The news swept Éowyn like a gust of cold winter wind.  For a moment, she was unable to think.

The Dwarf had hesitated before revealing the harsh truth, aware of the pain he would give to that young woman, who seemed as delicate as a lily. 

But it had happened.  Aragorn was gone, and that time not to get lost in some desolate clearing, but he had just left the Earth.  A Dunèdain, a race of Men kissed by the grace of long life, killed by a group of squalid little orcs.

Goneril looked for Èowyn, while trying to figure out how to drag Aldair through that tunnel.  Her precious horse would have to bend its neck down, and Goneril wasn't sure it would make it.  Moreover, the protrusions of the rocky walls could have wounded it.

"...damn...where is that girl, where does she always hide when you need her ... you, over there!"  She shouted to a group of soldiers.  "... start escorting these people to the underground." 

With barely concealed annoyance, the soldiers obeyed.  One dared protest: "We obey only our King."
Goneril turned to look at him: that guy reminded her of Aran, the proud warrior of her legion, whose face had been disfigured by Goneril in punishment.  You know, that scar gives you a more masculine look ... you should thank me, she had told him to tease him.  Aran had had enough brain not to reply that time.  She also found herself thinking that her men would have been very useful at the Helm's Deep.

"Your King is not here now. Your princess, instead, told you a few minutes ago that you have to listen to me and do what I say ... so ... do what I say." 

Once upon a time, if one of her legionaries had shown such a rebellious attitude, she would have punished him. Protests in her legion were tolerated as summer mosquitoes.

"The King has just returned. He crossed the gate a few moments ago." another soldier said dryly. Goneril turned her gaze to the great walls at the entrance to the Hornburg.

In fact she saw Théoden, who was dismounting from his horse. She hurried towards the handful of soldiers who had just returned. "What happened, where are all the others?" she asked Legolas, who seemed to have been struck by lightning.

"Aragorn has fallen." murmured the Elf. Goneril noticed in him the typical confused expression of the Elves when they came to elaborate the concept of death. They didn't understand it completely. It was not part of their nature. Or rather, not in the sense that Men meant.

She was more than certain that the Prince of Greenwood at that moment was trying to convince himself that he would never see his friend again. That was his way of understanding death. Never again would they talk, not even in another life, because for mortals, another life simply didn't exist.

When her eyes met those of the princess of Rohan, she realized that for Éowyn the idea of ​​death was very clear. The blonde woman seemed to have turned into a stone statue. She should have been happy that her uncle had survived and returned almost unharmed, instead she seemed a woman just informed to have become a widow.

Goneril found it ridiculous, if not pathetic. Hell, what was that girl thinking? To have a future as Aragorn's wife? In addition, Éowyn had also heard about his relationship with Arwen, daughter of Elrond: the Elf princess had to despair, not Éowyn. And she certainly would have, once the news had reached her pointy ears. It was indeed probable that the noble She Elf would slowly die out in pain, according to the nature of the Eldar.

Goneril decided to shake Théoden's niece. "Come on, there are about six hundred people to take in the basement. We have to hurry." She said abruptly. Éowyn turned to look at her. She didn't seem able to understand. "Listen: it is a fact that you have to accept. Aragorn was a warrior, this is the risk with which you live every day when you choose this path."

The young woman did not answer. She turned her back and walked towards her people, ready to resume her role. It almost seemed that she had locked herself up in a shell, the same one in which she had found refuge as a child, when her uncle had informed her and Éomer of their parents' death, when her uncle had told her in tears that his wife Elfhild had reached her parents in the sky, when Grima had kicked her brother out of the realm, when her cousin had died. She was a girl trained in pain, and, in her own way, she had learned to handle it.

A bit like Goneril: the difference was that the sorrows of life had turned the latter into a death machine; Éowyn, on the other hand, had preserved a good deal of humanity and compassion.

The warrior looked at the gray sky and felt the smell of rain in the air. Without Aragorn it would have been hard to resist even an hour.

Théoden and his people were doomed, she knew well ... but if the Man of Gondor had taken the situation in his hands, they could perhaps stay alive.  At least for a while.

Théoden was a good king, but he had a vague predisposition to pessimism.  He no longer had the strength and the temper of his golden years, and on that occasion, instead, they were gifts that served more than ever.

Legolas and Gimli were two princes of their respective races, but none of them had enough experience to guide the resistance to a siege.
Gandalf was wandering somewhere to look for Éomer.

No, someone else had to help them.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

After a few hours, the general mood had plummeted even further down.  Among the common people, there was a widespread feeling that they would soon have to give the farewell kiss to the Earth.  Many were praying.

"The situation is very serious."  commented Legolas, observing the mass of people heading towards the dungeons.  "How can Théoden think to..."

"Why don't you call your father with your mental power?"  Goneril proposed, smiling, while cutting an apple with a dagger.  "You Elves have psychic magic, don't you?"

Legolas gave her an annoyed look.  "Not everyone has this gift. Didn't Amon tell you?"

"He told me that the Elves are united by an indestructible bond, if there is kinship between them. And when one is in danger, his relatives rush."  she explained, keeping her eyes on the Prince.  "The army of Greenwood is imposing, I know. Archers, swordsmen ... they would help us."

"My father doesn't know I'm here."  Legolas retorted.

"Yes. His other son is more important to him now. The future King of Eryn Galen."  Goneril added.  "You have lost the right of succession to the throne. This is what Amon told me."
The woman enjoyed Legolas' hurt expression.  "Such a cruel King ... putting his firstborn in the corner."

At that point, Legolas couldn't refrain.  "Never talk about my family again. Next time you do it, it will be your last day, you can believe me."

