Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all related people, places, things, and poems are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm using them without permission. The original characters are "mine" in that I named them, but they still belong to Tolkein because they existed in his Rohan but were never important enough to earn names in his work.
Author's Note: My apologies to whoever's read and enjoyed the first chapter and has been waiting for more. Thanks to a computer crash, I lost all my files. Fortunately, my good friend and proofreader Nabiki still had these chapters floating around on her computer, and I just recently got them back. So, to whoever's read the fic and enjoyed it so far, thank you for your patience. Now then, on with the story.
Lords Took and Lowly
Grave Tidings
It was during the reign of King Thengel that the treachery of Saruman first made itself manifest, for it was then that he declared himself Lord of Isengard. Orc bands began harrying the borders of Rohan, and so too did occasional troops of Dunlendings. But it was difficult to distinguish Saruman's hand in this, for orcs had multiplied in the Misty Mountains again after the great Dwarf and Goblin War, and the wilderness east of Rivendell had grown full of perils. Wargs there were also, come down from the north, and they filled the northern plains with terror. Dunlendings, too, were no stranger to the western borders of Rohan, having raided ever and anon across the Isen since they were last driven from Rohan in the days of King Fréaláf. Peril encroached from the eastern borders as well, as the Dark One sent forces of great uruks westward to steal the horses of the Rohirrim.
When Erkenbrand was declared Lord of Westfold, being wise and reading the signs known to all, he therefore removed his seat to the great fortress of Helm's Deep and set about preparing it for days of war and great evil, which he felt must surely come ere Rohan saw true peace once again. Helm's Deep had fallen into neglect in the wellnigh one hundred and fifty years of peace that Rohan saw after the destruction of the last orc-hold in the days of King Folca. A garrison still dwelt there, but it was a token force unfit for any duty save repelling small bands of roving orcs or Dunlendings, or wargs if any came so far southwest. Time had gnawed the stones of the great wall and high tower, and the elements had gained many footholds in rocks damaged by stone-cast in long-ago battles. Small saplings grew from many points on the battlements, and in others, whole stones had crumbled to dust. Helm's Gate was but an arch and barricade defended from above, and the doors into the mountain stronghold were rotten in many places, and their hinges rusty. Only enough provision and arms were stored in the fortress for the small garrison, and the arms were in poor condition. Seeing therefore that much labor was required to return Helm's Deep to its proper condition, Erkenbrand set about it at once.
But the skills of the men in his household and in the garrison were limited to the arts of war, and moreover, there were not enough to speedily repair the keep and outwall, had any of those in the fortress possessed the needed crafts. Therefore, Erkenbrand devised a system for repairing the Deep. He decreed that at the end of each autumn, as many carpenters, smiths, and masons as could be spared from the towns and villages of the Westfold should bring themselves and their families to Helm's Deep, so that their skills might be used to make the fortress strong as it had been in the days of their longfathers of old. Erkenbrand declared, too, that all those who farmed and raised herds should donate a portion of each harvest and slaughtering season to the fortress, so that the fortress might once again have provision sufficient enough to endure a long siege. Those of the farmers who felt their harvests or herds were not large enough to allow such a tithe were to move to Helm's Deep with the masons and carpenters and smiths, and to assist with the labors of repairing the fastness.
There were many in the Westfold who grumbled against these decrees, and feared lest Erkenbrand would prove to be a greedy and slothful lord as King Fengel had many years past. But as the orcish and Dunlendish raiders grew more and more bold, striking farther and farther in from the borders, they began to see that their lord was wise in demanding such sacrifices of them. All knew the story of Helm Hammerhand and the Fell Winter that forced him to seek refuge in the fortress that bore his name, and such were the times that many began to be afraid lest the Mark be once again overrun by its enemies. So they made their yearly pilgrimages and donated what they could of their farms to the great larders of the fortress with less complaint.
