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Here's my entry!
<b>Hope</b>
Growing up, my brother and I had never been very close. Our personalities had been practically opposites. He had been quiet, careful, and practical. I was, and still am, stubborn, quick-tempered, and reckless, as my mother says. Both my parents are like my brother. It seems strange, looking back, that it turned out like it did.
My ancestors had lived in Edoras for three generations. For many years, my family had lived a peaceful life as farmers, horse trainers, and soldiers when need be. Things were changing, though. The peace was coming to an end.
King Théoden had a new advisor, Grima Wormtongue. Rumors were being whispered throughout Edoras; Grima was a sorcerer, or a sorcerer's apprentice. He wanted to become king, he wanted to destroy Rohan. The rumors ran wild until it all came to a head. Grima, with Théoden's approval, had banished Éomer, the king's nephew. Word quickly passed that Éomer was riding for Rohan's borders, having asked that every man loyal to the King ride with him. I heard this from the village blacksmith when picking up a repaired rake. I ran home as fast as I could. My father and brother were working in our wheat field.
"Father!" I cried as I ran up. "Father!"
"What is it, Céol? Did you get the rake?" He took it from me as I gasped to catch my breath. He took the rake from. "Sa, that is good work. Now what made you come tearing up here like you did?"
"I heard that Wormtongue banished Éomer. He's leaving Rohan and asking those loyal to the king to join him."
Father pursed his lips and walked to the edge of the field. I followed. "And you want to join him?" he said.
"Yes!" I had my arguments prepared. "Father, I've served under Éomer-"
"Once." Father interjected.
"And he's a good leader! And with Théoden under Wormtongue's control anything could happen here. I want to be someplace I can fight from!"
Father put the rake down. "You are young."
"I'm nineteen!"
He looked amused. "You are young, but I know I cannot stop you if you set your mind to leaving." He turned to face me. "I might as well send you off with my blessing."
A disbelieving smile spread over my face. "Father, you mean that?" He nodded. "Thank you!"
I ran towards my brother who was working nearby. "Thirë!" I repeated the story to him, ending with, "You should ride with us."
He stopped working the ground and looked intently at me. "Céol, are you sure this is wise?"
"Yes! War is coming, Thirë, and I want to be someplace I can meet it and fight, instead of here where I'd be stopped by Wormtongue."
My brother just sighed. I paused and calmed down. "Thirë, I am going whatever you say. Will you not come with me?"
"No."
"Farewell, then."
"Farewell."
I walked back to the house to say goodbye to Mother, and to get my armor. Father came with me. Thirë stayed, calmly working the soil.
I left mother in tears, but I had expected that. I went to the stables to get my horse, Erroc, and rode from Edoras. I didn't fully realize how much my life would change in the days and weeks to come.
I rode hard all night in the direction Éomer had gone, stopping only when Erroc needed rest. In the early morning, before the sun had come up, I came upon a man in Rohirric armor saddling his horse. I rode up to him and called, "Good morning!"
"Hello." he replied. He mounted and started riding at a trot.
I rode beside him. "It's strange to see a Rider of the Mark out here alone."
"Even stranger to see two." he countered. "Are you one of those who is loyal to Éomer?"
I hesitated. This man could be a spy sent by Wormtongue. But he could be another going to join Éomer. "Yes." I said.
"Good, so am I."
We smiled at each other. "I am Céol."
"Frealaf."
"Do you know how far ahead Éomer is?"
"I think we will probably reach him today."
That evening we did reach him. Many men were already with him-nearly 2,000. I had been looking forward to getting the first real rest I had had in two days, but I couldn't. A party of Uruk-hai had been spotted nearby, and an attack was planned for the night. I had no chance to rest; we rode for a few hours, following the Uruks until they stopped for the night. We stopped too.
Orders passed among us quickly. We were to wait for the signal, then charge the Uruk-hai camp, killing all of them. Although the orders were simple enough, I was still nervous. This was only my second battle, and I was afraid. We walked our horses, letting them gather a reserve of energy. We were still quite aways away from the Uruk-hai camp, out of eyesight, but I could hear screams, groans, and murmured talking from the monsters if I strained my ears.
I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, and tried to calm my racing heart. Thoughts ran through my head. What if I was killed? What if I didn't kill any Uruk? What if- "Charge!"
