Chapter 4: Sons
With a shout, Fastred brought his axe down with all the strength he could muster. Though only eight, he'd been chopping trees since he was four. The axe bit deep into the rung of the huge ladder, and he wrenched it free. Before they'd died, two old men off to his right had managed to chop through the other end of the thick wooden rung. Now, Fastred finished their work. The highest rung of the ladder fell away. The constant stream of climbing uruks would now have a harder time reaching the walltop. Instead of dropping down among the defenders in a standing position, they'd need to struggle and pull themselves up.
And this put their heads at just the right height.
Fastred's axe rose high, and then came crashing down. A helmet crumpled, and the uruk tumbled to the ground far below. Standing at his side, Haleth lunged and sliced, his sword finding faces and throats. Another heave, another swing, and Fastred's axe caught an uruk's shoulder. Haleth seized that chance to slash its other hand. The uruk fell backward, crashing and rolling down the length of the ladder, knocking several others off.
Well to Fastred's left, men and boys struggled at the other ladder. Widmud, Eothain, Brytta, and Ceorl fought alongside soldiers, fathers, and old men. Below, uruk-hai chopped and smashed at the gates.
It could end at any moment. They could all be swept away. But right now, right here, they fought. Every second, every blow, every heartbeat, was a gift to those hiding in the caves. Leobane was out of Fastred's line of sight, hopefully still defending the Bailey stairs. But the rest of the Readers all battled nearby. So many stories and songs had inspired them for years. Now they were part of one.
It was a grim song, an evil night.
It was also their finest hour.
Fastred's axe clove another helm, but then a different uruk grabbed the haft. At a shout from Haleth, Fastred let go just as the uruk heaved. The axe spun away from the wall.
Aragorn and Gimli still climbed nearby, drawing close. An uruk swordsman reached out, trying to cut the rope. Haleth leaned over the side and hacked its wrist, making it drop its sword.
Then a pike took Haleth in the throat.
All sound faded, and time slowed, as Fastred's greatest hero pitched backward. Haleth's sword hit the stone beside him, and the boy's hands clutched at his neck.
Strength left Fastred. The night air bit at him. He remembered the fierce pounding of his heart. He dropped to his knees at his friend's side. The oldest of the Readers, the big brother to them all, shook, and quivered, and struggled for air.
Off to the right, the final giant ladder fell into place. The streams of climbing uruks increased by half.
Haleth locked eyes with Fastred. His struggle slowed.
Haleth turned his eyes toward his fallen sword.
Without hesitation, Fastred accepted the weapon.
Haleth turned his eyes toward the ladder, and the endless uruk-hai battling the dwindling defenders.
Fastred obeyed.
He threw himself back into the fight.
Aragorn was right. This was a good sword. Though rusted and chipped, its balance and heft felt perfect, natural. Almost effortless. With a swing, he opened an uruk's neck. With a chop, he crippled a hand. He lunged, piercing the throat of Haleth's killer.
Then, as he'd known it must, his time and luck ran out.
An uruk got a grip on Fastred's arm and hauled with ten times his strength. He flew out past the ladder, tumbling forward, and began a plunge toward the army far below.
Time slowed. He felt his heart beating, steadying. He filled his lungs with satisfaction. His body's warmth beat back the cold. He felt very tired, and quite a bit sore. But it was a good tired. A good kind of sore. The worthy costs of an important job done well.
He tightened his grip on Haleth's sword, and he kept his eyes wide open.
Falling headfirst, he could look up toward the walltop. Aragorn and Gimli still clung to the rope. Legolas and many men finally got them to safety. Those champions, who'd held the causeway alone, would fight on.
Together, the mightiest of the defenders might win out in the end.
Fastred's mum, and his sister… They might never have to see what he had seen.
Heart settled, without regret, he kept his grip on Haleth's sword all the way down.
