8 / 8 / 18 ~ And in which Eleanor, Aragorn and one horse are vastly outnumbered.

Disclaimer: "The Lord of the Rings" is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien. I only claim ownership over Eleanor Dace, Rávamë (aka "Tink"), and the subsequent plot of their story.

A/N: Ok, all things considered, I'm actually pretty proud I managed to get this chapter done at all this months. There has been a truly insane amount going on, first of which is that I finally worked up the nerve to quit my job! Those of you who follow me on tumblr might remember the drama I had going into my current role, and it really has turned into something that I've realised is not going to be good for me long term. The bright side is the experience I've got from it has made being picked up for new work much easier. So, while I'm not quite in the best place yet, I'm defo on the way there at last! :D

But lets be honest, the majority of you aren't here for A Brief History of Rella's General Life Dramas. You're here to find out what in the Abyss happened to Ellie and Aragorn! And what our favourite elf, dwarf, and Gondorian warrior's reactions are going to be when they find out they're not as dead as they thought.

Well, read on to find out the answer to one of those things. And keep and eye out for the author's notes at the end. I'll not only be posting my list of thanks, but also a little hint to what's coming in the next chapter — one I have literally been waiting years to write. :)

Enjoy x

Part II : Chapter 16

- The Thermopylae Metaphor -

"When you can't walk, you crawl. And when you can't crawl, you find someone to carry you." ― Firefly (2003)

Something warm, wet, and foul-smelling was nudging against the side of my face.

"Mmmfrmf…" I heard myself mumble, eyes still firmly shut.

A baffled pause.

Then the warm, wet thing pushed against the side of my head yet again. Once more, I grumbled, one foot still firmly in deep slumber, and unwilling to come out but by force. The wet, smelly annoyance nuzzled my cheek a third time, and this time I made a louder groaning sound, trying to lift my hand to swat whatever it was away, but my arm was too wobbly. Instead, I kind of flopped sideways, away from the sound of the snorting, fumbling for a pillow to pull over my head.

"Piss off…'m tired…" I groaned into my mattress, which seemed a little hard and damp now that I considered it.

Stars, how long had I been asleep for? However long, it didn't feel like long enough. I could feel warm sunlight on my eyelids, feel a hundred different aches, bumps and bruises all starting to demand my attention one by one. And this cold, hard mattress I was curled up on really was the worst—

"Ow!"

My hand flew to the back of my head where the wet, smelly thing intent on waking me had taken a big mouthful of my hair, and pulled hard.

Potentially, I realised, as a prelude to eating the rest of me.

I sat bolt up and tried to twist onto my feet, but didn't quite manage it for my shaky legs. I ended up falling straight back onto my butt on my 'mattress', which, now that I was well and truly awake, I remembered was in fact a stony river bank.

And my wake-up-caller?

A horse.

A big, thunderstorm grey stallion stood before me, as tall as I was if I'd been upright. He had no saddle, and no bridle, but from the look of his shape, size and musculature, he had to have been one of the Rohirrim war mounts. No wild bronco could have got to be that big and carry that many battle scars from roaming the Riddermark. And no wild horse could have fixed me with such a distinct, almost sentient look of disapproval.

We just stared at each other for a moment, me sat stupidly on my arse until the stallion gave an imperious snort, as if to say: Well? Are you going to just sit there and gawk?

I choked on a giggle.

Thinking a rock was a bed, and now a horse is judging me for it. A good start to the day.

"Now where in hell did you come from?" I asked a tad suspicious, my voice a bit croaky and the back of my head throbbing as a got slowly to my feet. My legs were still a little weak, but the horse didn't seem to mind my jerky balance. He just watched me with interested dark eyes as I came towards him, hand cautiously outstretched, palm flat. I'd never been fantastic with horses, but they seemed to tolerate me for the most part — only dispensing bites when I refused to share any food I happened to be carrying.

