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CHAPTER LXXIII

BEHIND THESE WALLS

"We're safe!" some of the villagers exclaimed as they crested over that last hill. "Oh, thank you! We're safe!"

Weary but glad, Annalyn smiled, and followed them on horseback until the gorge came into her line of sight. Nestled in the White Mountains, Helm's Deep lay under the shadow of Thrihyrne, the tall, craggy peaks that loomed to her left.

"Look, mama! Papa!" Galan cried as he, too, crested over the hill. Sitting atop of his horse, with his sister in front of him, he glanced over his shoulder at his parents who rode slightly behind him. "We've arrived!"

As the family urged their horses into a light trot, Annalyn loosed a laugh, and watched them overtake her.

We made it, she thought. We made it without being ambushed by Orcs. Thank the fates.

Indeed, things could have easily gone the other way. For though they had seen no sign of Orcs during their journey, the villagers had spied a ruined village and ominous columns of smoke along the way.

"So, this is Helm's Deep," Ninael said as she rode to Annalyn's right. "I have travelled many leagues during my long years, but my feet have never tread in these parts."

"In our search for plants, my kin and I spent much time in the White Mountains. But we seldom stopped here," Annalyn replied. "I have been to Helm's Deep but once in my life. Three years ago." Searching her memory, she pointed at the fortified structure. "Helm's Deep includes that entire gorge, the fortress of Hornburg, and the Deeping Wall over there."

Apparently, there were caves, too. But Annalyn had never seen them with her own eyes.

And so they arrived. Passing through the gate, they entered the outer courtyard, where stable hands awaited to take their horses. As Annalyn dismounted, she promptly gathered her things, and took in the already crowded space. There were soldiers here, along with peasants, from the very young to the very old. At present, their voices echoed against the walls, the sound blending with the clopping of hooves on stone.

"It seems we are not the first to find refuge here," Annalyn told Ninael, then stretched her aching back. "My body is stiff from all that riding. It will feel good to walk around."

When a stable boy came forth to get Cobalt, Annalyn gave a small smile and said, "My friend here is weary. Please take good care of him."

The boy inclined his head at that, while another arrived to take Ninael's horse. Once they had gone, Annalyn surveyed her surroundings. When her gaze landed on a nearby cart of potatoes, she couldn't help but wonder how long they would be here. Is there enough food to feed all of these mouths?

As more and more villagers filed in, Annalyn and Ninael decided to stretch their legs by touring the fortress. Ensconced within circular walls, the inner and outer courtyards formed two concentric circles, in the middle of which was the Keep.

Climbing to the upper level, the two came to stand behind the parapet, where they gazed out at the surrounding land. Except for a distant line of smoke, it looked deceptively peaceful now. A vast landscape of green and flaxen gold.

"Do you think they are right?" Ninael asked Annalyn. "The villagers who think they will be safe here."

Annalyn gave it some thought. "Long years ago, our people weathered a siege within these walls. If the Orcs do come here, my hope is that they will break upon the fortress, leaving us unscathed. If they don't…" If they arrive by the thousands… Annalyn shuddered to think of it. For as she looked around, it was painfully clear that there were too few soldiers to mount a proper defense.

"Let us hope they do not come here, then," Ninael stated at length, her sable hair fluttering in the gathering wind.

The days were dreadfully long in the Hornburg. For Annalyn, it felt as if she were standing at the edge of a precipice, holding her breath as she awaited news from the outside.

When Théodred and his men had left her village to gather more soldiers, their aim had been to stop Saruman's army before it was fully prepared. Did they achieve their goal? Had the threat been eliminated? Annalyn prayed it was so, but doubt gnawed at her. The forces they were up against had been described as a great host. How many were there? A thousand? Five thousand? More?

In order to counter the uncertainty, she kept up her training. Ninael did, too. At first, their sparring matches drew strange looks, especially from the men. But as the days passed by, people got used to the sight, and generally paid them no mind.

"You parried well," Ninael said as she lowered her sword, and regained a natural stance.

"Thank you," Annalyn replied, breathing hard.

Because the fortress wasn't fully manned, the two had chosen to train on a deserted section of the Deeping Wall. The air was cool up here, the northerly wind coming in gusts which drove away the clouds.

With her sword now sheathed in her scabbard, Annalyn decided to rest by the parapet, where she took a much-needed drink from her waterskin. When her thoughts turned to Haldir—as they always did—a heaviness settled over her heart, prompting her to look at her friend and say, "Ninael, may I ask you something?"

"By all means."

"When last I dreamed of Haldir, on the night Théodred and his muster left the village, he asked me something. 'Come home', he said." A fleeting smile tugged at her mouth. "I awoke before I could say anything. Do you think he would understand? Do you think he would understand my reasons for staying in Rohan? At least for now."

"Haldir is a Marchwarden. If anyone would understand, it would be him."

The words were comforting, but they could not fully dispel the worry in her heart. Needing to sense her beloved, Annalyn searched through the bond until she felt something: apprehension mingled with purpose, longing laced with hope.

Wanting a clearer glimpse, she sank further into her thoughts, and silently called his name. It was for naught, though. Met by silence, Annalyn grudgingly admitted defeat, and shifted her musings.

She sighed.

Whether in Helm's Deep or somewhere else, war was coming. How will it be? How will I fare through it?

Her gut twisted, her mind going back to Aldin, and what he had once said to her.

"I do not always show it, nor have I said it… but you have strength in you, Annalyn, and much courage."

Perhaps it was prideful to admit, but Annalyn knew she had strength in her, and courage as well. But fighting in a war…

"Something troubles you still," Ninael observed at length.

Her mouth curving in a small smile, Annalyn replaced the stopper on her waterskin. "Your eyes miss little, mellon nîn. My thoughts have been heavy of late." She pushed away from the parapet. "Long have you held a sword and defended Lothlórien's borders. I, on the other hand, have very little experience when it comes to actual battles. Despite my training, I cannot help but feel unprepared."

"War is a beast of its own," Ninael allowed and walked nearer to her. "One cannot be wholly prepared for it."

She was about to say more when something drew her attention. As a frown pinched her brows, the Elf approached the parapet, and gazed down at the ramp that led up to the main gate.

"A lone rider," Annalyn said. "A bearer of news perhaps."

Eager to find out, the two women made their way down to the outer courtyard, where the man was dismounting his horse, a powerless expression on his bearded face. "The King's son," he began as people crowded all around. "Prince Théodred… he is dead, slain at the Fords of Isen, some days past."

A chorus of gasps echoed in the space, a few cries as well. Speaking over the sounds of shock and grief, he relayed the story as best as he could, just as he had heard it from a battle-worn soldier.

"When Théodred and his men headed toward Isengard, Saruman had already gathered his troops and sent them south. They were lying in wait, and they ambushed the prince's cavalry."

Annalyn felt sick to hear it. Théodred was—had been—a great commander who was loved by his people. He was too young to die, she thought, and listened as the man went on.

"When he was flanked by Orcs from the west, Théodred ordered a retreat, but the Rohirrim were followed. By that time, Orcs had control over the eastern shore as well."

Most of the onlookers had fallen silent by this point. As the man continued his story, several horrorstruck looks were exchanged.

"As Théodred and his men held a little hill, they were attacked. It is said they cried for help, and aid came to them," he added, then looked downward. "But it was too late. By the time Grimbold and his men arrived, the prince had fallen."

As one would expect, these tidings of evil cast a shroud over the people in Helm's Deep. In the sullen days that followed, a feeling of gloom settled over many. Would Rohan endure? Or would it fall in the coming war?

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