Warnings include way too much angst, and plenty of violence.
Chapter six: The Second Battle of the Fords of Isen
When Ilrhenir woke, it was to Owain shaking him vigorously. And he bit back a cry as the determined cook roughly jostled Ilrhenir's mending ribs. He shouted something that Ilrhenir caught less than half of, but amid the hastily delivered Rohirric exclamations, most of which he was sure were curses were a few words Ilrhenir knew with dread. Wake up… upon us…Ilrhenir looked about him, confused. But when Owain seemed about to give his shoulder another sound shaking he flinched and squeaked, "I'm up, Owain! Please! ". He lowered his voice, raising his hands defensively, "I am awake, shake me not.".
The stout cook snorted and withdrew and resumed yelling to the other mess cooks. The wagons of supplies were being drawn into what looked like a rough circle. Indeed, all things were packed away for retreat and when Owain returned to Ilrhenir's side with food, it was a dried sausage and yellow cheese wrapped in oiled paper that he pressed into the lad's hands, not a bowl of hot pottage. And then swiftly, Owain retreated again.
It was dim about him, the light seeming to have been sucked out of the sky, and then much to his chagrin Ilrhenir realized that it was the approaching twilight that dampened the brightness of the open expanse above. His face bloomed with the heat of shame at having been let sleep all day while the others fought the enemy, though he could not deny the need. So Ilrhenir tucked the sausage and cheese down his tunic, picked up his blade and scrambled to his feet, looking around.
All seemed strange, as though the garrison was trapped in an almost orchestrated dance. Many people were weaving rapidly about each other, performing tasks at a hectic pace, each bent to their own duties. Ilrhenir looked on the scene and came to the conclusion that the mesmerizing waltz of soldiers was the result of each person having their own vital task to set their feet to and suddenly Ilrhenir desperately needed to find his purpose in it all. He had to find Baelorn ere the battle came to this bank.
Amid the syncopated scurry, Ilrhenir sought out the familiar sight of the east bank bridgehead and fortification. He was startled to see the bridgehead devoid of the companies of Rohirrim that had stood there earlier, guarding it. In the distance Ilrhenir could hear the cries of the fallen and the clashing of countless weapons. And on the crisp wind blowing off the battlefield he could smell the death that had been wrought.
The battle was being fought fiercely on the west bank and upon the Ford itself, not yet upon this side of the river. Plunging into the intricate pattern of Rohirric men about him, all engaged in their duties to mold the garrison into the vaguely circular configuration it was beginning to resemble, Ilrhenir wound his way quickly through them to the eastern bank of the Ford.
There, standing on high above the Fords of Isen, Ilrhenir looked down on the spectacle of destruction that was spread out below him like a great wound upon the earth. The ground was littered with the fallen, like broken refuse strewn carelessly about as far as he could see in the twilight. And Ilrhenir steeled himself and squinted in the failing light of the encroaching dusk, trying to spy a familiar face among the dead. He looked hard, perhaps too closely praying that he never saw the one that he searched for. But the expanse was great and the fallen so numerous that even in light of full day he never would have been able to see to find a single familiar fallen man amongst the masses.
But what he saw instead was more chilling than even the prospect of recognizing a face amongst the trampled bodies. The Rohirrim were decimated. They fought bravely, cleaving a score of enemy for every one Eorling that was sent to meet his kindred in the afterlife, but Saruman had no dearth of forces to spend upon the tips of Rohirric blades and Ilrhenir's heart twisted with dread as he saw the few that remained of Grimbold's companies.
Then, just as he feared they would be over run at last, Ilrhenir heard Grimbold call a retreat from the fords. He ached for all the men still fighting in the swamped earthen forts on the far west bank, for no man amongst them could heed the retreat and Ilrhenir knew they would battle on, without hope or reprieve, knowing themselves that they would each eventually fall with only the deaths of their enemies about them to give their endings significance. Ilrhenir riveted his eyes on the retreating Eord and denied himself the urge to bow his head for the men trapped on the west bank who were already as good as dead, though they battle on still. He think on them later. He was watching for one particular horseman and could not afford to look away.
The pounding of horse hooves sounded closely as Grimbold's remaining forces surged forth, mounting the east bank, turning to make their last stand there in the twilight. Ilrhenir retreated from the lip of the bridgehead just as the first riders cleared it, and watched transfixed hoping for sight of Baelorn. The tattered companies mounted the embankment and Ilrhenir's relief was almost a physical pain as he watched Naisi finally scramble up the bank with Baelorn riding upon his back, head held high, his armor and great sword steeped in battle gore.
As the waves of Rohirrim passed the east bridgehead they skillfully parted for those that followed and before long, all who were going to make it off the west bank and Ford alive, had done so. A pitiably small number.
Dusk was now fully upon them and in the dimness of the new evening Ilrhenir once again approached the lip of the eastern rise over the Isen. There, paused like a great mocking cobra ready to strike, relishing the anticipation of death that flowed off its pray, were the forces of Saruman poised and waiting. But the enemy did not attempt to cross the Fords and fight their way up the steep slopes to dislodge the Rohirrim, not yet.
Ilrhenir watched the forces of orcs and Dunlanders rally below the eastern bank and knew that unless relief came from Edoras and Helm's Deep, the failing garrison of Grimbold's forces were doomed. Elfhelm's companies were not present, Ilrhenir seemed to vaguely remember Baelorn explaining where the Field Marshal of the King's Eord had chosen to place his men, though Ilrhenir at this moment hoped that Elfhelm would change his mind and come barreling south to bring relief once again, as he had done one week ago this very night.
