Aiër Chapter 19
Shëanon slowed to a walk when she felt that she had put enough distance between herself and her companion, and with a racing heart she continued to pick her way through the keep. She had run without direction, but she found herself in a dark, secluded area near to the stables. Shëanon's entire body was trembling even while she continued to wander; her heart pounded and there was a sensation in her stomach similar to the one she used to get before jumping into the Bruinen from the tall branches that hung over the river.
Oh Valar, she thought. Oh Valar.
She was so very confused. One minute he was yelling at her and the next... By Eru, she didn't know what to think. Her thoughts were all jumbled and wrong, her nerves so thinly frayed that she seemed to have lost the ability to reason. All she could see were his eyes as he had looked at her, so terribly intense and hot and fathomless. Her lips still tingled from his kiss. Dazed, she lifted her fingers to touch her mouth; even in her immense shock, the feeling of his lips against hers had registered. She could still feel the searing heat of his hands where they had touched her skin, and hear his voice when he had uttered her name.
Shëanon groaned and ran her fingers over her hair. She had wanted him to kiss her, had she not? Had she not lain awake for hours, blushingly imagining it night after night? Yes, she had wanted him to kiss her. Desperately she had, but what was she to have done when he actually did it? She had not been expecting such... Shëanon did not even know what it was. Passion? Aggression? It had been so sudden and raw, and right after he had been speaking to her so harshly! She did not know what to think or how to react. Lost. She was lost. She had absolutely no experience in such matters—no preparation or knowledge to help her. What had he called her? Naïve? Certainly he was right, she thought miserably.
What if he had only kissed her so that she would do as he'd said? Shëanon cringed. She did not think he would do such a thing, but certainly he had known how very... fond of him she had become. He knew of her foolish feelings, and he had been so determined to protect her. Would he have kissed her to make her comply? Even if he had not wanted to? No, Shëanon reasoned anxiously. He had almost kissed her a few nights before, had he not? He had made it seem... She had thought... She experienced a twinge of acute anxiety. The look in his eyes when he had pulled away had appeared so tormented. She had no idea how to interpret it.
Shëanon turned towards the steep stone steps that lead back up to the central chambers, climbing the stairs without really seeing them. She had run away. He had kissed her, and she had run away! Valar, she did not even want to consider what he must have been thinking about her in that moment. What if the kiss had been sincere, and she had ruined everything? But then again, was she not still furious? He had wanted to force her to obey him. He didn't think she could handle the battle. He didn't think she had the emotional fortitude, and he wanted to take away her right to fight beside her companions. Did he think her so weak? Did he think her without honor?
Confused confused she was so confused. Of three things, however, she was certain. The first was that she would not leave Helm's Deep just to save her own life; she could never have stomached it, knowing that there would be no escape for the innocent people left behind. The second was that she was probably going to die, and she was terrified. And the third was that, to her consternation and embarrassment, she very desperately wanted Legolas to kiss her again. In fact, the yearning his kiss had incited in her had been unbearable. She had never been so profoundly affected by anything in her entire life. It had been so carnal and yet so chaste, and something within the very core of her being—within her very soul—seemed to have shifted so that her head was still spinning from it.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she gasped as she walked right into someone. Shëanon blinked in confusion and looked down. It was a young boy.
"Excuse me, m'lady," he said quietly. She stared at him. It was Éothain, the boy from the Golden Hall of Meduseld.
"You are Freda's brother, are you not?" she asked in shock. Éothain nodded; there was a helm upon his head and a shield on his arm, and in his hand he held a sword that looked awful in his youthful grasp. Shëanon felt as though someone had doused her in ice water. He was younger even than the boys she'd seen in the armory! A child! He was nothing but a child.
"What of her? Where is she?" she demanded, picturing the little girl all alone in the caves and fearing for her brother.
Éothain held her gaze.
"She is with my mother in the caves," he said softly. "Forgive me, lady, but I must go."
He stepped around her and hurried off, and she watched him go in horror. 'He is going to die,' she thought. 'He will die tonight and his mother will know it. They have only just been reunited, and Freda and their mother will die as well.' Shëanon could not chase away the image of Éothain at the end of an uruk's spear, of some faceless woman shoving Freda behind her as the caves were overrun. A wave of nausea washed over her. She had to steady herself with a hand against the stone wall.
"Shea?"
Aragorn's voice was quiet in the night, and Shëanon blinked, startled to find that he was standing behind her. When had he gotten there? She had not even heard his approach, and as he stood watching her, she could not even find it within herself to acknowledge him. She could only stare, wide-eyed and silent.
Aragorn opened his mouth as if to say something, but he stopped as he caught sight of her expression. She watched his brow furrow, the corners of his mouth turn down. His eyes, so unsettlingly discerning, roved perceptively over her face.
"Are you well?" he asked lowly, his keen, questioning gaze bringing heat to her cheeks. Could he tell what had just happened to her? The very idea that he might mortified her, and yet she could not bring herself to speak, to answer him and distract from what she was sure must have been telltale signs written all across her body that she had just argued with and had been passionately kissed by the prince of the Woodland Realm.
She bit her lip and nodded. It was all she could manage.
Aragorn continued to look at her for a few more moments before at last releasing her from his scrutiny.
"Come," he murmured, ushering her into a door just behind him. She guessed that he had just stepped through it when Éothain had left, and he lead her down some stairs and into a chamber in which she saw their packs and bedrolls had been deposited. There was also a long, narrow table against one wall on which an array of papers and weaponry was scattered, and in one corner another door was slightly ajar. The lighting was dim and flickering, the stone walls feeling too close and the ceiling too low, and Shëanon stood in the middle of the room without speaking, trying to force herself into thinking straight.
