Aiër Chapter 18
They encountered both Gimli and Legolas by the time they'd reached the central chamber, and so all four of them together had crossed the inner court and climbed the stairs to the great wooden doors. Shëanon was having a hard time concentrating; it was clear that there was some urgent matter to be discussed, for Aragorn's stride was quick and purposeful despite his weariness and he had been distracted while being reunited with his companions, but she had gone from devastation to elation so quickly that she was struggling to get a hold of herself. All she could make sense of was her relief, but it was quickly giving way to anxiety as Aragorn's worry became more and more pronounced.
He laid his hands against the massive doors and pushed.
The king was inside with Gamling and Erkenbrand and a few others, and they all looked up as the groaning of wood and hinges echoed in the room. Shëanon watched their eyes widen as they realized who was standing before them, and the king blinked as Aragorn strode quickly forward.
"You are alive," Théoden remarked, rising.
Aragorn wasted no time.
"I have seen the army that marches on this keep," he said fervently, looking kingly himself even while he was filthy and bleeding. Shëanon watched his face nervously as he spoke. "All Isengard is emptied. It is a host so great that—"
"A great host, you say?" Théoden interrupted, beginning to pace the chamber. "How many?"
Everyone looked to Aragorn in anticipation—everyone save the king. The reverberating silence and their utter attention invoked a series of nervous pangs in her stomach.
"Ten thousand strong at least," he said, never once averting his eyes from the king even as the man's back was to him.
Théoden turned, the disbelief and horror written all over his face. "Ten thousand?"
There was a distressed murmuring at these words, and Shëanon had to press her hand over her mouth in her shock. Ten thousand uruk-hai? She looked to Legolas, hoping to gauge his reaction, but his eyes were fixed on the two men before him, his arms crossed over his chest.
"They will be here by nightfall," Aragorn confirmed.
Shëanon balked. There was no way. She had been there to see the maps, she had witnessed the king's preparations and heard the strategies of the Rohirrim. She knew how many men there were in the keep. They were outnumbered by such a large margin that she felt physically ill. Ten thousand! They would last not half the night.
The guards were all staring at their king, waiting to see his reaction, and as the pause lengthened, so did the terrible knots in her stomach. Shëanon did not know what she had expected of him, but it was certainly not what Théoden actually said.
"Let them come!" he snarled, storming towards the doors. His advisors all hastened to follow, and numbly Shëanon hurried after them as her companions also fell into step.
"Ten thousand, Aragorn?" she asked in a terrified whisper as they followed the king up onto the wall. "What are we going to do?"
The ranger glanced down at her with a grim expression, but his reply was cut off as Théoden began shouting commands to the men.
"I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready for battle by nightfall!" he called, sending several of the Rohirrim down to the armory. "Any man who can walk, any boy who can lift a sword—they will defend this keep with blood and honor. We will cover the causeway and the gate from above. No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall or set foot inside the Hornburg!"
She watched in a daze as the men began running around to do the king's bidding. Erkenbrand took his orders and hastened down back into the keep to relay them there; there was talk of additional fortifications and precautions that she tried to follow with a frown. Théoden stopped every so many feet along the battlements to make comments and give orders, and while Helm's Deep had seemed hectic before, it was suddenly transformed into a kind of ordered madness. Shëanon had never seen the like.
"The valley will run with the blood of Isengard this night," he declared as at last he turned back towards them. His face was hard and severe, his eyes flashing and his words sure. "Let Saruman the White try what he will. He will hear the ring of our swords and the cries of our victory all the way from his black tower."
"This is no rabble of mindless Orcs," Gimli told him as he approached. "These are Uruk-hai. Their armor is thick and their shields broad."
Théoden stopped in his tracks, and the look in his eyes made Shëanon cringe as he fixed the dwarf in his steely gaze.
"I have fought many wars, Master Dwarf," he said coldly. "I know how to defend my own keep."
"They will break upon this fortress like water on rock," he called, marching resolutely to the head of the keep and looking down at the causeway. "Saruman's hordes will pillage and burn, we've seen it before. Crops can be resown; homes rebuilt. Within these walls, we will outlast them."
Shëanon bit her lip, glancing anxiously at her companions. Somehow she did not think that ten thousand uruk-hai would break against anything like water on rock. The helplessness of their situation was quickly dawning on her, especially as she noticed the harsh set of Legolas's jaw and the furrow of Aragorn's brow.
"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or villages," Aragorn argued, his frustration showing through as he spoke. He followed after the king up the steps. "They come to destroy its people. Down to the last child."
She had followed after him as he'd glared at the king, but Shëanon froze when Théoden suddenly turned and seized Aragorn by the collar of his shirt.
"What would you have me do? Look at my men," Théoden growled, speaking lowly so that the Rohirrim would not hear. His words, however, carried to her keen ears, and she saw that even as he was caught in his hold, Aragorn's resolve did not appear to have left him. "Their courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance."
Our end. Shëanon's stomach lurched.
"It is hopeless," she hissed at Legolas in Sindarin, for the elf had silently come up beside her to observe the scene. Her feelings were between great fear, agitation, and stubbornness. "He knows that we will lose and still he would tell the Rohirrim that they will prevail. Should not they know what they will face?"
Legolas met her eyes for a moment before looking back at Aragorn and the king.
"Send out riders, my lord. You must call for aid," Aragorn beseeched him.
Théoden shot him a look of disgust.
"And who will come? Elves? Dwarves?" he glared at Shëanon, Legolas, and Gimli before turning back to the ranger. "We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead."
"Gondor will answer," Aragorn said at once.
"Gondor?" the king sneered, his expression darkening further, his eyes like solid obsidian that glinted even beneath the sunless sky. "Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us? No, my lord Aragorn, we are alone."
Shëanon watched the way Aragorn glared as Théoden turned and strode away, his cape billowing behind him in the harsh wind that was assaulting the keep.
"Get the women and children into the caves!" he called in his wake. Shëanon tensed.
"We need more time to lay provisions for a siege, my lord–"
"There is no time," the king barked. "War is upon us!"
"Secure the gate!" Gamling cried, disappearing into the fortress. Shëanon remained with her companions up upon the battlements.
