Chapter 3: Soldiers

It's starting! Deor couldn't resist the urge to watch, and he dashed from his post near the gate. The enemy couldn't get through it anyway, and he could hurry back at any time. He reached the top of the stair, turned left, and squeezed between the men packing the outer wall of the Hornburg. Totally unafraid, he stepped up onto a barrel for the best possible view.

The enemy host blanketed the valley. Their torches and pikes were beyond count. They surged toward the wall, an endless river of hatred. For just a moment, Deor's confidence wavered.

Then Lord Aragorn shouted over the sound of pounding feet. "Tangado halad!"

In flawless unison, the hundreds of elves lining the Deeping Wall nocked arrows and drew. Their bearing, their form, filled Deor with awe.

"Leithio i philinn!"

Every bowstring twanged as one. Hundreds of shafts cut through the rain, and charging uruks fell. Their shoddy armor, likely mere iron, could not withstand such powerful shots.

At Gamling's relayed command, the men fired. Only the trained soldiers could match the draw weight of the elves, but they all had the advantage of greater elevation. From high atop the Hornburg walls, their arrows stabbed out. Haleth and Aldor were part of that volley…

Uruks fell as arrows struck home. Not all of these shots hit hard enough to matter, but enough did to make Deor proud. Some charging uruk-hai stumbled and staggered as they stepped over their fallen, but still the host came on.

Aragorn turned toward the elves formed up behind him in the Bailey, and he shouted a command. This tactic never could have worked with human archers. Firing up over a wall, which was covered in their allies, toward an army they couldn't see, it would have been too dangerous and random. But these were elves of Lorien, and the enemy were packed too tight to miss. Arrows flew by the hundred, passing just over the heads of the elves on the wall, arcing down into the massed uruk-hai.

The enemy front rank died again and again, as ever more uruks sprang over their dead. Had humans made up this charge, the courage required would have been absolute. Everyone near the front would have known that they would die. But Leobane's stories proved orcs weren't actually brave.

The very greatest courage requires love, which no corruptions of Morgoth can understand.

Rather, their bloodlust, their hate, their desire to rend and maim, drowned out all other thought. The uruks out front didn't realize they were doomed, they didn't face death with courage, they simply wanted to cause pain.

As ever in battle against such creatures, our job is to break that focus. If enough uruks die, if they don't get the satisfaction of killing in return, their bloodlust will waver. They'll wake up to their danger, and then the cowards will break!

And the defenders were slaughtering them. Every man and elf now fired at their own time, sending arrows into the mob as fast as they could. Surely, surely, this would be enough. Any second now, and the enemy troops near the front–

Hundreds of uruks returned fire.

Deor staggered back at the sight, the nearest soldier stopping him from falling.

High-powered crossbows punched bolts through armor and bodies alike. The elite, deadly elven archers could bleed like mortal men. Warriors toppled back from the walltop, and the elven formation began to thin.

And then the ladders rose.

Deor's eyes widened at the sight. So many ladders, sturdy and tall, swung up toward the defenders. Incredibly, each ladder was crowned with an uruk. And these were different from the rest. Even larger, fully deranged, and without armor, the blood-crazed beasts howled as the ladders lifted them toward their prey. At a shout from Aragorn, the elves on the wall drew their swords, and then battle was joined.

In their exposed position, some of the enemy berserkers were filled with arrows from the Bailey, or were struck down just as their ladders fell into place. But many others leapt to the walltop. Their horrifically long swords swung with terrible force, and elves died. Numerous gaps opened up all along the line as this first wave of uruks dealt disproportionate death. With centuries of discipline, the undaunted elves counterattacked, their swords whirling, spinning, and cutting them down. But those demented shock troops had served Saruman's purpose. Many more foes had now crested the ladders, and the battle on the wall intensified.

Stunned, bewildered, and almost dizzy, Deor looked again upon the enemy host. Despite so many losses, that vast sea appeared undiminished, while the elves on the wall fought and died.

For the first time that night, Deor felt fear.

No… NO! This can't be happening!

