Chapter Four

For a moment Theodred regretted opening the gates when the enemy poured in like water in a sinking ship, sweeping his horse back in a panic and frenzy of bracing and retreating. The Orc were running over men on the ground, and even attempting to seize the horses of the Riders. Theodred, at first, felt no worry for the fate of his men, for he knew their spirit and their stamina was more than fuel in the heat of a battle; but the explosion at the gates had made him wary.

A creature was reaching up to the nose of his rearing horse with grabbing, clawing goblin hands in an attempt to seize the bridle, and Theodred cried out and thrust a booted foot into the side of it's dead, drawing a large spurt of blood from the mutilated ear. The Orc stumbled to the ground and was lost in the mob of further on comers, all climbing and screaming and crawling on top of one another savagely, salivating and eyeing his horse hungrily.

The heir of the Mark surged his mount forward so it's powerful legs came down onto several of the creatures, stomping and stepping as if it had come across a pile of snakes. Most of the kicks made contact and sent the creatures reeling back with horrid cuts and gashes. The horse whistled shrilly when any Orc would come too close for it's own defense and Theodred would have to strain his body to stretch over to the front of the horse and slay the beasts before their teeth or claws sliced his friend's throat.

Theodred rooted his knees into the sides of his mount and yanked back on the reins, turning the horse away from the onslaught and moving raggedly backward to the inclined base of the slope of Edoras.

What he saw cut through him like a whip on cold skin, and he only had a moment to consider the consequences. Some of the soldiers were trying to close the gates behind the Orcs, trying to trap them like animals and slay them so they would never again roam the plains of Rohan. It was a noble effort, but Theodred knew the result of cornering beasts.

'Do not close the gates!' he shouted over the roar, and went unheard by all but one of the Riders that had fallen back with him when the wave entered. Theodred reached over and seized his shoulder guard roughly, pulling the man close enough to be heard, 'Who gave the order to close the gates?!'

'Heath, sir!'

The prince hesitated, light eyes going back to the lit torches that topped the gates and then snapped his gaze to the rider. 'Open the gates, keep them open, and give them a way out!' he chucked the reins of the horse after shouting to the rider, 'Go on with caution, man, and give the word!'

'Aye, my lord!'

Theodred's attention was torn to the direction of the gate where a cluster of Orcs were gathered so tightly that one would have thought they were feasting on one another, and since they were not attacking anyone as of yet they had gone unnoticed. He cried out to his horse and pulled the reins to the right, but the animal balked, and stammered. Theodred urged it forward again, but the horse refused to move to the mass of Orcs, and when a horse did not obey its master, Theodred knew, it was for a good reason.

'Riders!' he shouted, bringing his bloodied sword into the air and dragging the attention of several soldiers nearby to him. He made eye contact with Celgin, a young rider, and Rynt, a middle aged man with thick streaks of grey in his pale hair beneath his helm. 'Gather a party of four,' he said to them as he trotted closer enough not to shout. 'The enemy near the gates is devising something, we must break it up.'

There was a howl of an Orc throat, and when steel met steel a rain of sparks came down around the cluster of Orcs and they all immediately began to scatter. Theodred and the two riders prepared to ride out and meet them but instead were hurled back several feet by another crash of light and fire. Theodred's horse was one of the only animals to keep its feet, and he took a moment to regain his bearings. The explosion, again…but how? Only a black spot and a few unfortunate Orcs lay where the cluster had been. His stomach dropped, and hollow fear overcame him.

The prince clutched the handle of his sword and with his free hand pulled his helm off, then pitched it to the ground with frustrated fury; emitting a strangled cry. How would they fight the mongrels if they did not know what they were up against?!

'Theodred!'

The prince turned reddened eyes to the man at his horse's side, and his snarl let up when he saw whom it was. Relief washed over him. 'Boromir, man, where is your horse?!'

'Shot, prince, when the Orcs took the high wall,' Boromir's face was masked in blood; whether or not it was his own, Theodred did not know. The man of Gondor had not carted his large shield out to battle, but proudly gripped his blade in his still-gloved hands. 'I thought they only had enough of that weapon to use it once,' he growled lowly, looking to the mangled gates. 'But it is not so. I fear they still have more yet.'

'Ready your sword, friend, we must talk of this later,' Theodred told him, eyeing four or five rather large Orcs that headed for their party; they seemed to be slicing everything in sight on their way. 'Meet me over by the base of the slope, we will try to plan this attack together and think clearly. And for all that is good, go find a horse!'

