Her eyes could not meet the gaze of Parador's searching eye...it was as if the Mithril Knight could see into her soul causing Tempest even more discomfort; wasn't it enough that she bared the pain of a broken oath and yet still was made to crawl upon her belly to avoid the Wind Lord's talon of revenge. Parador's face soften'to see one of her companion's lying in the dust in the heat of battle for both body and soul'racked with uncertainties of self doubt...who's darkness to light has traveled many lonely roads'was more than she could take'it was not for her to declare a sentence of judgment.

'Nay, Tempest'you are not an enemy'...Parador warned off the eagles and at the same time held her hand out to the Mithril Knight. Tempest hesitated and then looked to Parador...confidence and humility waxed over her as she grasped the offered hand'

'The mighty fires of Mordor are no more your master nor enemy...only your self doubt is...and from what I and the other's witnessed...your heart speaks well of you...You came back to what you have always treasured most Tempest...the one thing you have worked hard for and feared at the same time...and that is the friendships and trust you have earned among the Mithril Knights...it is not one to be let go so easily'

Before Tempest could speak, her eye caught site of Elbren and Dirk; Radagast stood amongst them...all was quiet as the last of the Dwarves and Orcs fled from the deadly claws'Parador followed behind Tempest as she made her way toward the three valiant warriors'

________________________________________________________________

To see the exchange of friendship and trust once again between Lord Elbren and Tempest brought a peace greater than all the ending battles of Middle-earth could ever offer...

The time to depart to Orthanc came quickly...there was no time to celebrate...Dirk was gaining strength again with each breath he took...Idril continued to minister to him as Mirdain aided her...

Although the battle had been won at Amon Lhaw...another awaited them...their power of strength just became stronger....

When the Red Hammer broke their line on their stairs, Mirdain retreated swiftly up to the platform to try and gain a little space, so he could draw his bow. He managed to do so, but as he notched an arrow, the axe blow of an unseen dwarf came down hard on his left arm. It would have been severed, had it not been for his sturdy mail and the partial covering of the Mithril Cloak. Mirdain did lose feeling in that arm, however. He retreated with Idril back up to the platform where they thought Elbren was, but couldn't be sure.

Mirdain had only ever been aware that Tempest once served the darkness. He did have the experiences she had shared with Elbren, or the new bond that she seemed to share with Dirk. He had only known her as a Mithril Knight, and a friend. The moment she had turned and run away, it broke Mirdain's heart. It also distracted him long enough that a surge of dwarves and orcs was able to overcome him and throw him from the pedestal of the stone where the Mithril Knights rallied.

Mirdain was nearly smothered, but the numbers worked to his advantage. In all their frenzied hurry to strike him, the dwarves and orcs were getting in each others way. With swift strength, Athelos and Parador pulled two heavy dwarves off of Mirdain and slew them quickly. As it had so many times in the past, Mirdain's crystal saved him once again. In that moment, it flared to life. The orcs and dark dwarves were burned by its light, and scrambled desparately to get off of him. When Mirdain was free enough to stand, he threw another dwarf over the precipice and the dwarf tumbled to his death. As it often occurred when Mirdain's crystal came to life, he was filled with an ultra-potent battle rage, and a renewed vigor. He couldn't feel his left arm, making it difficult to parry and block, but his sword was still effective. With it he hacked viciously, cutting down orcs and dwarves left, the light of Galadriel in his eyes. Moments later, he was once again standing beside Idril on the pedestal, as she tried to defend Elbren. Then the eagles came, and the battle was over swiftly.

Now, sitting back at camp, Mirdain finally took stock of himself as he also tended to Dirk's wounds. Mirdain's own arm was not dislocated or broken, but there was a deep bruise. A dull pain had taken the place of total numbness. Only after the battle did he notice that he had been stuck, though not deeply, with orc darts in the left thigh and shoulder. Athelos quickly treated that for him. Now, he set his mind on the task ahead: the true defense of Rohan.

Elbren had caught Dirk in his swoon and managed to keep him upright by waving a few bruised herb-leaves under his nose.

The young warrior stood amongst the others and heard the instructions of Radagast. However, his pain was intense and his vision was a tunnel as he stood on the verge of unconsciousness.

He managed to lock eyes with Tempest. Unspoken gratitude was communicated between the two as Radagast finished his speech and strode to remount the Lord of the Sky.

Later, Dirk would not remember the descent to the camp. The pain in his shoulder and the nausea and dizziness from his head wound caused him to walk in a near stupor.

Soon, however, he was sitting before a warm fire and sipping a soothing broth. When it was his turn, Mirdain knelt beside hime to clean and dress the wound on Dirk's head.

"With rest and time, you'll recover from this. It is a fairly nasty bump, with a decent-sized cut, but that is all, no permanent damage done. Now let's have a look at that shoulder."

Dirk removed his cloak, hauberk and tunic. Mirdain prodded a little and sat back.

"Very lucky for you that you wear a Mithril Cloak as well as very good armour. Otherwise, the bones would have been crushed to powder by that Dwarf's hammer. Bite down on this," he handed Dirk a small piece of thick leather, "and take a deep breath."

As Dirk did so, Mirdain took a firm grasp of the younger man's arm and snapped the humerus back into place. With a muffled yelp, it was all over and Dirk's terrible pain subsided into a dull ache.

"Thank you, Mirdain," he handed the leather piece back, "that is much better."

"You are welcome, now get some rest," he said and moved on to the next wounded Mithril Knight.

Before settling in, Dirk went down to the water and took off his shirts to rinse the blood from them. In so doing, he inadvertantly and unwittingly exposed his tattooed back to the group. When he turned to return to the fireside, he saw that Tempest was staring at him. He knew instantly that she had seen the indellible image of the winged dragon, Ancalagon the Black, painted from shoulderblade to shoulderblade across his back. He quickly looked about and saw that everyone else had been to busy tending to each other's hurts or eating or recounting the tale of the day's events to notice what Tempest had seen.

He quickly donned the damp shirts and re-took his place. His tunic and armour he set aside for the night, but the Mithril Cloak he placed about his shoulders. A wineskin had been passed around and Dirk drank deeply of it. Soon the wounds had been dressed, the food had been eaten, and the wine drunk. Watch was set, with Elbren taking the first stand. Everyone began to settle in for the rest of the night.

Dirk could see Tempest's open eyes across the fire's dying embers. Now was not the time. But soon he would have to seek her council... or go mad.

Tempest felt a heavy grief descend on her even as she descended the steps to the camp. Her betrayal and restoration had happened so quickly that her emotions were still trying to catch up with her. She was thankful when Elbren had spoken harshly to her, for a part of her longed to be punished. However, when he ended with only soft words, her heart had broken. She felt utterly defeated against such kindness because she had no defenses against it.

Still, she knew that her treason would be dealt with after the danger was over, for Elbren could not simply overlook such an act. She knew not what would be done with her for breaking her Oath, however briefly, but she knew her time with the Mithril Knights might be short.

She managed to find Radagast in the midst of their retreat. "Did you find the stone that Saruman gave Wormtongue?" she asked quietly.

The brown wizard looked hard at her for several moments before answering, as if seeking an answer in her eyes to an unspoken question. Finally he spoke. "It was too late. The grave had long since been desecrated and the stone taken."

"Yes, I figured as much."

"Do you know where they are taking it?" he asked her.

"To where it all began," she answered simply.

"Where it all began?" he repeated, and she left him muttering to himself.

Later, when they were in camp, she had been gazing into the fire, replaying her actions over and over again in her head, as well as all the words the dwarves and Saruman had spoken to her. Suddenly, she saw a strange symbol rise before her eyes and as she focused her attention upon it, she recognized the black dragon Ancalagon. She started, for she thought she was in a dream until she saw the mark belonged to Dirk as he turned and found her eyes across the fire. Her face held a question, but neither party spoke. As he turned away, Tempest could not help but say softly, "Be careful, Dirk, that he does not turn your heart as well. He has a way of getting inside your mind and unlocking all the disatisfacion and darkness that within there lies. Guard your heart, lest you become like me."

Elbren had taken the first watch for he was still deeply troubled and knew that he could not yet sleep nor rest. Athelos and Parador had tended and bandaged his burnt hands and then Idril had prepared a tea for him that helped to numb the pain. Elbren had said little during it all, though he watched intently as others received aid in kind for their wounds.

We are weary and wounded he thought to himself as Athelos tied off the cloth bandage on his left hand.

"How does that feel?" Athelos asked, her eyes piercing and keen.

Elbren slowly made a fist and then relaxed his hand, "It is well, thank you. Everyone should sleep, even if we have to make valerian tea for them. Those that hold the worst wounds should not take a watch at all. It will be a long and hard ride to Helm's Deep."

"You are still troubled," Athelos nodded as she began to pack away her healing herbs and supplies.

Elbren stood up and almost laughed at her statement, but he restrained himself, "Yes," was all that he replied.

