Chapter 2: Brothers

Elves… They're elves! Not just one… hundreds!

Leobane forgot his grief. He forgot his fear, his dread, his weakness. In that moment, he felt wonder, awe, and joy.

Five hundred elves marched through the gate. Their elaborate armor shone in the moonlight, and they stepped in flawless unison. Everything about them bespoke perfection. Beings from another time… Firstborn of Iluvatar… Some of their ancestors may have seen the Undying Lands…

While the leader of the elven company spoke with King Theoden, Leobane caught himself on the verge of tears. All his life, he hoped to meet elves. When he finally saw one… well... Prince Legolas seemed so distant, detached, and far too important for Leobane to bother. But now, there were so many... Immortal, wise, fair beyond thought…

And deadly. Right now, that mattered most. Men had whispered of how many wargs and riders Legolas had slain in the previous battle. Landing impossible shots at extreme range, mounting a horse at a full gallop, and defeating swords and axes with simple knives. True, he was a Prince, nearly three thousand years old and a veteran of countless battles. The others likely couldn't match his skill. But even so, with five hundred elven warriors, they might just have a chance.

They nearly triple our total numbers. Every one of them is worth at least two men, or a dozen boys like me… It might just turn out alright.

Lord Aragorn met the elf leader, Haldir, and he seemed genuinely happy. The heir of Gondor had donned armor, and clearly intended to fight for them all as promised. Legolas and Gimli had done so as well. The dwarf now wore so much armor he looked a bit silly… but perhaps also indestructible, provided he guarded his face and neck.

Haldir looked a little uncomfortable when Aragorn hugged him, but that moment was immediately forgotten. When Prince Legolas stepped forward, the elf company turned as one. In perfect unison, they executed a left face and stood at attention. With Legolas now at his side, Haldir announced, "We are proud to fight alongside men once more."

If Deor's dream is to defend Helm's Deep, then perhaps mine has always been to stand alongside elves. With these graceful, experienced, and lethal warriors, everyone can finally see victory on the horizon.

The plans for troop deployments were reworked, and new orders were given. The men would hold the Hornburg, while the superior elven warriors would hold the Deeping Wall and the Bailey behind it. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli would accompany them.

While the elves marched past their human allies, most kept their eyes forward, utterly intent on the task at hand. Leobane knew that their kind typically sought diplomacy and peaceful solutions to conflict, but when battle was required, they were always resolute. They had centuries to contemplate the possibility of combat, and they met such with total self-mastery.

Just one elf cast his gaze about, looking upon the mere mortals he had come here to defend. He hesitated when he saw Leobane and the other boys, then he actually stepped out of formation.

While the rest of his company marched toward the Deeping Wall, this one paused, inspecting them. When his eyes met Leobane's, he smiled. Leobane realized that his face totally gave away his awe and fascination. Most of the others looked intimidated by these superhuman beings of lore. Deor actually looked irritated by their presence. He didn't think we needed help. But I know better. If we survive, it will be on account of these brave elves.

"I am Ordulus, son of Haldir," the elf said, his voice clear and fair and almost musical. "For ones as young as you to take up arms… You are the most honorable soldiers here. I salute you." He held out one hand graciously, and performed a subtle bow. "What is your name?"

As he hadn't broken eye contact, it was clear who he meant. "I am Leobane, son of Guthdig, apprentice to the scholar Aldor."

"A learned one?" Ordulus smiled. "What is your focus of study?"

Leobane blinked. "I've read every book in our library, but… well… my Lord…" He blushed, and faltered. When Haleth and Deor prodded him in encouragement, he forced it out. "I most prefer to read of… elves…"

The immortal warrior laughed freely, a magical sound that lifted the spirits of all who heard it. "I am honored that my kind can still inspire other races. We have been far too private of late, and many are forgetting us. Had I any authority, we would have marched to your aid sooner, and in greater strength. But our own lands are under threat by enemy agents, and wiser ones than I knew we could not spare more."

Soldiers began giving orders, but no one was willing to interrupt this conversation.

Fighting back his embarrassment, Leobane managed to speak. "Tell me, Lord, what led your father to bring these warriors here? We never sent for aid."