Suddenly all the horses around me were running; Erroc moved to a run on his own and I gripped my knees to his flanks to keep from falling. I got my breath back and gathered my senses. We were racing full speed towards the Uruk-hai camp. I gripped my bow and put an arrow to the string. Everything was happening so fast, I hardly had time to think. I let my instincts and training take over.
The first horsemen galloped into the camp, killing several Uruk before the rest knew what was happening. Then I was amongst the monsters. I fired my bow, over and over again. I saw one arrow take an Uruk in the throat, I didn't pay attention to the rest.
I fired my bow until I ran out of arrows, then I gripped my spear and looked for a target. There were none. Some Uruk were running, being pursued by Riders with drawn swords. Some of the men were on the ground, finishing off monsters who had fallen but not died. I calmed my breathing and dismounted, looking for any Uruk still moving. I saw one, and finished him off with my sword.
Soon all the Uruk had been killed, and we put the bodies in a pile and burned them. Then I was able to rest. We made camp, ate quickly, and fell asleep fast.
The next day the plans for the company spread among us. We were to ride to different settlements in Rohan, finding as many loyal men as we could. When we had enough, we would return to Edoras to oust Wormtongue. We mounted up and began riding.
Before we had gone far, we were riding past a clump of rocks. Suddenly, from behind us a voice called, "Riders of Rohan, what news from the North?"
Before the voice had finished speaking Éomer gave us a signal. We wheeled our horses around and quickly had the one who had spoken and the two with him hemmed in with a thicket of spears.
Éomer rode forward. "What business does an elf, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark. Speak quickly!"
The dwarf said, "Give me your name, horsemaster, and I shall give you mine."
"I would cut off your head, Dwarf," Éomer said, "If it stood but a little higher from the ground."
"You would die before your stroke fell." The elf said, an arrow on his bowstring. Instantly we had our spears up and pointed directly at the strangers.
The man pushed his way forward, saying, "I'm Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas, from the Woodland realm. We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, its King."
"Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe. Not even his own kin." Éomer removed his helmet, a sign of trust, and we relaxed and lifted the spears. He continued, "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over this land. My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished." He leaned closer to the strangers. "The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."
"We are not spies." the man, Aragorn, said. "We track a band of Uruk-hai westward across the plains. They have taken two of our friends captive."
"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night." Éomer said.
The dwarf said suddenly, "But there were two Hobbits, do you see two Hobbits with them?"
"They would be small, only children to your eyes." Aragorn said.
"We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them." Éomer pointed to the smoking pile in the distance.
"They are dead?" Gimli said.
Éomer nodded. "I am sorry." Abruptly he whistled. "Hasufel! Arod!" Two horses belonging to men who had died in the night came forward. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than the former masters. Farewell. Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands."
"We ride north!" Éomer shouted to us. He mounted and led the way, leaving the strangers behind.
The next day we rose early and rode in the direction of a large nearby settlement, hoping to find men willing to join us there. We had scarcely left when Éomer signaled a halt. On the plains below, a blur of white was coming towards us. Presently I realized it was a horse and rider. I have never seen such a swift horse. I still remember it with awe.
The horse and rider quickly reached us. "Gandalf!" I heard Éomer call out. I realized that the horse must be Shadowfax. I had heard of how the wizard Gandalf had tamed the Rohan's prize horse, but hadn't really believed it.
Gandalf halted beside Éomer and began talking to him, too low for me to hear. Suddenly Éomer shouted. "We ride to Helm's Deep!" and we were riding at a gallop.
The reason for the change in direction quickly passed among us as we rode. Gandalf had freed Théoden from Wormtongue's spell, and now Saruman was sending an army of Uruk-hai to destroy Rohan and it's people. Théoden and the remaining people of Edoras were going to Helm's Deep. Gandalf, fearing that the Uruk-hai would overwhelm the defenders, had ridden to find us so we could help in the battle. We rode eagerly and swiftly, encouraged by the news.
We rode through the night and through the next day. The time passed uneventfully; the land was a blur of browns, greens, and yellows. Rohirric horses were trained and bred to be able to cover long distances quickly, and without much rest.
Still, although Shadowfax and Gandalf seemed tireless as they led us, we and our horses needed rest. We stopped for camp that night. I joined Frealaf at a cooking fire. After drifting from subject to subject as our food cooked, we ended up talking of family while we ate.
"I have a sister I left in Edoras." Frealaf said. "My parents are dead."
