Hi there! I'm very sorry for the severe delay in updates. Since I last saw you I've flown across the world, got rather ill (twice), got better, returned to work, and suffered severe writer's block, mainly with my original novels, though this story suffered to. I offer this information not as an excuse or a search for pity, but as an explanation to my absence, with I feel I owe you as I have made a commitment to weekly updates that I have not been upholding. In any case, I am now a little more on track, and will update two chapters today as they are finally ready (and originally part of one uber chapter, hence the delay in both of them) and I will be unlikely to turn my laptop on tomorrow as I will be working and then attending a talk with Patrick Ness, which is exciting! After tomorrow, we should be back to Monday updates, starting on the 17th of September, and I will do my best to uphold that.
Anyway, please forgive any mistakes in this chapter, as ever, and I hope that you enjoy it.
Chapter Sixty-Six: The Battle of Helm's Deep
A cool breeze swept over the battlements of Helm's Deep, stirring Aragorn's hair from his face as he watched the sun sink over the horizon. It had almost vanished now, and the final rays of light were fading into the darkness that was creeping over the hills. The army of Saruman was cresting the horizon, still so far away that they looked like beetles, crawling their way towards Rohan's great fortress. Their lines stretched all the way across the valley, and though it was hard yet to see, Aragorn thought that the scouts' estimate of ten thousand uruk-hai had been wishful thinking.
"There are so many," breathed Éomer beside him, his eyes roaming the hills. "There must be fifteen thousand at least – and not only orcs, I would wager. See there, where the torches burn already? They are not so organised as the others – wildlings from the north, I don't doubt. Ever have they hated our people."
Aragorn stared at the flickering torches and sighed. "If you are right, they do not know what they do. Saruman wants only to destroy and dominate all men – they are playing into their own destruction."
"If we lose," said Éomer sharply, and Aragorn looked at him.
"Either way," he said. "If we win, they will not come out of it well."
It was Éomer's turn to sigh. "It won't be long now. An hour and they will be upon us."
Something in Éomer's tone turned Aragorn's head, and he studied the younger man for a long moment. "You do not think we will win this fight."
Éomer shook his head and rubbed his chin, glancing around at those in earshot. "I would not say that – but we are outnumbered. Do you know how many fighters we've mustered?" When Aragorn shook his head, Éomer gave a bitter smile. "Four and a half thousand. Near three thousand soldiers, but the rest… stable-boys and grandfathers and farmers – folk who've never held a sword in their lives. They should not have to fight – but the rest of our army is scattered. There is no time to reach them now, and Erkenbrand's disappeared with most of our local force. Three thousand – three thousand – are missing alongside him. With them, we'd have more of a chance."
"There is still hope," Aragorn insisted, and Éomer dragged a smile onto his cheeks.
"Yes, there is still hope. This fortress has never fallen while men fight to defend it."
Silence fell over them like a blanket of iron mail, and the first patterings of rain began to spit from the sky. There was a chill in the air, a bite to the wind, and to Aragorn's right he saw a young soldier, trembling. The boy – for he could not be older than twelve – was standing thirty feet or so from Aragorn and Éomer, staring outwards at the approaching army. His face was pale as the hidden moon, and his helmet and sword were clearly too big for him.
Whether it was cold or fear that shook the boy, Aragorn could not tell. Before Aragorn could so much as turn to approach the lad, a tall man strode over. He leant against the wall beside the boy, and offered him a swig from a hip-flask. They began to talk, and though Aragorn was too far away to make out their words, he could see the boy's shoulders slowly relax, and his shivering fade a little. After a few minutes, the man took the boy's long sword – a blade that came up to the lad's shoulder – and rested it against the wall. In its place, he gave the boy his own hunting knife, crafted – as Aragorn knew well – by the finest smith's in Gondor. Then, the man put a hand on the boy's shoulder and turned to stare at the army himself.
"I had heard that Boromir of Gondor was a great man," said Éomer softly. "It was not until I met him that I realised he is a good man, too."
"He is a very good man," Aragorn agreed, a sad smile pulling at his lips as he watched Boromir continue to talk with the young soldier of Rohan. "As selfless as they come. He all but laid down his life for Merry and Pippin. I think even the uruk-hai knew that he would chose death over watching his friends carted away."
