Prequel to my version of The Lord of The Rings trilogy

Helm's Deep Battlements part 2

Soldiers moved to and fro, their faces etched with determination as they fortified Helm's Deep for the imminent onslaught. Aragorn, weary but resolute, found a moment of solitude on the steps of the great hall. His gaze swept across the bustling courtyard, filled with the frenetic energy of preparation.

Amidst the chaos, a lone figure caught his eye—a young boy, scarcely more than a youth, stood nervously clutching a sword. Aragorn's weathered features softened as he observed the boy's uncertainty. With a silent gesture, he beckoned the boy closer.

"Give me your sword," Aragorn's voice was gentle yet commanding, cutting through the air with quiet authority.

Startled, the boy whipped around, his eyes widening in surprise. Slowly, he approached Aragorn, the weight of uncertainty heavy upon his shoulders, and handed over his weapon.

"What is your name?" Aragorn inquired, his tone filled with a mixture of curiosity and compassion.

"Haleth, son of Hama, my lord," came the hesitant reply, tinged with a hint of apprehension.

Aragorn's expression softened further at the mention of the boy's lineage, a flicker of recognition passing through his eyes.

"The men speak of despair, of impending doom," Haleth confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "They say our cause is hopeless."

Wordlessly, Aragorn rose to his feet, his gaze shifting to the sword now in his possession. With practiced ease, he tested its balance, the blade singing through the air with a melodic hum. His eyes found Haleth's once more, a silent understanding passing between them.

"This is a good sword," Aragorn remarked, his voice carrying the weight of authority tempered with reassurance.

With a sense of reverence, Aragorn returned the sword to Haleth, who accepted it with newfound determination, his fingers wrapping around the hilt with a newfound sense of purpose.

"Haleth, son of Hama," Aragorn addressed him, his voice steady and unwavering. Leaning in closer, he imparted words that echoed with the wisdom of ages past.

"There is always hope," Aragorn's voice resonated with quiet conviction, a beacon of light amidst the encroaching darkness.

As Haleth absorbed Aragorn's words, a spark ignited within him, kindling a flame of resilience in the face of adversity. With renewed resolve, he straightened his stance, his gaze now fixed upon the horizon with a newfound sense of hope.

In that fleeting moment, amidst the turmoil of war, Aragorn had bestowed upon Haleth not only a sword but also a glimmer of hope—a beacon to guide him through the darkest of nights. And as the echoes of their exchange faded into the night, the spirit of defiance burned bright within the walls of Helm's Deep, a testament to the enduring power of hope in the face of despair.