"You should try and talk about it, Elbren, it may help you find--"

Elbren whirled upon Athelos with a wave of fury, his eyes narrow with anger, but, he did not again allow his hurt and anger to form into harsh words. Athelos placed a soft hand upon his arms and stepped close to him.

"There are things in this Middle Earth, and beyond, that are stronger than even the mightiest of wills, Elbren," she whispered in Quenya. "She did come back to us....within minutes...not hours...not days. Even now, she grieves for her disloyalty."

"Tempest is not the only matter that weighs upon my mind," Elbren said defensively.

"No, but it is her turning away from us that weighs the most upon your heart," Athelos squeezed his arm gently.

Her words stung for they were too true. Elbren could slay a thousand orcs, see a field of death after battle, even bury the dead with a numbness learned from ages of war. But, the betrayal of a friend, a Mithril Knight, one that he had stood shoulder to shoulder with upon countless occasions...one to whom he would have trusted his life, even the lives of his wife and children, with no thoughts of doubt at all, this was beyond his understanding. He stepped away from Athelos as his eyes found Tempest as she sat near the small fire in the dank cave; in the distance, they could hear the roar of the Falls. Beyond the resting Mithril Knights, the horses stamped and snorted, still feeling uneasy, knowing that the enemy still roamed the shores.

"The Red Hammer, at least on this side of the Anduin, has been scattered," Elbren said to Athelos, "and we have destroyed Saruman's energy source which will, even if it be temporarily, thwart his plans to rise again. We have succeeded in our quest."

Athelos nodded towards the broken shaft of the Spear of Orome, "Aye, and, thank Eru, with very little damage to our party and resources."

"Get some rest," Elbren said quietly, "we leave before dawn."

He walked past the Knights, some nodding up at him while others slept soundly, until he reached Tempest. She sat rigidly upon her bedroll though she met his gaze evenly with her own. He had spoken to her already as a friend, but he still could not find the words to speak to her as her Guildmaster. He nodded curtly and stepped past her in silence.

As he passed the horses, he gave Erelas an affectionate pat, which brought forth an appreciative nicker from the mighty warhorse. Next to Erelas stood the wounded horse of the fallen Mithril Knight, Halith. Elbren ran his bandaged hands across the horse's withers and chest, where the worst of the wounds were, and was pleased to find that the swelling had lessened substantially. Turning the horse's head towards him, Elbren saw bright and healthy eyes staring back at him.

"His name is Hasel."

Elbren turned to see Parador standing nearby.

"Hasel," Elbren repeated, rubbing the velvety tuft of hair between the horse's eyes, "Hasel....you shall live, my friend, but your legs will no longer find you fit for battle, I do not think."

"Will he be able to make the journey to Helm's Deep?" Parador asked.

Elbren continued to stroke the horse's face, "The ride will be hard, but I will tend him as best I can when we rest. I hope that he can make the journey....and if he does, then he will be rewarded with a life of rest and pleasure. He served his master well and I will see that he is rewarded for it."

"You have something in mind already, Elbren?" Parador laughed as Hasel reached back and nipped her on the sleeve of her tunic.

"Yes," Elbren nodded, "I will take him to Lothlorien and have my nephew, Galadhon, tend to him."

"Retirement in Lothlorien. That is indeed a fitting reward."

Elbren grinned and then stepped away, "I'm going to take the first watch. Get some rest."

**************************************************************

Radagast and the Great Eagles flew swiftly over the Plains of Rohan. Reaching Edoras, they swooped low and saw that the Red Hammer were indeed occupying the city of the Rohirrim.

"Better than burning and pillaging, I suppose," Radagast muttered as Gwaihir began to rise high into the air again.

Across the Plains, the Red Hammer moved in three large units. Each unit had both Dwarf and Orc, but the Dwarves, by far, were the dominating race. Two of the units were within a few miles of each other and moving steadily North and slightly West to Helm's Deep. Scouting parties preceded the two, but neither had quite reached the fortress of Helm Hammerhand just yet.

The third army had turned North and, without a doubt, were making their way to Isengard. That, too, was Radagast's destination. With the speed of the mighty Eagles, the Istari and the Eagles arrived well before the Red Hammer.

Once there, Radagast ordered the Gondorian soldiers to prepare for battle and close the gates of the mighty ring of stone that surrounded Orthanc. Though destroyed by Ents seven years before, Isengard had been rebuilt at the orders of King Elessar and occupied by Gondorian soldiers and Mithril Knights ever since. Thalos was the highest ranking Mithril Knight and it was he who showed Radagast the newly discovered Shrine of Varda.

Radagast was, at first, speechless, but then he was overjoyed and laughed merrily. "This is amazing!" He proclaimed.

Thalos could only agree and shared the Wizard's enthusiasm, "I would imagine that this would shed some light upon the true name of Orthanc, aye?"

Radagast looked up from where he had been studied the altar, "Eh? Well, yes, I would imagine that it would. The Tower of the Sickle."

"Tower of the Sickle?" Thalos muttered.

"Yes, but in Elvish, of course," Radagast laughed, "but, before we can formally reinstate the name, we must prepare for battle. Let us go and be sure that all is in readiness."

"How large is the force that is coming to Isengard?" Thalos asked as they ascended the hidden staircase.

"I would say that a thousand, perhaps twelve hundred, mainly Dwarves," Radagast replied.

"And we are to hold that with the three hundred Gondorian soldiers that we have here?" Thalos asked, alarmed.

"The three hundred Gondorians, the dozen or so Mithril Knights, and....most importantly, me and my Eagles," Radagast laughed again, " not to worry, Master Dwarf, we will hold the Red Hammer. I am more concerned with the battle that will take place in Helm's Deep."

"Aye," Thalos agreed, "as am I."

*********************************************

When dawn broke upon the plains of Rohan, a light dusting of snow was upon the grasses and the broken and grey clouds above promised more of the wintry weather. Elbren and the Mithril Knights were well away from the shores of the Anduin when the sun first appeared and with only brief rests, they made good speed that first day. The snow began to fall in earnest by noon, slowing their travel, but also giving them good cover from the enemy. Their hearts turned to Helm's Deep, the Knights rode to the West...

The scouts had reported that the two legions of Red Hammer were converging and were a half day out from the Deeping Wall of Helm's Deep. Elbren and the Mithril Knights rode up the causeway and were greeted handsomely by the Rohirrim.

Weary, but elated to have arrived without incident, the Knights dismounted and entered the Hall where Eomer and his councillors were meeting.

"Welcome," Eomer nodded, "welcome indeed. Your companions have already arrived and with good news from Orthanc. They are anxious to speak with you."

Elbren removed his helmet, "Many thanks for the welcome. The deed is done at Amon Lhaw, but the Red Hammer gathers on the plains to attack. Which Knights are here before us?"

"Lord Erinhue and Lady Rholarowyn are in the outer hall," Eomer nodded back towards the massive double doors, "they have two of their apprentices with them. They wanted word of your arrival as soon as it was known."

"Then I will speak with them right away. We need a bit of rest and food, if you can spare it, and I have a horse with us who could use the attention of your healers," Elbren replied, motioning to the other Knights to take their rest.

"Rest and food are the least of which we can offer, and of course we can tend to your horses," Eomer signalled for his orders to be carried out.

"Many thanks, King Eomer," Elbren saluted and then turned on his heel to seek the outer hall.

Elbren and the Mithril Knights had gathered in a corner of the outer Hall of Helm's Deep. There, they had taken food and drink together and shared the tales of their adventures since their last meeting. Elbren was very glad to meet Anorast and Nienor-Niniel and hear of their findings at Orthanc. He was especially interested, of course, in the Sickle that had been found upon the altar. He took it very gently from Nienor-Niniel's hands; immediately, he felt a surge of energy enter his body.

"The Sickle of the Valar, the Silver Sickle, the Wain, the Valacirca or even the Crown of Dúrin," Elbren said quietly as he inspected the exquisite weapon. "This has to be a working of a great smith in homage to Aulë. It was he who was making a silver sickle when Melko interrupted his work telling him a lie concerning the lady Palúrien. Aulë was so wroth that he broke the sickle with a blow. Seven sparks leapt up and winged into the heavens. Varda caught them and gave them place in the heavens as a sign of Palúrien's honour. They fly now ever in the shape af a sickle round and round the pole."

"This is a great sign of hope," Mirdain observed as they all stared in awe at the mighty blade.

"There was a song, a battle song, between Gothaur and Finrod, where Finrod did sing a praise of the Seven Stars," Elbren nodded, "and from what Nienor-Niniel has told us of the Sickle's power, I believe that it has a direct link to the stars themselves. This is a mighty weapon that has come to us from Varda Herself. Keep it well," and the Guildmaster handed the silver Sickle back to the Knight in Training.

"And now we must hold the tide of the Red Hammer," Dirk said.

"We will hold," Elbren stood and clasped his sword to his belt, "Varda is with us. Let us arm ourselves and to the battlements."

The Knights donned their gear, shining mail and burnished sword. Elbren took his helm and with it in hand, began to make his way to the Deeping Wall. As he passed Tempest, he paused and motioned for the other Knights to continue on.