Boromir nodded and slapped his friend hard on the leg in rough affection, moving out into the onslaught. Surviving rabble, indeed. So far Boromir had seen several lines of men break against the assaulters; he wondered if the fabled Uruk-hai were among them. The captain of Gondor took the time to meet another of the smaller Orcs and seize it by the miniscule strands of hair that sprang from it's head, then slit it's throat clear across.

There were horses everywhere, running about without masters, and Boromir quickly reached out to snatch the bridle of a panicked appaloosa, nearly breaking his fingers trying to snare it. The animal whistled and struggled, but Boromir managed to grab the long rein and use his other hand to calm it. The horse quivered and stamped, then stilled, ready to be mounted. Boromir heaved himself onto the horse and yanked on the reins, driving it to follow Theodred.

The sky was dark and thundered with fury of the disturbance, and lightening snapped and snarled in the clouds above that blotted out the stars and the half-moon. Boromir looked up for only a moment, and hard drops of rain crashed and broke upon his upturned face. He shook his head and scanned the field for Theodred, cursing himself for losing the prince in only a moment and a half. Then Boromir spotted him among the rocks that sprang from the earth at the slope's base, and he yanked the reins once more.

Theodred had been shouting at two of the Riders that had followed him, and when he saw Boromir approach and dismount happiness flooded throughout him, and he grinned widely through the rain. 'Good, good, you're here! We've found something disturbing.'

Boromir allowed one of the Riders to take his horse, and he swiped the heavy drops of rain from his face, narrowing his eyes at the prince. He came to a crouch beside Theodred where a map had been laid out and was getting hammered by the water from the sky. 'What is it?'

The heat from Boromir and Theodred's bodies caused subtle steam to rise about them, and the fever of the battle rose as well. The rain-washed away the sweat and blood on their skin.

'Celgin gave me word from our archers as they departed the high wall.' Theodred's gloved finger traced the dark line of the inner gates and tapped the main entrance. 'They have breached the eastern wall as well, and are coming around from there to reach the southern entrance of the inner gates.'

'Is there anymore of the breaching weapon?' Boromir asked, droplets of water clinging to his lashes as moved his eyes along the map. 'Do we know if they have yet used it all?'

'Nay,' Theodred breathed. 'But Boromir, they have used strategy here…'

'Aye, it is queer. You say they breached the eastern outer wall?' Boromir did not wait for Theodred's nod, and he studied the map grimly. The Orcs had no intention of fully making for the southern entrance; in the pit of his stomach Boromir knew this. He gripped Theodred's soaked shoulder with his free hand and gave the eastern wall a hard tap with his forefinger. 'Look here. They have set the bulk of their forces, the brainless rabble, to the front entrance to make for the southern gates, while the forces we overlooked breach the eastern wall.'

Theodred's eyes moved quickly from side to side as he watched Boromir play the battle out on the map before them. 'They wish to draw our attention from the eastern wall. They have succeeded up to this point, I think.' he whispered; Boromir needed not speak anymore, for Theodred saw it all. He looked up to the dimming lights of eastern wall and shook the rain from his mane of pale hair. 'So they have discovered the weak point of the eastern wall, think you?'

'I do, though it gives me no pleasure to say.' Boromir pursed his lips grimly, and moved his gaze up to the dark clouds massing in the otherwise midnight sky, squinting in the merciless rain. 'The walls are made of rock and thatched wood, are they not?'

'Aye, tightly thatched wood and lots of rock,' Theodred replied, and he stood to gaze through the curtain of grey raindrops and roaring chaos. 'They are good walls, and hold to the last, but the weapon they had devised is too much for even them. They would need the slightest bit to breach the inner eastern wall.'

'What makes it so weak!?' Boromir demanded, coming to stand with the map still in his leather gloved hands next to Theodred. The young prince pointed behind them to the neck of the slopes of the hill, and Boromir followed his direction through rocks and shadows.

'It is directly on the edge…the earth there is soft this time of year, and a child could easily dig under and slip through.' his face became taut and his lips quivered in anger. 'But I do not think they would enter so subtly, these vile creatures. It is too small and would take too long.'

'No.' Boromir replied gravely, rolling the map up and handing it to Theodred; once again sliding his weapon from its sheath and letting the lightening reflect in its mirror clear blade. The prince filled with dread as the Steward's son spoke the truth. 'They will find a way in. They will go for your women and your children, and then descend like vultures on carrion to the Golden Hall. For the King.'

