We are riding as fast and as hard as we can. Day after day… after day. It is a long, lonely journey. I dare not talk to any other soldier, or even to Éowyn, for fear of someone realising that we are female.
Mile after mile, plenty of time to spend thinking. I think of home quite a lot, Daddy and Arwen… I think of my life now with Éowyn, This is so much better than the last few hundred years at home, but I wouldn't want to spend my entire life here, Part of me longs to stay with my own people, perhaps to sail to the West. I'd see mother again, and Daddy might not be so grumpy when he returns to her. But I'd still be on my own. It seems that I'm meant to be solitary forever. First Arwen's taunting, then Amladhron, then Boromir. I don't think I'm ever meant to find a husband.
I found myself continuously thinking of Glorfindel, always going over what he said by the well. Was he telling the truth? I don't know if I'll ever be able to shake off his reputation with Arwen. Call me prejudiced, but it's not that easy. First impressions are incredibly difficult to remove.
I think about Niralan as well, I haven't seen him for so long, it's incredible that he's just turned up. I wish I had time to talk to him properly, to find out what he has been up to. I keep reliving all those childhood memories, we used to have so much fun. The number of times I managed to escape from lessons and run wildly into the woods to climb trees with him. I also remember how angry Mother got with all the ripped dresses I sheepishly tried to hide in my bedroom when I returned.
Niralan was one of the only people I felt comfortable with. No matter how much Arwen taunted me, or how cross my parents were, he was always my friend. I'd forgotten how much I had missed him.
I just hope we all survive this coming battle.
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We have found a guide to lead us through the mountain paths. One of the wildmen, a stumpy, gnarled little man has offered to lead us around the huge troops of orcs waiting in ambush. They call him Ghân-buri-Ghân. At least, I think that is his name. His speech is so guttural and basic that it is quite difficult to understand him.
Still, he seems to be reliable enough. I don't think he will lead us into danger. Going through the secret tracks in the mountains means that the enemy won't know that we are coming. We'll also avoid all the traps and pits that have been dug in the normal routes. The progress is slow, we can only ride a few horses at a time. It will take many more hours before we arrive.
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Denethor, the steward of Gondor doesn't know we're coming to help him.
Hirgon, the messenger who looked like Boromir, brought us the red tipped arrow to beg for help, but he never made it home to deliver the news of our departure.
We found his body this morning. Literally, just his body. His head had been roughly hewn off, we couldn't find it. In his hand he was still clutching the arrow, determined not to lose it, even at the last possible moment.
We didn't even have time to bury him properly, we had to move on to battle. I just hope that Denethor doesn't give up, believing that no one is coming to his aid.
We're nearly there…
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We reached the battle fields mid afternoon. At least I think it was - it is quite difficult to tell the time when the sky is always as black as night.
We approached the edge of the hill and halted briefly for a moment. In the grim darkness, I could see the fields stretching out across the plain. Minas Tirith, the great white city stood alone and vulnerable about a mile away. Dark shapes kept crawling up the dim white glow of the walls. They were continuously tossed down by the weary defenders, as the battle continued. There were bodies everywhere in contorted final positions. The stink of blood and sweat drifted around us like an invisible mist.
Suddenly, I noticed one of the men down below stand up tall and stare at Théoden's banner. He was dressed like a chief, his face shifting into a scowl of incredible hatred and anger.
"Southrons" I heard a soldier next to me comment. I had heard of these people; wild, evil minions of Sauron.
Théoden gave a shout of rage and commanded our army to charge forward. I closed my eyes and clung tightly to Andante's mane as he thundered into a gallop with all the other horses. We smashed against their defence, our soldiers slicing them down where they stood, Théoden leading the way. There were more of them than us, but our riders were more skilled with their weapons, and charged with a uncontrollable fierce anger. These people had dared to invade their lands.
The battle had begun.
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It wasn't long before the battle started to turn against us. We were outnumbered by so many, hundreds upon hundreds, all marching towards us, all determined to slay every last one of us. I stayed near Éowyn's side, I knew that Andante would bolt if I moved too far away from her soothing presence.
