Sword and Arrow

Chapter 61

The army was a dark stain on the horizon, appearing at the top of the rise that gave way to the Fields of Pelennor. The white city burned before them, dark shapes running rampant through its many layers and levels like ants in a model house.

Théoden King drew them to a halt and they stopped, rank after rank of knight and horse and bristling spears, green flags snapping in the wind high above them.

"Courage, Merry," Éowyn whispered, the light of her eyes hidden by the heavy helm. "Courage for our friends."

The king ran back and forth past the front ranks of the horsemen, bellowing orders to his commanders. "Éomer!" he said first. "Take your eored down the left side."

"Yes, my lord," Éomer responded, his horsehair plume shaking with a toss of his head. Firefoot pawed at the ground, eager to ride forward in front of his soldiers into the dark ranks that had begun to form in front of them.

"Gamling, follow the King's banner down the center." Gamling had been promoted to a higher position after the battle of Helm's Deep - both for his bravery and the lack of commanders following the massacre. "Grimbold, take your company right after you pass the wall." He drew Snowmane to a stop at the approximate center of the front ranks. "Forth, and fear no darkness!"

The host of the Rohirrim was silent to hear their king's words.

"Arise, arise, riders of Théoden!" the king cried in a clear voice, loud enough to be heard to the very back of the army. "Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered! A sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!" Spears shifted in their wielders' hands, preparing to lock down into the position to charge.

"Whatever happens, stay with me," Éowyn whispered in Merry's ear. She bent forward over her horse's neck, gripping the reins as tightly as she could. "I will look after you." Merry nodded breathlessly. This was it. It was happening. War.

Théoden rode back and forth across the lines, his sword extended, hitting each spear lowered forward. "Ride now, ride now, ride!" he cried. "Ride for ruin, and the world's ending!"

Now Snowmane halted and a wild fire was in her eyes, her mane the white of fire rampant. "Death!" Théoden cried.

"Death!" the host of the Rohirrim responded in a single fell voice.

"Death!" the king called again.

"Death!"

Théoden thrust his sword into the air, the gold chasing on the hilt glimmering in the sun. "Forth, Eorlingas!"

The horns of the great host sounded as flags and banners were raised and spears were lowered. And then the great host of the Rohirrim rode forward, ranks and ranks of horsemen and spears like a thornbush, down the slope towards the hastily formed orcish lines of pikes and archers.

Théoden rode at the head, far ahead of the front of the host, a single white speck in the crown of brown and grey and green. He rose high in his stirrups, determination in his face, reins in one hand and steel in the other.

Arrows rained down on them, but the riders and horses that were taken down were fractional in the vastness of the host. And then the riders were upon them, trampling the orcs and riding down the lines. The pikes were to no avail, the archers soon killed.

Éomer was fury living, crashing through ranks of reserves of orcs and men. His plume flew in the air, golden armor shining even in the dim light. Orcs fled at his terror and even great commanders of Sauron were no match for him.

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Oil cascaded over Denethor's head, trickling down his face and into his robes. "Set a fire in our flesh," he said.