"The caves?" she asked nervously as the great doors below were hefted closed and barred.
Aragorn turned to her, his eyes troubled.
"The glittering caves run behind the keep and into the mountains," he said. "The women and children will be barricaded inside during the battle."
Shëanon shuddered. She remembered seeing the tunnels upon the king's maps, but she had not imagined that when he'd spoken of getting the women to safety, he'd been referring to locking them underground. She remembered the darkness of Moria, the suffocating closeness of the air and the terrible knowledge that so much crushing stone lay between her and the open sky. She felt her muscles convulse again. How would it be to sit in there and wait out a battle?
Aragorn was watching her closely.
"They cannot remain inside the keep," he said tiredly. His voice reminded her of how haggard he had seemed upon his arrival; it was clear that although he'd cast it aside momentarily, he was badly in need of food and rest and attention to his wounds.
"Aragorn, perhaps Legolas should see to—"
Aragorn shook his head at once and headed off in the direction of the stairs.
"There is no time," he said over his shoulder.
Within the garrison, the king's orders were already being followed through. Men, women, and children were all frantically calling to loved ones and neighbors, attempting to gather supplies and weave through the crowds. The knowledge that there was to be an attack had evidently spread, for Shëanon could see one woman crying and hugging an adolescent boy to her chest. One of Théoden's guards was directing the transfer of many barrels from the storerooms to the caves, and an old woman with a cane was leaning heavily on a man in armor who was shouting for the crowd to let them by.
She watched the scene with growing dismay.
"Alright, lass?" Gimli asked, tapping her arm with the back of his axe.
Swallowing, she nodded, her eyes following the trail that the women were taking around the keep, herded like livestock out of the way. The idea of the caves still turned her stomach, though she knew that the Men were trying to protect them.
Aragorn had begun pacing around the edges of the ramp.
"We will place reserves along the parapets," he said, glancing up at the walls as he spoke. "They can support the archers from above the gate."
"Aragorn," Legolas murmured from beside her. "Shëanon believes the wall will be breeched."
The quiet words hung awkwardly in the air between them. Then Aragorn frowned and glanced around to stare at her.
"The wall is solid rock," he said slowly, looking from her face to the immense stone structure that stretched all the way across the Deep, from the keep to the watchtower. "You think it will be breeched?"
Shëanon shifted uneasily, not liking the tense scrutiny of the moment at all.
"I think that that is what I have been seeing," she explained quietly, not quite knowing how to convey the strange sensation she'd experienced as she'd looked upon the map. "I just—I have a feeling…"
Aragorn's frown grew more pronounced. He stepped closer to her.
"You are certain that your vision shows the wall?" he asked, regarding her intensely. "How do you know that it was not the keep? Could you have been above the gate?"
Shëanon hesitated.
"Vision? What vision?" Gimli asked in confusion.
"I am not sure," Shëanon whispered uncertainly. She looked anxiously between the Deeping Wall and the gate. "I think it was the wall, Aragorn…"
Aragorn grimaced and began to pace again. She could see the crease between his eyebrows and the harsh line of his shoulders that indicated just how frayed were his nerves. Shëanon understood his anxiety, for she herself was beginning to feel doubtful when before she had been so certain, and ten thousand uruk-hai… The notion made her sick.
She followed the ranger with her eyes, watching him stride back and forth.
"What vision are we talking about?" Gimli asked again, thumping his axe against the stone to emphasize his question.
Shëanon ran her fingers through her hair.
"What should we do?" she asked Aragorn nervously, her eyes darting over to where one of the Rohirrim was urgently shouting for the women and children to move more quickly. The atmosphere was all too unsettling.
Aragorn suddenly stopped pacing and looked at her in such a manner that a pang of trepidation shot through her stomach.
"I want you to go to sleep," he said firmly. Shëanon's eyes widened.
"What?" she blinked. He seemed quite serious, his eyes glittering with determination and resolve. "I'm not going to go to sleep, Aragorn! We are about to do battle!"
"You will sleep," he disagreed. "Try to determine how and where the breech will come. We must be prepared. The keep will not hold if the defenses are broken through."
He wanted her to have another vision. Shëanon blanched.
"It doesn't work like that, Aragorn," she said uneasily. "I cannot make the visions come—I cannot choose what I see…"
"You say you've been having it again and again. Almost every time you sleep, Shea," he reminded her. He came forward and rested his hands on her shoulders, gazing steadily down at her face. He lowered his voice. "I know you cannot control it. Just try. We must know what we face."
Shëanon cringed. He was certainly correct that she'd been having the vision with increasing frequency. Was that not why she had been awake when Legolas had returned to camp two nights before? But still she was unsure.
"How can I sleep when I know that all of Isengard will be here in a matter of hours? I would never be able to manage it, Aragorn. I can hardly sleep as it is."
The ranger's eyes shifted, and Shëanon followed his gaze to look over her shoulder. Legolas stood behind her, frowning back at his companion.
"No," she said at once, blushing profusely as she understood the direction of Aragorn's thoughts.
"He was able to get you to sleep even in Moria," Aragorn said sharply. "Surely you would be able to fall asleep again now."
"It wouldn't work," she argued, stepping out of his grasp and shaking her head, her embarrassment quickly escalating. "They don't—I do not see anything when Legolas—when he's there," she said in a mortified undertone.
Aragorn grit his teeth.
"Then he will get you to sleep and then leave," he bit out. It sounded like a command, and Shëanon bit her tongue against her retort.
"You must try," he pleaded, entreating her. He gestured behind him to the men and women hurrying into the caves. "We cannot risk any uncertainty."
The pressure was what was bothering Shëanon—the weight that he was placing on her shoulders. She did not like the notion that so much rested on her ability to foresee the battle with accuracy when she could hardly make sense of her visions at all. The responsibility staggered her.
"Even if it works," she said worriedly, "it might not be any different from the other ones. They have all been so brief and everything happens so fast—I do not know if I will be able to tell…"
"You have seen the keep now," Aragorn reminded her. "You have stood upon the Deeping Wall. This time you will know what to look for."