Leobane reeled, overwhelmed by the horror of what he witnessed. The uruks came in such numbers, and struck with such hate, that even the elves could not sweep them from the walls. Throughout their long history, elvenkind had always possessed skills no others could match. Their senses, reactions, agility, and precision far exceeded that of men. Against normal orcs, one elf could easily slay a dozen.

But these were uruk-hai.

In the packed confines of the walltop, the elves couldn't use their agility to the full. Forced into tight quarters, their advantages meant so much less. When some uruks lost their weapons and resorted to grapples, it became clear their brute strength greatly surpassed that of elves. More than one ageless warrior was thrown from the walltop to the eager pikes below.

Then the rain stopped.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun. Despite the horror of the battle itself, this detail still stuck in Leobane's mind. The rain started just before the battle began. During the opening charge, our archers had to contend with damp bowstrings and wet fletching… But now, with close combat joined, and so many uruks climbing ladders…

A horrible realization sank in as he remembered the stories of Saruman's powers. The very weather is turned against us, and the enemy is without number… Elite elves are matched by raw, brute strength, and the mightiest of the Istari commands the skies…

Leobane's heart seized for a moment when an Uruk-hai grabbed the shoulder of young Ordulus, but Haldir cut the brute down before it could throw him from the wall.

With invincible courage, the elves fought on, risking their limitless lives, and all too often losing them. Enemies still streamed up the ladders, and the defenders' arrows would not last forever.

We're done for… Leobane felt his heart growing cold. If the enemy had only half these numbers, we still couldn't kill enough… If elves can't break them, there's no hope…

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli fought like tempests. The champions destroyed uruks everywhere they went. But they were only three. For every foe stricken down or thrown from the wall, another would reach the walltop. Any ladder cast down soon rose again. And crossbows continued to fire. More than a hundred elves lay dead, and the enemy assault ground on, merciless and unflinching.

It won't be enough. They'll get through. All the defenders will fall. The uruks will reach the caves. Our families, everyone we're fighting for, they won't be able to escape. Grandma Heruhild… little Leowell… they'll all have to fight… against this.

Shouts, screams, and the clashing of steel and iron threatened to break Widmud's fragile nerves. Somehow, not being able to see the fighting made it all worse. From their post at the final stairway, the six boys and twenty old men of the reserve stood in silence, while the noise washed over them. The inner Hornburg wall was higher than the outer, so Widmud couldn't even see where Haleth and Fastred fought. Men on the inner wall fired their bows continuously, but he couldn't tell if it had any effect. The roaring of the enemy was constant, and the sounds of fighting on the Deeping Wall were brutal and fierce.

"Stay true, everyone," Eothain said, his voice calm, but his knuckles white where he gripped his spear. "We've likely killed thousands by now."

Brytta's hand tightened on Widmud's, and the brothers' eyes met. Widmud saw such fear there, but Brytta tried to smile. "No matter what happens, I'll protect you. Stay near me, and never give up."

At least the rain had stopped. Widmud's helmet had kept his head dry, but it also made it hard to see. Sized for a man, the helm made even turning his head a bit tiring. The wet stone slowly began to dry, as the cold wind howled. This is like one of Leobane's stories. True courage can't be easy. Helm Hammerhand fought in blizzards, the People of Haleth held out in dark forests, and Frealaf Hildeson stormed Isenguard. They suffered. They strove. I can too.

A soldier out of Widmud's sight shouted, "Many archers have fallen, and arrows run low!"

Erkendor, posted next to the King, turned toward the reserves. "Lad with the bow: up to the wall! Half of you men, resupply the archers! And gather the quivers of the fallen!"

Looking both frightened and proud, Herubane ran toward the walltop. The old men quickly settled on which ten would go. Led by Frealing, the volunteers gathered up arrows and other supplies.

Just five boys and ten old men remained at the final stair. My turn will come soon, Widmud knew. Please… please… just let me be brave when the time comes.

Haleth and Aldor fired again and again, and Fastred could see their strength slowly wane. Each poured all they had into every shot. Aldor was old, and soon he slowed, though his form remained solid. By now, Haleth certainly felt tired, but his rate of fire stayed high. Pain slowly etched into his face. He pushed himself hard. Arrow after arrow sprang from his bow. Fastred watched closely, but with so many shafts flying it was impossible to tell who was responsible for the hits that landed.

