Aragorn did indeed find Legolas and Eomer upon the wall. He fought his way clear to their side, and was greeted heartily, “Aragorn! Welcome to our little corner of Helm’s Gate! Will you join us in its defense?” asked Eomer, who was facing him, while the Elf rained arrows, which he had recently scavenged off of the dead, into the forces of Saruman.
        “I will. I bear you both a message. Nimoë bids me tell you that she is well, and will remain safe within the Hornburg. She sends her love, and bids you know that her hopes ride with you.”
        Legolas, who had begun to tire, took heart on hearing this, and stirred himself to fight past the weariness which beset him. “Aragorn, I am afraid that we will not be able to hold the Gate much longer. The men of Rohan are strong and fearless, but the sheer numbers of Saruman’s army will soon overwhelm us all.”
        Aragorn nodded in agreement. “We will soon be forced to take shelter in the Hornburg itself, or in the caves of the Deep. Dark is the hour, my friends, and while I cannot see how, I can only hope that the rising of the sun will bring us better hope.”
        They fought then in silence for countless minutes, immersed only in the defense of the Gate. Then, with a crash as loud as the loudest thunder, fire again exploded against the wall. All three were sent sprawling in a pile, Eomer on the bottom with Aragorn draped over him and Legolas atop both. Legolas leapt off with all the speed and grace inherent to his race and pulled Aragorn up behind him. “Eomer, are you injured?”
        Eomer dragged himself to his feet and grinned, “You care then, Elf? More than forming the base of a pillar of men does it take to do harm to a marshal of Rohan. What damage has the evil fire from Orthanc wrought this time?”
        Legolas squinted through the clearing haze and to his horror he saw that an entire section of the wall, on the side farthest away from the Hornburg, had crumbled into a pile of rubble. “They are through the wall. There will be no blocking this hole. We must retreat to a more defensible position.”
        Aragorn then raised his voice, which was surprisingly powerful, given his usually soft-spoken nature, and shouted, “Take cover, Men of Rohan! Make for the Hornburg or make for the caves! This will be our last defense!”
        Then the three allies turned and ran along what was left of the wall, and into the safety of the Hornburg. Four-score other men ran in along with them, and when they saw that no others were left to follow, Eomer and Aragorn pushed closed the heavy doors which would be their last line of defense, and barred them shut with a plank of solid oak laid across them.
        Theoden appeared at their side and addressed them. “This is not to be borne! I will not die here, cooped up and imprisoned inside my own fortress. When the sun dawns, I will ride forth and in one final assault bring either an end to my foes or death in glorious battle to myself. Will you ride with me?”
        Aragorn nodded in assent. “I will ride with you.”
        Eomer and Legolas also agreed, and Eomer gave voice to the thoughts which both carried in their hearts. “We will all surely die if we remain here. Saruman can bring the explosive fire of Orthanc against the Hornburg as easily as he could the Gate. Our only chance of survival is to take him by surprise. He certainly will not expect a direct attack, as he believes us to be cowed.”
        “Have any of you seen Gimli?” asked Legolas, worried about his friend.
        Theoden shook his head. “He did not come inside the Hornburg. Let us hope that he has seen his way safe to the caves.”
        Orcs were already streaming over Helm’s Gate and began throwing themselves against the walls of the Hornburg. A voice cried out over the general hubbub within, “Look to the windows! They are coming through the windows!”
        So the three warriors scattered, each taking a position at a window, sword at the ready, to repulse any orc who attempted to enter. Theoden retreated farther into the citadel, intending to show himself, alive and well, to his subjects within.

        Nimoë worked on through a haze of pain and disorientation. It had come to the point where she was barely aware of anything but pain, both her own and that of her patients.
        She was aware, however, from the conversations she heard around her, that they were now trapped within the fortress and that the enemy was trying to enter through the windows and by battering against the door. Also she was aware that with the coming of the dawn, all of the remaining able-bodied men were going to mount a final assault against the vast army.
