Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

Imagine that you stand on the edge of a cliff. Imagine there is a giant, looming darkness steadily approaching. Imagine that there is nowhere to flee, you are backed against solid rock and have no hope in the world of escaping this fate. But in your hands you hold this small, miniscule, inch of power. This impossible weapon that shines alongside its brothers and sisters, but seems so fruitless an invention. This light that should so easily be snuffed out by the black.

This was the small power left within the men and elves who manned the defenses of Helm’s Deep. A faint shadow of the bravery left behind by its former inhabitants; through the days of Calenardhon under the reign of Gondor, to its glory in Rohan, home of the Guards of Isen. The great king of Rohan, Helm Hammerhand, led his people to safety and refuge here during the war with the Dunlendings. And now, the forces of Rohan, the archers of Lothlórien, the king of Gondor, a Mirkwood princeling and a foolish stable girl of Gondor stood at its defense. We would most of us die, no doubt, but the glimmer of hope we kept would hopefully outlast the enemy.

The ten-thousand strong enemy crafted by Saruman himself.

For all of my hope, all of my prayers and plans, I could not be saved from my fear. The Uruk-hai of Isengard marched on us in increments, a tide rolling in from what could only be an infinite ocean of black. There was no escape. There was no surrender. There was only death waiting for us when the tide at last crashed against the deeping wall. My bow was slung over my shoulder, ready to be drawn, just as my blades were. I did my best to succumb to the powers within me, this gift of spontaneous and sporadic foresight that could save the lives of my friends tonight if controlled properly.

“Sinte ú achas, óre ú achas.” I said under my breath, praying for the courage that I was bereft of. I felt a hand on the small of my back, and I turned my head ever so slightly as Aragorn leaned closer to my ear.

“Stay near me.” He said quietly. It made my heart flutter, the most inappropriate of actions under our specific circumstance. The brink of battle. The edge of death.

“Well lad, whatever luck you life by, let’s hope it lasts the night.” Thunder roared in the heavens above us, the wind picking up and pushing back my tied up hair.

“Your friends are with you Aragorn.” Legolas said from my right. We exchanged woeful glances, distant relatives of goodbyes, and he clutched my hand.

“Let’s hope they last the night…” Gimli grumbled

One, two, three drops of rain fell onto my exposed skin and then a downpour came. Footing was twice as hard to keep in the rain. My blades would take more force to ensure there was no slipping against skin. The armour I wore was meant for taller, thicker, stronger men than me. After Legolas and Aragorn apologized to one another, the four of us prepared together, sharpening our weapons and clothing ourselves in chain mail and plates. Moments later horns blew, signalling the arrival of Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil and a host of Lothlórien archers who had come to our aid. Now we all stood together, ready to fight and die at each other’s side.

"A Eruchîn, ú-dano i faelas a hyn an uben tanatha le faelas!" Aragorn called to all of us. Show them no mercy! For you shall receive none! And at last, the army was upon us. They halted a fair distance, my heart pounding against its cage at the sight of endless orcs.

“What’s happening out there?” Gimli whined, trying in vain to see over the much-too-tall ledge of the wall.

“Shall I describe it to you?” Legolas teased “Or would you like me to find you a box?”

Gimli laughed, a sound most beautiful in our current predicament, just as the orcs before us let out a gruesome roar and raised their weapons in the air. I swallowed hard, searching desperately for any trace of my power within me as I loaded my bow and took aim. Closing my eyes, I repeated my elvish phrase one last time and exhaled calmly. When my eyes opened, it was just in time to see and arrow fly from the left and pierce an orc, killing him. I struggled to hold onto the calm I’d accomplished, putting my faith in the gift I knew I had. The intuition that had been unlocked back in Lothlórien. Aragorn yelled for everyone to hold their fire as the Uruks growl grew to a ghastly war cry and they began to run at the walls. I released my breath.

So it began.

"Faeg i-varv dîn na lanc a nu ranc." Legolas said aloud, his keen eyes picking out the flaws in their creation as they hobbled towards us. Their armor is weak at the neck and under the arms. I aimed straight for the neck of an oncoming orc, firing on Aragorn’s command and watching a shower of arrows bring orcs to their death.

The archers under Théoden’s command fired as well, and as I drew another arrow, more orcs fell. Aragorn instructed us to continue firing, and so I wasted no time in waiting to fire in unison. I loaded, aimed, released, reloaded, aimed, released. They began to fire back at us, and every time I dodged an arrow I managed to shoot the orc that had fired. When I thought about it I realized that my intuition was kicking in, because I felt the oncoming arrows’ paths and knew to move before I even saw them.