To my surprise though, this one didn't back away or simply ignore my approach. He took a little step forward, deliberately pressing his nose against the flat of my palm. I found myself smiling, running my fingers gently over his muzzle and neck.

"Well, at least you're friendly-ish. Thought you were a warg about to chew on my head for a second there," I told him. The stallion gave another offended snort and bumped me with his nose. I raised my free hand in defence. "Not that you're anything like a warg. Much too handsome, of course."

That seemed to pacify him, since he allowed me to continue petting him.

I glanced around in vain search of where he might have come from, or where his rider might be, but there was nothing but stony cliffs, grassy slopes and gnarled bushes dotting the riverbanks for as far as I could see. The current must have really carried us a long way. Far enough for there to be no trace of our convoy from Edoras.

Had the others made it out of the fight ok? Clearly no one had come after us, but there were no wargs sweeping the area, either. I hoped that meant Theoden and his men really had slain them all.

Pushing aside the feeling of dread that raised inside me, I turned back to my new friend.

"I'm sorry, I don't know your name, boy."

Another impatient snort, and a light toss of the head, as if to say: I know that.

I pursed my lips in thought, eyeing him.

"Mmm… how's Benvolio sound? At least for now?"

The unsettlingly intelligent horse seemed to consider this for a second, then flicked his tail once in what looked like assent. I smiled tiredly, and sighed.

"Lucid dreams about cliff diving, and now I'm talking to a horse. I must have hit that water harder than I thought."

A soft snore suddenly came from behind me, and I remembered where I'd left Aragorn dead to the world on the bank the night before. He hadn't moved from where I'd pulled him out of the water and revived him, but he was breathing steadily, and there was colour coming back to his bruised face again. I chuckled at the sight despite myself. Crazy falls off cliffs into rivers aside, the rest was probably doing him a world of good.

"On the other hand," I mumbled aloud, peering up at the sky. "I don't think we have the luxury of sleeping on the job right now. I doubt those wargs will be the last to scour these hills. We need to get back to the others."

Squinting up at the pale blue sky, I tried to focus past all my aches and burning desire to just lie back down on my stony mattress and sleep again. If my sun-tracking skills were anything to go by (and they weren't, but that was beside the point) it was late morning. And if my stomach was anything to go by (and that was reliable) we hadn't been out for more than a few hours.

"Which means we might still make it to Helm's Deep before dusk," I murmured excitedly. Benvolio made a chuffing noise and nudged my arm with his nose. I spun to face him, not even caring about the fact that I was addressing an equine anymore. "We need to get out of here quickly, but my friend is unconscious. Can we get him onto your back someho—?"

Before I'd even finished talking Benvolio gave light whiney, stepped gingerly over to Aragorn's side, and knelt down so his back was only a couple of feet off the ground, just high enough for me to get the unconscious man on with a bit of creativity and hard work. I beamed at the horse.

"And your masters just let a genius like you go? Shameful."

Benvolio gave a self-important snort, then looked pointedly towards the downed ranger.

"Right, right," I agreed, glancing around the bank. I needed something to fasten Aragorn to me while we rode, something to stop him falling off. I'd cut away his armour in the river, so I couldn't cannibalise the straps, but then I spotted the warg carcass. It had washed up against some stones on the bank a little way downstream, twisted by the fall. But I could see it miraculously still had its rider's saddle attached.

Maybe it was all the river water I'd swallowed, but if I'd been a cartoon character, a little lightbulb would have gone off over my head.

"Give me two minutes," I told Benvolio, and jogged as fast as my exhausted body would allow down the side of the river. Two minutes later, I came back with a set of long, coarse leather straps and buckles I'd cut off the warg's saddle. It had been a tough job cutting through the thick leather with only my throwing knives, but my hunting knife had been lost during the fight — stuck in that orc's chest when Aragorn and I had gone over the cliff.

I felt a sharp pang in my own chest at its loss, but pushed the thought aside for later.