"I left my parents and brother." I said, staring into the flames underneath the cooking pot. "I suppose my brother and father will fight." The flames danced; orange, red, yellow, and blue in the deepest part. It seemed I could see figures of men, horses in them. I could almost see faces on the men, Father and Thirë. "Maybe I'll meet them on the battle field."
"Aye, like great heroes!" Frealaf said, half poking fun.
I pulled my thoughts from daydreams and the flames and smiled. "Aye."
The next day we rode hard, stopping to rest only briefly during the day. I found myself riding near Frealaf. We were nearing Helm's Deep; we would most likely reach it by the next morning.
An excitement was spreading from man to man, growing stronger even as the day waned. We were going to battle against evil. We were going to save the king. We were going to fight alongside Gandalf and Éomer. Any fear we felt was overwhelmed by the flood of enthusiasm.
We rode through the night as we had rode that day; stopping only when we most needed it. My excitement was growing, almost to the point I couldn't bear it. During the night I couldn't tell how long we had been riding; everything was blended into the dark, the moon, the starts looking calmly down on us from above.
Eventually the day began to dawn. We were getting close to Helm's Deep; the sky was beginning to lighten. We could have probably heard sounds of the battle if we had stopped, but we didn't. We kept riding as hard as we could. The stars began to disappear from the sky as the sun grew nearer to rising. Soon we could hear faint sounds of the battle over the rushing wind. The sky grew lighter, the noise grew. Suddenly a deep booming music, one note, rolled over us as deep, rich, and low as the earth's very foundations. We involuntarily slowed our pace as the note continued. Then Éomer shouted, "The horn of Helm Hammerhand! We are almost to battle. Take heart, brothers, and ride!"
We let out a battle cry and spurred our horses to a gallop. We raced the rest of the way to the fortress until we could clearly hear the battle waging. Gandalf signaled a halt at the lip of a hill at one side of Helm's Deep. He rode forward, followed by Éomer.
I was near the front of the charge, and I heard them talking.
"The king stands alone." Gandalf said.
"Not alone." Éomer said. "Rohirrim!" he shouted.
We moved forward as one. I could see the plain before Helm's Deep. Suddenly my excitement flooded from me. The plain was black and crawling with Uruk-hai. I glanced nervously to Frealaf on my left. He grinned at me- a smile full of enthusiasm, eagerness, and recklessness. I gained back a little of my former hope from that smile.
"To the King!" Éomer shouted.
The battle cry ripped out from every warrior's throat as we spurred our horses forward. The Uruk-hai had turned, facing us in ranks, spears pointing out. Behind us as we charged down a steep slope, the morning's first sunlight broke unhindered over the hill, streaming down behind us, blinding the monsters. All the fear I had felt was gone, replaced by a rush of energy.
The first rows of armies crashed into each other like tides breaking on the shore. But we didn't break. We fought out way deep into the black sea.
I thrust every leering face I saw. Some monsters tried to cling to my saddle; I cut them off. Everything was a blur of faces and bodies; the smell of blood was heavy in my nose. All I was paying attention to was each black, helmeted face that was in front of me. I thrust, slashed, and stabbed with my sword, fighting like I had been trained to all my life.
Suddenly, I realized it was all over. The Uruk-hai were fleeing the battle field. I looked up, freeing my sword from the last body I had stabbed. Where flat plains had been, a forest was standing. Some devilry had moved a forest to before Helm's Deep. Some of the more adventurous Rohirrim were riding after the fleeing Uruk-hai. Éomer rode in front of them to stop them, calling, "Stay away from the trees!"
I rose to the crest of a small rise where I could see better. The forest was still as the monsters fled into it, then suddenly the trees started tossing and thrashing; screams, groans, and shrieks were heard. I stared as the movement and noise quickly died down, leaving silence. After a moment King Théoden, standing on the crest of a hill next to Gandalf and Éomer wheeled his horse around. "We have victory!" he shouted.
A wave of relief swept over me. I raised my voice to join the other soldiers in a victory cry. The sound echoed through the hills, full of hope and triumph.
Some time later Frealaf and I had met each other on the field. Neither of us were seriously hurt. We headed into the fortress. I hadn't seen any of my family yet, and inside Helm's Deep seemed the best place to look. Frealaf headed towards the caves where the women and children were. I didn't know where to look for my family, so I walked down a random hallway, trying to look like I knew where I was going. After a moment I heard a shout behind me. "Céol!"
