Robb found his companions stationed on the Deeping Wall, a scant few dozen feet away from the first line of Uruk-Hai. The trench they had dug lay between them, still dark and unlit. In the dead of night it was almost invisible, but the torches of Saruman's army made the oil gleam.

Lightning split the sky in the distance, followed by a deep, rumbling beat of thunder just moments later. Robb looked up to see heavy clouds overhead. No doubt they would start to spill rain any second now.

"We should light the trench before it begins to rain," Robb said to Aragorn in place of a greeting. "I am not sure it will catch fire, otherwise."

The wind picked up, almost whisking away Aragorn's answer. "That might take away the effect of surprise."

"Aye, it probably will." Robb looked out over the army before them. "But if they want to take the castle, they will have to cross it, one way or another. Besides, rain on burning oil is a volatile combination—makes it hiss and spit. I'd wager it will hit even those Uruks who stand several feet away."

"Then I propose we light the trench as soon as the first drops fall—or the Uruks charge, whichever comes first."

Robb nodded. "In that case it would be prudent to provoke the attack sooner rather than later, lest they decide to wait until the fire has gone out. We may wait for the rain to bide our time and make the most of the oil's reaction, but the decision to start this battle must come from our side."

"Is that wise?"

Shrugging, he turned to look at Aragorn. "This is not a drawn-out siege—Saruman intends to take the Hornburg tonight, no matter the cost. They will attack either way. I would rather they did so on our terms."

Aragorn gave a non-committal hum.

"Look around you," Robb murmured, stepping closer so none other than Aragorn might hear him. "Rohan's soldiers are growing nervous—the longer they have to wait, the more frightened they will be. Battle is not only a matter of prowess, Aragorn. Mind games and intimidation go a long way in securing a victory, too—Saruman knows this as well as anyone, I'm sure."

Aragorn was silent for quite a few moments before he finally sighed. "Very well. I doubt Théoden will like it, but your arguments are sound. We provoke the attack as soon as the rain starts and light the oil the moment they charge."

Legolas sidled up to them, his lips twitching at the corners. "On your command, then, Aragorn?" he asked, half-raising the bow in his hand.

Distinctly unsurprised that the Elf had overheard their conversation, Robb let himself smile.

Aragorn nodded, then sent Robb and Legolas to relay the plan to the archers on either side down the walkway. Elves and Men alike readied their bows as Robb passed, calling out commands just loudly enough everyone would hear him, yet not so loudly that the Uruk-Hai might understand. Climbing the stairs back up to the Hornburg, Robb kept an eye out for the King. Gods knew he himself would have been incensed had his commanders implemented a battle plan without his leave. Robb needed to make sure Théoden was at the very least aware of it.

In the end, he found the man on the walkway of the inner court, high up with a good view of both his own soldiers as well as the Enemy's. It was a commander's position, something Robb knew to appreciate. Théoden's right hand man—Gamling, Robb finally remembered—stood next to him with his hands tightly gripping the stone in front of him.

"Your Grace," he said, coming to a stop a handful of steps behind Théoden. Robb waited for the man to turn around and face him before he continued. "With your leave, Aragorn and I would have the archers provoke an attack as soon as the rain starts. Lure the Uruks into the trench and then light them up. We feel it would improve morale to start the battle on our terms."

Théoden's face was drawn and pale, deep furrows lining his forehead. Nevertheless, he considered Robb but for a moment before nodding.

"Battle will come either way," he replied, his voice tight as if the man were barely holding back a sigh. "Very Well. Do it."

Robb inclined his head, glad to have the king's permission in this. It made the whole affair easier and spared him from having to apologise in the aftermath. He was just about to return to Aragorn when Théoden spoke up once more.

"How fare the lads? Aragorn mentioned you had taken charge of them."

"They are nervous, your Grace," he answered, blinking. Robb was surprised Théoden had remembered that at all between the mountain of worries he must be buried under at the moment. "But I have faith they will keep their wits about them. I left the eldest one, Deor, to lead them until I return. He has heart, and no small skill with a blade."

"I am glad to hear it."

The wind picked up once more and Théoden cast his gaze to the sky. "The rain will start soon. You had better get back to Aragorn if you wish to implement your plan."

"Of course, Your Grace." Robb inclined his head again before making his way back down the stairs.