"As you wish, Your Highness. So...tell me ... what was her name? I mean...your father's mistress?"  Goneril insisted.  That story attracted her curiousity. "The extraordinary human who has conquered the heart of the Icy King? I know she came from the realm of Dale."

"I would not tell you her name even under torture. You would go looking for her, you would also blackmail her."  Legolas answered.

"But you told me she is dead."  Goneril objected.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe you should shut up."  concluded Legolas.

"Yes, anyway ..." Goneril continued, but something interrupted her.  Her eyes widened.  Noticing her expression, Legolas also turned around.

Aragorn had returned.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

He looked horrible, like a man overwhelmed by an avalanche of stones and remained miraculously alive.  The various abrasions on his body revealed that the fall in the ravine had been violent, but the river below had saved him.  For some divine intervention, he had managed to find his horse, whose animalistic instinct had led both to Hornburg.

Gimli was enthusiastic, and also a little moved.  Legolas had welcomed his return with the usual composure of the Elves, but his joy was evident in his blue eyes.  As for Éowyn, she looked like a flower blossoming under the snow.  Smile had returned on her face.

Even Goneril, after all, was happy.  Not because the ranger had survived, but because under his leadership, Rohan's army would have hold out for a while.  And she would therefore have gained time.  Time to take Aldair from the stables, time to go down to the dungeons, time to leave undisturbed.

Aragorn, however, did not bring good news.  According to him, an impressive army of Uruk-Hai and orcs was marching decisively towards the Hornburg.

"How many." asked Theoden.

"Ten thousand, I'd say."  replied Aragorn, lapidary, as he pressed a piece of cloth on his arm.  "I saw them while I was coming here."  He had a bad wound, still bleeding.

They were all on the top of the fortress, intent on scanning the horizon.  The evening was falling, and with it the few hopes remained.

"Are you kidding?"  Gimli asked incredulously.

"Ha! This is great ..." Goneril commented.  "... this is really great ..."

"You have no other choice. You have to ask Gondor for help."  Aragorn proposed.  But Théoden didn't want to hear about it.

"You will die here, on this rocky gorge."  the girl said.  "At least, you will die in glory."

"You talk as if it didn't concern you."  replied Théoden.  Aragorn also turned to look at her.  That woman had plans, he could see it in her face.

"It is not in my destiny to die on this stone, you say right. But ... you have my solidarity."  She smiled.

"I tell you  that there is hope."  Aragorn intervened.  "Eru cannot allow such an abomination."

"The destinies of the Earth are not only in the hands of Eru. There is another force in this world. Morgoth, and his followers. And he is no less powerful."  Goneril objected.  "At least ... until the big day arrives. The final battle."  She said, approaching Legolas.  "The Dagor Dagorath."

Théoden and his soldiers looked at each other in confusion.  Aragorn, on the other hand, knew very well what she was talking about.  The end. The prophecy.

"This is not the day. Soon those cohorts of monsters will arrive and our only task will be to prevent them from entering in here. We can do it. If we resist until dawn, the sunlight will help us."  he said peremptorily.  "It is essential that those who can fight, stay here and fight. Even young boys, or old men. Anyone who can hold any weapon in his hand."

"So much for the glory of Rohan ..." Gamling muttered.  "May the gods help us ..."

"Yes. This is our duty. To fight...until the end."  Théoden also said. "And let's pray our ancestors to help us."

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Darkness soon fell.

Aragorn and Goneril scanned the horizon. A bright river of torches appeared in the distance.

"Here they are." commented Goneril.

"No." retorted Aragorn. "Those are not Orcs."

"So who is approaching?" she asked. Without answering, Aragorn ran down the stone staircase. "Open the gate!" he shouted to the soldiers.

Théoden also left the council chamber to observe.

When the mysterious legion was closer, Goneril recognized the symbols on the banners. "It is not possible." She murmured. "Elrond."

They were actually Elven soldiers. All perfectly aligned in formation, all disciplined as only the Elves could be.

The woman couldn't believe it. Rivendell had sent help, a help that was extremely precious.

Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn rushed with Théoden to welcome the silent army.

It wasn't Elrond who had the command, though. At the head of the soldiers, a blond Elf, wearing a rich armor and wrapped in a crimson cloak. He looked vaguely like Legolas, but he was physically stronger.

Théoden was thrilled. "How is it possible?" Goneril
heard him say. The blond Elf explained that Lord Elrond had sent a small army to help Men, given the ancient alliance that united the two races.

Aragorn ran to meet him, and, doing something that normally would never have been done with an Elf, hugged him. Those creatures did not like physical contact. It was not in their culture.

Legolas also greeted him, and as soon as the Elven soldiers saw the Prince, they turned immediately, as a sign of respect.

"Hey...who is that guy? The Captain of Rivendell's army?" Goneril asked Gimli.

"No." he answered. "He comes from the Lórien. His name is Haldir. He is the Marchwarden of that territory."

At that answer, Goneril felt her heart skip over her chest.

Haldir. Haldir of Lórien.

She had already heard of him, Amon had told her everything. From that blond soldier came the name of Thranduil's second son. The King and his beloved mortal had chosen that name in honor of that Elf.

And there was also another thing Amon had revealed to her: that Haldir, that noble soldier in front of her, had been hopelessly in love with the mysterious human. He had given up on her when the woman had chosen Thranduil sixty years before. But he did not know that they had had a son, who had his same name.

He didn't even know that the human, his lost love, was perhaps still alive. At that time, she was far from Thranduil, and she was an elderly lady.

But she was alive.