Shëanon groaned and covered her face with her hands. He seemed to have such confidence in her. What if she let him down? What if she failed him and the Rohirrim and they all died because of her incompetency? Worse still, what if she made a mistake and told Aragorn the wrong information. She looked up at him in extreme apprehension, feeling that she was beginning to sweat. He was watching her expectantly.
Curling and uncurling her hands into fists, she dared to glance back at Legolas. He was not looking at her at all; his gaze was fixed unwaveringly upon Aragorn, his expression hard.
Shëanon drew in a shuddering breath.
"I will try," she relented, still with extreme worry and many misgivings. "That is all I can guarantee."
"That is all that I ask," Aragorn said in a voice that was suddenly gentle, as though he had just realized how tense she had become. "Legolas?"
Shëanon looked back at him once more, waiting anxiously for his response. Finally he placed his hand against her back.
"Come, aiër," he murmured, still without looking at her. "Let us find a place where you can lie down."
He guided her around Aragorn and Gimli and to the bottom of the last few steps.
"Shea." Aragorn's voice was not loud as he called after her, and she turned back to see his steady expression. His clear eyes, though still reflecting the weight of his stress and his worry, were as reassuring as they could have been given the situation. "Do not worry," he told her.
Shëanon nodded and turned away.
Legolas lead her through the crowd and back towards the center of the fortress. They went down into the cellars, into the same hallway in which Shëanon had earlier taken refuge in the storeroom, but rather than return there he guided her silently further down the long, low-ceilinged hall. His stern demeanor was unspeakably unsettling, and if it weren't for the tightness in her throat she would have begged him to look at her or say something simply to put her mind at ease. He began pushing open doors, peering inside briefly and moving on until at last he seemed to find a place he deemed appropriate. Towards the end of the long, dim hall they came upon a small chamber in which there were what appeared to be supplies meant for the Rohirrim's horses: saddles and harnesses and the like. To one side, however, there were several bales of hay stacked along the wall, and Legolas went there immediately and shoved them close together in an arrangement that would have passed for a makeshift bed. There was a pile of folded blankets—clearly also intended for horses—in the corner, and the elf took two and quickly spread them over the coarse hay while Shëanon watched anxiously from the doorway.
"Shut the door, aiër," he said, his back to her. She silently obeyed, but found that the closed door only added to the pressure of her worry. Slowly she crossed the small room to stand beside him.
"What is it?" she whispered, laying her hand against his arm. For some reason, she had the impression that he'd consented to help her against his will. "What's wrong?"
His features were troubled as she'd looked up at him, but almost as soon as she'd spoken, his face smoothed into the impassive solemnity to which she was so accustomed.
"It is nothing, young one," he said quietly. "It is only that the coming battle casts a shadow over my thoughts. Be at ease."
Be at ease? Was he mad? As if she could so easily cast aside the crippling knowledge that they were to be attacked by thousands of uruk-hai. And, more than that, the small room in which they stood felt so tense and she felt so anxious. She was reminded of when she would not practice her archery in front of her father when she was young, of how the awareness of his observation had perturbed and discomfited her.
"Take off your quiver," Legolas instructed. "Come, we have not much time."
Her fingers trembled as they moved over the buckle that rested between her breasts, and then clumsily she shrugged out of the straps and set her bow and quiver against the wall. Her sword followed, and then she glanced back at Legolas. He had been watching her wordlessly, and he gestured for her to climb onto the hay.
Shëanon crawled to the far side of the blanket, knowing that Legolas would lie down beside her. Shaking, she shifted around to lean against her palm and watched as he laid himself down beside her. There was hardly any light in the room, but not so little that she was blind like she'd been in the mines; she could see his face well enough. His eyes burned her.
Feeling rather awkward and intimidated, she lay down. The hay was rough and unyielding and the blanket was scratchy, but it was not by far the most uncomfortable surface she had slept on since leaving Rivendell.
"What if this doesn't work?" she asked, attempting to take deep, soothing breaths.
Legolas shifted and drew her against him, positioning her so that she lay against his chest and wrapping his arms around her, and Shëanon willing allowed herself to be moved and held by him.
"If it does not work, then you will have done all you can," he said quietly.
Shëanon bit her lip. The only sound in the room was his breathing, but she could also hear his heart pounding beneath her ear. They were so deep into the garrison that she could not even hear the many refugees, and the warmth of his body drove away the chill in the air. Still, the quiet was heavy in her ears and the knowledge that she had to fall asleep quickly was making it difficult for her to relax. Legolas's touch, though sometimes so reassuring and soothing to her, seemed to increase rather than calm the tremors that racked her body. Then there was still that awful attitude he bore—a distance and hardness that made her feel incredibly ill at ease. Several moments passed during which she fidgeted and tried to keep her eyes closed.
"I cannot do this," she whispered against his chest when the quiet became too much for her. "I do not know what Aragorn was thinking. He should not have asked me—Ten thousand uruk-hai march here right now…"
Legolas tensed beneath her. She could feel the way his body tightened and then relaxed once more and suspected that he was as bothered by those tidings as was she. His arms tightened around her.
"Do not think about that, Shëanon," he said sternly. His right arm settled about her shoulders, his fingers against the skin there between her shoulder and her neck, and his other hand was flat against the small of her back. She felt his grip tighten further. "Pretend we are in Lothlórien."
Shëanon closed her eyes again and tried to picture how it had been in her talan, with the soft white sheets and the warm flicker of the candlelight; the little glowing lanterns in the eaves of the ceiling had shone overhead like small blue fireflies against the leaves and branches that were visible through the latticework, and Legolas had whispered against her hair in his low, fair voice… She had not known it at the time, but Shëanon had been engulfed by the sensation of his fëa around her, his body so closely pressed against her own. She could hardly feel it there in Rohan, however, as nervous and distracted as she was.
"Shall I speak of it?" Legolas asked. Shëanon nodded against him, knowing that his fair elven speech was what had initially entranced her on those other occasions.
"I spoke of Imladris that first night, do you remember?" he whispered, and she nodded again. "I had barely begun to speak before you had fallen asleep, such was your exhaustion. Do you know that you spoke in your sleep that night, aiër?"
Shëanon tensed. She had certainly not known that.