Benvolio just watched as I worked, looping the straps together with the buckles until I had what resembled a medium sized sling with a smaller loop at the end. The horse gave me what I imagined was a skeptical look, a metaphorical eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, yeah, I know it's not pretty, but it'll do."

With a bit of creative struggling, I managed to loop the sling around Aragorn's back, using it and his arms to pull him into a sitting position beside Benvolio. He grunted but didn't wake, and surly as the horse might have been, he didn't move once as I manoeuvred the ranger clumsily to sit astride his back. Then slowly, carefully, I encouraged the horse to stand, keeping Aragorn balanced precariously on his back.

It was dicey as hell getting myself up onto Benvolio's back without stirrups or a saddle, or without accidentally knocking a boneless Aragorn off sideways, but we managed. Once I was seated astride the stallion's back with a still unconscious man behind me, I took his limp arms and fastened them around my middle, securing them with one of the smaller loops of the sling. If he decided to fall off in his sleep he'd definitely take me down with him, but as Benvolio took off up the river bank at a gentle trot it wasn't as hard as I'd feared keeping us both balanced.

Exhausted, lost, and increasingly scared as I was suddenly becoming, I found myself smiling, running a fond hand down the beast's neck.

"Thank you, bud. I couldn't have done that on my own."

Benvolio gave a soft nicker and pressed his cheek into my hand.

It was a long shot, but if this horse was as smart I was hoping he was, and I'd been right about where he'd come from, we might have had a hope of getting to where we needed. A fool's hope maybe, but a hope nonetheless. And after all, we had survived the night despite a surprise attack, being dropped off a cliff, almost drowning, and sleeping on a wet stone mattress for half the night.

So, I leaned down and spoke very seriously into my new steed's ear.

"Get us to Helm's Deep before dark, boy, and I'll owe you an entire bucket of apples."

Benvolio gave one last light whinny of assent, turned west, and took off at a canter straight towards the mountains looming in the distance.

I'd thought riding shotgun behind Aragorn during our flight to Edoras had been tough on my backside. But not even that, in all its indignity and saddle-soreness, compared to this.

My butt was just about ready to murder me, my legs and fingers had gone numb with the effort of keeping me on Benvolio's back without a saddle or reins, and that was all without the dozens of other bruises, aches, and pains that had appeared as a result of our fall into the river. I couldn't see for myself, but I didn't have to to know that I was likely black and blue by now.

And my blasted hair was probably a mess, too.

Benvolio seemed to know exactly where he was going without me attempting to navigate or steer, so I just focused on keeping myself and Aragorn balanced on his back as we rode west over increasingly rocky hillsides. An added bonus, if a little concerning, was that it was all utterly quiet inside my head for a change. Tink, as far as I could tell, was still resting, and I'd decided it was best to leave her to it. I had the suspicion that whatever had knocked my lucid memory loose had taken a sizeable toll on her, and the last thing we needed was for one of us to burn out at a crucial moment from excessive super-power use.

Dread was beginning to pool in my belly every time I thought of Helm's Deep, too. If I'd learned anything in the past few months of this journey, it was to trust my instincts, even when they didn't always seem to make sense.

Benvolio began to clamber up the side of a craggy hill rather nimbly for a horse his size, and Aragorn's head bumped against the back of my shoulder. I adjusted my grip on my makeshift seatbelt and Benvolio's mane, hoping that the fall into the river hadn't given Aragorn a concussion as well as a near-drowning experience.

"Survive now. Worry about everything you can't fix later," I muttered. That's what I imagined Tink would be saying were she conscious, so I did my best to push my troubling thoughts of Helm's Deep aside. It didn't take long for the memories of the waking dream I'd had in the river to take their place — and with them, the sound of my brother's full name echoing inside my head like an old song I'd once known by heart.

"Vardamir," I murmured, testing the sound of the word aloud. The image of my twin's lopsided grin immediately pushed its way to the front of my mine. Green eyes, curly brown hair, and pointed ears exactly like mine. And just like me, he was just about as far from a regal, majestic elf as I could possibly imagine.