Shouting in defiance, Deor threw himself back against the gate. Despite the hasty repairs that had sealed the breach, the timbers groaned and cracked. Uruks hacked and smashed at it from the outside, and soon new gaps started to appear. Grimleth stabbed his spear through, and an uruk-hai howled. But then the spear was pulled out of sight. Unshaken, Grimleth hurled his full weight against the failing gates.
Bodies of friend and foe fell all about them. The battle on the wall above had grown terrible. Deor hoped Haleth, Fastred, and Widmud would stay brave, and keep fighting.
After the briefest reflection, he knew they would.
Another breach appeared in the door, and he reached up to block it with his shield. We have seconds left. And the Bailey stairs, where Leobane went, might be overrun at any time. The enemy presses from every side…
The King gave the order. "Pull everybody back… Pull them back!"
While rushing the King toward safety, Gamling relayed the command. "Fall back! Fall back!"
All around Deor, men turned to obey. On young, swift legs, he soon outpaced them, dashing up the stairs, overtaking the King.
Men on the outer wall tried to disengage and run. Reaching the top of the stairs, Deor paused, looking through the archway to the right. With relief and joy, he saw that one of the littlest men had already gotten to safety. Gleowine stood on the final stair, not yet having fled to the Great Hall, solemnly watching them retreat. For a moment, their eyes met.
Gleowine didn't look happy to be safe. He wept.
Only then did Deor realize… few could actually retreat. Leobane's post was far from safety, and many on the wall above were locked in combat. Hesitating, he took one last look back toward the gate…
Seven defenders had refused to run. They still braced against the doors, pushing with all they were worth, buying every possible second. Grimleth stood at their center, weaponless, his right arm hanging limp, driving his left shoulder against the splintering wood.
The gates burst open.
The seven fell.
Countless iron-shod feet pounded as the enemy poured through.
Deor didn't need to make a decision in that moment.
He'd already decided, years ago, while listening to one of Leobane's darkest stories.
He charged back down the stairs.
Deor held his shield high, so no one would see his face, and he tried to deepen his voice. "Keep going!" he shouted as he passed by. "Join the King in the Great Hall!"
In all the chaos and confusion, the little deception worked. None of the fleeing men tried to stop him or follow.
He passed the last soldier, nearing the bottom of the stairs, and before him stood only uruk-hai.
Two crossbows fired, but his adult-size shield easily covered him.
With a bold shout, he met the crowd.
His first strike found a crossbowman's throat, and his backswing cut the bowstring of the other. Uruks to either side turned to surround him, and Deor laughed in high and joyous triumph. For this one brief moment, he single-handedly delayed the enemy pursuit. Their entire column slowed, the front line fixating on one reckless child who dared stand against them. If this allowed even one more man to reach the final line, he'd buy that gladly.
Surging with pride, exulting in his hard-earned skill and strength, Deor stood alone at the gate of Helm's Deep.
Heavy uruk swords rose and fell, splintering Deor's shield. He felt things tear and snap in his right arm and shoulder, and he turned his cry of pain into a shout of challenge. He slashed an exposed neck, then sidestepped a pike, his heart pounding with the thrill of a life well-lived. Remembering the old man from before, he ducked low and drove his sword up under the arm of the tallest uruk. His blade bit deep, the beast twisted and fell, and his weapon slid free.
A swordsman drove its spiked shield into Deor's middle. He flew back, striking the stairs hard, torn and winded. But the steel cap under his mail hood kept him from blacking out.
The enemy column surged forward.
He didn't panic. He didn't doubt. His left hand still held his sword.
Dropping its bloody shield, the uruk stood over him, raising its weapon high in a two-handed grip.
Deor knew he lacked the strength to block.
So he didn't try.
As the sword came crashing down, he stabbed up toward his killer's belly, just below the breastplate.
Both blades struck true.