"Do you think we can win this fight?"
Aragorn paused for a moment, his gaze slowly shifting from Boromir to the ever-nearer army. "Yes," he said. "I know that we can. There is always hope."
Éomer looked to Boromir, and to the boy that now stood with a knife that he could handle, and he grinned slowly. "Yes… there is always hope." Then the man's grin grew, and he nodded over Aragorn's shoulder at two approaching figures. "And sometimes hope is delivered in the most unlikely of friends."
Aragorn turned, smiling himself at the sight of Legolas and Gimli approaching, armed to the teeth with grim smiles of their own.
"The damned beasts brought their weather with them," growled Gimli, scowling up at the sky. "There's a storm coming."
"How very prophetic of you," commented Legolas lightly, looking utterly unfazed at the idea of rain.
"We better win, Aragorn," continued Gimli in the same growling voice. "If I have to fight my way to Nelly and Bróin without the use of my head I'll kill you."
Aragorn smiled. "I do not doubt it, though if you were headless I imagine there would be little chance of my own head being attached."
"No, lad, you've more luck than the rest of us put together," the dwarf grumbled, but he was grinning, and he stood on his toes to try and peer over the edge of the wall. "How long have we to go? I want to kill some orcs!"
"Patience, Master Gimli," said Éomer, grinning wryly. "They will be upon us soon."
A rumble of thunder rolled through the valley like a murmur of assent, and the rain began to fall faster and harder, clinking off the metal armour of the waiting soldiers. A few moments later, lightning forked across the sky, illuminating an army of near twenty thousand. Out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn spied Legolas, eyes wide in the white of the lightning. He looked almost pale, and he pursed his lips. Aragorn understood why.
The odds were slipping out of their favour with every drop of cold rain that fell, running further out of reach with the feet of every foe that approached. They were outnumbered, and outmatched.
"Well," said Éomer, a grim smile spreading across his face. "It was nice knowing you, gentlemen. I'll ready the troops."
Soon, the rhythmic pounding of the orc's marching feet was close enough to hear, an endless roll of thunder, unyielding to the lightning that flashed brighter and brighter across the sky. The rain, too, was relentless, crashing down with a force that stung the faces of those men who dared to look up, yet it did not – or perhaps could not – quench the fires of the approaching army, nor could it utterly drown the torches of Rohan. Dwindling, flickering flames clung to damp wood and dwindling fuel, refusing to surrender without a fight. Much like the men who had lit them.
Shouts rang out over the rumble of marching feet, calling the men to their stations. Boromir stood on Aragorn's right, and Legolas and Gimli on his left. They were in the centre of the wall, facing the onslaught to come, out on the front line. Soldiers flanked them on either side, and when Éomer had finished organising the fighters, he would join them, leading his people to the battle. Théoden was nearby, armed to the teeth in a tower with a vantage point over the whole battlefield.
The men of Rohan fell into place.
Only moments later, the uruk-hai came to a halt.
The air buzzed and crackled in the dark, charged as though lightning was still scouring the sky. Aragorn drew in a slow, deep breath as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and readied his borrowed bow. Then, noise swelled around them again as the uruk-hai began to pound their spears against the ground, growling and snarling like animals.
Aragorn raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed, though he was sure that the display was having the desired effect on some of the less experienced soldiers. Still, the lines of Rohan stood firm, unflinching despite the fear the orcs would inflict, and Théoden barked out an order to the bowman to ready themselves. As he nocked an arrow, Aragorn's eyes were drawn to a large uruk, standing with a flag upon a great stone above the army. The general. There was a sickening grin on his face as he threw back his head and roared, and at once the uruk-hai charged, their roars and battle-cries drowning out the thunder that clapped around them. There was a beat, a pause of a careful moment, and then Théoden barked out an order to the archers. At once, a volley flew over Aragorn's head as he released an arrow of his own, and a ripple of orcs went down. Already, Gimli was ducking away from Legolas' elbows as the elf readied another arrow, and the order to volley came again a beat later. Once more arrows hailed down, and a spattering of uruk-hai fell.
