The Lord Of The Rings- The War Of The Rohirrim ... Page

Helm, mad with grief, grabbed a great spear and charged alone into the enemy host. He killed forty-two men before his spear shattered, then fought on with his fists, earning his legend. But the city was lost.

She devised a desperate plan. The Hornburg had a secret drain—a narrow culvert that led from the keep to the base of the ravine. While Wulf prepared a final assault, Héra led thirty riders through the icy water, emerging behind the enemy camp.

To the south, in the fortress of Dunharrow, resided Freca, a proud and wealthy Lord of mixed Rohirrim and Dunlending blood. Freca coveted the throne. At a great council, he arrived with his son, Wulf—a man whose charming smile masked a soul of black envy. The Lord of the Rings- The War of the Rohirrim ...

Freca proposed a union: Wulf would marry Héra, and in return, Freca’s lands would be merged with the crown, making Wulf the heir. Helm laughed, a sound like grinding stone. “You come with a beggar’s bowl and call it a crown? My daughter is not a prize for a wolf pup.”

The attack came on the eve of winter’s deepest freeze. Wulf’s army—ten thousand strong, armed with black-sailed ships and fell axes—stormed the ford of the Isen. Edoras fell in a night of fire. Hama, the eldest son, died holding the gate against a Dunlending champion. Haleth was cut down defending the mead hall. Helm, mad with grief, grabbed a great spear

All that is known is this: The Hornburg was renamed Helm’s Deep. The Deeping Wall was raised higher. And every winter, the children of Rohan whisper the tale of the Hammerhand who froze at his post, and his daughter who chose the wind over a throne.

They fought on the broken stones of the ravine. Wulf was stronger, but Héra was faster. She remembered Léof’s lessons, her father’s fury. As Wulf overextended, she sidestepped, drove her blade through the gap in his shoulder plate, and pushed. He fell onto the frozen river, which cracked beneath his weight. The current dragged him under. She devised a desperate plan

Wulf besieged the Hornburg. He had no siege towers, only time and ice. Winter came with a fury—blizzards that turned the ravine into a white tomb. Inside, they boiled leather for food. Outside, Wulf’s men froze in their tents.

Helm turned to Wulf, blood on his knuckles. “Leave. Your life is spared as a courtesy to your dead father’s name. If you return, I will crush you as I did him.”

In the dying days of the Third Age, Rohan basked in an uneasy peace. King Helm Hammerhand, a towering bull of a man with fists like iron, ruled from his golden hall in Edoras. His sons, Hama and Haleth, were valiant warriors. His daughter, Héra, was a spirit of the wild grasses—more comfortable on a horse than a throne, and more skilled with a blade than any tapestry needle.