With a bone-jarring clang Hilde's sword met the blade of the first Uruk she reached. They were big, strong and fast. While Hilde was a tall woman and strong herself, she had nothing on these monsters of Isengard. But she was faster and more agile than they were. Wrenching the Uruk's sword aside with her own, she dodged around him, slashing her father's blade across its armourless legs, drawing an anguished bellow from the Uruk as it lost its balance and toppled from the wall. But Hilde barely noticed; she was already moving on to the next one.

This was what she had been trained for, and she had been trained well; her father had made sure of that. Raised by a shieldmaiden himself, he had been the one to place Hilde's first sword and shield in her hands. She gloried in her heritage, and thus intended to make her father and her grandmother proud here on the walls of the Hornburg.

Little by little, everything fell away as her father's sword flashed in her hand, slicing through air and Uruk flesh alike in her skilled hands. She barely noticed it when an Uruk-hai's fist connected with her ribs, and jumped back to her feet when one crashed her into the stone of the battlements. She was not quite untouchable, but she felt and moved like she was, such was the ferocity and exhilaration that drove her. All she knew was the feel of the hilt against her palm and the weight of the shield on her arm. Her feet danced as she moved, a euphoria building within her with each dodged blow and answering strike of her own.

Faintly she heard the King calling for those on the walls to retreat. At first she paid it little mind, she was so caught up in her deadly dance. Then, with a jolt of understanding, she realized those left around her were beginning to flee from the wall. It was a moment of understanding that cost her. Her right foot slipped, sending her crashing to one knee, a dizzying spear of pain lancing through her leg and hip. More than that, as she struggled to regain her footing, another Uruk-hai came toward her and she was barely able to raise her shield in time.

It was an awkward block, and though it kept the blow from landing on her, it wrenched the shield away, nearly taking her arm with it. With a nauseating blaze of pain she felt her shoulder wrenched unnaturally back. But instinct drove her, and with a sharp upward thrust of her sword, she thrust the blade up into the jaw of the Uruk before her, the point jutting up grotesquely through the top of his skull. With a shark yank she pulled her father's sword free, the Uruk's carcass falling limply to lie at her feet. The throbbing pain in her shoulder and her inability to so much as flex her fingers on her shield arm surged to the front of her mind, and she absently realized her shoulder must be dislocated. But she didn't have time to think on it further. Clutching her injured arm close, she too joined the retreat, racing toward the Keep.

She was one of the last to clear the doors before they were slammed shut, men already waiting with benches and lengths of timber to shore up the doors. Hilde's heart sank to her boots when she realized how few were left. The remaining elves were helping to ferry the wounded into the back rooms of the Keep while the men worked to barricade the entrance. What remained of the boys and old men were being directed into the caves, ordered to hold it even as the rest of the King's men were preparing a last defense of the Keep itself.

Pain prickling through her, especially through her shield arm, she couldn't help but sink to the ground against the near wall, gasping through the roiling of her stomach. Her father's sword fell from her hand, clattering to the floor. Somewhere she was bleeding; she could see flashes of her own scarlet blood flowing amid black Uruk blood spattered over her armour and mail.

"You're wounded?" Hilde looked up in bewilderment at the furrowed brow and surprisingly concerned eyes of the dwarf.

"My shield arm...dislocated," she somehow managed to choke out. With a gruff nod the dwarf stepped forward, and before she could react, had taken hold of her arm and her shoulder. Hilde felt more than heard the wet pop of her shoulder settling back into place under Gimli's hands. With a strangled yelp, Hilde's body seized, starbursts of pain flashing before her eyes before clearing. The most intense pain was gone, a lingering—albeit potent—ache in her shoulder all that remained. Still gasping for air, she looked up to the dwarf as he stood over her. A satisfied look peeked out from behind his bushy beard.

"Thank you," she said, her tongue stumbling over the words. Her voice was still weak as the intensity of the pain subsided. He only nodded grimly before moving off.

Looking down to where her father's sword lay at her side, the gravity of what had happened and what was about to happen descended upon her. Léofwine's shining blade was coated in thick black blood, and she knew without looking that she was covered with it as well.

She had never truly seen battle before. But she had only faltered for a moment before instinct had taken over. Then her blood had sung when she gave into the battle fury that had surged through her. The sight of so much death, both her doing and not, shook her now as it hadn't up on the battlements. But the ease with which she had taken to battle shook her even more. Looking down to her hands, she noticed numbly how they trembled, before fisting her gloved fingers in an effort to make it stop. She couldn't dwell though. She couldn't let herself.