"Do you recall when we were in the throneroom of Morgoth and I was frozen with desire for the Silmarils?" he asked quietly.

Tempest nodded silently, watching him with dark eyes.

"It was you who prevented me from breaking my Oath then. Even now, I dream of the Jewels of Feanor and part of me desires to possess them," Elbren sighed, "I would not willingly be in their presence again for I am still unsure of my own will against the desire."

"Yet, you walked away," Tempest declared.

Elbren shook his head, "I was dragged away by you and Idril."

He moved closer to her, "Had I been standing next to you at Amon Lhaw I would have tied you down and held you even with your own blade drawn against me in order to help you against the power that we faced there. Do you think yourself so mighty that you can withstand a force of such power?" The Elven Lord took in a deep breath, "I regret that I was not there for you when you needed me. I've thought of little else on the journey to Helm's Deep, Tempest. Who really failed who? Are we not as strong as our weakest link? Did I not know, as your friend, Guild Brother, and Guildmaster, what you were facing? What Idril and Dirk were facing at Amon Lhaw? Can it not be said that I failed, as Guildmaster, to recognise the danger signs and act accordingly?"

"You can say that, but ultimately the decision was mine," Tempest's voice held no emotion.

"Was it?" Elbren's eyes searched her face, "was it indeed? So should I banish you, Dirk, and Idril for listening to the Voice of Saruman? A voice that even Gandalf the White cautioned the most mighty against? A voice that belonged to the Chief of the Wise of all Middle Earth? I ask thee again, Tempest, are you so mighty?" He nodded slowly, "I know my weakness and yes, I am shamed by it. But I KNOW it. Never again will I face the Silmarils willingly. Know your weakness, Tempest, know it and embrace it. I cannot judge you as friend, Brother, or Guildmaster. Had you kept running and next we met, I cannot say if it would have been as friend or foe, but we've been there before haven't we? What is important is where we are now. And now, we need you. I have no doubts that you will stand with us upon the Deeping Wall and defend these Free People against the tyranny of the Red Hammer. But what really matters, dear Tempest, is what you feel."

"I do not understand what I feel, Elbren. My heart is divided within me. I never learned to search my heart and know it. But Saruman, he knew me. He knew my heart...." Tempest's voice trembled slightly.

"It was a trick. He wanted something from you," he said gently.

"It felt true enough. How am I any different from him, except that he is more honest about his darker desires? As soon as any pressure came, I gave up. I gave in. It is a weakness I would not forgive in another, so why should I forgive it in myself?" she asked with a hint of despair.

"As I said, we all have weaknesses," Elbren said.

"Aye, but your weakness would have destroyed only yourself. Mine threatened all of Middle Earth. I am tired, Elbren," she said suddenly, grasping his arm with surprising strength. "I am tired of constantly fighting this enemy within me, but now it has put you in danger as well!" She released him and looked intently toward the battlements.

"What is it?" Elbren asked.

"They're coming," she said.

"I know. What do you want to do?"

She turned her intense, dark eyes to his. "I want to fight. I want to hurt him."

Elbren nodded.

"Do you trust me to fight along side you?" she asked.

"Yes."

She put her hand on his shoulder. "I have no faith in myself anymore, so I'll have to trust you. For whatever reason, you have always stood by me. Saruman said that I would join him in the end, that he had forseen it. What do you foresee?" she asked him.

"You alone can choose your path. No one can do it for you. Not Saruman. Not I."

She smiled then and shook her head at him. "I hope you're right, Elbren, for I would rather die than be Saruman's dog again." She paused for a moment and then continued. "Next time, I won't give him the chance. I'll slay myself first."

Dirk hadn't realized the change that washed over him during approach to, and the battle of, Amon Lhaw, until the Mithril Knights were well west of the Great River. Upon Endlómë, a sable smudge upon the snow-white plains of Rohan, Dirk recounted his experience. He had been on point, leading the Knights up the final passage to the Seat of Hearing. Then they were attacked by Dwarves of the Red Hammer in the ink-black passage. And Dirk lost himself. The hatred that welled within him was so deep that it could not come from one so young as the Dúnadan. No, this hatred was called upon from the past living within the young man. The heritage given to Dirk as his birthright was pain and rage and sorrow. He himself had wallowed in it - and become enslaved by it - until love brought him back. No, the caller of the Darkness in Dirk had a voice, a sweet, soothing, charming voice.

And a name.

Saruman.

It wasn't until the Spear destroyed the Stone, he thought, that he had recovered his faculties. And at the time, in the heat of battle, he chalked the feelings up to passion and vengeance for the fallen Mithril Knight, Halith. But now that the miles began to lengthen between the one-time seat of the fallen Istari's power, that he realized the truth.

The greatest danger to himself did not lie in the very real possiblity of a Dwarf-axe removing his head from his shoulders.

The greatest danger lay in the disembodied voice that desired to removed his soul from the realm of the living...and turn him into the foul, merciless wraith that his father had become. His father had been twisted into the most powerful and fearsome of the slaves to the powers of evil that Middle-earth had ever known. He had also been lost forever into the abyss. If Dirk wasn't careful, the voice of Saruman would drag him into the everlasting void.

He inhaled sharply and let the cool air escape his lungs slowly.

"I am not my father," he said aloud, "I will not be enslaved."

He pulled his Cloak's hood tighter about his face and spurred the great black steed. His head was clear. He now bore a new resolve, not to kill as many of the Red Hammer as he could, but to resist the hate that dwelled in the dark places of his heart.

************************

When they had dispersed from their meeting and the unveiling of the mighty Sickle, Dirk found his way to the top of the Hornburg. He needed to gather himself for the two battles ahead.

He sat removed the bandage from his head and gingerly touched the bump. It was better. The laceration was knitted well and the swelling was starting to subside. With a deep breath, he stilled his thoughts for a few moments. He felt strong, mind and body. He was ready to face the onslought of Dwarf, Orc, and fallen wizard.

He stood and looked out over the Deeping Comb.

He rubbed his eyes. But they hadn't decieved him.

A swarm of squat figures had crested the horizon and were slowly lurching towards the fortress. A writhing black tide of thousands of bodies was beginning to descend.

Dirk shouted and pointed, capturing the attention of the Rohirrim guards. One of them began to blow on a small silver-bound horn; its high clarion call announcing to all of those in the vale that it was begun.

Dirk made his way to the Deeping Wall and found the Mithril Knights gathered. He sought out Tempest and when he found her, placed his hand on her shoulder and looked deep into her eyes. They did not speak, they did not have to. Dirk laid himself bare for her to read, and Tempest allowed him to see where her heart lay in the present situation. They would need to watch out for each other. Not to guard against the massing throng of bodies below - each possesed more than enough skill to survive the battle physically - but against the unseen enemy.

A wan smile crossed Dirk's lips as he let go of Tempest, winking boyishly as he did.

The Mithril Knights had a large cache of arrows at the ready and Dirk strung his bow. Now they watched and waited as the enemy made its way onto the field.

Hamling, Captain of the Rohan Royal Guard, hurried down to where the Mithril Knights had taken their positions on the Deeping Wall.

"King Eomer sends word that our first defense shall be spear and arrow. We will hold the Wall until the Red Hammer has moved all of their might into the valley before the fortress. Bonfires will be lit upon the Eastern hills when our eoreds, who are hidden within the hills, see that the enemy has thrown all against us. Then the Horn will sound and our Riders will converge behind the Red Hammer from the Plains, pushing them hard against the Wall and causeway. Upon the second sounding of the Horn, Eomer will ride forth with his own eored of Royal Guard and we will assail them both before and behind. The King would be honoured to have the Mithril Knights ride out with him when that time comes."

Elbren nodded, "How many Dwarves from the Glittering Caves are with us?"

"Within the fortress we have five hundred Rohirrim and just as many Dwarves from the Cave Colony. Upon the Plains, eight of our eoreds await the time to attack," Hamling replied.

"A Full Muster has been called then," Elbren peered out into the distance, his keen Elven eyes seeing clearly the approaching Red Hammer.

"Aye, that it has," Hamling nodded.

"Then we outnumber them," Elbren smiled grimly.

"We do, M'Lord."

"Tell King Eomer that we will be honoured to ride out with him upon the sounding of the second Horn," Elbren replied.