"They will be here soon, won't they?" she asked softly as he moved around the chamber, rummaging through his rucksack and placing items on the table before him. He paused and looked over at her, his gaze solemn and unwavering.
Aragorn nodded.
Shëanon took a deep, shuddering breath before moving to sit on the edge of the table. Her feet dangled several inches from the ground and she stared down at her boots. They had walked all the way from Rivendell to Helm's Deep, she realized, remembering tugging them on that morning in the semi-darkness of her lovely bedchamber. It seemed that they would take her no further.
Ten thousand strong at least. I would hear it from the witch's own mouth. Do you think I want this for her? I am trying to protect you.
Shëanon squeezed her eyes closed.
"Are you frightened?" Aragorn asked from down the table. She chanced a glance at his face and found she could not bear the sight of him. Dropping her gaze to her lap, she nodded.
"Yes," she admitted softly, feeling like the worst kind of coward. She felt a vague sense of resentment towards Legolas, feeling that he had increased her fear with what he had said to her, and she was sure that that was exactly what he had intended: to weaken her resolve so that she would leave. Aragorn sighed and she watched in her peripheral vision as he set down a dagger and moved toward her. Both of his large, warm hands came to rest on her shoulders.
"There is no bravery without fear," he whispered, giving her shoulders a squeeze.
Shëanon looked up at him, seeing his determination and strength. She swallowed thickly.
"And no victory without hope," she said, so quietly that she did not think he had even heard her.
The ranger stepped closer to her, laying his hand so gently upon the top of her head that she could feel only the heat of it there grazing her hair. Then she felt his fingers curling into the hair at the back of her head, and he drew her forward so that his forehead was leaning against hers. She closed her eyes again, her throat too tight for speech.
"There is always hope," he whispered after a moment, drawing away just the smallest distance. Shëanon's eyes caught the gleam about his neck, and she gazed there at Arwen's pendant. Earlier in the day, she had watched as Legolas had returned it to him; it had been just before she'd found out just how great an army they would face. The Evenstar was luminous even while Aragorn's clothes and skin were coated with dirt and blood, but the delicate mithril chain and elegant design of the necklace somehow seemed right hanging about his neck. It was as though he were meant to wear it. Shëanon bit her lip, looking up at him. His eyes were bright even in such a moment of despair.
"I am so sorry," she whispered. His face as they had quarreled—bereft and fierce and haggard—seemed burned into her mind. "I should not have yelled at you—I should have been more patient and understanding, as you always are with me. I know that you were just trying to do what you thought was best, and… when I thought you were gone…"
Aragorn shook his head, holding up his hand so that her voice trailed off as she spoke.
"It was never my intention to betray your trust," he said quietly. Shëanon's eyes welled immediately, but she blinked the tears away. "Always I have protected you, and I thought to protect you even in this. I see now that it was a mistake. I should not have kept such a thing from you. You had a right to know what had become of your sister."
Shëanon looked down at her hands, clasped together in her lap, but he brought his fingers beneath her chin so that she had to look at him.
"You have my respect, Shea," he vowed, his voice so low and sincere that she felt it right in her chest. He had no idea how very badly she had needed to hear such words just then, and she grasped his arm.
"I should never have doubted it," she said fiercely.
Aragorn stared back at her for one more moment before squeezing her shoulder one last time and stepping away. She felt the loss of his touch immediately, wishing that they could have stayed like that forever, just the two of them. His nearness had almost made her forget about everything—the battle and the Ring and the death that was sure to follow—but she knew that the uruk-hai were coming whether she was ready or not.
In silence she watched as Aragorn began to prepare for battle, tugging a mail shirt over his head and tying a thick leather vest on over it. Desperately she repeated his words over and over in her head. There is always hope. Always. If Aragorn had said it to her, then she would believe him.
Just then the door at the other end of the chamber creaked open and Gimli came in, his arms laden with leather and metal.
"These should fit the lass," he said gruffly, setting them down on the table beside her. Surprised, Shëanon hesitantly inspected what he'd brought, lifting an item from the pile. It was a shirt of chainmail, similar to the one that Aragorn wore but much smaller and shorter. She wondered if Gimli had gone through a pile searching for the smallest one there was, and offered him a weak smile. Also on the table he had laid leather vambraces and a leather chestplate that had the emblem of the House of Eorl pressed into the center—a running horse. Shëanon looked down at her clothes, at her soft tunic and long-sleeved shirt, and felt an enormous rush of gratitude. She would have been cut to ribbons in the fine garments.
"Thank you, Gimli," she murmured, casting aside her weapons and belt so that she could don the armor. The mail was slightly too loose and a little long, but it fit well given the circumstances. Shëanon wondered vaguely if the chest plate had once belonged to a young boy and decided a bit ruefully that it was fortunate that she was so slight, for it fit her well enough once she had tightened the straps. She had to leave a little slack in the buckle on her left side, for the straps, when tightened all the way, dug in against her cracked ribs. Shëanon felt a twinge of nerves, hoping that she would be able to draw her bow despite the injury. Then she realized that there wasn't really a choice and she would have to draw back the bowstring whether it pained her or not. The vambraces were last, and then she replaced her bow and quiver and sword, frowning down at her raiment. Even when she had so desperately begged to go on patrols with Elrohir and Elladan, she had never pictured herself as a warrior. The leather armor and mail looked so strange on her body, but it made her feel stronger, too.
Aragorn and Gimli were staring at her, appraising her attire.
"Aye, that'll do," the dwarf muttered.
Aragorn frowned, his arms crossed over his chest, before stepping forward to adjust the leather shoulder straps. Shëanon watched him see to it, peering silently down at his fingers as he pushed the buckle through one more loop, and then he stepped back and gave her another once-over.
"It can't get any tighter," she told him tensely, but Aragorn shook his head.