"Worry not," he murmured, his hand sliding up and down her back. "You said nothing coherent. I think my words had carried into your sleep, for it was mostly about Rivendell. 'Returning books to Erestor,' I remember you were mumbling at one point. It was… entertaining."
She listened raptly, her attention piqued and her heart pounding.
"A few times you spoke my name," he whispered. His voice sounded tenser than usual. "I thought you had woken, but you were very deeply asleep. Still now I wonder what paths you had walked in your reveries… I often find it strange that mortals sleep with their eyes closed, but it is not strange for me to see you thus, for you are fair even when sleeping in such a manner. You were biting your lip, as well, just as you do when waking, and for one so small, aiër, I must say that you took up very much of that bed. You seemed quite determined to lie precisely in the middle—"
"Legolas," Shëanon interjected, her face flaming. The idea of him so closely studying her while she was unconscious did absolutely nothing to help her relax. But he had called her 'fair' again… "Please, talk about something else. Will you speak of Caras Galadhon?"
He was silent for a moment, but eventually he acquiesced. It was much better to listen to his harmless descriptions of the trees than to his disconcerting assessment of her, but still her mind was racing and sleep evaded her.
"Young one," Legolas murmured, stopping with his account of the Golden Wood. "Keep your eyes closed."
Shëanon huffed and propped herself up on her elbows, gazing down at him.
"I cannot," she said in a dismayed whisper. "It is too much—"
"Shëanon," he said patiently, "Aragorn is right. You fell asleep in Moria. You can fall asleep now. It is because you know what I am doing and are trying to resist it that it is not working now."
He brushed her braid behind her back, for it had fallen over her shoulder, but Shëanon could still sense that he was greatly troubled. It made her chest feel tight, and she felt even worse for failing to do something so simple as falling asleep.
"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I am not trying to. It's just that all I can think about is Háma's body torn apart and the little children in the caves and the faces of the uruk-hai who will probably kill me. I know that that is cowardly, but I cannot help it. And Aragorn made it seem so important that now I can't do it, and you are waiting for me to fall asleep and there isn't much time and it's making me nervous—"
"Do not be nervous, dear one," he said quietly, and Shëanon stared at him. "Did I not tell you to think of Lothlórien? This is exactly as it was then. I will lie with you for as long as you need me to. Forgive me. I did not mean for you to feel rushed."
She did not know what to say to him then, so taken was she by the endearment.
"Here, let us try something different. Lie on your side."
Shëanon did as he asked, and to her bemusement Legolas did the same so that they lay facing one another. He pulled her close and threw his cloak over her, and held her against him so that her temple was beneath his cheek. She was unsurprised when he placed her palm against the center of his chest, but his hand did not remain there over hers. Instead she felt it between her shoulder blades.
"Do as I told you last night," he whispered. She knew that he meant for her to focus on him, and she squeezed her eyes closed and concentrated on his heartbeat and his breathing and the smell and feeling of him around her. Her awareness of his fëa was sudden and powerful, even though it was more of a focus on something that had been present all along than the coming of a new sensation all together. She shivered she felt his fingers graze the skin at the nape of her neck.
"Count my heartbeats," he whispered in her ear. "If you reach one hundred, start to count backwards."
Taking a deep breath, Shëanon did as he said. Thump-thump. One. Thump-thump. Two. She could feel it beneath her palm and hear it where her ear was against him, and the steady cadence went on and on and on. Soothingly, his hand trailed up and down her back, up and down to the pace of her breathing, and she was so very warm with his Lórien cloak wrapped around her and his body heat encasing her.
Thump-thump. Twenty. Shëanon tried desperately not to let her mind wander, but it was difficult to count when he was touching her as he was; she remembered when she could hardly look at him without cringing in embarrassment, and yet there she was lying in his arms while he held and caressed her so intimately. Despite the fact that they had done battle only hours before and even while they had been on the road for days and days, his skin was still fragrant and clean smelling, and yet something was also so very male and so very Legolas. His fëa seemed to pulse in the time of his heartbeat in her consciousness. She could not even have said in what way she perceived it; was it her own fëa that sensed his? Shëanon lost count of what number she was on, so she simply began to count down from one hundred.
His chest rose and fell beneath hers, and she found herself breathing in time with his breaths. Vaguely she remembered that there was an army on the way, that she had to have a vision, but his fingers had moved to her hair and the sensation was so incredible that she heard herself sigh against his clothes. What number was she on? Shëanon did not know, but she could feel and hear his heart everywhere, certain and strong and constant and safe, and she did not even care that she had lost count so long as she could hear it. A heavy headiness stole over her, clouding her mind and making her limbs feel heavy. The last things she was aware of were Legolas's heartbeat and the solid warmth of him against her. Then, finally, she fell into darkness.
Rain spit at her face. Before her was a swirling, raging sea of undulating black waves, and upon the waves shone the bright lights of many flames. Shëanon blinked, for it was not a sea at all but an army of putrid-skinned, torch-bearing uruk-hai; their cruel weapons shone beneath the flash of lightning overhead. Suddenly, there was a crack of thunder so violent that she felt the air's vibration in her very bones, and Shëanon was running along the battlements. There was screaming everywhere; she could see Théoden ahead standing over the gate, and she was running towards him, along the wall. The deafening din of clashing metal and cries of agony drowned out all other sound, and she bowed her head against the downpour as she ran, hardly able to see the men around her as she made her way over the wet, slippery stone. Then a sense of panic came over her all of a sudden, and in horror Shëanon glanced down over the edge of the wall to see a great burst of light below, reflecting off of the murky water of the Deeping Stream, and a scream caught in her throat as she fled, knowing that she had to escape, to get away, and then came the blast that rent the entire valley, so loud that she thought her eardrums had surely burst, and the force of the blow was so powerful that Shëanon was lifted off her feet and she felt the rush of the wind as she fell, fell, and collided hard against the ground so that she could draw no breath—
Shëanon opened her eyes with a gasp, shaking and sweating. For one panicked moment, she had no idea where she was or what had happened, and the darkness of her surroundings was absolute. Then, with a start, she recalled the battle and the tiny chamber full of hay and she remembered lying in Legolas's arms… She glanced down, disoriented, at the rough horse blanket upon which she lay. The wall. It had been the wall. Shëanon shoved off the hay bales and groped for her weapons before stumbling to the door at once, wrenching it open to run into the hall. She could not believe that it had worked, but she sent up a prayer of thanks to the Valar.
