Silverhelm: A Tale of Two Enemies

When You Give A Five-Year-Old A Blade...

As dawn broke, I tore my gaze from the lightening sky and walked back towards the hall. Inside, everyone was busy, taking what they needed for Helm's Deep. As I navigated the small crowd, I bumped into Aragorn.

"Lyrasael! There you are. I was coming to look for you." He stifled a yawn.

"Good morning. We leave today?"

"Yes. Theoden asked me to find you and see is there is any armor you can use."

"Armor?!" I don't usually use it since it's very heavy.

"Yes. You will need it," Aragorn said sternly. "We cannot have you getting yourself killed again, can we?"

"You have a point there," I sighed as Aragorn led me to the armory.

"Take your pick," he said, waving a hand. I sighed. Most of it was heavy plate armor, meant for marching armies, not the light and swift Elves. However, I did pick up a pair of light but strong pauldrons with an intricate design of interlacing vines.

"This is Elvish work!" I said in surprise. I did not expect to find such workmanship here. I strapped them on with some difficulty - it had been some time since I had worn armor. I also took bracers with the same designs on them, though they were leather, not metal. All for the better - it would be easier to move.

Having put on my meager armor, I turned to leave. However, Aragorn put a hand in my way. "Don't you think Silverhelm should, at least, wear a helmet?" he said, a smile in his voice. I sighed and turned around. From where I had taken my pauldrons and bracers, I took a helmet, with the same intricate designs. It was probably the only helmet that would fit my smaller head.

It had a high domed top and was silver. It had a long pointed noseguard and the cheek guards cut a slanting line below the eyeholes, making it look as if it had narrowed eyes. From the front, the bottom of the helmet, along the bottom of the cheek guard and the sides of a helmet, sloped up steeply so that it was high above my neck and the back of my head. From there, another piece of metal sloped down, protecting my neck. It was very light, and would not weigh me down.

I put it on. No part of it obstructed my vision, and I could move freely in it. I turned to the door. Aragorn was smiling. "Now you look every bit the Elvish legend you're made out to be," he said.

"Legend?" I was confused. "Me?"

"The Elvish SIlverhelm is quite famous here in Rohan," Aragorn said. "You might just be more well known than me." I laughed.

As I walked to the door, I caught my reflection in a polished shield. A tall Elvish woman with long raven hair and bright green eyes peeking out from under her helmet looked out at me. I had to admit, I looked good. Better than I had in the past few days, at least.

"You don't look so bad yourself, Strider," I commented as we walked out and into the great hall. It was true. While he was still in his beaten travel clothes, his hair was washed (for once). The tall man with dark hair and stern grey eyes before me looked nothing like the Aragorn I had met in Bree, or for that matter, Rohan, a long time ago. He looked royal, like one of the Numenorian kings of old. "If only Arwen was here to see you..." I shook my head in mock sadness.

"Shut up," Aragorn complained, casting a nervous look around, and bumped my shoulder with his. I laughed and looked up at him.

"To the stables?" I asked. To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure that Daelen would let himself be kept in a stable. Then again, this was Rohan, which literally translates to Horseland.

"Yes," Aragorn replied. "Gandalf wants us there- I have to hurry."

"I'll come along in a minute," I said, nodding. "I have something to do first." He nodded, then jogged off. I smiled. He had become like a brother to me. Then I turned around.