As he watched the snarling enemy below, a humming anticipation of the battle yet to come, filled Ilrhenir. And over his mind worked a grim sense of purpose that seemed to him, later, to be every bit as dark as the enemy he was about to face. No thoughts of Bree, or Jenna or Strider, or even Baelorn now occupied him, but only keen images that had lain suppressed of the battle one week gone. But the memories brought no fear or revulsion this time, only an abstract curiosity as Ilrhenir waded through the memories, picking and choosing amongst the chaotic textures and sounds for the flavors of battle, the sound of the dying, the feel of flesh and bone surrendering to steel.
Baelorn noticed that Ilrhenir seemed enraptured, standing on the edge overlooking the Ford and he feared that the preoccupied look on the youths face was indicative of another fit. He traded a brief explanation to the warriors standing with him on horseback and then broke line, riding to Ilrhenir. "Ilrhenir." He called. The youth did not respond. Damn it all! Baelorn thought wearily. He should have been made to leave with Haimen. I have no time for this! But aloud he simply repeated his call. "Ilrhenir!"
Ilrhenir blinked and looked up at Baelorn somewhat surprised that he had not noticed the warrior's approach. "Baelorn…"
"Aye Ilrhenir." Baelorn sighed, relieved. "Step away from the ledge lad, lest an orc split you twain with an arrow through your breast."
Ilrhenir did not comply, rather he looked up to Baelorn sitting high on Naisi's back and fixed the Rohirrim with that same piercing look that Baelorn was quickly beginning to associate with Ilrhenir's intense stubborn streak. "It's about to start again, is it not?" asked Ilrhenir.
Baelorn sighed; half wishing that the battle would resume again ere the heat of it abandoned his veins leaving him exhausted in the aftermath of two sleepless days. "I know not, Ilrhenir. I had thought they would press our retreat over the east bank but they have stayed their hand when it would have been wise to strike. But their folly shall be our grace." He looked out over the expanse of the Isen at the eerie sight of orcish and Dunland armies nestled on the eyot and beyond, polluting the Westfold with their inky encampments. "I could wish we had more archers, though. A single company of longbow yeomen on this ledge would have made them rue the day they were hatched!"
"What shall we do?" Ilrhenir asked, shivering and pulling his cloak about himself tighter as a fowl gust of wind blew off the western battlefield buffeting them up upon the bank. It was not cold; rather it was getting warmer yet, muggy. The evening air was heavy, despite the strong wind that blew and it was laden with a brooding darkness that had nothing to do with nightfall.
"We stand." Baelorn answered. "We fight. And if our luck holds, we shall live to see Eomer and Erkenbrand save the day." Baelorn pointed toward back on the garrison beyond the bridgehead drawing Ilrhenir's gaze. "Look yonder, Ceorl, Dwydeon and the others all grouped there 'round Grimbold. Shortly they will dispatch to hasten the forces from Edoras with word of our plight, even as I had hoped to do when I happened upon Elfhelm. All is not yet lost. Erkenbrand must be on his way as well. It has been days since he relieved word from us. Surely by now he has a muster." Baelorn would not see Ilrhenir burdened with his own sense of doom. Weariness and a seasoned soldier's calculation of odds had drained him of the hope he carried for the day, but he would not weight Ilrhenir with his dire mood.
"Baelorn…" Ilrhenir looked up at his friend who seemed to sag in the saddle the longer he sat there atop his mount. In his face Baelorn read a need. He was beginning to realize that Ilrhenir's stubborn moments had a way to them, like strange little puzzle, only he was too exhausted to work through this one.
"Aye?" Baelorn asked wearily, rubbing his eyes.
"What of the others? The Eorlingas trapped within the besieged forts, yonder?" Ilrhenir pointed into the distance and though it was too dark for Baelorn to see, he knew where of Ilrhenir was asking.
Ah, Baelorn thought. Now we come to the heart of it.
Long familiar with loosing comrade and kindred alike to battle, Baelorn looked fondly but sad, down upon the sable youth and told Ilrhenir what he had to, what he knew Ilrhenir had already reckoned himself. "They have come upon the fate befallen too many of our breed since Saruman's betrayal." Baelorn reached down and squeezed Ilrhenir's shoulder gently. "In the coming days we will sing for them lad, be assured, but all you need concern yourself with for now is not becoming further fodder for our keening. Come away from the ledge."
Ilrhenir nodded finally, his shoulders slumped with sorrow and he followed after Naisi as Baelorn headed back to his company. Just then, Baelorn's captain came forth and Ilrhenir watched the two men negotiate until it was clear that Baelorn was being sent away from the line to rest.
Ilrhenir was actually relieved. What strength he had upon waking was gone and since Baelorn was going too much needed rest, he would follow.
"Come Ilrhenir, we are sent to find our bedrolls whilst we may. And much as I am loath to admit it, I shall be asleep ere I tether poor Naisi, who must stay girded and bridled while his master sleeps."
"If you want, I will take care of him as you find your bed." Ilrhenir reached for the horse's reins.
"Know you how?" Baelorn asked, surprised.
"In Bree I helped the hostlers for a few pennies here and there." Ilrhenir stood straight and eyed Baelorn indignantly.
Baelorn laughed and snorted derisively. "No Breeland hostler would know what to do with a Rohirric steed!"
