𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ғᴏʀᴛʏ-ᴏɴᴇ

Oh, wow, what's this? Another chapter? AND it's almost 6k words? The rest of the Battle of Helm's Deep? I'll be damned.

Previously on: 
Robb invents trench warfare and Saruman's army sets off a bomb.

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Robb's ears were ringing. It was the first sensation that filtered through, followed shortly by the dry taste of ash and dust on his tongue and a burning pain on his face, barely soothed by the rain. The stone floor underneath his head was still wet—and muddy, now, somehow.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking once, then twice to clear the sparks from his vision. Raindrops fell into his eyes and Robb sputtered, finally heaving himself into a sitting position and shielding his face from the torrent of rain. All around him, Men and Elves were doing the same.

The Deeping Wall still stood, but only just. A large chunk had been torn out of the battlements to his left, the wall itself cracked inward as though a giant fist had tried to punch through it. Stone and dust littered the walkway itself, slowly turning into sludge and covering several more unfortunate soldiers. Two of the cauldrons had tipped over and one more had tumbled off the ramparts entirely, leaving puddles of steaming water on the already wet stone.

Groaning, Robb clamored to his feet, drawing himself up on what remained of the battlements. His armour was dirty and his face still hurt from the heat of the explosion, but otherwise, he felt fine.

Nobody seemed to be seriously hurt from what Robb could see—not beyond a few shallow wounds and burns similar to his own. Certainly, none of the soldiers looked to be screaming in pain or lying motionlessly.

Next to him, Legolas was helping up Aragorn, whose face was twisted up in pain. A trickle of blood ran down his temple and he was holding his left shoulder. Robb rushed forward to steady him when he stumbled.

"Are you alright?" he asked, working his jaw when the ringing in his ears failed to abate. He could barely hear his own voice, nevermind Aragorn's reply. Robb stared at Aragorn's lips, trying to make out the words.

"—fell on—wound," the man answered, or at least, Robb thought he did. Those were the parts he could glean, in any case. "Ripped—open. Nothing to worry about."

Robb nodded, working his jaw once more before giving it up as a lost cause. Either the ringing would fade, or it wouldn't. There were more important matters to deal with, now.

He let go of Aragorn, turning, at last, to survey the battlefield. The trench had been partially obliterated, replaced by a crater where the explosives had detonated. Although the corpses in the remainder of the trench were still burning, any flames in the blast radius had been as good as quenched by the rain. Still, the Uruk-Hai were far from out of the woods. A good portion of the front lines was gone entirely, tendrils of smoke curling up into the air from smouldering grass and corpses alike. A bit farther out from the centre of the blast, some of the Uruks were trying and failing to get up whilst the rest of the army struggled to regain their bearings and return to some semblance of order. Robb thought he heard screams and coughs and retching from below, but he really couldn't be sure.

Only one thing was certain: The Uruk-Hai had exchanged Robb's metaphorical frying pan for a fire of their own making.

Still, Helm's Deep was vulnerable, now. If they hesitated for too long, Saruman's army would recover and take advantage of that. The Uruks still had ladders and battering rams, and more than enough soldiers to take the Deeping Wall by force.