There is a big difference between practising with a sword in training, and actually killing people. However, most of my moves seemed to be in defence. The Southrons might not be excellent fighters, but they could easily match my every move.
Still they kept coming - as our men kept falling with cries of agony.
Another trumpet sounded across the field. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and looked up. Great ships were sailing up the river, preparing to land. The sails were black as night, and my heart sank even further. More enemy reinforcements. We couldn't hold out much longer, soon there would be no more of us left.
Suddenly, a different horn sounded, this time from the boats that were just pulling up next to the quay. I turned to look and my mouth gaped open in surprise. The sails were changing. They were actually removing the black sails and replacing them with…
With the white tree of Gondor and the seven stars. It was Aragorn with an army.
I've never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life. Aragorn may not be the nicest person when you get to know him closely - but he can certainly use a sword. And that was exactly what we needed right now.
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Suddenly, an ear piercing, bone chilling screech filled the sky, and a black shadow descended right on top of Théoden. Éowyn gave a cry of horror and pulled away from my side, forcing Windfola back towards her king. I sat there in panic, watching her ride towards that black evil shadow which had fallen from the sky. Andante grew tenser under me, I could feel him becoming more and more rigid as Éowyn rode further away. Suddenly she crossed the invisible threshold and my poor horse couldn't stand my presence any longer. He gave a loud whinny of fear and reared up, shaking his mane and hooves wildly, desperate to throw me from his back. Somehow, I managed to loop the reins around my wrist and hang on. I was leaning back almost at a right angle, slipping slowly down, down off the saddle. The horse dropped back onto all four legs and bolted through the lines of people. I clung on tightly, my knuckles almost as white as my face. Andante jerked to and fro, a chestnut blur, avoiding our soldiers as he galloped on in panic.
I managed to turn my head enough to look back. I saw Éowyn stand alone before that great black, dragon like creature. There was a wraith on its back, with a cruel mace in his hand. He brought the mace down towards Éowyn with a crash that must have shattered her arm. She was surrounded only by piles of bodies, so small and vulnerable against that evil monster.
She stood alone with her sword and shield, her blonde hair had worked itself loose and was streaming down her back. I closed my eyes, I couldn't watch her fall.
Suddenly a cry shrieked across the battle field, followed by an icy cold wind that rushed past and made me shudder. I looked back and saw that the wraith had fallen, she'd actually managed to kill it! …but to my horror, Éowyn had fallen as well. I caught a glimpse of her body in a heap on the floor. Tears streamed down my face and I wiped them away fiercely with a hand. Anger and pain flooded through me. I longed to return and revenge her death, but Andante was still charging across the field, occasionally attempting to throw me off.
We ploughed through a group of Southrons, trampling them beneath Andante's feet. I felt a slight twinge of satisfaction, but it didn't last long, as he tried rearing to throw me off again. He was panicking, tearing across the great plain, away from the battle ground, slowly drawing closer to the river where the great boats were unloading. As we thundered past, I caught a brief glimpse of my brothers half way down the gangplank. Andante swerved suddenly, and I tightened my clinging grip even more around that horrible horses neck. I saw all the men glance at me in astonishment. I could see all the questions in their faces. Why was a rider heading away from the battle? A coward? But a member of the Rohirrim who could not control his horse? It was unthinkable.
I just caught a glimpse of Elrohir watching me, recognition dawning on his face, quickly replaced with horror. He grabbed Elladan and whispered something in his ear. Now both my brothers were staring at me in shock, quickly joined by Glorfindel and Niralan.
What did I expect? No one else could ride this badly - of course they would know it was me.
That did it. I lost my temper totally. I hated this stupid animal, it had whisked me away from my friends, put my life in further risk by trying to throw me off, and now it had humiliated me in front of my brothers. This was the last straw.
I cautiously relaxed my magnet-like grip and sat up straight in the saddle, my anger rising stronger than my fear. I wrapped the reigns tighter around my wrists and summoned up the largest force of will and courage I had ever experienced.
