Aiër Chapter 20
Shëanon hit the ground so hard that even as she opened her mouth to cry out, the air was driven completely out of her lungs. The back of her head collided with the rough stone and she could hear nothing save for a high-pitched ringing that echoed in her ears. With an immense effort, she opened her eyes; everything seemed to be moving, the black sky rotating as lightning flashed—disorienting her further—and it seemed that immense objects were flying slowly through the air. Groaning, she squeezed her eyes closed again. Spinning. Everything was spinning. And she was hurting. Her head and her back and her ribs—she was still struggling to draw breath.
"Stand up!"
With a grip like iron, a large hand closed around her arm, wrenching her throbbing body forward.
Dazed, she opened her eyes once more and tried to make sense of what was happening around her. There was a figure looming over her, shouting at her to stand, but he was out of focus and blurry and the rain fell in her eyes, obscuring her already spotty vision. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, to drift into oblivion until her head stopped feeling like it was going to burst and her lungs stopped feeling as though they'd been hit by an anvil.
"Stand up, Shëanon!" the voice snapped again, heaving her roughly off the ground and setting her on her feet.
She stumbled, wincing in pain as a sharp pang shot through her side; her ribs had taken some of the impact, and she had to grind her teeth against the agony of simply standing up straight. Blinking rapidly, Shëanon finally came back to her senses. The wall. Dread filled her stomach. She whirled around, her gaze landing in horror upon the gaping chasm that split the Deeping Wall. Debris and dust were still heavy on the air, the cold rain and humidity trapping the remnants of the explosion in the atmosphere, and as she watched hundreds and hundreds of uruk-hai were storming through the breach.
"Make for the stairs!" someone shouted, pushing her forward. With a start, she turned at last to see the Marchwarden standing behind her, blood on his face and wearing an expression so terrible that she almost did not recognize him. She did not move, frozen, but her shaken mind was able to comprehend that it had been he who had pulled her out of harm's way.
Haldir seized her wrist and dragged her along with him, turning to shout orders over his shoulder as he went.
"We are on the wrong side of the breach," he shouted at her; he was difficult to hear over the racket of the orcs pouring into the Deep. "They will cut us off and we will not be able to retreat to the garrison if it comes to it. Head down into the Deep and take to the other side of the wall. Go!"
Shëanon opened her mouth to protest, but as he had spoken he had towed her to the stairs and he propelled her forcefully down the steps.
"Into the Deep!" he was screaming to his wardens. "Into the Deep! Head them off! Swords in the Deep!"
A large number of the Galadhrim immediately began to storm past, cutting down foes as they went and barreling down the stairs. Shëanon noticed however that a significant amount remained behind on the wall, firing down from above.
"Go Shëanon!" Haldir yelled again, pausing to drive his sword through the neck of an uruk-hai. His eyes were blazing, and remembering her promise Shëanon turned and staggered down the many stone steps. Her vision was still spotty and her balance off, and she was gasping for breath as she steadied herself with one shoulder against the side of the wall. Not far from the foot of the stairs, droves and droves of Saruman's army were pouring into the Deep. In the semi-darkness, the grey tones of their skin and the black of their armor blurred with the white paint all over them, and as they ran and fought it appeared to Shëanon to be some writhing, frothing sea of dark water pouring through a break in a dam. The Galadhrim were already engaging them, and other elves that had already been positioned down in the Deep were up to their knees in bloodshed as she leapt from the last step and onto the sodden ground.
Blinking the rain out of her eyes, Shëanon tried to find another staircase. It had not escaped her that Haldir had commanded her back onto the wall while he had ordered everyone else into the Deep to fight, but she was in so much pain that for once she didn't even feel indignant. She gripped her sword tightly, swaying on her feet. The only way to get to the part of the wall that was still connected to the keep was to go through the heart of the battle, but she was loathe to do so when she was so disoriented and hurt. More and more uruks were spilling through the gap, however, and she realized that if she waited too long she would find herself in the heart of battle anyways—so great was the number charging through.
Steeling herself, Shëanon ran forth. The elves around her were yelling and the orcs were shrieking. Swords were flashing all around her so that moving forward was almost impossible to accomplish without getting herself slashed to pieces. She had only managed to penetrate a small distance into the battle when an orc set it eyes on her; with a gasp she lifted her sword right before its jagged scimitar could come in contact with her neck. Their blades collided with a ring, and Shëanon grit her teeth against the searing pain that went all the way down the side of her body from the force of stopping the blow. Even in the rain, she felt that she was soaked with sweat, and the uruk-hai looked directly into her face as it lifted the weapon to strike again. Its eyes were yellow and full of malice. With a burst of energy, she slit its neck; the foul creature choked on its own blood as she withdrew the sword, its scream gurgling on the air as it fell to its knees, and the black liquid splattered onto Shëanon's face and hands. She might have gagged if she had had the opportunity, but another assailant was quick to take the beast's place.
She was making slow progress, and she wanted to weep with the knowledge that even if she managed to make it back onto the wall, she would still be fighting for her life up there as she was down on the ground. She could feel her strength waning as she fought her way through. Just when she was sure she could not have taken another opponent, however, a path opened before her and she had a straight run to the stairs. Gasping for air, she rushed forward, knowing that she was fleeing like a coward but knowing also that she had been giving orders. An uruk flung itself into her way as she ran, but she threw her dagger into its face before it could assail her. Stopping only to pull her knife from its fallen body, she hastily took to the stairs. She groaned as she climbed them; they were much steeper going up than going down. The weight of her chainmail and leather chestplate seemed heavier than before, and she had to stop halfway to the top to catch her breath. Every inhalation made her ribcage scream in protestation until finally she ascended the last few steps.