"No, it's…" he shook his head again and pursed his lips in a very Aragorn-ish manner. He cleared his throat. "It's good."
Shëanon raised her eyebrows, but he simply turned back to his own clothes, buckling on his thick belt and tying the end in a knot. Gimli, she knew, had hauberk and helm already, and as she watched he stared grimly down at the blade of his axe. The only sounds that could be heard in the room then were the scrapes of metal and leather as Aragorn strapped Boromir's braces to his wrists, the tree of Gondor crowned by seven stars fading but still visible on his forearms. Outside, Shëanon heard shouting and running feet, and she knew that there was not much time before she and her companions would take their places upon the Deeping Wall and wait for Saruman's army to appear. Nervously, she flexed her fingers. Flashes of her other dealings with bloodshed ran through her mind, and she remembered the frantic battling before Balin's tomb in Moria and the horrible, desperate fight at Amon Hen. The filthy, grey skin of the uruk-hai with the White Hand stark against their flesh and their screeching cries as they charged her had plagued her thoughts, and then the awful aftermath of the warg attack that day… The battle that was to follow would be, she knew, more terrible even than all of that. She clove desperately to her courage.
The door opened again, and to her dismay it was Legolas who entered the room. Aragorn and Gimli looked up at him as he strode forward, but Shëanon stared determinedly at her knees. She would never be able to look at him again, she was certain. How could she have, after what had happened? Was he angry with her? Even then as he entered the chamber, did he still bitterly think her a fool for staying to fight? Would he try to convince Aragorn to make her go? And she felt the hot rush of blood to her face—at her ears and neck, even—as she again thought of his embrace. Eru help her, the prince of the Woodland Realm had kissed her and she was losing her heart to him even as she prepared to fight to the death.
"We have trusted you this far. You have not lead us astray," she heard him say quietly to Aragorn. "Forgive me; I was wrong to despair."
"Ú-moe edaved, Legolas," Aragorn said firmly, and she glanced up just in time to see the two of them clasp shoulders. Shëanon hastily looked away again, not at all liking the effect that the elf's assured, earnest expression had on her; the determination and loyalty of the gesture were unmistakable, but she felt that she was not included in his resolve or confidence. His fierce anger from before had made that clear enough.
Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli began to speak together in low voices, but Shëanon was only half-listening. Even after the reconciliation and even with the resolve of her companions, the tension in the room was still palpable. She had half a mind to quietly take her leave, because of her awkwardness with Legolas and because the weight of the approaching army was bearing down on her—suffocating her—and she longed for fresh air, but her companions stood between her and the door and she knew that she would not have been able to pass without having to endure their questioning regards. Shëanon drew a deep breath, and then she froze. There was a loud commotion outside; she could hear many men shouting and running, and finally she looked to the others to see that they, too, had looked up at the sudden sound. Shëanon leapt to her feet, her hand at her sword, thinking at once that Saruman's battalions had somehow arrived in secret, but her panicked thoughts were interrupted by the loud, clear call of a horn.
The four of them stared at each other as, outside, they heard the cries of the guards to open the gate.
"That is no orc horn," Legolas said at last.
Shëanon caught Aragorn's eye, her heart pounding, and then darted to the door. Her companions were at her heels, and together they ran up the stairs, through the keep, and emerged at the top of the inner court. Shëanon stopped dead.
The inner court was full of soldiers. They were clad in grey cloaks with hoods drawn over their silver helms. Each bore a bow in their hands and long knives at their belts, and she could see as they marched up the ramp that there were hundreds and hundreds. They halted, with perfect synchronization, and turned their keen elven eyes towards the light of the torches. They were the wardens of the Golden Wood.
The Galadhrim had come.
Théoden emerged beside her on the stairs, appearing as dumbstruck as Shëanon felt, and as she turned back to look upon the elves, the Marchwarden stepped forth. He was arrayed in shining armor, a scarlet cape upon his back, and as he laid his hand over his heart she decided that she could have wept her happiness.
"How is this possible?" Théoden asked in astonishment. She remembered his earlier words that elves would not come to his aid.
Haldir bowed his head. "I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell," he said, glancing over to where Shëanon stood. Her eyes widened. "And from the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. An alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago, we fought and died together. We come to honor that allegiance."
Shëanon's heart soared. Her father and Lady Galadriel must have foreseen the battle. Still, she could hardly believe that so many elves had come, remembering what Aragorn had told her about Celeborn and Galadriel not wanting to spare their wardens. She actually felt herself smiling, turning to her companions with a wide grin, and then Aragorn hurried down the remaining steps.
"Mae govannen, Haldir," he said fervently, laying his hand upon his heart before bringing it to the elf's shoulder. Haldir did the same. "You are most welcome."
Haldir nodded his acknowledgment, and then Legolas also moved forward to clasp arms with the Marchwarden. Shëanon watched him turn back towards the king, an expression of quiet satisfaction on his face. She could tell that he was proud that the sylvan elves had come, taking his place among them without saying a word. Shëanon found herself hovering on the steps, unsure where she belonged, and before she could decide, Haldir spoke again.
"We are proud to fight alongside Men once more," he declared.
The Men in the keep appeared to be speechless.
"The armies of the White Wizard will know bloodshed this night," Théoden said finally. He did not raise his voice, for the silence in the keep was absolute. "It will be at the hands of the Rohirrim… And the Elves of the Golden Wood."
The Rohirrim let out a cheer.
