"Call for aid!" cried Phil, charging forwards and seizing the end of a remaining bench. "Barricade it before the door is opened!"

But they were too slow, for already there came a crash at the closed door, and another.

"Help!" Dan screamed into an empty corridor.

"Dan!" Phil yelled, as the first huge orc came smashing through the timber door.

Grimme lifted the other end of the bench just in time to catch the beast in the midriff before it could get through the frame. Together with Phil, he heaved.

"The tunnel is small, they can only come through one at a time. We have to keep them inside!" Grimme called. "If they break through everyone in the citadel will die."

The Orc was winded. It stumbled backwards into the passageway, pushing the line of waiting Orcs back. They stumbled, then caught themselves. All that could be seen from the room was a dark chasm.

Josur's face was ashen. "We have no weapons."

Feet on flagstones moving forwards once more.

"We can't leave to retrieve them," Phil cast his eyes around the room.

Dan wrenched an iron bracket off the wall and tossed it to Josur.

"Archer!" Grimme cried.

They ducked as a storm of arrows pelted the room, bouncing off the stone floor. Another push and the bench was ripped from Phil's arms. The first Orc rushed through. Dan stepped forward with a scream and parried the Orc's heavy sword with a wooden tray. His arms buckled under the blow and he fell back, crying out in pain.

Phil sprung up, pulling a short dagger from his waist and plunging it into the neck of the Orc. It fell; another took its place.

"Help!" Dan screamed again, scrambling back to his feet.

Josur beat helplessly at the wide shoulders of the second Orc. Phil was fighting broadsword with dagger, his arms flashing impossibly fast.

Grimme ripped a lit brazier from the back wall and thrust the burning oil into the Orc's face. It wailed and cursed in the black speech, letting drop its sword, then it too was dead with an elvish dagger slicing through its jugular.

Grimme reached for the fallen sword. He brought it up to meet the attack of another Orc bursting through from the passageway.

"Gurth gothrimlye," Phil whispered as he prised the scimitar from the death grip of the first Orc and flung it to Dan. "I smell troll."

An archer was covering the foot soldiers now, firing near blindly through the small gap but proving effective. An arrow glanced off the wall inches from Dan's face. He blanched.

"Help!" he yelled a third time, desperately and with an audible tremble. The line of waiting orcs stretched as far as the dim light would show. Already there were two fighting through the doorway, facing off Grimme and Phil.

Dan caught a kneecap clumsily with his new blade. The Orc fell over the abandoned bench and Dan gladly claimed a long dagger while Josur plunged another orc blade into the black throat. He drew back the sword, staring in horror at the wet blood. It glistened in the half light. Josur looked like he was going to be sick. For a brief moment, his eyes met Dan's and they shared a look of anguish before turning terrified back to the fight.

"There are people coming," Phil hissed between breaths. "But the orcs come faster."

It was true. A few more steps and the front two would be far enough through to let two more come behind. If that should happen, the four fighters would be doomed.

Dan jabbed his blade again and again. He did not know how to hold or point the weapon, only blind panic and the voice screaming in the front of his mind to swing and keep swinging.

He swung. The blade hit metal. He swung again. The blade hit a helmet and the orc swayed. It was but a moment of disorientation, but it cost the fell beast its life. Phil withdrew his sword, turning at once to the next Orc with smooth, calculated grace.

Dan stumbled over the bench and fell forwards, only just catching himself in time. An Orc fell by his face. The foul stench made him gag.

Above him Josur and Grimme fought together. Grimme's face was set like grey stone. His eyes burned and his short arms swung hard. Terror was plain in the pallid sheen of his skin and the hitch in his breath, but not in the set if his jaw. By his shoulder, Josur's face was contorted, his eyes wide and bulging and his whole body trembling. He swung fast but inaccurately. So wild were his attacks that Dan was forced to duck, lest his head join the one by his feet.

Finally, clattering feet could be heard on the flagstones outside. Shouting and calling as men took up arms.

"Barricade the outer door!" Phil called, his voice suddenly booming and authoritative.

Dan turned to him, eyes wide.

"The second we abandon this entrance they will be after us." Phil said quietly. "Their pursuit would be too swift. They have archers. We would not make it to the second door. If we did, we would have this situation further into the citadel. That is no good."

"He's right," Grimme grunted, freeing an ugly head from its shoulders. "With us holding them back the others will have time to make a proper barricade. These orcs travel light. They have but their shoulders to break through. It is our best chance."

