Helm’s Deep

December 20, 2015



I stood atop the watchtower, gazing over a sea of orcs and men of Dunland, in the service of the White Hand. Torches, ballistae, trolls.

And suddenly, the wave broke and the battle became a blur of arrows, fire, orcs, and so much noise. When it became too thick to fight with bow or spear, I made to push back siege ladders. I am thankful for my relative deftness compared to the Rohirrim in their heavy armor.

Night deepened and the battle was pushed back, and back. We fell back into the main keep, and made a last stand — just before dawn, reinforcements appeared. It proved to be Erkenbrand of the Westfold with his army, accompanied by Gandalf, the White Rider.

The words of Húrin Thalion — a tragic figure to be sure, but that is a story for another time — came to mind: Aurë Entuluva! Day will come again!

I have survived, and the Men of Rohan have much to celebrate. I, however, must push south to Gondor. This is only the beginning.

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We Ride

December 20, 2015


I must be brief, there is not much time.

We had only just arrived in Edoras, the center of the Rohirric world, when word came: War has come to Rohan. The armies of the White Hand are massing, and the Horse-lords will make their stand at the fortress at Helm’s Deep.

At the behest of Théoden, King of Rohan, we ride with the Eorlingas.

Night falls, and the drums sound in the distance. May the Valar protect us all.

Meleth nîn, I will prevail.

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