The situation to the left of the explosion was exactly the same as the one she had left behind on the other side, with the exception that there appeared to be less orcs and more wardens. Archers fired relentlessly over the edge of the wall while other elves ran up and down the stairs and towards the keep. The ladders, she saw, had all been cast down. Turning, Shëanon looked across the great rent in the stone to the place she had previously been standing. Hardly any of the Galadhrim remained upon the top, and she prayed that it was because they were all fighting in the Deep and not because they had all fallen.
Vaguely it dawned on her that some of the uruk-hai had managed to break through the forces on the ground and were attempting to mount the stairs in her wake; the wardens were hastily picking them off one by one with arrows from either side of her, and Shëanon was re-sheathing her sword and reaching for her bow when she was seized by the back of her tunic and yanked backwards.
"What are you doing?" Legolas demanded when she had stumbled to a halt before him. He steadied her with his hands on her shoulders, and she blinked up at him in shock. His hair was soaked and windblown and his skin was flecked with mud and blood, but she could not find a scratch on his body. Shëanon wanted to throw her arms around him, so relieved was she to see him.
"Shëanon?" his grip tightened around her arms.
"Haldir—he told me to—he is in the Deep—" she stammered, flinching when someone nearby screamed in agony. Legolas clenched his jaw; she wondered if he was still angry with her, but then she saw that his eyes were trained on her cheek. Remembering the wound with a start, she ducked her face away.
"Stand among the archers and don't move," he ordered, pointing to a place along the parapets.
"Where are Aragorn and Gimli?" she cried as she moved to the place he had indicated, knocking an arrow. Drawing her bow seemed an impossible feat, but the adrenaline in her system was distracting from some of the pain. Legolas stood beside her, raining arrows down onto the enemy. The uruk-hai kept attempting to raise new ladders, and the archers on the wall were shooting them down.
"Not here," Legolas answered over the chaos, and Shëanon cast him a look of alarm that he clearly saw but did not respond to as he shouted orders to those around them. Shëanon balked. It could not have been good that Legolas did not know what had become of his companions.
"Nan gondrath!" Legolas shouted. Shëanon looked to see that there were orcs on the causeway with an enormous battering ram, trying to break down the doors. "Nan gondrath!"
Shaking with exertion, Shëanon began firing at the causeway. The battle went on and on, but her body was moving mechanically. Her thoughts were not on her life or her pain, but simply on drawing another arrow, pulling back the string, felling another orc again and again. More and more wardens were being ordered to defend the base of the stairs, but Legolas had commanded her to stay put and so she remained among those attempting to stay the uruk-hai on the causeway. Each orc that was felled crumpled over the edge of the stone bridge, and another uruk would quickly push forward to take up the battering ram. Only vaguely was she aware of the Rohirrim assailing them from above the gate.
Suddenly a call was taken up in the keep.
"Fall back! Fall back to the keep!"
Shëanon paused with her bowstring half-drawn, turning to Legolas in confusion. He met her gaze for the briefest moment, then wheeled around at once to begin bellowing down the wall and down the stairs into the Deep.
"Nan barad!" he shouted. "Nan barad! Haldir! Drego nan barad!"
Hesitating near the edge of the wall, Shëanon continued to fire, looking over her shoulder again and again to see Legolas ushering wardens up the stairs and towards the keep while the Galadhrim on the wall covered their retreat with arrows from above. She could hear the command echoing below as the elves in the Deep called to each other to fall back.
"Do you see Aragorn?" she shouted in distress to Legolas, reaching over her shoulder for another arrow and finding only empty air. She swore loudly, and Legolas looked back at her in surprise.
"He is coming," he assured her, taking down an uruk-hai on the stairs with astonishing speed; she hardly saw him draw the arrow before his bow was drawn and the arrow loosed. "Go!"
Shëanon did not move, feeling the rain pelt viciously at her. The wind was howling.
"Are you coming?" she yelled over the storm; her throat was aching, the frantic running of the soldiers pushing roughly past her setting her ill at ease.
"I will follow you. Go!"
Shëanon hesitated. She did not know where Aragorn or Gimli were. She could only assume that Haldir was still in the Deep, holding off the uruk-hai so that his wardens could make it back into the garrison, which was filling with unknown Galadhrim and unfamiliar Rohirrim. Aragorn had told her to stay with Haldir or else look to his brothers, but she knew not where Rúmil and Orophin were, either. Legolas was the only person in the whole terrible scene that she knew, and she did not want to be separated from him or else leave him behind to be slain while she fled back into the keep. She stayed where she was.
"You have no more arrows, Shëanon," Legolas shouted furiously, not even turning to look at her. She watched the brutal efficiency of his movements in a kind of unseeing daze, nervously shifting on her feet beside him while he diminished his own supply. "Go!"
She opened her mouth to tell him that she would not go without him, but just then there was a commotion on the stairs and Aragorn, Gimli, Haldir and several elves stormed up the steps and onto the wall. Aragorn did not even stop or speak when he reached her, only seizing her arm as he barreled past and ushering her ahead of him while they all hastened towards the keep, turning every so often to face an uruk-hai who had followed. Shëanon finally did as she was bid and ran along the wall, the relief bringing an almost hysterical gasp to her lips as she realized she had not expected to see Aragorn or Gimli again.