Ilrhenir's cheeks colored a bit and he frowned reaching his hand out. "Baelorn, give me his reins. And go find your rest ere you end up the one in a faint upon the ground." Ilrhenir plied the reins from Baelorn's loose grasp and gave the older man a critical stare, frowning in mock admonition. "I tell you now, if you fall ere you find your pallet, I shall be forced to leave you. Sooner could I carry Naisi, than you." And Ilrhenir snorted.
"What cheek!" Baelorn laughed. But in the end he submitted. "So be it, but give him an apple from the stock barrels, will you? My lad Naisi is as weary as I and much deserving of an indulgence. I shall be yonder, by the armor waines" And with that, Baelorn untied his bedroll from Naisi's saddlebags and headed off to lie down.
What Ilrhenir didn't know was that Baelorn mistrusted Ilrhenir's so-called Breeland hostler's education. In Baelorn's way of thinking, the northerners probably didn't know a horse from a barley hoppe. And so he set out his pallet by the armor wagons and chuckled, for from that spot, Baelorn could well see the entirety of what remained of the tethered line of mounts. He settled back and watched Ilrhenir struggle through caring for Naisi.
When Ilrhenir finally gathered his own meager belongings and staggered his way over and plopped down on the ground, wrapping his cloak about him, Baelorn made room on his narrow bedroll for the lad, wishing he had taken time to ask the quartermaster to provision Ilrhenir with a bedroll of his own.
Ilrhenir, grateful to have something between himself and the cold earth besides his cloak, lay there for a short while rolling this way and that, trying to get comfortable and finally he pushed himself up on one elbow and looked down on Baelorn, wondering if the Rohirrim was asleep. "Baelorn"
After a moment, Baelorn answered. "Aye lad?" He cocked one lid open.
"Would you really sing a keen for me if I were dead?" Ilrhenir, as tired as he was, seemed unable to sleep. The last person he had slept this close to had been his diminutive mother and the feel of Baelorn's large hard form next to him was disconcertingly different.
Baelorn sighed. "Aye. Most definitely."
When Ilrhenir said nothing more, Baelorn resumed trying to sleep, though he noted that Ilrhenir did not lie back down again.
"Baelorn?" Ilrhenir said again, after several moments.
"Yes lad?" Baelorn tried to keep the irritation from his voice as he answered as patiently as he was able.
"You haven't eaten. I have this with me. Here." Ilrhenir sat up all the way and carefully fished the summer sausage and cheese out of his tunic. He had also taken the time to nab Baelorn's wineskin off the saddlebags.
"I can't take this Ilrhenir." Baelorn looked on Ilrhenir, who was looking back at him imploringly, offering the wrapped food in bandaged fingers, and suddenly Baelorn's irritation melted away.
"Yes you can, I've already eaten tonight. I wrestled that from Owain for you." Ilrhenir lied. He didn't want to lie, but he also knew that Baelorn had been on the battlefield all day with no meal. On the other hand, Ilrhenir had eaten well, earlier that day in fact, and in his mind, he had taken plenty while Baelorn had gone without.
"Thank you, lad." Baelorn accepted the food, took one look at Ilrhenir and knew well that the youth was lying. Looking on the boy he made note never to let the other soldiers involve Ilrhenir in any games of chance, for the youth was far too easy to read. Baelorn suspected this was the Ilrhiner's own dinner and considering how scarce food had been in Ilrhenir's recent past, he noted the gift with due gravity and humility and then split the meat and cheese in half.
Lying there together on the ground, they shared a quiet meal.
Just as Baelorn's eyes fluttered shut and he surrendered to his weariness, Ilrhenir's voice sounded again. "Baelorn?"
"Yes lad!" Baelorn answered him a bit more harshly, exhaustion finally eroding his patience.
Ilrhenir jumped Baelorn's loudness. "Do you think we will be killed in this battle?" he asked quietly.
Baelorn's voice still carried a dangerous edge to it. "No Ilrhenir, I do not."
"Why?" Ilrhenir pushed back up on his elbow and stared at the Rohirrim trying to sleep.
Baelorn growled. "Because the enemy will come tonight and find naught left of you but a few buzzard picked remnants if you do not silence yourself and go to sleep!!!"
Ilrhenir was undaunted. He laid back down and smiled innocently, hiding his mischief. Ilrhenir waited several minutes, then rolled over and said, "Baelorn?"
"WHAT!" Baelorn shouted, finally having lost what patience he possessed.. Several nearby sleeping soldiers grumbled at the ruckus.
"Oh, nothing…." Ilrhenir suddenly ducked under his cloak hiding a grin. He decided that the game was over.
"What!" Baelorn repeated a little less hostile.
"Truly, nothing Baelorn." Ilrhenir called over his shoulder. "Get some sleep Baelorn" He heard the large warrior grunt and huff and flop into the bedroll with his back to Ilrhenir but he stayed tense. The youth lay quiet for a few moments; seeming asleep and eventually Baelorn grumbled something in Rohirric, settling himself again into repose.
"Baelorn…"
"Ilrhenir, I swear by the blood of Eorl!" Baelorn shot up on his own elbow, glaring down at the boy, who, to his surprise, had a very innocent, beatific smile upon his face.
"Peace Baelorn, I was just going to ask that you not keep me up snoring." Ilrhenir stated quietly with a sweet smile.
"What!" Baelorn gaped.
"You snore." Ilrhenir said matter-of-factly in a quiet tone.
"I most certainly do not! Twas you who nearly collapsed the healers tent with your incessant sawing!" Baelorn laid back again; sure he had effectively settled matters. "Now give me peace!"
Again there was a lengthy silence but Baelorn was beyond trusting it. And then… "I do not snore, Baelorn. Besides, how would you know?" Ilrhenir quipped.