"The Lady Galadriel sees many things," Ordulus answered, his voice reverent. "Our people are gradually leaving this world, but she still offered us a choice. A limited number of volunteers were permitted to risk aiding mortal allies. We are those who were selected. Some of us are too young to have had dealings with men, but just as you are fascinated by us, we are intrigued by you."

Leobane's eyes widened. "What about us could intrigue the Firstborn?"

"Your mortality," Ordulus answered, "and all that it entails. Unlike us, men live every day knowing their time is short. Their prime of life is fleeting. We elves are not considered full adults until our hundredth year. Few men live to see that age at all… But this causes your race to strive. You do not have all the ages of this world to learn and grow. Instead, you work so hard, accomplish so much, in so short a time. Your fleeting nature makes you precious, not disposable. My companions and I would not see your kind extinguished."

Leobane stood transfixed. Always, he had imagined elves as distant, aloof, and far too lofty to have real interest in humanity. But here, a being right out of his dreams proved otherwise. "Thank you, Son of Haldir," Leobane said quietly. "Tell all of your companions that we thank them. You are risking more than any man even has to give. If we die, it's but a short life cut shorter. But if any of you die…"

"Think not of such things," Ordulus interrupted, raising a hand. "We wish to bring you hope, not misplaced guilt. Tonight, we are allies. Let us fight as brothers." He swept his eyes over Leobane's weapons. "I see you are armed the same as we, with bow and blade."

Blushing, Leobane awkwardly held up his poorly-maintained gear. "I'm not strong enough for a warbow," he admitted. "This hunting bow could never compare to the works of art your people carry. And my rusted sword is a crude thing compared to the blades of Lorien."

"Yet you stand," Ordulus said, his voice now harder. "When two face the same danger, the one with lesser ability or inferior weapons shows the greater courage. Do not be ashamed."

He paused, and for a moment, the otherworldly savior seemed hesitant. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen." Leobane resisted the childish urge to add "and a half."

The elf's expression softened. "Though the youngest of my company, I am still seven times your age," Ordulus said. "Yet today will mark my first true battle. Do not fret that you would be unable to draw a bow like mine. I could not have drawn yours before my thirtieth year. At fourteen, I was but half your height."

The young elf gave one final look to all of the gathered boys, briefly meeting the eyes of each. And each now stood a little straighter. "My company has come because we value mankind. Mortal you may be, but you deserve every breath you draw. You are the Secondborn. Children of Iluvatar. You sprang from the Songs of the Ainur, the same as we. Be bold. Choose valor. Together, we will buy your people another tomorrow."

With that, Ordulus turned, falling in at the rear of the elf column. He marched toward the Deeping Wall. This night, immortal lives would be risked on behalf of Rohan.

This is how I'll stand. This is how I won't run away. I won't think of my own weakness, I won't turn my thoughts to fear. I'll watch these glorious beings in action. I'll relish this chance to stand in their shadow.

Deor watched the elves taking their positions, and he tried to hide his annoyance. With them setting up to rain arrows on the enemy, I suppose they'll take credit for the victory. It frustrated him, since he knew they could win without help. Then he sighed. At least they've cheered everyone up. Everybody thought we were doomed, but maybe now they won't be so scared.

Orders continued to ring out, and most of the men moved into position. Half of the elves lined the Deeping Wall, and the rest formed up in the Bailey. With the rate of fire so many elves could manage, the valley would be a killing field. This fight really wouldn't last long.

The human warriors massed in the Hornburg. Men lined both of its circular walls, while still more formed up inside the gates. For the moment, the twelve youngest recruits gathered at the small staircase that led up toward the doorway to the Great Hall. If enemies managed to get inside, that stair would mark the final point of defense before falling back indoors. But such a thing was unthinkable. Even if all the armies of Morder marched alongside Saurman's troops, Deor couldn't imagine them getting that far.

"Do you think…" Widmud began fearfully. "Will it be alright now?"

Deor turned to his youngest friend. Widmud was smiling, sort of, but it was clearly forced. "Of course it'll be alright," Deor said gently. "Our King is a great man. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli are champions of the highest order. And now warriors of a bygone age stand with us. I almost pity the Uruk-hai. They'll break on this fortress, without help or hope, and the only survivors will be those who run away."