Just minutes ago, before he had spoken to Aragorn, the soldiers around him had been jittery with worry. Now, faced with a plan of action, Robb could see they were more settled—no longer were the men shifting in place every few moments with pale, sweaty faces, and where before, some soldiers' hands had shook hard enough to make them fumble and drop their weapons, they were now held in a secure if tight grip. Their jaws were still clenched and none of them looked particularly happy about the situation as a whole, but it was a marked improvement.

"King Théoden has agreed to our plan," Robb said when he reached Aragorn. The man grasped his shoulder in thanks, his gaze only leaving the gathered army before them for a quick moment.

The first drops of rain fell from the sky just seconds later and as they spilled from the clouds so did the commands from Aragorn's tongue—first in Elvish, then in the common tongue for the handful of archers among Rohan's soldiers. Arrows were nocked in unison, drawn back, and with one last word they descended on Saruman's army. The cloud of arrows was illuminated by a bolt of lightning as bright as daylight.

For a moment, silence reigned before the dull sounds of impact reached Robb's ears and dozens of Uruk-Hai fell to the ground. Roars of pain and anger erupted from below, drowned out momentarily as thunder boomed across the battlefield. All around Robb, archers drew their bows once more on Aragorn's command, unheeding of the rain. The Uruk-Hai weren't yet approaching, but there was movement, now. The generals of the army down below started shouting their own commands, just to be felled themselves as Elves and Men alike spotted them and took it upon themselves to relieve the Uruks of their leaders.

Soon, the first several lines of soldiers were naught more than a heap of corpses. The Uruk-Hai behind them finally stirred, realising, perhaps, that keeping their formation and staying in place was just as dangerous as attacking. The furious screams and snarls reached a fever pitch, and then the army lurched forward.

To Robb's right, on Aragorn's other side, Legolas lit up an arrow. Even flickering in the wind and rain as it was, the flame cast the small, anticipatory smile on his face in an eerie light. Robb had never thought of Legolas as someone who particularly relished in violence, but perhaps there was something to be said about the prospect of killing so many with a single arrow.

Legolas waited just enough for a few dozen Uruks to stumble into the trench before he let the arrow fly. The light of the flame drew an arch in the air—up at first, and then down until it disappeared behind the spike-riddled pile of dirt on their side of the trench.

Robb's breath caught in his throat when, for just a moment, nothing happened. Then the oil and wood in the trench caught alight with a roar. A great wall of fire sprung to life, expanding left and right and consuming every Uruk-Hai in the trench. By the time it stretched across the entire length of the Deeping Wall, shrieks of agony drowned out the hissing of rain and fire alike.

Some Uruks attempted to forge ahead and found their end on the spikes in their panic. Others tried to draw back only to be hindered by their charging companions behind them and tumble back into the flames. Only a few of them made it across the trench at all—easy pickings for the archers on the wall.

Robb's hair was fully wet from the rain, and as cold water trickled down his neck and into his clothes he wished for just a moment he hadn't given his helmet to Eadwine. Even so, a giddy warmth spread through his chest. It had been so long since he'd had to come up with a strategy that he had quite forgotten just how good it felt when one worked just as it was supposed to. Below him, the fire seethed and spat, and Robb allowed himself a small grin.

All around him, the archers continued to pick off Uruk-Hai. Their bodies fed the fire and the flames climbed higher into the air even as the pouring rain fought against them.

Another straggler made it across the dirt barrier. Legolas shot him down, then went to nock another arrow—and cursed.

"I am out of arrows," he cried, lowering his bow. "As the others will be soon, no doubt."

"There should be more in the armoury," Robb responded. Next to him, Aragorn called for an infantry soldier to ready the buckets for the boiling water.

Robb took a step back and looked around. He had no way of seeing all of the arrow racks and quivers along the walkway, but the ones he did catch a glimpse of looked dangerously empty. On the battlefield, the Uruk-Hai were drawing back, no longer trying to cross the fiery trench at any cost. If he was going to get some arrows, he had to do it now, before the Uruks came up with a different strategy.

And it would have to be him who went to get them—whoever had hidden those arrows in that chest had done a very good job. Or a bad one, seeing as arrows were usually meant to be used. In any case, Robb did not trust anyone to find them quickly enough.