Lighting scattered veinous tentacles across the evening sky, followed soon after by crashing thunder that shook the Rohanian plains to thier very core. As the light diminished, a lone figure darted undetected from a patch of brush to a rocky outcropping, the forbidding terrain of the Deeping Comb. He was close now, scarcely a half league from the safety that Helm's Deep would finally afford. Reaching down he gingerly probed the axe wound he had suffered the previous day, an angry bite just above his left thigh that throbbed with a dull painful rythym, compliments of a Red Hammer axeman, himself a head shorter for his trouble. The wound was deep and was bleeding profusely, undoubtedly leaving a tell-tale trail for his dogged one-time captors turned pursuers. Ripping another strip from his tunic, he quickly changed the torniquette, taking care to leave as little blood as possible in the process. The lightning flashed again, and he instictively ducked, and not a moment to soon. Behind him and to the left, a company of stocky figures could be seen, methodically probing the area for thier quarry. At first glance they would have been taken for advance scouts of the approaching army, but for the red trim adorning thier mail, for these were not ordinary scouts, but in fact elite trackers of the Red Guard, and there was murder in thier eyes. Another flash of light, and he began to count,1,2,3....another blast of thunder, and he was away, diving another fifty feet to the next formation. A cry erupted from the trackers.." Oli, ahead, by the rocks, it is he!!" Cursing silently the figure rose from his blown cover and began to sprint, a wounded gallop that brought him within sight of the Deeping Causeway. So close! Yet to slow...And they were on him.He wheeled, drawing forth his great blade as the six Guardsmen attacked, and the air whistled and clanged with sound of axe upon sword, he fended off the first onslaught, taking another wound to his right hip in the process, but managing to slay one of his assailants. The Dwarves fought with a grim ferocity, knowing that to lose thier quarry meant certain death. He parried another axe stroke, this one whistling towards his head, ducking, he rolled and sprang raggedly to his feet, his injuries threatening to overcome him. Mustering his last bit of energy he sprinted away and up scrambling to the top of a large boulder and buying a few precious seconds in the process. Reaching to his waist he grabbed his horn and drawing a deep breath sounded out three mighty blasts in rapid succession. The sound froze the dwarfs for a moment, echoing throughout the deep. For a moment there was silence. He stared forlornly at the causeway, as once again the dwarfs prepared for what looked to be thier final assault. Ahh, to have come so close! Well, if he was to die in this place, he would assuredly take a few of these red devils with him. Throwing back his head he let out a ferocious roar and dove to meet his attackers. Just as he landed, the lead dwarf froze, his look changing from hatred to disbelief as an arrow sprouted from his neck. As if in response, another horn sounded, reverberating all around them. The Dwarves fell back, slowly at first then broke into a full retreat as the sound of pounding hoofbeats announced the arrival of a full company of soldiers charging down the causeway. Within moments it was over, as the dwarves were run down and overcome. As the elf began to swoon from his injuries one of the riders pulled up in front of him, quickly dismounting and catching the wounded warrior. The rider tossed back his hood, and lo, it was Elbren himself. "Well it's about time..." the injured elf croaked, all but overcome from his wounds. Elbren smiled, helping to steady the elf."Welcome to Helm's Deep, Orodreth" he quietly replied........

The tension upon the Deeping Wall was comparable to the mighty wall itself. The Dwarves from the Glittering Caves, Rohirrim, and Mithril Knights stood and waited for the battle horn to sound.

But what came was not a horn from the fortress, but the clear ringing of an Elven horn. Elbren frowned and began to search the valley that lay before them.

He pointed, "Look! It is Orodreth!"

"Your eyes see farther and clearer than my own, Lord Elbren," Dirk replied.

"He is being pursued! Come!"

Elbren led the Knights, in a sprint, to where their horses waited, and with a only a silent signal to the gate guards, the Mithril Knights rode out to meet their fallen comrade...

************************************

Back inside the stone walls, the Knights moved back into their positions on the Wall while Elbren and Tempest tended to Orodreth's wounded leg.

"I have much to tell you," Orodreth grimaced as Elbren cleaned the deep gash and began to cover it with a powdered herbal mixture.

"Indeed," Elbren nodded, "and I, you, Brother. In the meantime, hold still while I quickly stitch this up as best I can."

From his pack, Elbren took out a sharpened splinter of bone and sutures of dried sinew and began to close the gaping wound. Orodreth grimaced, but he held his tongue, until Elbren had completed the stitching.

"That will leave you a fine scar, but it's the best I can do for now," Elbren leaned back on his heels. "Can you stand?"

Orodreth, with Elbren and Tempest's aid, gained his feet and tested the bandage and sutures, "Aye."

"Can you shoot a bow?" Elbren asked.

"And swing a blade," Orodreth grinned.

"Good," Elbren grinned back, "it's good to see you. We can trade tales whilst we dispatch a few Red Hammer Dwarves. Shall we?"

In answer, the battle horn of Helm's Deep began to sound and the combined cries of the forces inside and out filled the dark skies.

The battle had begun...

As Tempest watched the approaching army with their angry red banners, she was struck by the irony of it all. Was Saruman simply replaying his past defeats? How could he honestly think to find victory over Helm's Deep, especially with an army much less than the one he had sent from Orthanc years before? She was puzzled by his strategy, for even though the dwarves were a more potent enemy than the Uruk-Hai, the numbers did not match up. When Elbren offered to ride out with the Riders of Rohan on the second sounding of the horn, something in her cried out in warning.

"Don't be too bold, Elbren. Remember, Saruman has been here before. He is no fool," she said.

"You think this is a trap?" he asked.

"I don't know what this is, but doesn't it seem too easy to you? If it's not a trick, then it is simply a diversion to distract our attention from something else."

"Even if that's true, there's nothing we can do about it for now. We must fight," Mirdain said.

"Oh yes, we must fight, but I just can't help but feel that we have played right into his hands." She sighed and examined her sword. "Also, notice that there are no orcs with them this time. I wonder where they went," she mused. She picked up her bow and notched an arrow, targeting a particularly ugly dwarf who was leading the charge. She glanced at Elbren briefly and flashed him a grim smile. "Trick or no, we'll still deplete his numbers before this day is out!"

Indeed....Tempest's intuition was correct...for as the storm broke upon Helm's Deep, a mass of Red Hammer orcs unleashed their might upon the wall of Isengard. The Mithril Knight and Gondorian garrison there fought bravely as the Eagles screamed overheard in aid...

and in the North, the Red Hammer once again assailed Erebor, concentrating their might upon Dale...

Mirdain knew that Tempest had intuitions that were to be trusted. He had a feeling she was right this time as well. However, he felt that it would only be a needless distraction to worry about the rest of the Red Hammer army that could not be seen. It was time to focus on what was in front of them. When Tempest notched her arrow, he looked back at her and smirked then did the same. His first target was a dwarf at the lead of a group that was carrying some sort of ladder or other seige tool. Mirdain felled three dwarves before the first of them broke upon the wall. The sky was blackened with the arrows of the combined army of Mithril Knights, Rohirrim, and Dwarves of the Glitttering Caves. Some ladders were propped against the Wall, but were quickly dispatched by well-placed axe blows from the good dwarves.

The Red Hammer had not yet made headway, but they were massing more and more against the Deeping Wall. Ladders with many dwarves clinging to them were raised against it, and a few of the Red Hammer actually made it onto the top of the wall where the Knights kept guard, but were quickly slain. Mirdain kept firing, and nearly every arrow counted for a kill. He would not stop until the order was given to start the second phase of the defense...

Striding out onto the upper battlements of the Hornburg, Anorast looked down upon the Deep, the wall protecting it, and down the valley towards the army of the Red Hammer. Looking at the mass of dwarves and orcs, Anorast chuckled to himself. Things had changed so since the end of the Third Age. He remembered massed armies many times the number of the force they faced. And only seven years before, Saruman had attacked the very fortress he stood upon. Anorast had spotted where the Deeping Wall had been repaired; it was easily recognizable, the craftsmenship was the finest, the dwarves had done well. Practically impregnable now, with an outthrust tower, the former weakness of Helm's Deep had become its strongest point. Yet from experience, Anorast also knew that no enemy should be considered lightly.

Peering around again, Anorast looked for a good spot to stand at. After seeing the troops arrayed in the fortress, he knew that the outcome of the battle was almost certain. However guaranteed it was, Anorast still wanted to be involved. Spotting a good location, where the Deeping Wall met the side of the ravine, Anorast turned and descended the tower.

Walking down the spiral stairs, Anorast thought back over his first contact with the main body of the Mithril Knights, and Lord Elbren. A mixed group, they definitely appeared to be competent. And in the lord Elbren, Anorast recognized a strong leader, a powerfull force. It would be quite interesting being in their ranks.

Yet he also wondered whether it was the right decision, to break his long practice of staying away from large groups. Especially structured groups. Anorast sensed that there would be stresses in his relationship with the rest of the Mithril Knights.

Already fully armed, Anorast stopped by the main hall where he'd left his belongings. Grabbing every bundle of spare arrows he'd brought from Orthanc Anorast made his way towards the exit to the Deep. Yet as he was entering the passageway, he heard footsteps behind him.

"Anorast, wait!" Turning, he saw N-N, the leather bag still slung around her, also carrying the bow and quiver of arrows she'd had with her at the skirmish on the plains.

"May I come with you? There are no set positions for us, so I do not know where to go."

"Of course. I've seen you fight, and I'd have you by my side in any battle. Besides, us Knights in Training might as well stay together. Come, I've found a good spot where we can weather this attack."

