It is early morning, yet the sun shall not shine today. Today we ride. Rohan shall ride to Gondor, to Minas Tirith. We shall ride to death. Greeting the Black Night with our swords, we shall fight to the last man. At least we won't die cowering like beasts. What else is there for me besides the honor of a warrior's death? I rather face my doom, than let, it find me hiding from it in fear.
I too shall ride with the brave knights. My Uncle desires me to stay and rule the people while he is away. But how can I stay here and mind the house of the king while there is a soldier's saddle empty? No, I will not stay idle here in Rohan. I will disguise my self as a common soldier and ride with the King. I will take another name. I will be Dernhelm. I will use a helm to cover my hair and hide my face. No one must know of my going.
I prepare to mount my grey steed, Windfola, and join in the large crowd of knights of the Riddermark. Some paces from me is the King. He is speaking to his esquire, Meriadoc. I cannot hear what they are saying. The King gives a final word then mounts his horse and rides towards the front of the line. From the downcast look on the little esquire's face, I can tell, he too, has been denied the chance to ride to battle. Such courage for one so small!
I approach the Halfling and invite him to ride with me. He smiles and thanks me, though he does not recognize me. For that I am partly grateful. I cannot take the chance for anyone to find me and send me back with the women and children.
The second day since our departure is ending. Yet, there is no sun to tell. Large dark clouds block out most light. During the beginning of our ride together, the little Halfling tried to talk to me, now he mostly remains silent. Doom weighs heavily on us. It won't be long now till we reach the White City, or what is left of it.