Status: complete

Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

War is Declared

"Where is he! Where is he! Get out of my way! I'm gonna kill him!” This was perhaps the reason why dwarves were so loud: although I could not see the top of Gimli’s head over the crowd gawking at Aragorn, I could quite easily pinpoint where he was. At last, he breeched through the human wall and stood before us. “You are the luckiest, the cunningest, and most reckless man I ever knew!"

“Gimli, where is the King?” Aragorn asked as the dwarf released his hold on him. Gimli nodded to our left, and I followed as Aragorn retreated. Part of me wished to grab hold of his hand only to remind myself he was here; but I refrained. It was neither the time nor place. I was on his heels, though, each turn he made gathering more astonished eyes from onlookers. With a final turn the doorway to the King’s hall was in sight; however one small obstacle was awaiting him.

“Le abdollen.” They smiled at one another. “You look terrible.”

From the corner of my eye I saw a figure move towards us, and upon turning I saw Èowyn, her eyes wide with amazement and adoration. Here he was, the man of her dreams, alive and well. And with this sudden remembrance that I was not alone in my feelings for Aragorn, I withdrew a few steps from his shadow. Legolas continued his exchange, handing over the Evenstar that he’d snatched from the dying orc. Aragorn said his thanks and then the three of us pushed on to the King’s hall.

Théoden sported the same look as we all had; a mixture of surprise and relief and disbelief, and then digressing into contentment. Aragorn had grown used to it by now and did not hesitate to relay whatever urgent message he’d been keeping inside. He described an army, one of solid black that wound as far as the eye could see, marching as he spoke towards the walls of Helm’s Deep. Théoden’s back was turned to us as he took in the information. Or, perhaps, to hide how greatly this knowledge was impacting him.

“A great host, you say?”

“All Isengard is emptied.”

“How many?”

“Ten thousand strong at least.”

My heart sunk. I could boast of my skills in combat. I could relay stories of goblins slain in Arnor and Moria, of Orcs vanquished at the falls of Rauos that had numbered in the hundreds, but ten thousand? I could not fathom such a number. Even with every last man, woman and child taking refuge in Helm’s Deep our numbers would not yet reach half of theirs.

“It is an army bred for a single purpose,” Aragorn began, his face grim. “To destroy the world of men. They will be here by nightfall.” Théoden was silent for a long while and I thought back to the words of Gandalf.

There is no way out of that ravine. Théoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he is leading them to safety, but what he'll get is a massacre.

“Let them come.” The King said at last, turning swiftly on his heel and walking out of the hall. He was followed by a few of his men, Gamling among them, and then in turn by Aragorn, Legolas and me. We were led through the labyrinthine paths of Helm’s Deep, Théoden’s orders being committed to memory by whomever they were directed to. "I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms, to be ready for battle by nightfall." He marched us along until we reached the main doors, stepping out and studying them. "We will cover the causeway and the gate from above. No army has ever breached the deeping wall or set foot inside the Hornburg."

"This is no rabble of mindless orcs.” Gimli leaned against his axe as if it were a walking stick. “These are Uruk-hai. Their armor is thick and their shields broad."

"I have fought many wars, Master Dwarf. I know how to defend my own keep." Théoden said, clearly offended by the dwarf’s remark. He pushed past him and I lay a comforting hand on Gimli’s shoulder as we pushed on. "They will break upon this fortress like water on rock. Saruman's hordes will pillage and burn, we've seen it before. Crops can be resown. Homes rebuilt. Within these walls, we will outlast them."

As much as I wanted to pay attention to Théoden, I could not ignore the growing feeling inside of me. It was not one of pain or happiness, nor was it the sign of an oncoming vision. It felt light, airy, as if it might float out of me; but at the same time there was a weight to it, one that secured it to me. Almost a pushing sensation. As if something was trying to ease its way out.

"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or villages. They come to destroy its people. Down to the last child!" Anger was an emotion usually foreign to Aragorn, and so when it came it was most concerning.

"What would you have me do?” Théoden hissed, turning swiftly to face Aragorn. “Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance!"

"Send out riders, my lord.” Aragorn pleaded. “You must call for aid."

"And who will come. Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead."

"Gondor will answer."

"Gondor? Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us!?” With each sentence, the King’s anger multiplied. “Where was Gon — No, my Lord Aragorn, we are alone."

With that the King turned from us, continuing along with his men and giving orders to get the women and children to safety. His ill manner towards those who only wished to do what was needed proved that the immense responsibility of protecting an entire city was perhaps getting to him. Aragorn paused where he was before going off in another direction, Legolas, Gimli and I trailing behind.

Every passage we entered and exited was full of scrambling soldiers heading for the armory, women carrying their little ones as fast as they could to the safety of the caves, others trying to properly set rations for what would be the worst battle Rohan had seen in many moons. I looked at all of their faces, and although they differed in gender, age, and position, they shared one thing: an absolute fear, as if their fates were already determined.

War makes corpses of us all.

"We'll place the reserves along the wall.” Aragorn began. “They can support the archers from above the gate."

"Aragorn, you must rest. You're no use to us half-alive." Legolas countered, struggling to go against the crowds and stay beside him.

"Aragorn!” Èowyn’s voice drifted above the crowds as they parted to reveal her. She worked her way over, a look of panic on her face. “I'm to be sent with the women into the caves."

He paused for a moment. "That is an honorable charge."

"To mind the children, to find food and bedding when the men return. What renown is there in that?" I understood exactly what it was she felt. To lay in wait while others fight for you, die for you, it leaves one feeling helpless and worthless. As if one does not have the right to remain in a world they did not fight for.