Beckoning, Anorast turned and quickly descended to the bottom of the Deep. The passageway opened up at the base of the wall. Quickly making their way along the walkway along the wall, they barely took notice of the state of the Deep. Though it had been transformed into a beautiful landscape, it was now full of troops and horses. The only clear places were the occasional stand of trees, and the lake, still up against the wall. The walkway was raised a few feet above, so the water did not impede defenders.

N-N and Anorast finally made their way up a stair to the top of the wall. Leading, Anorast aimed for the end of the wall. As he walked past the packed ranks of defenders, Anorast chuckled to himself. There was so much steel atop the wall, he guessed, they could have made a plate several inches thick and several feet high.

He'd always disdained armor, choosing instead agility and stealth. It had never failed him. Always an agile, fast attacker, Anorast realized that the Mithril Knights were more used to standard battles. Otherwise, they would not have worn the armor that he saw at several places atop the wall. However, he supposed that it might be better for this type of fight. Another reason to avoid them.

Reaching the end of the wall, Anorast and N-N both dropped their spare arrows. After getting themselves ready, Anorast suggested N-N move forwards, and be prepared to draw her sword. He made a mental note to instruct her in the art of archery after the battle. This time, against packed enemies, her skills would be sufficient; in future fights, that might not be the case.

Set for battle, the two KiT's waited. They did not have to wait long. Soon, the army of the Red Hammer began their attack. Striking the wall, they began to bring up ladders. While much of the army seemed to do nothing, merely stand below and be shot, like almost any other army attacking a fortress, several groups began striking the wall itself. When Anorast saw the dwarves begin to attack the wall, he realized that there might be more trouble than they'd initially thought. They were facing dwarves, and as creatures of stone, they would naturally know how to take it down. Shifting from shooting the milling crowd below, he began shooting at the stoneworkers.

After a moment Anorast saw he was the only archer shooting the dwarves against the wall. With a shock, he realized that none of the other defenders had spotted them. Being at the tip of the curve of the wall, Anorast was at the only other spot, besides the Hornburg, that could see the base of the wall.

When he paused to grab another quiver of arrows, he took a chance to let the rest of the force know. Seeing several Mithril Knights not too far away, he waved at them to get their attention.

"Watch out below," Anorast called to them after they had spotted him. "Tell Lord Elbren that there are dwarves attacking the wall!"

Turning back, he saw N-N had loosed all her arrows, and had drawn her sword. Though no ladders had been raised near them, it was only a question of time. Anorast knew that there weren't enough arrows in Helm's Deep to kill all their enemies; eventually, they would have to be dealt with hand to hand. At least then the many riders in the Deep would get their chance to strike the invaders.

Elbren slipped yet again and fell back against Tempest, who whirled, sword in hand, to defend herself. She quickly changed her stance, though, and helped him to stand back up even as another ladder banged loudly against the stone.

The Dwarves were coming at them hard and the stone beneath the defenders of Helm's Deep was slick with blood and busy with fallen bodies. The Red Hammer was well armed, though, with skillfully crafted mail and helm; as a result, they did not fall easily nor quickly to the weapons of their enemies. Elbren noted that despite the obvious advantage of sheer numbers, the Red Hammer was fighting a fierce battle.

Anorast's warning that the Dwarves were using axe and sledge to attack the Wall itself finally reached Elbren where he stood. The Elven Lord, in turn, sent word to Eomer of the danger. Minutes later, a company of archers were dispatched to join the two Knights in Training in their task of assailing this attack.

A horn sounded; looking over the shoulder of his present adversary, Elbren saw the bonfires upon the hills beginning to burn. The Full Muster of the Rohirrim eoreds was moving in behind the mass of the Red Hammer in the valley below. Elbren blocked another blow from the Dwarf before him, but he did not turn his blade quickly enough to the flat and met the Dwarven axe edge to edge. A loud crack resulted as a vibration ran up Elbren's already damaged hands while something smacked the face of his helm with enough force to cause him to step backwards. Looking down, with dismay, he saw that his sword, his father's sword, was broken about a foot and a half from the point; the shard must have ricocheted up and off of his helm mask. The Dwarf, laughing, came at him again with another blow from his mighty axe.

Elbren side stepped, leaning into the wall, and then with the broken sword, slammed it down upon the back of the Dwarf's mail shirt. The sword bounced off, but it was enough to throw the Dwarf slightly off balance. Kicking at the Dwarf's knees, Elbren sent him over the side and down to his death. Sheathing his broken sword quickly, Elbren looked among the fallen for another weapon. Finding an axe, he began to wield it as the Red Hammer kept coming...

*************************************

The Rohirrim eoreds quickly moved into precision formation and began to herd the Red Hammer even more closely and thickly into the valley before Helm's Deep. The Red Hammer battle generals quickly realised that they were trapped. One could sense the panic and dread of the enemy Dwarves. With surprising discipline, though, they dispatched orders through their ranks and ceased their assault upon the Deeping Wall to meet the rush of the oncoming Riders.

Seeing this, Eomer sent the orders for the Riders within the Deep to begin preparation for their assault. Word reached the Mithril Knights and they moved quickly to retrieve their horses and join Eomer's eored. But, as they did, the sky began to change...

*************************************

At Isengard, the Gondorian soldiers and Mithril Knights had been forced to give ground and the orcs had gained the outer wall. The Eagles were formidable defenders, though, and the orcs feared them. The battle raged on.

**************************************

As the darkness of night deepened, the stars of Elbereth blazed forth like a million silver jewels overhead. The Sickle, in particular, shone as if polished metal. It seemed to grow larger, even, until it filled the Northern sky. Lightning began to flash though no thunder or rain accompanied it. Suddenly, one of the spidery arms of the lightning smote the battlefield before Helm's Deep...in its wake, a crater filled with charred Dwarven bodies was all that remained.

"Perhaps," Elbren said in amazement, "we should hold our position."

"Aye, I don't fancy being beneath one of those," Curufe nodded.

Eomer had not yet sounded the horn that would open the gates to the Deep, for he, too, wondered at the storm from the Sickle.

Dirk swung his sword as quickly as he could. Each time he felled a dwarf from the latter before him, another took its place. Seeing that this tactic was only slowing the tide of the Red Hammer up this particular ladder, Dirk stabbed at the next Dwarf to gain the top rung instead of hacking off his head, as he had the previous six. The young Knight thrust the black blade of Neleg Amlug into the dwarf's chest up to the hilt, piercing his heart and lungs and killing him instantly. Dirk did not recoil right away, the blade had a firm hold in the dwarf's spine and he was able to hold the heavy dwarf in place, though it took all of his strength. He peered over the edge of the ladder and saw the succession of Red Hammer warriors waiting to follow the impaled fellow at the top. Dirk then leaned back and placed his foot on the dead dwarf's chest just below the Dragon Tooth's entry point and shoved. After considerable effort, the blade pulled free with a loud hissing sound as the Dwarf's last breath escaped through the jagged wound in his left breast. The dwarf stood still for half a second, and Dirk stared into his lifeless open eyes, waiting. Then finally he crumpled, falling straight down the ladder, taking his brethren with him to the floor of the valley.

Dirk then pulled up the wooden ladder before any new dwarves could mount it and threw it toward a watch-fire inside the wall.

"Burn it!" he shouted to the waiting Rohirrim below.

He looked up and saw that some of the other defenders had witnessed Dirk's idea and were following suit. Soon, ten ladders burned in a mighty bonfire in the hollow behind the Deeping Wall.

The mighty Horn of Helm Hammerhand blasted the signal for the Éoreds of Rohan to close in about the vale and surround the Red Hammer armies.

The echoes of the horn blast faded in the distance and Dirk was throwing a second ladder over onto the fire when he was struck from behind by glancing hammer-blow. Few have ever felt the bite of a dwarven hammer and lived - he had felt it twice now in the last few days. Dirk was a fortunate young man...

Though the shot was indirect, it was still enough to send Dirk to the blood-slicked stones. He rolled over quickly preparing to dodge a second swing of the hammer. But a second blow did not come. Dirk caught sight of the dwarf, standing stone-still with a dumbstruck expression written across his face. A moment later the dwarf fell, revealing the blood-streaked face of Athelos. As she reached down and offered Dirk a hand, she was struck in the back by a flying shard of steel. It did not penetrate her Mithril Cloak, but struck with enough force to catch her attention. The shard clattered to the stone floor beside Dirk as Athelos helped him to his feet. After a quick salute of thanks, Dirk and Athelos both caught sight of the shard's source: Elbren was weilding a broken sword.

"I'll keep it for him," Athelos screamed above the din, and she picked up the broken sword-point and tucked it into her belt.

Both Knights turned to rejoin the fight on the wall, but there were no more dwarves attempting to breech. That's when Athelos and Dirk recieved Elbren's orders that the Dwarves were turning to meet the flanking Éoreds and that they were to prepare to ride.

