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“Brego…” Aragorn whispered as the horse nudged him with a worried huff. There were two dull thuds as the animal lowered himself down next to him, just low enough that he was able to grasp part of his mane.
Hauling himself up was no small task, he quickly discovered.
With every movement, his body protested. Joints creaked and muscles screamed. The deep gash in his shoulder weeped with blood.
He breathes deeply, coughing as leftover water from his fall is expelled from his lungs. His knee protests as he pulls his leg up to drape it across Brego’s back. And, thankfully, he does not have much more work to do as the horse rises back to his full height.
Aragorn’s fingers were still deeply intertwined with Brego’s mane as the animal took off, dust and dirt flying as hooves met earth. He couldn’t bring himself to straighten to a sitting position, his stomach rolling with nausea.
He’s already so far behind.
The others have most likely made it to Helm’s Deep by now. He cannot afford to waste the little time that he has by using it to vomit.
So he kept his current position for most of the ride, hunched over and limp like a dead man. Well, that was until he was about a day’s ride out from the fortress.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His ears perk up at the noise. Something about it was way too rhythmic to be naturally occurring.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He sits up very slowly, resting his hand on the back of Brego’s neck for support.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His eyes strain against the bright sunlight, widening when his vision finally clears.
Uruk-hai.
Thousands of them spread as far as the eye could see.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Aragorn kicks Brego into action, nausea be damned as they take off at full speed. His hair stings at his face as the wind whips through it.
He needs to get to Helm’s Deep before Saruman’s army does.
Rohan does not have the numbers.
They’ll be decimated.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His knees squeeze Brego again, urging him to go faster. The animal snorts in response. “I know.” He murmurs. “I know. Just a little faster. Just a little further.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
— — — — — —
When the fortress of Helm’s Deep finally came into view the next morning, the sight was nearly enough to make Aragorn weep with relief.
He made it.
He squeezes Brego again, pushing him forward. The horse rumbles with exhaustion and shushing quickly spills from his lips. “Shhh… I know.” He runs his fingers gently through Brego’s tangled mane. “This is the last time. I promise you.”
Brego takes off again with another huff, hooves clopping on the stone path leading to the large wooden gate. A hush of silence washes over the crowd waiting on the other side.
They’ve presumed him dead. Rightly so.
He would have done the same if he were on the other side of things.
“Where is he? Where is he?! I’m going to kill him!”
Gimli.
Aragorn hears him before he’s able to see him.
“Where is he?! Get out of the way! I-” The shouting finally subsides when the crowd parts just enough for Gimli to be able to slip through. Aragorn can see the weight lifting off of the dwarf’s shoulders in real time. “You- You are the luckiest… most reckless man I know.”
Gimli embraces him and he tries his best to return the sentiment. Pulling away after a moment or so, he searches the crowd that is still gathered around them. “Where is the king?”
The dwarf nods in the direction of the keep and he wastes no time in cutting through the bustling throngs of people.
Saruman’s army is at least a day behind him. Maybe less.
He practically takes the steps two at a time, so consumed in completing his objective that he nearly runs into Legolas. The elf seems almost amused by his return.
“You’re late.” His blue eyes search him over, making Aragorn feel as if he is being peeled open. “...and you look terrible.”
Aragorn can feel how the dirt clings to his skin and is crusted beneath his fingernails. He has not seen his reflection in a couple days, but he does not need to see to know that there are deep shadows finding a home under his eyes. But the ridiculousness of the statement makes him smile widely nonetheless.
His vision warps for a moment and he rests a hand on Legolas’ shoulder to steady himself. He blinks and breathes deeply before letting go, making his way to the doors.
He thrusts them open, watching as Theoden and several others are hunched over a table pouring over a large map. The king turned at the sound, eyes widening just a bit.
A sudden feeling of bone-chilling cold washes over him as he tries to speak. “Saurman’s…” He tries to breathe. Tries to cut through his thoughts to get to what was most important. “...uruk-hai.”
Theoden steps away from the table and towards Aragorn. It looked like the king’s lips were moving, but he was unable to hear the words being uttered.
His vision tilts and distorts once more, this time with the added effect of black shadows creeping in at the edges. He attempts to take a step forward, but vaguely registers his knees giving out as the shadows take over.
He is not quite sure if he hits the ground.
Because he is long gone before any feeling of pain can register.
— — — — — —
“Get the women and children to the caves!” A voice shouts frantically, shortly followed by the sound of clinking and clattering armor. “Make sure every able bodied boy and man has armor and a sword!”
Aragorn winces as the entire world seems to slam into him all at once. A woman screaming for her child and the other noises of chaos join the cacophony that threatens to split his head in two. He pushes himself up, confusedly finding that he had been laid out on a small cot on the floor. “Wh-”
“It’s about time you woke up.” Legolas says from the pillar just near the center of the room. He steps closer, bow clutched tightly in his hand.
He squints at the elf, watching the carefully guarded concern written on his face. “What happened?”
“You fell unconscious.” His friend replies quickly, gently taking his arm and helping him into a standing position.
Aragorn winces, looking around the room as he tries to recall the events that lead him here. He feels something tug in his arm and he looks down to see a swollen gash, pulled neatly together by someone’s needle work. “How long?”
“Nearly a day.”
He sighs, the sword that Legolas thrust into his hand now feeling as if it had doubled its weight. “I’m sorry.”
And it suddenly was the elf’s turn to be confused. “Why should you be sorry? You fought your way back from the brink of death and had at least a two day journey on top of it.”
Oh.
That’s right.
He fell.
Aragorn’s eyes widen and his head whips back towards the door. “Saruman. His army. Are th-”
“They are outside as we speak.”
“I- was I-” His words are coming faster than he is able to speak them. So he closes his eyes. Takes a breath. “Was I able to give everyone enough time?”
“Just about. You were able to mumble something about the wizard and his army before consciousness left you.”
Aragorn nods, taking another deep breath. They still do not have the numbers. Judging from the information he had just received and the lack of sunlight streaming in through the window, they will not make it through the night.
“Haldir arrived. Less than a few hours ago.” Legolas says, somehow being able to read his mind. “We just might be able to manage with the two armies.”
“Haldir?”
“Yes, it was quite unexpected. No one knew that they were coming until we heard the horns.”
Aragorn walks towards the doors, opening them carefully and stepping into the crowd. Legolas follows close behind. “We need to get you some armor.” He hears the other say, as he carves a way through towards the armory. “Last I heard, Gimli was still trying to find something that fit him.”
He nods, taking his turn to follow as he falls deep into his thoughts.
An elven army and The Rohirim.
Maybe they will make it through the night afterall.