"But we will surely die." said Dan hopelessly.

"If the Orcs get through, everyone out there will die." Grimme said bluntly.

"At least while we fight there is hope," Phil twirled with a guttural cry to meet an Orc head on. Sparks seemed to fly where their blades clashed. "If we are fighting there is always hope. We will not be afraid." Phil panted between swings. "We will not know death until it is upon us, and we will die with valour."

Dan's eyes found Josur's again and he knew their thoughts were shared. He was fighting, and yet he felt hopeless. He was fighting and he was afraid. Behind them, the oak door swung shut and something heavy thudded against it.

*

"We're going to get you out!"

The men behind the outer door had constructed their barricade. Inside the little room, sweat poured down Dan's face.

"We have fire," the voice continued. "We're preparing for a charge!"

Even Phil was beginning to tire. "What do you need us to do?" he called back. There was a troll somewhere in the tiny passageway. They could all hear it grunt and snuffle.

"Keep fighting!" came the reply. "Is there an archer amongst you? We are no warriors, and we are few."

"An elf, from the company of Haldir," Phil called back as he tussled furiously with a squat Orc. "But my bow is outside."

"We have it, we hoped the owner was near. How many are you?"

"Four."

"Could the elf fall behind? We need your skills for this to succeed. You must be able to stop and receive us without peril."

"Josur, take my place," Phil said through gritted teeth as the beast finally fell in front of him.

They maneuvered awkwardly. There were now a pile of corpses in the doorway causing difficulties for both sides. To get through the stone arch, the Orcs had to leap and scramble over the mound, which made them vulnerable. However if just one were to mount the carcasses it would push the Rohan boys so far back that the rest could follow with ease.

"The troll! It is the size of a horse!" Josur wailed suddenly, his high voice piteous and agonised and full of shame at the fear so apparent in his cry. "They are widening the tunnel to get it through, and a whole host follows. Grimme! We shall be slaughtered!"

"Can you boys hurry up back there?" Grimme's voice was strained, for he too had seen the oncoming storm.

"The troll will fill the doorframe?" Phil asked suddenly.

"He will smash through." Josur said, his eyes wide with realisation.

There was a murmur of consultation outside the room. The waiting men had heard their exchange. "It's the perfect time to strike," a voice decided. "The troll smashes through and the orcs will be forced to stay back. Trolls are slow. We run behind it and block the passage."

"So we're stuck with a troll?" Dan asked faintly.

"Rather that than a host of Uruk-Hai." Phil muttered.

The two orcs they were fighting suddenly fled backwards, and there was the troll, monstrous and swollen, its thick hide white and ridged and glistening with a sheen of moisture.

"Move back," Phil ordered. "We need to let it through."

Their weapons seemed very small as they faced down the huge creature. It roared, smashing angrily at the wooden frame with a black iron mace. Dan, Josur and Grimme were at the front, Phil a little behind waiting to receive his bow and arrows and begin the charge.

The beast was so cumbersome it seemed to be moving in slow motion. Dan could feel his heart pounding in his neck and his legs quivering.

All at once, the two orcs that had retreated back into the tunnel sprung forth again through the tiny gap. They came fast and ferocious. Dan and Josur flinched backwards in terror, bringing their swords up in front of their faces. Grimme charged forwards to meet them. In two short blows he was cut down and lay dead on the floor.

"Now! Come now! They break through!" Phil cried to the men outside as he leapt forwards, catching the first Orc's blade with a ringing clash that echoed off the low ceiling.

Dan and Josur stood motionless, staring at Grimme's body on the stone. Around them, men of Rohan poured through the door with cries of war. They carried the remains of the first barricade and kindling and torches ablaze. It was clear they meant to set a fire in the tunnel and smoke the Orcs out the other end.

Still, the troll bore down on them. How cruel that it could keep on moving when the world had stopped. Dan blinked slowly. He knew he had legs, but knew not how to move them. He stared around for a second that seemed an hour.

Phil stood beside him, rapidly loosing every arrow in his quiver to keep the Orcs at bay while the men worked. It was only now that Dan registered the noise. Everyone was shouting. Blades were clashing and fire was crackling. The troll was snarling as it lifted its mace to aim a swing at Phil.

Everything sped up. Dan dragged himself up from the floor where he had fallen and back into his empty body standing stationary in the centre of the room. Finally, he let out a primal scream that filled the room.

"Grimme!" He plunged forwards.

"For Grimme!" Josur yelled, running forwards at his side.