The raven-haired youth sheathed his blade and quickly descended the stairs to the ground beyond the wall and ran to the staging area that was set up for the Éored of Éomer. He found his sable stallion in the adoring care of a twelve-year-old Rohirrim squire. Dirk tousled the child's blond mop as he took the reins and mounted Endlómë. The Mearas-bred warhorse stamped and tossed his mane. The sounds and smells of battle had gotten his ire up and he was ready to fight.

Dirk fell into formation with the Éored and awaited the second sounding of Helm's Horn. But it did not come. Instead, an eery silence fell accross the battlefeild and the sky lightened like the early coming of dawn. Dirk and the other riders could not see what was happening from behind the gates, but the silent flashes of lightning lit up the rider's faces and the Knight read fear in many of their eyes.

Suddenly, a great explosion from the other side of the wall assailed their ears and spooked many of the horses. A few riders were thrown to the ground. Dirk heard a whistle and looked up to the wall above the gates. There stood Elbren with Éomer, signalling the "stand down" order.

Dirk dismounted and patted the warhorse's flanks, "Soon enough my friend, you'll get you chance."

He handed the reins back to the startled esquire, "Here, he likes these." Dirk produced several sugar cubes and placed them in the boy's hand.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Hama, sir."

"Hama, after the famous guardsman of Théoden?"

"Yes, he was my father," Hama stood tall and thrust out his chin with pride. He was a bold, brave boy. Most of the boys his age were hiding the caves, but he was here doing what he could to help.

"He would probably be on a horse ready to ride with the Éored, if he could lift a lance,"thought Dirk.

Dirk smiled, "You are brave, like your father. Keep my horse safe for me. Will you do that?"

Hama nodded. Dirk knew that Endlómë didn't need to be 'kept', but he liked the boy's boldness, it reminded him of...himself.

"Good, I'll be back for him."

Dirk turned on his heel and bolted back up to the wall, where he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the other Mithril Knights and watched as the awesome power of the Sickle smote their enemy.

****************

The Bardings stood side-by-side with Lonely Mountain Dwarves, attempting to hold back the tide of the Red Hammer. They were assaulted on two fronts: Between Ravenhill and the River Running, two thousand Red Hammer axemen were attempting to skirt the City of Dale and gain the Front Gate of Erebor. Meanwhile, a mixed force of orcs and dwarves had built rickety bridges and crossed the river from the east. The forces of Dale and Erebor were divided and already the eastern front was beginning to lose ground. Orcs by the dozen were breaking through and ravaging the streets of Dale.

A single Mithril Knight was dispatched from the Erebor Guildhouse, on the fastest horse they could find, to find Elbren, who was last known to be at Edoras, and bring back reinforcements.

He managed to break through the lines of Dwarves at the southern front and gallop straight for Laketown. Once there, he immediately sought out Drake, the innkeeper at the Golden Dragon, who had fought at The Front Gate with King Brand and Dáin Ironfoot during the War of the Ring.

Within two hours the Knight was on his way galloping south at the horse's full speed and the whole of Esgaroth was raised. Every man between fifteen and fifty (and a few who weren't) were marching north along the river. Seven hundred men, many wielding rakes, hoes, and shovels as weapons, went to the aid of Bard II and Thorin Stonehelm, led by Drake of Esgaroth and five of his sons.

"Where, I wonder, is Dirk?" asked Derek, the eldest of Drake's sons about the youngest.

"I do not know, son. But I am glad that he is not here for we may all die in Dale and I wish for one of my sons to carry on our line," he said, noting with irony that his line would indeed die out if only Dirk survived, because the youngest of Drake's sons was adopted, and not of his blood.

Radagast looked to the sky and shouted, "Behold! The power of the Sickle is awakened! Beware those who are enemies of this Middle Earth!'

Seven mighty smites of doom

left those of the enemy who lived

cowering upon their knees

It seemed that a great horn sounded, perhaps that of Orome Himself or Tulkas...and all who had ears....heard the toll of doom

**********************

Elbren watched in fearful amazement as the seven bolts from the night sky smote the earth below them. Murmurings began for it was not known if this was a sign for good of ill...or for whom.

And then the distant, but clear, horn sounded and Elbren nodded to himself, clasping Eomer's arm, "Now, M'Lord, is when we ride. See the enemy before us? He quakes with fear and he is surrounded. Let us crush the Red Hammer and send a message that we will accept no tyranny in Middle Earth. Let us ride!!"

The great horn of Helm's Deep sounded just as the clear note of the heavenly toll faded away into the distance. The gates of Helm's Deep burst open and out rode the host of Eomer, King of Rohan, his Riders....and the Mithril Knights....

Rho had lost them. She had lost Erinhue and the Knights in Training at some point between the meeting with Elbren and where the rest of the knights had gathered on the Deepening Wall.

The tension was mounting as the forces of the enemy drew closer.

Suddenly Rho saw Erinhue and quickly ran up to him and questioned him about the whereabouts of Nin and Anorast. His reply was that he had thought they were with her. The conversation was quickly halted, when one of the Mithril Knights quickly approached, handed her a bow, and pointed her to a place in line.

Rho quickly took her position, although she was a bit concerned, the bow had never been a weapon she was very proficient at, and to her dismay this bow was for some one left handed. But there were plenty of arrows stocked in front of all the Knights, so she would do the best she could, until the enemy was close enough for her to battle with her sword.

When the battle began, Rho stood beside her fellow Knights. To her surprise, once she got over the awkwardness of using the weapon, she began to fell some of the Dwarven enemies that were approaching the Helm.

Soon the battle strategy changed. Rho drew her sword and was quickly fighting near Elbren, Tempest, and Dirk. With the sword she felt comfortable, so while she was cautious, she was much more confident in facing the enemy now.

It was when Anorast yelled out to Elbren, the Rho finally discovered where the two knights-in-training had ended up, and while she couldn't reach them now, she would go to them as soon as she could.

That moment came when the Dwarves stopped breaching the walls. While many of the Knights went to go ride with Elbren, Rho quickly informed Erinhue where the two knights-in' training were and that she would go to them. Leaving the decision if he wanted to follow her, up to him.

After traveling various passageways and staircases, Rho finally found Nin and Anorast still positioned at the end of the wall. They too were no longer fighting the enemy. But just as Rho was about to approach them, seven bolts crashed down from the sky. Then the sound of a horn, off in the distance could be heard. Rho turned to look at the elf and the woman and it was then that she noticed the strange look in Nin's eyes.

While she was firing her last arrows, Nin could almost feel the amused look of Anorast on her back. She was not used to shooting whith a bow and never would be. In the long and lonely days in the woods of Middle-Earth, she had tried many times to aim better, but never had she really got used to it. It had taken her long to accept that it was not just the difference between her and the elves- many humans had keener eyes than her, and mot of them were better bowmen. Yet, she never dropped it completely, using the bow sometimes for hunting, or sometimes, when she was sure to reach the goal. Here were so many enemies approaching that a good share of the arrows should hit them, even with the precision that Nin would give them.

Only once she had drawn her sword, she felt ready for battle and even now, she was glad to be at a side point with Anorast and not inmidst of the action. She was used to fighting, more than she would have wanted, but alone. And facing the enemy in duel was also what she preferred - facing the enemy and the danger, so that the threat was real and could be felt. Whenever it was possible, she aimed to spare the life of an opponent, especially when fighting other enemies than orcs. Even a creature with the darkest intentions could hope for redemption, if the War of the Ring had not taught this, then what had it been for? So death should only be an inevitable issue, it there was no hope for disarming or wounding. How to respect this vision on a huge battlefield 'she had not really thought about it, when joining the Mithril Knights, and now in the middle of the sounds and smells of the battle, it surprised her to be able to think about this dilemma.

The ladders had been risen; most of them crowded with assailants. From somewhere further down in the fortress, she heard the commanding voice of the Lord Elbren, without understanding the words. Maybe Anorast had. She saw the handles of the ladders touch the thick wall of the fortress and heard the groaning voices, screaming out in the strange dwarfish language. The enemy was coming.

Slowly, in this last moment of quiet before the storm, she raised her sword to her lips, closing her eyes when her kiss touched the cold steel. You have been forged in Rohan, she whispered. For Rohan shall you fight. Only when she heard the boots of the dwarves touch the ground and felt the warmth of their breaths and the torches they were carrying, she opened her eyes again. Luckily it was night, so that she did not have to see the faces of their enemies clearly.

She yielded her sword before her, and the quick movement made a cutting, clear sound in the air. A dwarf had jumped down from the ladder before her, and wielding an axe, headed to wards her. NN had learned to make her size an advantage, and again did it now. She ducked quickly; the axe was even higher than she was, and quickly rose her sword, while she was lower than the dwarf himself. The sharp blade entered his throat, blood was pouring out form the wound and with a strange gurgling sound the dwarf broke down, almost landing on her. Indeed, the young woman was not a lot taller than the enemies were, but a lot lighter and quicker.

She could mingle among the assailants, without being seen immediately, and swiftly found herself surrounded by a small host of dwarves, but none was getting close to her. Her strokes were building a wall around her.