It was odd, I thought. I'd always assumed my lack of elfy-ness had been down to my human life back home on Earth. But Vardamir (if the memory was anything to go by) had been all but the same. Human in all but pointy-eared evidence to the contrary. By now I was desperately wishing I was back in Rivendell with a mountain of genealogy books at my disposal. Before, I'd had only a nickname, but now I had not only an description, but a full first name and a title too. My recollection of this Abrazir — Az — had labeled him as a Royal Guard captain, and he'd addressed Var as my prince.

Prince of what though? And where? Whatever the title referred to, it was at least official sounding, not just some teasing nickname. That meant there had to be some kind of record somewhere of hi—

My train of though stuttered to halt, my eyes suddenly widening as I at last put two and two together.

"Wait a second… he called me princess?!"

That train of thought was quickly derailed when Aragorn chose that exact moment to wake, making a sleepy groaning noise behind me. I twisted to peer back at him, only to realise he was trying to shift his weight over to the opposite side, still only half conscious. I grabbed his hands around my middle and threw my own body to the other side as a counterweight, trying to keep us balanced as he swayed drunkenly.

"Whoa, whoa! No sudden movements, sleepyhead! Or we'll both end up kissing dirt!"

Aragorn gave another semi-coherent groan, and while he didn't exactly wake up immediately, he did at least stop trying to drag us both down to the ground. Benvolio, apparently sensing something was amiss on his back, slowed to a steady walk, giving the ranger the chance to slowly come back to reality.

"Wha…where are…? Eleanor?" he mumbled, the closest to drunkenly I'd ever seen him. He peered dazedly at me through half-shut eyes, at the improvised sling still securing his arms around my middle, and the animal we were both sat astride. "We're… on a horse," he murmured eventually.

I nearly laughed, partly in relief that he was finally alive again, but mostly because I think it was the first time I'd ever seen the man truly surprised.

"Excellent deduction, Watson. Now," I twisted and held up a hand over my shoulder, wiggling my digits. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

He half glared, half squinted at me, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"Five," he answered at last. "Incidentally the same number of questions I have at this moment."

Suitably convinced that he wasn't concussed — just cranky and confused — I nodded soberly. "Ask away. Though I make no promises to having the answers."

He took a moment to fully gather himself, taking a few deep breathes and peering around at the sprawling rocky hillsides.

"Where are we?"

I rolled my shoulders in a shrug.

"Not sure, truth told. But my friend here seems to know his way, so I've been letting him lead." I patted Benvolio's neck, and he tossed his head in acknowledgement of this praise. Aragorn made a quiet sound of assent, then winced.

"Stars," he grunted, pressing a hand to his solar-plexus, and glancing at me accusingly upon noticing his cuirass missing. "Did you do something to my chest?"

"I had to get you breathing again."

"Did you have to stomp on me to do it?"

I threw him a filthy look over one shoulder, and gestured to our mount.

"Be grateful I didn't get Benvolio to do it."

"Benvolio?" Aragorn gave me a long look of aggravated confusion, then seemed to recall something. "Ah, same as that fellow from the tale of two lovers you told us in Lothlórien?"

I shrugged through a small smile, silently pleased he'd remembered. "It seemed to fit. He was pretty intent on helping you specifically."

"I recognise him."

I blinked, honestly surprised. "Really? From where?"

"I calmed him in the stables and set him loose before we left. He was Theodred's horse, too traumatised by the attack to remain," he explained, reaching carefully past me to stroke the beast's mane. "His name was Brego, I believe."

"Brego, huh?" I mused, eyeing the horse.

"He seems to prefer Benvolio now."

"Seems like." I smiled a little more. "A new name for a new horse, huh boy?"

Benvolio gave a light snort of agreement, and I patted his neck fondly before turning back to Aragorn.

"That's two. And your remaining three questions?"

His fond look at the familiar horse dropped instantly.