At once, the king and his advisors and marshals hurried into the hall, and Haldir and several of his wardens climbed the stairs as well. Shëanon could see his two brothers, Rúmil and Orophin, each stood to either side of the Marchwarden, and all crowded around the wooden table once more so that a new strategy could be hastily devised. It was one of the strangest sights that she had ever seen: the convergence of two worlds. The Men were stern and gruff around their king, their lined faces and beards more pronounced beside the impassive, ageless faces of the elves, whose eyes were full of an ancient wisdom that the Men seemed to lack. Still, she could see that everyone in the room, Rohirrim and Galadhrim, had the same ferocity of spirit—the same steadfast conviction that she supposed must have been in the hearts of all warriors who fought for such a cause. It dawned on her that she was decidedly out of place in the chamber, neither a deadly Lórien warden nor a hardy Rohirrim soldier, and certainly she was no commander or advisor of war.
"We will keep my men above the keep," Théoden said, indicating on the diagrams that the elves were studying intently. Legolas and Haldir were translating to the others in low voices, and Shëanon remembered that even Orophin and Rúmil spoke little of the common tongue. "Archers and spears upon the battlements and before the Hornburg, and Erkenbrand will command those bracing the gate; the enemy will take rams over the causeway."
"Lórien archers on the Deeping Wall," Aragorn agreed, nodding and leaning on his palms over the map. Shëanon could hear the newfound determination in his voice as he spoke, and knew that the reinforcements had bolstered his will; she felt herself standing taller, as elated as she was nervous. Even with greater numbers, the battle was still to come. "And in the Deep."
"We have reason to believe that the wall will be felled," Legolas said quietly, and Shëanon blushed even though he was not looking at her.
Haldir raised an eyebrow, frowning as he surveyed the parchment on the table.
"Felled in what way?" he asked. The Men all exchanged dark looks with one another.
"Saruman has created a device that will bring down the stone," Aragorn said with disgust. "They will attempt by some means of ignition to raze it to the ground. It must be prevented," he said firmly, pointing to the place along the wall that Shëanon had described from her vision. "The eyes of the Elves must be keen this night, and their aims true. We must beware of our enemy."
Haldir frowned and began conversing lowly with his brothers in the sylvan language, which sounded like lilting hissing sounds because of the low ferocity of their voices. Shëanon frowned, frustrated that she could not understand, and realized that the Rohirrim must have felt similarly when she had spoken in elvish to Legolas earlier that day. Contrite, she peeked over at them. Théoden's face was an indecipherable mask, but the other Men simply appeared bemused.
"You speak of an explosion?" Haldir asked at last, his regard solemn and severe.
"Near to the stream," Aragorn confirmed. "There is a grate there. We think they will use it. If they succeed—"
"They will not succeed," said Haldir with distaste, and the ranger lifted his chin.
"No, they will not," Théoden growled. "Saruman's contrivances will gain him no victory here. This fortress will never fall while my men defend it."
His eyes flitted to the elves.
"Not while our allies stand beside us," he added, and the eyes of the Galadhrim glinted.
The king looked to Aragorn.
"You will stand upon the wall?" he asked, frowning.
Aragorn nodded. "I will stand above the Deeping Stream," he confirmed, and Shëanon had to bite her lip against the protest she yearned to give. "Along with those who would stand with me."
"I will stand with you," she said at once, speaking for the first time. The Elves and Men all turned to her in surprise, but Aragorn shook his head.
"No," he said firmly. "You will be under the command of the Marchwarden."
Shëanon grit her teeth. "I will know what to look for," she reasoned, though her heart pounded furiously. She did not at all like the idea of being blown to pieces, but neither would she allow Aragorn to risk it while she, who had been the one to bring such ill news, kept out of harm's way.
Aragorn fixed her in a very stern look that she took to mean she had spoken out of turn. She scowled and dropped her gaze, chastened but awash with nerves all the same.
"The Galadhrim will span the wall," Haldir said while his commanders bowed their heads.
"Then let us go," said the king. He turned to Gamling. "Make ready the Rohirrim."
The room began to empty as the Men and Elves inside hastened out into the inner court to dole out orders to their respective units. Shëanon grabbed Aragorn's sleeve as soon as they were outside.
"Aragorn—" she began, but he clasped her arms.
"Listen to me," he said urgently. The strain of his voice penetrated her stubborn resolve like a dagger. "You wish to be under my command?" he asked.
Shëanon nodded, searching his face.
"Then do as I say," he said lowly, his fingers squeezing around her biceps. "You will stand under the Marchwarden. That is my command."
His tone left no room for argument, but still Shëanon could not keep herself from glowering at him.
"I thought you said you would command me to do nothing," she reminded him. She realized that her feelings were of two natures. On one hand, her loyalty and integrity made the thought of abandoning Aragorn unthinkable. On the other, she recognized the fear in her own heart and she knew that as selfless as was her desire to stay by his side, it was also that she was very afraid to be parted from him.
Aragorn frowned.
"If you will do battle this night, then you must do as you are told," he told her sharply. "Please, Shea."
She bit her lip, though she knew that he was right. As well trained as she had been in Rivendell, warfare was something else entirely. It was the beseeching way he'd spoken her name, however, that made her give in.
"Alright."
"You will do as Haldir commands," he pressed. "You will follow his orders without question. If he calls for retreat, you will go at once. If he tells you to flee, you will do so. I do not care if I am overrun, do you understand? You will obey the Marchwarden, and if he falls, then you will look to his brothers."
Shëanon stared at him with wide eyes, the dread that had been momentarily soothed with the Galadhrim's arrival returning in full force as images of what he spoke flitted across her mind. He expected her to turn a blind eye if he needed help? Shëanon clamped her mouth shut, unable to speak—unable to consent to what he asked of her.
"Do you understand?" he repeated, never once looking away from her face even with the chaos around them. "Shea?"
"I understand," she whispered at last. The words were like tar on her tongue.
Aragorn released a breath and clapped her quickly on the shoulder. Then, to her horror, he turned from her and made to stride away.