In this moment several ladders burst out in flames, and the mighty horn of Helm Hammerhand sounded like an echo to the shouts from the ladders. The enemy was now closed in in the Valley of Helm's Deep and could not hope for any victory any more. Nienor-Niniel was so close to walls of the fortress now that she could look over it. In the light of the flames, the vision of the fortress and the plains surrounding it was as amazing as it was frightening.

She perceived Elbren and Rholarowyn on one of the lower walls, and Rho had turned her back on the battle, her eyes searching the walls. Was she looking for them? Elbren seemed to hold a strange weapon, not his sword. The clouds broke open, and in the sudden light of the moon and the stars, she could see, it was an axe. What had happened?

It was certainly an odd moment to do so, but she thought of the meeting earlier today with the Elven Lord. She had been surprised by his gentleness, but most of the elvish War-Captains showed wrath only in battle and were kind and lored people all the same. He had given her the sickle back, and she had wrapped it back in the leather in which she had carried it from Isengard.

The sickle. Was it because of this weapon that she saw the moment in her mind? The battle was after all still going on, even if around her and Anorast, things had become rather quiet. No more dwarves were climbing up the walls, and of those who had come so far, some had fallen, others had perished, and some even surrendered.

The opening clouds had set free the look on the stars. And what first had only seemed like the starlight to her, was now shining more and more brightly, almost like daylight. Wind had arisen, twirling around her, lifting the dust form the walls and roaring in her ears. She felt cut from the rest of the world, as if a curtain of storm and light had come up between her and the battle. She heard no more screams, no more hooves hitting the ground, even if she could see the horses of the eored riding out of the doors, and the horse-tail fixed on King Eomer's helmet shimmering in the star-light. It was all dimming, unreal, as if she were not there.

The sound of a horn in the air - a horn in the sky to he call of Helm's Deep for the Rohirrim soldier mingled in her mind with the music coming from the stars. The music and the words she had heard before, in the secret chamber of Isengard, when Rholarowyn had read that poem.

Nin turned around, back to the fortress, no more looking on the plains. Rho had come up to her and Anorast, but she did not see the Lady. Her eyes had become dark like the sky of the night and where her pupils should have been, was the image of the sickle, seven small stars shining in her glance.

Her sword lay dropped at her feet - she did not even know when she had let it fall. Her hands had opened her pack and unwrapped the weapon, Elbren had given back to her, had trusted her with.

Like in the night before, she rose it above her head. It needed no striking or using. All its power was in the starlight that it reflected. Indeed, the young woman was smiling now, and the light of the stars fell like a ray on the weapon, Nin's blonde hair was shimmering in the silver light, all he light now focused around her. She did not know where he words were coming from, but still shouted them out:

Seven mighty smites of doom
Left those of the enemy who lived
Cowering upon their knees.

Somewhere behind the curtain of light that the sickle had built around her, she heard other voices, voices of dwarves, of knights, she could not tell. They seemed like screams of panic and wonder, but just like an echo out of the depth of a cave or of time. Nienor-Niniel was alone with the light.

As the Mithril Knights and the Riders of Rohan descended on the army of the Red Hammer, the dwarves began to quail before them and scatter, due mostly to the silver sickle that had already destroyed many of their number. Though no one actually gave the command to retreat, mass confusion caused them to flee in the direction that they had come, only to meet with more riders who had surrounded them.

Still, it was not a victory easily attained, for the dwarves were fiercer now perceiving that their end was near. They struck out in desperation, and indeed, Tempest understood the wild look on their faces as they came to the realization that there would be no escape.

They were not like the orcs. They would not beg for mercy. They would fight until the bloody end.

Tempest glanced heavenward at the shining sickle, glad of its presence, but at the same time, a voice inside her head asked why they were receiving such assistance now. Why not during Sauron's reign? The gods were silent then, she thought bitterly.

All of a sudden she was struck from behind and thrown forward violently. She was able to recover quickly, barely avoiding being cut in two with a dwarven axe. She leaped back and deflected the next blow, but the strength of the dwarf surprised her. She would not be able to compete with him blow for blow for very long. Instead, she decided to rush him, which threw him off guard long enough for her to dispatch him with relative ease.

However, even as he died, she noticed that his lips were moving, as if he were trying to speak. She lowered her head to hear what it was he was saying, but she could not comprehend his speech. She looked around and saw that other dwarves were also moving their lips in a simliar fashion, and she thought it was perhaps a chant of some sort, though she was suddenly frightened because she could not understand the tongue.

Her hand was bleeding, though she could not remember being hit. She was suddenly very tired and her eyes burned to close. She tried to shake it off and focus, but her eyes refused to stay open. She couldn't even yell out a warning to the others, for her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her thoughts were all jumbled in her head and she didn't know where she was, or even who she was. She stumbled forward and then backward, all the while willing herself to raise her sword, which felt like a lead weight.

Slowly, the sword dropped from her hand and she fell heavily upon the blood-soaked ground in a dreamless slumber.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw the brilliance of the moon as it stood out against the blackness of the sky. She was comforted by it, as if she recognized a benevolence she had not seen in it before. All around, the sounds of battle raged, filling her ears with the voices of the dead and dying. She closed her eyes again and waited. She still did not feel strength in her limbs, and it took her several minutes before she could raise herself up on her elbow and look around.

What met her eyes was a landscape painted with blood and ash. Shattered swords and chipped helmets reflected the moonlight as they lay abandoned on the ground. She could see that the battle was pretty much over. The last of the dwarves were being pursued and surrounded. Her head was pounding, but she could not remember what had happened to her. She got up slowly and scanned the area for familiar faces. She saw none.

An overwhelming grief seemed to lay hold of her and so strong was it that she gasped under the force of emotion.

Sauron. Sauron had fallen!

But where, where was she? She looked around and saw the walls of Helm's Deep. She started. She was in Rohan? How had she arrived here? She had been in Mordor just a moment ago, when the wailing had begun. Sauron had fallen. His presence had been ripped from her mind, as his voice had torn through the halls of Barad-Dur towards Mount Doom.

Then, in a whisper, he was gone.

Silence alone remained.

And now, she was here, before the mighty fortress of Rohan. Her head was pounding and her muscles ached with battle fatigue. She noticed that her sword was glistening in the moonlight. Blood. But whom had she been fighting?

There were a few shouts nearby, and she turned to see a few men riding towards her bearing a strange emblem on their armor. They dismounted a few paces from her. Their leader was an elf.

She immediately had her sword in front of her.

The elf took a step backwards in surprise. "Tempest? Are you well? We lost you in the battle and feared the worst," he said.

"How do you know my name, elf?" she spat.

Elbren glanced at Mirdain, who stood beside him. "What is going...." he started to say, but was met with her hard glare. He had seen that look once before, in the forest of Fanghorn.

"Tempest. You know me. I am Elbren," he said.

"I know no elves. How is it that I have come here? Tell me quickly and I may be merciful..." she demanded sharply, but then a look of intense pain crossed her face and she was forced on her knees in agony. Her head felt as though it were on fire.

When she opened her eyes again, Elbren and the other Mithril Knights were standing over her with concern written over their faces. "What happened?" she asked in alarm.

"Do you know us?" Idril said softly.

"Of course I know you! What has happened?" she cried.

"You were not yourself for a moment."

"What do you mean?"

"It was as if you were...as though you did not know us," Idril said in a soothing voice.

Tempest was silent. "It was Him. There is no other explanation. The orcs were all speaking in a strange tongue, like a chant," she said finally.

"The orcs? There were no orcs," Elbren said gently.

"I meant dwarves. The dwarves were saying something I couldn't understand, but that is the last thing I remember."

"That is all? You remember nothing else?" Mirdain pressed.

"Nothing but despair. I have only felt such despair once before, when Sauron...." she stopped, as if suddenly something had occurred to her.

"The seal!" she cried.

"What seal?" Elbren asked in alarm.

"I must go to Mordor! I had forgotten about it! You see, I took it, the day Sauron fell! I took the seal!" she said in an excited voice.

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't know why I took it, but I did. They looked for it, but they couldn't find it because I took it with me. That's why he wanted me. He wants it. He wants to be Sauron!"

"Calm down and tell us plainly what you mean!"

"He wanted me to remember! Though, I don't know why he wants it. It has no power. Perhaps he only wants it as a symbol?" she muttered to herself.

"Tempest!" Elbren cried in exasperation.

"It was a seal Sauron kept with his many treasures. He called it..." she searched for the right word. "It is hard to translate into the common tongue. Perhaps, 'Remembrance' is close enough."

"The Seal of Remembrance?" Idril repeated slowly.

"It held no power," Tempest insisted.

"None that you knew of. Saruman wants it for a reason."

"He might have seen it, when he looked into the palantir. Sauron kept the seal in that chamber with him, along with the seeing stone. I think it always reminded him of the past, of Morgoth, and also of what he hoped the future would hold. I do not know where he got it," she said.

"Can you draw the emblem it holds?" Elbren asked intently.

"It has been many years since last I saw it, but I could try," she said.

