The Second Heir

Pick Your Battles

EDITED 6-26-17

~.~

As the Riders crested the hill before the gates of Minas Tirith, they were met by the clang of steel, screeching of men and orcs, and the pounding of thousands of footsteps. The force before them dwarfed the army that had attacked Helm's Deep, and flickers of doubt flitted across their hearts. Emryn felt her heart clench at the sight of the White City; not wholly out of fear, but for her people, trapped inside the many walls.

They formed ranks atop the hill; Emryn was itching to storm across the Pellenor Fields, and Gwaeryn shifted restlessly beneath her. The host of Rohan had slept late and ridden through the night, the morning sun now creeping over the horizon behind them. Emryn was mildly concerned when she hadn't seen Eowyn that morning, but Windfola was still in her stall as they had mounted to leave, so she had dismissed it.

"Eomer! Take your eored down the left flank!" Theoden King commanded his nephew, who nodded from his place beside Emryn before shouting commands at his men. Neither one of them had said anything about the previous night, but the tension between them was almost palpable. Emryn had long run out of curses for the whole ordeal, both for Eomer and his ill timing, and for her cheeks, which now turned a lovely shade of red every time she came near the man.

"May Bema give us victory," Eomer prayed from beside her, and she nodded.

"And may the Valar bring us home safely," she replied in kind, and her thoughts sprang to her brother, who now walked a path she could not see.

When had everything become so complicated? The world was simpler a year ago, when Emryn's biggest concern was falling out of a flet if she missed her footing. Now her brother marched through places no living man has survived, two hobbits were on a quest to Mt. Doom, and she sat before a field of battle next to a man she wanted to both slap for the trouble he's caused her, or kiss him for the same reason. Valar help us indeed!

The King now rode back in front of them. "Arise! Arise Riders of Theoden! Spears shall be shaken; shields shall be splintered! A sword day, a red day, ere the sun rises!"

His timing could not have been better. The sun finally emerged from behind the horizon, and the screams of the orcs could be heard across the plain. May they burn in the void!

"Death!" The King cried, and the army of Rohan responded. With each cry Emryn could feel her heart lifting, and a sudden courage filled her to the brim.

On the last cry, they charged forward, horns blaring and senseless rage overcoming them all. Anyone who chanced to see them would swear they were smiling as they stampeded towards the orcs, and that fire filled their eyes with blind madness.

Emryn fired arrow after arrow from her bow, each finding its mark amongst the hordes of orcs. Her new armor gleamed in the sunlight, and a circlet of spun gold formed a crown of fire on her brow. No arrow the orcs fired touched her, and they fell back in fear as she galloped toward them.

She ran out of arrows just moments from the first line of orcs, and briefly she wished she was like Legolas, who never seemed to be lacking any arrows from his quiver. However, these thoughts vanished as she drew her sword and the Riders trampled the swarms underfoot.

Emryn looked to the left as the charged and saw Eomer urging Firefoot onward, grinning madly as he ran through an Orc with his spear. She smiled grimly and started slicing any Orc that came too close to her sword, and Gwaeryn barreled through any Orc that crossed her path.