Sword Maiden of Rohan | Of Every Race Saga Book IV

Chapter 20: The White Rider

As the days went by, Déorhild slowly withdrew into herself, nearly becoming a silent ghost among the other soldiers. Not speaking, she remained unnoticed. Yet she was not the only one to remain silent. Most of the men did not speak unless necessary. They fought well, but the bitterness of exile was upon them all. Even Éomer traversed the leagues of Rohan silently, a dark and distant look on his face...

The green lengths of Rohan's rolling hills flew by them as the company rode as one to the north east. Yet within Éomer's heart, only darkness and grief were to be found, a stark irony to the wild beauty of the land around him. He questioned if what he was doing was right. Was it right of him to leave his deranged uncle in charge of the kingdom? Was it right of him to leave his sister unprotected from the cruelties of Gríma? Was it right to leave Gríma alive, wreaking havoc to the kingdom? Was it right to leave Déorhild with nothing but a passionate outburst of love and no promise to return?

These questions plagued him endlessly. He missed her more than ever, her quiet strength. One glance into her olive-green eyes would have been enough.

He remembered once before, when return back from Rohandras, this same feeling, only then he had been riding across the leagues of Rohan without knowing why he felt the depth of sorrow. Now, he knew why. And there was nothing he could do to change it--to change any of it. He could only go on.

There was no other choice, for him, or for anyone else.

They had been traveling eastwards for several days, hunting down various orc packs ubiquitously scattered about. Silence reigned among them, unbroken save for the clash of battle. So it had been, and Déorhild was tempted to think it would be that way for quite some time to come. Yet so did they all. Pushing away thoughts of home so that they would not be distracted from the task ahead of them, they closed up their lives, leaving memories behind in Edoras.

Then, it all changed in a fleeting moment, as when the sun breaks over the horizon, drastically changing the world from darkness to the golden light of day.

One morning, as the sky paled to a grey dawn, the company was startled by the appearance of a rider cresting a distant hill and riding straight towards them. He was clothed in pure white and the horse which he rode upon was of the same colour.

When the rider reached them, Éomer stood and walked forward as the man, whose hair was as silver as snow, dismounted easily despite what one would have thought, merely guessing his age.

"Hail and well met, stranger. What brings you to these accurséd lands?" the Rohirrim's leader spoke, his voice grave.

"Because, Éomer, son of Éomund, your country has need of you," the old man replied, his voice young and strong.

"I was banished from my country," Éomer turned away, a dark look on his face. "They do not need or want me and my men."

"It is there that you are wrong," the man answered, leaning on his smooth, pale staff. His eyes glinted in the dawn's light. "You are needed--and needed now. Théoden has been healed, but Rohan is in danger of being destroyed once and for all."

Éomer whirled around. "What do you mean?"

"The remains of the army and those in Edoras have all fled to Helm's Deep. There they are trapped and soon to be annihilated by Saruman's orc army. You must come and save them."

"Helm's Deep?"

"Aye. You are needed to save your country. Théoden regrets his words to you when he was under the power of Saruman and wishes you to return."

"And Gríma?"

"He has fled back to his master."

"Who are you?"

"I am Gandalf the White."

Éomer turned and walked away from them all, clearly deep in thought. Déorhild gazed from the wizard to the leader of the Rohirrim and then back again. What would be Éomer's decision? She hoped he would ride back. Surely even he must see the sense of that!

When he turned around and faced them all again, she felt her heartbeat quicken greatly as she waited with baited breath for his reply.

"I have considered your words, Gandalf. I will come with you as will my men. Rohan looks to us to save her from inevitable death; we must not fail her in her hour of need. But we must hurry. The orcs will not wait in their bloodlust to slaughter, their hatred unchecked. It will not do to arrive late."

"Good. Now prepare to leave," the wizard stated, turning and mounting his horse without anyone's help.

"Rohirrim! Wé rád út nú! For ágendfréa ond æðel! For árfæstnes ond langférnes æsctír!" Éomer cried out.

With one fluid movement, they all mounted and cut through the picket lines.

"Béon ðú eac mé?"

With one voice, they cried out, "Aye!"

Éomer shouted, and then they were off, riding westward with Gandalf and Éomer at their head, riding to rescue their country and save it from utter destruction. Only they were left to do it. All else had perished or were trapped without a place to flee to.

Whoever governs the fate of Middle-earth, Déorhild whispered as she rode with the rest, please grant us life and victory...

Rohirrim! Wé rád út nú! For ágendfréa ond æðel! For árfæstnes ond langférnes æsctír! - Olde English for 'Rohirrim! We ride out now! For lord and land! For honor and long glory!'

Béon ðú eac mé? - Olde English for 'Are you with me?'

Here is chapter 20! I know it's a bit short, but the next chapter will be the battle. What are your thoughts so far?

If you enjoyed, feel free to vote and comment! Thank you so much for 2.3k views!

~ the author; Gwynnedd