"Third, how long since we fell?"

"About half a day I reckon," I said, glancing at the mid-morning sky spread over our heads. "It was dusk when we were attacked. I woke at dawn, maybe a couple of hours ago."

"Long enough to put us far behind the others," he muttered, more to himself than me I think. "Did you see anyone else whilst I was unconscious? Anyone else who fell or strayed nearby?"

I shook my head.

"I don't know. I didn't see anyone else fall, and no one came after us after we got onto the bank. No riders, no orcs, nothing."

"Then they may well assume us dead by now." The look on my face must have betrayed my distress at the thought of being abandoned, because when Aragorn saw it, he offered me a gentle smile. "We are lucky, in no small part thanks to you. That fall would have killed most, and if not, then the river would have. But Theoden likely does not have the time or men to search for us now. Not with his own people in such danger."

I bit my lip and turned away so he couldn't see the struggle going on inside me. I knew logically it made sense, but I also couldn't help but wonder if Boromir, Gimli and he had given up on finding us so quickly, too.

"I guess not," I sighed, only peering back over my shoulder when I was sure I was ok again. "That was number four. Your fifth question?"

"Fifth," Aragorn said slowly, staring me straight in the face and demanding: "What in the abyss were you thinking, Eleanor?"

I winced, my internal angst-fest instantly forgotten.

"I know, I know! I was going to stay with the women and children, I swear. But Eothain ran off with his dad's sword during the attack, and I was the only one there to go after him. I was bringing him back when that orc grabbed me and you turned up."

"Eothain? The same boy who's village was burned?" Aragorn asked, and when I nodded he cursed softly, looking strangely guilty past all the exhaustion. "I should have guessed as much. One of us should have seen him and stopped him."

I gave the hand looped around my middle a gentle pat.

"You were otherwise occupied. And if it's any consolation, I think it was my story that put the idea in his head."

"Perhaps, but it still should not have been on your shoulders to save him from his own recklessness. That boy owes you a great debt," he muttered, then paused, eyeing me as if a thought had just occurred. "How in Varda's name did you even survive to get that far? The battlefield was near pitch dark at best by the time I spotted you."

"Tink was helping me."

"… Tink?"

"My ride-along Maia? The one you met inside my head earlier yesterday?"

"Ah, yes. Her." He made a face that was stuck somewhere between deep thought and looking like he'd bitten into an unripe grapefruit. "Again, I should have guessed that she was assisting you, considering our conversation."

"Yeah, well. When she's not mouthing off and changing my eye colour, she can actually be helpful."

"And you call her… Tink." Aragorn said slowly.

"Yep."

"As in, the tiny fairy from your tale of… what was it? Peter Pan?" A nod from me, and a slightly exasperated shake of the head from Aragorn. "You seem oddly fond of naming the more dangerous of your companions after unassuming side characters."

I chuckled a bit nervously, unsure of how I felt about the direction this conversation was going.

"You know, I meant to say back in Edoras, you're kinda taking the fact that I'm semi-possessed by a snarky spirit of creation remarkably well."

I felt Aragorn's shoulders raise and fall in a tired shrug behind me.

"I knew there was something more afoot with you than mere oddity, Eleanor. I just never knew it's… her nature until now."

"Master Elrond filled you in before we left?"

"He didn't need to. But Gandalf implied enough to be watchful before he fell in Moria. He believed something… worrying was happening within you, and that someone should know to watch over you, in case he fell."

I opened my mouth to throw some shade about the wizard and ranger talking about me behind my back, but stopped, thinking about it. About how even when he was maddeningly cryptic, everything Gandalf had said and done so far had always ended up being in support and protection of me and the rest of the Fellowship. And based on the fact that I was carrying around the fantasy equivalent of uranium around in my head, could I really blame them both for being quietly cautious?

In the end I just exhaled, my shoulders slumping.

"Well, he wasn't wrong, on both points."

