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The mood is grim, morale is low, and there is a whisper of despair in every corner. You can't say anything to reassure your men because you believe what they believe; all of you will perish when the orcs get here. In your opinion, King Théoden has led you into a trap with nowhere to run.
Luck, or perhaps misfortune, had you passing through the city of Rohan at the same time as the strangest fellowships. A man, a dwarf, an elf, a hobbit, and a wizard traveled together on a quest to warn the king of Saruman. Curiosity had you follow them into the manor, and you saw how the wizard, who turned out to be Gandalf the White, dispelled the curse from the king.
You decided then and there that the war was inevitable. That you should meet it head-on, rather than cower from it. And that they would need all the help they could get. The man they called Aragorn welcomed your offer with sincere gratitude, and a smile so charming it made you blush. The elf at his side, Legolas, and the dwarf, Gimli, eagerly spoke with you and your men about whether you kept scores of your kills. You showed them your point system for just that.
Eventually, Théoden was confronted with the impending war and decided, against advice, to evacuate the town to Helm's Deep. The trip was not without loss, and many fighters fell, holding off an ambush while the civilians escaped.
You are used to undressing in front of your men, and they have seen it so many times that they don't even glance your way, but you feel the stares of everyone else as you stand in your breeches and breast binding, ready to armor yourself.
Your armor plates are silver combined with steel, making the armor light but sturdy. Engravings adorn the metal on every scale, matching the two daggers by your hips and the bow on your back. You look overdressed compared to the farmers lining up in rags and poor excuses for weapons.
In the line of peasants, you spot several boys, no more than twelve winters old. In normal circumstances, you would protest to boys that young taking up arms. In this case, you prefer them to die with a weapon in hand as opposed to being slaughtered like cattle. Which is what will happen to the women and children when the enemy reaches the caves.
You address your men and tell them to die as they have fought with you: with violence. Then you say goodbye to your horse Shadowmere as he will only slow you down on the narrow stairs of the keep. You hope he'll get a chance to flee this death trap before the orcs get here.
The sound of a horn in the distance makes you look up at Aragorn in question. Already?
"That is no orc horn," Legolas states. A glimmer of hope has replaced the despair in his eyes.
All of you run out the gates just in time to see a horde of elven archers lining up outside the keep. A tall, broad elf with a stoic face and a red cape walks in the front. The King greats the elf in disbelief, and the elf proceeds to speak:
"An alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago, we fought and died together-" His eyes dart to Aragorn and you, who have now reached the stairs. "We are proud to fight alongside Men once more."
Aragorn runs down the stairs, speaking to him in elvish. He puts a hand on the chest to greet, while the elf does the same, but then Aragorn pulls him into a hug instead. The elven man is startled by this at first, but then he returns the embrace and smiles. You can feel the corners of your mouth curl upwards; before you know it, your bar your teeth, and a chuckle escapes your throat.
Aragorn turns and beams at you while Legolas greets the elf traditionally.
Then Aragorn takes your arm, leads you before the elf, and introduces you by name. He then explains that the elf, Haldir of Lothlórien, is a marchwarden who patrols the border of the Golden Wood. Elron sent him to assist in this fight, along with a thousand Galadhrim warriors from Rivendell.
Haldir is a man, or elf, of few words. He nods along silently, with his eyes fixed on yours, while Aragorn explains your profession. The stare is so intense that you must look away from time to time, but you always return to those beautiful dark-blue eyes, drawing you. In the nightlight, they look almost black, like the sea in a storm. You smile and blush while Aragorn recount the ambush you and your men fought at his side on the way here.
"… and then she flung herself up on the back of the warg, right behind the rider, and she stabbed the orc in the neck, so he fell from the creature. Then she drew her bow and shot the warg through the back of its skull."
The way Aragorn talks of you are full of admiration, and you find yourself equally embarrassed and proud.
"She's small, but she knows where to put those daggers, I assure you. Her warriors are just as skilled, and all fought with bravery and lived."
Haldir flashes his teeth in a warm smile and speaks with a silky voice:
"You should come with me. I need a dozen fighters at our perimeter."
His eyes then turn towards Aragorn, and you miss his attention.
"Aragorn, take a portion of my men under your command."
Then you relish as his gaze is back on you.
" We'll station us on the Deeping Wall to man every fortification."
"Sounds like a plan," you answer, trying to calm your excitement.
.oOo.
You stand on top of the wall, with your men to your one side and Haldir to your other. There is a silence you didn't think possible in the presence of two thousand men, but you are sure you could hear a pin drop at the other end of the wall. You risk a glance at the elf. He is still like a statue, with his eyes fixed on the horizon, but then he looks down and slightly turns towards you to meet your gaze. At that, you realize just how long his lashes are.
He parts his lips as if to say something, but thunder followed by torrential rain breaks the silence instead. You look out into the night, and as you see the orange light from torches in the distance, you realize it's not only the storm you hear but the sound of ten thousand marching orcs.
This moment might be your last chance to say something to the gorgeous elf, anything, and you desperately want to, but all you can come up with is:
"How is it your hair stays dry, even as it's pissing down?"
You notice his subtle regard for your cursing, and you want to facepalm yourself for being crass in the presence of this noble creature. But then he chuckles, and it's the sweetest sound you've ever heard. You start laughing as well, and he points to your head, grinning, and you shrug as you look up at your wet locks plastered to your forehead.