"Aragorn!" she gasped, not even caring that she surely was behaving like a child. Her dignity was forgotten, her bravery in shreds. She had never imagined that she would not be with Aragorn during the battle.
He looked back at her, his eyes softening as he saw what was surely an expression of panic and dismay.
"I will not be out of sight," he vowed. "Go to Haldir."
Shëanon's eyes roved with a kind of frantic desperation over his face, hoping to take the sight of his familiar, noble features with her into battle. Aragorn brought his arm around her to bring her briefly against his side, and then, with one last nod of reassurance, he turned and strode towards the king.
Woodenly, and still feeling the heat of Aragorn against her, she made for the stairs. The Deeping Wall, she could see, was occupied almost entirely by Elves, though the space nearest to the keep held several dozen men. Shaking, Shëanon made her way past them. She shouldered her way through the crowd, for there seemed still to be much running around occurring and the shouts on the air were in so many languages that her head spun—Sindarin and sylvan calls among the wardens, Rohirric and the Common Tongue in the coarser voices of the Men. As she made her way along the wall, she found Legolas and Gimli standing among the Galadhrim. With a twinge, she realized that the two of them stood almost directly over the Deeping Stream. She had not meant to go to them, for although she found herself as worried for them as she was for Aragorn, she did not think she was brave enough to look Legolas in the eye.
Gimli turned as she passed, however, and caught sight of her at once. Shëanon supposed that was not surprising, as she was the only one with red hair and leather armor standing upon the wall among the pale-haired wardens, but still she wished that she could have escaped his notice.
"Lassie," he called. "Where do you think you're going?"
Shëanon looked at him in surprise.
"Aragorn says I am to fight under the command of the Marchwarden," she reminded him quietly; she could feel Legolas's presence beside her so strongly that it was a wonder she was able to speak at all. His gaze bore into her, burning where she felt it against the side of her face. Her blush was so violent that he could probably feel the heat of it where he stood, she thought wretchedly.
"Bah!" Gimli scoffed. "We'll be having none of that. You'll be staying right here, lass, where you belong."
Shëanon opened her mouth to reply, but she did not have the opportunity.
"Shëanon belongs where Aragorn orders her to be," Legolas said in a voice so inflectionless and uncaring that she almost did not recognize it as the same voice that had so passionately shouted at her and pleaded with her not two hours before. She flinched to hear it, having half a mind to point out that according to him, she belonged halfway back to Rivendell. She could not bear to fight with him, however, and so instead she laid her hand over her heart and bowed her head before them.
"I am honored to have fought beside you," she said quietly to them both, though she succeeded in looking only Gimli in the face. The dwarf frowned as she spoke. "Be careful, please."
Gimli sputtered and made a sound of discontent as she turned and made to take her leave, but the sound of her name among the clamor stopped her in her tracks. With dread in the pit of her stomach and heat blazing at her cheeks, Shëanon looked around at Legolas. The elf made an imposing figure against the black sky, the leather armor dark upon his shoulders and the shadow across his face severe. Even though he had called to her, he stood rigid and unmoving before the wall, his gaze boring into her in such a way that she trembled from it. She stared up at him, waiting for him to speak, wondering in a kind of confused anticipation what he had intended.
"Stay near to Haldir," Legolas said at last, the vast intensity of his expression disappearing as a stolid, unforgiving callousness took its place. Shëanon felt the dull ebb of disappointment inside herself. What had she expected? Certainly not affection or reconciliation; in fact, she had half presumed that he was about to yell at her again. She would have preferred that, she decided, to the short words and the dispassionate way that he spoke them. She almost had the impression that he had been chastising her, not trusting her to stay put and do as she was ordered. With a bitter, slightly heartsick nod of her head, she turned and hurried away.
The Lórien wardens had formed perfect, straight lines down the length of the wall. As Shëanon hurried through the ranks, she felt that the elves were staring at her even though it seemed that all eyes were fixed ahead. Fleetingly, she remembered that she had been intimidated by the Galadhrim upon their entrance into the Golden Wood, thinking them haughty and austere in a way that the Elves of her homeland were not. As she walked among them, however, passing elf after elf on her way to the Marchwarden, Shëanon realized that she had been mistaken. It was not the haughtiness or the solemnity that bothered her, for the wardens appeared no more solemn or imperious than did the people of her own home. Rather, it was something in the way that they held themselves that sent a shiver down her back. Even motionless and ordered as they were, they reminded her of some predatory animal of the forest… Silent but lethal, aware even when they did not appear to be observing, as though at any moment they might strike. It was a power in them, she decided. Dangerous in the same way that she knew was true of Glorfindel and her brothers and her father, but while the elves of Imladris were akin to a raging storm in their strength—tumultuous and tempestuous when moved to wrath—the sylvan elves seemed to be a different force of nature: fiercer, more feral somehow even when they seemed at the same time to be so wise and refined. Shëanon felt a strange flutter in her stomach as she realized that Legolas was much the same.
Finally, Shëanon caught sight of Haldir and moved hesitantly to his side. The Marchwarden was one of the only elves that did not wear a helmet, and the scarlet of his cape stood out like blood on stone against the darker colors of the other wardens. He glanced over at her as she approached, quirking a brow as she came to stand before him.
"You have chosen to listen to the Dúnadan, I see," Haldir mused, surveying the valley with an alert, calm expression.
Shëanon said nothing, feeling extremely out of place among the many wardens. She wished that Aragorn had not insisted that she fight beside Haldir. She found him to be incredibly intimidating, but the ranger had spoken the words at once in the king's hall, speaking so surely and immediately that she had to wonder what his reasoning had been even though to her it seemed a strange and daunting order.
"Be grateful that he allows you to stand upon the wall," the elf told her evenly. "He could have left you in the garrison. It would be safer there."
