4 Sulimé, Year 3019
They're breaking in, and I can feel each blow to the old wooden door deep in my heart. The women, now drained of their previous courage and will to live, cringe in the back of the caves while their children sob and cry out.
I am sitting with my back to the wall, vibrating with the pounding of fists and stomping of iron shod feet. The orcs make threats in their coarse tongue right outside the door, and I cannot hear myself think for the fury of noise that bursts in the refuge that has become our death trap. I know the end is soon, and I will admit, I am afraid.
Eowyn, the cold regal maid, has proved herself however. She stands at the door with those that are brave enough, holding back the doors, coaxing the women to come help them. But most are too old, or frightened to. She tells us that we are cowards and unfit to call ourselves one of the Rohirrim. I helped keep the door at bay, but my obvious condition and the fact that I am the only literate one, bid them to tell me to write a record of the last hours of the women of Rohan, the daughters of Eorl.
I scold the other women, telling them that we should not die like rats caught in a larder trap, but as shieldmaidens, brave and enduring. Some have listened and now they are gathering more at the door.
The women have gathered their courage and now all push back the door against the wave of orcs. A few stay back with the children, as I do. We have been told to escape into the mountain and the women with the children have, but the rest of us have refused to move from our position. We will put up a fight like no other till the very end. We will not go down like mad dogs speared in the streets.
I know these are the last words I pen. If these documents survive long after the death of me and my people, know this; Rohan did not go down without a fight.
May the Queen of Heaven have mercy on our souls,
Pellonae of Rohan
They're breaking in, and I can feel each blow to the old wooden door deep in my heart. The women, now drained of their previous courage and will to live, cringe in the back of the caves while their children sob and cry out.
I am sitting with my back to the wall, vibrating with the pounding of fists and stomping of iron shod feet. The orcs make threats in their coarse tongue right outside the door, and I cannot hear myself think for the fury of noise that bursts in the refuge that has become our death trap. I know the end is soon, and I will admit, I am afraid.
Eowyn, the cold regal maid, has proved herself however. She stands at the door with those that are brave enough, holding back the doors, coaxing the women to come help them. But most are too old, or frightened to. She tells us that we are cowards and unfit to call ourselves one of the Rohirrim. I helped keep the door at bay, but my obvious condition and the fact that I am the only literate one, bid them to tell me to write a record of the last hours of the women of Rohan, the daughters of Eorl.
I scold the other women, telling them that we should not die like rats caught in a larder trap, but as shieldmaidens, brave and enduring. Some have listened and now they are gathering more at the door.
The women have gathered their courage and now all push back the door against the wave of orcs. A few stay back with the children, as I do. We have been told to escape into the mountain and the women with the children have, but the rest of us have refused to move from our position. We will put up a fight like no other till the very end. We will not go down like mad dogs speared in the streets.
I know these are the last words I pen. If these documents survive long after the death of me and my people, know this; Rohan did not go down without a fight.
May the Queen of Heaven have mercy on our souls,
Pellonae of Rohan