--- --- ---

By the time Eowyn had reached the southern gate it had began to rain hideously, and she had thrown her hood back but kept her cloak about her thin form to fend off the cold. Her golden hair was wet and plastered to her head and her face, and she breathed out wisps of steam in the cold air. Women and children were fleeing from their homes that were close to the walls, and mothers were pulling their children along hurriedly, some slipping in the slick rain-covered grass.

Guards remained at the gates, maybe ten young men, and were staring at them in confused horror. They knew not what to do at this time, knew not whether to open the gates and allow the panicked, wounded citizens and soldiers come in for refuge or keep them closed and keep the city safe. Eowyn pushed past the retreating people and wrapped her cloak around her cornflower dress, thin material providing not nearly enough warmth for her; she finally made it to the gates, and when the guards saw her they blanched.

'Lady, back with the others!'

Anger flared up in her chest and she clenched her teeth in a near snarl, gesturing to the shaking gates and the voices crying out in pain behind them. 'What are you doing?! Let them in, you fools, for mercy's sake!' she pushed past the guards to make for the gates herself, but they seized her around her waist and pulled her back. Eowyn cried out sharply, and as if she burned them they released her. 'Do not touch me, or hide me away as if I were a child!'

'Please, it is not safe – '

'These people will die!' she roared, forgetting her cloak and sending it to the ground around her ankles. Her already wet dress became even more drenched and clung to her limply, and her amber eyes sparkled in searing anger. 'As the highest authority figure behind these gates, save the King himself, I demand that you let them in!'

'How?!' the guard closest to her demanded boldly, his proud green and gold cloak whipping behind him with the sweeping wind and rain and his face distorted with ire. 'How do you suggest we open those gates and let these people in without letting the entire attacking army in and endangering everyone?!'

'It can be done, do not speak to me as if I know nothing of battle!' Eowyn snarled back, but the young man did not yield, instead he attacked her darkly and fiercely.

'You are a girl! A king's little girl that knows nothing of this, nothing of what will happen,' he shouted, pointing the glistening gates through the curtain of rainfall with a crooked finger and daring to stand closer to Eowyn, 'If we open those gates and unleash the fury of the Orcs into our safe haven!'

'Ganha, stop it!' the soldier nearest the gate snatched his comrade by the shoulder and pulled him away from the Lady of Rohan. 'Do not speak to her that way, she is your superior by a hundred generations or more and is a lady, she does not deserve it!'

'Enough!' Eowyn cried, and the ten soldiers still by the door looked at her in wonder at the volume of her voice and the courage she held to use her authority. She strode over to where the gates were being hammered, and the guards around it held their bows bent with arrows notched and ready to fire at anything. The guards looked to her for command. 'Do you even know where the enemy is?! Is it true they broke through the outer gates?'

'Aye, that was the nature of the explosion, I am sure you heard it.' Ganha said gravely, coming to her side and pointing to what would have been the battlefield if the tall gates were not obstructing their view. 'They have poured in like water and have thrown everything they have against these gates.'

'But surely our riders have not let them yet touch the gates!' Eowyn replied, and backed up to fully see the top of the wall. Lightening snapped in the clouds, and she looked back to Ganha. 'What is happening out there?!'

'Everything is mingled, lady!'

'You mean that both Orc and man and women and children are hammering those gates?'

'Aye,' Ganha breathed, stepping closer to her and raising his pitch as if thinking she finally saw things from his eyes. 'If we open them then not only will they be trampled to death but we will be skewered on the ends of their spears before we let loose the latch.'

Eowyn stared at his pale face through the rain; so young and even afraid. Ganha was not much older than herself. She set her jaw firmly and called over her shoulder to the guard that earlier had to pull Ganha away from her, her voice clear and sweet in the rampaging of the pouring rain. 'Sword! Give me a sword!' The guard closest to the gate shouted wordlessly and drew his weapon, tossing it to her effortlessly and she caught it with both hands. He handed Eowyn the sheath after.

Ganha watched the scene play out in disbelief and anger, and through the arches of his helm glared at her. 'Then you will send us all to death?'

'No, I am going to give the dying life,' she growled, and moved away from him to the gates. Eowyn set herself to the side and braced her booted feet against the slick grass, arching her back and poising her weapon to attack with quivering arms. 'Ready your swords and bows. When I give the call, open the gates and let them come in. Slay the Orcs, and save the people. I will go with you, Ortul, and pull the wounded inside. Ganha!'

The young soldier looked over at her, silent and fuming, but obedient.

'Ganha, you and –' she nodded to the young soldier next to him, who said his name was Runhelm. He looked afraid, and his lanky body shivered. 'You and Runhelm will look out and be prepared to give me a full account of what happens out there. Are we all clear?' A few yeses and nods moved throughout the meager army that remained by the southern gate, and Eowyn felt excitement rise in her chest. 'Good. Wait for my call.'

