Seeds of the White Tree

Chapter 6 - To Watch Over You

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The impact was bone-jarring. Using all the power and agility bred into his bloodline, Greyhame just barely managed to clear the spears of the Easterlings. That did not mean Eldarion's teeth didn't rattle when they slammed to a halt on the other side. With their thorny shields and tight ranks the Easterlings did not permit the enemy charge to break far into their ranks. The men of the west slammed into the men of the east and were halted in an instant.

Spears were everywhere, poking up like brambles in a briar patch. Greyhame almost reared, but Eldarion's knees clamping down on his sides kept the horse focused. Someone tried to grab at his leg on his left side. Reacting with both purpose and panic, Eldarion twisted around in the saddle and stabbed downward with his sword. Something resisted briefly before giving way. The hand on his ankle dropped, and then he saw blood on the end of his blade. It was the first time that Eldarion had ever killed another human.

There was no time to dwell on his grisly milestone though. It felt like every Easterling that was cut down, another three stood ready to take his place. Greyhame had nowhere to manoeuvre in the press, and Eldarion was sincerely grateful for the armor that guarded his faithful mount's chest and neck. His own greaves similarly protected his shins and calves from being mauled by the knives of the Easterlings.

Recalling his father's words before the battle, Eldarion managed to tear his focus from the melee long enough to look up and around. He was almost surprised to realize that he was more surrounded by Gondorian and Rohan cavalry than by Easterlings. The battle had felt so intense. It was to the prince's chagrin that he realized he was actually quite well protected on his flanks by both Aragorn and Bergil, Captain of Gondor. If this was what 'safe' felt like in the midst of battle, Eldarion shuddered to imagine what a dire situation would feel like.

A sound like thunder stole Eldarion's concentration and that of many of the other soldiers as well. It took a moment to realize that the sound was not thunder after all. Vast shapes blotted out the pale easterly sun, and a trumpeting war cry shook the very air itself.

"Eldarion, follow me!"

Reins clenched in a white-knuckled grasp, Eldarion pulled up Greyhame's head and plunged through the melee after his father. Aragorn led the way beyond the path of the charging Mûmakil, weaving through gaps in the Easterlings. Andúril flashed as he rode, and Aragorn beheaded at least two Easterlings in passing. Eldarion marveled that his father's ability to not only steer around the legs of the Mûmakil but also fight enemies on the ground at the same time. It was taking all of his nerve just to keep Greyhame steady. The horse's eyes rolled in fright at the enormous behemoths overhead. One gigantic foot slammed down so close behind Eldarion that his heart skipped a beat.

"Shoot for the eyes, kill the drivers!

Eldarion recognized Éomer's booming voice, ringing out clear even through the din of the battlefield. Several Rohirrim pulled up their horses long enough to aim short bows and through spears. A handful found their mark, and the Mûmak bellowed. Such tiny missiles compared to such a large beast, Eldarion wondered if the creature was more annoyed than truly hurt.

A familiar cream yellow horse flickered into view on the other side of the Mûmak's tree-trunk thick legs. Eldarion had to look away to slash at an Easterling whose spear just about took his head off. Looking back, he realized that Baneth had come to a standstill beneath Elboron. The Mûmak between them passed in search of more Rohirrim to rampage and Eldarion realized why. Unlike Eldarion when the battle was first joined, Elboron truly was hemmed in on all sides by the wicked spears of the Easterlings.

"Elboron!"

Eldarion urged Greyhame forward, the way fairly clear thanks to the passage of the Mûmakil. Elboron swung his sword in wide swaths on either side of himself, trying frantically to create some space. The Easterlings pressed their advantage, like spiders surrounding a failing moth.