"Aragorn!" she called as she reached the crowds in the keep above. It had grown dark, but she had no idea how long she had slept. The women were all apparently gone into the caves, for around her she saw only men. Some were hard and wore the helms of the Rohirrim and others were older or else so young that they were really boys, but still all bore the grim expressions of people who knew that there was death to come. They were running about frantically, and Shëanon joined in, desperately pushing through the chaos and running up the stairs to the courtyards there. "Where is Lord Aragorn? Aragorn!"
She found him in the inner courtyard, not far from the great hall. He was with Legolas and Gimli, and she screamed his name as she rushed to them; the three of them turned to her with discerning, expectant eyes. The dim sky overhead threatened rain, she noted with a pang of fear.
"It is the wall," she gasped as she skidded to a halt before them, clutching her chest—she was breathing so quickly. She seized Aragorn's wrist. "Aragorn, they are going to destroy it."
Aragorn's face quickly went from alarm to dark disbelief.
"What do you mean?" he asked urgently. "Destroy it how?"
"They are going to blow it up!" she cried, remembering the vivid images. "Near to the stream. The explosion—the crash—it was not a collision or anything that I've ever seen. They are not going to batter through the stone. They are going to raise it to the ground. The force of it—all of Isengard will be able to walk right through!"
Her voice had quickly grown hysterical. Aragorn seized her arms and tugged her near to him, speaking in a low, authoritative voice near to her face.
"Shea," he said quietly, his eyes roving over her, "did you see how it will happen? Do you know when it will fall?"
Shëanon shook her head.
"No," she admitted wretchedly. "No, I do not know how they will do it. It was raining, and I was running along the wall towards the keep. There was thunder and then lightning, and I looked over the battlements and I saw a huge, sparking light below, and then I knew that it would come and I tried to escape the blow."
Aragorn cursed and turned from her. Gimli and Legolas were staring, their expressions dark and troubled, but neither spoke. Shëanon wanted very badly to go to Legolas and know the reassurance of his touch, but for some reason she could not quite bear to look at him and she knew that she had to be strong and disciplined like her companions. She drew a shuddering breath.
"Alright," Aragorn reasoned, wiping his hand over his face and turning to look out at the Deep. "Alright. Archers and lances on the wall. Reserves in the Deep and the rest to defend the Hornburg. Any light in this valley, any spark or flame, and we will fill the orcs with arrows."
"And what of Théoden?" Legolas asked, suddenly standing beside her. His face was distant and severe, so different from the burning intensity of before.
Aragorn's eyes darkened further, but he lifted his chin.
"He must be told," the ranger agreed, and with that he turned and made for the immense wooden doors.
Shëanon moved to follow him, but Legolas restrained her with a hand upon her shoulder.
"Stay here, aiër," he said without looking at her. His eyes had followed Aragorn's path, and soon enough the doors burst open again and the king and his men stormed out into the garrison. Théoden looked livid and strained.
To her extreme consternation, he made a beeline for her. It was all Shëanon could do not to retreat from his rampaging advancement. Legolas's fingers tightened on her shoulder.
The king stopped feet from her face. The tumultuous clouds overhead were reflected in his pale eyes, and the vigorous defiance that she saw in his regard reminded her of the Golden Hall when he had so scornfully spoken to Aragorn. When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan.
"Explain yourself, she-elf," the king commanded at once, his sharp voice silencing everyone in the vicinity. Shëanon flushed. She had not anticipated such ramifications.
Aragorn, scowling, pushed in front of Gamling and Erkenbrand.
"I have explained already on her behalf," He said angrily, his voice tight as the tension of the situation quickly escalated.
Shëanon glanced hastily back at Théoden and saw that he appeared even more ferocious.
"I would hear it from the witch's own mouth," the king growled, bearing down on her.
Witch? She recoiled as though he had struck her. Surely she did not look upon the same man who had defended her earlier before his guards, who had so kindly spoken to her on the battlefield when she'd believed Aragorn to be dead. She balled her hands into fists. She was no witch.
"Shëanon has just provided you with information that could save your people," Legolas said coldly. He had not relinquished his hold on her. "You should be thanking her."
Théoden fixed him in his hard gaze, his countenance stormy and unflinching.
"Tell me," he said, drawing himself to his full height, "why should I risk the security of this keep over the silly dreams of a young girl? Why should I gamble this loss over the word of some elf-child from the north?"
"You gamble now no matter what you do," Shëanon said quietly, though inside she was seething and her stomach roiled uncertainly. "To decide not to believe me is still a gamble in itself."
Théoden stared her hard in the face.
"And you are so certain?" he asked harshly. "How many times have you seen such things, Lady Elf? Many battles and many outcomes? And you have never before been wrong, is that it?"
Shëanon clenched her teeth. For a moment she said nothing, and Théoden practically growled at her.
"Well?"
"I have not been wrong before," she murmured. She decided not to mention that she could count on her fingers the number of things she had ever foreseen. "But neither have I ever acted on what I saw."
The king remained silent, sizing her up. At last he jerked his head at Aragorn.
"You would stand by her word?" he demanded. Shëanon turned her eyes anxiously to where he stood, humbled and relieved when he did not even hesitate.
"I would," he said firmly.
Théoden looked out at the inclement night.
"So be it."
Shëanon did not miss the intensity of the glares she received from the Rohirrim who had borne witness to the conversation. It appeared that Legolas had not, either, for he glowered down at all of them in a truly frightening silence as the king began re-strategizing with them and with Aragorn. It was decided that Erkenbrand and Aragorn would command the Men upon the wall, and that they were to remain vigilant at all times to strange threats and activity against the stone. It would be difficult—no, impossible to do so with ten thousand orcs to keep track of, and everyone knew it. Shëanon was asked to explain her vision in detail many times—something that made her feel extremely uncomfortable, but she grit her teeth and did it.