Eothain, the young Westfold hero, looked deeply uncertain, but that could be forgiven. After all, his village had been burned by a far smaller force than what they'd soon face. But Eothain also saw the fear in the others. Thankfully, he chose to build on Deor's words, rather than tear them down. "The enemy won't expect the strength we've gathered here. Atop these walls, each of us will count as ten."

Widmud and Balgar still looked afraid, and Deor tried another approach. "We probably won't have to fight at all. With so many elves and heroes on the walls, no uruk could get close. They'll beat the enemy back, everything will turn out alright in the end, and we'll still have been part of it."

Brytta, Widmud's older brother spoke up, his voice a mix of hope and worry. "If winning will be easy… why arm us at all? I mean, if they don't expect us to fight…"

"The King knows we'll inspire the grown-ups," Deor said. "Most of our people are safe and hiding, but we're where all the bigger men can see us. We'll remind them what they're fighting for, so they won't be afraid."

Gleowine, Fastred's ten-year-old cousin, didn't sound convinced. "Wouldn't these elves have done that, though? If we were gonna win already, getting so much help should be more than enough. Why hasn't the King sent us back where it's safe?"

Fourteen-year-old Grimleth spoke for the first time. He was heavy, and stoic, and his imposing presence demanded attention from the others. "These questions aren't important. We chose to help. That's all that matters."

Everyone fell silent, but not for very long. Herubane said, "But either we're needed, or we're not. Either the King should send us to safety, or he needs us to fight."

"Of course we'll need to fight," Grimleth said quietly, looking down. "All Isenguard is unleashed. Saruman wants everyone dead. Tonight won't be easy. But we promised. We chose to help. Our families are behind us, and our friends are in front of us. No matter what we're ordered to do, we'll do it." He looked back up, meeting Herubane's eyes. "It's the only right thing."

This time, the silence lasted far longer. Even the old men nearby paused their conversation, reflecting on the direct, earnest words. Eventually, Herubane slowly nodded.

"Fendor's coming this way," Haleth said at last. "Very soon, we'll get our orders, and we'll probably be split up. This could be the last chance to talk before… before we win."

While most of them had their final quiet words with each other, Deor quickly gathered his closest friends. The Readers formed a small circle, though suddenly they couldn't think of anything to say. Each met the eyes of the others, and tried to look brave. Only Deor really succeeded.

They then looked to Leobane, their lord of words, to help them break the silence. The young scholar had never looked more noble, his slight frame hidden under the armor of a grown man. "Tonight, we'll be in a story worthy of song. We will get through this. And tomorrow night, we'll gather around a fire… and I'll read to you."

"Really?" Widmud asked, perking up. "I didn't know you brought any books!"

"Well, I didn't get to bring books," Leobane admitted, "but I hid all of my own work in grandma's supplies. You've heard it all before, but I hope it's good enough…"

"Of course it is!" Fastred said. "We'll be happy for anything."

Deor blinked. So much for our game. He just came out and admitted he's been adding to the stories. We won't be able to pretend anymore. But… I guess he always tried not to change things too much.

"It's time," Haleth said softly, nodding toward Fendor. "Time to set aside tales till tomorrow. Time to be men."

Deor's father, tall and strong, came to a stop, and the twelve little men lined up. "I bring word from Gamling," Fendor said. "Many of you will wait here in reserve, along with the twenty oldest recruits. If any of our troops need arrows, runners, or support, you'll be sent for. But some of you have specific orders from the start."

"We'll obey any command," Haleth said softly. "We're all ready."

Fendor nodded. "Haleth, you're the only one of your group strong enough to have been issued a warbow. Head up to the outer Hornburg wall, to the right of the gate, nearer the Bailey. Look for Aldor the scholar."

Deor envied Haleth that honor. He was almost strong enough for a warbow himself, but he'd chosen sword and shield without thinking far enough ahead. He considered asking if there was an extra hunting bow, but Fastred spoke up first.

"Can I go too?"

Haleth stopped in his tracks, having taken only three steps toward the stairs.

"Are you jesting, Fastred?" Fendor asked. "You can't possibly draw a bow."

"I know," Fastred said, "but I won't take up much space. I can carry messages, or fetch arrows."

Deor realized what this was about, but he kept silent for his friend's sake. Fastred had always looked up to Haleth. If Haleth's facing danger, Fastred wants to be with him.

"Very well, lad," Fendor said gravely. "Do your mother proud, and keep your head down."