She was met with chaos as she skidded to a stop inside the keep. Men were running down the stairs and down the ramps to the main gate, where Shëanon knew the orcs were trying to break through. Elves were darting back and forth to seize arrows where they could be found, and many had taken to defending the causeway from above as Théoden called for the Rohirrim at the gate. The uruk-hai in the Deep were pushing up the stairs both onto the wall and by the door to the side of the keep, so that there were three places in the garrison that needed to be defended while still the army shot deadly bolts and attempted to raise ladders from below.
Not having anymore arrows and not wanting to scavenge through the corpses, Shëanon kept her sword tight in her hand and turned back towards the wall, making to join the elves there that would keep the uruk-hai from entering the keep. Aragorn was already gone again from her sight, but Legolas and Haldir were close by, having been the last ones off of the wall and having turned at once to bar passage to the uruk-hai that pursued.
Shëanon had lost all sense of time, but she decided that it must have been the dead of night. It seemed that the uruk-hai were endless in number, and she remembered in despair that they were. Around her, more and more elves and men seemed to be falling as the unstoppable siege continued; it was no longer a matter of keeping the orcs out of the garrison but an effort in delaying them for as long as possible. Soon she and the elves had been pushed back further into the keep, surrounded by the uruk-hai that stormed past from the wall. More than once Shëanon would slay an orc and turn to see a black blade arching through the air in her direction, only to be stopped in its path as one of the wardens around her slew it where it stood. Her fear increased each time this happened, her awareness of her own death creeping towards her with paralyzing certainty. Suddenly a terrible pain tore through her arm; she wheeled around in horror to see the deep slice in her flesh and the satisfied leer of the uruk before her. Her blood shone scarlet on the blade of its scimitar. With a snarl, she dodged its second blow and cut its throat, but not without feeling the terrible burn in her left arm.
Between her ribs and her arm and the throbbing pain in her cheek, Shëanon could hardly continue to fight. Her motions were choppy and careless; she moved clumsily as every step and thrust hurt her terribly. Haldir and the wardens around her were shouting to one another, but she was moving on instinct, trying not to die—focusing on desperately slashing at the orcs that drew near. It seemed to last an eternity.
Then Théoden's voice was heard in the keep.
"They have broken through! The castle is breached! Retreat! Retreat!"
Panting and sweating, loose strands of hair plastered to her bloodied face, Shëanon stabbed her sword through one last uruk-hai's chest; it was only with an enormous effort that she was able to draw it back out, and she flinched as she tried to straighten and held her left arm clamped against her injured ribs. She looked to Haldir for confirmation, and he glanced up from the uruk he had just slain to nod in her direction, shouting at those in the vicinity to retreat into the Hornburg.
"Ad danno! Ad danno! Drego!"
For once, Shëanon did not hesitate. As soon as she had Haldir's order, she spun around and attempted to battle her way to safety. The garrison was truly overrun, she saw in despair, and she was reaching the end of her stamina. Never before had Shëanon been tried in such a manner, and it was with a kind of ferocious desperation that she slew the last orc in her path and began running towards the immense wooden doors across the courtyard. Every step aggravated her injuries, but she ignored the pain as she scampered over the fallen bodies strewn across the stone. She had gone several paces when she heard from behind her the terrible crack of blade against bone, but it was not the cry of an uruk that accompanied the gruesome noise. Shëanon stopped dead, dread filling her to the brim, and when she whirled around it was to see the Marchwarden take a second blow to his back. He fell to his knees.
"No!" Shëanon screamed, sprinting back to him. An orc appeared before her, its blade raised high in the air, but she ducked past it and slashed her sword almost wildly in her attempt to reach Haldir's side once more.
"Captain!" she shrieked, frantically fighting to get back to him. He had fallen, slumped against the wall, and his scarlet cape rippled over the ground like fresh blood. Shëanon slew the orc and darted forward, collapsing on the wet rubble beside him; the hard stone tore the flesh of her knees, but she hardly noticed. Haldir's face was stark white. His eyes, though opened, seemed not to see. Shëanon grabbed his face between her hands in horror, trying to get him to look at her.
"Captain!"
He blinked but could not seem to focus, and with a start she realized that something warm was seeping against her knees where she crouched beside him; his blood was pooling around them on the shattered ground. Shëanon saw it with a sob of desperate fear.
"No! Haldir!" she screamed again, but he was falling unconscious. With a burst of fury, she seized his arm and hauled it over her shoulder, attempting to lift him to his feet, but he was too heavy in his shining armor and with her diminutive stature and injuries, it was impossible for her to support his weight. She grit her teeth, groaning under the strain as she tried to stand; she was terribly aware that everyone was fleeing from around them—that the Men and Elves were crowding up the stairs on the far side of the courtyard and she found herself alone.
Just when she thought she might succeed in shifting his weight onto her back, an uruk caught sight of her efforts and with an oath of death on its putrid lips it charged her. Shëanon dropped Haldir with cry and scrambled for her sword.
"Stop it!" she screamed. "Stop!"
She was unable to use her left arm at all, such was the pain she felt in her body, and so she found herself reverting to dodging and slashing as best she could with her right, though the uruk-hai was at an awkward angle and it seemed to sense that she was weak and hurt. Finally she managed to cut through its arm to the bone, and it dropped its weapon with a screech of agony. Shëanon ended its life swiftly and dropped immediately back to the ground. Haldir let out a sound of pain as she tried to move him, but the moan only brought a sob to her lips as she heard that he lived. Again she struggled to stand, clutching furiously at his soaked, limp body. Why was he so heavy? Why was she so weak and small?