"A large, spitting light?" one of the men scoffed, his dismay showing through in his tone of voice. "You saw nothing more specific? They will carry thousands of torches!"
Shëanon blushed.
"It was yellow," she said flatly, and the man scowled his anger and took a few steps toward her.
"That is close enough," Legolas snarled, his words deathly quiet and dangerous. Shëanon glanced up at him beseechingly, wanting to avoid further conflict, but he paid her no mind.
The guard's hand rested upon the hilt of his sword.
"You do not know what is at stake here," he told Legolas darkly. His words were heavily accented as he spoke the common tongue, and Shëanon could see the dark circles beneath his light eyes.
Legolas's face remained entirely impassive and unchanging, though somehow still his disdain was clearly evident.
"Do we not?" he asked, raising and eyebrow and crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Will we not also die here in this place?"
The man looked like he wanted to kill him.
"I care nothing for your elven lives," he hissed. "You are here by your own choice, but my wife and daughter are in the caves and they will meet cruel ends if what this sorceress claims is not true."
Shëanon looked down at her feet, feeling the gravity of what he'd said. What if she was wrong? What if she had misinterpreted something? The idea that so many people would die…
"We will do all that we can to defend this keep," Aragorn cut in, his eyes flickering between Legolas and the guard. Shëanon noticed that Legolas still watched him like a hawk.
"Go then and prepare yourselves," Théoden ordered, turning away from Gamling to survey the unfolding incident. "There will be bloodshed enough tonight without bloodshed among us. I suggest you take your leave."
He had spoken to Aragorn, but everyone looked to Legolas, including Shëanon. His eyes narrowed and his jaw hard, he looked the exact picture of a lethal elven warrior about to cut down an advancing foe. Then, finally, he turned and walked calmly away from the gathered Men. Shëanon followed at once with Gimli, but she saw the king clasp Aragorn's shoulder and speak in his ear as he passed. The stares of the Rohirrim followed after them; some were worried and some were suspicious and some yet were furious, but she could feel them all upon her back as they headed down into the keep.
Legolas did not say a word as they followed him down the sloping ramp into the lower levels. Hesitantly, Shëanon laid her hand upon his arm.
"Legolas?" she whispered, wondering over his terrible severity. The elf appeared to be deep in thought, and only offered her a brief glance before looking again straight ahead, navigating through the sea of harried Men. Shëanon averted her gaze to her feet, feeling very small and overwhelmed.
A light touch suddenly brushed over her head, and she looked around to see Aragorn at her other side. He said nothing either, but the way he beheld her was caring and reassuring and she smiled weakly at him as he briefly squeezed her shoulder.
Finally, they reached their destination. The armory was packed full of people, all vying for shirts of mail and battered shields. A large man stood to one side sharpening the blades of the Men who stood in the long line before him, and the grinding sound wailed over the raucous of the Men's voices.
The four of them joined the queue. Aragorn's sword appeared to be in the greatest need of a whetstone, but Shëanon knew that her own weapon was not as sharp as it could have been. They stood restlessly in the densely crowded chamber. Aragorn kept walking around to distribute spears and daggers and crossbows before returning to their place before the wall, and Shëanon would have helped him if she were not so distressed. Some of the boys in the room looked so young that even Shëanon, who had no experience with children, was shocked by their painfully obvious youth. A man across the room appeared so old and frail that his arms could not hold aloft the broadsword he'd been given, and his shame and dismay as he'd realized it had moved her near to tears. Shëanon ran her thumb along the pommel of her own fine weapon, remembering over and over what she'd seen as she'd slept.
"It won't be enough, will it?" she whispered to Aragorn once he'd rejoined her in line once more. She looked at his worn leather jerkin rather than into his face. "Even trying to stop it, we will not be able to keep the uruk-hai from breaking through the wall. The defenses won't hold."
Aragorn said nothing, and she bowed her head. Legolas and Gimli were behind them, one by one passing their metal swords and knives and axes to the smith in charge of honing the edges. As soon as their weapons had been seen to, Aragorn set again to helping with the distributions of spears and swords to the Rohirrim. Shëanon bit her lip and began rummaging through the pile of swords, many of which were rusted or notched or unbalanced when she took them in hand. She began picking out the lightest and most efficient blades and handing them to the young boys. Some of the Men were casting her exasperated looks as they watched her swinging and testing the old weapons, casting most of them aside, but she found she didn't care. The battle was drawing near; she could feel it.
"That's a good lass," Gimli said quietly, patting her on the back and nodding his approval as he realized what she was doing. There was suddenly a dull clamor from beside her as Aragorn dropped one of the blades back onto the pile.
"Farmer, farriers, stable boys," he said grimly, observing the men around them. "These are no soldiers."
Shëanon turned away from him, not wanting to see the resignation in his eyes.
"Most have seen too many winters," Gimli agreed, frowning.
"Or too few," Legolas cut in, striding silently across the room. Shëanon glanced up at him through her eyelashes, watching him appraise the mortal men. "Look at them," he said, his eyes flashing. He stepped closer to Aragorn. "They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes."
The chatter in the chamber was hushed as the Rohirrim heard the elf's dark words. Shëanon slowly turned, worrying her lip as she understood Legolas's tense posture and cold features. Aragorn also looked up in surprise, and Shëanon exchanged a worried look with Gimli.
"And they should be," he continued, switching his words to Sindarin so that only Shëanon and Aragorn were able to understand what he said. "Three hundred against ten thousand?"
The harsh elvish was a formidable sound. Shëanon found it very difficult to look at either of them, liking neither the unbridled contempt with which Legolas spoke nor the desperate cleave to hope that she knew would be Aragorn's reaction.
"They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras," she heard him protest fervently.
"Aragorn, they cannot win this fight," Legolas said in a voice so compelling and pointed that she did not doubt him in the slightest. He spoke as one with absolute certainty and authority. She wondered if it was the captain or the prince in him that spoke in such a manner. Perhaps it was both, but she wished desperately for him to stop. "They are all going to die!"
"Then I shall die as one of them!" Aragorn snapped, switching back to the common tongue so that, whether or not it had been his intention, all those in the armory could understand his words. There was a sudden rush of shocked murmuring throughout the chamber, and Shëanon anxiously looked back and forth between the Dúnadan and the Elf.
