The story is about a survivor of an orc invasion, Déorhild, who comes to Eodoras to seek help from King Théoden. However, due to her strange story and backround, no one really trusts her except for Éowyn and Éomer. Also, no one is really close to he...
Déorhild lost track of the days as time went on. Each day was the same pattern of rising early, eating, and riding on. The only difference was the gradually changing terrain and the different groups of scouts sent out to watch for any enemy movements. She tried her best to remain invisible amidst them all as best as she could.
The entire company had been heading northeast for several days and would soon reach Fangorn forest. Déorhild did not know where they were going as she was not an officer who would therefore be privy to the directions of their leader, Éomer.
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The sun's rays were darkening towards twilight. A chill February wind swept across the plain, penetrating everything. Déorhild tried her best to ignore her numb hands as she dismounted with all the rest for that evening.
Suddenly, the scouts, which had not been seen all day, returned. Éomer and the other leaders of the war-band separated themselves from the others to question the men who'd just arrived. Déorhild watched them from the cover of her helmet. What are they talking about?
A few moments later, her question was answered.
Éomer and the officers walked back to the group, grabbing the attentions of all those assembled. "Men! I know how faithfully you have followed me into exile. We swore to defend our country, the true land of Rohan. The opportunity to do so has drawn nigh!" Éomer paused, letting his words sink in. "I want everyone of you to prepare for battle. A league or so north, a band of orcs is encamped for the night. We must take them by surprise and in silence slaughter them all. We will not let any such threats to our beloved land pass us by unchallenged. Are you with me?"
A chorus of resounding "Aye!'s" followed.
"Then eat well and prepare for battle. We will leave within the hour."
Several cheered, while the others busied themselves preparing a simple meal of bannock. It was quite boring fare, but there was no time to hunt or any animals to be prey.
Déorhild grabbed her ration and went to her horse, taking her helmet off now that she was out of sight of the others and eating like a ravished child. She had scarcely strapped her helmet back on when she heard Éomer's voice speaking to her, "Soldier, what are you doing out here?"
In the deepest, calmest voice she could manage, she replied, "I was just checking that my horse was alright, sir."
"What's your name?"
Déorhild felt a sense of panic rise up within her as her brain raced. "L--Lindúin, sir."
"Then Lindúin, rejoin the others. I will not have my men scattered about like chaff."
"Aye, sir," she bowed her head and walked away, hardly feeling relief. That brief intercourse had unnerved her. She must be more on her guard.
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Some time later, they gave the order to ride out, and silently, they all mounted, many check to make sure their weapons were in perfect order. It would not do to have the blade stick to the sheath in the cold damp of the evening. Déorhild soundlessly check her bow-string. It was taunt. Satisfied, she hooked the coif mask that went over her mouth and reached down, cutting the picket-lines with her dirk. All around her, everyone else was doing the same and, within moments, the picket-line fell down to the ground.
"Ready, men?" Éomer's rang out in the cold air.
"Aye!" they all answered more or less in unison.
Éomer dug his heels into his horse's flanks and spurred him forward, the others doing the same.
Without another word spoken, they thundered forward to the group of orcs waiting ignorantly a league away.
The dark landscape sped by, lit only by the bright, full, raider's moon that hung in a ink-black sky devoid of clouds. But Déorhild had not the time to gaze at the landscape. It was difficult enough to avoid falling behind in the company or trying her best to keep her horse out of potential dangers such as invisible holes in the ground which would surely injure her steed to some extent.
Besides, some time later, all around her, the riders began to ready their weapons. The Rohirrim were renowned for their horsemanship and indeed, it took much muscle work and superb balance to stay atop a running beast while holding one's spear level, or preparing to shoot with a bow. Déorhild was thankful to the days spent training with her brothers years ago. Or else she would have certainly fallen, much to her embarrassment.
A moment later, they saw the forest on the horizon and hurried to it. Everything now depended on speed. For surely the orcs would be able to smell them for there was no wind.
Déorhild swallowed hard as the battle adrenaline swept over her and she became sharply aware of everything around her, especially the dark band of moving figures growing ever closer...
Then she let fly and her arrow sped through the air, finding its mark in one of the orcs.
And then another.
And another.
And another.
Till at last, she became aware that almost all were either dead or soon on their way to be on that state. Looking around her, she saw a few of the Rohirrim dead, but it was nothing compared to those they had slain. And Éomer was still alive.
Relief washed over her and she climbed down from her horse. She landed in something squishy. Looking down, she saw it was entrails and blood.
Nausea rushed over her and she unhooked the mail coif seconds before her dinner exited her mouth. When she had finished retching, she left the coif hanging and remounted her horse, hoping no one had seen her in her moment of weakness. The very memory sickened her and it was with great reluctance she remained in that place as Éomer and his officers called out the names of those in the group to discover who had fallen and who had not.
At last, they were given the order to pile up the bodies and set them aflame. Déorhild moaned softly at the thought of having to step through that--filth. Then she heard a voice say softly to her, "Don't bother. I'll do it. You're not the only one who can't handle it yet. You should have seen me after my first battle." She turned to see a somewhat elderly man dismount and begin helping the others gathering the orc bodies.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The man nodded and then walked off.
Déorhild closed her eyes. Would it always be like this? How long would she have to keep up this disguise?
Sorry for the long update wait! I've been terribly swamped by school, and updating is more of a luxury these days. Please bear with me!
Anyway, what did you think of the chapter? Let me know in the comments/votes!
