Sword Maiden of Rohan | Of Every Race Saga Book IV

Chapter 21: The Battle of Helm's Deep

They rode all through the night without stopping and continued to do so. The second night, they all rested, taking turns to guard the horses. They would need their strength for the battle ahead. 

Déorhild watched all in silence, mentally preparing the physiological defenses against the sight of bloodshed and the gory darkness that was war. She was not a stranger to the horrors of battle, but she still did not love it. War had claimed the lives of her brothers and, in a way, her mother as well. Who else will it claim as its own before it's all over? 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Éomer walking through their ranks and calling all to attention. 

"Tonight, we ride out. By the morn's light, we will be on the brink of the rise to Helm's Deep. We will be pitted against a great number--greater than our own. We shall pin them against the mountain walls and annihilate them all. We have been faithful to Rohan. Let us not fail her now, not when she needs us the most. We are fighting for our country, for our families, and for our freedom. If we fall, we fall. You have been faithful to me all this while. I ask you to be faithful for yet a little longer. Are you with me?"

They all rose as one and answered, "Aye!"

Éomer strapped his helmet on and mounted his horse, the others following suit in the darkness, Gandalf's pale cloak gleaming in the dim light of the few torches which were quickly doused. Thunder rumbled in the distance and a cold wind began to blow. It would rain soon. 

With a shout, the company rode onwards across the rocky plain. Déorhild remembered it later only as a darkness, filled with cold wind and heavy breathing of both men and horses as they rode in dead earnest to save their beloved land. 

We must not let Saruman succeed. Evil must not triumph. 

The night wore on, very long and seemingly endless. Déorhild was certain she must have fallen asleep while riding at some points, but she wasn't sure. All she knew was that when the pale grey of the dawn came, it was as welcome as water is to a man lost in a desert. 

A whispered command, passed hoarsely among the ranks, told all to halt. Déorhild squinted through the dim light and saw that they were standing upon a high ridge. Below was the valley of Helm's Deep and the orcs and the people trapped far beneath the earth's surface. Even from where they were, they could hear the sounds of continued battle, faint and distant. 

Are they still alive--still holding out? Is Éowyn safe? Those thoughts haunted Déorhild. She knew that if Éowyn was in danger, she would never forgive herself, or any of them for that matter. Though she would not have made much difference if she was with those down in the valley, the desperateness of the whole situation nearly overwhelmed her. 

Behind them, the sky brightened to a pale sheen of gold. And then, the sun, in all its flaming glory, swept upward and bathed the whole land in the dazzling light of day. 

The Rohirrim, assembled upon the brink of that steep hill, gave a shout that rushed upwards to the sky and fell down upon the orcs in the valley as the foul creatures turned and looked upon their coming doom. 

"Eorlingas!" Éomer called out and they all answered, drawing out their swords and lances. 

They charged, riding straight down into the valley. 

A scattered collection of images filled Déorhild's mind, ones of silence and heavy breathing, of sweat rolling down her brow and the ever-shrinking distance between her and the foul blackness of the orc swarm of an army. Ones of sunlight glittering on bloodied weapons, a scarlet flame in the morning light. 

Then the silence was over and the cacophonous din of battle swept over her as the two armies clashed. 

The world around her was filled with snarling faces and the clash of weapons, the shouts and groans of the dying and the frightened neighs of the horses. It seemed as though this strange distant feeling between herself and the world would gone on forever and yet it was over rather quickly. 

Déorhild blinked to find all the orcs fleeing towards trees that had suddenly appeared at the only open end of the valley and Éomer calling all the men back. 

"Do not go near the wood!" he shouted as he ran before the ranks as the survivors watched in amazement as the trees swallowed up the orcs. There was this loud groaning and then screams, followed by silence. 

It is over then... We've won...

Hardly daring to believe it was truly over, she turned around to see King Théoden and Éomer embracing. Then they spoke to each other, but she did not hear what they said, but she supposed they were reconciled to each other now. 

Turning away, she slowly made her way across the bloodied battle back to Helm's Deep. Several minutes later, she arrived back and dodged soldiers entering, many of them bearing the wounded with them. Among the soldiers she saw milling about, were a few Elves and the four strangers she had seen several days ago, save the female Elf looked distant, as if she was not really there. There were tear-streaks on her face and she ignored most of the people around her. Déorhild wondered what was grieving her, but she did not stop to talk. Instead, she made her way deeper into the fortress. 

"Déorhild!" 

The woman was startled back to reality as Éowyn came rushing forward and nearly knocked her down in a tight embrace.

"Shh!" Déorhild sputtered when she got her breath back.

"Does my brother know you were with him?"

"Nay, I have been able to keep my presence a secret and would prefer to keep it that way."

"Why?" They both ignore the press of people around them.

"I have a feeling that this war isn't over. We all may be called upon to fight alongside men. I want to be able to do so without him knowing and forbidding me to do so."

Éowyn was silent. Then she said softly, "Do you love my brother?"

Déorhild looked away for several minutes before answering. "Aye, more than I have loved any other." 

That's all now, folks! I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment and/or a vote!

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~ Gwynnedd