Baelorn uttered a growl of such frustration that Ilrhenir found it difficult to hide his amusement.
"The many hours I spent at your sickbed sufficed as evidence enough!" Baelorn countered.
"Oh. Well. In that event, I promise not to snore…. If you don't snore." And with that, Ilrhenir amiably rolled his back to Baelorn again and was silent.
"Go to sleep Ilrhenir!" Baelorn hissed, close to violence.
"Aye Baelorn." Ilrhenir muttered through a yawn as he started to drift off.
A minute passed and then Baelorn turned to face Ilrhenir's back.
"Ilrhenir…" Baelorn called, he would get just a little of his own back.
"What!" Ilrhenir groused in a sleepy voice.
"Goodnight, lad." Baelorn chuckled to himself. The only answer he got was the gentle sound of Ilrhenir snoring after a few moments pause.
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For the second time, Ilrhenir woke to being shaken. "Stop! Please, I am awake!" He gasped, and laid there a moment, his arms wrapped around his aching ribs. Ilrhenir wondered wryly if all Rohirric women roused their lads as roughly and so it had become endemic to all their kind.
He eventually opened his eyes and sat up. It was still dark and the entire encampment was all astir. Ilrhenir could see by the moonlight that had slipped from behind the storm clouds that it was no later than midnight. Baelorn looked down on him worriedly, but there was also an urgency in the crouched man's tired features.
"I am sorry to have jostled you so, Ilrhenir, I did forget your injuries. But you were hard to rouse and we have need of haste." He watched the lad slowly pull himself to his feet, and Baelorn offered and arm, but was kindly refused. Ilrhenir preferred to do it by his own power.
"Tis alright, Baelorn." Ilrhenir smiled, arranging his cloths with a twinkle of weary mischief in his eyes. "I am coming to suspect that it is a Rohirrim trait, these furious wakings.
Baelorn chuckled grimly, but quickly sobered. "As I said, we have need of haste.
It has begun in earnest, Ilrhenir." He did not tell the lad of the massive host that had wound south from Isengard on the west side of the Isen. There was no point in alarming him.
But Ilrhenir seemed to have some sense of what lay unsaid, and he looked intently at Baelorn. "You will be in the lines of cavalry now?"
"Yes, and I would that you stayed alert and away from battle for as long as you may. Erkenbrand and Eomer may yet come to our aid." Baelorn knew the forces that could be mustered from Helm's Deep and he suspected the numbers of those that were available from the Eastfold. Neither force, nor even them both combined could save them against what Baelorn had just spied upon the field.
"Baelorn." Ilrhenir took hold of the soldier's arm and a pair of determined gray eyes met Baelorn's. "Forget not your oath to me."
"Ilrhenir?"
"I will not be taken again. If we cannot win the day then it ends here, it ends now." Ilrhenir shook his head slowly and whispered. "I will not be taken again."
Baelorn was horrified by the implication, but the issue became moot when a mounted Rohirrim rode up swiftly, drawing his mount in short. "Baelorn, you are needed! They press the Ford now!" And the rider sped off back towards the bridgehead.
Baelorn clasped Ilrhenir about the neck knitting his fingers in the long black hair at the base of Ilrhenir's head. "Stay back, run if you must, but get away. And if the spirit of Eorl permits, I will live to see you again. If not, go south to Minas Tirith and find your father. No man should meet his end ere knowing that he has a son such as thee." And with that, Baelorn grabbed the newly vacated bedroll, turned and trotted off towards the thin line of horses to fetch Naisi.
Ilrhenir watched him swiftly mount and join his fellows. He looked into the night sky and surmised that it was only now reaching midnight. Ilrhenir squinted south and east into the dark distance and let loose a low prayer that their relief come fleetly and then he took up his sword and headed after his friend, ignoring the order to stay back out of the way.
Ilrhenir's bruised hips ached terribly before he reached Grimbold's mustered forces along the eastern bank of the Fords and his breath came in painful gasps. As he knelt along the lip to get his wind, Ilrhenir looked out at what they would be facing and suddenly he was awash with dread. For before him, stretched out seemingly forever, was the fell host that had come to him in vision earlier that very day. As Ilrhenir watched, in the distance, points of red light were seen coming from the north, already drawing very near. It was the vanguard of the whole remaining forces of Saruman that were now being committed to battle for the final conquest of the Westfold. The hundreds of points of red light erupted suddenly, as torches were lit and passed and to Ilrhenir it seemed as though a great wash of fire overtook the enemy and they became a living, burning blanket of hatred upon the land. The fire passed like a flowing river to spread to the dark forces that occupied the Fords themselves and suddenly, the multitudinous enemy swept up over the Fords, surging up the eastern bank and engaging the forces at the bridgehead.
Had Ilrhenir stayed in the camp as Baelorn had bid him, he would likely not have seen any of this first surge of Isengarders, but as he was along the lip of the river itself, he was quickly swept away in a great clamorous torrent of fire and hate.
Fortunately for Ilrhenir, it was not long ere Grimbold called a retreat off the east bank and it was with a loud curse that Baelorn found him trapped amidst the battle. Baelorn rode his mount leaping into the melee, Naisi kicking and screaming at their unnatural foes, Baelorn hacking and slashing at the same. He retrieved Ilrhenir by the colar, hoisting the overwhelmed youth up out of the fray. "Damn it all, Ilrhenir! Do you listen to no ones council!"
