The Silver Flame (LOTR)

The Battle at Helm's Deep (2)

The chaos of Helm's Deep roared around Visenya like a storm of fire and blood. The relentless pounding of Uruk-hai drums was a constant backdrop to the clash of steel, the thud of arrows, and the screams of men and elves alike. The fortress was holding—for now—but Visenya felt the tremors of something far more dangerous lurking beneath the surface of their defense.

She stood amidst the ranks of the archers, her bow strung and ready, as she watched Gimli swing his axe furiously at the Uruks scaling the walls.

"Twenty-two!" Gimli shouted, his voice a mix of excitement and fury as he cleaved through another Uruk-hai with the ferocity of a storm.

Visenya notched an arrow, drawing back the string with a grace born of years of practice. Daemon had taught her precision, how to sense the smallest shift in the air before releasing an arrow. She let her arrow fly, and it embedded itself in the throat of an Uruk clambering up a ladder, sending it crashing back down into the horde below.

As the Uruk-hai advanced on the causeway, their tortoise formation blocking much of the assault from the archers, Aragorn's voice rang out. "Na fennas! Aim for the causeway!"

Visenya and the elves shifted their aim, releasing a volley of arrows at the advancing column. A few Uruks on the sides fell, but the majority continued their relentless march forward, shields locked and impenetrable.

"They're too strong!" one of the archers beside her gasped, fear seeping into his voice.

Visenya narrowed her eyes, forcing herself to focus. She couldn't let fear cloud her aim. She remembered the first time Sir Criston Cole had placed a bow in her hands, back in the days of her youth in Westeros. He had taught her to aim not just with her eyes but with her mind, to see beyond the target and into its heart.

"Focus, girl," his voice echoed in her mind, stern but reassuring. "You don't just fire an arrow. You become one with it."

With a deep breath, she became that arrow again. Her next shot struck an Uruk through the narrow slit beneath its helmet, just as Legolas had taught her: aim for the weak points. Another arrow found a gap beneath an arm, piercing the creature's flesh as it dropped to its knees in agony.

But even with every shot, more Uruks came. They were a tide, a black sea of hatred and violence, surging ever closer.

At that moment, Visenya's eyes flickered to the wall, where two dark, spiked shapes had been lodged in the sluice gate. Her heart lurched. Bombs.

"Aragorn!" she shouted, but her voice was swallowed by the cacophony of battle. Aragorn, too, had noticed.

"Togo hon dad, Legolas!" Aragorn's voice rang out urgently. "Bring him down!"

Legolas fired arrow after arrow, his speed unmatched, but the Uruk bearing the torch continued its suicidal charge. Visenya watched in horror as it stumbled, then threw itself onto the bombs.

A deafening explosion tore through the wall. The force of it knocked her to the ground, her ears ringing as if the world itself had shattered. Rock, dust, and debris flew in every direction. She could see Aragorn thrown back, motionless for a brief second before the flood of Uruk-hai poured into the breach like a black river of death.

For a moment, time slowed. Visenya struggled to her feet, her body aching, and the stench of burning rock and flesh filled the air. A section of the wall had caught fire from the blast, flames licking up the stones. Screams echoed from the elves and men caught in the chaos.

"The wall! It's crumbling!" someone yelled.

Visenya's gaze hardened. The flames called to her, as they always had. She was not afraid of fire—never had been. Fire was a part of her, the deepest part.

She sprinted toward the flames, dodging arrows and the heavy blows of Uruk-hai. Around her, men and elves screamed as the fire spread, consuming everything in its path. Without hesitation, she leaped into the blaze.

The heat was overwhelming, but Visenya felt no fear. The flames danced along her skin, but they did not burn her. Her silver hair whipped around her face, glowing in the firelight as if she, too, was born of the inferno. She grabbed an elf who had fallen, his leg trapped beneath a piece of stone. With a grunt, she hauled him up and shoved him toward the safety of the battlements.

"Get out of here!" she barked at him, her voice sharp with command.

She turned, her eyes blazing as fiercely as the fire around her, and plunged her sword into the chest of an advancing Uruk-hai. The creature snarled, but she twisted her blade with a ferocity that made it stagger. Without pausing, she kicked it backward into the flames.

More Uruks came, and Visenya met them with the wrath of a storm. She fought like a woman possessed, her bow forgotten in favor of the sword. The fire was her weapon now. She thrust Uruks into the flames with the strength of a goddess, the fire roaring higher with each soul claimed.

Her mind flashed back to Daemon Targaryen. She could almost hear his voice, low and teasing as he sparred with her, his eyes glinting like the fire of dragons. "You fight with fire in your heart, Visenya. Never let it be tamed."

Those lessons now fueled her, and with every swing of her sword, she remembered the hours spent training, preparing for battles she never thought would come. Sir Criston had been more precise, more technical in his lessons, teaching her where to strike, how to read an opponent's weakness.

But now, she needed Daemon's wildness. She needed the fire.

Behind her, the men of Rohan were watching. The battle had slowed around her, the soldiers and elves alike awed by what they were witnessing. Visenya, standing in the heart of the flames, unburned, untamed, was a sight that would be etched into their memories forever.

"The Goddess of Fire!" one man shouted, his voice filled with wonder. "She's the Goddess of Fire!"

Others began to echo the cry. "Lénaithil! Fire Goddess!"

Visenya didn't pause to acknowledge them. She didn't fight for titles. She fought for survival—for the lives of those still standing and for the memory of the fallen. But she could feel it now, the shift in the air. The men of Rohan were no longer just fighting—they were inspired.

The fire blazed brighter, fed by her fury. She glanced up and saw Aragorn charging through the breach, leading the Elves in a desperate counterattack. Beside him, Gimli swung his axe with wild abandon, taking down Uruks left and right.

"Visenya!" Aragorn shouted, his eyes wide as he saw her in the heart of the fire. She met his gaze for only a second before turning back to the Uruks that still swarmed toward them.

"Hold the gate!" Aragorn called, his voice hoarse with the effort. "We cannot let them through!"

With a final push, Visenya swung her sword, cutting down the last of the Uruks that dared face her. The flames crackled around her, casting an eerie glow on her face. She could feel the weight of the battle, but she knew this was far from over.

As the smoke billowed into the night sky, she took a deep breath, steeling herself for the next wave. This battle was not yet lost.

Not while the fire still burned.