His serious tone of voice gave no indication of any critical feelings, but still Shëanon felt color rise to her cheeks.
"You think I should hide in the keep?" she asked flatly, studying the Marchwarden's austere profile. His pale hair and strong features made for an impressive sight, but his eyes when he turned to her were not unkind.
"That is not what I said," he told her. She watched as his gaze lighted quickly over her worn leather armor and various weapons. He seemed to consider her for a moment while she waited tensely. "I think you have some fight in you, daughter of Elrond."
Shëanon stared at him.
"You can tell that just by looking at me?" she asked dubiously. She was acutely aware that her attire was mismatched and that her face almost definitely bore the evidence of the day's unbearable emotions—her grief, her tears, her fear… Certainly she did not look very brave or strong.
"That was my first impression of you in Lothlórien," Haldir corrected. "For your own sake, do not prove me wrong."
"Alright," she swallowed, anxiously shifting her weight from foot to foot.
The Marchwarden glanced down at her.
"Do not forget, Shëanon of Imladris, that you are under my authority now. You fight beside me because the Dúnadan hopes that I will keep you from getting yourself killed while he is otherwise occupied, but if you will stand among the Galadhrim this night, then I will act as your captain as I am the captain of all the wardens upon this wall."
His words made Shëanon bristle. Why did everyone seem to expect her to be a problem? Had she somehow gotten a reputation as rebellious or insubordinate? She rather considered herself to be very much a person to follow the rules, and more than that, she could not imagine herself ever disobeying or doing something to endanger anyone in the heat of battle. She wanted to protest, but she knew also that such a response would not have helped her case. Instead, she simply laid her hand over her heart and bowed her head once again.
"Yes, captain," she said quietly, though when she lifted her chin she knew that her indignation was clear in her eyes.
The Marchwarden arched one silver eyebrow but made no comment. Instead he simply took a step backwards and motioned for her to stand in front of him. Shëanon took her place on shaking legs, between two towering wardens and with Haldir standing behind her.
"I seem to recall finding myself with an arrow of yours aimed between my eyes when last we met," said the elf to her left, and Shëanon looked up in surprise. Sure enough, he was one of the wardens who had escorted them to Caras Galadhon, and he gazed down at her imperiously.
"I usually react poorly to finding myself surrounded by weapons in my face," Shëanon muttered, though her face was scarlet as she remembered it. To her surprise, however, the ellon grinned roguishly at her.
"Take care to aim away from me this time, child," he said smirked. "That is all I ask."
For a time, Haldir's brothers and other Elves and even Aragorn had appeared to confer quickly with the Marchwarden, but eventually the keep fell utterly silent. The air crackled with static, humid and heavy as lightning continued to flash, and every few minutes that passed were accompanied by a crack of thunder that echoed terribly off the hollowed stone of the valley. Aragorn patted Shëanon on the shoulder as he passed her by, and she turned her head to watch him head back to Legolas and Gimli, disappearing down the wall among the many armored ellyn. She grimaced, knowing that she might not see him again until after the battle… or not at all.
The anticipation was crippling. Standing there among the Galadhrim, gazing out over the valley and awaiting the inevitable, Shëanon did not think she could bear it. She tried to keep her gaze fixed on the horizon, but she could not help but glance anxiously back at Haldir every so often. He was entirely unmoving, but try as she might, she could not emulate his stern composure or confidence. She fidgeted, her grip sweaty upon her bow. It had begun to drizzle, slicking the stone with cold water that was harsh against her face. It seemed that she stood there for an eternity.
Then she heard them. Long before the uruk-hai appeared at the head of the valley, but, admittedly, probably a bit after the Galadhrim had been able to hear, a dull clamor fell upon Shëanon's ears. At first it was remote and faint, but as she clenched her jaw and forced deep breaths through her teeth, the sound of the approaching army grew louder and louder until she could tell that even the Men could hear. It was the single most horrific sensation of her life, to hear the earth hammering beneath the horrid feet of the army, the grinding and screeching of metal and screams. She was sure her heart would beat right out of her chest. She wondered if any of the Rohirrim were shifting anxiously and feeling their breaths shudder, for it was agony to Shëanon to stand still and every breath she drew was accompanied by an uncontrollable series of tremors even while she strove for calm.
'You wanted to stay and fight,' Shëanon reminded herself over and over, but the argument with Legolas was running on a loop in her mind and she could not help but wonder if he had been right. In truth, she was terrified. 'Think of the women and children in the caves,' she told herself. 'Think of the evil of Saruman. Think of Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli down the wall.'
A dim glow appeared ahead, eerie and foreboding. The light grew and grew until it was no longer a distant brightness in the gloom but rather hundreds and hundreds of pinpricks of illumination in the dark. They drew near, and more were revealed. And more. And more. Shëanon felt bile rise in her throat. If ten thousand had seemed an insurmountable foe before, the sight of so many torches—so many uruk-hai—was indescribable. Before her eyes, the army grew and grew until she could see nothing but Isengard's forces stretching in every direction. She swallowed thickly.
"Courage," she heard someone murmur, and she glanced around to find the Marchwarden regarding her from the corner of his eye. Surprised and ashamed that he had seen her fear, Shëanon raised her chin; a large drop of water hit her cheek, and she shivered as it began to rain. The tinkling patter of the raindrops on the metal armor of the warriors might have been pleasant to hear under different circumstances. As it was, the cold rain turned her stomach.
Finally, the army came down into the valley. The uruk-hai, Shëanon heard, had taken up some kind of chant. She could not understand it, but its meaning was clear enough and the sound of so many brutish, barking voices echoing in the night was both terrifying and enraging. She could see the individual creatures by that point—their mad faces and brandishing torches. Their armor was black, but the white hand of Saruman was pressed on their helms and faces in a crude fashion. Shëanon's anger returned as she looked upon the war paint. It was clear that the White Wizard had wanted all to know who was behind the destruction of Rohan and its people. She wanted to cleave their emblazoned heads from their monstrous shoulders.