'Valar,' she prayed frantically. 'Oh Eru, help me.'
"Shëanon!"
She lifted her face and could have wept as she caught sight of Aragorn before her, cutting his way to her side.
"Help me!" she begged, her knees buckling beneath her as Haldir's body slumped across her shoulders. "Please!" Aragorn's eyes widened and he cursed as he saw her efforts.
"Here!" he screamed, darting to her side. "She is here!"
Shëanon did not know to whom he spoke, but as he seized Haldir's other arm and bore the other half of his weight, a strangled sound of relief left her lips. Her strength may have been wavering, but it appeared Aragorn's was not and together they were able to support the Marchwarden's massive frame. The elf's silver head hung limply between them as they hurried forward; his feet dragged over the ground.
"Haldir!" Aragorn hissed, one of his bloodied hands against the captain's chest.
"He is alive," Shëanon gasped as they dragged him towards the steps. "He cannot die—he can't—"
Suddenly she found herself pushed aside and Haldir's arm was torn from her grasp. She stumbled around wildly, expecting another orc, but instead it was piercing blue eyes that she was met with.
"I have him, aiër," Legolas said hurriedly. "Go!"
Shëanon staggered up the stairs at his command, knowing that he was certainly better able to help Aragorn than was she. She paused near the door, making sure that they would not be seized upon from behind, but Legolas shouted at her again and so she darted into the great hall and helped to push the enormous doors closed once Aragorn and Legolas had carried Haldir over the threshold.
"Where are the Lórien medics?" Aragorn cried as they bore the Marchwarden through the crowd. "Do the Galadhrim healers live?"
There was a commotion among the elves as they realized that their captain was being carried in gravely wounded, but Shëanon collapsed against the wall nearest her and could hardly look up to watch as his body was laid down among the wounded. With dread she cast a cursory glance at her arm and saw that her blood had soaked entirely through her sleeve and was quickly running down onto the flagstones at her feet. The sight of her own blood loss made her dizzy, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut as she struggled to remain upright. It hurt to breathe.
"Barricade the door!" someone was screaming. Her harried mind could not even discern if she was hearing the common tongue or elvish. "Use the benches! They will ram through!"
Blearily she watched as Men and Elves alike began frantically barring the door with spears and axes; tables were thrown over as the Galadhrim and the Rohirrim together made to block the entrance. Shëanon looked around the room with a sick feeling in her stomach. For all the hundreds of wardens and men and children who had stood against the enemy at the battle's start, the chamber held very few. Were they all who had survived? With a sinking feeling, she realized that Gimli was nowhere to be seen, and it she knew without looking that young Éothain was not in the chamber. How many had fallen?
Clenching her jaw, she shoved away from the wall and set to helping with the doors. Her hands had just touched the wood of a bench when the first awful hammer of a battering ram sounded behind her. Startled, she looked up as the wardens and horsemen threw their bodies against the door to brace against the attack; the uruk-hai were trying to break them down. In a panic she tried to move the massive bench. Her blood, she saw, stained the wood.
The other end of the bench was lifted from the ground.
"Lift that side, aiër," Legolas ordered quietly, and Shëanon hefted her end off the floor. They hurried across the room, where Legolas and Aragorn hastily upended it and added it to the meager barricade. From the other side of the door, the battering ram collided with the ancient wood once more. Gasping, Shëanon leaned what little body weight she had against the benches, feeling it give. Aragorn's face was close beside hers and she heard him curse as everyone attempted to brace the door.
"The fortress is taken," a severe voice echoed through the chamber. "It is over."
Aragorn had been looking at her as Théoden had said the words; she saw his expression change as he turned to the king.
"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it!" he said furiously, helping Legolas and one of the Rohirrim brace the final bench against the door beside her. "They still defend it! They have died defending it!"
The pale light of a hopeless dawn was slowly seeping into the chamber; in the semidarkness, the uruk-hai rammed again against the door and the Men and Elves around Shëanon grunted and cursed as the wood splintered. She studied their drawn, strained faces with a grim acceptance. Even as they used their last strength to keep the enemy out, she could see that every man and ellon knew that death was near. They were trapped in the innermost part of the keep with no way to escape and thousands of uruk-hai waiting to give them gruesome deaths. Shëanon clenched her jaw. Every time the door was hit, the force of it sent her back a few paces. The jarring sensation was a shot of agony to her ribs and her arm each time, and the strain of keeping her palms against the door brought tears to her eyes and sweat to her brow.
"Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" she could hear Aragorn asking behind her. To her left, one of the Marchwarden's brothers was hissing something in the sylvan tongue and the face of the warden beside him contorted with rage. "Is there no other way?"
"There is one passage. It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far. The Uruk-hai are too many."
'They are all going to die,' Shëanon thought despairingly. Her boots slid on the stone floor as the door was pounded again. With every hit, she was more and more certain that the uruk-hai were about to burst through.
"Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass! And barricade the entrance!"
"So much death. What can Men do against such reckless hate?"