Baelorn wheeled Naisi about and breaking free of the mob of orcs, urged his mount to catch up to the ranks of withdrawing cavalry. When he reached the garrison's circle, along with all the others, Baelorn shed his mount leaving Ilrhenir still in the saddle. He briefly studied the youth who had been ominously silent since being hefted up from the battle scene. Cold fear gripped Baelorn as he wondered if Ilrhenir had received some new grievous injury. "Ilrhenir!"
It was a moment before Ilrhenir answered, bent over the saddle horn, but he eventually did, his features etched in pain. "Here." He croaked.
"Indeed, but are you whole?" Baelorn swiftly tore off his glove and ran a hand along the length of Ilrhenir's back, feeling for blood. "I haven't time to tend you, I must join the shieldwall, but tell me now."
"I am whole, Baelorn." Ilrhenir's voice was still pinched with pain, his eyes squeezed shut. And Baelorn eyed him suspiciously. "Shieldwall?" Ilrhenir asked.
"Aye, our last resort. Being too short of stature, even Uruks cannot meet a shieldwall well, so they will have to retreat and let the mounted Dunlanders through. That will buy us precious moments. Keep Naisi safe, we will need him again ere this is over." And Baelorn turned to rush toward the wall of men constructing themselves about the encampment.
When Baelorn was gone, Ilrhenir slowly slid off of Naisi, lacking the skill to steer the great horse from the saddle, though he would have preferred to ride than walk in his current state. Everything ached and once again his head pounded with a sickly rhythm. He had been at little risk of dying on the tip of an orc blade, for they seemed satisfied to trample and burn him in the nightmarish wave. He felt the fool for going down so swiftly. His sword had been of no avail in the press of dark forces, but at least he had been able to keep hold of it.
Shaking as he went, Ilrhenir carefully led Naisi over to where the other horses were tethered, having been shed of their riders too. He handed off Baelorn's mount to one of the Eord's own hostlers. And without a word, Ilrhenir went a few feet to the grain wagon and slid bonelessly to the ground, leaning against one of its great, iron-banded wheels. He lacked the desire or strength to fight against the darkness that hovered at the edge of his tenuous consciousness and so Ilrhenir did the only thing he could, he surrendered to it.
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Baelorn joined his brethren encapsulating Ilrhenir and the rest of the garrison camp in a circular wall of infantry standing shield-to-shield, shoulder-to-shoulder. And true to Baelorn's assurances, the Uruks had no luck breaking through it. Tired, overwhelmed and outnumbered the Rohirrim were still a mighty force to be reckoned with.
But soon the wall was surrounded completely on all sides by a massive sea of vicious orcs and the attackers rained a shower of torches at the shieldwall, some of them high over the heads of the Rohirrim into the camp in order to panic what horses were left and kindle fire to the stores. But the shieldwall held, impenetrable.
Seeing that their limited height impaired them, the Uruk-hai commanders eventually called a retreat and they parted in a great wave to allow several companies of fierce mounted Dunlandish hillmen to take up the assault against the shieldwall. They attacked with great vehemence. But for all their strength of numbers, the Dunlanders hatred of the children of Eorl was born of a deep fear. And face to face, the Dunlanders were not nearly provisioned enough in arms nor fit in training to stand against the well armed and armored, well organized Rohirrim forming the fortification. Still the shieldwall held.
They battled on and on, and eventually, when no help came from the south, from Edoras or Helm's Deep, nor from the north from the forces of Elfhelm, Grimbold reasoned it was time to put into action the plan that he had come upon should they find themselves in just such a grim predicament. He had made provision for just such an instance and he accepted that the time was come indeed, the Fords of Isen were fallen.
His plans included the hopeful escape of at least a few of his men, to make it south to join forces with Erkenbrand where their blood would not be spilled in a vain battle but where they might yet serve to win against Saruman's fell forces. So the word was given to be ready when opportunity arose, to implement the plan.
The moon had been dipping in and out of menacing clouds brought in on the foul wind from Isengard. And suddenly the multitudinous torches that had blanketed the enemy in a crimson glow flickered and were extinguished. The air hung heavy with the smoky evidence of a thousand simultaneously doused torches, but that same said storm wind cleared away the polluted air swiftly. And as the fiery lights left their foes, so too the assault ebbed and the enemy withdrew to a short distance, regrouping for a new strategy to breach the hereto impenetrable shieldwall.
It was then that the call went out. It was time. While the enemy gathered its will for another fell assault, all who still had mounts, less than half an eored, were to withdraw from the wall and ready themselves. They were to be placed under the command of Captain Dunhere, Lord of Harrowdale, and a puissant and courageous leader.
Baelorn headed for the horse line, his heart heavy. He knew the role those that were mounted were meant to play. Under Dunhere, the cavalry would distract the forces of Saruman, along with a small, handpicked stand of infantry that would fight alongside Grimbold, all the while, the main body of their garrison would break from the shieldwall and escape.
Baelorn was childless and his wife had passed a few years earlier, so it was not thoughts of home and hearth that filled his mind and heart with remorseful ache, but rather, one lone, black haired youth who would not have the strength to escape on foot to Erkenbrand. He could still not fathom while the youth had stayed. He was not sure Ilrhenir himself knew.
Despite his previous oath to Ilrhenir, Baelorn would not be able to ride out with the youth, taking him beyond the danger of their enemies. He wondered instantly about the rest of the oath, quickly chastising himself for such dark thoughts, looking amongst the horses for Ilrhenir and Naisi. He would have final words with the boy, regardless of how the night turned out for Ilrhenir, for Baelorn was certain it was to be their last meeting. Doubtless, Baelorn would fall in defense of the garrison's retreat, never to see Ilrhenir again. He had one chance left to convince ilrhenir to escape with the rest of the garrison when Grimbold's plan unfolded itself. And he meant for Ilrhenir to go with them, if he had to tie the youth to a wagon himself.