The elves had slain thousands, but this was the end. Leobane swung his rusty sword, managing to turn a pike aside. Ordulus and three other elves stood with him. They were all that remained of the five hundred volunteers from the golden wood. The stairs were littered with dead uruk-hai. Many that ran up the stairs struggled and tripped, and some paused to roll corpses aside.
Another crossbow fired from below. The elf to Leobane's left staggered, hurled his sword down at the enemy, and collapsed to the red-stained stone. With no one needing to utter a word, their defensive formation tightened.
Out in the valley, the army of Isenguard still surged. That host was far smaller than when the battle began. Perhaps they neared a breaking point…
Gamling's voice rang out, sounding the retreat.
As they'd already agreed, the four of them ignored the order. It was a long way from where they stood to the Great Hall. None of them would make that attempt while others stayed to delay pursuit.
They held the stairs, grim and fierce, determined to wound the enemy host. Another dozen uruk-hai reached them and died.
With a splintering crash, the main gates burst. The fighters on the landing paid the sound no mind.
They kept fighting. Evil kept dying.
Leobane heard distant laughter, high and clear, and he smiled. Deor defended the fortress he so loved, and all who dwelt within.
A pike pierced the elf to Ordulus' right. The final three fighters still held the landing. The elves slew many, and Leobane finished a wounded uruk that slipped past them.
He hoped some of the others would win through. Besides Gleowine, he hadn't seen any of the boys since marching to this isolated post. If enough soldiers reached the Great Hall, and then later the Glittering Caves, the enemy might keep paying for every inch taken. In the end, the uruk-hai might finally lose enough lives to realize their peril, feel fear for the first time, and flee.
A surge of reckless uruks twisted aside, trying to flank them. The last of Ordulus' companions, who'd already lost an eye, charged to intercept, whirling, spinning, cutting down four. Then a sword took the elf's right arm, and his blade clattered to the stone. He drew a knife, cut two throats, and died.
Giving ground, Leobane and Ordulus fought as one. An uruk aiming for Leobane fell headless as Ordulus swung, and his followup strike caught the shield-arm of another. Leobane pounced, dropping the injured foe before it could strike down Ordulus.
A dozen pikeman rushed forward in a single mob. A wall of bitter spikes filled Leobane's vision.
With brilliant skill and timing, Ordulus deflected four pikes.
With desperation and luck, Leobane blocked two more.
Three pierced Ordulus, driving him back.
Two went through Leobane's stomach, and the last clipped his heart.
Elf and boy struck the stone wall behind them, then all six pikes wrenched free.
They slid to the ground, side by side.
The uruk-hai flowed past them, turning, charging toward the Hornburg. At least they had a fair distance to go.
I did it, Leobane thought, as life poured from him. I actually did it… I stood to the last. I didn't run away.
These elves had treated him as their own. He never left them.
He'd wanted to live the long, peaceful life of a scholar. But meeting his end here, on this night, with so many true friends, and for such a cause…
That was good enough.
With what little strength remained, Leobane reached out for Ordulus. The elf took his hand and squeezed.
Surprising himself by managing to smile, Leobane whispered, "Thank you, son of Haldir, for what your kinsmen did tonight." His words were soft, his voice weak, but elf ears were keen.
The elf's fair voice replied, gentle and clear. "Thank you… son of Guthdig… for standing as our brother."
Though the pain was growing worse, Leobane managed a final blessing.
"May you awaken soon… in the Halls of Mandos… May the light of Valinor… welcome you home."
Soft, melodious, the elf's voice soothed his mind, bearing him up and through the remaining suffering.
"On some distant future morning... after my Time of Awaiting has passed… on the White Shores of the Undying Lands… I and mine… shall sing of you and yours... May the Gift of Iluvatar… whatever it may be… bring you freedom… elf-friend."
"Fall back! Fall back!"
At that command, Widmud looked about, frantic, fighting back panic.
To his right, eleven-year-old Ceorl hefted a rock high, determined to strike one final blow.