When I thought things seemed too easy, my momentary arrogance was wiped clean and replaced by fear. I refused to let it take a solid hold as the Uruks began to lift ladders up to the top of the walls. Gimli, ever an inspiration to fight on, was delighted at the prospect of taking on what was about to become a nonstop flow of orcs. I was quick to exchange my bow for my knives, twirling them in my hands a few times and preparing myself for the oncoming storm.

The ladders rose up, up, up, until the force of gravity brought them crashing down before us. The Uruks were cunning, tens of them already hanging from every open inch of the ladders as they were raised. Flinging themselves over the edge of the wall, they brandished their weapons and attacked. I stayed by Aragorn’s side, as I was commanded, and stabbed at any black form that I saw.

Somehow, despite the booming rain and the roars and grunts of the enemy, Gimli’s voice was audible above the din. He was growling numbers, a kill count, as he swung his axe to and fro. There was some sort of playful banter going on between him and Legolas, a comparison of Uruks killed by each, and promises to outdo the other. I tried to treat this like they did, as if it was all just a game, but I couldn’t. Always, in the back of my mind, I thought about what would happen if we failed. What would become of Gondor…of the Shire…Of the hobbits, the precious little hobbits. The kindest souls in all of Middle Earth: Frodo, Samwise, Peregrin, Meriadoc. Creatures brave beyond anything they should know.

There was a commotion to the left of the Fortress, a steady hill of Uruks who covered their mass with shields as they worked their way to the main gates of the Deep. Aragorn called the archers’ attention to it and in unison they turned their attention from the front lines of the orc’s ranks to the ones that moved closer and closer. Many fell from the bridge, their lifeless bodies raining down on the army beneath.

A feeling overcame me, strange at first, and then wholly familiar. I lost all vision, plummeting back into the premature stages of my foresight and losing all senses. I pulled myself back enough to hear and see faint colours. The colours were brown and gray against the blackness of my mind, and I tried to fight them as best I could as the vision took the rest of my attention.

Merry and Pippin’s laughter drifts through the air, mingling with the smoke from their pipe weed and the smell of fresh meats. Their figures come into view, the pair sitting upon a crumbling stone wall. The stone is grey and weathered, and wet in places. The hobbits joke and speak of olden days and places unfamiliar to me.

“Stop him, Legolas!” Aragorn’s voice pierced through the vision. “Bring him down! Bring him down!”

The vision dissipated and I was left to gather myself and my surroundings. I was being held up against Aragorn with his free arm as he fought off an orc and looked anxiously at a bright moving figure below. I immediately pushed myself to my feet, not wasting my breath and going after as many as I could; but from my peripherals I saw exactly what Aragorn was so worried about.

One of the Uruks was carrying a torch towards some point in the wall. If it had been an orc, I would have dismissed it. If it had not been so rapidly running, I could have ignored it. But whatever the plan, it would not end well for us; no device of Saruman ever did. There was a deafening silence before a giant explosion. An ear-ringing boom that sent a ball of fire into the air along with men, elves, and an entire section of the deeping wall.

It sent me flying through the air, and I landed hard on the ground a fair distance away. It knocked the wind out of me and I struggled to my knees, seeing the Lothlórien archers rush towards us on one side, the Uruks on the other, Aragorn and I in between. I crawled over to him, shaking his unconscious body and starting to panic. Gimli let loose a roar as he jumped from the wall down to where I stood as I tried to drag Aragorn away from the oncoming army.

As Gimli began to single handedly take on the Uruks, Aragorn woke and pushed himself up. He signaled for the elves to stay where they where and fire at the enemy while Gimli continued to fight. In one blow he was thrown to the ground, and Aragorn commanded the army behind him to charge. I took a breath and ran forward, prepared for anything.

The Uruks came in waves, crashing up against our feeble army again and again. Our only advantage was that they had not destroyed the entirety of the bridge, and therefore could not all fit through at once. From somewhere above, Théoden’s voice boomed, commanding us to pull back to the keep. Aragorn relayed the order to the army in elvish, and to Haldir who commanded those still fighting up on the wall. It fell to Aragorn and Legolas to drag Gimli away from the Uruks he so greatly desired to slay, as I followed behind them ready to attack any that got too close.

In a split second, a pain rushed through me and I caught a glimpse of Haldir falling to his knees. His eyes were wide and his mouth agape. I froze, looking up and seeing the spectacle come to life. I cried out his name as Legolas grabbed me and pulled me away from the oncoming army. I ran right behind Aragorn to the falling body of Haldir. Aragorn caught him, placing his hand on the elf’s heart as I resisted the painful need to cry. There was no place for tears in the midst of a battle.