I turned. My brother was running up to me. "Thirë!" We embraced each other, then I pushed him back at arm's length and looked at him critically. He had a light cut on his forehead, but not many other wounds. "So, you made it through the battle fairly well." I said teasingly. Then I saw his expression. His initial excitement of seeing me had changed to worry. "What's wrong?"
"It's father."
"What? Did he-"
"Come with me." Thirë led me to a room for the wounded and towards a back wall. He stopped and knelt by one pallet. I looked down. Father was laying on it, eyes closed, a deep gash on his left temple standing out against his pale face. I quickly knelt beside Thirë, put a hand on Father's shoulder. "Father, it's me, wake up!" I said with a a quiet urgency. I said to Thirë, "Has he been awake? How bad is the wound?"
"He hasn't woken up, and-" he hesitated. "He might not survive this day."
I received the news with cold acceptance. "Does Mother know?"
"No." he shook his head. "I haven't seen her yet."
"But she is here?"
"Yes, in the Caves with the other women and children."
I bent over Father again, saying to Thirë, "Go find her. I'll stay here."
"No." Thirë's firm voice surprised me. I looked up; he was looking at me stubbornly. "He's my father too. You go find someone to tell her."
"And leave Father here?" My temper was starting to rise. I didn't realize what I was saying; the battle had left me strangely eager for another fight. "No."
"Céol, " Thirë said in his calm way, "I can look after him."
"So can I! What do you think- I've just ridden with the Rohirrim and fought Uruk-hai and I can't look after my own Father for a few minutes?"
"Mother needs to know."
"Then go get her yourself!" Thirë started reply but was interrupted. Father had woken up.
"Fighting again?" he said weakly.
"Father!" I said and bent over him
"How do you feel?" Thirë asked.
"I've been better." His eyes looked past us. "Where is Lywyn?"
"In the Caves." Thirë answered. He gave me a brief, hard look. "I will go find her." He got up and hurried from the room.
I turned my attention back to Father. "Do you need anything?
"A drink of water, perhaps."
"I will go get it. I'll be right back." I ran to a water bucket, filled my helmet, and hurried back. "Here, Father." I lifted his head and helped him drink. He nodded when he had had enough and I laid him back down. He sighed and closed his eyes, as if the effort had worn him out.
Presently he opened his eyes and looked at me again, his eyes wandering a little. "Tell Lywyn and Thirë I love them."
"You will tell them yourself!"
He shook his head a little "It was a good victory." His voice was growing fainter.
"Yes, yes." I said.
"I am glad you rode with Éomer, after all..." his voice died to a whisper and his eyes closed.
"Father?" I placed a hand on his shoulder "Father?" My hand tightened.
Thirë came running back in, Mother following. They both knelt beside the prone form, Mother giving a soft cry. Thirë was talking quickly and urgently to Father, but he presently stopped, ran a hand through his hair and said. "He's gone."
Mother let out a small sobbing sigh and started weeping Thirë and I moved to comfort her.
"He said," I whispered, "That he loves both of you." And we wept together.
Several days later most of us at Helm's Deep set out for Edoras. King Théoden, Éomer, Gandalf, and several others had left to go to Isengard. I didn't really care. I felt numb inside, and empty. Father had been buried with the other dead in a mound outside the fortress.
Mother, Thirë and I left Helm's Deep with the other refugees, starting back towards Edoras. As we passed the burial mound, Thirë stopped and looked at the grave for a long moment, his face hidden his hair. Then he walked on.
I watched Mother walk to the mound. She quietly (without tears, she had already wept) laid a hand on the mound. With the other hand she pushed a small white flower into the earth. Where she had found the bloom I don't know, perhaps some sheltered corner of the fortress. She quietly walked to join Thirë.
I walked slowly up and dropped to my knees near the mound. I leaned forward against the slightly damp earth. So many things I wanted to say to Father rushed about my head- I would look after mother, I would take care of the horses and land, I would get along with Thirë, I would be who Father wanted me to be- but they were all blurred so that I couldn't make any into words. I simply whispered, "Rest well, Father." and stood up. I paused a moment, watching the flower as it nodded gently from side to side. It seemed so strange but at once right. The flower was a small spot of white in a colorless background, life in a place of death. It was a symbol of hope from sorrow. Perhaps Éomer was not right. Perhaps hope was not completely forsaken.
I turned and walked after the others, heading towards home.[/b]
Last edited by Elenya on July 10th, 2006, 5:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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I'm a writer myself and I HATE limits on stories, so NO LIMITS!!!!!! 
Wonderful poem!