Roaring, an uruk struck out with its shield. Both spikes entered the stableboy's chest.
Ceorl hurled the rock as he fell backward.
It ended quickly, but the sight was so harsh, so raw, Widmud's mind nearly broke.
Then he heard the gate below burst open.
To his left and right, men started to flee. Surging toward the nearest stairways, they tried to retreat. But Widmud knew… there just wasn't time. Few, if any, would reach the final line.
His heart could have torn. His will could have failed.
But then he heard Deor's laugh. A sound of pure, genuine joy, cutting through the darkness, grief, and terror.
A rush of warmth flowed through Widmud. Long hours in the Meduseld library came back to him, from a time when the Readers had known no dread.
He could almost hear Leobane's voice in his mind. Reading a heroic tale of a valiant last stand.
The tale was now, and Widmud was part of it.
Despite… everything… he chose to be grateful.
"Gates splintered, defenses failed, the order to flee rang out. The lines did shiver, men of Rohan turned. A final flight was all they had. Widmud the Youngest beheld the tide, a river of iron, hateful and deep. Flight would fail, he could not escape, but others might yet win free."
Below, the King and Gamling turned a corner toward the final stair, followed by a small group of surviving gate guards. Off to the right, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli crossed the small bridge toward the inner courtyard. Widmud's heart surged with hope that they might escape to keep fighting.
"Brytta the loyal, elder brother, shouted: 'Widmud, flee!' The younger called: 'It is in vain! The foe too swift, the path too long!' But Brytta begged, not losing hope: 'My brother: try! I'll slow the tide!' Widmud did not refuse. The lad did try, the stair to seek, allowing his brother to keep his vow. Eothain, bold and true, ran at Widmud's side. His shield raised high, his spear held close, he swore he would the Youngest guard."
Everywhere he looked, Widmud saw terror and despair. Some men on the inner wall might safely reach the Great Hall, but the larger number on the outer wall were trapped. Even so, seeing Widmud and Eothain, many of those men cheered them on. He looked back over his shoulder, and honored his brother's final choice.
"Three crossbows aimed at Widmud's back, but Brytta took his stand. Throwing his spear, screaming his rage, the elder brother drew their ire. His arms flung wide, his head held high, he made himself the choicest prey. Filled with hate, taking the bait, two uruk bowmen did let fly. The bolts struck home, and Brytta swayed, dropping to one knee. But he did not fall, he did not weep, his duty still not done. Grim, and stern, he rose again, arms still outstretched to taunt the foe. The last shot fired, and Brytta died, his promise kept, his life fulfilled. The arrows spent, the Youngest ran, no deadly dart would find his back. This final act, this loving gift, from elder son to younger went."
"Hurry lads!" an old man shouted. "Run fer all you're worth!"
"You can make it!" yelled a young father. "Don't stop!"
"I'll protect you," Eothain gasped. "If I turn to fight, keep going!"
For the sake of all their precious hopes, Widmud would let them believe he could survive.
"A small bridge they reached, not quite in time: Two adversaries barred their way. Boldly shouting, Eothain lunged. Westfold survivor, herald of woe. His spear struck true, but the shaft did split. With shield, he rammed the second foe. Five times his strength the farmer faced, but he did not balk, he did not quail. 'Fly Widmud! Fly! Do not look back!' An armored knee cast him to the ground."
Obeying Eothain's command, Widmud dashed by, crying out a simple, pure, "Thank you."
The merciless uruk stomped again and again. Eothain must believe it would be enough.
Widmud passed through the small archway. Finally, no one behind could see him. They would all imagine him living on.
Weeping for them, he stopped, looking upon the final stair.