Aragorn glared for one more painfully tense heartbeat, and then he turned to stride away.
"I would not begrudge you that," Legolas called after him, speaking in Sindarin once more. His voice reverberated like ringing steel in the stone space, terrible and deep. "But it is not for your life alone that I worry."
Aragorn stopped mid step, his shoulders going rigid. When he turned, his expression was tormented. It was clear that although Shëanon was confused by what the elf had said, Aragorn had understood his meaning perfectly.
"What would you have me do?" he asked harshly. "Send her into the caves? She would not go."
Legolas strode towards him.
"I would have you put her on a horse and send her into the mountains," he said firmly, and Shëanon gaped, the color draining from her face.
"To be cut down by orcs in the wilderness? All of Isengard—"
"All of Isengard marches on this fortress. A single rider could pass unnoticed over the Ered Nimrais."
"Are you talking about me?" She asked in disbelief, but neither Aragorn nor Legolas even bothered to look at her.
"And what then?" Aragorn demanded. "How would she cross the River Isen? She would ride to her death."
"She will die here," Legolas snarled, his eyes flashing. "By the mountains she would stand a chance."
"I am not going anywhere!" she burst furiously, balling her hands into fists.
"Do you think I want this for her?" the ranger asked raggedly, gesturing to her so that all of the Men in the room turned their eyes to her in confusion.
"We gave our word," Legolas said fiercely, sidestepping Shëanon completely. "I intend to keep it."
Aragorn shook his head, looking, finally, to where she stood. She glared at him, seeing his indecision, the set of his jaw.
"Command me if you will," she hissed at him. "I will not leave you."
Aragorn grimaced, finally re-sheathing his sword with a sigh.
"I will command you to do nothing," he said quietly. "If it is your will to remain here and fight, then I will not dissuade you."
Without a backward glance, he turned and left.
Shaking with emotion, Shëanon cast Legolas a mutinous look before hurrying after Aragorn. To her surprise, the crowd parted as easily for her as it had for him; distantly she supposed that the exchange must have been very strange and unsettling for the Rohirrim, who had understood nothing but Aragorn's momentary break from the elvish. She could not dwell on the matter, however, for more pressing on her mind was her own anger and indignation.
She rushed up stone step after stone step, trying to find where Aragorn had gone. The outer court was empty, for the guards took council with their king in the Hornburg, and the weather had gone from dreary to tempestuous in the time she'd been inside. The wind whipped at her skin, tousling her hair, and in the distance over the hills thunder rumbled ominously in the black sky. She had just reached the top of the stairs, her footsteps silent on the smooth stone, when a hand closed abruptly around her wrist.
"Shëanon."
"I do not want to speak to you," she snapped, whirling around to see Legolas standing behind her, still holding fast to her arm. She wrenched it from his grasp.
Legolas did not so much as blink.
"Listen to me, Shëanon," he said firmly. His infuriating calmness had returned—that composure that he always had—and she scowled at his fair face. "This battle cannot be won, do you understand? It will be a slaughter. Take Hasufel and ride as far from here as you can. Return to Lothlórien if you can get back through Rohan, or else make for Imladris."
"Are you mad?" she asked him angrily. In the darkness of the overcast night, his features were shadowed and severe. "You cannot seriously believe that I will go."
A crack of thunder rent the air, reverberating off of the rock around them.
"If you have any sense, you will do as I say," he said coolly, his icy eyes piercing through her, straight into her chest where the hot simmer of her fury was blazing ever greater.
"I will not abandon Aragorn," she said fiercely. "I won't do it. I will not abandon you and Gimli, and I will not leave all of these people here to die. You do not know me at all if you think that I would even consider it."
At these words, his expression darkened. It was the first time in her memory that she had ever felt truly frightened by him, and it was only because of her outrage that she did not retreat back a step as he advanced on her. Truly his movements were lithe and lethal, like some wild, predatory cat, and instinctively Shëanon bared her teeth.
"The Rohirrim will die whether or not you throw your life away, Shëanon," he said in a low, terrible voice that raised chills over every inch of her flesh. "You are too young to die here."
"Oh, now I am too young, am I?" she spat. "Make up your mind. Either I am a child or I am not. You cannot go back and forth to your own convenience." Had it really been less than a week ago that he had so tenderly told her, before the fireplace in Edoras, that she was not a mere child, that they had agreed on it together? He had smiled as he'd said it. He was not smiling as he stood before her. In fact, she had never seen him look more displeased.
"Do not put words in my mouth," he said coldly. "An elfling you are not, but still you are too young for the fate to which you would resign yourself. Do you think you know what you are choosing? Do you think you know what it means to sacrifice your life? You do not. This is no mere skirmish on the plains of Rohan. This is war, Shëanon—"
"I am aware—"
"You are not," he said sharply. "You know nothing. You are as naïve and untried as newborn lamb, youngling, no matter your skill with blade or bow. How do you think it would be here this night? The blood will be so thick upon the ground that you will be ankle-deep in the carnage, and then your own body will lie in the gore. I will not allow for you to meet your end here at the hands of the enemy when you have only just begun to live."
Shëanon stared at him in wide-eyed shock.
"I am naïve?" she asked. "I am untried? What of the boys of the Westfold who can barely lift the spears they've been given? What of the little girls in the caves who will find themselves overrun and trapped by the end of the night?"
"Do you think I would not save them if I could?" Legolas asked furiously. "Why do you think I remain here to do battle? I would send them all from here, Shëanon, but I cannot. You, however, can go. Take Hasufel and leave."
"I will not flee like a coward!"
"Silence!" he shouted. It was the first time she had ever heard him raise his voice to her, and it stunned her. "I care not about your bravery or your pride. This is about your life. You will take your pack, you will take the lembas, and you will go."
"For me it is pride to remain, but for you it is what? Heroism? Honor? I have just as much a right to fight as you!" she cried in frustration, running her fingers through her hair almost hysterically. She felt shaky and restless in every part of her body, and it infuriated her that he stood utterly still and unmoving, glaring down at her with his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. She had never before laid eyes on his father, but she was certain then that such an arrogant, self-assured, imperious expression must have been a perfect study of the Elvenking of Mirkwood.