Eowyn did not immediately give the order, for she herself was slowly being seized by the icy fingers of fear and doubt. It dawned on her as if for the first time that she was but a seventeen-year-old girl in a battle of men fighting the foulest of Middle Earth's creatures, but she knew she could not stand down now. The cries, the desperate voices on the other side of the gates made her ache with pity and a need to help the pleading people on the other side.

She inhaled deeply and met the eyes of the guards straight across from her. 'Now!'

The next few moments, if one asked Eowyn to recap it for them, could only be described as a panicked haze. The men heaved on the great chains and the metal groaned against the wood; the heavy doors opened slowly, and cry of joy from both women and children rose into the chilled air. The people, some bloodied, some bruised and some unscathed, pushed their way in cried out their gratitude. Eowyn and Ortul charged out into the field, not far from the gates, but far enough to fend off any attackers.

Ortul was an archer, and Eowyn held her sword in sticky palms and resolutely curled fingers. When she saw that no Orc neared them yet she dropped to the ground and wrapped both arms around a rider that feebly lay on the ground, a coarse Orc blade broken off in his side. He cried out in pain, but Eowyn shushed him and pulled him with all of her strength to the gates. He was heavy, and even heavier now that he could not manage his own weight. Eowyn pulled him still, up the bit of slope and to the gates. Ortul had pulled three in already.

Eowyn set the rider gently on the ground and pushed his long hair away from his drawn, pained face, giving him a reassuring smile. 'Calm yourself, think not of the pain. Ortul, take him!' she stood once more, and absently reached down to touch the crimson that stained her pale blue dress. For a moment everything seemed to dull out – the sounds, the sights, and the smells…there was nothing in the entire world but her blood and rain slicked fingers. And Eowyn doubted herself.

Then a cry erupted from the gates, Ortul, and Eowyn snapped her head to the sound. The world resumed as it should have, and she backed into the gates with her sword ready to fell any beast that came her way. Ortul's great arms came around her waist and pulled her in roughly.

'My Lady, let us shut the gates for now!' he cried, and Eowyn twisted in his grip and looked at him in wonder, distantly, as if she did not see him. 'My Lady! The gates?!'

Eowyn nodded and yanked away from him. 'Close them, close them!' she cried, sheathing her sword in the belt that hung about her hips. The rain hammered mercilessly at her, and the cries and ringing of metal on metal invaded all of her senses from the outside. The gates were closed once more, and she scanned her achievement. Twenty, perhaps, she had saved from certain death – twelve of them were citizens and the others were all wounded riders.

Eowyn's heart pounded in her chest and she leaned in exhaustion against the comfortingly solid walls, closing her eyes for a moment and trying to get her wind back. Ganha came to her side, grasping her shoulder with rough, prying fingers.
'Lady Eowyn! Lady Eowyn, how fare you?!'

'I am well,' she breathed, meeting his intense green eyes and feeling life come back into her body. Her very skin burned with the excitement and ecstasy of battle, and she stood up straight and rigid, gaze flaring and her spirit thriving. 'There were more wounded. Soldiers, I saw them. We must go back.'

'In time, lady, in time.' Ganha's voice was softer now, and even held a bit of respect. He took her by the arm and led her through the people that stood around, some shaking and some crying and sobbing in trauma and fear of what had just happened. 'We will reopen the gates in five minutes and retrieve them.'

'Good.' Eowyn nodded to some of the people that stood – young boys and women. 'Get some of these people to help the wounded.' Ganha nodded and called out to the citizens that crowded around, in a voice deep and rich, relaying Eowyn's orders. The young Lady of Rohan suddenly realized how cold she was, and folded her arms across her chest but the wind made her skin prickle up in reaction to the frigid air.

--- --- ---

Faramir was relieved to hear that some of the wounded made it into the safe haven of the inner gates, and a great burden lifted from his heart when he saw the few guards run out to save the remaining citizens. He knew not where his brother was, or Eomer, or even the young prince of the Mark, and it made him uneasy.

He and a line of men still held the bottom slope, curving around it for about thirty feet side by side. The enemy continued to try and push forward, push forward, but the young captain and the warriors of Rohan would not allow it. The enemy would charge through, and the men would react with all the strength of an army.

'Advance!' he cried, and the men moved further down the slope with him, swinging their blades into the guts of the enemy. 'The closer they are to the gate the closer they are to victory!' His voice was deep and meant to carry words over the roar of battle and the assailment of hammering rain.