They were out of time. The Uruk's crashed against the doors, the sound of the wood groaning and splintering echoing through the hall. Death was trying to come through that door, she thought absently. Unbidden, Éomer's face surfaced in her thoughts, accompanied by a fleeting flicker of regret. There was so much that she wished was different. She didn't even allow herself to think on Haleth. Tears came unbidden to her eyes, but she pushed them away. Even though she knew her death was coming, she still could not bring herself to regret choosing to fight.

The doors shuddered under the might of the army on the other side. Yet still the men of Rohan, and even the odd elf, worked to hold it. Hilde suddenly felt driven to help, but as she made to stand her legs trembled just as her hands did, collapsing beneath her. Pain flared through her right knee again, leaving Hilde breathless.

"The fortress is taken. It is over." Hilde's eyes turned to the King, the despair in his voice frightening her more than the prospect of imminent death trying to break through the door. Hilde wasn't the only one looking on at the King in disbelief.

"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it," came Aragorn's voice over the crunch of the Uruks against the doors. His voice was angrily vehement, and his eyes were fierce in his rugged face, fixed as they were on the King. "They still defend it. They have died defending it." He paused in his efforts to help hold the door, his gaze flickering around the room as he approached Théoden, pausing for a split second on Hilde where she sat slumped against the wall. Hilde had to fight the urge to shrink away from his gaze.

"Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" His question was met with only despondent silence from the King. Nervous glances were exchanged around the hall. Aragorn was still searching the face of the King and of those around him. "Is there no other way?"

"There is one passage. It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far. The Uruk-hai are too many." Gamling was the one to finally speak. Latching on, Aragorn's gaze was fixed on the King's captain in an instant. Behind them, the doors shuddered again. Aragorn's hand fell heavily on Gamling's shoulder.

"Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass. And barricade the entrance." His voice brooked no argument as he urged Gamling back toward the end of the Hall. They both hesitated when they heard Théoden's quiet, despairing voice.

"So much death. What can Men do against such reckless hate?" The Ranger turned slowly, a fierce determination lighting his eyes. The wood of the doors shrieked.

"Ride out with me," came the quiet reply. Aragorn's voice was so low Hilde nearly didn't hear it. Others who had somehow heard as well turned to the Ranger. Some were confused, as the King was, but more looked on with a new resolve lighting in their eyes. Hilde's hand closed around Léofwine as she got cautiously to her feet. This time, her legs held, her strength returning. Beside the King Aragorn continued, his voice still quiet. "Ride out and meet them." His eyes were focused wholly on Théoden. Something flared to life within Hilde when she saw the gleam coming to light in her King's eyes.

"For death and glory," he murmured, his voice yet skeptical. Aragorn shook his head.

"For Rohan. For your people." Behind him, the men murmured in agreement, more turning their gaze to the Ranger and the King.

"The sun is rising," came the dwarf's voice. As one, all eyes turned to the high windows of the east wall. Sure enough, the first hopeful rays of the coming dawn shone down into the Hall. Hilde looked back to the King, exhilaration growing in her belly as he nodded, determination growing in his eyes as he straightened.

"Yes. Yes. The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep one last time!" Hilde nearly couldn't breathe as the words left Théoden's lips. As Gimli's voice rose in vindication, Hilde joined the stream of men dashing down to the stable below the Keep. Horses were saddled and being lead up to the main hall faster than Hilde had ever witnessed. Hilde was headed for Folca when an anxious whicker grabbed her attention. Brytta was looking at her with an intensity she had never seen before, his powerful body quivering with anticipation. In an instant she was before him, holding his pleading gaze. She knew what he wanted, what he was asking her.

He was a warrior too.

"Ride out with me, Brytta," she murmured, already untying the lead holding him in the stall, "Ride with me to battle one last time." With a gentle huff he bumped his forehead against her chest, eager to be released from his stall. Hilde couldn't stop the smile that came to her lips.

In mere moments she was mounted on the back of her father's chestnut stallion, holding him back even as they both longed to charge forward. She was surrounded by other riders, each as anxious as she was. Yet she wasn't afraid. Her fear had somehow been burned out of her with the first rays of the sun. She knew they were all likely to be slaughtered, but she felt some greater purpose tugging at her heart. She felt only peace in that moment. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her father's sword, the blade cleaned of blood and gleaming in the sunlight.

