Sword Maiden of Rohan | Of Every Race Saga Book IV

Chapter 19: A Red Dawn

The company of Rohirrim encamped not far from where the night's battle had taken place. However, it was hard to sleep with the light of the fires blazing towards the sky. They had only lost two men of their company and those had been buried as best as they could in their current circumstances, none of the soldiers carrying anything by which to dig a grave. The orcs had been piled in one large heap and then set ablaze. The stench of the burning bodies sickened Déorhild and had she not emptied her stomach of what was inside of it, she certainly would have done so now...

The morning dawned grey and cold. The flames had died low upon the burnt bodies of the orcs, but it still blazed brightly. Déorhild rose with the rest and belted her sword around her waist. It was uncomfortable sleeping in heavy, cold chainmail, but it was another necessity of the war-trail. Still feeling sick after all that had happened the night before, she turned away from eating breakfast and simply double-checked her weapons once more before they all mounted and turned south-east.

By this time, the sun had risen a fiery-gold blaze and its gentle warmth thawed Déorhild's numb fingers. The colour, though, reminded her too much of the blood and flames of the battle last night. She had been in the face of battle before, but this time, somehow, it was different. She wasn't quite sure why. Mayhaps it was because of the fact she was in constant fear of her true identity being discovered. She wondered how long she could be among this company before it was discovered she was not Lindúin.

The sun had vanished behind a thick grey veil of clouds by the time midday arrived. As the group hadn't normally stopped for a noon meal, Déorhild wasn't surprised when they kept on riding.

The landscape changed from a fairly flat, grassy plain to rolling hills covered in various rocks of all sizes. The company of men and horses formed narrower lines in order to prevent several detours to avoid the larger clumps of stones about the land.

Ahead of them rose a high hill. Without slowing their speedy pace, the company of horsemen and one woman sped up the rise, the horses' hooves thundering upon the ground. They rose above the hill as if appearing out of nowhere.

They crested the brow of the hill, speeding down towards the dip beyond it. Déorhild squinted hard to be able to see in the sharp wind that blew into her face.

Suddenly, they heard a voice ring out behind them, "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?"

Without a word spoken, Éomer raised his spear and turned his horse sharply, not slowing in his pace. The rest of the company followed in his wake, returning back the way they had come. The Rohirrim spread about in a circle, surrounding the four figures on foot that had called out to them. The circle drew tight around them, the horsemen raising their spears and pointing at the man, two elves, and dwarf. (1)

There was a few moments of silence broken only by the wind and the breathing of the horses.

Then Éomer demanded, "What business do Elves, a Man, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!"

The dwarf snarled, "Give me your name, horse-master,and I shall give you mine."

Éomer dismounted and walked towards the dwarf who had a thick, braided beard that looked to be as coarse as horsehair. "I would cut off your head, dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground," he growled.

The male elf nocked an arrow to his bow within the blink of an eye and pointed it at the leader of the Rohirrim. "You would die before your stroke fell," he said in an angered voice.

All the Rohirrim in unison pointed their spears at the elf. Then the man stepped between the elf and Éomer and put the elf's arm down. The man spoke, saying, "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Glóin," he gestured to the dwarf, "Celebwen Elestel of Imladris, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm," he pointed to the elf. "We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden your king."

"Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe, not even his own kin." The leader of the Rohan horsemen spoke in a grieved voice, removing his helmet. The Rohirrim raised their spears knowing they were in safe company as their leader had removed his helmet. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished. The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked. And everywhere, our spies slip past are nets."

"We are no spies," Aragorn spoke firmly. "We are tracking a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive."

"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night."

Déorhild shuddered involuntarily at the memory. The other elf, who had not spoken a word all this time, looked at her. Déorhild dared to look up and met her eyes. Once she had made contact, there was no letting go. The female elf's eyes were an intense blue-green and something in her gaze held Déorhild there, dimming all else to background noise.

"But there were two hobbits. Did you see two hobbits with them?" Gimli's voice was a pleading question.

"They would be small, only children to your eyes," Aragorn added.

Déorhild saw Éomer shake his head out of the corner of her eye.

"We left none alive," he said. "We piled the carcasses and burned them." He pointed to the dark smoke rising in the distance behind them.

"Dead?" the dwarf's voice was scarcely more than a moan. Déorhild wondered who their friends must have been to have meant so much to these interesting four.

Éomer nodded. "I am sorry." Then he whistled and began to speak again, but his words were lost to Déorhild, for something extraordinary happened.

She heard a voice, not her own, speak within her mind. "I know what it is you seek. I see the path that lies before you." Then Déorhild guessed it to be the elf they had called Celebwen. "Do not fear. Though all seems darkness, there is still light. Do not give up hope."

Éomer put his helmet with the proud crest of horsehair atop it. "Look for your friends. But do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands." He mounted his horse and cried out to the company, "We ride north!" He spurred his horse onwards, his company following him.

Only Déorhild lingered behind, watching the female elf whose words still echoed in her mind as she reluctantly turned north with the rest of Éomer's men, "Do not give up hope."

Sorry, again, for the pause between updates! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Ya know, it's been now exactly two years since I first starting writing this story. I should probably finish it soon, eh? XD

Let me know what you thought in the comments!

~ Gwynnedd

(1) For more information, read The Daughter of Elrond by myself. It goes along with this story. ;)

P.S. Thank you all so much for helping this book reach 2k reads and 100+ votes!