And in reply, uruk crossbowman fired.

A shaft passed near Aldor's face. The old man flinched, and for a moment he wavered, but then he nocked, drew, and fired.

An arrow grazed Haleth, opening his cheek. A soft hiss escaped the boy's lips, but he didn't falter. He just kept shooting.

I could never measure up to Haleth, Fastred realized. But I suppose I don't need to. His friend was so brave, so strong, if Fastred could be half the man he was, that would be plenty.

Then, an arrow clattered off the stone in front of him. He blinked, realizing how close he'd just come to death. One inch to the side, and I'd have been hit. He looked down at his small body, and the shoddy chainmail he wore. This old armor wouldn't have been enough. He'd been inhaling deeply at that moment. The bolt probably would have entered a lung. And that would've weakened the others. Every gasp, every sob, would have torn at Haleth's will.

He looked again at Haleth, who ignored the blood flowing from his cheek.

Fastred set his jaw.

If I'm hit, I'll keep quiet. No matter what.

More arrows flew in both directions. Uruks on the ground fell, sometimes howling. Another arrow clattered off the wall, so close Fastred could see the splinters, and his heart pounded ever harder. Three positions to the right, an old man fell screaming. An arrow had pierced him, and he thrashed on the stone floor. Mercifully, he soon fell still. The shot must have struck his heart.

I won't be able to fight unless the enemy tops this wall. And if that happens, all may be lost. So… I suppose I should hope I don't get to fight after all.

But then… what good was I?

Fastred turned, trying to ignore the constant screams, cries, and clashing metal. Herubane, the cousin of his dear friend Leobane, now stood behind him, and he started firing arrows over Fastred's head.

Fastred nodded. If an arrow finally passed through the gap, Herubane could keep shooting. Fastred wouldn't make a sound, and he'd try not to fall. Maybe he'd even stop a second shot.

He was getting lightheaded. He leaned on the long handle of his axe, hoping it wouldn't be needed for anything more. He watched the battle unfold. He focussed on his breathing, on the beating of his heart, thankful for every second they all lived.

Off to his left, Fastred saw a new danger. A large force of uruk-hai now marched up the causeway, heading toward the main gate. They held their shields up and forward, forming a wall of iron that deflected shots from above. Fastred didn't know what they hoped to do, unless they had hidden axes for chopping at the door.

But clearly, they couldn't be ignored. Uruk swords were so big and heavy, even these might eventually chip through. At an order from Aragorn, numerous elves on the Deeping Wall turned, and a withering hail of arrows now slashed in at an angle. Uruks fell from the side of the formation, toppling off the stone ramp. Following their lead, Aldor, Haleth, and Herubane started firing in that direction too, though the angle was very tight.

Yet another arrow shattered against the stone, so close that a splinter pierced Fastred's neck. Gritting his teeth, he pulled it free and looked at it closely. It hadn't been enough to bleed. Getting more dizzy, he leaned against the wall to keep his balance.

He now blocked the gap completely. For the moment, it was the best he could do.

It also made it easier for him to see.

More shouts from Lord Aragorn caught his attention, and he turned toward the sound. An uruk berserker ran toward the Deeping Wall, carrying an oversized torch of curious design. Brilliant sparks cascaded from the strange device, and all of the uruks near it chanted and howled. First one arrow, and then another, stabbed into the torchbearer's body, but the monster did not fall. It threw itself into the small culvert at the base of the wall.

For an instant, night became day.

A deafening burst of thunder beat upon Fastred's senses, and he toppled to one side as the earth heaved. Even as he did so, he hugged his axe close, ensuring that it wouldn't hurt anyone. He jumped back to his feet, and what he saw felt unreal. Stone, earth, and bodies flew high into the air. A stretch of the Deeping Wall no longer existed. Elves, uruks, and debris soon rained down, and all hope of victory hung in the balance.

Sister mustn't see this.

An elf tumbled past Fastred's field of view, crashing in ruin at the base of the wall. A small rock bounced off Fastred's helmet, and nearby larger chunks of stone crashed down. Horrible screams started off to his left, where a young man's leg had been crushed by falling rubble. Nearby soldiers quickly heaved the rocks aside, the youth struggled to contain his cries, and several old men rushed him back toward the caves.

