Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

“The fortress is taken.” Théoden’s voice was laden with sadness, with hopelessness. “It is over.”

The small group of us who had survived the night was in the fort, barricading the door with whatever we could find. Beneath us were the stables, and lower still was the entrance to the caves. This was the end, for us. We had failed the people of Rohan; I had failed.

"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it.” Aragorn said sternly as a particularly loud bang signaled the start of the orc’s break in. “They still defend it. They have died defending it!"

“Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?” I asked, passing the last bench to Legolas. Théoden remained silent.

“Is there no other way?” Aragorn repeated with urgency.

"There is one passage.” One man, Gamling said. “It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far. The Uruk-hai are too many."

"Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass.” Aragorn commanded, grabbing Gamling’s shoulder. “And barricade the entrance!"

“So much death…” Théoden said distantly. “What can men do against such reckless hate?”

All the men fell silent. There was no sound save the banging of the Uruks breaking down our defenses. Legolas came beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I turned to him, curling against him in our last few moments of peace.

“Ride out with me.” Aragorn looked up at Théoden, at all of the frailty he had in that moment. “Ride out and meet them.”

“For death and glory?”

“For Rohan. For your people.”

“The sun is rising…” Gimli announced, looking at the beams of light cascading through the windows.

“Gandalf…” I breathed, remembering his parting words. Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East.

"Yes.” Théoden said quietly at first, and then, with more confidence. “Yes! The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep, one last time."

“Yes!” Gimli cried, shuffling off to some unknown destination.

“Let this be the hour when we draw our swords together.” Théoden said proudly to Aragorn.

All of us descended the stairs and marched through the corridors until we reached the stable. I ran to Feredir, wrapping my arms around his neck and calming his anxious neighs. Tears were falling from my eyes as I was held somewhere between fear of death and hope of Gandalf’s return. I mounted Feredir, and as the other horses began to trot away he fell into formation with them.

As we made our way to the almost broken door, a loud sound came bellowing down from the Hornburg. Gimli was blowing the horn of Helm Hammerhand, and the sound reverberated through the whole fortress.

"Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath. Now for ruin. And the red dawn!" Théoden called as the doors finally gave way. The Uruks met us with momentary hesitation at the sight of us. “Forth Eorlingas!”

All things came like a blur as we burst into the throng of Uruks. I remembered slashing to and fro, as many as I could reach, as our group barreled through them all with difficulty. Upon reach the bridge it became easier, the horses wading through the Uruks like water as they faced death in many ways: falling from the bridge, being trampled or meeting their end by sword tip.

It was such an impossible gesture, our small number against their mighty; but it would be the bravest way to go. The most honourable death. From the East, a figure appeared on the top of the hill. Gandalf. My heart rate increased as another figure appeared beside him, who called out something, and a great number of horse riders lined up behind him. The Uruks took notice, pulling back into their own pack and facing the oncoming army with their spears.

The Rohirrim came down with great force, and as Gandalf raised his staff the Uruks were blinded by a bright white light, the power of the sun that broke through the blackened clouds. My heavy heart grew light as the battle was rekindled with fresh power, and I knew we would come out victorious. The Rohirrim mowed through the Uruk-hai as if they were plants, dismembering them with unthinkable efficiency.

I knew not how many had been slain before the Uruks began their retreat. It was strange, though. The road by which both the Uruks and the people of Edoras had taken to get to Helm’s Deep was gone. Or rather, covered, by an entire forest of large, frightening yet elegant trees—Fangorn. All of the men screamed in victory, in ecstasy, and I collapsed forward against Feredir in relief.

“Stay out of the forest!” Éomer called out. “Keep away from the trees!”

The Uruk-hai ran fast, and soon enough they had all disappeared into the woods. I frowned at their escape, but the trees began to sway and release groans of their own as I realized what they were doing. Orc cries rose into the air as the trees moved furiously, taking care of all the Uruks we had missed. Feredir returned to the fortress along with the other horses, and I dismounted him and left him in the stables. I wandered around, trying to recall the way to the injury supplies, when I saw Aragorn being embraced by Èowyn. She was ecstatic that he had survived, tears welling in her eyes as she held him close. I worked quickly to erase the pang of jealousy within me, turning away and walking in the opposite direction as the image plagued my mind. It was not my place to interfere with the affairs of the princess of Rohan.

