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Chapter 3: To Harrowdale and the death of a King.
The giant gate of the Hornberg swung open, the deep notes of the horn trembled the snow from the mountains, Helm lead his riders in a charge against their foe that laid outside the fortress.
Frealaf was with the thundering horsemen during the charge. However, he had a separate mission. "You are to immediately break away from the attack and go to Harrowdale," he remembered his royal uncle saying before the attack. He was told that reinforcements would be waiting.
The Dunlandings were not that big of a party. Many have gone to Edoras, for the winter was harsh on them also and has taken many of their lives. The attack actually drove off many of the enemy, but spear and hoof claimed their fair share as well. The frostbitten riders of Rohan once again showed that they were far from a beaten force.
Frealaf, broke through during the melee and began his ride to Harrowdale. Helm, sat in his stirrups watching his nephew pass from site. He ordered the dead to be taken inside; the ground was too hard to dig graves. He was tired, cold and even his strength was failing. The great king knew his time was coming near.
Arriving at Harrowdale, Frealaf was cheered as he passed through the streets. Many familiar faces at the town greeted him, all of which were anxious for news. Tendriel and Gram were there with their men. The young captain met with his lieutenants upon his arrival. "Helm has a force in the Hornberg, I am sure others are still out there. Wulf is in Edoras with an unknown force.
"May of the people are dying because of the cold," Gram continued, "We are running low on firewood." Frealaf knew all that they could hope for was to hold out a couple of more weeks. The weather was not as harsh as it was earlier in the winter. "We shall ration all we have left," he told the officers. He knew that the tide was to turn with the weather.
However, there was less cheer elsewhere in Rohan. Shortly after Frealaf left for Harrowdale, Helm, the last of his line, died of the cold. The people in the Deeping Valley cried many tears for their King. Would they have no choice left, but to submit to Wulf? Who could they now trust to lead them?
To be continued.
Chapter 3: To Harrowdale and the death of a King.
The giant gate of the Hornberg swung open, the deep notes of the horn trembled the snow from the mountains, Helm lead his riders in a charge against their foe that laid outside the fortress.
Frealaf was with the thundering horsemen during the charge. However, he had a separate mission. "You are to immediately break away from the attack and go to Harrowdale," he remembered his royal uncle saying before the attack. He was told that reinforcements would be waiting.
The Dunlandings were not that big of a party. Many have gone to Edoras, for the winter was harsh on them also and has taken many of their lives. The attack actually drove off many of the enemy, but spear and hoof claimed their fair share as well. The frostbitten riders of Rohan once again showed that they were far from a beaten force.
Frealaf, broke through during the melee and began his ride to Harrowdale. Helm, sat in his stirrups watching his nephew pass from site. He ordered the dead to be taken inside; the ground was too hard to dig graves. He was tired, cold and even his strength was failing. The great king knew his time was coming near.
Arriving at Harrowdale, Frealaf was cheered as he passed through the streets. Many familiar faces at the town greeted him, all of which were anxious for news. Tendriel and Gram were there with their men. The young captain met with his lieutenants upon his arrival. "Helm has a force in the Hornberg, I am sure others are still out there. Wulf is in Edoras with an unknown force.
"May of the people are dying because of the cold," Gram continued, "We are running low on firewood." Frealaf knew all that they could hope for was to hold out a couple of more weeks. The weather was not as harsh as it was earlier in the winter. "We shall ration all we have left," he told the officers. He knew that the tide was to turn with the weather.
However, there was less cheer elsewhere in Rohan. Shortly after Frealaf left for Harrowdale, Helm, the last of his line, died of the cold. The people in the Deeping Valley cried many tears for their King. Would they have no choice left, but to submit to Wulf? Who could they now trust to lead them?
To be continued.