Helm's Deep Fanfic
By Galadnilien

It had been raining since dusk, and now in the fullness of the dark he stood by the cold stone wall; he felt its rough, worn surface beneath his trembling fingers. As he stood there surrounded, and completely alone, he watched. Through the impenetrable night he knew that somewhere beyond the dike unseen enemies marched. The steady thrumming of their tread reverberated through the ground, like the thunder of an approaching storm. The rain began to hasten, as did his thoughts of the impending onslaught; time seemed at a standstill and yet rushing unbridled into battle.

Rain ran down his red hair turning it to umber, until it washed into his face; he was glad of the rain for it hid his tears, that springing from the wells of his eyes, made manifest his fear. Unmitigated terror enveloped him; hope died four days ago. On that morning a bloody sun rose over the village of Folca in the Eastemnet near the Mering Stream. The first rays of dawn settled on the row of damp straw thatched homes with smoldering gardens igniting the bloodstained ground into the colors of violent flames. All was silent, the screams of the villagers and the inhuman jeers of their assailants gone.

They came in the hour before daybreak, burning as they went. The boy’s father, Léod told him to take their only horse Arod, “Warn the Éored. Your mother and I, and your younger siblings will make for Helm’s Deep. Meet us there.” “But father,” the boy protested. “Go now. War is among Rohan. I’ll take care of them,” he smacked the horse, speeding his eldest son from death. The wind whined in the boy’s ears, drowning out the panicked voices of the villagers, as the fires grew distant behind him.

He beheld the dike at the entrance to the Deeping Coomb in the early hours of the forth day. The powerful arms of the mountain had grown in size through the night. Old men with weathered faces and young boys worked alongside soldiers fortifying the dike as the first defense. Two of the Éored checked their horses and called to him, “Halt! State your name and business.” “I am Guthlaf, son of Léod, of Folca. I come by way of Edoras. My father sent me to tell of the attack on my village and then to meet him here. Do you know of him?” The two men looked at each other and tuning back to the boy, “There are no survivors. I’m sorry.” The boy looked into the men’s faces for some sign of uncertainty, but their faces revealed nothing; his mind reeling with grief as his body shook from his cries.

Recovering himself, the boy found he had been taken through the gates of Helm’s Deep, well within the protection of the Deeping Wall, to the Hornburg whose stone walls rose like the mountain’s peak that withstood the tumult of every storm, beneath the morning sky. People lined the streets tending to the wounded and crying for their lost homes and relatives. One of the leaders of the Éored, flanked by his men in glistening armor and swords at their sides, called to the people. “All men that are capable of carrying a sword are to do so. Mail and weapons are in the armory; my men will be passing them out. Women and children are to go to the caves. By order of the King.” Weeping families bid farewell to each other promising safety and victory. Somewhere in the turbulence of preparation night came along with the icy rain.

The rumble of marching feet was almost upon them; the clanking of thousands of fell armored adversaries deafening. And with the suddenness of lightning they halted just beyond the wall, the reflection of fiery light on their swords visible through the pouring rain. He stood along the wall with the other men, rain falling around him, chilling him as he gripped the smooth leather hilt of his sword. The call came for the archers, “Aim! Let fly!” Innumerable arrows whistled loudly overhead speeding the first blows of death into the enemy’s ranks. They returned fire. The boy felt a sudden burning pressure in his chest, weakness overcame him, and looking down he saw the dark, coarse feathered arrow that had pierced his heart. Falling to the ground rain fell on his face.

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