"He was too late, as he had known. The uruk sea his flight did halt. Aragorn, and his companions two, were the last to reach the guarded stair. The King, Gamling, and two dozen men, had made it just in time. Legolas, Gimli, and young Gleowine, would live to make a final stand. Widmud was lost, as were his friends, but together their deeds had bought this chance. The King, the champions, would fight on, dear friends had spent their blood for this. The cost they paid, their hearts they gave, and at the end the lad was proud. So many fell, but these might live. For that he knew the price was fair. Lord Aragorn, the mighty Heir, turned on the stairs to smite a foe. Then past the mob, he Widmud saw–"
Leobane's voice vanished from Widmud's mind. Aragorn's eyes met his, and in a cold rush, the weight of reality crashed home. Dread gripped him.
For he knew what Aragorn would do.
A hundred uruks raged between them, filling the small courtyard, surging and pressing toward the final stair, with more arriving every second.
But since I'm so young…
"Don't!" Widmud shrieked. "Don't try!"
Aragorn wavered, utterly torn. The clear wisdom of Widmud's words warred with Aragorn's valor, his deepest need to defend someone so small.
A final whisper in Leobane's voice gave Widmud that last little bit of courage he needed:
"This is what you lived for. This is who you die for."
Widmud turned to the left, screaming a challenge, and hurled his sword at the closest uruk. It roared, lowered its pike, and charged.
Widmud turned back to Aragorn, and met his eyes. The boy held his arms out to either side, helpless, as his brother had shown him. "GO!"
Indecision tore at Aragorn's face. Gondor's heir teetered on the brink of wasting his irreplaceable life…
The pike entered Widmud's left side just below his outstretched arm. It came out on his right, further down. The uruk-hai abandoned its trapped weapon. The boy sank to his knees under the weight, but he kept his eyes on Aragorn.
The agony on the great man's face could never have been described. On seeing it, Legolas whirled, his next shot executing Widmud's killer.
The boy wanted to shout, urging them to hurry. To bar the door. To hold out for as long as they could.
But no words came.
Is pain… all it takes… to silence me?
But no. He was stronger than that.
He just couldn't breathe anymore.
Aragorn's expression hardened, and he nodded.
He raised his sword in salute.
A grateful farewell to all who could not be saved, and a vow to all who could.
Widmud feared it wouldn't be quick. The pike had missed his heart, which pounded so very hard.
But this allowed him to see what came next. A final gift from the man he had just saved.
While the others sprinted for the Great Hall, Aragorn performed a masterful fighting retreat. Flawless, deadly, he fought with all the strength and skill of fallen Numenor. Backing swiftly up the stairs and toward the door, he swung and struck, parried and sliced, annihilating every uruk that tried to get past him.
One whom many would follow. One who would defend many.
This was the man who would champion the final defense.
Profoundly grateful, Widmud toppled forward and lay quivering on the damp stone.
I was strong... enough… I was brave... enough…
It hurt. So much. But he'd chosen this. He wasn't wrong. He would not regret.
Leobane was right. We five did die… and so many others too. But what we lived for… who we died for…
The pain sharpened. He started to shake.
But then… the door to the Great Hall slammed shut. The uruk-hai army wailed in frustration. They were denied, in their moment of evil triumph.
Though Widmud's body still quaked, a peaceful calm settled over him. A warm embrace, guarding his heart and mind.
With the King and those champions safe, it really might be enough… They might have the strength to hold out.
Their families.
Would not.
Have to fight.
The pain began to lessen. His shaking slowed.
My friends… and I… everyone…
The pressure in his chest subsided. Pain faded.
We were loyal sons.
Quietly, gently, Widmud drifted off to sleep.
Epilogue: Meduseld Throneroom
For all my remaining days, be they many or few, I will carry the weight of those lives. May I grow stronger by bearing it.
Aragorn sat in the midst of a solemn crowd, respectful and silent.
Saruman was dead. Isenguard was overthrown.
Helm's Deep stood. The caves had not been breached. Mothers, sisters, and the youngest brothers had not been forced to take up arms.
The orphan Gleowine told the tale of that night to everyone he met. Taken in by many, he was a surrogate son and brother to the bereaved.