Mum… must not… face this.

The uruk host surged in.

Like water flowing through a broken dam, the enemy entered the breach. The Lord Aragorn had been near enough to the blast to have fallen from the wall.

Fastred gripped his axe with all his strength as he watched the uruk vanguard draw closer to Gondor's heir, who lay silent and still.

Please. Please get back up. We can't do this without you.

Gamling, the King's attendant, shouted out orders, and the last of the reserves now rushed toward the walltop. Fastred tore his eyes away from Aragorn, seeing Widmud in the midst of the reserves. The boys and oldest men snatched up rocks and debris before heading toward the stairs.

But Fastred also saw that Herubane was no longer standing behind him. The boy had been there, firing over his head, only moments ago. Had he fled? Fastred couldn't blame him, not when blasting fire could undo stone, and all the world tried to end.

And then, to Fastred's left, a new terror arrived. A ripple passed through the uruk formation on the causeway. Monsters on either side lost balance and fell, as something passed swiftly through their midst. And then the front of their formation opened. A battering ram, crowned in spiked iron, burst into view.

"Brace the gate!" the King shouted. Behind and below Fastred, the gate guard obeyed. The whole group surged forward, leaning against the gate, and then the ram struck home. The impact knocked the men back, but they immediately surged forward again. Fastred saw Deor round a corner, running from the walltop to join the gate guards. With Grimleth at his side, Fastred's friend lent his strength to the men ahead of him. Another blow from the ram, and again the men rocked back, but this time they regained their footing more quickly.

Above the gate, wooden hatches were raised, and men rained death down on the attackers. Spears and javelins fell among the foe. But every time a ram-bearer fell, a nearby uruk would take its place. And ever more swarmed up the causeway, reinforcing the attack.

Fastred caught sight of Widmud, now among the defenders there. He no longer wore his oversized helmet, and he struggled to throw rocks over the side. While arrows whistled past, Fastred's friend bravely aided the defense.

Widmud's the reason I volunteered. I should be helping more than this. If I—

Shouts and screams to the right brought Fastred around yet again. A growing force of uruk pikemen had entered the Bailey, fighting against the current of the small stream flowing through the breach. Aragorn had started to stir, but he had not yet regained his feet, and the enemy was almost in reach. With a desperate call from Fastred, the nearest archers redirected their aim. Haleth, Aldor, and a dozen others sent arrows toward the breach. Several uruks fell, but not those closest to Aragorn, for no one dared aim too near him.

Leaping down from the Deeping Wall, Gimli the dwarf came to his friend's aid. Though not much taller than Fastred, he was stronger than any man of Rohan. For a few tense heartbeats, Gimli fought alone against the enemy host.

Aragorn finally managed to rise to his feet, staggering, taking in the breach and the plight of his friend.

Gimli's axe whirled and struck, chopping down one uruk and knocking another from its feet. Then a mighty blow from an uruk swordsman hurled the heavily-armored dwarf to the ground.

But Aragorn had regained his senses, and now he shouted an order. A salvo stabbed forth from the elves that filled the Bailey, punching into the uruk vanguard. But many of those elves were now low on arrows.

Fastred's eyes widened as Aragorn shouted a final order… and charged.

Half of the elves on the ground followed him, drawing swords. The uruks marching through the breach came to a halt, bracing their pikes and shrieking with anticipation. A bristling forest of bitter iron now faced forward, but the charge did not falter. Lord Aragorn knocked aside five pikes with skill that could barely be believed. But to either side of him, heroic elves died. While some managed to spin between pikes, others met their end. Without wavering, these drove themselves upon the enemy line, dying that those behind might live.

All of Leobane's favorite stories crashed upon Fastred in that moment. Most of these elves were likely hundreds of years old, perhaps thousands. So many human lifetimes, learning, growing, making so many friends. Only to die here.

But the survivors drove the assault home. The forward lines of uruks fell under continuous whirling strikes of curved elven swords. And then their greatest champion entered the fray.