Baelorn found his mount in the care of one of the Eord's own hostlers and responded to Naisi's tired nicker of recognition with a friendly scratch along the beast's neck. "One last time old friend. Just you and I together." He whispered.
When Baelorn inquired after Ilrhenir, the man holding Naisi's tether pointed out a dark, slumped form, leaned against a rear wheel of the grain cart, unmoving.
Baelorn's heart leapt painfully. Perhaps the lad had dismissed some grave wound and had passed away, alone, here in the camp. For a moment Baelorn pondered the kindness of that fate. He knelt before Ilrhenir and gave the youth's shoulder a gentle shake, mindful of the his soreness this time in case he only slept. It was then, by light of the once again peeking moon that Baelorn noticed for the first time the torn filthy state of Ilrhenir's uniform. The smell of scorched wool and hair assaulted his nose, though Ilrhenir seemed free of serious burns or blood save for numerous seeping scratches and scuffs. Ilrhenir was alive, testified to by the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
Baelorn paused for a moment when the youth didn't wake. Twas time to be honest. Perhaps it would be kinder to slay the boy now than to put him upon a cart and hope the swift enemy didn't overtake them and capture Ilrhenir again. It would probably take restraining Ilrhenir to make him leave with the rest of the company, of that Baelorn was sure. And he could not do that and risk the retreating garrison being overtaken and Ilrhenir left helpless. So all that was left was to either hope the youth survived the battle or honor his pack to Ilrhenir.
Baelorn looked with bittersweet fondness down upon the youth and silently drew his blade. Baelorn knew that Ilrhenir was more than passing fair and his capture would mean a violent end of the ugliest kind amongst Uruks and others that would vent their battle lust on the beautiful youth. Yes, this would be kinder. Surely he could deliver a blow placed just so and then hold the boy briefly till death came. Baelorn made ready to fulfill his oath to Ilrhenir, stealing himself, knowing that it was cruel and cowardly to leave the weak and wounded to be captured and tormented by the enemy. Every warrior knew that. And the boy had somehow become his responsibility, from the moment he hoisted a fainted Ilrhenir up off the field of battle, from the moment he urged the healers to force life back on the battered youth. But he also knew that the only reason he could contemplate the act was not because he was foresworn, but because Baelorn was sure to fall against the insurmountable odds. He had no hope for the night, only the grim determination to take as many of Saruman's abominations with him as he was able. If there were any hope that he might survive to be burdened with the guilt of this, then he would not be able to do it.
Baelorn was unaware that in the moments whilst he ruminated, Ilrhenir had awoken, and had heard the silvery hiss of Baelorn's blade being drawn. The single, clean noise cemented the hopelessness of the day and Ilrhenir awaited the blow unflinching, not wishing Baelorn to realize that he had taken the blow knowingly. It was obvious to Ilrhenir that Baelorn needed to think that Ilrhenir was sleeping. And Ilrhenir wanted mercy for Baelorn's heart, so he lay as unmoving as though he still slept.
But the blow did not come. Twice Baelorn laid the blade to Ilrhenir's body, once with the point at the side of Ilrhenir's throat, and once to the center of his breast. But Baelorn could not put strength to it. He finally sheathed his blade and sighed, whispering. "Forgive me Ilrhenir, I cannot fulfill my oath." He gently brushed a dark lock off Ilrhenir's brow. "I must have faith and set you upon the road. For though the enemy may take you, I cannot."
It was then that Ilrhenir opened his eyes, though his head was yet lulled forward, resting on his breast, so Baelorn did not see the grey eyes brim with tears. But he did hear Ilrhenir's whispering voice, heavy with emotion. "I forgive you Baelorn."
Baelorn gasped and frowned, and then Ilrhenir's head lifted slowly. "But I will not go."
"Why?" Baelorn asked, his mind darting like lightening over the last few moments, wondering how long Ilrhenir had lain awake.
"Because, Baelorn. I must… I mean… I have not the heart to move on and search for a father that I do not know when I have left behind the one I would want as a father to die."
And with that quiet answer, Ilrhenir wiped away his tears on the back of his dirty cuff, succeeding in only smearing his face more, and he rose unsteadily to his feet.
Baelorn smiled widely despite their peril and his heart was too full to comment so he slipped an arm underneath Ilrhenir's elbow and steadied him. It was then that he noticed for the first time the large, bloody knot on the back of Ilrhenir's skull, evidence that he hadn't made it back exactly whole from the first surge of the bridgehead. Baelorn let the injury go untended. He suspected that Ilrhenir didn't have long to bear the pain of it anyway. He tried one last time to convince the youth to see reason. "But Ilrhenir, I could…"
"Put me on a cart?" Ilrhenir shook his head smiling thinly. "You know that isn't for me, not for either of us."
A tense moment stood between them under the night sky and then suddenly Ilrhenir captured Baelorn in a fierce embrace, which the soldier easily returned.
"Goodbye, Ilrhenir. The God's keep you." Baelorn whispered, releasing Ilrhenir. And then came the call of the hostler to let him know that he was missed by the other cavalrymen. Baelorn turned swiftly from the youth and took up Naisi again, climbing into the saddle, his weariness evaporated in the heat of impending battle. Riding to meet the other horsemen already gathered within the eastern edge of the shield wall, Baelorn did not turn to look back.