"Fire at will!"
At once, Aragorn aimed for the uruk-hai general, pointing his arrow at the beast's smug face, but his shot fell short, bouncing off of the helmet of an orc a few rows in front.
And that, Estel, is why you always shoot at targets you're certain are in range. That is a waste of a good arrow.
Aragorn smiled at Elladan's voice in his mind and fixed a nearer target, shooting right through the enemy's eye. A second later, Legolas strung two arrows at once.
They struck the orc general in the neck.
"Now, that is just showing off," said Aragorn wryly, and Legolas grinned.
"What's showing off?" demanded Gimli, jumping up to try and get a better view. "What's going on?"
"Would you like me to describe it to you?" asked Legolas, still smoothly shooting arrow after arrow. "Or would you like me to find you a box?"
Gimli barked a laugh and Aragorn snorted.
"Ladders!" Boromir yelled, even as Aragon saw them himself.
The uruk-hai ranks were parting to make way for great ladders that trundled towards the walls on wheels. Even as he began shooting at those pushing the ladders forwards, Aragorn saw the orcs take up bows of their own, but the very sight of them was worrying. They were large, almost as long as the ladders, and the bolts placed inside them were like grappling hooks.
Aragorn knew exactly what they were for.
One shot, and a few feet away from him a soldier was thrown back with a yell, and then dragged back by the shaft in his chest as the hook took a hold on the wall. He went limp, and did not move again. "Cut the rope!" Aragorn yelled, gesturing at the people nearby, but the rope was too far down to reach by leaning over the battlements, and so it there was little they could do to stop it from drawing a ladder up. Closer.
"Your turn is coming, Gimli," said Aragorn evenly.
"Good!" the dwarf growled, and gripped his axe tightly. "Let me at them!"
With a great crash, the first ladder came into place, and at once orcs poured over the wall. Gimli barrelled through the crowd towards them, roaring with more ferocity than any orc and tearing down three foes at once. He twisted and turned through the fight with eyes that blazed with fury, and in a matter of moments there was a ring of corpses around him.
"Legolas! Six already!"
"I'm on seventeen!" Legolas called back, and Aragorn rolled his eyes, letting lose another arrow. He was not ready forsake his bow for a sword – not yet. There was still more foes to target from here, and Gimli was holding the fort well enough on his own. He even let the soldiers of Rohan get a lick in too, on occasion.
But another ladder soon stuck in place, and another, and another, and the uruk-hai storming the wall became more pressing a threat than those below. Throwing down his bow, Aragorn drew Andúril and charged into the melee, taking down foe after cursed foe. The battle grew hot and fierce, but the men of Rohan held their own, and hope began to take flame in Aragorn's heart. The fighting wore on for almost an hour, but despite the losses of Rohan, the uruk-hai had not yet made it any further than the first wall, those few that managed to descend the stairs being shot or chopped down by the second line of the men.
But even as he thought so, something caught his eye. A flaming torch, wielded by a single uruk, charging towards the wall. Something was wrong – the other uruks were chanting, urging him on, and at once Aragorn thought of Saruman.
"Legolas!" he yelled, shoving an uruk out of his way. "Shoot it! Shoot him down, stop him!"
With a nod, Legolas leapt atop the wall and began to shoot, with Gimli and Boromir covering him, but though the arrows struck their mark, they did not fell the orc. The beast ran on, and leapt towards the wall about two hundred yards from where Aragorn was standing – toward the small drainage tunnel in the wall. There was a pause, a beat of nothingness where Aragorn could pray that his fears were unfounded, but then the air was wrought by noise and fire, and Aragorn and the others were thrown through the air.
He landed with a thud on the floor, near three feet from where he had last been standing, shaking his head to try and clear the ringing from his ears. They had blown up the wall – the uruk-hai had blown up the wall. Two hundred yards down from them, there was only corpse-strewn rubble where the great barrier had stood, and already the enemy was swarming over it. Aragorn staggered to his feet and stumbled towards them, but a cry turned him back.
"Legolas? Legolas! Where's the damned elf?"
