Into the West (A Lord of the Rings Fan Fic)

Chapter Nineteen

The inside of the fortress was as forbidding as the outside, with sheer cliff walls hemming them in and serving as a constant reminder of how trapped they were now that they had holed themselves up in the mountainside. It set Amaruil’s teeth on edge. The enormous walls of Helm’s Deep towered over the valley below, giving them an excellent vantage point and view of the approaching army of orcs.

There were hundreds of people inside the stronghold, from men who ran to and fro bearing weapons, checking the fortifications and supplies and organising everything possible, to women and children who helped where they could or cowered out of the way of the torrential rain, their thin bodies pressed into spaces far too small for the crowds which gathered there.

Amaruil felt lost amongst the heaving crowds of people, each with their own purpose except her. The elves had arrived ready for battle but Amaruil herself hadn’t thought much about the terrible conditions outside Rivendell or what she would do once she was there; now that she was here she felt as if she had been tossed adrift in a sea of chaos.

“Amaruil!” called Haldir, a Silvan elf from Lothlórien whom she had befriended on the journey over and one of the leaders of the Elven force, an army which consisted of mostly Silvan elves but with a small number of Elrond’s people too.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I know that you are of noble blood and have good and close standing with Elrond… would you accompany me to the hall where we will speak to the King of the men? I must go because I have some acquaintance with people here. They also chose me because I can speak Westron, though I would rather not, and I would appreciate some company.”

“Of course,” Amaruil accepted with alacrity, pleased at finally having a definite task to devote her energy too; being without one made her too nervous to focus and allowed her thoughts to drift towards the upcoming battle. They headed along the busy path and towards a larger building which stood above them, dodging the many people who travelled along the street, nearly all in the opposite direction and into the caves.

The doors of the hall opened to reveal a dim hall, lit by infrequent candles which flickered faintly on the stone, wreathing everything inside it with shadows. “Greetings Théoden King,” Haldir said as they approached a dark figure at the end of the hall; even though he was concealed by the gloom which clung to the room, Amaruil was able to see that this man was strong, with an impressive broad shouldered figure. When he turned to the two elves his face, to which the last vestiges of his handsome youth clung desperately as they tried to defy the lines which marked it with age, was mournful.

“Greetings,” he replied slowly. “What tidings do you bring? Elves have had nothing to do with us Rohirrim since the days of The Last Alliance.”

“The Lady Galadriel sensed your great need and sent us. Our numbers are not large but they are the best that we are able to offer,” Haldir replied.

“And where do your skills lie?” Théoden asked wearily.

“Mostly in archery my lord,” he answered.

“Then take the Deeping Wall; Éomer, my sister-son, has command of the forces up there and will need as much help as he can have for that is our weakest place,” Théoden replied, turning back to the shadows as the two elves left once more, pulling their cloaks close around their shoulders in an attempt to shield themselves from the downpour.

They climbed the Deeping Wall as night drew in, the rare burning torches lighting their way as the elves climbed the stairs slowly. Large patches of shadow lingered and forced them to guess the locations of the steep and narrow steps, made slick with rain. Amaruil had just taken her place by the wall when one of the watchmen alerted the people gathered at the Hornburg to the approach of the army, the sound of his trumpet blazing through the darkness.