Helm's Deep was alive with movement. There was a large exodus of townspeople toward the caves as volunteers ranging from the old to teenagers left their families to be fitted for armor and given weapons. The mass of battle-ready elves had been camped behind the Deeping Wall for two days and now stirred—some being positioned on the Wall with the rest within the gorge behind.

The king and the men of his household were in the Hornburg, along with the surviving Westfold-men. Éomer set most of his men on the ramparts before the Hornburg and over the gate. Like Rowan suggested, he also put men behind the gate to support it when the battering ram arrived. With no more room atop the walls or within the entry, the rest of his éored were among the elves behind the Deeping Wall.

Rowan made sure to be on the Deeping Wall. The other hunters wanted her up on the higher levels to where it may be safer. She was adamant about not being sent to the caves, saying they needed her with them in case something happened, and for her to save a specific life—Éowyn wasn't so lucky in staying.

Because she was fighting, Rowan was also fitted with armor. The chain mail jerkin they found for her size was too heavy, so she only wore leather pauldrons, a hauberk, vambraces, and lightweight greaves. She had her sword and knives for weapons, but found a short bow so she could fire arrows with the elves. Aragorn and Boromir only donned chain mail, and Legolas wore shoulder pauldrons like her. The chain mail jerkin Gimli found was too tight and hit the floor since it had been made for the stature of a man, not a dwarf—so he wore nothing extra.

Nerves had sent her into the Great Hall to scrounge up some water. Drinking it settled her nausea. Most of the volunteered teenagers were doing the same or eating a little bread to have something on their stomach—all looked terrified. The men she passed on her way out didn't look as fearful, but there was worry in their eyes.

Like at Edoras, she pepped herself up that she had been through battles before as she headed down the causeway for the entryway to the Deeping Wall. This battle was just larger with a much-bigger force. No big deal.

Yeah, right.

At the call of her name, Rowan turned to Éomer descending the flight of stone steps leading up to where King Théoden was. He stopped before her, dressed as always in magnificent armor with golden designs covering his entire body and a half-face helm with a white horsetail flowing from the crest. His left arm was no longer bandaged.

He nodded at her armor. "I hope that will not be tested."

"As do I, but it is safer to have it."

"It is, but" —he ran the back of his finger down her cheek— "do not get hurt."

Someone called his name from above, so Éomer turned to ascend the stairs.

She watched him go.

"Neither do you," she whispered.

Remembering she stood in the middle of the causeway with men hurrying in some direction around her, Rowan turned away as well to pass through the narrow opening onto stairs leading down to the Deeping Wall. Two perfect rows of elves shining gold in the fading evening light lined the mile-long wall. Looking to her right as she descended, more elves five-rows-deep stood within the gorge in perfect lines; the anomalies were the groups of Éomer's éored.

The four hunters were grouped where she and Boromir would be stationed. Rowan pulled their attention when she arrived.

She took a deep breath. "Everyone looks ready."

Aragorn nodded.

"Take comfort in knowing those that will be fighting around you have seen battle, Rowan," Legolas said, obviously noticing her unease. "My kin are highly experienced."

"You couldn't find yourself in better company, lass... other than dwarves," Gimli said with a smirk.

Boromir looked at him sharply. "You have forgotten the men of Gondor and the Rangers of Ithilien, master dwarf! My brother's company is as accurate as the elves'."

"And the Dúnedain," Aragorn added.

Flustered, Gimli floundered to defend himself. Rowan appreciated the playful banter in their attempt to reassure her—it eased her tension.

Thunder rumbled in the north. She looked toward the mouth of the valley—where the Uruk-hai army would march in—to see a dark storm rolling in with boiling clouds. The tempest was a foretelling of the massive army coming with it.

Boromir grabbing her hand made Rowan look at him.

"I will be by your side."

To avoid giving in to those green eyes and kissing the Gondorian, she turned to the others. All of them tried to hide their disappointment. Aragorn's expression nearly made her burst out laughing: his puzzled look as his eyes switched between her and Boromir said he was trying to figure out why she wasn't kissing him.

"Remember, don't get directly over the culvert—stand to the left of it in case it... blows up," Rowan reminded.

They nodded before wishing them safety, then the original three hunters moved further down, just past Haldir. Rúmil stood near his brother.

Composed and serious, the elf-captain looked like nothing could befall him—if the Uruk-hai actually had feelings other than causing pain and killing, they wouldn't have the guts to harm him. He was so imposing.

Like with Boromir, Rowan wouldn't see him die. Knowing how he did, she would step in to prevent his death, too. Since Rúmil wasn't in the movie, she didn't know if he was supposed to die; regardless, she would keep an eye on him, too.

"What has hardened your gaze?" Boromir asked; he hadn't let go of her hand.

She nodded toward Haldir. "I plan on saving another life."

Boromir followed her gaze to the elf, then turned back. "Not at risk of your own life."

"Dying isn't something I plan on."

"Death is not something one looks forward to, but it often comes when least expected.

"By the way, I have not properly given you my thanks for saving my life."

Rowan turned to him to say he didn't need to thank her when Boromir lifted her chin to meet his kiss.

Surprising her for only a second, she kissed him back. He had freed her of the question of did he truly like her, or was she just hoping he did so the hole in her heart Wyatt left could be filled. Since he had taken the first step, she didn't have to choose between Boromir or Éomer anymore.

"Thank you," he said when he pulled back.

She lifted an eyebrow. "For saving your life or for the kiss?"

Boromir chuckled. "For both."

Rowan smiled. "You're welcome."

She cupped his face to kiss him again, not caring that there were loads of elves witnessing their tender moment—she felt lighter than she's been in a long time and liberated. At least they were polite and mature enough not to do those annoying catcalls she would have received in the modern world.

The boom of thunder—closer this time—snapped her out of Cloud 9 to remember war was coming. And night had fallen, turned even darker by the storm.

Rowan looked out over the parapets to countless points of fiery light, scattered like red flowers. Torches. The thudding of thousands of marching feet mixed with harsh chanting.

Suddenly, the clouds were seared by a blinding flash. Branched lightning smote down upon the hills. She saw a horrendous sight: the land before Helm's Deep was boiling and crawling with black shapes, some squat and broad, some tall and grim, with high helms and stable shields. Hundreds and hundreds of them. The dark tide flowed up to the walls from cliff to cliff. Thunder rolled in the valley. Rain came lashing down.

With the coming of night and the coldness of the water drenching her, Rowan shivered. The army of many Uruk-hai was probably another factor of her shaking, but she tried to contribute it to the deluge. Gandalf's words to her in the Mines of Moria repeated in her head: fear itself does not cripple you; you make it do so. She was scared, yes, but she wasn't afraid of being afraid anymore. Her fear wouldn't paralyze her this time.

Once the army had drawn all its forces into the valley—about twenty yards in front of the Deeping Wall—the black wave halted. Lightning flashed again and revealed the ghastly white hand of Isengard emblazoned upon helms and shields. The clinks of rain bouncing off the elves' armor made the only sound for a while, until—with precise timing—the Uruks began banging the butts of their pikes on the ground. Chanting started anew, and the Enemy banged their iron breastplates as they taunted the defenders.

A new sound drew her eyes to the left at the Rohirrim and volunteered soldiers pulling out their bows and notching arrows. Like in the movie, after holding back the string for a while, one arrow was accidentally released, hitting an Uruk, killing him. It was just a small blur of black falling forward. The entire Uruk-hai army fell quiet.

"Good shot," Boromir said.

Now, inhuman growls and furious howls rose into a frenzy, and the army charged.

The assault on Helm's Deep had begun.