One of the Men beside her suddenly burst into tears. Stunned, Shëanon looked into his face. It was covered in dust and filth and blood, the grime streaked by his sweat and the tears he had begun to shed, but still she recognized him. It was the man who had been so angry with her for her vision, the one who had said that his wife and daughter were in the caves. Legolas had yelled at him for stepping toward her, but her heart broke for him in that moment.
"Do not give up!" she cried when she saw the expressions of defeat that had begun to mar the faces of those around her. "The women make for the mountains! We must hold them off!"
Even as she spoke the uruk-hai rammed the door again, sending her stumbling several paces back. She felt the force of it all the way down to her toes, and her face was screwed up in agony as she rushed back to throw her wait against the door once more.
"Ride out with me," Aragorn was saying vehemently. "Ride out and meet them."
"For death and glory?" Théoden asked brusquely.
The door gave again. It was clear that it would not hold for much longer, not even with all of the Rohirrim and Galadhrim trying to hold it. Théoden, she knew, was right. Death was imminent, but Shëanon could see no glory in it. Trembling in pain, she turned, leaning her back against the barricade and bracing herself with her legs. She had lost all feeling in her left arm, but her ribs were screaming. The orcs rammed again. Desperately she tried to think of something to keep the blackness at bay, not wanting to face her end with so much death and bloodshed in her heart. She sought her father's face, Arwen's joyful laugh, the sight of Lothlórien under the stars, but she could conjure nothing. Nothing save the bleak chamber in which she stood, full of Men and Elves who were dying or about to die—nothing save the sightless eyes of the corpses lying outside the doors and the faces of the uruk-hai that viciously cut down everything in their path. Shëanon squeezed her eyes closed. So those were to be her final thoughts, her final moments? Fear and pain and despair? She had thought to accept it when her time came, but instead she felt in her heart such a strong desire to live that it ached like her arm and her ribs.
"For Rohan."
Again the orcs rammed against the door, but Shëanon found that she was not jolted so violently that time. Confused, she opened her eyes.
Legolas stood before her, bracing the door with his hands on either side of her head. The wood was battered again and she could see the strain in his muscles and in his jaw as he strained against the blow, but his eyes gazed down into her face. Shëanon looked up at him in silence, still using her own weight against the door. She could see in his eyes the same emotions she felt in her own chest—the anticipation of death, the will to survive, the hatred for the evil that sought to destroy them, but she saw also a fierce determination that shook her to her core, for it was not only a determination to live but for something else, something much more profound that Shëanon could not put into words. It burned her as he looked into her eyes, and she suddenly remembered how it had been when he'd kissed her, how she'd felt the fervor of it deep within herself and how the ardency of it had stolen her breath. Shëanon glanced briefly at his lips, thinking for an instant how thankful that she was, that at the very least she would be able to carry that moment with her to Mandos, but as she looked again into his eyes and saw the fire there, she knew that it was not enough. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to feel it again. She wanted to live to see the next day and the next, and she would not allow the servants of the enemy to rob her of that chance.
The grey light of the chamber suddenly shifted as the first cold rays of the sun broke through the windows, and Legolas, whose gaze had still been fixed so intensely upon her, turned to look over his shoulder.
"The sun is rising," he called to Aragorn.
Shëanon did not know what significance that would have for the ranger, but she strained against the door as the wood threatened to break.
"For your people," Aragorn said urgently to the king.
Again the uruk-hai drove against the doors, the sound of it echoing in the vast space. The Men all swore and clamored to hold it, and Shëanon desperately caught Legolas's wrist in her hand to keep from flying forward. It was clear that the moment was nearly upon them.
"Yes," she heard Théoden suddenly call. Her eyes at last left Legolas's face to peer beneath his arm at the king. A new light had fallen over the man's face. "Yes! The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep one last time!"
"Yes!" the Rohirrim cried, and though it was clear that most of the elves did not understand, the conviction and courage of the cry were not lost on them. Shëanon watched their eyes narrow with determination as Legolas began shouting to them in Sindarin. Her fingers tightened around his forearm.
"Bring the horses!" Théoden shouted to the Men nearest him. "Get the horses! We ride out against the armies of Isengard!"
Gamling and Aragorn and the others hurried out the back, and though still the uruk-hai rammed the door, it was easier to hold it with the knowledge that they had not given up hope.
"Ride with me." Legolas abruptly said, his words low amidst the exclamations of the Men. Their faces however were so close that Shëanon could hear and she glanced up in surprise at the sudden sound of his voice. His tone of voice had been almost harsh, and Shëanon hesitated, wondering if he ordered her to ride with him because he knew she was hurt and weak and incapable of fighting—everything that he had said to her before they'd kissed—but then she saw that the torment was again in his regard, and when he spoke again it sounded almost like a plea.
"Shëanon," he breathed; she could feel his breath on her neck, and the low sound of her name on his lips drove all misgivings from her mind. "Ride with me. Please."
The doors at the back of the chamber burst open and the whinnies of the many horses suddenly reverberated off the stone walls; their hooves clapping against the solid ground. She could see that they were all saddled and armored, and knew that they had been made ready before the battle for the very purpose they were about to serve.
Swallowing, Shëanon met Legolas's eyes once more. He was watching her expectantly, and she was staggered by how familiar and dear to her his face had become to her. Slowly, she nodded.
"Wait!" Aragorn called as the Men began to make for the horses. Théoden was already mounting Snowmane. "After the next blow! While they retreat for their next attack!"