        As irrational as it might be, she found herself wishing that the dawn would never come. Cold fear gripped her heart when she thought of her friends mounting what could not hope to be more than a suicide charge.
        With the Rohirrim trapped inside the fortress and the caves, the number of injured men being brought to her had slowed significantly. Finally, Nimoë was able to treat every one of the men who had come to her for aid. While they were not well, by any stretch of the imagination, she did not have the energy within her to heal them more fully.
        Since the men within the Hornburg could not all fight at the same time, several had come to her infirmary to offer their assistance. One of them now approached her and bowed to her gravely. “Lady, we can care for those here now well enough without you. Please, won’t you take some rest? You look as though you are on the verge of collapse.”
        Unable to form words to express her appreciation, she nodded, then stumbled out the door.

        Legolas, Eomer and Aragorn had been spelled at the windows by fresher arms, and they stood in close counsel together with Theoden, laying out the plans for the attack. Their faces were grave, but their eyes burned with the fervor which comes upon men who have nothing left to lose.
        “Have you a trumpeter here, Theoden-King?” asked Aragorn.
        “There are men here with strong enough lips to play upon the Horn of Helm, if that is what you mean,” replied the king.
        Aragorn nodded. “When we are about to ride forth, let us then sound the Horn. It will put fear into the hearts of our enemies, and give courage to the men of Rohan.”
        Legolas and Eomer agreed that the sounding of the Horn would serve as a rallying call, and Eomer pointed out that those in the caves might ride forth and join them upon hearing it. There was no other way to communicate with them.
        “We are agreed then?” asked Theoden.
        The three men and the Elf prince clasped hands together in one accord. Their grasp was strong and the pureness of their purpose bound them together as brothers in arms.
        Just then Legolas glanced up and stared in disbelief. Stumbling along, with her hand against the wall as if she could not stand without its solid strength, was Nimoë. Her eyes were glazed and she did not appear to be at all aware of her surroundings. Even as he watched, she staggered and fell to her knees, and she dropped her face into her bloody hands.
        His voice came out in a choked whisper as he spoke her name, “Nimoë.” Then he broke from his companions and ran to her, dropping to his knees in front of her. Gently he pulled her hands from her face and regarded her agonized countenance. Tears slid silently down her cheeks, leaving clear trails through the blood which clung to her skin, and her eyes held the torment of unimagined grief.
        When she became aware of him in front of her, that her hands were clasped firmly within his own, and his body was still strong and whole, her face brightened and she held herself imperceptibly straighter. “Legolas,” she breathed, “You are alive.” Joy suffused her voice then and it seemed to hold the hope of a new day dawning. “You are well! I never thought to see you alive again.” Here she stopped in breathless wonder. “I did not think that I could go on without you.”
        She dropped her eyes away from his then in embarrassment, dismayed that she had spoken so when she had no reason to hope that he might feel so completely lost without her. Still, as soon as the words were spoken, she realized that they were true. She loved him with all of her heart, all of her mind, body and soul. The realization was like the blossoming of flowers in spring, and it seemed that the warmth of spring sunshine filled her entire body, giving her the strength to lift her gaze again to meet his. New tears fell from her eyes, but the smile, which spread across not just her mouth but her whole lovely countenance, proved that they were tears of joy.
        At her unexpected declaration and the sheer wonderment writ upon her face, Legolas felt as if his heart stopped beating, then began to pound again with a new purpose. There was nothing else in the world then: not the din of fighting, nor the near certainty of death on the morrow. Only the power of love which hit his heart like a starburst, bringing a feeling of infinite strength and ultimate tenderness.
        He released his grip then and cupped her battered face within his strong hands. Almost drowning in the welcome writ plainly in her glistening grey eyes he whispered, with intense fervor, “Nimoë, you are my world.” Then he pulled her to him fiercely, showering her bruised lips and face with kisses and holding her so closely that it seemed to those watching that the two Elves should not be able to breathe.