"Eleanor," Aragorn said, the change in his one catching me off guard. I turned back to find him looking at me with deliberate gentleness, as if he was unused to wearing the expression. "I hope you know that, while I might not always agree with your methods and choices since beginning this journey, I do understand your motives more than you know. And I am grateful you were brave enough to share your truth with me."

That was it.

No fluff. No fanfare. Just a few short sentences delivered honestly and without fuss.

It had never been Aragorn's style to mince words or give grandiose speeches, and that was fine with me. Those few short sentences meant more coming from him than they would have from anyone else in this world. I caught myself beaming back at him, despite all my aches, bruises, weariness and worries.

"Thanks," I said quietly, turning back to the hills ahead. "And if it means anything, I'm pretty sure meeting you face-to-face was an experience for Tink too, even if she sassed you in the process."

Clearly the sound of her name being said aloud for a change was enough to wake her up.

'Boss…?' Tink's voice croaked from the back of my mind.

'Speak of the devil and she rises! How are you doing back there, sleepy?'

'Like I'm nursing a dwarven ale hangover," she groaned, not unlike Aragorn had when he'd been waking up.

'Rest up then. I'm reasonably sure we'll need to be high alert again before long.'

'Twist my arm why don't you,' she muttered without venom, slipping back into the quieter parts of my mind to gather herself. I came back to reality to find Aragorn studying me closely.

"You were speaking with her just now, weren't you," he said, not quite making it a question. I eyed him right back, uncertainty creeping into my tone.

"How'd you figure? Did my eyes change again?"

"No, but you get an unfocused look in your eyes sometimes. I believed it just daydreaming at first, but now…"

"Now you have context."

"Indeed," he said, continuing to look at me with a ponderous expression. And maybe I was just exhausted and seeing things, but I could have sworn I saw the corer of his lip twitch with a repressed smile. "Has she always been so…?"

"Sarcastic?" I suggested lightly. "Mouthy? Insolent? Ballsy?"

'See, now you're just being mean,' Tink called, still eavesdropping despite her power hangover. Aragorn pursed his lips.

"I was going to say similar to you, actually."

'Oh, burn!'

I was honestly too relieved they were both ok to be annoyed. But only just.

"Well, she's been cooped up in my head for at least three years now, probably a lot more," I reasoned, to which Aragorn inclined his head in acquiescence.

"Then it's small wonder you not only appear but also behave akin to sisters."

"Sisters huh…" I thought about it, and the more I did, the more I saw his point — and the more the idea warmed me inside. I had only recently begun to think of Tink as a friend, but when it came down to it, she really was more than that now. We shared more than just a dry sense of humour, and an understanding of each others emotions that to some extent I hadn't had with my own family. We really were more similar than I'd originally thought, and growing more similar by the day.

Something Gandalf had warned me about in a roundabout way back in Fangorn, though he'd inevitably failed to explain why.

Then again, he'd avoided explaining a lot of important things to me, I thought bitterly.

"I've had a thought," I said suddenly.

"I'm sure you've have more than just one," Aragorn answered me without missing a beat. I glared at him, deadpan. He simply smiled.

Clearly Tink and I weren't the only ones with a monopoly on dry wit.

"Oh yes, hilarious, side-splitting you are. I was thinking it's odd that Gandalf seemed more concerned with my problems than Merry and Pippin's kidnapping. I mean we did literally divert more than half the Fellowship from our main goal to go after them. I'd have assumed he'd be more concerned about, you know, saving them?"

Aragorn made a sound of comprehension behind me.

"Ah, I forget you were not present for his departure. Gandalf informed us before he left that Merry and Pippin were both in the care of an old friend of his, and were being taken back to Lothlórien under his protection. Boromir, as you can imagine, did not take kindly to the thought of leaving the hobbits to unknown mercies. But Gandalf insisted we need not worry for them, and keep our attention on the task of assisting the king first. I'm certain he meant for you know hear this all as well, but you were…"

"Otherwise occupied," I finished for him, quickly squashing the memory of what had kept me from the others back in Edoras.