At the summit of Edoras, in the Golden Hall of Meduseld, the King had arranged a great feast. They would remember the fallen. Sing of their victory.
Aragorn's heart dwelt upon the eight hundred defenders who had not seen dawn. Elf volunteers, who need never have tasted death. Brave soldiers, who had already lost so many friends. Old men, who had spent all their lives working and serving. Farmers and craftsmen, who'd never before held a weapon.
Most painfully of all, he thought of the youngest who had answered the call. Of those twelve, only Gleowine still breathed.
Whether out of love, duty, hope, or all three, these eight hundred had shown courage to the end.
I owe every one of them my life.
The few surviving defenders had held the Great Hall until nearly dawn. At the shattering of the final door, Aragorn and the King had ridden forth, dealing vengeance for the deaths of so many. For Wrath, Ruin, and a Red Dawn, they had stabbed into the heart of the uruk-hai army. All eyes on the King's banner, the enemy had pursued, forgetting the caves and all who sheltered there. Theoden's company had been cut off, surrounded, determined to inflict punishment to their dying breath.
Yet the beleaguered Lords had not fallen.
At the break of dawn, far surpassing Aragorn's fragile hopes, salvation had arrived. Gandalf, Eomer, and Rohan's elites had descended as a flood. They'd shattered the enemy lines, broken their wavering will, and driven them to total ruin.
Again and again, Aragorn thought back to that final charge, knowing by how mere a thread they had been spared. Had the Hornburg fallen but a moment sooner, Gandalf's coming would have been too late. King Theoden, Legolas, and Aragorn himself would have been overwhelmed and destroyed.
But this had not come to pass. The defenses had held exactly long enough. In the final reckoning of a battle so grim, every blow, every life, had been needed.
Deep down, Aragorn now accepted that he would be vital in the days ahead. He would not hate himself for surviving that night.
In memory of all who died, I will carry on their fight. For the sake of all who still draw breath, I will never lose hope of victory.
At the head of the room, before the throne, King Theoden stood, regal and stern. The crowd rose, standing in silence.
The King held forth a chalice, his voice somber and grave.
"Tonight, we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead!"
A Letter to the Reader
You didn't abandon them.
You didn't look away.
You let them prove their love.
You allowed them to be brave.
You honored them to the very end.
Be proud of that.
This story may have been painful for you to read.
More painful, if you're a dad.
And even more, if you're a mom.
Thank you for getting all the way through.
As Samwise said, "Sometimes you didn't want to know the end, because how could the end be happy? Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turnin' back only they didn't. They kept goin'. There's some good in this world, and it's worth fight'n for."
Even in our modern, advanced societies, it is not always possible to keep all of our beloved children safe. Not from fear, suffering, or tragedy. No matter how hard we all try. But, with help and preparation, many of these children choose to bear it with dignity and courage, inspiring everyone in their lives. When enough love is added to one's pain, fear, and sadness, the result can be a strength that cannot be broken.
Before continuing, if you would, please listen to, in its entirety, one of the following three tracks from Howard Shore's genuinely masterful score:
For healing: "Into The West"
For strength: "The Battle of Pelennor Fields"
For some of both: "Forth Eorlingas"
Did you do it?
Did you perhaps listen to more than one?
In any case, thank you again.
Let us press on.
To me, this is not "a war story where kids die."
It is a tribute to the many heroic fallen, and what motivated them all to fight.
There's a very important difference.
When I saw "The Two Towers" for the first time, my emotions were deeply affected in ways I could not clearly understand or articulate. Because it was only much later that I consciously connected the significance of certain details, musical progressions, and lines of dialogue. I did consciously grasp that the scenes where children are arming for battle was a powerful way to frame how dire things were. The stakes and the odds were clearly extreme: Arming these boys was better than letting them hide. As Lady Eowyn had said, "Those without swords can still die upon them."
But we're not shown the end of their story, so our focus naturally moves on to the larger struggle.