"Let's go back to Helm's Deep first. We need to assist the Rohirrim with their wounded and see if any message has come from Radagast."

Elbren sat down heavily upon the wooden bench in the outer hall of Helm's Deep. He was bone weary, as were they all, he imagined, and it seemed that every muscle and bone within him ached. Yet, they had denied the Red Hammer resoundedly in the cult's first real bid for power in Middle Earth. Not many of the Dwarves had survived the wrath of the Rohirrim and their allies; and certainly, the strange lightning scattered and scalded them as well.

Word had come at dawn from Orthanc that the lightning had so unnerved the orcs that they had broken ranks and nearly killed each other in their hurry to vacate the Ring of Isengard. Orthanc was still held by the Gondorian and Mithril Knight garrison, though Radagast sent word that reinforcements would be wise.

King Eomer, his captains, councillors, and the Mithril Knights had heard the message when it had been delivered by the Gondorian soldier. Eomer immediately ordered for a Rider to be dispatched to Minas Tirith with the news of the battles. Otherwise, the folk at Helm's Deep settled in that day after the battle and tended to their wounded, rested, and wondered what might await them back in Edoras.

The Mithril Knights, too, sought rest that day after their wounds were treated and bandaged. They had all taken bruises and cuts, but, this time, unlike the battle atop Amon Lhaw, some of them had taken deeper wounds and they required rest and tending.

Elbren sat quietly, noting that the day was near mid point, and still he did not sleep. Glancing around him, he saw Athelos exhausted and sitting with her back against the stone wall, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow in sleep. A bandage enveloped her forehead for she had taken a mighty blow to her helm; the helm had turned the Dwarf's axe, but the strength behind it had split the padding inside and driven the steel into the thin skin of her head and gashed her deeply. Elbren was relieved to see her rest; standing and walking to her, he managed to get her to a lying position and covered her with a woolen blanket. She never even stirred.

Tempest also slept nearby, or seemed to be. Elbren could not be sure; and, he hesitated to approach her. The look in her eyes when they had finally found her upon the battlefield had unnerved him; it had been the same look she had given him, not so long ago, when she had driven her sword into his shoulder, trying to kill him. He shuddered at the memory and at the doubt now gnawing at him inside. What had happened to Tempest? It was as if....as if she had not known him at all.

Parador was awake and sitting near a fire pit, writing something down upon a parchment as she frowned. Elbren smiled. Parador. Always trying to reason things out. She had taken a deep cut to her left hand, and even though it lay bandaged upon her knee, the right hand was busily writing away. Elbren walked over and sat down near the fire.

"The time has come for our company to scatter a bit, I think," Elbren said quietly, trying not to disturb those that rested around them.

Parador's eyebrows raised in question, "What do you mean?"

"I have thought much upon it, Parador, and I feel that this clash with the Red Hammer and the discovery of the Sickle's power is just the beginning of something vast," he replied.

"Aye, I have thought the same," came the contemplative agreement.

"I think that I will send Dirk to Erebor with the Shards of the Arkenstone. That is his land and he knows it well. He can traverse the wild in safety and return what was stolen to the Dwarves. I wish...I wish that it had not been broken, but there was no other way," Elbren sighed, "and then Tempest mentioned going to Mordor."

Parador dropped her quill but quickly retrieved it, "Aye", was all that she said.

"I would not have her go alone, but I doubt that she will welcome any company," the Elven Lord looked down at his newly bandaged hands.

"But you can ask her if she would like some."

"Yes, that I can. And will. I want to go to Edoras with the Rohirrim and see if the Guild House there is intact--"

"I thought that Radagast sent word that the Red Hammer was occupying it?"

"He did," Elbren nodded, "but Edoras is not easy to defend. With the rout that the Red Hammer just experienced here and at Orthanc, my guess is that they can't get out of Edoras fast enough. Of course, that doesn't mean that they won't take what they can and destroy the rest. At any rate, I want to return to Edoras and there will initiate Nienor Niniel and Anorast. They have performed bravely and played...still will play...a vital role in our Order. It is time for them to witness the Giliath Londe."

"And then...where?"

"I would have you to go Orthanc, Parador, and begin the study of the Shrine. We must understand what we have found and what this power is that has awakened...both for us and for the Red Hammer."

"What is it?" Parador asked.

"I miss my wife and children," Elbren smiled, "it's been over two months...perhaps longer, since I've seen the Golden Wood."

Parador smiled, "Longer. And you will take Halith's horse with you?"

"Yes," Elbren nodded, "and I must pen a letter for Halith's family. I will have a marker placed in the Edoras Guild House in his memory."

"Aye."

*******************************

The Knights rested through the evening and even until the next morning until the midday sun once again blazed in the sky overhead. Elbren called the Knights together in a small antechamber of Helm's Deep.

"We have some of our questions answered, but, as usually happens, these have, in turn, brought about new riddles," he began. "Some of us need further rest, and I urge you to do that. You may remain here, or ride with Lady Parador to Orthanc, for she will be going there at my request on the morrow. I will be sending Sir Dirk to Erebor to return the Shards of the Arkenstone. I do not know yet if he should ride alone or seek company; we will know more tomorrow when Radagast sends word from the Eagles on the road from here to the Lonely Mountain," Elbren looked to Tempest, and then back to the group, "the last weeks have been hard ones for us, my friends. I ask that Lady Rholarowyn and Athelos accompany me to Edoras along with Anorast and Nienor Niniel, for they shall soon witness the Giliath Londe and become one of our Initiated Order. Any who wish to come with us are most welcome. I ask that Mirdain and Idril accompany Parador to Orthanc, and then travel on to Lothlorien to report of what has happened with the Red Hammer. The rest of you I ask to seek what news you can from the lands of Middle Earth...send word through our safehouses and messengers of what you learn. I will do the same. I will depart for Edoras with King Eomer at dawn. If you can let me know this evening of your destinations and plans, I would be most appreciative."

"I must go to Mordor, but I will return as soon as I can. Leave word for me in Edoras if I am not swift in my returning," Tempest said.

"You wish to go alone?" Elbren asked.

"Yes, alone. It is better that way," she replied. "I will enter through the Morannon, or at least, where it used to be. I need to...to see something, to set my mind at ease. The former alliance of the two towers might help us understand what Saruman is after."

"If you feel it is neccessary, than you must go."

"Mordor is a desolate wasteland now, Elbren, and the Black Tower has been reduced to rubble. Still, the men of Gondor have not scoured every tuft of withered grass or overturned every stone. Much is still buried; much still remains."

"Then be cautious, and we will see each other again in Edoras," Elbren said. She nodded and departed to find an able horse. She had a long ride in front of her, one that she did not relish.

She caught Dirk on her way out and clasped him firmly on the shoulder. "Remember what I said: Be wary of his voice. If you sense him, tell the others. I still do not understand what Saruman wants in the end, but I do know that he would like to destroy the Mithril Knights from within. Be on your guard. May Eru watch over you until we meet again."

"I will go with you, Elbren" said Erinhue. I have ridden with NN and Anorast and would see them complete their initiation. Edoras might have been rigged with traps left by the "departing residents" and the old worm here has a knack for sniffing them out,so we might be of some service. After that I plan on going to Belfalas, to Dol Amroth and home. It has been too long since I last looked upon the sea."

Tempest's hand - strong by any measure, but especially for a woman, surprisingly so - rested on Dirk's shoulder and her gaze into his eyes.

"Remember what I said: Be wary of his voice. If you sense him, tell the others. I still do not understand what Saruman wants in the end, but I do know that he would like to destroy the Mithril Knights from within. Be on your guard. May Eru watch over you until we meet again."

"And you, sister. I would feel better if you would reconsider your going alone to Mordor. You said yourself, there are still things to be found under stone or behind grass tuft in the Land where the Shadows lie. I would offer myself, but mine is another errand. I admit it, I have been to Mordor, even whilst the tower still stood, and though it be cast down stone-by-stone, I vowed that I would never willingly look upon that black land again. Yet, to save or guard you, sister, I would go."

At the word, 'sister', Tempest shuddered a bit. She hadn't expected that the young Dúnadan would have grown close to her - but he had. There was an inexplicable bond between them, a common thread. Dirk and Tempest both felt it; and that is why he chose to call he so familiar.

"I think that were anyone to go with me," she rebutted, "that they would only be endangering themselves, rather than helping me. I shan't linger long there, my friend, for my heart also aches at the thought of returning."

She fixated on a point in space over Dirk's right shoulder.

"Yet, I must - and I must do it alone. For my own....sanity."

She returned her gaze to Dirk's grey eyes, staring deeply and getting her point across.

"You understand, don't you? You understand as no one else here could."

Dirk closed his eyes and nodded feebly. He clasped Tempest's shoulder in return, raising his eyes back to her face.

"Yes. Go and be well."

With that, Tempest finished her farewells and disappeared out the door of the room that the Knights were using as a gathering and council chamber. Soon, she was galloping off alone, but not in spirit.