"My lady, a time may come for valor without renown. Who then will your people look to in the last defense?"

"Let me stand at your side." She pleaded, eyes piercing his. The five of us stood in the midst of those preparing for battle; an obtuse blockade that was ignored by those who shuffled around us.

"It is not in my power to command it." He replied, sympathy in his voice. Èowyn seemed on the verge of tears as Aragorn began to turn away.

"You do not command the others to stay!” She cried, motioning to Legolas, Gimli and I. “They fight beside you because they would not be parted from you…Because they love you."

My heart skipped a beat and I averted my eyes from her completely, not wanting to risk betraying the emotions I was attempting to hide. I took a few steps away from the two of them, turning to face the wall nearest to me and studying it. Èowyn muttered an apology and pushed past us all, leaving Aragorn to watch her flee. I kept my eyes averted from his as he eventually turned and pushed on to his destination.

We walked wordlessly and descended the stairs to the armory, my heart sinking at the sight of all these men being herded into armor and weapons. None of them had courage; their eyes fell to the floor and their steps were solemn, the walk of a man prepared for the gallows—ready for the end. Aragorn sighed heavily, working his way to the table where weapons were laid, looking around.

"Farmers, farriers, stable boys…These are no soldiers."

"Most have seen too many winters!" Gimli pointed out.

"Or too few.” Legolas added sadly. “Look at them. They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes."

The room fell silent.

"Boe a hun. Neled herain… dan caer menig!" Legolas was angry, understandably, that the fate of so many of these boys and men would be met on the battlefield due to the poor judgment of their king.

"Si beriathar hyn ammaeg na ned Edoras." Aragorn countered; his faith, as always, unshakable.

"Aragorn, men i ndagor. Hýn ú ortheri. Natha daged aen!"

“Then I shall die as one of them!” He cried, holding furious eye contact with Legolas before quickly departing. Legolas tried to go after him, but Gimli restrained him.

“Let him go, lad. Let him be.” The three of us watched as he left, trying to ignore the stares from the men. They had all stopped their shuffling long ago, these collateral casualties of the tension in the air.

“War is upon us, gentlemen.” I said quietly, snapping the room out of silence. They continued to prepare themselves as I turned to Legolas. His eyebrows furrowed, the pale elven features still tinted with anger. Gingerly, I reached out and squeezed his hand before offering him a weak smile. He mustered up the best one he could before turning back to Gimli.

For a moment I debated whether or not it would be wise to go after Aragorn, but I knew that someone would need to talk to him. Legolas and Gimli wouldn’t be the ones to. As I set off to find him, there was a sinking feeling in my heart as I realized that perhaps I wouldn’t be the one to either; I was not the only one competing for his affection. As much as I wanted to run, I kept my steps steady and continued to wander throughout the fortress.

At last I found him, sitting alone on some stairs in a quieter part of the fortress. I leaned against the wall, watching as he looked over at one of the young boys brandishing a sword. He should not know the feeling of the metal weapon meeting flesh, nor how terrifying the sound of an enemy really is; he should be helping his mother look after siblings or tending to crops or playing with other children. The saddest sight in all of middle earth was that of a child holding a sword.

"Give me your sword." The boy looked anxiously at Aragorn before wandering over and handing him the weapon. "What is your name?"

"Háleth, son of Háma, my lord." He replied weakly. "The men are saying that we will not live out the night…They say that it is hopeless."

Aragorn sighed, standing up and getting a good grip on the sword before swinging it around a few times. He was testing the maneuverability of it, how easy it could be swung in tight spaces, how hard it would be to pierce through flesh. He looked back to the boy.

“This is a good sword Háleth, son of Háma.” He handed it back to Háleth and placed a hand on his shoulder. "There is always hope."

Háleth smiled, nodding and carrying both himself and his sword with a bit more confidence. These men needed it, needed courage. Aragorn sat back down on the stairs and I went up to him, taking a seat beside him and folding my hands on my knees.

“I think all of us could benefit from some hope.” I smiled faintly as he looked over at me, mimicking my gesture.

“I do not wish you to fight in this battle, Vanya.” He said quietly, and then turned away from me. “I would be foolish to ask you to fight alongside me.”

“Many things you are, Lord Aragorn, but never a fool.” My gaze lowered to my lap. “Even if you forbade it I would still fight. If the battle goes ill and the fortress is overtaken, I would not wish to be slain in the caves, helpless. There is no better place to die than in battle.”

“Vanya Maethoriel.” He said after a moment, reaching his hand up and resting it against my cheek. “Beautiful Warrior. How true it has turned out to be.”

I marveled at the contact, such an intimate gesture and so openly displayed. He trailed his hand down my cheek and tucked my hair behind my ear before retracting his arm. My heart was in a flutter.

“I think there’s a certain elf that is looking to apologize.” I said at last, causing him to laugh lightly. Rising, I offered my hand, and as he stood he took it.

We began our walk back to the armory, and although I was hand in hand with Aragorn, all those that we passed only aided in making my heart heavy. Everywhere I looked stood clusters of old men and little boys, no older than fourteen years, holding weapons at arms’ length as if they were meant to harm them and not their enemies. There was no escaping the sadness in this place; it hung in the air and flooded the lungs, weighing everyone down in a time where lightness and agility would be most needed.

Through the crowds I caught a glimpse of Èowyn, and although I was committing no crime, I felt the urgent need to drop Aragorn’s hand from mine and walk a little further from him. Her head began to turn and I cast my eyes downward, feeling lesser in her presence. I caught Aragorn’s sideways glance at me, but I ignored it and focused instead on the path to our destination.