But then I went on to see the film many more times in the theater, then at home. I eventually connected the dots, and reached a painful conclusion: Very few of those children survived the battle. In fact, it might have been only one.
If the boys had been ordered to retreat before everyone else, we surely would have been told. It would have been a quick and clear way to underscore the steady progression of everything falling apart. Even one quick line of dialogue would have easily conveyed this. But instead, we can very clearly see one of the youngest boys, whom I named Widmud, fighting on the Hornburg wall, throwing rocks down at the causeway. If that little guy was helping directly above the gate, the other boys were surely in the thick of it too. Us not seeing the kids in more of the crowd shots was likely for a simple, practical reason: Child extras couldn't be on set for the four grueling months it took to film the battle. But in-universe, everything about Helm's Deep is so desperate, so fierce, that none of the defenders were holding back in any way. Total massacre was far too likely. Even the boys and very old men were willing to face battle because the stakes were so high. The music and character interactions in these scenes before the battle are about more than fear, or the importance of everyone giving it their all. We are being warned of the cost that will be paid. It's done subtly enough that general audiences can be allowed to not pick up on it, and just focus on buildup, action, heroism, triumphs, and victories.
In the end, very few people escape to the Great Hall. The walltop is crowded with defenders right up until the moment the main gate bursts open for the final time. This triggers a long shot from above. With the fortress being overrun, it's clear that hardly anyone from the outer Hornburg wall is in a position to escape. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli are the last ones to reach the final fortified stairway before the inner courtyard is utterly overrun, at which point the scene cuts away.
At most a couple dozen people reached safety. I looked long and hard, but I saw only one who was clearly a child. He is to the far left, holding a sword, without a helmet, looking down at the enemy. An archer crouching nearby could almost be Haleth, but the hair and armor don't look quite right to me, and you can't really tell his height.
We never again see any of the elves of Lorien, or any of the boys we'd earlier seen bravely marching toward doom.
We do see and hear enough to draw a conclusion if we connect the dots. When the film returns our attention to Helm's Deep, the final defensive line is very thin. Just the heroes and a few elite soldiers, who would have had the best chance of survival. Almost everyone seems lost, hopeless, and desperate, even while trying to brace the door. The only exceptions are Aragorn, because he has a private hope that Gandalf may arrive, and Gimli, because he's Gimli. And our glimpses of the people in the caves shows far more than just fear. It is deep mourning. They had suffered so much loss already, the thought that it might all have been in vain caused even Eowyn to display abject despair.
Further, Theoden's decision to ride out is not motivated by hope. "So much death… What can men do against such reckless hate?" He is utterly despondent until Aragorn suggests what, to Theoden, sounds like a vengeful suicide charge. "Now for wrath! Now for ruin! And a red dawn!" the King declares. He is not just avenging those who are about to die, but those whose deaths had already nearly broken him. He is ready to help his people make an end worthy of remembrance.
And early in the following film, despite various characters trying to lighten the mood, the funeral at Edoras has a very subdued quality about it. Aragorn, Gandalf, and Theoden are deeply somber and reflective. They are limited in how much joy they can get out of the victory, or these happy moments with dear friends. They are only functioning by looking ahead, at the next challenge, knowing that they must see it accomplished.
Most of us have been there. Times when we're hurting so much, that nothing positive in the present can sink in for very long. When we absolutely must do something important and hard to try to drown out the pain, and knowing that the pain will not stay completely gone. It's a major theme of the entire trilogy, culminating in Frodo's acceptance that he is lastingly traumatized, that he can never go back to exactly who he was. And yet, despite tremendous change and pain, there still might be hope of finding some peace. Perhaps, even, enough peace.
That after all, was the story of Tolkien's youth, and a huge drive behind so much of what he did after.
