I have been looking forward to this day since I was but a young maiden, watching as my brother rode out to war for the first time with our cousin, the pride etched on his face.
And I was left behind. I am always left behind. Even now, if I asked any of the soldiers, rising now from their hard beds on the ground, they would say that the Lady of the Riddermark is at home. But no! I am not she – I am Dernhelm. Dernhelm.
Master Holbytla is stirring now – sometimes I wonder why I brought him to almost certain death. But I know the reason – he, like I, strives for glory, to serve his lord, and he, like I, was to be left behind for reasons out of his control.
And now our camp is packed and we are riding. Riding, because of the Red Arrow. Riding, because he loves me not, and I would have death and glory. Glory, yes – to be remembered – and death, Death! to forget.
My horse scents something, and now I smell it too. Burning. The city is burning. The few farmhouses we pass now are smoking rubble and ash.
It is dark. A shadow passes overhead and my heart tightens, grows cold. I see the others' fear – my uncle is puzzled – he has stopped his horse. The shadow is lifted as silently as it came. A word from my brother, and we are riding again. I am not puzzled – I have felt this evil before, in my nightmares.
Watching that worm suck my uncle dry – draining his youth and vigour – at least my brother had his horses and his war-making. For at night, when the Golden Hall was quiet, when my days' cares were gone and could distract me no longer, the worm's words seemed to contain some truth. Even now, I wonder how it is that our House has sunk so low – as the only fame we can achieve will be in our death in the defence of a realm far mightier than we.
Minas Tirith – my first sight of the city, the land around now defiled with the foul workings of Evil. My stomach turns – for all my talk of war, I have never yet seen a battlefield.
"Stay with me, Master Holbytla!" I whisper to the halfling sat in front of me, as we take our positions. I can feel the nervousness of the men around me, but my nerves are gone. This is what I have always wanted. Today is the day I die.
We pause. I pat the neck of my horse gently, steadying her, She has served me well. Then I hear it. The shout goes up through the Éored – it fills my head and I know not even that I am shouting too.
"FORTH EORLINGAS!"