Ilrhenir watched him go and worry twisted his heart. Once again Ilrhenir took up his sword, and as always, he followed slowly after Baelorn.
He had just managed to catch up to the cavalry amidst all those of the garrison preparing themselves to flee with all haste to the great road south. Hope was etched as desperate determination on the faces of all those whose lot it was not to stay and hold off the flood of enemy forces. Ilrhenir stood there detachedly watching them all, like a ghost wandering their midst, as though he were already taken by the darkness and left lost. And at once, Ilrhenir realized with cold surety the sensations he had only wondered at before. Like the men he'd witnessed earlier, sealed and doomed in the west bank earthen forts, he would fight and die here tonight, with no hope and no future, with only the count of his fallen enemy about him to mark the worth of his passing. He suddenly wondered what had possessed him. Here on the ground, there was no way for him to fight at Baelorn's side! Haimen was right, his presence here would avail no one and he was a fool to have believed otherwise. But Ilrhenir was not completely without hope, for to be so, was to be beyond fear. And Ilrhenir was most definitely afraid.
But even more than that, Ilrhenir was alone. Amidst an entire army of Rohirrim, he was as alone as ever he was traveling the desolate road south from Bree. Ilrhenir suddenly hoped for battle to begin again in earnest. The dark was oppressive and no dawn for him would come more swiftly than the point of an enemy's blade. But the idea was somehow not so frightening suddenly. I was now almost a liberating understanding. No more responsibility to go south to find Strider, no more driving need to find his mother's coins, no more hungry, or pained, or tired, or lonely, or grieving, just quiet. After the storm of battle and the whirling haze of the last few months, death would seem….restful. He would see Jenna again and somehow that warmed his heart and gave strength to his weary form.
The moon slid suddenly behind a mask of black clouds most thick, and all light was gone from the nighttime battlefield. In the darkness, the eastern shieldwall of Rohirrim suddenly parted north and south, turning on the respective enemy closest, letting pass the remnants of their cavalry who set upon the Isengarders with such vigor that for a short while, it was believed by the enemy that reinforcements had come to the surrounded Eord. In the wake of the cavalry, all those who were to do so fled toward the east and south. Those warriors of the split shieldwall that were deigned to stay and fight afoot with Grimbold engaged the orcs and Dunlanders with a fury born of accepted doom. And even once the armies of The Deceiver realized that it was only the last desperate act of their prey and that the shieldwall was at last broken, they did not set upon the retreating Rohirrim. Such was their arrogance, they sought to stamp the fleas that immediatly plagued them and then the others would be caught when the flood of Isengard's evil washed further into Rohan.
So it was that the biggest part of those left of Grimbold's men made it upon the road to Helm's Deep.
But though the enemy did not give chase to those that had fled, neither did the massive forces tarry with the remaining Eorlingas. Battle was swift and it flowed in a course toward the great road south sweeping the remaining Eorlingas along in a river of destruction. Deeping-Coomb was the next goal and no small dyke of Rohirrim could stem the surge of evil.
Baelorn fought on amid the chaotic course, taking barely a scratch from any weapon. He battled madly leaving his soul to be guided by the maker of his people while his body and sword made the forces of Saruman rue their provenance. But as the battle waged, he began to be separated from his brethren by the flow of the fight, and indeed, ere long he was isolated in an ocean of enemies. It was then that he realized that they had been successful. Daring not to look more than a brief moment he spied east and south, seeing that his folk had escaped to fight along with Erkenbrand's army, and a wild, dark joy filled him.
Baelorn thought at that moment that since Grimbold's ploy was succeeded, and against all hope he himself still lived, then he would be better served following south as he may. One more fallen Rohirrim here on this field mattered not, but at Helm's Deep, partnered with many others, one sword could hold the day. So it was that Baelorn, besieged and separated from any of Grimbold and Dunhere's companies that yet lived, surged his way toward the east, trying to break out of the fight and rejoin his folk at Helm's Deep.
Naisi was beyond exhausted, but quite as brave as his master and of the fair blood of all Rohannian steeds, he refused to fail. And soon, the sight of clear, tall grassland beyond the trampling of iron-shod desecration woke in him a second wind. So when Baelorn bid Naisi leap once more it was with a wild yearning that Naisi complied, bounding over and through the mashing orcish throng, crushing many foul creatures as he veritably sailed over the black hordes.
But Baelorn reined him in, right before they were quite free. Baelorn's ears were met with a sound that was somehow familiar. He stood up in the saddle and strained to see in the early morning darkness. And if not for the rekindling of some of the enemies' torches, he would not have seen the wild form swinging blindly at a circle of tormenting orcs.
"Ilrhenir!" Baelorn screamed above the sounds of the masses. He could hardly believe the boy yet lived!
Naisi planted a swift kick, soundly crushing the skull of an orc behind them, before heeding Baelorn's command to bound into the circular fray. Ilrhenir was at some distance, but before long, Baelorn arrived. Eorling and horse, together slayed orcs and cut down the Dunlanders, who were beginning to fear that Baelorn was some impervious demon.
Ilrhenir was oblivious. He neither saw nor heard Baelorn, though Baelorn was near and it was at great risk to Naisi that he drove the horse into Ilrhenir's wild, wide sword swinging. He grasped the frantic boy by the collar and for the second time that night, the third since meeting Ilrhenir, he hauled him up over the saddle-horn and rode out of the reach of their enemies who snarled in frustration, but who gave no great chase.
