Answering the Call
Disclaimer: I own no part of Lord of the Rings. It belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and I intend no copyright infringement. I'm making no money off of this whatsoever. Please don't sue.
Theoden King has called for all that can bear arms to come and protect Helms Deep. He meant all the men and boys. Including Hethas the boy who has eyes the color of the sky and my great uncle Glenting who claims he can feel rain coming in his bones. He didn't mean me, a somewhat large girl of thirteen. He shall receive my aid nevertheless. I can shoot arrows and wield a sword passably if not brilliantly. He has need of all who can fight, and I can most certainly fight. I will shear my hair and join those answering the call to come to the armory. There will be no need to drag me to battle. I go willingly. I grab a fistful of my hair and with my late father's dagger I begin to hack the greater part of it off. As I cut of the long golden locks, I think of my father, one of the first killed by the hillmen when they came to our village, which they desolated. I think of my baby brother, just starting to walk slain by the arrows of orcs in my mother's arms as we fled from them. I think of my mother, who was slaughtered by one of Saruman's foul minions as she paused in her running to weep over the corpse of her child. I think of all those I have known who have fallen in this war. And I know that if I die in this war, I will have at least died trying to save our people. Grimly I march off to the armory in clothes belonging to my cousin Helden, another victim of Saruman's endless greed and hate. There they outfit me for this battle which the elf lord has called hopeless when arguing with the dark-haired lord from the north. The elf lord is right, but long has my people's plight been hopeless. Night falls and I am assigned to one of the walls. I watch the approaching orcs, a long dark line stretching far beyond the horizon. I hear their drums and battle cries and the scared moans of the other young warriors who watch our enemy approach. I am frightened, only a fool would not be. In the end I will use this fear along with my unending rage and despair, to destroy my enemy. But for now I watch the armies of Saruman roar and drum and attempt to intimidate us as the rain steadily falls. Then the battle begins, and I think of nothing but survival. Of killing the wretched monsters before they kill me or harm another one of my beloved Rohirrm. The arrows whistle and land as the ladders of the foul orcs steadily lean against the stone of our walls with a clatter. I shoot volley after volley killing and wounding countless of the enemy yet never seeming to make a difference. Soon the orcs are on the walls themselves and we are forced to use our swords. I duck, jab, shove and desperately try to kill them without being slain myself. But soon we find ourselves falling back as they overcome us. For every defeated orc there are 3 more to take it's place. As comrade after comrade fall the rest of us struggle to continue fighting. But we continue to retreat. It is useless and we know it, yet we continue to battle on till the last man. It is not just for slain family and friends that I am fighting for. I am fighting for my fellow soldiers along with my own life. I am fighting for the lives of the women and children hiding in the caves. I am fighting for the life and rule of my king. I am fighting for the survival of all of Rohan. And then suddenly as an explosion destroying part of the wall distracts me, I am dying for Rohan. An orc's sword has impaled me from behind. The pain is beyond my imagination but as I fall I continue stabbing and even hitting and punching wildly desperately trying to take down a few more of the loathed and seemingly infinite enemy. Then, I fall onto the hard cold stone and breathe my last for my beloved Rohan.
Disclaimer: I own no part of Lord of the Rings. It belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and I intend no copyright infringement. I'm making no money off of this whatsoever. Please don't sue.
Theoden King has called for all that can bear arms to come and protect Helms Deep. He meant all the men and boys. Including Hethas the boy who has eyes the color of the sky and my great uncle Glenting who claims he can feel rain coming in his bones. He didn't mean me, a somewhat large girl of thirteen. He shall receive my aid nevertheless. I can shoot arrows and wield a sword passably if not brilliantly. He has need of all who can fight, and I can most certainly fight. I will shear my hair and join those answering the call to come to the armory. There will be no need to drag me to battle. I go willingly. I grab a fistful of my hair and with my late father's dagger I begin to hack the greater part of it off. As I cut of the long golden locks, I think of my father, one of the first killed by the hillmen when they came to our village, which they desolated. I think of my baby brother, just starting to walk slain by the arrows of orcs in my mother's arms as we fled from them. I think of my mother, who was slaughtered by one of Saruman's foul minions as she paused in her running to weep over the corpse of her child. I think of all those I have known who have fallen in this war. And I know that if I die in this war, I will have at least died trying to save our people. Grimly I march off to the armory in clothes belonging to my cousin Helden, another victim of Saruman's endless greed and hate. There they outfit me for this battle which the elf lord has called hopeless when arguing with the dark-haired lord from the north. The elf lord is right, but long has my people's plight been hopeless. Night falls and I am assigned to one of the walls. I watch the approaching orcs, a long dark line stretching far beyond the horizon. I hear their drums and battle cries and the scared moans of the other young warriors who watch our enemy approach. I am frightened, only a fool would not be. In the end I will use this fear along with my unending rage and despair, to destroy my enemy. But for now I watch the armies of Saruman roar and drum and attempt to intimidate us as the rain steadily falls. Then the battle begins, and I think of nothing but survival. Of killing the wretched monsters before they kill me or harm another one of my beloved Rohirrm. The arrows whistle and land as the ladders of the foul orcs steadily lean against the stone of our walls with a clatter. I shoot volley after volley killing and wounding countless of the enemy yet never seeming to make a difference. Soon the orcs are on the walls themselves and we are forced to use our swords. I duck, jab, shove and desperately try to kill them without being slain myself. But soon we find ourselves falling back as they overcome us. For every defeated orc there are 3 more to take it's place. As comrade after comrade fall the rest of us struggle to continue fighting. But we continue to retreat. It is useless and we know it, yet we continue to battle on till the last man. It is not just for slain family and friends that I am fighting for. I am fighting for my fellow soldiers along with my own life. I am fighting for the lives of the women and children hiding in the caves. I am fighting for the life and rule of my king. I am fighting for the survival of all of Rohan. And then suddenly as an explosion destroying part of the wall distracts me, I am dying for Rohan. An orc's sword has impaled me from behind. The pain is beyond my imagination but as I fall I continue stabbing and even hitting and punching wildly desperately trying to take down a few more of the loathed and seemingly infinite enemy. Then, I fall onto the hard cold stone and breathe my last for my beloved Rohan.