"I am three thousand years old," he said, the even, dispassionate tone of his voice cutting her even more effectively than more shouting could have. "Thousands of years, Shëanon. That is for how long I have trained in warfare. That is for how long I have lived and fought and defended. For me it is duty to remain here. For you it is folly."
Shëanon shook her head, tears of anger burning behind her eyes.
"I will not go," she said, pacing back and forth before him simply because she was too angry to stand still any longer. "You said just last night that my place is with the company!" she reminded him, hardly able to think of her affection for him the night before. "Or did you not mean it?"
"That was before I knew that ten thousand uruk-hai march to destroy this keep," he said with a scowl, taking another step closer to her. "It is not your place to die here among these people."
Shëanon laughed in his face.
"These people?" she asked derisively. "I am these people! They are as much my kin as are you! For all I know, I am one of the Rohirrim. For all I know, Théoden is my king!"
"And for all you know, I am your prince!" Legolas barked in a voice more severe than any other she had yet heard. She stopped pacing to stare at him in amazement, but he only glowered at her, his regard both noble and dangerous, controlled and tumultuous as the growing storm so that she could hardly speak.
"I am not one of your subjects," she managed at last, though she had started trembling from head to toe. "You cannot bend me to your will."
"I am not offering you a choice."
"Why are you doing this?" she cried finally, wanting very badly to shove him but holding fast to her self-control. "Why do you even care?"
"You are asking why I care whether you live or die?" he asked in apparent outrage.
"You do not try to force Aragorn to go!" she shouted. "You do not spit insults at Gimli!"
"I swore to your father—"
"I don't give a damn about your promise to my father!" Shëanon screamed. "My father knew the risks when I left! And I knew, too! I can take care of myself! So if that's what this is about—what everything—all of it—has been about, then you can just stop!"
Her chest was heaving, her arms and legs shaking from the force of her emotion, her throat tight and aching as Legolas stared at her. For a moment they did not speak, and to her horror she found that she had to scrub tears off her cheeks, for she had gotten so worked up that her eyes were burning and tears of rage and hurting leaked over her lashes.
"You know perfectly well that that is not what this is about, Shëanon," Legolas spoke at last, his quiet, marked words piercing the ringing silence as lightning flashed overhead. His gaze was so intense that she shivered from the sight of it alone.
"Do I? What is it about, then?" she demanded, holding her arms close to her chest in an attempt to keep from shaking. "Please enlighten me, because I do not know."
He said nothing. His regard was so heavy, so acute that she could feel it lighting over her as he looked at her. If it weren't for the tense set of his body—the rigidity of his back and shoulders, the taut line of his jaw and the strain in his eyes—she might have said that he made no show of emotion. He continued to look her over with such scrutiny that she would have blushed if she were not so angry and upset and desperate. For several long moments, she thought that he was considering her, weighing his options as if he were unsure as to whether or not to answer, but finally it became clear that he would give no response.
"I deserve an answer!" she yelled. "You single me out and disrespect and humiliate me, and then you will not even offer me an explanation?"
Legolas's eyebrows shot up.
"You feel humiliated?" he asked lowly, his eyes roving over her face. Shëanon grit her teeth. "That was not my intent."
"Then perhaps you should not have so gallantly brought my naivety and foolishness into the conversation," she snapped. Indeed, those words had shattered her. For how long had she yearned for his respect? She had wanted him to regard her as an equal from the moment they had left Rivendell, and his assurance of her in Edoras had been a much-needed salve to her fragile confidence and comfort with him. His scorn stung.
"I am trying to protect you," he said fiercely, closing the distance between them so that at last he stood directly before her. He was so close that she could feel the heat of him even in the biting cold of the night.
"Yes, you've made that clear," she said resentfully. "Because I'm too young and too incapable and because you have given the formidable Lord Elrond your word to watch out for me, is that right?"
"No."
"No?" she asked in disbelief. "But you just said—"
He did not let her finish. Legolas moved so quickly that she did not have time to react to his arm around her waist or his hand against her cheek until she was hauled against him and his mouth was on hers. Her entire body froze in shock, her stomach flipping over and her heart leaping into her throat. For one second it was almost aggressive, his lips pressed so firmly against hers, his grip around her so tight, and Shëanon had gasped against his mouth as she was drawn into the embrace. In an instant, however, it changed, the pressure relenting so that instead his lips were soft and yielding, his thumb brushing her cheek with an unspeakable tenderness as his hand slid against her hip. A flash of heat seemed to burn through her entire body; she could hardly react except to curl her fingers into the fabric of his tunic, to allow him to continue, for in that one, stunned moment, Legolas occupied her entire mind: the feel of his lips against hers, the warmth and strength of his body as he held her against him, at first so forcefully and then as though she were made of glass… Her skin burned everywhere that he touched her. She didn't think she was breathing, but somehow the smell of him swirled around in her head like some powerful liquor, and the feeling of his fëa was so powerful a brush against her that she shuddered in his hold.
There was a resounding crash of thunder.
Then it was over almost as quickly as it had happened. His lips were suddenly gone, though his strong hands remained cradling her face and body. Dazed, she opened her eyes. His were riveted to her face, the dark ardor there almost too much for her to bear. Wide-eyed, she stared back, so shocked that she could not move—could not speak. She could only stand there against him, feeling the touch of his fingers, seeing the furrow of his brow as he beheld her and she wondered what on earth had happened.
"Shëanon," he pleaded, raggedly and low as the wind howled around them. The regret that she saw in his eyes was like a slap in the face, and the sound of his voice jerked her out of her paralysis.
'He just kissed me,' she thought, stunned. She did the only thing she could think to do.
She shoved away from him, turned on her heel, and fled.
A/N: Ahem. Well, that's what? like 180K+ words later or something and um... They kissed! ...? I don't even know what to write as an author's note after that? All I have to say is that Shëanon's character has a lot left ahead of her and I'm so excited for you guys to read it. Other than that, I guess I'll just ask what you think and AGAIN say thank you SO MUCH for being such incredibly amazing readers. I hope that lived up to your expectations! xoxo Erin