Fastred blinked, disbelieving, as Prince Legolas threw an uruk shield ahead of himself to slide down the nearest stairs. With poise and balance Fastred couldn't even comprehend, the elf sprang onto that shield and kept his footing. He fired into the uruk-hai as he descended, surefooted and steady, until he reached the bottom stair. With a kick, he sent the spiked uruk shield stabbing forward with lethal force. Then he drew a knife and began the slaughter up close.

Gimli the dwarf regained his feet, and soon all three champions were fully committed, forming the forefront of the elven assault. Striking down the foe, beating back the raging tide.

I won't just watch, Fastred decided. If Widmud can kill uruks with nothing but stones, I can too!

Leaning his axe against the wall, he left Aldor and Haleth and sprinted toward the nearest staircase. Barrels of full quivers stood at their base, and fetching those could be a huge help.

But just as he reached the bottom step, he found Herubane.

He hadn't run away.

Leobane's cousin lay on his side. His helm was caved in. Broken stone lay all around him, and one slab of rock was stained red.

It must have thrown him from the walltop... Herubane had been standing right behind him, but Fastred hadn't even noticed.

For a time, he stood there. Silent. Sad. Unable to look away.

Then, he knew. He understood.

That'll be me soon. My end may not come from falling stone… but it will come.

It might be an arrow. It might be a sword. It might even be feet, stamping until he broke.

But I won't shy away. I'm doing the best thing I've ever done.

Soon, it would be over. Including all the fear, and any pain that lay ahead.

Breath would cease. Heart would stop. Quiet, cold, still.

But I chose to help. And if there's a chance mum and sister won't have to fight, I'll do anything.

And afterward, far stronger men would keep fighting.

Swiftly, the woodsman's son snatched up quivers of arrows. He grabbed more and more, tossing each strap over his head, until he must have looked foolish. Then he bent down and heaved, lifting the bloody slab of stone. With every ounce of strength he had, the eight-year-old soldier staggered up the stairs, bearing arrows for his allies, and vengeance to drop down upon his foes.

Panic clawed at Deor's resolve, and his heart pounded. When the Deeping Wall had blown apart, shattered by Saruman's devilry, his entire world had come crashing down. Then the King had ordered the gates braced. More from fear than duty, he'd fled the walltop, returning to his official post. He'd passed poor Herubane, lying dead on the stairs, smitten by falling rock, and several men who had been shot off the wall.

Now, the gate shook.

Along with Grimleth and all the men, Deor now tried to help. They all threw their weight into the gate, striving against the strength of the uruks with the battering ram. Every hit sent a shock of pain through them, but no one backed down.

It's all coming apart, Deor realized. This night, Helm's Deep will finally fall... The wall is breached. More than half of the elves are dead. And the gate is weakening.

The King shouted from the walltop behind them, ordering Aragorn to pull the elves back. While they held the Deeping Wall and Bailey, slaughtering uruks by the hundred, there was hope… but now…

The timbers growned, and splinters tore free from the gate. The men at the front of the formation must be suffering terribly, so much closer to the point of impact. And every time the ram hit, they flung themselves back against the door. Deor saw that his father had made his way forward. Fendor now stood near the front, shouting encouragement, reaching over a shorter warrior to push against the gate directly.

Then, through the struggle and pain and cries, Deor heard a shout. "Haldir has fallen! The leader of the elves is no more!"

Poor Leobane… He was so happy when the elves arrived. He even got to speak with Haldir's son. And Leobane was far wiser than me. I thought we didn't need help, but he knew better. And now, those brave elves are dying, and it still might not be enough…

The next impact split timbers. The spiked iron head of the battering ram crashed through, impaling the heroic soldier who had stayed front and center this whole time. As the ram withdrew, that poor man was smashed back into the gate.

And then uruk crossbowman sprang forward. Arrows stabbed into the crowd, and soldiers fell.

One final shot fired.

The bolt took his father in the chest.

His remaining hope died in that instant. As Fendor fell back, striking hard stone, all sensation seemed to leave Deor's body.

This fortress could not fall. It was falling. They should be safe here. They were dying. All the songs, all the stories, had not prepared Deor for a disaster this profound. Despite all they could give, ruin drew ever closer.