"I will fetch more arrows," Robb told Aragorn. He didn't wait for an answer before turning to dash back towards the Burg, weaving around cauldrons of boiling water and their attendants. Doubtless Aragorn was less than impressed by his quick departure but in this case, surely it was better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

Halfway up the stairs he almost bumped into another infantry soldier. Remembering all at once the sheer amount of arrows, Robb blew past his apology and set a hand on the man's shoulder.

"I need your assistance, ser," he said, wiping the slick hair out of his face. "The archers need more arrows and I cannot carry them all alone."

The soldier, to his credit, did not bat an eye. "Of course, my lord. Lead the way."

Together, they made their way inside the Hornburg. It was a relief to be out of the rain even for just a moment, but there was no time to enjoy it.

Just like the rest of the halls and corridors, the armoury was deserted. Here, the sounds of battle were muffled, some faint clanking and yelling the only thing that penetrated the thick walls. Robb strode over to the chest, sweeping his hair back once more before opening the wooden lid. He bent down and pushed some old rags out of the way. There, hidden under them for indiscernible reasons, lay the arrows.

"There you are," he muttered. When he looked up his companion was there, several empty quivers slung over his shoulders.

"Easier than carrying them loose," the man said by way of an explanation.

Robb shot him a smile and nodded. "Good thinking, uh—?"

"Háthain, my lord," the man answered, holding out the first quiver for Robb to fill. "Son of Hámód."

Robb froze for a moment. "Háthain, Deor's uncle?" he finally said, grabbing the next handful of arrows.

This time, Háthain did blink in confusion. "Aye, I am. How do you know, my lord...?"

"Robb." Another half-dozen arrows slid into a quiver. "I trained with him and the other boys a few hours ago. He's a good lad—I put him in charge of the rest while I'm gone."

Háthain smiled, but it was a strained, brittle thing. "All his mother's doing, I'm afraid."

Robb paused again, taking in Háthain's expression as well as his tight grip on the half-filled quiver. He hummed, turning back to the chest. "They are guarding the rear gate. Barring any disastrous events, they're safer than the rest of us."

Out of the corner of his eyes Robb saw the quiver tremble as Háthain exhaled near silently.

"I am glad. Thank you for telling me, my lord."

"Of course."

From then on, they worked in silence. Every once in a while, Robb thought he heard Aragorn's voice in the distance, shouting commands. It did not take much longer until every last arrow was in a quiver. They split their load evenly when they left the armoury, slinging several quivers at once over their shoulders.

Robb had almost managed to forget about the weather and when they returned outside, the cold rain pelted Robb's face, sending a shiver down his spine. Nevertheless he gritted his teeth and picked up his pace once more, Háthain hot on his heels. He almost took a tumble down the wet stairs, but managed to catch himself just in time.

Finally on the Deeping Wall again, Robb handed all but one of the quivers to an Elf who took them with a nod of thanks and passed them along immediately. When they reached Legolas and Aragorn's post, Robb barely even got to telling Háthain to continue down the walkway before Legolas tore an arrow from the quiver.

"Fell them, Legolas!" Aragorn cried, his hands gripping the stone of the wall so tightly the white of his bones showed through the skin.

Robb stumbled forward to catch a glimpse of the battlefield. A cold feeling spread through his chest—he could think of only one thing that could have made their advantage deteriorate in the short time he had been gone.

Sure enough—the breath caught in his throat. Down to their left on the field below, just approaching the trench, were four enormous Uruk-Hai. Each pair was hauling along a round, spiked metal construct the size of a small boulder. There wasn't a doubt in Robb's mind that these were Saruman's explosives.

Next to him, Legolas' face was stark white. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He drew back the string of his bow, mumbling a few Elvish words, before he let the arrow fly.

The dull thunk of impact was swallowed by screams and the hiss of rain and fire alike.

The world seemed to slow down as first one and then a second Uruk-Hai collapsed—one with a gaping gash in his throat, the other with the arrow in his knee. Neither of the ones left managed to hold their payload aloft, heavy as it was, and both of the explosives fell to the ground.

Legolas exhaled shakily.

Robb's eyes widened. His hand shot out and closed around Aragorn's wrist in a death grip.

The Uruks were too close to the trench, the foremost ball was rolling—

"GET DOWN!"

And the world turned white.

_____________

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Alright folks, time for another update. First half of the Battle of Helm's Deep! This time with some changes—though of course, some things are inevitable. (Or are they?)
Let me know what you think :D