The rain beat against stone and armor until the sound became louder than the thunder. Arrows hissed through darkness; the air stank of iron and fear. Helm’s Deep trembled under the weight of Uruk-hai battering the wall. I had long since ceased counting the arrows I loosed.

Then—through the din—a horn, clear and high, not of Rohan. Silver. Lórien.

I turned toward the gate just as it groaned open. Through the curtain of rain came banners of green and gold, their edges gleaming like leaves caught in dawn. At their head rode a company of Galadhrim, and at the front—Haldir.

My breath left me in a rush.

Behind him, riding under his command, came you. Your armor was pale as new birch, your cloak heavy with rain, your eyes bright even in the half-light. Time fell away; I saw not a soldier but the young girl who once raced me through Lórien’s meadows, the laugh that still echoed in memory.

Haldir saw me first. Even through the storm his expression did not change — composed, proud, but his gaze measured and guarded. When his eyes shifted to you, his hand tightened slightly on the reins, a gesture more instinct than command. I knew that look. Love worn as duty.

You dismounted, and for a moment the noise of battle faded. I stepped forward from the rampart, mud splashing beneath my boots. Haldir moved as if to intercept, but you lifted a hand — a small motion, and he halted.

Our eyes met through the rain. The distance of years collapsed.

“By the Valar…” My voice was barely a whisper. “It is you.”

You breathed my name in reply, and for an instant the storm was nothing.

“I thought the years had hidden you from me forever,” I said quietly, rain running into my mouth, tasting of salt and memory. “Yet even through shadow and battle, I would know you anywhere.”

Haldir watched from behind, his face a mask of duty, but his hand remained on his sword hilt as if the enemy stood not on the field but between us.

I did not look away. Not this time.