Faramir's boots slid gracefully along the wet lashes of grass and he and the other riders dove head first into the onfall. Black blood sprayed the ground around him as he drove the tip of his sword down to the hilt into first Orc's unguarded chest in the second charge.

Faramir removed his soiled weapon from the dying body and threw a glance around him: the motive was to keep the line of riders firm and to not let them cross the base of the slope, and so far it seemed effective. The captain was snapped from his thoughts when a cry at his side expelled in fear and surprise, and the next thing he remembered was a searing pain in the left side of his chest and the dull sound of his back cracking against the puddled ground.

'Captain, beware his axe!' Came the call again, from a rider also too occupied to aid him, and Faramir shook his head hard to regain his bearings. In an act of pure chance and luck; Faramir dug the heels of his hands into the soft dirt, pushed himself back and parted his legs in time to avoid the head of the creature's axe cleaving brutally into his hip; and probably, had it been any closer, his groin. The Orc screamed and yanked the axe head from the mushed soil and grass, swinging it high over his head for another strike.

Faramir's bare hand tore into the soft earth where his blade had fallen, ripping up a handful of dirt and grass and water as he swung it upward into the armor covered middle of the Orc. At first the point scraped against the metal and did not enter, and the Orc faltered in surprise. Faramir clenched his teeth and gave the weapon another forceful shove so that it sang against the coarse metal of the armor and plunged into the creature's soft belly. Blood flowed freely from the new wound that could not be seen beneath the armor and to Faramir. The captain grimaced in disgust and gave a little cry of discomfort as it mixed with the cold rain that soaked into his mail-covered midsection.

He pulled himself wearily to his feet, clutching his chest tightly with one hand, praying the pressure would stop the unimaginable pain that seared into him as a heated iron blade. No blood had been drawn, just a big black bruise and perhaps a cracked breastbone. He could no longer support his left arm, and was momentarily grateful to have been left with his right arm.  Faramir clenched his teeth and gripped his weapon so hard his hand began to burn with sweat and mud and anticipation.

When he met his next challenger's flat blade in mid air above their heads, he heard his brother's voice cry out from across the field. Faramir pulled back and drove the blade downward.

--- --- ---

Ganha and Ortul had taken over the operation of the gates, and no more citizens remained outside where the battle took place, but wounded continued to come in. When the gates were closed again, nearly ten more bodies had been dragged into the momentary safety of the inner gates.  Eowyn's throat tightened at the sight of the blood that gushed and pooled with the water around them, and the muddied faces of the soldiers were all so young. They were boys; inexperienced victims of war.

A middle-aged woman had followed Eowyn out to the gates to aid her, and the two of them descended on the wounded with the guards. Eowyn came to her knees beside a young rider, not much older than her brother, Eomer, that had been deeply sliced from the midpoint of his chest all the way down to the start of his hip. The penetration could not even be seen in all of the bubbling, flowing redness that consumed his entire middle.

Eowyn gripped the woman's arm and met her eyes for connection, intently. 'I need cloth, lots of cloth and water. Bring back with you healthy girls and women…anyone you can find to aid these wounded. Go!'

'Yes, M'Lady!' The woman scurried off into the night, and Eowyn quickly began to remove the clothing and mail from the weary soldier's battered chest. The more she removed the more blood flowed, and she bundled the shreds of the shirt up to press against the bleeding ravine in the otherwise pale skin of the soldier. Eowyn worked feverishly to stop the bleeding, and pushed her wet hair from her face with a bloodied hand. The soldier tried to cry out in pain, but it came out as only a whimper.

He was losing blood too quickly and she did not have enough bandage to try and stop it. Eowyn watched him writhe in agony on the ground and her own insides clenched in horror and bitter sympathy. The Lady of Rohan folded her arms across her chest, soaked to the elbows with deep crimson stains, and shivered. She knew not what to do.

Her fingernails grazed the thick material of her cloak that she had regathered around her shoulders for shelter from the rain, and Eowyn felt sick with guilt for being so selfish. She wasted no time and pulled the long garment off of her shoulders and gripped one side of it with an iron hand, then tore the other half into strips both long and wide.

As the minutes rolled on she fastened it around the festering wound, and called out through the shield of rain to Ganha. The guard trotted over to her; he also looked exhausted and spent from the hours of aiding the wounded and pulling them inside the gates. He may have even fought a few of the Orcs while defending the gates.

'Get them out of the rain!' she shouted. 'Get them inside these people's houses!'

The rain did not let up, and the soldiers bled.