I understand and agree with the film not showing all of those deaths at Helm's Deep, but merely implying them in numerous subtle ways. Actually seeing multiple children die in battle, no matter how bravely, no matter how much they were motivated by love… It would have made it impossible for an entire crowd to agree that this was a triumph, the costs worth paying. There would have always been at least one person in the room so loudly outraged that they'd poison the experience for everyone else, and prevent us from benefiting from the hard, painful, needed lesson. No matter how many victories were eventually won because of such courage and sacrifice, a minority of viewers would have ruined it for everyone else.
But this meant that those heroic little characters had to die offscreen, and most viewers probably forgot them. Worse, a cynical few mistook their mere presence as tools for cheap emotional manipulation, which they most certainly were not. Nothing about the emotional weight of this trilogy is cheap. The audience is meant to genuinely care, genuinely feel, and grow because of it. The trilogy even concludes with a song that is essentially the most hopeful and comforting funeral dirge ever.
Children have the potential to inspire us more than anyone else, with their capacity for pure, untainted compassion. For uncomplicated, unconditional selflessness. As a well-documented, tragically-common example: A child bravely faces painful, incurable cancer, while doing everything they can to show gratitude for their caretakers, and wholeheartedly trying to cheer up everyone they meet. It is easily among the most inspiring and strengthening things anyone can witness. Despite how deeply it hurts, or possibly because of it.
This story is not intended to be a tragedy, though of course the events themselves fully qualify.
Rather, it is a respectful sendoff to all the loving fallen, both in fiction and in reality, giving them the dignity they deserve. We can honor their choices, the reasons for their choices, and what they willingly paid to hold to those choices.
The many friends we lost in this story were not invincible champions. They fought anyway. They were not terrified victims, forced into danger by uncaring rulers. Nor were they helpless in hiding, waiting to be dragged out and murdered. They stood. They loved. They strove. All while knowing that they would probably pay very heavily for it.
And it mattered. In the film, the battle absolutely came down to the wire. And if Aragorn and Theoden had died, the entire war would have been lost. Everyone would have been slaughtered or enslaved.
The main story of both Tolkien's Trilogy and the Film Trilogy of course focuses on the Fellowship, and the many vital roles they played in the victory. But we are also shown that, without the courage and sacrifice of thousands of others, it wouldn't have been close to enough.
We need great heroes. And they cannot win alone.
I wanted to write this story long ago, but I knew I was not yet up to such a challenge. Something like this could not be done right with anything less than total commitment. So I trained. This involved two decades, the writing of a million words, and a considerable dose of trauma, which many hundreds helped me to overcome. I finally saw enough personal progress that I felt ready to tell this tale.
In our modern age, war is consistently someone's choice to order the young to kill each other, subject to the priorities of mere men. But Tolkien's mythos is deliberately crafted in such a way that purest evil is easy to see. As is purest good. In that setting, there can be causes for which taking up arms is unquestionably, unequivocally right, and every aspect of the price you pay can be worth it in the end. Thankfully, in our own world, there are many peaceful endeavors in which selfless empathy can do great good. And the personal cost to those doing such good is, usually, much less painful.
While thoughtful reviews are deeply appreciated, an even greater thanks would be to at least consider going back and again watching this unequaled film trilogy. If possible, try to find the even more beautiful Extended Edition. It is the product of so many, working so hard, for so long, with genuine love for their goal: The positive growth they hoped to inspire in billions of people. It shows. There are aspects that aren't artistically perfect. There are even elements that make me quite uncomfortable, and that I personally wish weren't there at all. But its core, its powerfully positive and uplifting message...
That is something pure.
And as you watch, pay a little extra attention to the countless unnamed characters who had the courage to take a stand throughout the story. All without any expectation of being remembered by the wider world.
Just like so many real people throughout history, and in our own lives today.
These films make you want to be better. More loyal. More courageous. More hopeful. More kind. Perhaps, in some small way, this story did the same.
Build empathy. Choose selflessness. Be brave.
May your road go ever on and on.