Night Without Dawn

By Afea

Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?

They have passed like rain on the mountain, like wind in the meadow;

The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow…

            The night is foreboding. The silence in which I so frequently find solace has become a terror all its own. The darkness seems a living thing, for so black it is that I could not see but a few feet in front of me, but for the flickering light of the torches. The air trembles in anticipation – or fear? We wait, though for what we know not. For our enemies, whose strength and number we know naught of but that it is far greater than our own? For the end of our people, which I alone seem to foresee? Or is it in anticipation of a glorious victory that the soldiers keep their silence?

            There will be no glorious victory. I can see them even now; the dark earth far beyond seems to move and shake silently, for the sound of their footsteps and bloodcurdling yells has not yet reached our refuge … it has not yet penetrated the thick stone walls of Helm's Deep.

            Oft I have said that these walls cannot fall as long as our men defend them still; never did I think that our men would be so few, or so weak. Three-hundred only will stand and defend this night. What of them shall live to sing the tales of our glorious deeds, or to remember our valiant end? I fear it shall be none.

            The ground shakes with the footsteps of ten-thousand foul enemies. They have come at last, the Uruk-hai of Isengard. Though they are strong, a force beyond reckoning, there is hope still - if we might hold the fortress till dawn. No army has ever breached the wall of Helm's Deep.

Looking upon this force I realize that we can do naught against such reckless hate as our enemies have for us. They will themselves die to see our kingdom, our people, brought to ruin; and I fear now that to ruin we shall come. We may hold this fortress and win this battle, but they will not be defeated. In the end, all will be lost.

They begin their assault from below, using crossbows and spears. Our men are untrained, and do naught to stop the attack. They have killed many men already. The elven archers that have come to our aid have felled many of the foul beasts, but thousands still remain.

            Prepared they have come, with ladders and devices of war. They are coming upon the wall now, hundreds coming in wave after wave. They are meeting us at our positions. None have yet broken through, but many more men we have lost to the strokes of blunt blades and black arrows.  

            I feel there is still hope, for as the battle rages on they have yet to break through us. The mighty force we once feared so has done little to take our fortress. Whilst a hail of black arrows rains upon us, I utter:

Is this it? Is this all you can conjure, Saruman?

I speak too soon, for the night is yet young. My words, I fear, have cursed us. There is but one weakness in the fortress, and Saruman is aware of it. His soldiers have placed some device in the drain, some fell weapon or craft of the wizard. I fear now that this is our doom.

With a tremendous thunder, the wall has been exploded. It has been breached! The black army like ants comes pouring in. We are helpless to stop them, though a valiant effort may be made, and a glorious death. Helm's Deep is taken, for we cannot win. Hope is lost . . . we are lost…

We have failed. Rohan will be overcome, and Gondor next taken by shadow. The free lands of Middle-Earth are falling into darkness and ruin.

There will be no dawn for men.