"Fell deeds awake," she heard the King say ahead of her, "now for wrath," the horses shifted in anticipation, each ready for battle as their riders' swords slid from their sheaths, "now for ruin," the King donned his helmet, his voice rising, "and a red dawn!"

In the deep the great horn of Helm Hammerhand sounded, echoing through the stone and into the very bones of the riders. Hilde felt it settle in her chest, coursing through her veins even as her life's blood did. Never had she felt thus. Before them the doors shattered. The King drew his sword, lifting it high.

"Forth Eorlingas!" came the cry from their King and, as one, every horse and rider surged forth, breaking through the Uruks as though they were no more than water. Over their heads the White Horse of Rohan billowed, unbowed against the hoards of Saruman. Around them the Horn of the Hammerhand continued to echo through the fortress and across the valley, bolstering the riders as they fought their way out into the dawn.

The King's company plowed through the Uruks, every sword slashing as they went, every horse bellowing war cries that mingled with those of their riders. Through the Keep, then the Main Gate they charged, clearing the causeway as they made their last stand. Beneath Hilde, Brytta ran with the same purpose and fervour as his rider fought, caught up in the same battle fever. Any pain lingering in her shoulder had vanished with the sound of the fortress' mighty horn as Hilde swung her sword about her, cleaving Uruk limb from body even as those beside her did.

They were out in the expanse before the Fortress, leaving a trail of Uruk corpses in their wake. Around her, the others began to circle, their charge giving way to outright battle. Horses screamed, and men cried out. In moments they were surrounded, Uruk-hai pressing in from every side. But that did not dim the spirits of the riders. They fought on, each and every one of them determined to fight to their last breath.

Off to the side, a wicked pike came thrusting toward Hilde. She automatically made to lift her shield, forgetting that she no longer carried one. Before the pike reached her, though, Brytta reared up, his scream as mighty as any battle cry made by man and his hooves as deadly as any sword. She couldn't help but grin with pride as one well placed kick broke an attacking Uruk's neck and another snapped the pike in two.

But then she felt him stumble, crumpling beneath her. Hilde barely managed to leap from his back as the chestnut crashed to the ground, his strong legs still laying about at the Uruks who pressed forward, bellows of rage coming from his throat. She scrambled to her feet, jerking her dislodged helmet from her head as she did so; she barely noticed its absence. She cried out his name as the swarming Uruks hid the stallion from her sight, but she couldn't dwell; every survival instinct she had pushed her to move. Beside her, another Rider dashed in front of her, shielding her as she lunged for one of the riderless horses, who was fighting on even as his rider no longer fought with him. Feeling the horse still as her hands grasped his reins, he allowed her to clamber up into the saddle. Around them all, the horn still sounded. Hilde could feel her strength beginning to wane, but she was still being carried by the thrill of their charge and the call of the great horn. She was not done just yet, so she kept fighting.

Then something near the crest of the valley's encircling hills caught her eye. At first she thought she had imagined it, but it was a single rider. A White Rider. Then another. As she watched, and as others, even their foes, began to take notice, more riders poured through the gap.

Nearby Théoden let out a cry that carried above the battle, not of pain or anguish, but of elation as a sound akin to thunder vibrated through the valley, a growing chorus of voices wending through the air, growing to a deafening roar. All faces, men and Uruk alike, turned to the East. Hilde's mouth parted in awe.

Driven, it seemed, by the very dawn of the sun, thousands of Rohirrim flew down the mountain, following the White Wizard to shatter the lines of Uruk-hai as though they were nothing but sand. A great victorious cry echoed through the valley as the sun broke over the mountain, flooding the shadowed gorge with light. Were Hilde to describe the sight, she could not have found the words. Around her, she could only watch in wonder as the Uruks staggered, blinded by the brilliance of the sunrise. Tears streamed down her face at the intensity of the light, but she could not look away. She could only laugh in relief.

Around her the remaining King's men joined their voices with the arriving Rohirrim, swarming to the King's side as they rode to join with their avenging countrymen. Again their King's voice carried up over the din, crying out victory as the Riders of Rohan drove the Uruks from the walls of Helm's Deep, sending them fleeing from the pounding hooves of their vanquishers.

It was over, and they had survived to see the light of day spread anew.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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