Grimleth, the pudgy but fearless boy at his side, shouted something, trying to snap Deor out of it. But for the moment, Deor couldn't move.

Archers returned fire through the gap in the gate, driving the uruks back. Despite the deadly peril, the nearest men surged forward. Giving up on him, Grimleth charged too, spear held high.

Then the King arrived. Theoden, Gamling, and Erkendor charged through the crowd, their armor shining, their weapons gleaming. An uruk reached through the gap in the gate, getting a grip on Gamling's throat, but the King struck. Herugrim, his ancestral blade, sang as it cleanly severed the uruk's arm. Gasping, Gamling staggered backward. Then a pike drove into the King's shoulder.

Cold, numb, and shaking, Deor staggered forward. He reached his fallen father, and knelt down. The arrow had hit a lung.

Seizing a spear, the King put it through the throat of the uruk that had wounded him. Tearing free of the pike, the King fell back. With Gamling at his side, Theoden made way for his men. A surge of soldiers charged past him, with young Grimleth in their midst. Shouting a challenge, they smashed into the foe. Soon, most of the uruks that had crawled inside were dead, and both sides stabbed at each other through the breach in the door. Men and uruks died, and those behind pressed forward.

Fendor's eyes fluttered open. Disoriented, weak, and weary, the soldier briefly looked only confused. But then his eyes fixed on his son.

Deor's tears flowed freely as he looked down at his father. Fendor reached up, brushing a tear from his son's face. He wanted to speak, that much was clear. The man struggled, and fought, and gritted his teeth. But no words came. So instead, with the last of his strength, Fendor drew Deor's sword, and placed the hilt in his son's quivering hand.

Fendor's eyes slid closed.

While maintaining a shaky grip on the sword, Deor still felt lost and dazed. The world around him swirled and flowed.

Lord Aragorn arrived, with the dwarf at his side, and together they joined the defenders. The King said… something… and Aragorn answered. But Deor's thoughts were muddled.

He knelt on the ground, next to his father, while everything shifted around him. Soldiers fought and struck and fell. An old man knelt low, and drove a dagger up under an uruk's arm. A distant part of Deor's mind approved. That man might be too weak to stab through armor, but this tactic let him reach the heart.

Then a different uruk grabbed the old man's arm and dragged him through the breach.

The Elite Rider Erkendor, who had been at the King's side since the start of the battle, shouted orders that Deor couldn't really hear. Men surged, and strove, trying to obey whatever he'd said. Then two arrows struck the great man, who fell to the stone and did not rise.

Slowly, with his free hand, Deor dragged his father away from the fighting. It grew more difficult when he reached the curving stairs.

A high cry of pain caught his attention, and he looked up in time to see Grimleth stagger. The older boy paused, looking down at the arrow lodged in his right elbow.

Then Grimleth switched his spear to his left hand and charged back into the battle.

I'm so sorry, Father.

Deor rose to his feet.

I'm sorry I stopped helping.

He unslung his shield.

It will not happen again.

Bracing his heart, he charged.

Fingers growing raw, Widmud struggled to raise a rock high, then he hurled it over the side. He stood far above the gate, and the rock crashed down on the uruk-hai storming the causeway. The final stair leading to the Great Hall now stood abandoned, for every last man and boy had been called forward. A bit to his left, Balgar, Eothain, Ceorl, and his brother Brytta fought alongside old men of the reserve. They threw rocks, broken swords, and the helmets of dead soldiers. Widmud had thrown his own oversized helm early on, since it had made it too hard to see.

Far to his right, he saw Haleth and Aldor firing away, while Fastred threw rocks over the side. And behind him, down below, Deor and Grimleth fought among the men at the gate.

A commotion from the causeway drew Widmud's eyes back toward the enemy. Something impossible, and wonderful, greeted his eyes.

Aragorn and Gimli were outside the fortress, fighting alone on the causeway, and enemies died all around them. Axe and sword rose and fell, swung and hacked, and soon the area was clear. For the first time, the assault on the gate relented, and men rushed forward with timbers. Widmud couldn't see them work, but he heard their frantic hurry.