These decrees were issued only shortly after the birth of Déored's son Thorongil, and thus it was that Thorongil grew up spending the winter months in the stone fastness of Helm's Deep as Déored labored as a smith for his lord Erkenbrand. Erkenbrand, being the wise man that he was, divided the labors of the masons and carpenters and smiths up as best he could among those who answered his summons. Some of the masons worked to quarry stone for repairs, while others shaped those stones and placed them. Some carpenters worked to build newer and stronger doors for Helm's Gate and the other entryways into the fortress, while others fashioned spear-shafts and axe-hafts and arrows, and shields, and all manner of other things. Some of the smiths labored in the making of hinges and locks and sheets of armor for the great doors, while others fashioned hauberks, and still others fashioned axe-blades and spearheads and all manner of other weapons of war. It had come into the mind of Erkenbrand that all who sought refuge in the Hornburg should be armed if driven to the uttermost brink, and so the task of creating that great store of arms and armor became as important as the repair of the walls and tower. Déored, being renowned in the Westfold for his skills as a weapon- and armorsmith, labored in the crafting of hauberks and helms and swords for the great store of weapons, and was aided in this labor by Thorongil, after the boy had seen his tenth summer and become apprentice to his father.
But Erkenbrand did not strengthen Helm's Deep only; as best he could, he prepared all the Westfold for war. He set five éoreds of his best riders at the Fords of Isen, to patrol as far into the lands of Saruman as they deemed wise. He strung other éoreds along his borders also, as jewels on a necklace, and caused them to erect small works of defense about their camps. Others he sent with the blessing of Prince Théodred into the West-March and into the Westemnet. Those that remained he divided among the cities, towns, and villages of the Westfold. To each large village, or group of small villages, he sent a garrison of thirty men, with orders to train all men and lads able to bear arms in the art of war, so that the villagers might aid in the defense of their homes. Sixty men he sent to the small towns, and the same orders, and the large towns were given a garrison of a full éored and the same orders to aid the garrison as they could.
Déored Mundburgson and his family lived in a small town of the Westfold, garrisoned by sixty men of the éored of Éomund, under the command of captain Fastred. Captain Fastred recognized Déored's worth as a warrior and a leader of men, and so made him a captain of twelve in the éored of the town. As a badge of his rank, Déored was given a helm of the Captains of the Mark, with a nose-guard in the shape of a horse's head, and a plume of horsetail upon the top, and the emblem of his house set in the cheek-guards. When young Thorongil came of age, he joined his father as a soldier of the town éored and was given the simple helm of a Rider of Rohan.
Thus did the Lord Erkenbrand prepare his realm for days of war and great evil, and thus it was that the family of Déored Mundburgson came to be at Helm's Deep during Thorongil's fifteenth winter, during the early days of the great War of the Ring.
The sun rose on a chill, pale morning of late February and revealed a small band of horsemen approaching the fortress. Workmen and masons worked still on the innermost portions of the wall and the uppermost reaches of the great tower. The great doors of Helm's Gate, but a few years old, stood shut fast. Sentries patrolled about the wall, and from behind them rose the smoke of many forges as the smiths prepared for their day's work. The head of the riders bore a shield with a mark known to all, that of Prince Théodred. Garothain, chief of the watch, swiftly ordered that the gates be opened and that Erkenbrand be summoned to a council with the prince.
It was but a few hours later when soldiers of the garrison began going among the smiths and masons and carpenters, telling them that Erkenbrand had a pressing matter to discuss with them and that their work must end. Déored and Thorongil, having only just gotten their furnace hot enough to start their work, were loathe to leave it but obeyed their lord's command.
The workmen gathered in the great hall of the fortress, and were surprised to find that the garrison had been assembled also. At seeing this, many began to murmur, wondering what the purpose of this council was to be. Erkenbrand and Théodred were already there, discussing things in soft voices at the head of the room. Once all were assembled in the hall, the two captains ceased their private talk.
'Men of the Westfold,' began Erkenbrand, 'Prince Théodred has just arrived, bearing grave tidings.' With that, Erkenbrand yielded his position to the prince.
'Our scouts out beyond the western borders of the Mark report that a great host is on the march from Isengard.'