What I'd done to that soldier in the alleyway, and… everything that had followed.

Instead I tried to imagine what kind of old friend Gandalf would trust to leave Merry and Pippin alone with, considering it was Saruman himself who was after them. Moreover, what kind of old friend would he trust to cope with the two hobbits for any extended period of time? I myself loved the small, cheerful men and their boundless energy to pieces. But when it came to their penchant for mischief they were a handful at the best of times — arguably requiring an entire Fellowship to keep them out of trouble.

Who would be capable of not only keeping them protected, but also from straying into harm's way again?

I turned back to face Aragorn directly.

"Do you trust they're safe?" I asked seriously.

As always, he didn't answer immediately, turning the question over again and again in his mind.

"I trust Gandalf would not lie over such a thing," he said finally. "The hobbits are all as dear to him as any of us. Perhaps even more so. I believe he would sooner fling himself into the abyss a second time than see them harmed."

Coming from Aragorn, that was all I needed to hear.

I grinned and turned back to our path ahead, Benvolio leading us nimbly up the side of a steep set of cliffs.

"Then I guess there's naught else for us to worry about then. Except—"

The words had barely left my mouth when we crested the top of a hill and something caught my gaze. Squinting, I tried to get my eyes to focus to the long distance, just as I had the first time we'd seen Eomer and his riders bearing down on the horizon. It was a bit trickier than normal thanks to my tiredness, but a moment's effort later I managed it.

And my eyes widened at what I found myself seeing.

"Except… for maybe for that massive army headed straight towards us."

"What?!" Aragorn and Tink both exclaimed at exactly the same time.

I pointed straight down at where my gaze was still focused, right at the base of the cliffs maybe a few miles into the distance. A dark blur I'd first assumed had been a stretch of scorched grassland at the base of some cliffs was moving — no, marching — in our direction, the sound of them gradually becoming clearer as they got closer.

My insides turned over at the sound. I'd heard the sound of those inhuman howls once before.

On a hillside at Amon Hen.

Facing down a monster alone, as my friend bled out on the ground.

"Back!" Aragorn hissed in my ear, and I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or the horse, or both. "Back behind cover! They must not see us!"

Benvolio whinnied and stamped in agitation beneath us, but quickly obeyed. We cantered to an outcrop of stones at the top of the hill that shielded us from view below, whilst allowing us a good look straight down at the approaching horde's path.

Once I managed to untie Aragorn's hands from around my waist we quickly we dismounted and crouched silently behind our barrier of rocks, trying not to move or even breath too loudly as the sounds of snarling, clanging and heavy footfalls on the earth got louder. Neither of us dared creep too far outside our cover, but honestly we didn't need to. We could see exactly what we were up against once they were close enough.

Uruk-hai.

Thousands of them. Each one decked out in jagged armour as black as charred bones. Helms that did little to hide the monstrous faces beneath. And the ones that were not carrying an array of cruel weaponry — everything from serrated short blades to seven-foot poleaxes — were bearing tall, dark banners at the head of each column.

A white handprint on a black base.

I felt myself hunch in instinctive fear at the sight. The tracking party of Uruk-Hai Saruman had sent after us at Amon Hen had been maybe a couple dozen at most, and those had been bad enough.

This was no light-weight hunting pack.

This was an army.

'That,' Tink murmured, putting voice to all three of our thoughts, 'is a lot of badass monsters.'

Thankfully the spot we'd chosen to hide meant we were downwind of the horde, and high enough above them that the breeze was unlikely to turn against us. I couldn't be sure, but I'd have bet good money that if the wind hadn't been favouring us, they'd have caught our scent in seconds.

As the horde moved through the canyon below I spied several sections of troops that had a handful of smaller, less heavily armoured orcs pulling what looked like large, collapsed siege ladders set onto carts behind them. I didn't know how tall Helm's Deep's walls were, but judging by the length of them while they were compact, those things looked like they were up to the task to scaling a small skyscraper.