Haleth continued on his way, now with Fastred close behind. Deor guessed who would speak up next, and he wasn't wrong.

"Can I go with them?" Gleowine asked, his voice quavering. "My cousin's only eight, and I don't want him to be–"

"Fastred is already one more than I was ordered to send," Fendor said. "But if you're willing to stand a little closer to the action, you can go with Leobane. He's assigned to the top of the Bailey stairs. Don't dawdle, you two, it's a long way."

Leobane looked surprised at his posting, but he did have a bow, even if it wasn't powerful. "Well, I'll be able to see the elves," he said. Though he still looked a bit scared, his smile seemed genuine. "Come on, Gleowine." They both took the stair to the inner Hornburg wall, taking the winding path that would pass through a small outcrop of the mountain and end at the Bailey stair.

"That's nearly all, for now," Fendor said, as the two soldiers marched toward their post. "Deor, my boy, follow me. Grimleth too. I'm posted inside the main gate, and you'll wait at the rear of the defenders there."

Deor eagerly jogged toward his post, quickly overtaking his father. I won't actually get to fight unless the enemy breaches the gate, and that's just not happening. Even so, it's an honorable role. While others are safe out of reach on the walls, I'm with the gate guard!

Just before rounding the corner to the long stair leading to the gate, Deor took one last look over his shoulder. Grimleth had picked up the pace, hefting his spear and trying to keep up. Beyond him, he saw the six youngest soldiers who remained at the final stair. Widmud's the only Reader in the reserve. He might have felt lonely if it weren't for Brytta. The brothers can keep each other company.

Confident and spry, he took the wide curved stair at a full run. He reached his post, at the back of a large company of men just inside the main gate. Though this battle is as good as won, I'm thrilled we all get to be part of it!

They're all so much closer to danger than me… I'm the only Reader who's safe…

Widmud already missed his friends. On a night like tonight, with the full might of Saruman coming for them, he might never see them again. He reached out quietly, taking his brother's hand, and Brytta squeezed.

Young Balgar looked far less certain now that half the boys had left. Ceorl, who wasn't much older, did a better job of hiding his worry. But Herubane looked ashamed. "I… I should have gone with Leobane," he whispered. "I have a bow too, and my cousin's younger than–"

"Don't fret lad." That was Frealing, one of the twenty old men assigned to the reserve. "It's good to have one archer here. When the enemy reaches the walltop, you'll be well-placed to—"

"They can't reach the walltop!" Brytta's words startled Widmud, and he gripped his hand still tighter.

Little Balgar spoke up. "Deor said… this fortress can't fall. They won't… they couldn't…"

"Hush a moment," Eothain said, and he commanded enough respect for all to obey. "Do you feel that?"

All went quiet, and soon Widmud felt it. A slight tremor in the stone. And then he heard it. A low rumble. He turned his attention to the men on the walltop, and it was clear they saw the source.

"The enemy draws near," old Frealing said quietly. "At least we won't need to wait all night. No good in gett'n tired out before we start."

With each passing moment, the rumble drew nearer. Soon, it resolved into the sound of thousands marching.

"Courage, lads," Frealing said. "Just by bein' here, you prove you have it in ya."

Eleven-year-old Ceorl, the oldest of the stableboys who worked with Widmud, rarely spoke. But now, he asked, "What happens… if they get in?"

Widmud saw all of the old men shift at that. They moved a little closer to the boys, held their weapons a little more steadily. They shared looks among themselves, and nodded resolutely.

Most of the boys turned to Eothain, their anchor, their core of courage. He had seen battle, he had saved his sister, he had spoken with their King. Widmud saw fear in his eyes. But Eothain knew what he was to them, and he soon hid that fear for their sakes. "It would be really hard for the enemy to get in," Eothain said carefully, "but… even so… We should be ready. It's alright to hope that we won't have to fight. But stay brave, stay strong… just in case..."

Frealing put a hand on Eothain's shoulder, and nodded with approval. To Widmud though, the old men looked sad.

Then, with flashes and thunder, it began to rain.

So many… There are so many…

Fastred fidgeted, constantly shifting his grip on his axe, as he watched the burning tide approach. He stood behind Haleth and Aldor, able to see between them and through a narrow gap in the crenelated battlements. In the distance, the ravine shone with a thousand torches. The vast army of Isenguard flowed toward them, a slow-moving river, bristling with thousands of pikes. The small stream, the scattered boulders, the occasional low hill, all of these slowly disappeared. The rising sea of uruk-hai swallowed them up.