Shëanon waited with bated breath, hearing the charging footsteps of the beasts behind her. Her eyes had drifted to Aragorn, who stood sternly beside her. His hand was in the air, waiting to usher the men and elves to the horses. His bearing was kingly, but she could not watch him for long, for still she knew that Legolas looked at her and the heat of his gaze on her skin was too much. She was afraid to look back at him, for surely if she did she would forget the battle completely and stand there dumbly for the uruk-hai to cut down. The door shuddered again behind them.
"Now!" Aragorn shouted. "Go now!"
There was a rush of movement as the wardens and the Rohirrim shoved away from the doors, but Shëanon saw that a few Men stayed behind to bar against the next blow. Her stomach dropped, but she had not the time to think on it, for Legolas had guided her swiftly to Arod and sat in the saddle, holding out his hand to her. With a gasp of pain she took it and allowed him to pull her up behind him, but if he heard the sound he made no mention of it. In his hand he held one of his long, wicked knives, and Shëanon gripped the pommel of her sword firmly. After only a second's pause she curled her other hand into the fabric of his tunic.
"Let this be the hour when we draw swords together," Théoden shouted under the vaulted ceilings. The light of day was almost completely upon them. "Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath! Now for ruin! And a red dawn!"
The doors shook once, twice. Shëanon could see the uruk-hai through the gap in the wood as it was assaulted and knew that it would take but one more hit. She drew a deep breath, holding tightly to Legolas's clothes, waiting for the moment when Arod would burst forward.
Then, as if by some unseen command, a sound so loud and deep that it shook her bones filled the keep. The Rohirrim heard it and raised swords and spears aloft just as the doors finally gave way and Théoden took up his battle cry.
"Forth Eorlingas!" he bellowed, his voice loud and terrible in the stone space, and as one the steeds of the horsemen bolted forth. The uruk-hai froze in their steps as they caught sight of what awaited them, but Shëanon's only thoughts were staying seated and driving her blade through as many of them as she could. Legolas guided Arod after Aragorn and Théoden, through the keep and down the ramp towards the causeway, but Shëanon had the impression that Arod would have done it on his own; she could feel the animal's fury as it trampled the orcs in its path.
At last they were upon the causeway. The banners of Lórien and Rohan blew in the wind, and though the uruk-hai assayed to slash at her legs and sides, Shëanon swung her sword with a speed and ferocity she had never before known herself capable of. The cry of the Rohirrim was still being shouted, but the Elves were shouting too and as they barreled down the causeway Shëanon could feel the words in her blood. In front of her Legolas had let go of the reins, wielding his longknives in both hands so as to fell twice as many uruks; their bodies toppled over the sides, but Shëanon knew that the real struggle would come when they reached even ground. Indeed, the horses began to struggle as they reached the end of the causeway and were met by an impenetrable sea of orcs and pointed spears. Shëanon clung desperately to Legolas, her legs squeezing as hard as she could around Arod's flanks.
"Cut them down!" Aragorn screamed ahead of her. She could see him almost single-handedly slicing a path through the army. "Cut them down! Rohirrim! Galadhrim!"
They found themselves in the heart of Saruman's forces. Unnatural eyes and black teeth looked back at her from every direction, and as valiantly as Shëanon knew everyone fought and as hard as she was pushing herself, she knew that the numbers were too many.
Arod reared, and before she knew what had happened an orc caught hold of her quiver from behind and wrenched her from the saddle. Shëanon fell with a gasp, but she had been holding so tightly to Legolas that he was unseated as well and both of them landed on the ground. At once Arod began bucking and kicking, stamping on the uruk-hai and crushing their skulls, and Shëanon had no choice but to continue battle on the ground. Using the very last of her strength and her will, she spun and fought and moved to kill, slashing throats and severing nerves and driving her blade deep through their hard armor. She fought through her pain, moving even when the motion brought a strangled cry from her lips, but she was so tired and they were still gravely, impossibly outnumbered.
An uruk brought its blade in a powerful arc over its head, aiming to cleave her in two, and with a shout Shëanon met the blow with her own sword. The orc, however, did not waver, using its massive power to bear down on her, and in her waning strength Shëanon watched the weapon draw closer and closer to her shoulder. She grit her teeth, her arms shaking, trying desperately to push back just enough that she could duck out of harm's way, but the uruk-hai was too strong and then—
A sound as loud and clear as thunder rang out in the valley, so unexpected and sharp that elves, men, and orcs alike froze to look for its source. It was the whinny of what must have been an immense, massive horse, Shëanon thought in a moment of confusion, but as she turned to the east she saw, at last, the forms of horse and rider stark white against the pink dawn behind the mighty hill on which they stood. The magnificent creature had risen up on its hind legs, its forelegs seeming almost to walk on the air beneath them, and as it at last came to stand once more on all fours, tossing its gleaming head, the face of its rider was thrown out of relief and his features were visible to all those in the valley.
Suddenly his words echoed through her head as when she had first heard them.
Look to my coming. At first light on the fifth day—at dawn—look to the east.
For an instant no one moved, for the White Wizard had returned at last. He sat surveying the battle below him, and as he spoke his voice carried so that all those in the valley could hear, in a manner that only one so powerful as he could have managed just as only Shadowfax, the lord of all horses, could have been heard over the chaos of the battle.
"The wizard!" she heard the orcs screeching, reorienting themselves in his direction. "It is the wizard!"
"Gandalf!" Shëanon cried, watching with her heart in her throat.
