To Aragorn, it felt like he had been fighting forever. Already the dead lay all around, many of them orcs, though far too many were of Rohan or Lorien. Far below, at the base of the Deeping Wall, he saw a stir of movement. Orcs were clustered around one part of the wall - the culvert where the stream drained. He watched with a sense of foreboding. What were they doing?
Suddenly the orcs turned and scattered, and another, very large creature approached, carrying a flaming brand. An Uruk-hai. Without really knowing why, he turned to where he could see Legolas, some distance away along the wall.
“Legolas! Take him down!” he shouted desperately, indicating the orc.
With a nod, Legolas loosed an arrow. It struck home, deep into the creature’s shoulder. It did not fall. With a curse, Aragorn watched as Legolas fired again. This time he hit the orc’s neck, but with super-human strength it ran on.
“Kill him! Kill him!”
Legolas really did not need the instruction. He fired a final time, finally felling the beast, but even as it fell, it threw itself forward into the culvert.
An orange-red sheet of flame shot up, taking the wall with it. There was a deafening roar, and the wall disintegrated. Stones were flung high in the air, along with the fighters who had been above the culvert.
Dazed, Aragorn picked himself up off the ground, looking in disbelief at the gaping hole where the wall had been. Orcs poured through the gap into the area beyond. The defences had been breached, and they would be overwhelmed.
Despairingly, he gave the bitter order. “Retreat! Fall back! Fall back!” Around him, the warriors began to move, edging backwards towards the shelter of the Hornburg.
As the battle raged about him, Aragorn fought almost mechanically. He had lost sight of both Legolas and Gimli in the chaos, and now fought in the midst of elves from Lorien and the children of Rohan.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the elves go down with a sword slash across his chest. He fell forward, a curtain of long, pale gold hair falling across his face.
Legolas.
Ai, Elbereth, no! This could not be!
His first thought, crazily, was how he would tell Arwen.
Grimly, he fought his way to the elf’s side. As he drew nearer, but was still too far away, he watched with despair as an orc thrust its sword deep into the elf's back. His head came up, the movement subtly different to his friend, and he realised that this elf was more heavily built. Not Legolas, then, but who? A flood of relief went through him, to be replaced by guilt. This was still a friend.
Aragorn reached the elf’s side and knelt by him, his head against Aragorn’s shoulder.
Haldir.
The elf was grievously wounded, his eyes clouded with pain, and his breath coming in short gasps.
Aragorn tried desperately to staunch the wound, his hands wet with Haldir’s blood, but all too soon he gave a sigh, and slumped against Aragorn, his eyes closed.
No. Oh, no.
Despairingly, Aragorn closed his own eyes, head bowed over Haldir’s body. Dangerous in battle, but he could not help it.
There was a voice, shouting his name, and someone pulling at Haldir. Aragorn resisted, but then realised who it was. Legolas knelt beside him, hair plastered to his head from the pouring rain.
“He’s alive! Aragorn, he’s still alive!”
Legolas looked around then, realising he was getting little sense from Aragorn. He saw two of the child warriors, one of them the boy he had seen earlier, still wearing his ill-fitting helmet.
“You two! Come here!”
He gestured at one of the litters, hastily constructed that afternoon to transport the wounded.
They were but children, both miraculously still alive, and for the most part unscathed.
They were two lives he could save tonight, maybe even three.
“Look after him. Take him back to the caves, to the healers. Stay with him.”
He made it an order, so they would not realise they were being sent out of danger, and showed them how to stem the flow of blood. He did not hold out much hope, but it was Haldir’s only chance. And theirs.
“Go!”
He watched as they staggered away with the litter, carrying Haldir away from the battle. Aragorn looked at him wearily.
“Well done. They won’t even realise you saved their lives.”
“I wish I could save all of them,” Legolas said sadly. Then his voice sharpened. “Aragorn!” He drew his bow, an arrow pointed straight at Aragorn, it seemed. “Down!”
The arrow passed so close, Aragorn could feel the breath of it on his cheek. The orc behind him fell dead.
“Come!”
Legolas hauled him to his feet. The battle was far from over. They were overrun now, orcs pouring through the gap smashed in the wall. Already, on the outer battlements, black banners were being hoisted high, bearing Saruman’s symbol of the white hand.
Aragorn look around in despair. “We must retreat! Continue to fall back to the Hornburg!”
They turned and ran for the steps, along with the last remnants of the defence. The heavy doors were slammed shut as Aragorn came through last.
~~*~~
As dawn began to rise, stretching pale fingers over the hills, a final, desperate rally was made. There were few, so few, horsemen left. They gathered in the hall of the Hornburg. On a signal, the barricaded doors were flung open, and the remaining cavalry rode out from Helm’s Gate into the dale. Orcs fell before them, as the troops of Helm’s Deep - all that were left - rode down the causeway.
Théoden, as king of these men, lead them, with Aragorn and Legolas at his side. His bow, even the two long knives he used, were useless in this type of assault, and Legolas swung a sword, snatched from one of the dead warriors.
The orcs, not expecting their all but defeated foe to make such a bold move, were scattered, falling beneath the hooves of the horses, or over the sides of the causeway ramp. They retreated in dismay as the sortie reached the end of the causeway, spreading out into the valley. Their panicked flight slowed, however, as they began to realise how very few riders there were.
Before the orcs could turn to fight, an army of horsemen swept down on them from the surrounding hills. They were led by a rider on a white horse, clad all in white, bearing a glowing staff.
Mithrandir had found the éored lead by Éomer, and brought them to the relief of Helm’s Deep. Between the two forces, the orcs stood no chance and fell like leaves in autumn. Those that fled ran into the depths of a strange new forest that had arisen overnight - and never came out.
~~*~~
In the aftermath of the battle, Legolas returned to the Deeping Wall and prowled the battlements. Everywhere he could see the fallen children of Rohan, so terribly young. Some had fallen with their swords untainted, too terrified to even defend themselves. One was a young girl, her hair falling out of the twist she had put it in to hide it under her stolen helmet. Scattered among them were the old men who had tried so hard to defend the young ones.
And everywhere he could see Haldir’s archers. He recognised many, familiar faces from Elrond’s court or Celeborn’s, messengers who had come to Lasgalen. They lay now, mingled with the young and old of Rohan, and their fallen foes. Many were open-eyed, in a vile parody of sleep.
He was glad, now, that none had come from Lasgalen. He had already seen too many friends die.
Finally he went to the caves where the wounded had been taken. The women and girls had not been idle during the battle, but had been tending the injured all night. There were those who could not survive, but his battle experience told him that most of those who had made it here would live.
On a blanket at the side of one of the caverns, he found Haldir, pale and motionless.
So. He had been too late.
He regretted, now, his actions in Lorien. Legolas had been so angry when Haldir denied them passage through Lorien he could not trust himself to speak, leaving Aragorn to argue their case. But all differences had been forgotten with the arrival of the elven army. The presence of the reinforcements had made a difference.
Éowyn came softly to meet him, glancing down at Haldir.
“Please, my Lord, don’t disturb him. He needs rest for now. He sleeps.”
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