And then, out in the midst of the enemy host, a new horror loomed.

Numerous siege engines were now ready. Massive crossbows, they began firing huge grappling hooks, each trailing thick rope. These sailed over the walltop, and then were pulled taut by countless uruk-hai far below.

Soon, three enormous ladders rose into the air, with a fourth still making ready. Dozens of uruk-hai clung to each of them. It looked like they would touch down on either side of the position where Fastred, Haleth, and Aldor fought. Widmud began to shout a warning… but then Aldor died.

A crossbow bolt struck the old scholar in the forehead, and he toppled backward without a sound. Haleth and Fastred each spared one look for Leobane's master. Then Haleth fired his last arrow, and bent to retrieve all that remained in Aldor's quiver. Fastred grabbed the old man's sword and helmet, then he hurled them spinning down toward the enemy.

Widmud wanted to help them. But men on the walltop crowded in, blocking the path.

The first giant ladder crashed into position on the far side of Haleth and Fastred. Wide enough for multiple uruks to climb side by side, it allowed a steady flow of attackers to reach the defenders.

Then, the second ladder fell into place, much closer to Widmud. Immediately, brutal battle erupted nearby. Old Frealing drove his spear into an uruk-hai at a full run, and he didn't make a sound when a different uruk hurled him over the wall. So many died, so quickly, and there was no end to the flow of replacement attackers.

Most of these uruk-hai were swordsmen. Their shields and even their helmets bore deadly spikes. But a few of the climbing uruks had crossbows, or even pikes. Men hurled themselves at the monsters, hacking, stabbing, shooting, and dying. As soldiers fell, commands rang out. Glancing to his left, Widmud saw a group of boys and old men hurrying over to help.

But all of their efforts combined couldn't match what Prince Legolas then managed. The third ladder had neared its zenith, but now Legolas sent an arrow smoothly through one of the ropes that held it. For a moment, it teetered, almost upright...

Then it toppled back in ruin. Dozens of uruks fell to their deaths, dozens more were crushed beneath the ladder, and most importantly, the enemy couldn't try again with that one.

But the two ladders that were already in place could easily be their end, and the fourth now started to rise.

Widmud drew his longsword, though he had never swung one. He tried to remember Leobane's advice, and took a moment to adjust his grip and assume a basic guard stance.

That brief delay saved his life… at the cost of another.

Balgar had dashed by in that moment, screaming as he drove into the enemy with his spear outstretched. An uruk reeled, its arm wounded. Eothain finished it with a lunge to the neck.

Then an uruk swordsmen bent down… and headbutted Balgar.

Silent and limp, the stableboy fell, the spiked helmet having served its evil purpose.

Everyone flew into the purest rage, a white-hot fury that, for a moment, utterly burned away all fear or even pain.

Widmud found himself directly in front of an uruk, hacking again and again, with no thought whatsoever for himself.

With shield and vambrace, Widmud's target parried the wild strikes.

Widmud couldn't care, not yet. He just kept swinging.

Then his brother held to his earlier promise.

Coming from the side, Brytta's spear took the distracted uruk just under the arm.

For just a moment, the walltop was swept completely clear of the enemy, though more endlessly climbed toward them.

Below, on the causeway, Aragorn and Gimli had slain dozens. A shout from the King told that the gate had been boarded shut. Legolas threw down a rope, and the strongest of the men helped him to heave. While brutal, bloody fighting raged at the top of both ladders, they pulled the elf's friends up toward safety.

But it was a long way to go.

A climbing uruk crossbowman tried to line up a shot at Gimli's neck.

With a surge of renewed fear, Widmud shouted over to Haleth.

The oldest Reader fired his last arrow.

It struck true.

The uruk died. Gimli lived.

Tears flowed freely as Leobane watched elves fight and die. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had earlier joined the men in the Hornburg, but Haldir's company still battled here.

Nearly all of them had fallen. A few dozen survivors struggled to reach Leobane's position.

With Gleowine fretting nearby, Leobane stood at the fortified landing at the top of a long, exposed staircase. A dozen elves had already joined them, and they rained arrows down at the uruk-hai below. The bodies of friend and foe alike blanketed the Bailey and the Deeping Wall. Both now belonged to the enemy.