"Théoden King stands alone," Gandalf said slowly, his staff held out before him as the clouds in the distance became almost dazzlingly bright. Slowly, as the coming of the first few drops of rain before a storm, a second rider appeared beside him. A long spear was held in his hand, and a white tail of horsehair streamed behind his helm.
"Not alone!" Éomer shouted. He had to try much harder than Gandalf to make himself heard, but the sudden turn of events had rendered even the uruk-hai momentarily silent and all could hear the strength of his voice. He drew his sword and held it high in the air where it caught the gleam of the morning light, and as he spoke once more Shëanon felt the force of it deep in her heart.
"Rohirrim!" he screamed, and upon the crest of the hill there suddenly came the pounding of many hooves. Hundreds and hundreds of riders appeared behind Éomer and Gandalf, silhouetted against the rising sun, and Shëanon felt her own disbelief on her face as nearby the king cried out for his nephew.
"To the king!" Éomer screamed, and with a cry so loud, so mighty, that even Shëanon felt fear in her, the Rohirrim charged down the hill. They brandished swords and axes in the air, taking up the call, and as she watched more and more of them crested the hill and rode into the valley.
"Fight!" Aragorn was screaming. "Fight!"
Shëanon did not need more than that. The orcs appeared panicked, not having anticipated such an arrival, and as they scrambled to turn their ranks around Shëanon caught them unawares, dropping body after body to the sodden earth. The Rohirrim's charge was so ferocious that the ground beneath her trembled, and she looked up to see them break the front lines of the army just as the sun, finally, broke the top of the hill and illuminated the valley.
Hope rekindled, the Men and Elves battled with new vigor. Éomer's men fought so relentlessly that soon it was clear that the orcs could not withstand the onslaught. Shëanon watched as one of the uruks near her turned and fled, and then another and another until at least half of Isengard's forces were fleeing before the wrath of the Rohirrim. Shëanon actually laughed, though it was more disbelieving than joyful, and continued to take down as many of the fleeing beasts as she could. To her astonishment, however, she saw that a forest had appeared at the head of the valley.
"Stay out of the forest!" Gandalf shouted as the uruk-hai ran blindly beneath their boughs. "Stay clear of the trees!"
The numbers of the enemy were quickly diminishing, the uruks either retreating into the forest or else being slain by the Rohirrim and the Galadhrim and Gandalf's reinforcements. The Men were ruthless, not letting the monsters run but instead catching them with the ends of their spears and arrows. Shëanon ducked the sword of one of the few orcs still fighting and quickly put an end to its life, and as she drew back her sword she heard the sound that she would have sworn never to hear only a few hours before.
"VICTORY!" Théoden bellowed through the valley, brandishing his sword high in the air. "WE HAVE VICTORY!"
His cry was taken up by the wardens and by the horsemen; they shouted the word to the sky as they finished disposing of those orcs left around them. Their blades flashed with a surety and triumph that Shëanon hardly dared to believe, but Legolas was near her and as she caught his gaze and saw the expression there, she knew it to be true. Gasping for air, her injuries wreaking havoc on her body, she allowed a shaky smile to grace her lips as she exhaustedly moved to cut down a few more uruks. She knew that the battle was not entirely over, but the knowledge of its approaching end and their assured victory slowed her motions and took the urgency from her swings. Just when she found that there were no more enemy soldiers in her vicinity—just when she thought that truly the battle had found its end—something in her peripheral vision caught her eye. Alarmed, Shëanon turned. An uruk-hai stood several paces away, fitting a bolt to a crossbow and raising the weapon with what was evidently a vicious determination. Time seemed to freeze, for the bolt was not aimed at her and in a moment of true panic Shëanon followed its path over her shoulder to the only other person in range. Legolas had his back turned as he used his long knives to slit two throats at once; Shëanon had only an instant to realize what was about to happen.
"No—" she screamed, instinctively stepping forward, but the breath was forced from her lungs and she staggered back.
She stared at the uruk-hai in shock, watching its surprise quickly turn to sadistic pleasure. It started towards her, its gnarled fingers reaching for its scimitar, and as it unsheathed the vile weapon Shëanon fell to her knees. Struggling to breathe, she watched as it prepared to end her life, the manic light in its eyes unmistakable, but it took not a step further before a long dagger pierced its throat with cruel accuracy. It choked and reeled backwards, and Shëanon could hardly think as she watched it die before her eyes.
"Shëanon!"
Legolas's frantic voice seemed to be close by, but she could hardly hear it. Slowly, she looked down. The sight of the bolt protruding from her torso almost made her faint, the filthy black metal so deep in her body that she wondered in a kind of dazed horror if it had gone straight through her. Indeed, it was only the growing, excruciating pain that kept her conscious. It started as an awful, searing pain in her chest right around the bolt, but it was quickly spreading. It was so painful that she could not scream.
"Shëanon!" Legolas shouted again, and she realized that he was crouching before her, his hands holding fast to her shoulders. She watched as if in a dream the way his eyes widened when he saw the bolt, and he swore loudly.
"Don't move!" he commanded, standing quickly to defend her—apparently—from the last of the fleeing orcs. Shëanon could only vaguely muse that she would not have been able to move even if she had wanted to; the burning pain was crippling, so terrible that she was certain she was on fire. Screams did come then, clamoring one after another to escape her throat, but she clenched her teeth and sat clutching helplessly at her chest. There was chaos around her as men and elves and orcs sprinted in every direction, the wardens and Rohirrim taking their last kills, but she was aware only of the fiery agony taking hold all through her flesh.