At once, Aragorn looked back to where the elf had been standing atop the wall, but there was no sign of him. Gimli and Boromir were rising to their feet, but Legolas had not fallen back onto the wall. A thrill of horror shot through Aragorn and he ran over, all but throwing himself against the wall to stare desperately down below. In a heartbeat, he saw Legolas at the base of the wall, bent over but on his feet, surrounded but alive.
"Rope!" Aragorn bellowed, over Théoden and Éomer's shouts to retreat. "Boromir, Gimli, rope, now!"
Legolas swung his sword, driving back the uruk-hai swarming around him, but they surged forward just as quickly, and the elf was driven back until his back was pressed against the wall. His right arm hung limp at his side, and even from above, Aragorn could see the red of blood in Legolas' white blonde hair.
"Legolas!" the cry wrenched from his throat and Aragorn knew that it was too late, but then someone dove past him, careening over the edge of the cliff with a rope tied around his chest.
Boromir scaled the wall in a matter of seconds, all but running down its great sides, and beside Aragorn Gimli held the rope tight, his jaw clenched tightly shut. Aragorn made to help, but Gimli shook his head.
"I need to know what's happening!" he yelled through gritted teeth. "Tell me when he reaches the elf!"
Nodding, Aragorn flung himself back against the wall. "He's almost there!"
Gimli grunted, and shifted his grip on the rope, allowing just a little more slack. Down below, Boromir kicked away a sword that was aiming for the elf's head, and then he swiftly wrapped his legs around Legolas' waist.
"He's got him!" Aragorn yelled, even as Boromir wrapped his arms around Legolas' chest, and Gimli began to pull. It was like watching a machine to see the dwarf at work, reaching forward on the rope time after time after time, working at a speed Aragorn would not have imagined possible, even for one of Durin's folk. But Gimli managed it, and within a minute, Boromir and Legolas were dangling at the very top of the wall. Aragorn seized Boromir's shoulders and pulled, dragging the pair over the top and back onto the safety of the walkway. Boromir was on his feet in moments, but Legolas pulled on Aragorn's hand to rise, and he looked pale and shaken.
"Thank you, Gimli," he said, and there was a twang of pain in his voice that he could not quite hide.
"You're hurt-" Aragorn began, but Éomer's voice cut him off.
"Fall back! Aragorn, hurry! What are you waiting for?"
Without so much as exchanging glances, the four hunters ran back towards the keep. Already there were uruk-hai pounding against the door below, but there was another door higher in the keep, attached to the wall that they were on, and Éomer was hanging out of it, gesturing desperately.
"Fall back! Get them out, get into the keep!" he bellowed, rousing the few other soldiers that remained on the wall.
With a final push, the four hunters crashed into the keep, closing the door on the uruk-hai outside, but the door was made of wood, and Aragorn knew that it would not hold for long. It had never had to before – the Deeping Wall had been its main defence. Never had Rohan expected to see their wall blown apart.
Despite the strength of the soldiers, and the king himself holding the door, within half an hour the battle spilt into the outer arena of the keep, and the minutes spilt into hours.
The rows of uruk-hai seemed endless – line after line after line of fully armed soldiers, and the men of Rohan were beginning to tire. No matter how Éomer rallied them, or how spurred on they were by the presence of their king amongst the throng, there was nothing they could do to battle the fatigue that crept up their spines. Their bodies and minds were tiring, and each new foe was yet to face a real battle.
Hours bled on, so fast that Aragorn did not notice them passing. He did, however, notice the progress of the uruk-hai, and he noticed them swarming against the walls and doors of the inner arena of keep like insects. Hundreds of corpses lay in the outer arena, hundreds of men and boys and orcs, and while men both fought outside and propped the doors from within, the great doors were also finally beginning to bow to the strength of Saruman's army.
Théoden was forced to retreat when a hammer struck his helmet, though he stayed on his own two feet, Aragorn held hope that the king was only dazed. But Háma's head was all but struck from his body as he covered Théoden's retreat, and though he tried, Aragorn was too late to save the loyal door-warden.