The uruk-hai marched until they were so close to the keep that they were in arrow range, and just when Shëanon thought that she would surely break under the weight of suspense and waiting, it began.
The uruk-hai brought their spears and armored arms against their chests, slamming in a cacophonous din that made her want to clap her hands over her ears. Far off to her right, she could hear Aragorn calling out commands to those under his charge, but she could not make out his words over the racket. Then, at the same time, Haldir began to shout.
"Tammo i philinn!" he called, his sharp voice cutting through the tumult. There was a shocking flurry of movement all around her as, in exact unison, the wardens drew arrows from their quivers and put them to string. Shaking with adrenaline, Shëanon knocked her own bow, her entire body taut as she waited for the Marchwarden's word. "Tangado a chadad!"
She lifted her bow, drawing the string back to her cheek. Her eyes fixed on one of the uruk-hai directly before her, down on the ground before the Deeping Wall. It was shrieking into the wind, and her ribs ached furiously from the strain of holding the position for so long, but Haldir had not said to fire and Shëanon knew that she had to bear the pain. The noise of the uruk-hai's bellowing and banging combined with the downfall of the pouring rain was so loud in the Deep that she wondered if she would go deaf from it.
"Hold!" Haldir commanded. She could not tell if her arm was shaking from nerves or exertion. Then, at last, by some signal unseen by Shëanon, the order was given all down the wall to loose their arrows.
"Hado i philinn!" The Marchwarden's voice must have been accompanied by Aragorn's and those of the other commanders, for in an instant arrows went flying down the entire length of the wall. Shëanon was not delayed in her reaction; her fingers released the string the moment that Haldir commanded it, and her aim was true. Hundreds of uruks fell dead before her eyes, their mutant bodies crumpling as they were pierced by the elven arrowheads, and their chanting ceased at once.
"Dartho!" Haldir called again from beside her as Shëanon drew her bow once more. Her body shook as she watched the orcs snarl and bellow, beginning to draw their own weapons in apparent fury. The uruk-hai lifted their wicked crossbows, aiming up at those upon the ramparts, and she was beginning to panic when at last Haldir gave the command again.
"Hado ribed!"
Shëanon let her arrow fly and immediately knocked another. In seconds, the battle had begun in full. Even as the wardens fired at will, releasing wave after wave of arrows at the army below, their black bolts flew in turn up at the wall. Shëanon's first moment of terror came when the warden beside her—the one who had been part of her escort in Lórien, suddenly cried out and crumpled to the ground. Startled, she looked over at him; there was an arrow protruding from his eye, and she recoiled in horror.
"Gartho haid!" Haldir shouted at her as she made to crouch beside the fallen ellon. She whirled around to stare at him in panic and disbelief, but the Marchwarden's attention had already moved on and he was shouting behind him even as he drew his own bow. "Hado!"
Her stomach in knots, Shëanon scrambled for another arrow with which to fire, turning her face away so that she would not have to see the elf near her feet. She could not even tell if he was alive, and after that she could think of little else but her fear that at any moment she would meet a similar fate. There was screaming all around her as more and more of her kindred were felled, and the roaring of the uruk-hai grew louder and louder as they were killed as well. Shëanon noticed that they trampled the bodies of their dead in their rush toward the wall, and she found herself firing closer and closer to the base of the stone until they were almost directly below her—there and everywhere.
"Ahead!" Haldir shouted, "Ahead!"
Frantic, Shëanon looked around wildly until she saw what she was sure had caught his attention. Several uruk-hai bore what appeared to be immense metal cauldrons; those around them shrieked and jeered madly while their brethren slowly moved with the large objects through the mass of bodies. Shëanon had never seen or heard tell of anything like them before, and she realized at once that that surely meant they were something terrible… a device perhaps that would bring down the wall. She and those around her began firing at those who carried the strange, spiked orbs, but a new uruk quickly stepped in to take the place of every one they struck down.
"Cover the front line!" she could hear Haldir commanding behind her in what struck her as a terrifying voice. "Do not let them pass!"
Breathing hard, Shëanon continued to do as she was ordered. The adrenaline in her system took over; she continued to draw back the bowstring, her heart thundering, firing again and again. She did not feel the ache in her ribs; she could hardly even notice the icy cold of the rain or the sharp peals of thunder. She could only focus on staying alive and obeying the Marchwarden and trying to take down as many uruk-hai as she could.
For a while, it seemed that the battle would end in their favor. The Galadhrim worked with cruel efficiency, felling the beasts in such rapid succession that Shëanon could hardly keep pace, and while she knew that along the wall and in the garrison both elves and men were losing their lives, Isengard's army seemed to be making little progress. Hope was kindled within her again, the blind terror forgotten. Then, however, the Marchwarden's voice cut once more through the commotion.
"Pendraid!" he called. "Pendraid!"
Suddenly, an enormous, iron hook flew through the air and clattered against the wall before her. Shëanon gasped and stumbled aside to avoid being hit as it caught on the stone. Another one had landed a few feet away, and she groped frantically for her knife as she realized what was happening. Attached to the grappling hook was a long rope, and an enormous ladder was being pulled into the air towards where she stood.
"Captain!" she screamed as she began desperately sawing at the rope, watching the ladder draw closer and closer. Several orcs already stood on the rungs, and the rope was so thick and hard that she feared she would not be able to sever it.
