On the walls of the Hornburg, countless soldiers stood in neat formation, gazing toward the northern mouth of the wide valley.
If all went as expected, the enemy would come from that direction.
Night had fallen.
"All the old, weak, women, and children of Westfold are in Helm's Deep. They've been sent to the Glittering Caves for shelter."
At the highest point of the wall, Háma was reporting to Théoden.
"Fortunately, our food stores are plentiful. In recent years the Free Cities have been generous in their aid to the surrounding lands. Supplies are the least of our worries. We can hold here for a long time, a very long time."
"We will hold."
Théoden gripped his sword tightly.
"The enemy is indeed formidable, but our warriors are all veterans."
This time, no elders or children were forced to take up arms or stand upon the wall.
"You're right. Those creatures are not to be underestimated," Gimli said half-jokingly, having fought the Uruk-hai before and knowing their strength all too well. "Even though many of them are barely more than babes, they're far stronger than any child of their age."
Tap.
At that moment, Aragorn laid a hand on his shoulder, signaling him to be silent.
Then he lifted his head and looked out beyond the wall.
"They're here."
Not only Aragorn and Gimli stood there. Legolas and Boromir were also on the wall, all waiting together for the coming of war.
Time passed painfully slow.
In the distance, scattered flames flickered in the valley. The great host of Uruk-hai and the Dunlendings was advancing silently, pouring into the deep valley.
Those scattered flames were the torches in their hands.
Boom!
Thunder flashed across the sky, and the heavy rumble that followed cast a shadow over every heart.
"I've seen this scene many times before," said Boromir, the calmest of them all.
"I often journey between Osgiliath and Cair Andros. Those places are never free of raids. There's never a moment's peace."
"Spare us your family history," Gimli muttered. "The enemy we're facing now is no less dangerous than yours, and..."
"Do you hear that familiar sound?"
They all looked up.
A dark shadow on a fell beast was circling in the air.
A Nazgûl.
Boromir glanced down at Gimli. "That thing, I know it well."
"What kind of life do you people live?" Gimli grumbled, suddenly starting to understand Boromir a little better.
No wonder he had yearned so much for the Ring. Indeed, with it, many deadly problems could have been solved in an instant.
Like the Nazgûl.
The One Ring, the ruler of all rings.
If the One Ring were here, and someone put it on, the Nazgûl would have to kneel at once, enslaved by its power.
Even if their true master was still Sauron, for that moment they would be forced to obey the bearer of the One Ring, compelled against their will.
"Raaagh!"
After what felt like an endless, torturous wait, the army finally reached the base of the wall.
The two sides now faced each other.
The Uruk-hai and Dunlendings roared at the top of their lungs, striking the ground with their weapons, trying to intimidate the defenders.
But the soldiers upon the wall only stared down silently, unmoving.
For their king and marshal stood there with them, leading by example at the front, their cold gazes fixed below, searching for the enemy's weaknesses.
"The neck, and the armpits. Those are the weak spots in their armor," said Legolas, the first to spot them.
"Yeah, yeah, we know your eyes are sharp," grumbled Gimli, whose helmet barely peeked over the parapet. "Mind telling me what's happening out there? I can't see a thing."
"Need me to lift you up?" Boromir offered again.
"You say that one more time, and I'll have words with you," Gimli growled.
Legolas chimed in, "Shall I fetch you a box to stand on instead?"
Gimli laughed, half from anger, half from disbelief at the two of them.
Thunder rumbled across the heavens, dark clouds rolling overhead until the roar reached their ears. Then, without warning, a torrential downpour began.
And thus, the battle began.
"Loose a volley!"
Théoden gave the order, and beside him, Háma bellowed, "Fire!"
Whoosh.
The archers, long prepared, loosed a rain of arrows all at once. Of the four companions, all fired except Gimli, who could only watch, frustrated, as the arrows streaked into the night.
But volley after volley, even the follow-up free shots, failed to halt the enemy's advance. They were simply too many, filling the entire valley, stretching beyond sight.
Countless black figures swarmed beneath the walls. Every flash of lightning revealed a sea of twisted, snarling faces.
The open ground before the wall was already packed to bursting. Hooks were thrown upward, ladders raised, as they tried to scale the fortress. But the defenders were no pushovers. They fought fiercely, blocking every attempt.
Before long, corpses had piled high at the base of the wall.
Thud!
By the corner of the rampart, Gimli leapt up and cleaved down an Uruk who thought he'd found a gap.
"Didn't expect a Dwarf here, did you!" he barked triumphantly.
"Turn around, defend the gate!"
The shout came from atop the wall. The four warriors glanced over and saw a column of enemies moving along the slope toward the main gate.
The defenders dropped heavy stones and unleashed more volleys of arrows, pushing back wave after wave of assault.
Screech!
The Nazgûl swooped lower, circling down to strike at the soldiers above the gate. Its fell beast shrieked amid the thunder and lightning, its presence spreading terror. Many men shrank back, trembling, too afraid to fight.
"Stand firm! Courage!"
At that critical moment, their own marshal, Théoden's son, Théodred, stepped forward, sword raised high, shouting with all his might.
At the sound of his voice, the soldiers rallied. They gritted their teeth, rose to their feet, and fought back with renewed hope.
But the delay had cost them.
In just that brief hesitation, the enemy had pressed up to the very gate.
Whoosh.
A volley of arrows forced the Nazgûl to retreat upward again.
Meanwhile, before the gate, a band of tall, burly Dunlendings approached, hefting massive tree trunks. They rammed them again and again into the gate, while the Uruk-hai raised wide black shields to cover them from above and on both sides.
The gate of the Hornburg, after all, was made of wood. It began to shudder and crack under the repeated blows.
In that dire moment, Aragorn, Boromir, and Théodred exchanged a glance.
"Warriors, follow me!"
They gathered a small detachment and charged down a side path along the slope, crashing into the enemy ranks below.
The Dunlendings who had been battering the gate were caught off guard. They dropped their tree trunks and spun to fight back, while the Uruk-hai turned their shields to face the new threat.
But who stood before them?
A strike force led by Aragorn, Boromir, and Théodred themselves.
The three drew their swords in unison, and the Uruks' shield wall shattered instantly. Some were cut down outright, others hurled aside, tumbling down the slope.
Raw strength, unrelenting courage, sheer might turned the tide.
Another wave of assault was repelled, though the defenders had suffered greatly.
"The gate's been damaged. We must fall back."
"Retreat!"
The group began to withdraw in haste.
But clearly, someone did not intend to let them leave so easily.
The Nazgûl dove again, its fell beast descending fast. Théodred, at the rear of the group, was about to be seized by its claws.
"Legolas!" Aragorn shouted.
An arrow streaked through the rain a heartbeat later.
Thunk!
It struck the fell beast's body.
The creature screamed, banking hard and soaring away. It was wounded, but not gravely. It could still fly.
"What a pity," Legolas murmured to himself, regretting that from his angle, he hadn't managed to hit its wing.