While three of the elves on the ground took a stand, slowing the pursuit with whirling strikes, the rest sprinted up the stairs. Crossbow bolts found the backs of two.

The rest reached the landing. The last to arrive met Leobane's eyes. It was Ordulus.

The young elf, who had never before fought in a battle, had lost his father and hundreds of friends this night. And yet, seeing Leobane, he smiled.

"I am glad you are here, apprentice scholar." He turned to fire an arrow down the stairs. "We can fight on, proud that one such as you bears witness."

Just like that, the fear and despair left Leobane's heart.

So many elves had already died for his people, and the rest clearly knew their time was short. He would not let their deaths bring him fear. He may grieve for them, but he would not cower.

If they're prepared to give all they have, then I'll honor their choice. I won't look away.

And he could even try to help. His hunting bow had poor range, and he had no experience shooting. But now, he stood side by side with Ordulus. Uruks pounded up the stairs, straight at them, and it would've been hard to miss. Back in the armory, he'd only accepted ten arrows, for without greater range he likely wouldn't live long once he started firing. But now, he would give those shots everything he had. While Ordulus felled uruk after uruk, Leobane fought with steady patience. He would only fire while Ordulus reloaded, so they wouldn't waste two arrows on one target.

Two elves with empty quivers now stepped past him, crouching down with swords ready. Leobane carefully fired over their heads, scoring a lucky hit to a pikeman's roaring mouth.

But then crossbow bolts took the two elves, who pitched forward and rolled down the stairs.

If not for them… I would have been hit…

Leobane made a decision. It was surely the most important of his life, yet somehow, also one of the easiest.

But first…

"Gleowine, go back to the final stair. Tell all the families what everyone did for them."

Fastred's cousin hesitated, afraid and confused. "But… I should fight too! If they get up these stairs, our soldiers in the Hornburg—"

"Go, young Gleowine," Ordulus said, firing his last arrow and drawing his sword. "Yours is the burden of survival. Feel no shame. Shoulder your weighty role. Tell the tale. Be proud to do your part."

Leobane fired. One arrow left. "Gleowine, you've lost your whole family. Tell Heruhild, she's your grandma now. Hug Leowell for me, and promise he'll always have you."

An uruk reached the landing, and Ordulus cut it down. Leobane fired his last arrow, hitting a crossbowman before it could shoot.

He drew his sword with a steady hand. He assumed a guard stance he'd always thought sounded simple, even for him. Songs and tales flowed through his mind.

Ten-year-old Gleowine was on the verge of tears. "But… I need to help… I want to help!"

"You are helping, precious one," Ordulus said gently. "Most of our friends have fallen. Soon we will join them. But we can fight to the last, knowing you will carry our memory."

The last arrows from the other elves briefly swept the stairs clean of living uruks.

"Go, Gleowine," said a dark-haired elf with an arrow in his arm.

"Remember," said an elf who'd lost his left eye.

At last, Fastred's cousin obeyed. With a wail of frustration and grief, he ran back toward the final defensible point. If anyone survived this night, he would be among them. Everyone back in the caves would be grieving by morning. Gleowine would bravely stand in the place of all the brothers and sons they lost.

Leobane and Ordulus backed away from the stairs. With everyone out of arrows, they all formed a semicircle on the landing. Any uruks reaching the top would be badly outnumbered, though the defenders could no longer counter crossbowmen.

If Ordulus, and all these others, are giving up endless days for my people, then I'll give them what little I have. I'm not strong. I'm not skilled. But maybe… maybe I'm a little brave after all.

A crossbow bolt passed near his face. Though he flinched, his heart stayed steady.

I know I can't save these elves. But neither will I abandon them. By my own choice, they will not die alone.

From the Author:

In the final chapter, you will march with them to their end. Helping them to stay brave. To be proud of their choices. Strong on behalf of everyone that they value even more than themselves.

You will miss all of them. And you will be happy to have known them.

Potentially, you might just become a little bit happier with yourself too.

While reviews are appreciated, please avoid ruining the specifics of key moments for other readers. Great preparation, care, and love went into crafting this tale, which was first envisioned long ago.