With newfound motivation, I ran at the army of Uruks that was hobbling towards me, towards Haldir. I swung madly at them, removing limbs and heads effortlessly with the wonderfully crafted blades. I released all of my anger on the Isengard scum. These things that should not even be. I wanted, in that moment, to die fighting them. Die in the middle of them, killing as many as I could with my last breath. Aragorn pulled me away, and Legolas insisted I follow him away from the army.

In the midst of battle order was a foreign concept. Everyone—men and orcs alike—ran around and clashed to the point where oftentimes the two were undistinguishable from one another. I was conscious of few things other than the repetitive action of blade swinging and the tiredness that was plaguing me. The battle had been going on for hours, and there could only be hours more to go. Legolas had pulled me through a labyrinth of corridors, Aragorn catching up from wherever he had been.

There were many torches hanging on the walls, providing light that had been absent for so long to me. We had left the orcs behind, now the only sound coming from men. Orders were being barked, wounded soldiers cried out for mercy or death, and somewhere in the distance there was systematic banging. Aragorn led us around a few corners, the banging noise rising in volume until at least we arrived at the source. Théoden stood behind a small group of men who were all bracing the door as the Uruks on the other side attempted to bash their way in.

“Hold them!” Théoden called to his men, one arm curled up against his body.

“How long do you need?” Aragorn called out as he went to join the men in their brave barricade attempt. I paused at the wall opposite the king, leaning against it and catching my breath. I winced, my eyes bringing the knowledge to my brain how many wounds I had sustained. None of them had been noticed until now, but everywhere my clothing was soaked with dark patches and tears.

“As long as you can give me.” Théoden replied, disappearing. He walked past a door, which I questioned at first: we were at the edge of the gates, there were no corridors further. I wondered if perhaps I led outside. Outside. It would buy much time indeed if the battalion of orcs at the doorstep had to face another, taking their attention from the door. However, I knew I could not do it alone.

“Aragorn!” I called, and as he wormed his way through the men and back to me, I nodded towards the door. He hesitated only briefly, knowing what I was suggesting at once but pausing as if contemplating letting me go through. Moments later he seemed to come to the right conclusion, nodding for me to follow as he slipped through the door. I

It was a short walk in the dark and then another door. Opening it, I saw the ledge it let us onto: both narrow and very high up. It reminded me of the paths of Moria near the old mithril mines. I could do it then, I could do it now. Aragorn stepped out first, taking careful steps around the ledge as I followed. He stopped where we were still hidden, looking back at me.

“Have we any hope of surviving?” I whispered sadly, unable to stop the water welling in my eyes as I thought about death. His eyes glued to mine, he reached out and gingerly held my hand.

“There is always hope.” With that he leapt from his spot with a battle cry, my feet following his footsteps without a second thought. Tumbling onto the stone bridge, our disturbance sent quite a few orcs falling off the ramp. The two of us were up in a heartbeat, brandishing our weapons and being mercilessly attacked. The Bridge, like that of Khazad-dûm, funneled the enemy into a narrow space so as to minimize the amount of orcs that could come at us at once.

The way Aragorn and I fought, as if we were one, worked greatly in our favour. There were times when the enemy didn’t seem to know how to come at us. We were moving constantly, spinning back to back in circles, never stopping or giving them a chance to make us a target. Théoden ordered something that I missed, realizing the never ending mass of orcs still stretched on for miles in front of us. Ladders were being lifted up, more poured into the breach in the wall, and even more were being held back by the king of Gondor and his foolish companion.

“Aragorn!” Théoden called from behind us. “Get out of there!”

And then, from above us, Legolas called for Aragorn’s attention, throwing a rope down over the wall as a means of escape. Without a moment’s hesitation, Aragorn sheathed his sword, grabbed the rope with one hand and wrapped the other around my waist. He kicked off of the bridge, sending us into suspension as I quickly wrapped my arms around him. Legolas found the strength to pull us up, inch by inch, even as the war surged on around him. Ladders continued to go up meters from where we dangled, their tips meeting the wall as we reached the top. I scrambled over the wall first, drawing my weapons and attacking the orcs who came at Legolas from the newest ladder.

There was a faint glow in the sky, a brightness that meant morning was finally coming. I mused at the thought for a moment only, its peace being stolen from me and replaced with Théoden’s voice calling one final command. Retreat. Fall back to the keep, the fortress is taken. Retreat. My heart sunk as I followed my companions, unable to do more than match my footsteps with theirs. I should have known from the start that there was no surviving this, no matter how much hope Aragorn could give. My mind wandered to Feredir, somewhere in Fort Eorlingas, alone. His death would be my fault. All the women and little children in the caves, they would surely die. So many little boys and old men, and soldiers and elves, all dead, their bodies strewn across the deeping wall and the Hornburg. I wanted to weep.

There was no hope.