The rain pounded down, heavy and cold, and little Fastred started to shiver. His grip weakened, his feet started to sway, and he wished he hadn't volunteered to stand on the walltop.

Haleth turned ever so slightly, and whispered, "I'm glad you're here with me, Fastred. Be strong."

And just like that, he was. Eight years old, a small child surrounded by men, Fastred nevertheless felt strong in that moment. His hands stopped shaking, and he stood tall. An ocean of death slowly rose toward them, but for now, he would not fear. Tonight would be his chance to matter. For the first time, he would do something noble. Leobane's stories were filled with ordinary men rising to do extraordinary things. Haleth's favorite stories included mere children who fought for each other. It's my turn. Everyone else on this wall is older and stronger than me, but I still belong here. When the enemy reaches this walltop, I'll fight.

One rock formation was large enough to rise above the flowing river of armor, pikes, and siege equipment. A single uruk took position at its top. "If that one ever comes in range," Fastred whispered to Haleth, "be sure to aim for it." He was rewarded with a quiet chuckle from his friend, and a nod from Aldor the scholar.

The uruk commander raised its sword high, and with a roar brought the vast column to a stop. For a moment, which felt like an eternity, the armies squared off. Five hundred elves and three hundred men held the fortress, while at least ten thousand uruk-hai filled the entire valley before them.

Then, the silence broke. The vast dark host began to chant. First one voice, then hundreds, then thousands. Their pikes pounded the ground in unison, again and again, making their earlier marching seem quiet and tame.

Without needing a command, the human archers drew. Haleth, Aldor, and all the others took aim, waiting for the order. Haleth's trained arms held firm, his bow stayed steady, though Aldor began to falter.

Time seemed to slow for Fastred. His fear did not return, but his thoughts began to stray. He felt the rain washing over him. He felt the cold of the night air. Looking inward, he noted his heart beating swiftly. Despite the cold, his body stayed warm. He contemplated the simple, satisfying sensation of air entering his lungs, sustaining his life, and flowing back out. That young elf was right. Life is a gift. A simple miracle that nothing can match. I live. I breathe. I think. I feel. If I just choose, my body moves. He raised his axe, examining its edge. And all of this could stop soon. By morning, I may lie cold and still, never to move again…

He looked to either side, at the men young and old. Every single one of them deserved life, same as him. They all had people they loved, dreams they held dear. And that roaring sea of foes would do everything to snuff them out.

Life is precious, but some things matter more. We chose to put our families first. And the elves won't let us stand alone.

Time returned to normal, and he focused again on the foe. I'm glad I'm here.

The chanting intensified, the inhuman voices roaring as one. Fastred leaned slightly forward, edging between Haleth and Aldor, until he could see the elven lines on the Deeping Wall. Stoic and cold, the soldiers of Lorien stood silent, outwardly fearless.

Then Aldor's grip slipped.

The arrow shot out, straight and true, and caught a distant uruk-hai in the neck.

The chanting stopped dead. The pikes stopped pounding.

Lord Aragorn shouted something in elvish. Maybe he thought that only an elf could have made such a brilliant shot.

For a brief moment, all went silent.

Then the stricken uruk toppled to the ground.

The animal voices rose yet again, no longer as one, but with far deeper malice. The roars, the howls, the shrieks of rage, it beat against Fastred's courage like hammers at a shield.

"Well aimed, scholar," Haleth said, as uruk roars reached a wild crescendo. "No matter what else happens, you struck the first blow, and you struck well. Leobane would be proud."

The pounding of thousands of feet brought the darkness toward the wall. The raging tide surged forward, and the earth throbbed.

It had begun.

From the Author:

Brace your heart, or turn aside. It is a grim and evil night.

If personal trauma in your life, or that of a loved one, has your heart currently raw and wounded, there is no shame in puting this story aside for now.

If, though, you choose to press on, to stay with them till their last breath, then you are allowing them to bravely face their hardest moments. And their best.

First though, please listen to the music track, "The Hornburg" by Howard Shore. From beginning to end, it encapsulates the heart of this tale, and much of its purpose.