"Aragorn!" she could hear Legolas calling. He must have decided the danger was mostly over, for he was kneeling at her side once more. "Aragorn!"
Shëanon's head fell forward against his shoulder, a barely muffled cry of agony slipping past her lips even though she could hardly inhale to make the sound. She felt Legolas's fingers tighten around her arms. Suddenly she was ushered onto her back.
"It is poisoned," she heard someone say furiously, and through the haze of her pain she recognized Aragorn's voice above her.
"Hold her," he ordered. She felt strong hands anchoring her to the ground. "I can take it out, but she needs elvish medicine. Quickly."
Hands pried at her mouth and forced something solid and foul tasting between her teeth, but she had no time to react before she was seized by the worst pain she had ever felt in her life. It was worse than the torture she'd endured as a child. Worse than the flames that bit at her flesh when the enemy had gained access to her mind, and she screamed as though her flesh were melting, as though her bones were breaking. Her teeth clenched down upon whatever was in her mouth, and her body sought to bow and writhe away from the pain. The hands however, were like iron. Her eyes were screwed shut—she had no idea what was happening to her—but it felt like a second blade was being forced into her body, cutting against the already torn tissue and biting against the burning fire that she was sure was going to kill her. Then something gave, and even in her state of agony she understood that the bolt had been extracted. She could feel the sudden flood of her blood soaking her skin and clothes.
Hands were moving her, pressing against her. She felt that she was lifted up, but the burning was not gone and if anything Shëanon felt that it was getting worse. She would be burned alive, she was sure of it.
"Find Gandalf. Now! Bring the Lórien healer if you can find him, or else one of you will have to do it yourself. Hurry!"
Her body was jolted; she knew that whoever was carrying her must have been running, but when she opened her eyes the moving sky was too much for her to bear and she wailed again, desperately trying to hold in her screams.
"Aragorn," she cried, convulsing. There was panting breath near her ear.
"I have you, Shea."
She felt that she was set down. Hands held her again, keeping her in place. The heat was too much. It tore her apart. It ran threw her blood like molten metal, destroying at it went.
"Please!" she cried, consumed by the fire. "Please!"
The hands held her firmer as she thrashed. They tore at her clothes, pulling that last defense from her body. Shëanon knew then her fate, for surely it was her master punishing her—her master holding her down.
"No! No!" she screamed, doubling her efforts, but the fire was so awful that she could hardly move, and whatever was happening to her was doubling her pain.
"Please, no!" she begged. "I will be good! Please! Stop!"
There were voices everywhere, voices speaking around her. In her delirium she heard his cold voice, telling her that she was an unnatural beast, a filthy monster who brought only death.
"Disobedient brat," she heard him sneering in her ear. "I'll show you to defy me! I'll show you pain! You know nothing of it!"
"Stop! Stop, Master!"
A bright light was shining against her eyelids. It must have been the fire that he had threatened so many times to throw her into; it seemed that the time had come at last, and then, against her skin, just as she had known it would come, she felt the awful, unmistakable feeling of hot metal. It pressed into her flesh again and again, burning her with such pain that she had never grown accustomed to, and Shëanon was screaming and screaming and screaming…
It seemed never to end. But then, mercifully, she fell into darkness.
Translations:
Nan gondrath! : To the causeway!
Nan barad! Haldir! Drego nan barad! : To the keep! Haldir! Retreat to the keep!
Ad danno! Drego! : Fall back! Retreat!
A/N: WELL. There it is! The end of Two Towers! *throws confetti* Only Return of the King left to go! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. It was mostly just more fighting but I'd say that some pretty important stuff happened! I'm actually disgustingly sick right now. As you may have noticed, my immune system is pathetic and I'm sick quite often but I just have not been healthy at all since I've gotten to France and yesterday finally I bit the bullet and went to the doctor. That being said, sorry for the wait! I wish I could just spend all day everyday writing for you guys (and for myself!) but unfortunately my schedule over here is ridiculously busy. However, I hope to get the next chapter up soon (since I'm sick in bed with nothing else to do!) You may also have noticed that I replied to all of your reviews from the last chapter. Honestly, I wish I could answer every single one of you every single time, but as it is I struggle to find time to write the chapters. Anyways, I hope you all know how very much I appreciate your feedback. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Unfortunately, I couldn't respond to the guest reviews but if you left one, I assure you that I read it and wanted to reply! Also, I'm noticing that some of you guys end your reviews with "sorry about my english" or something along those lines. First of all, let me just say that my mind is just absolutely blown if you are reading this story and english isn't your first language. WOW. Second of all, I promise that your english is phenomenal and I can understand what you're saying so don't ever worry about commenting in english :) Just the fact that you took the time to try and that you took the time to review means so so much. Finally, I'll just toss it out there that I speak french, italian, and spanish in addition to english so if you're more comfortable reviewing in one of those languages, feel free :)
By the way, to the reader who asked: Shëanon's name is pronounced SHAY-ah-nuhn. (and for the record, aiër is pronounced EYE-air) Hope that helps!
I'll wrap this up because it's getting lengthy, but I'd just like to say how excited I am for ROTK. Everything will finally start coming together and all of your questions will be answered! Shea has so much still ahead of her and I'm so pumped to share it with you all. Can't wait for you to see her personal growth and the development of her relationships with the other characters. Hope you liked the chapter and thank you again! I am so blessed to have such amazing readers.
xoxo Erin