Instead, he threw himself into Háma's shoes, aiding Boromir in ushering Théoden to safety. He knew that the knowledge that their leader was secure would hearten the soldiers, especially while they had Éomer, their warrior prince among them still, fighting like a hero of old. As he hung back, driving the uruk's away, he saw Gimli grab Legolas by the waist, all but dragging him past Aragorn and after Théoden, into the inner keep. When Théoden and Legolas were both safely inside, Gimli returned to the outer arena alone, fury etched deep into his face.
"I wanted to beat the elf in numbers," he growled to Aragorn, splitting open an uruk's skull with his axe, "but not because he has not the strength to raise a sword."
Alarmed, Aragorn looked to Gimli. "Does he not?"
Gimli shook his head gravely. "No. His arm broken, badly, and I saw him fall without any help from the orcs. He's in a bad way, Aragorn. I've never seen an elf stumble like that, nor have I ever seen Legolas agree to sit at the side-lines. He's been taken down to the caves. The king's in far better shape."
Aragorn felt as though a great blow had struck his gut, and he swung Anduril with a roar, striking down three uruks at once. The doors were bending more now, bowing deeper – the men on the inside of the keep were wearying, too.
The sky began to pale, making way for a blood-red dawn, and Aragorn began to truly see the extent of their peril.
Rohan was falling – the doors of its keep would take another hour at most, and its soldiers were succumbing to weariness and to despair, where they were not cut down by orcs. Yet the lines of the enemy still extended beyond the wall – still there were hundreds, or maybe even thousands, of uruk-hai who had yet to wet their blades.
Resolve hardened in his heart, and Aragorn grabbed Boromir's shoulder.
"I'll be back," he swore, and then he turned, running into the inner keep. He found Théoden in a dark hall, his face lined with grief but his head unbound, and his posture strong as he stood. "My lord…"
Théoden looked up slowly, like one trapped in a daze.
"The women and children," said Aragorn firmly. "Is there another way out of those caves?" The king did not answer, and Aragorn could have snarled with frustration. "Is there no other way out?"
"No," answered a Captain who had been introduced as Gamling, "There is no other way out. For defence they have great doors, but if we fall, so will they."
"Well then, it would be best if we did not fall," said Aragorn, swallowing his disappointment.
Théoden gave a hollow laugh. "What chance is there of that? What hope could men have against such reckless hate? How could we win such a war?"
"Ride out with me," said Aragorn. His words echoed around the room and he took a step forward. Théoden looked up and met his eyes. "You told me earlier today that if this were to be your end, you would make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance. Now is that time, be it our end or not. Ride out with me, and face them head on. Ride as ever you have, and ever your ancestors before you. Let this be the hour where we draw swords together."
Théoden met his eyes. And drew his sword.
The uruk-hai hollered and jeered as the archers retreated from the tops of the walls, and the final soldiers still fighting in no man's land heeded the blow of the horn and hurried into the inner keep, slipping through hidden doors that the uruk-hai had not surrounded.
The enemy laughed even as they pounded on the doors with grins of glee.
And then the doors burst open, throwing the orcs from through the air, and the riders of Rohan burst forth. With Théoden at their head they charged, cutting a great line through the ranks of Saruman, and slicing down foe after foe as they went. Astride the same horse that Éomer had first lent him, Aragorn thundered down into the throng, his heart pounding in time with the hooves of the horse. Without fear or hesitation, they cut through their foes, riding to what they each knew to be their deaths, but then the sun crested the hill to their right, and there was a great call among the uruk-hai to regroup.
Aragorn stared up the face of the mountain, and his heart leapt at the sight that he saw. Gandalf and Shadowfax were standing atop the mountain, glowing pure white in the light of the sun, and around them and behind them were the cavalry of Rohan. Erkenbrand had come. Raising his sword high into the air, Gandalf let out a battle-cry, and the Rohirrim charged down the hill, their horses unflinching, their weapons at the ready, and they crashed into the line of uruk-hai with a force that sent the army reeling back. And then Théoden began to shout, throwing out words that Aragorn had been sure that he would not hear.
"Victory! We have victory!"
Dawn had come.
I hope you enjoyed that chapter, though I still struggle with big battle scenes. I much prefer the next one, so let's get right to it.