"Ok, I'm calling it," I whispered so quietly I wasn't even sure Aragorn would be able to hear. "This is really, really bad."

Aragorn's face was grim as we looked down, but he didn't disagree with me.

"Twenty columns of them," the ranger murmured equally quiet, and I realised he'd been counting their number. "Likely about five hundred to a formation, at a guess."

I just about got my exhausted head around the mental maths, and turned wide eyes back on him.

"Ten thousand?!"

"At least."

Bleeding hells. Ten thousand bloodthirsty, heavily armoured monsters, against a few hundred tired, bruised, demoralised human soldiers, holed up in an old fortress.

And us.

'Shite.'

My gaze fell back on the unstoppable tide of beasts below, the realisation of what we were truly facing finally sinking its teeth into my guts. If those formations or Uruks had even half the number Aragorn guessed, Helm's Deep was going to make the Battle of Thermopylae look like a middle school football match.

'This is Sparta?' Tink offered, but even she sounded shaken now.

"There's too many of them," I breathed, the truth of it hitting me like a fist. My thoughts were suddenly flying to Sarra and her unborn baby, to Freda and Eothain and their missing mother, to Ilda and her busy kitchen staff, and the teeth in my insides went icy. "There was barely enough of us to hold off a normal attack, let alone this. They'll turn Helm's Deep into a slaughter house."

"Not if we can warn them in time to prepare. And we still have speed on our side," Aragorn came close to growling, his jaw setting in determination. I turned to find him moving quickly but carefully back down to where Benvolio was waiting uneasily for us. He turned back and offered a hand out to help me. "Come on, we must get there before nightfall."

I glanced back down at the massive army below, then at Benvolio, and then Aragorn.

"Galloping?" I asked despairingly. He nodded, though he didn't look pleased about it either.

"Galloping."

I winced, but nodded, taking his hand.

"Lets hope my legs can hold out that long."

A/N: And there we go! Not quite as far as Helms Deep yet, but we're so nearly there I can taste it! Also I didn't want to keep writing into that part and as a result keep you guys waiting for, you know, another two months for an update.

Many thanks to everyone who left me comments/reviews including: The Adorable Muffin, TrilbyBard, Whimsical Acumen, spiral heads, Milolilo, .8191, Meistar, Imamc, JellyBear7, WickedGreene13, Kodak, VanyaNoldo22, yasminasfeir1, tyrantOFathens, sai19, daughterofthechief, luna153, ImaginativeReader174, missraysunshine, ZentangledFox15, Angrypancakegoddess, zazanga, BigEyesBigSmile, Ely-chan, it'slaterthanyouthink, pineapple-pancake, Amythra, Love Stories00, N7SpaceHamster, thesonicsmiley, Call Me Bessie, Te482, tkhiroshi, rachelgogrrr, Sheep, riptidedarkphoenix, ColourfulBreese, lacomtessa, klaralynn, Sam, JDMichelle2626, TheMamaBear NeoMulder, SilverGhostKitsune, missingn0te, USMC101, CaptainKodak, and guests. I can't believe we're almost at 800 reviews on now, it's truly mind boggling. What's even more mind-boggling to me is this:

Current Ranking Under "OC" LOTR (K-T) Filters:

Reviews: #7
Favourites: #4
Follows: #1?!
Rella = dead.

Now, some of you I know are greatly anticipating what E and L's meeting at Helms Deep, and some are wondering where their strange not-sure-where-we-stand relationship is going to end up once L's learns she's, ya know, not dead. Well I'm not going to spoil things, because obviously. But what I will say is that my Beta has been giving me grief over all their "near-misses" for months now. And I'll say to you what I said to her:

"I find the best things seem to happen on the third try. They've missed twice now. What do you think's gonna happen the next time one of them takes that shot?" :)

Have fun pondering that until next time!

much love and thanks,
Rella xx