"We must ride to Helm's Deep," shouted an Elven messenger, riding a white stallion through the forests of Caras Galadon. Baran, a bow-man of Lórien, was called to prepare for leave. The Elves of Lothlórien would be fighting aside men for the first time in a long age.

Baran was a skilled bow-man and could wield a sword with great skill. His hair was golden-brown, his eyes blue. Never had he seen a real battle, save for small attacks on the outskirts of the forest. As he prepared himself, polishing his sword, and fitting in armor, he heard a voice stirring in his head.

"Gurth na úan," said Galadriel's voice in his mind. In the common tongue it would translate to "Death is not far." These words troubled Baran. He had felt a shadow growing in his mind but now it grew stronger and larger.

After preparing he went to speak with the Lady of Light. She welcomed him and met him near her mirror. Her beauty was more stunning then he had ever seen. She gestured towards her mirror and through his thoughts she asked him
to look into it.

He stepped up slowly, stooping gracefully, as all Elves do, to look into the limpid pool. At first there was nothing but small ripples but then the water glistened and there was a vision. He saw himself, lined with his kin at Helm's Deep, aiming there bows at an approaching evil.

The war began and he fought bravely. But as he fought he grew tired from a pain in his side, a slice made by the scimitar of a fell Orc. The vision faded and there was nothing but the same ripples he had seen before. "What does this mean?" Baran asked Galadriel.

"You may fall," she replied. "But the future is never certain. Others will fall besides you. Haldir may meet his end along with many of our kin. You may fall as well but I give you a great gift. Use this gift of foresight to bring good to yourself and others." Baran nodded, a tear slipping out of his eye. He stepped away from the mirror and bowed to the Elf-Queen. "Namárië," he said calmly. He then turned away as she bowed her head ingrief.

The troops of Lórien were ready. They set out on foot to the battle of the Hornburg. Baran was in the third line from the front of his company, Haldir leading the way. As they went, light-footed, over the land the words of Galadriel repeated in his head. Was he going to his doom? Would fate put an end to Baran's life? Was it time to dwell in the halls of Mandos?

At last, they reached the place of battle. Helm's Deep stood before them, carved into the surrounding mountain, a fortress of great strength. One of the Elves in the front line took a horn to his mouth, signaling their arrival. The gates were opened to them and they entered.

The surrounding faces of the Rohirric people were astonished. Most of them had never seen the likeness of Elves. Aragorn, son of Arathon, was not one of these.

He rushed down to meet Haldir. Baran's mind was saddened when he saw them exchange a warm embrace of friendship for he feared Galadriel's words would be correct. Haldir would fall.

"An alliance once existed between Men and Elves. We fought and died together. We come to honor that allegiance." Those were Haldir's words of greetings to Aragorn and King Théoden of Rohan.

But the time for greetings was not long. The Orcs were on their way, already the sound of their stomping could be heard by some of the keener Elf ears. The Elves aligned themselves along the front wall of the Hornburg. Baran was positioned above the gates, besides Quellecoi and Auter, both of whom were fellow Elves and friends from Lórien. They stood solemnly as the Orcs approached. There was a crash of thunder and then the clouds exploded and rain poured down upon them.

Baran watched as the torches of the Orcs flickered in the storm. The lights drew closer and the air was filled with a fell stench. With hideous cries and groans the Orcs began to stomp their feet and pound their chests. "Make ready!" Was one of the many shouts echoing through the stony corridors of the fortress.

Baran lifted his bow and pulled an arrow through it. The feathers tickled his face as he aimed steadily on an Orc in the front line. The relentless pounding of the Orcs went on, their revolting sounds echoed in Baran's ear as he waited for the signal to fire.

A few feet a way one of the men of rohan also drew his bow. His hands were shaky as he tried to keep his aim. Then as his hand slipped the first arrow was shot. One of the Orcs was pierced in the neck. It fell face forward into the mud and then there was silence. The Orcs stopped their war cries but the rain went on. Then their cries resumed and the war began.

"Im gor gurth," said Auter to his two friends. "I fear death," would be the translation of this.
"Estel na ú firn," Baran replied. This means, "Hope is not dead."
"Fuin aith estel," Quellecoi added saying, "Darkness shadows hope."

They let their arrows go, each of them getting a perfect shot. One after another the Orcs fell before them but their numbers were great and they came forward without hesitation. Some of these beasts bore crossbows, other scimitars. As Baran looked down at the Orcs he saw one raise a crossbow and begin to aim. It aimed at Auter.

As quickly as Baran could he let his arrow go at this creature. It pierced him but not before the Orc could let its arrow fly. Baran turned quickly to his friend, who was now several feet away from him. "Auter!" He cried, running towards him with haste.

Quellecoi turned, hearing Baran's cry. But he was further from Auter then Baran and could do nothing. Auter did not yield to Baran's cry, having all his mind set on the Orcish ladders being lifted to the walls. Auter fell. The Orc's arrow pierced him in the chest. "Auter!" Baran screamed, racing towards his lifeless body.

Baran bent down on his knees and lifted Auter into his lap. He looked down on his friend with saddened eyes. Auter's eyes stared up at the dark sky and his body went cold in Baran's arms. Quellecoi ran up behind Baran and knelt
down besides him. "Auter!" He screamed in grief.

Just then the ladders of the Orcs slammed against the walls of the Hornburg. They had breached the walls! Baran laid his friend onto the cold ground and pulled out his sword against the enemy. In the commotion of the Orcs Quellecoi and Baran were separated. Baran fought bravely. His sword met the insides of many foes and he protected his kinsman and the men of Rohan.

The war went on, men and Elves fell. Baran's heart was filled with grief but also rage and he fought on. As hours past the Orcs broke through. King Théoden and Lord Aragorn shouted for the survivors to retreat to the second wall. As Baran ran to the inner fortress he saw Haldir fall. Galadriel's prediction was correct. Only one more thing was yet to be fulfilled, Baran's death.

Before Baran could make it to protection he was met by an enormous Uruk. It lifted its scimitar to Baran's sword and broke it.

"Choose wisely, mellon," Galadriel spoke through Baran's thoughts.

Baran ducked below the Uruk's swing just before being stabbed but his side was grazed. He cried in pain, collapsing to his knees. The light around him seemed to fade. The Uruk lifted it's blade again. Before Baran could be killed he ripped a spear out of a dead Orc besides him and stabbed it into the Uruk's thigh. The Uruk roared in pain and it's dark eyes widened with madness. It pulled the spear from its leg and stabbed it into Baran's.

Baran cried out for help and help came. Quellecoi dashed through the surrounding Orcs, slaying many. He reached Baran and beheaded the Uruk with one clean sweep of his sword. Then he lifted Baran with all his strength andentered the next fortress.

The war of the Hornburg ended in victory. Gandalf, the white wizard, rode in with the Rohirrim and the surviving Orcs fled to the forest where Ents put an end to their filth.

When all that needed to be done had been done the living Elves departed to their homes. They did not remain in Middle-earth after the war of the ring, and when the time of the Elves was over Baran bitterly parted with his friend and sailed with Galadriel to the undying lands.

The End