DISCLAIMER:  all characters, locations, and battles belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate.  Visual imagery belongs to Peter Jackson and WETA.

FOR GONDOR by Jessie Syring

            My heart pounded loudly in my chest as we raced the morning sun toward the White City of Minas Tirith.  Only six days had passed since the signal fires had been lit as Gondor called for aid.  Three days since we had left the mustering at Dunharrow, riding hard to bring relief to the besieged city.  Though exhaustion threatened man and beast alike, even my horse reacted to the excitement building in the air.  We rode to war.

            Our horns echoed across the great expanse of the Pelennor Fields as we topped a low hill.  Gondor would know we had arrived, and the armies of Sauron would know fear.  We halted on the hill, reforming our lines and waiting for the rising sun behind us.

            What a sight beheld us in the grim light of day!  Between us and the city walls stood an army, Mordor's host.  Tens of thousands orcs and other foul creatures.  Perhaps hundreds of thousands.  And we a paltry six thousand, though I knew a single Rohirrim was worth no fewer than twenty orcs.  More had to be within the city---surely even Minas Tirith's fabled gate could not have withstood the siege engines and mighty battering ram!

            The orcs still on the fields were forming defensive ranks, anticipating our charge with rows of pikes angled to discourage or slay horses.  That did not cause me undue worry:  we had broken through the pikes at Helm's Deep and we could do so here.  But the numbers of them!  This was no mindless rabble.

            To a man, we looked to our king then.  We would charge into the very depths of Hell if Theoden King so commanded.  Such was our lot as Rohirrim.  But did he truly mean for us to ride into the very jaws of death?

            From two ranks behind him, I could see the king studying his foes, wheeling his stallion Snowmane in a prancing circle.  Perhaps he saw the fear in our faces as he turned to face us and his commanders.  But his own face held grim determination as he issued orders.  Then he rose tall in his stirrups and galloped up and down the line.

            "Arise!  Arise, Riders of Theoden!" he shouted.  "Spears shall be shaken, shields hall be splintered!  A sword day!  A red day 'ere the sun rises!"

            The sun broke through the morning clouds, then, and shone brightly off his armor.  I raised my voice in a cheer and held my spear out with the others as Theoden drew his sword and galloped past, running his sword along each spear he passed.

            "Ride now!  Ride now!  Ride!  Ride for ruin and the world's ending!"  He reined his horse in then, letting it rear in reaction to the building excitement.  "Death!"

            "Death!" I roared back, echoing the battle cry that shook the very foundations of Minas Tirith.

            "Death!" yelled Theoden.  "Forth Eorlingas!"

            Gamling put horn to lips on that last and blew the signal to ride, echoed by countless other war horns.  I put spurs to horse and followed my king in a massive charge into the horde of orcs.

            Arrows rain down upon us but we do not falter.  Our charge breaks the morale of the fell creatures and most break rank to flee.  Those we do not trample in the rush quickly meet death by sword or spear.

            It is a good day to die.  Should that be my fate, I will not cower from its blow.  I ride for king.

            For country.

            For freedom.

END