For once, the sheer volume of their enemies played out to their benefit. No army pursued one lone warrior, even if they could manage to maneuver thousands of forces to do so. Their march was set and no single Rohirrim would be fodder enough to be worthy of a halt to the gruesome pace they set.
Baelorn set a fast pace southeast, with a struggling, maddened Ilrhenir in his grasp.
"Ilrhenir! Be Still!" Baelorn shouted. He swiftly looped the reins to a saddle ring in order to free both hands to manage Ilrhenir.
"Let me go! Let me down to fight them!" Baelorn knew then that Ilrhenir was not himself. He wrestled the wiry youth, grabbing one leg and hauling it before him, over the saddle ere he inadvertently dropped the boy while they were galloping along.
"Ilrhenir, we must fly! The enemy is behind us and I dare not set you down!" Baelorn finally managed a strong hold around the Ilrhenir's middle that he could maintain until the youth ceased his thrashing.
"No!" Ilrhenir sobbed madly. "I can not leave them behind!" Ilrhenir was beginning to weaken, but still he attempted to free himself to the ground, oblivious to the swift pace that Naisi maintained.
"Leave what behind!" Baelorn was too accomplished a rider to be tipped off the saddle. His concern instead, was that Ilrhenir would aggravate his hurts. The youth was thrashing like a mad man.
"Momma's coins, I have to find them!"
Oh yes, the boy is indeed unsound of mind, Baelorn thought. To Ilrhenir, he called commandingly. "Leave them!"
This renewed the strength of Ilrhenir's struggle. "I will not!"
"You will! The coins mean nothing!" Baelorn loosed one of his arms and pulled Ilrhenir's head back tightly to his shoulder, speaking against the boy's ear in a compassionate but inexorable tone. "They mean nothing, lad."
Baelorn could feel shaking in Ilrhenir's limbs, signaling that he was close to collapse, but not before one final outburst. "You are wrong!" Ilrhenir arched in Baelorn's grasp and screamed. "They're all I have left of her!"
Baelorn kept hold of him and when Ilrhenir finally went limp in his arms, sobbing, the hand that had trapped the youth's released. "Peace Ilrhenir." Baelorn said calmly. "There is perhaps little enough time still allotted us ere the end of this war comes. Let what ghosts you've carried in your heart lie at rest upon this field, and come away with me to see another day."
"Baelorn, I..." Ilrhenir fought off another sob, already becoming ashamed of his actions as clarity descended upon him. But his eyes were still filled with such hurt that Baelorn could find no more words to ease him.
So instead Baelorn gently pulled Naisi to a slower pace and situated Ilrhenir better before him. "No need for words between us, Ilrhenir. Much has befallen you recently."
Ilrhenir's eyes scrunched up, and he wiped the tears off his cheeks with shaking , filthy hands. "I'm so tired, Baelorn..." And Ilrhenir shuddered as his hands tightened around Baelorn's arm at his waist. Baelorn's presence was grounding, and for one irrational moment Ilrhenir was almost afraid that their escape was an illusion and that the older man would disappear.
Baelorn relaxed into the saddle. And for a while there was a comfortable silence as Ilrhenir gathered himself. Then Baelorn spoke, his voice strong but soothing. "I estimate it to be no more than three in the morning, and we are both weary beyond telling. Sleep, Ilrhenir. You will have need of it."
Baelorn wished to walk down Naisi's to a slower pace but the army behind them did not tarry and so neither could they. He turned them more southerly, traveling, at a distance away and ahead out of the armies direct path. He knew that it would cost them time in reaching Helm's Deep, but it would keep them from being overrun if Naisi failed at last.
He reached back and pulled a blanket out of his saddlebags tucking it over Ilrhenir and then laid a hand to the youth's face, feeling for the fever that had been gone less than two days.
"Are you hurt? Beyond that knock on your head? " Baelorn asked.
"Not greatly. You?" Ilrhenir yawned and then winced. Despite not having taken any serious injury to add to the others, his older complaints sounded loudly. He marveled though that he was actually growing accustomed to the ache.
Baelorn chuckled. "Only the ones you recently inflicted."
Ilrhenir squirmed a bit. "I am sorry." He flushed slightly.
"Pay no mind, you gave better than the orcs did." He chuckled again. "Go to sleep, lad."
Ilrhenir nodded a little, closing his eyes. "Just for a little while. Then I can ride in back behind you and you can sleep." His voice drifted into silence, his head lolled back against Baelorn's shoulder.
Baelorn snorted at the absurd image.
"And Baelorn?"
"Aye?"
"I am no lad"
"Indeed not, Ilrhenir." There was a pause in which Baelorn thought Ilrhenir had dozed off.
"Baelorn…"
"OH! Let's not start that again, shall we?" Baelorn hissed in exasperation.
Ilrhenir actually chuckled, himself. "I was only going to say that all day yesterday, it looked as though a storm were brewing in the sky. Are we to expect rain?"
"A Storm brews lad, but I know not of what kind. It seems fowler than just what might bring rain." He growled.
"That's too bad. I love the rain, Baelorn. It's cold, but it always feels clean." Ilrhenir's voice carried the musical tone of drowsiness.
And as Ilrhenir's eyes closed, he recalled a song verse Jenna used to sing. He sung it softly as he drifted off to sleep.
"Who loves the rain
And loves his home,
And looks on life with quiet eyes,
Him will I follow through the storm;
And at his hearth-fire keep me warm;
Nor hell nor heaven shall that soul surprise,
Who loves the rain,
And loves his home,
And looks on life with quiet eyes."