“Final count, forty-two.” Legolas said up ahead of me, standing smugly before Gimli who chuckled at his words.

“Forty-two? Not bad for a pointy-eared elvish princeling. I myself am sitting on a pretty forty-three.” Laughing at their playful rivalry, I stood behind them and watched as Legolas rapidly drew an arrow and shot the orc Gimli sat upon.

“Forty-three.” Legolas said proudly.

“He was already dead.”

“He was twitching.”

“He was twitching because he’s got my axe embedded in his nervous system!” Gimli roared, demonstrating by moving the axe so the orc’s limbs flung.

I laughed aloud, touching their shoulders as I left the two to squabble and continued on to my destination. I passed many wounded men who were being tended to, and others still who were being embraced by their family. Others, less lucky, were being wept over by their grieving family. The storeroom was swamped by people trying to find what they needed. I took a roll of bandage wrap, knowing I had the materials to stitch myself back up where I had left the rest of my belongings.

It was a little frightening, wandering from the busy corridors of the healing hall to the empty ones. The path I took was strewn with dead bodies—orcs and men alike—and it was quite the unnerving sight. It did not take me long to find the room I was looking for. The door closed behind me and I wandered over to my pack, from which I took my supplies. Keeping most of my shirt on, I pulled my arms out of the sleeves and retied my hair. Surveying the damage, I wondered how I had not lost enough blood to pass out. All of the wounds were caked with gritty remnants of dried blood. I thread the needle, preparing the stitch the first wound.

“And what are we fighting for Sam?” Frodo asks his companion. They are in a roofless building with grey stone walls. Across from the two hobbits sits a gangly Gollum, bound by a leash of sorts. The hobbits are tired, hopelessness plaguing their faces. Sam crosses over to Frodo, crouching before him and speaking with heartbreaking honesty.

“That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.”

I snapped from the vision at the feeling of contact, and my eyes focused to reveal Aragorn standing before me. His hands rose slowly in a gesture of peace, and I wiped the tears falling from my eyes, quickly pulling my shirt up higher against me. The initial fear was replaced with a surge of happiness as I recalled what I had just seen.

“They’re alive.” I whispered. “Frodo and Sam, they’re alive!”

“Where?”

“I…I could not tell. Somewhere close to the borders of Mordor, the sky was dark…so dark…”

Aragorn came closer, taking the needle from my hand and moving to start what I had come here to do. I pulled away, insisting that he had much more important things to be doing than sew me up. He gave me a skeptical look as he made the first stab, explaining that there was nothing to be done by his hands that another’s could not do. Trying to contain my smile, I replaced it with a wince at the pain cascading through my arm. I was cut all over, and this would take time to fix.

“You had a vision, during the battle.” Aragorn recalled, and embarrassment flooded me.

“I apologize, I thought I was past burdening others. It caught me off guard.”

“It was no burden, Vanya.” He insisted. “What did you see?”

“Merry and Pippin, they were…” I laughed, remembering the happiness of the vision. “They sat upon a stone wall together, smoking and eating fresh food. They are no longer in Fangorn, but they are safe.”



"Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift." Gandalf said as a group of us stood atop the eastern hill.

Behind us were the remains of Helm’s Deep, some of the Rohirrim staying behind to bury the dead and try to repair what they could of the fortress. Beyond that stood Mordor, a swirl of black and orange with two discernable points: Mount Doom and the tower of Barad-Dûr.

"The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-Earth is about to begin. All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits. Somewhere in the wilderness."

My mind drifted to Frodo and Samwise, along with their friends were the bravest hobbits in all of Middle Earth. I worried for them, but they had made it so far already on their own. They could make it to Mount Doom. They had to.

The rest of the Rohirrim were already making their way back to Edoras, leading the women and children back safely to their homes. Gandalf pressed that there was unfinished business in Isengard, and so Théoden, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gamling and I followed the wizard into the dark of Fangorn forest.