"That's enough!" I screamed, jerking back on the horses reigns with all my strength. Andante skidded to a stop and stood there panting, amazed by my sudden outburst. I didn't even think about what I was doing, I just yanked the reins again and twisted him back in the opposite direction. Then I leaned forward and kicked him sharply with my heel. I didn't care if I hurt him. From now on, I was going to give the orders. I was going to be in control.
Andante started to run back into the battle. I leaned forward, no longer afraid, my will power so determined that he didn't dare to defy me. The distance seemed to speed past even quicker than before. I was rocking gently, moving in harmony with the horse. When I pulled his reigns, he changed direction, responding to my touch. I could do it! I could ride! I wasn't afraid any more, and the horse obeyed me!
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The battle seemed to last forever. Hours of bloodcurdling screams, clashes of metal, and snarls of orcs. I can't remember much of it. Just a desperate fight to survive. People were falling all around me.
I watched Éothain die. He threw himself in front of Éomer when a Southron tried to stab him from behind. He tottered for a second, before slumping in a heap. Éomer slew the Southron, then turned to embrace his fallen friend.
"Thank you" he whispered with tears in his eyes, before standing up with a roar of anger, frantically chopping Southrons to pieces all over the place.
I managed to reach Éothain's side and took out a small withered bunch of flowers from my pocket - one of the many he had given me earlier. I tucked it into his hand - tears streaming down my face. My whole body was just screaming the question
"Why?"
At last the number of standing enemy was dwindling. I wandered forlornly amongst the bodies, the first drifts of smoke beginning to swirl around my feet. I was looking for Éowyn. I wanted to carry her body to safety - to sit beside her corpse and cry until my heart broke. I hardly had any energy left, just my stubborn determination carrying me along. I stumbled over various bits of armour and limbs, searching everywhere for a familiar flash of blonde hair.
Suddenly I spotted a different, but familiar face. Too familiar - someone I had known for years. Lying there amongst the corpses. Eyes closed, blood everywhere.
It was Glorfindel.
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I rushed to Glorfindel and knelt by his side, inspecting his wounds. They were deep, but not deadly if he got to a healer quickly. My biggest fear was the poison from the swords which might have entered his body. His eyes flickered open as I waved desperately to an empty stretcher in the distance. He gripped my arm weakly.
"Leave me" he whispered, "Find her" I ignored him, ordering him to lie still. He refused, trying to get to his feet.
"I've got to find Sardwen. I saw her, on the horse." he gazed hopelessly around at the piles of bodies.
"She's safe" I said to calm him down, remembering to lower my voice.
"I don't believe you!" he cried. "She's dead isn't she? What was she doing here anyway? Leave me alone" he insisted, pushing me away. I didn't know what to do. The poison was clearly affecting his thinking, he wouldn't intentionally give my secret away. I just hoped that no one else had heard him asking about a woman. He needed to see a healer soon, or the poison would kill him. I struggled to keep him still until a stretcher arrived. I only had one choice. I knelt up on one knee and carefully removed my helmet.
"Glorfindel" I whispered in my own voice. "I promise you, I'm safe, now let me help you." Glorfindel looked up at me in amazement. He reached one arm up to touch my tightly bound hair.
"It is you!" he cried "We were both so worried" he grimaced as a spasm of pain shot through his body. I heard a gasp from behind me, and turned to see the two stretcher bearers staring at me incredulously, the one in front pointed a quivering finger at me.
"You're a woman!" he called. I crammed the helmet back over my head and scowled at him as they eased Glorfindel onto the stretcher.
"War does strange things" I told him firmly. "Sometimes you think you see things that are not really there. Think logically, why would there be any women here? Now help me get this elf to a healer."
We gently transferred Glorfindel onto the stretcher. The bearers grabbed an end each, and I walked by his side, making sure that he stayed in place. Our progress was slow, picking our way between spread-eagled bodies of men and orcs. It wasn't long before Glorfindel fell into unconsciousness.
We stopped by one man on the floor who was groaning in agony. I noticed that his leg was separate, a few yards away. He was in a mess, blood everywhere. I estimated that he would have a few minutes left. I turned away and closed my eyes. So much slaughter, so much pain.
