CHAPTER 3
AFTERMATH OF BLOODSHED
It was over. Where once killing reigned and death held a high carnival, now only moans and groans could be heard.
Aragorn, Eomer, and Prince Imrahil had rode back to the city and left Hurin, Warden of the Keys to order the post-battle carnage.
It was no easy task. Dead men from Gondor, Harad, Rhun, and Rohan and thousands of orcs lay dead. Some bodies were scattered, others lying in ghastly piles of death.
It was a grim task, sorting the bodies of the Gondorians and Rohirrim from those of the Easterlings and Southrons, yet the Elf and Dwarf who had arrived with Aragorn aided Hurin in his grim task. He learned their names as Legolas and Gimli respectively. "On behalf of Gondor and the Lord Denethor, I thank you for your aid," he said, grabbing the arms of both of them in a military embrace. He looked at Legolas. "It is long since one of the Elder race was in our lands, yet proof you are that the Last Alliance lives."
Legolas looked up at the 7'4" man. "I perceive that in Gondor, yet the blood of Numenor runs still."
Hurin then looked at the Dwarf. "It has been also long since one of Durin's folk was seen in our lands and we still need your aid. The gate is broken and the walls are badly damaged."
Gimli smiled. "It would please me greatly to bring some folk from the Mountain and aid in rebuilding this amazing city. How long ago was it carved? I suppose it-"
"Gimli," interrupted the Elf, "We do have more pressing matters to tend to." He said, nodding towards the battlefield.
"Yes," said Hurin, "War before conversation."
Gimli was ready to move a hand to his axe haft, when he heard a groan just a few feet away on a small hillock. He rushed over with Legolas and Hurin beside him.
"Who are you?" enquired Legolas.
"I am Harding of the Westfold, knight of Theoden King. Do not tell me he is slain," he gasped.
Hurin nodded sadly. "He has, but King Eomer now rules your people. Come. We shall take you to the Houses of Healing."
"No," gasped Harding, "It is too late. It is a mortal wound, m'lord."
"What happened here?" asked Legolas.
"We were trapped on this hillock with a man of Gondor and two other riders, Marshal Grimbold and Herefara of the Eastfold."
"Where are they?" asked Legolas.
"They are dead," said Harding, "As I soon will be."
"Your name will be mentioned in song, Harding of that I can assure you," said Hurin.
Harding smiled, closed his eyes, and died. He was 35 years old.
Legolas, Gimli, and Hurin immediately scoured the hillock. They uncovered dozens of orc, Southron, and Easterling carcasses, before they found three bodies huddled together. There they found Herefara and Grimbold and then Hurin saw something that caused him to drop to the ground and weep. There was Hirluin the Fair of the Green Hills dead and pinned to the ground by an orcish scimitar. Hurin scooped up the body in his arms and cried like a little child. No more to hear his merry laugh that could penetrate even the darkest of times. No more to see him ride the plains freely. No more to see his smile as he unloaded a bucket of water on Forlong or tease the Prince of his age. Then a soldier rushed up and reported the death of Forlong the Fat at the hands of Easterlings.
Soon word reached those outside the city that the Lord of the City was also dead and his son had barely escaped death. "Why?" thought Hurin, "Why all this death and destruction today? Why Theoden? Hirluin? Denethor? Forlong? Harding? Herefara? Grimbold? Why am I fighting in a war, which can never be won? Why?"
"Come," said the Dwarf, "We must make for the city."
Hurin looked up and then it struck him like a sword blow. "Gondor stands! Gondor lives!" He then thrust his sword into the air and screamed at the top of his voice, "Gondor lives!" Then the surviving men of Gondor and Rohan and the Elf and Dwarf thrust their weapons: spear, axe, bow, and sword into the air and screamed as one, "Gondor lives! The White Tower stands!"
"Let us now march into the city with honour! Though none may know who we are, but we know who we are. We are the heroes of Pelennor! We have beaten back the enemy with great loss to ourselves! Much may happen in the coming days, but nothing can change the fact that we are the heroes of the Mark and Gondor!" bellowed Hurin and with that the heroes of Pelennor marched back into the city which they had fought so hard to keep.