You notice how the other elves standing close enough to hear you, start to whisper to each other, and you imagine they think you are insane. Your men stay indifferent because they already know you are. Haldir's laugh subsides, but his smile lingers at the corner of his mouth. When the orcs come to a stop, it vanishes, however.
A long silence follows, but then they start a taunt by clattering their weapons, and you feel the vibrations from it under your feet. You draw your bow and order your men to do the same. An arrow from somewhere on the wall strikes an orc in the neck, and all hell breaks loose.
You order your men to fire at will, but to make sure they hit someone and use up all the arrows before they need their swords. You hear Aragorn's voice through the storm, and a rain of arrows flies up from behind the walls, over your heads, and razes the orcs like flies.
Ladders appear in several places along the wall, and the orcs start to climb. You order some of your men to push the ladders down while others cover them. The orcs are too fast up the stairs and jump over the wall. You draw your daggers and stab every neck that comes within your reach. Orders are no longer needed as chaos unfolds on the barricade.
At one point, two orcs clever enough to fight you from either side have you flanked. Just as you engage the one closest to you, you see a flash of red out of the corner of your eyes. Haldir jumps into the fight and attacks the other. You cut yours down quickly and turn just in time to see the glorious sight of the elf engaged in a deadlock with swords. Gone are the stoic stare, and the subtle smile, replaced by pure fierceness as he headbutts the orc and cuts its head clean off.
Then the wall explodes, and you fall on your back from the impact. To your side is Haldir, scrambling to his feet. He extends his hand to you, and you grasp his wrist. Unprepared for the light weight of your battledress, he overcompensates his pull, and you clash into his armor. You steady yourself by his arms. For a moment, his face is so close to yours that you feel his panting breath on your forehead. You look up at him and notice how full his lips are. Then you give him a nod, push to his side, and plunge your dagger deep into an orc's chest, about to attack the elf. You turn and find that Haldir has his sword in the abdomen of another orc, presumably attacking you. He draws it out and gives you a knowing look, and from then, you work together, watching each other's perimeters.
Aragorn appears below you with an order in elvish. You look to Haldir, who translates:
"Fall back to the keep." Then he shouts the order to his men, but amid the retreat, two Uruk-hai find their way to the elf. Both of them engage him simultaneously, and as he is busy fending off the one in front of him, the other seizes his chance and cuts him down right before your eyes. You plunge yourself onto the back of the attacking one and stab his eye so thoroughly that the blade goes through him and almost hits you. Haldir has the other one down, but he staggers from the orc and falls on one knee. You jump from the fallen Uruk-hai to the elf's side and hold his back, easing his way down to the ground.
Panicking, you search his body, trying to find the wound from where the pool of blood is forming. His breath is staggering, and it looks like he tries to speak but fails. He puts his bloodied hand on your shoulder to still you, and then he leads your hand down his side, underneath the plate from his armor. The warm crimson liquid seeps into your glove, and you push your hand into the wound. He groans, but you keep the pressure firm, hoping you don't wreck anything important in the process.
Aragorn has reached you, and you point at his belt and tell him to hand it over. Then you call one of your men to get Shadowmere. With one hand, you lose every strap and buckle you can find and pull at Haldir's armor to get it off, but it is heavy, and Aragorn kneels to assist you. When you finally get it off him, you put a cloth on the wound and wrap the belt around his waist. You pull the strap as hard as you can, with the buckle on top of the injury. This time he lets out a cry from the pain. You fasten the belt and move behind him to steady his head against your body.
"I got you… just breathe," you say, as calmly as possible.
The fight has died down around you, and two elves stand guard while the rest has gone with Aragorn to the keep.
Haldir's long silvery hair spreads out onto your breastplate, and while you wait for the horse to arrive, you remove your gloves and run your fingers through the strands of hair, collecting them in a single form. You feel his breathing somewhat stabilizing at your touch, and you dare to let your nails scrape lightly at his scalp, twining his hair with your hand.
Your man returns shortly after with the horse, and you click your tongue, making Shadowmere kneel in front of you. With the help of your man, you get Haldir on the back of the horse. When Shadowmere is on his feet, you mount sitting behind the elf, who falls backward and slumps against you.
"Get to the keep," you order your man, and then you kick the horse's sides, steering towards the back entrance, where an infirmary has formed under the command of Éowyn.
You ride inside, and with help, you get Haldir off the horse and onto a cot.
"I have to get back out there," you tell him, but before you can turn, he grasps your wrist with his hand.
"Don't..." he says, but his grip is weak, and his arm falls slack as he closes his eyes.
You run your fingers through those silvery locks, savoring the feeling. It will be a nice memory to recall if you die, you think, as you let go of him to mount your horse.
.oOo.
You reach the main room just in time to join Aragorn, Théoden, and whoever is left in a final assault on the bridge.
You manage to cut your way outside the gates and onto the battlefield. When the light from the dawn warms your face, Gandalf storms down the hill along with Éomer and fifteen thousand soldiers and wins the battle.
You meet the smile of Aragorn with your own and give him a nod. Then you see Legolas and give him a similar greeting, but his gaze is off. You hear the zing of a sword cutting through the air, and then you feel a sting you've never felt before running across your back. The pain is so great that you can't even breathe. Legolas has his bow in his hands, and an arrow flies past your ear. You hear a thud behind you, but you can't turn around. You can only fall, so you do, collapsing on your knees.
You hold out your hand in front of you and stare at it in awe as silver strands of hair appear between your fingers.
"Huh," you rasp, as you twine the strands in your hand. Then your eyes roll back and everything turns black.