanting to give Arien some time to process everything she had faced. From her cover being blown, to the battle, to the overwhelming presence of death surrounding them. It was her first time facing fields drenched in blood and grief. It wasn't easy, even for seasoned warriors, and certainly not for her. He was surprised that Legolas had taken the initiative to treat her wound.

"The wound is minor; she will recover," Legolas replied, his voice steady. "Yet her behavior grows ever stranger."

Aragorn nodded, acknowledging the statement but refraining from further discussion. They all needed rest and a moment to grieve so they could face what tomorrow would bring. The night was still, save for the occasional crackle of the dying fires and the distant murmur of men and elves tending to the wounded.

The dawn brought a sense of bittersweet determination to Helm's Deep. The air was thick with the mingled scents of fresh earth, burning wood, and the lingering traces of battle. The first light of morning revealed the aftermath of the conflict: bodies had been buried or burned, and the wounded tended to with care and reverence. Fires were lit throughout the fortress, and meals were prepared to strengthen the survivors for the day ahead.

King Théoden, resolute and somber, stood with his men, overseeing the preparations for their departure. His eyes held a mix of grief for the fallen and steely determination for the battles yet to come. By his side, Aragorn conferred quietly with Legolas and Gimli, the three of them sharing a bond forged in the crucible of war. Nearby, Arien, now feeling more like herself after the previous night's revelations, stood with Gandalf, her resolve firm despite the exhaustion that clung to her bones.

As they prepared to depart, the elves of Lothlórien, led by Haldir, gathered their own forces. They would return to their homeland, carrying news of the battle and mourning the loss of their kin. The elves moved with a quiet grace, their faces a mask of solemn determination. Haldir, still recovering from his injuries, stood tall and proud, ready to lead his men back to the Golden Wood.

In the midst of these preparations, Legolas sought out Arien. He had noticed the change in her demeanor, the quiet strength that seemed to emanate from her. He approached her, his expression unreadable.

"Arien," he said quietly, "We are ready to depart. Are you prepared?"

She met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a newfound resolve. "I am, Lord Legolas. Thank you."

With the company of Riders of Rohan assembled, they mounted their horses and set out from Helm's Deep. The fortress, now a place of both victory and sorrow, faded into the distance as they rode towards Isengard. The journey was long and arduous, the path taking them through rugged terrain and dense forests.

As they rode, the company remained vigilant, ever watchful for signs of the enemy. The road was fraught with danger, and the scars of war were evident in the landscape around them. Villages lay in ruins, fields were scorched, and the remnants of battle littered the ground. Yet, amidst the destruction, there was a sense of purpose that drove them forward.

Throughout the journey, conversations were sparse, and each member of the company lost in their own thoughts. Aragorn rode at the front, his keen eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. Legolas and Gimli rode side by side, their bond of friendship stronger than ever. Gimli, ever the source of humor, tried to lighten the mood with tales of their adventures, but even he could not completely dispel the somber atmosphere.

Arien rode a little apart from the others, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. She felt a deep connection to her companions, a sense of belonging that she had not known for centuries. Yet, there was also the weight of her secrets, the knowledge that her true identity was known to only a few. She glanced occasionally at Legolas, wondering what he truly thought of her now.

Gandalf rode beside King Théoden, the two of them discussing the strategy for the days ahead. The wizard's presence was a beacon of hope, his wisdom, and guidance invaluable to their cause. Théoden, though burdened by the losses his people had suffered, drew strength from Gandalf's counsel.

As they neared Isengard, the landscape grew increasingly desolate. The once lush forests were now twisted and blackened, the earth scarred by the machinations of Saruman. The air was thick with the stench of burning and decay, a testament to the dark power that had taken hold of the land.

Finally, after days of hard travel, they reached the borders of Isengard. The great tower of Orthanc loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the sky. The company paused, taking in the sight of the once mighty fortress now fallen into ruin.

"We have arrived," Gandalf said, his voice carrying a note of grim satisfaction. "Let us see what awaits us within."

With renewed determination, they urged their horses forward, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The journey had been long and fraught with peril, but they had arrived at their destination, united in their resolve to stand against the darkness that threatened their world.

As the company of Rohan and their companions approached Isengard, the elves of Lothlórien also prepared to depart from Helm's Deep. Haldir, leading his remaining warriors, cast a final glance at the fortress before turning towards the path that would take them back to the Golden Wood. The journey home would be long and somber, filled with memories of the battle they had fought and the comrades they had lost.

The morning light bathed the departing elves in a golden glow, a stark contrast to the darkness they had faced. With quiet determination, they began their journey, their hearts heavy but their spirits unbroken. They would return to their homeland, carrying with them the strength and resilience of those who had fought and fallen at Helm's Deep.

((Upcoming Chapter Thirty - Four))

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