The Silver Flame (LOTR)

To Helm's Deep

The journey toward Helm's Deep was fraught with tension, the people of Rohan weary and fearful as they fled their homes. Visenya rode at the back of the column, her eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. The air was thick with the scent of smoke from distant fires, and a low murmur of unease settled over the refugees. Beside her, women carried their children, their faces pale with exhaustion and fear.

Visenya glanced down at one young mother struggling with a babe in her arms and another child clinging to her skirts. With a soft word, she dismounted and offered her horse. "Take her," she said gently, lifting the woman's child onto the saddle. "The little one can ride with you. It will ease your burden."

The mother's eyes were wide with gratitude as she accepted. "Thank you, my lady."

Visenya smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. She hadn't felt like a lady for quite some time. "We all do what we can," she murmured, helping the woman onto the horse and steadying her. As they moved forward, she kept her pace brisk, despite the heavy air of dread surrounding them.

She fell into step beside Éowyn, who was leading Gimli's horse. The dwarf, still grumbling about dwarven women and beards, managed to bring a smile to her face. But there was no mistaking the tension beneath the lighthearted conversation. They all knew what was coming. War.

As Gimli tumbled from his mount, Éowyn rushed to help him, laughing as she brushed him off. Visenya's gaze drifted toward Aragorn, who rode ahead of them, his eyes always scanning the distance. She recognized the weight he bore. The burden of leading, of protecting. It was a weight she, too, had once carried.

As the day wore on, the refugees pressed on, weary but determined. The hills around them grew steeper as they approached Helm's Deep, the ancient stronghold offering the only hope of safety. Visenya found herself walking alongside King Théoden, who rode with his head held high, though the lines of worry were etched deep into his face.

"My lord," Visenya said softly, falling into step beside him. "You lead your people well."

Théoden turned to look at her, his blue eyes shadowed. "These are dark times, my lady," he replied. "I lead them to the last refuge we have."

Visenya nodded, her thoughts drifting back to the stories of her homeland, the battles fought and the lands that had been lost to time and flame. "There are many ways to be strong, my lord," she said. "Your people look to you, and in you, they find their courage."

Théoden regarded her for a moment, as if weighing her words. "You speak as one who has seen much."

"I have seen enough," she replied, her voice soft but steady. "More than enough."

Before he could respond, a shout rang out from the front of the column. Visenya's head snapped up as she heard the alarm, her heart thudding in her chest. In the distance, she saw Legolas sprinting forward, shouting to Aragorn.

"Wargs!" Aragorn's voice was sharp as he ran to Théoden. "We are under attack!"

The cry of panic spread through the refugees like wildfire. Visenya felt her blood run cold as the people began to scatter, mothers clutching their children, the old and the weak falling behind in the chaos. She turned to Éowyn, who stood frozen for a moment, torn between her duty to lead the people and her desire to fight.

"You must lead the people to Helm's Deep," Théoden said, his voice firm. "And make haste!"

Éowyn's gaze hardened as she met her uncle's eyes. "I can fight," she insisted.

Théoden shook his head, his voice gentler now. "No. You must do this... for me."

Éowyn hesitated for a heartbeat, then turned to gather the refugees, her face a mask of determination. Visenya caught her eye, offering a silent nod of understanding. They both longed to fight, but there were battles to be fought here as well, battles to protect those who could not protect themselves.

As the villagers scrambled to regroup, Visenya found herself helping a woman gather her children, her heart pounding as the sound of approaching hooves grew louder. The ground shook beneath their feet, and she could see the dust rising in the distance.

"Move quickly!" she urged, her voice cutting through the chaos. "We must reach Helm's Deep before they overtake us!"

Theoden's men began to rally, their horses stamping and snorting in anticipation of the coming fight. Aragorn strode past her, his expression grim as he shouted orders to the riders. His eyes met hers briefly, and she could see the fire in them, the determination to survive.

The sun had dipped below the horizon now, casting a reddish glow over the land. The Warg riders were drawing closer—she could feel it. Every step forward felt heavier, as though they were racing against an inevitable doom.

She caught a glimpse of Éowyn, leading the refugees toward the safety of Helm's Deep. Visenya wished she could follow, wished she could protect them all. But she knew her place was here, in the thick of the fight. A fire sparked within her as she turned her gaze back to the approaching enemy.

The earth trembled beneath their feet, the shadows growing longer as the wargs drew nearer. The roar of the beasts echoed in the distance, and Visenya's hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword. Her heart raced, but she stood firm, ready for the battle that was about to begin.

With a sharp breath, she turned toward Théoden, who stood with his riders. His face was set in grim determination, but there was a heaviness in his eyes—a fear for his people, for the future of Rohan.

The silence before the storm pressed down on them all, thick and oppressive. Visenya's pulse quickened, her grip tightening on her sword. The time for talking had passed. Now, there was only the battle ahead.

The wargs were close now. Too close.

And then, with a bloodcurdling howl, the first of them appeared over the ridge.

The battle for survival had begun.