The ferocity of their attack surprised the troll and it rolled back on its heels with a roar. Phil's trance of concentration broken, he shot an arrow deep into the beast's wide eye and turned back to the passageway.

The troll was backing up fast, but Dan and Josur were merciless. Their eyes blazed. Their swords flashed. What they lacked in skill they made up for in rage. Tears pricked the corners of Dan's eyes as he drove his blade again and again into the trolls thick hide. A torrent of curses poured from Josur's trembling lips as he wrestled the beast's weapon out if its bleeding hand, a thick finger falling to the floor at his feet.

Dan did not know which one of them had cast the fatal blow. The troll lay dead and mutilated, and it was over.

The Rohirrim had blocked up the passage so that the smoke would go but one way. Now, they secured the entrance. The fire had been lit on the pile of carcasses. Only two bodies remained on this side of the wall. The troll, heaped against a wall and bleeding thick, viscous blood, and grimme, trampled and kicked to one side in the battle.

Dan fell down by the boy's side. He seemed smaller than ever in death. Josur remained where he stood, unable to approach.

Grimme's eyes were open. His face was bloodied and broken where a heavy boot had trodden. The wounds that had killed him were somewhere in his midriff, and the blood on his vest was already starting to dry.

Dan fumbled pathetically for Grimme's hand. It did not feel cold, but perhaps that was because Dan's own skin was so clammy and shivering.

"I'm sorry for your loss. He died in battle and with great honour. He will be remembered." The gruff voice of a soldier registered vaguely in Dan's mind. He did not look up.

The men mumbled their condolences as they filed out, and finally Josur fell on the stone beside Dan, Phil's hand on his shoulder. They started in silence. Quietly, Phil reached forwards to close the lids over Grimme's fierce grey eyes. He did not look at peace. He looked as if he had been tossed like a sack into a corner, his arms contorted cruelly behind his limp head.

Angrily, Dan tugged at his limbs and his clothes, dragging him into a lying position and resting his stout arms by his side. He would never look as if he was sleeping. He was too broken, his skin too pale.

A hot tear splashed onto the stone. Dan pulled Josur into his chest and they stayed like that for a while, even as the shouts from outside reached their ears. The battle raged on. They did not have time to mourn. If they stopped for the death of each man on this terrible night, they would remain stopped until they were grey and wrinkled with age.

"The men rejoice by the gate," Phil said softly. "They say the white wizard has returned. I do not know what this means, except that we perhaps have time to move his body, lest the fires die back and this place become a battleground once more."

Together, they raised Grimme's body from the flagstones and carried him out into the stables. They laid him on a pile of soft hay. The warm, familiar smell broke through all layers of shock, and finally the two boys of Rohan wept openly onto the straw.

"The sky has gained a bright star tonight, but one that we are loathe to give." Phil said bitterly. "I have no words that will ease your pain. We will fight tonight so that we may live to return here and bury his body in a beautiful land void of darkness."

Dan knew what Phil was saying. They could not lose themselves now while there were still Orcs pressing onwards. Troops were rallying somewhere to their left. It seemed that they might venture out onto the battlefield. Dan climbed unsteadily to his feet, his face set in grim resolve. He had fight in him now to face down the entire might of Isengard alone. He would spill the blood of every orc in his path and still not have avenged his brother.

Josur remained on the floor. He was shuddering; great, heaving sobs were ripping through his body as if they might tear his ribs apart.

"It's my fault," he whispered. "I was scared. I was filled with cowardice, and I jumped backwards when I should have jumped forwards with Grimme."

"We both did," Dan said, his voice hoarse. It was a thought that had not escaped his notice.

"There were only two orcs," Josur continued faintly. "We should have taken them easily. Grimme should not have died. Had any other soldiers been by his side he would have lived. I am no soldier. I am no man. I am a coward. I was not fit to call him brother." Josur leaned forward, his face wet with tears, to press his lips against Grimme's bloody forehead.

"I feel your guilt," Dan said, placing a hand on Josur's shoulder. "And I share it. He was bold where we were timid, and it cost his life. But never think for a moment that he was not proud to call you brother. He loved you and he deserved to live, but he did not die alone and he did not die afraid. We may yet find our courage. We may yet avenge him. Will you draw sword with me, Josur of Rohan?"

And Josur stood, and he was afraid, but fear is weak and there are many emotions stronger and so, two boys and an elf crippled with grief found their feet once more and broke into a run.