AFTERMATH OF BLOODSHED
It was over. Where once killing reigned and death held a high carnival, now only moans and groans could be heard.
Aragorn, Eomer, and Prince Imrahil had rode back to the city and left Hurin, Warden of the Keys to order the post-battle carnage.
It was no easy task. Dead men from Gondor, Harad, Rhun, and Rohan and thousands of orcs lay dead. Some bodies were scattered, others lying in ghastly piles of death.
It was a grim task, sorting the bodies of the Gondorians and Rohirrim from those of the Easterlings and Southrons, yet the Elf and Dwarf who had arrived with Aragorn aided Hurin in his grim task. He learned their names as Legolas and Gimli respectively. "On behalf of Gondor and the Lord Denethor, I thank you for your aid," he said, grabbing the arms of both of them in a military embrace. He looked at Legolas. "It is long since one of the Elder race was in our lands, yet proof you are that the Last Alliance lives."
Legolas looked up at the 7'4" man. "I perceive that in Gondor, yet the blood of Numenor runs still."
Hurin then looked at the Dwarf. "It has been also long since one of Durin's folk was seen in our lands and we still need your aid. The gate is broken and the walls are badly damaged."
Gimli smiled. "It would please me greatly to bring some folk from the Mountain and aid in rebuilding this amazing city. How long ago was it carved? I suppose it-"
"Gimli," interrupted the Elf, "We do have more pressing matters to tend to." He said, nodding towards the battlefield.
"Yes," said Hurin, "War before conversation."
Gimli was ready to move a hand to his axe haft, when he heard a groan just a few feet away on a small hillock. He rushed over with Legolas and Hurin beside him.
"Who are you?" enquired Legolas.
"I am Harding of the Westfold, knight of Theoden King. Do not tell me he is slain," he gasped.
Hurin nodded sadly. "He has, but King Eomer now rules your people. Come. We shall take you to the Houses of Healing."
"No," gasped Harding, "It is too late. It is a mortal wound, m'lord."
"What happened here?" asked Legolas.
"We were trapped on this hillock with a man of Gondor and two other riders, Marshal Grimbold and Herefara of the Eastfold."
"Where are they?" asked Legolas.
"They are dead," said Harding, "As I soon will be."
"Your name will be mentioned in song, Harding of that I can assure you," said Hurin.
Harding smiled, closed his eyes, and died. He was 35 years old.
Legolas, Gimli, and Hurin immediately scoured the hillock. They uncovered dozens of orc, Southron, and Easterling carcasses, before they found three bodies huddled together. There they found Herefara and Grimbold and then Hurin saw something that caused him to drop to the ground and weep. There was Hirluin the Fair of the Green Hills dead and pinned to the ground by an orcish scimitar. Hurin scooped up the body in his arms and cried like a little child. No more to hear his merry laugh that could penetrate even the darkest of times. No more to see him ride the plains freely. No more to see his smile as he unloaded a bucket of water on Forlong or tease the Prince of his age. Then a soldier rushed up and reported the death of Forlong the Fat at the hands of Easterlings.
Soon word reached those outside the city that the Lord of the City was also dead and his son had barely escaped death. "Why?" thought Hurin, "Why all this death and destruction today? Why Theoden? Hirluin? Denethor? Forlong? Harding? Herefara? Grimbold? Why am I fighting in a war, which can never be won? Why?"
"Come," said the Dwarf, "We must make for the city."
Hurin looked up and then it struck him like a sword blow. "Gondor stands! Gondor lives!" He then thrust his sword into the air and screamed at the top of his voice, "Gondor lives!" Then the surviving men of Gondor and Rohan and the Elf and Dwarf thrust their weapons: spear, axe, bow, and sword into the air and screamed as one, "Gondor lives! The White Tower stands!"
"Let us now march into the city with honour! Though none may know who we are, but we know who we are. We are the heroes of Pelennor! We have beaten back the enemy with great loss to ourselves! Much may happen in the coming days, but nothing can change the fact that we are the heroes of the Mark and Gondor!" bellowed Hurin and with that the heroes of Pelennor marched back into the city which they had fought so hard to keep.