"Swords!" Haldir called, shoving Shëanon aside as he drew his own blade from its sheath. She watched as he brought it down in a shining arc, cutting through the rough cord in a single stroke and then moving to do the same further down the wall. It was an immense feat of strength, she knew, and she watched the ladder crash back to the earth. It crushed several uruk-hai when it fell, but dozens of ladders had been raised along the wall and not all of them had been cut down. Suddenly, to either side of her, uruk-hai were streaming onto the ramparts while the Galadhrim drew their curved swords and longknives. Shëanon hastily followed suit, and then it was pandemonium as close combat broke out on the narrow surface.
"Defend the archers!" Haldir was screaming nearby as he decapitated one of the orcs. Shëanon could hardly hear him. "Arrows on the ground! Tangado haid! The wall must stand!"
Shëanon's stomach lurched as she understood his orders. The sudden onslaught upon the wall was keeping them from firing on the orcs on the ground, and the uruk-hai would be free to employ whatever device it was that would cause the explosion. She wanted to shriek her frustration and assayed to move to a place where she could continue to fire, but there were too many uruk-hai on her and using her bow again was impossible. She dodged and deflected blows left and right, wielding her sword with as much strength as she possessed and praying that further down the wall, there were still archers in their positions.
An enormous arm suddenly caught her from behind, and Shëanon screamed as she felt the cold sting of a blade slash across her cheek. Instinctively she collapsed her body, landing hard on her knees to avoid the weapon and whirling on the rough stone to drive her sword into the creature's flank; it wailed and fell, but another immediately took its place.
"Pry loose the ladders!" she heard Aragorn bellowing in the distance. "Pry them loose! Throw them down!"
Beside her, Rúmil and another warden were standing in a circle of Galadhrim, firing at each uruk that came up the ladder before them while the others defended them from the surrounding orcs; Haldir and several others pulled at the metal hooks, attempting to lift them free of the stone. Shëanon clambered to her feet, rushing to stand before them and help defend them while they worked. The orcs already on the wall snarled and gnashed their teeth as they saw the elves' labor, and she found herself battling frantically against the sudden onslaught. There was a terrible cry from behind her; she spun just in time to see the hand of one of the wardens helping the Marchwarden fall to the ground below as it was cloven from his arm by an orc on the ladder. Her mouth opened in silent, horrified shock as his blood poured from the stump of his mutilated wrist, but Haldir was shouting at her and she had not the time to register it as more and more orcs swung at her.
"Halo! Halo!" the Marchwarden cried. She knew even without turning by the collective groaning and the following crash that they had succeeded in bringing down the ladder.
There were bodies strewn all over the wall. Shëanon kept tripping over them, slipping in the mixture of blood and rain that ran beneath her feet. She did not know which idea disturbed her more: that she was treading on the bodies of her fallen kinsmen, or that she might fall to the ground and lie amid the corpses of the orcs. The taste of blood was so thick in her mouth that she feared the orc's sword had completely pierced through her cheek. She slit the throat of an approaching uruk, panting and sweating and shaking from exertion.
"Shëanon!" she heard Haldir call when, for the first time since the ladders had appeared, Shëanon found that there was a break in the dense stream of uruk-hai charging at her. She turned to face the captain, clutching at her bleeding face. He grasped her arm and leaned close to shout near her ear, making himself heard over the sounds of the battle.
"Find Théoden," he commanded. "We need more of his Men on the wall or the uruks will breach the Deep! Go!"
His voice was so urgent and authoritative—his eyes so ferocious—that Shëanon did not even take the time to nod before spinning on her heels and running in the direction of the keep. She had only taken a few steps, however, when something below caught her attention. She peered over the edge of the wall and saw, with a demobilizing wave of dread, a huge, bare chested uruk-hai running along the Deeping Stream not then very far ahead of her. He held aloft a huge, sparking torch…
"No!" Shëanon screamed, bolting forward, but a hand caught around her wrist at the last second and she was wrenched backwards just as the air was rent by a sound so loud that she was sure her eardrums must have burst. The force of it threw her back; she went hurtling, knocking painfully against something terribly hard as she felt herself spin through empty air, falling and falling…
Her frantic thought before she hit the ground was that the wall had been breached and that she was going to die. She squeezed her eyes closed, bracing for the impact she had lived over and over in her visions. It was even worse in her waking life.
Translations:
Tammo i philinn!: Knock arrows!
Tangado a chadad!: Prepare to fire!
Hado i philinn!: Fire arrows!
Dartho!: Hold!
Hado ribed!: Fire continuously/at will!
Gartho haid!: Keep ranks!
Pendraid!: Ladders!
Halo!: Lift!
A/N: Bonjour! Hello and happy New Year to you all! I hope your first couple of weeks of 2015 have been good ones! I apologize for the slight delay... Between this new chapter and the last one... I moved to France! I will be living here in Paris for the next several months :D I had intended to post this chapter much sooner, but none of the converters that I bought for my chargers worked when I tried to plug them into the wall here, and then I had to go out and buy new ones here in France and those ended up not working either so I eventually had to trek to the Apple Store and buy actual French MacBook/iPod chargers so that I could charge/turn on my phone and computer! I wrote the second half of this chapter while I was on the plane, and I am TERRIFIED of flying so maybe it kind of worked out? Shea afraid during the battle and me afraid during the plane ride, that is. Yeah that panic... It was real panic haha. Anyways, thank you for your patience and I hope the battle scene wasn't too much! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions! Thank you so so so much for the amazing comments you guys left on the last chapter. Your reviews and messages just blew me away and I hope this chapter lived up to the suspense! Alas, yes, despite Shea's foresight, the wall was nonetheless blown up. :/ Rough day for her, haha. Well, I'm rambling so I'll cut this short. I'm hoping to get the next chapter finished and posted ASAP, but please bear with me because things over here are VERY hectic for me. Can't wait to hear from you all and can't wait for you to see what happens next! xoxo Erin 3