"Can you take this?" the stretcher bearer in front asked, gesturing towards his end of the stretcher. "I want to wait here with this man." I didn't need to be asked twice. I took the stretcher and we continued on our way, the previous stretcher bearer crouching down next to the man groaning on the floor. I didn't need to ask what he was waiting for, it was obvious. He would sit there and wait for the man to die, holding his hand, talking of his family and bravery, ensuring him that he was not going to die in vain and alone on a battlefield.
I suddenly realised that there are many sorts of courage. There's the bravery to fight, but there is also the bravery to sit amongst the blood and butchered limbs and wait for a man to die. I don't know if I could do that. Does that make me a coward?
We continued walking, the houses of healing still seemed so far away. Glorfindel was unconscious now. The stretcher weighed so much, my aching limbs were about to give up.
Suddenly a half-dead figure rose up in front of me, a huge orc, face contorted in a snarl. Last attempt to kill before it also died from it's wounds. I saw the sword, dripping with blood, flying through the air towards me. There was nothing I could do, I had no energy left, not even enough to move. Time seemed to freeze as the blade came towards me. I took in the hoards of dead and dying, blood everywhere. Éowyn was there somewhere, I saw her fall. Well, now I was going to join her. I closed my eyes in defeat and waited for the end.
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The blow never came. I heard a battle cry instead and heard the thickening crunch of a sword clashing against bone. I opened my eyes to see Niralan leaning on his sword, standing over the body of the dead orc, panting heavily.
My arms gave way and I quickly put the stretcher down. Glorfindel remained in place, his wounds still bleeding. I rubbed my arms to try and relieve the ache.
"Thank you" I smiled up at Niralan. It was a terrible understatement, but I didn't know what else to say.
"I thought we'd lost you" Niralan admitted "When we saw Éowyn fall, I thought you would be next to her." He walked over and threw his arms around me in a hug. I stood rigid as a stick for a moment in surprise, then I hugged him back. My eyes were filling again as we stood in the middle of the battlefield. The cries of the wounded coming from piles of broken bodies. Acrid smoke swirled around us, fingering the corpses, and working its way to touch the living. The stench was unbearable, mud and blood covered my hands and streaked down my face.
"It's all right" he whispered in my ear, "It's all over now."
"But so many dead" I sobbed with great jerking hiccups. He didn't answer for a while, just held me tight in comfort.
"It was a hard price to pay" he admitted, looking over my shoulder at the piles of corpses. "But just think how many more would have died if the Dark Lord managed to gain control of these lands. Just think of all the suffering that would have been. Our people are still free, and that is a cause worth risking your life for." I sniffed and nodded, pulling away from his embrace. I wiped my tears away and smeared more blood across my face.
"Just be thankful that you're still alive" he finished. Then unexpectedly, he kissed me on the cheek before kneeling down next to Glorfindel. I stood there in shock for a moment, one hand gently fingering my cheek. Then I pulled myself together and helped him lift Glorfindel up again and head for the Houses of Healing.
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Entering Minas Tirith was nowhere near as painful as I had thought it would be. I was expecting to see reminders of Boromir everywhere I looked in his home city - but it wasn't too bad, and it certainly didn't upset me in the slightest.
We found Glorfindel a bed, and laid him gently on his back. I stayed with him, holding his hand - whilst Niralan persuaded a healer to look at him immediately.
There were many people lying in the Houses of Healing, the stench of blood hung heavily in the corridors. I wished Daddy was here, he could heal almost anything. I didn't have as much faith in human healers.
I left Glorfindel in the healers' hands and slowly made my way through the corridors. Suddenly I noticed a familiar figure lying on a curtained off bed.
Éowyn? She was alive?
I wrapped myself in the curtains, peering through to see what was going on. She lay there, so still… so pale. A couple of healers was standing over her looking grave.
"A broken arm - that will heal" I heard one of them say.
"But she is near to death" the other replied. "Few could slay a ringwraith with no side effects. It would be a miracle if she awoke now."
The words hit me like Gimli's axe. She had managed to survive the battle - and I was going to lose her now? I couldn't stand looking at her pale face any longer. I backed into a corner and sat on the floor, my face buried against my knees. Everything was just too much… I let the tears come.