At this, the murmurings that had been hushed by Erkenbrand's opening remarks began anew. Théodred held up a hand and the room was swiftly silent once more.
'They make for the Fords of Isen, and in such numbers as have not been seen in years beyond count. It is clear they have come to conquer or to die. I have ridden here with all the strength I could muster, and indeed Grimbold now leads my éoreds westwards to the river, but I fear more men are needed. Therefore, I have come to Helm's Deep to ask Erkenbrand to marshal the strength of the Westfold, and to release as many as he deems possible from duty here.' After having thus spoken, Théodred yielded the floor to Erkenbrand.
'You now know the reason you were summoned here, men of the Westfold. Those among you who are masons, and carpenters, and smiths, and farmers, know that in great need you shall be called upon to serve the Lords of the Mark, and such is the hour and the need. However, I know that your skills are not with the blade and the spear, but rather your tools, so I give you this choice: You may ride with Prince Théodred and myself to the Fords of Isen with the garrison of the Hornburg, or you may remain here and take the place of the garrison.'
At this, even Théodred was amazed, and he objected, saying, 'But who shall command the defense of the Hornburg, if you join us at the Fords?'
'Gamling, the chief-captain of the Helmingas, as he has named the garrison, shall command the defense in my absence, should the hosts of Isengard cross the Isen,' answered Erkenbrand.
Thus answered, the prince withdrew his objection and Erkenbrand spoke again to the assembled men. 'We shall not ride for the Fords ere two days hence, for I have dispatched riders to the far corners of the Westfold to gather the strength of our scattered people. Choose you between now and then where you will serve, but get you to the armory for weapons and armor ere then, so that you may be prepared. Craftsmen, I release you now from your labors on the fortress, until this threat from Isengard is ended. Go among your families and give them these tidings, and prepare to depart from them, if that be your choice.' Having thus spoken, Erkenbrand and Théodred departed from the great hall, with Gamling and the garrison following.
A deep silence lay about the hall after the last footsteps of the soldiers faded, and the men there gazed about with downcast faces, unable to believe what they had just heard. After a while, a few managed to mutter, 'So the warnings of Erkenbrand have come true. War is upon us.' But soon, the melancholy of the craftsmen gave way to boldness, for while they were no soldiers, the men of Rohan were still hardy and a proud people, trained in the arts of war. The murmurings of disbelief were soon replaced by bold words of the slaughter that the Rohirrim would wreak upon the orcs at the Fords, and the men disbursed, laughing and attempting to outdo one another with their boasting.
Déored and Thorongil, however, did not leave, for Déored had become lost in thought.
'Father?' asked Thorongil, 'Should we not find mother and Firien and bring them these tidings?'
Déored nodded and said, 'Yes, we must. Come with me, Thorongil.'
The two went slowly from the great hall and made their way towards the deep caverns and grottos in the mountains behind the Deeping Wall, where the families of the craftsmen and farmers made their homes throughout the long, bleak winter. When they reached their small lamp-lit space, Miriel awaited them, while Firien lay upon her bed, playing with a ragged doll, her favorite toy. Miriel stood as though carven of the very stone of the cave.
'You have heard the tidings?' Déored asked.
'Yes, my love, I have,' she answered. 'The Host of Isengard marches for the Fords Isen, and Prince Théodred rides to meet them with all the strength of the Westfold that can be mustered.'
'You know that Lord Erkenbrand has sent riders to marshal all able men and strong lads to the Deep, and that he will ride hence in two days' time?' he asked.
'Yes, husband. Will you ride to battle at the Fords, or man the walls of the Deep, as Lord Erkenbrand has said men may do, if they do not wish to ride?'
Déored sighed. 'That choice is yet before me, my darling wife,' he said, stroking her ebon hair.
She smiled, but it was full of sadness. 'You are my beloved husband,' she said, laying a hand upon his cheek, 'and the son of your father. Your liege lord has summoned you to battle, and your honor demands that you go.'
He nodded, taking her small hand in his. 'You know me too well, Miriel, my love. I will ride to the Fords with my lord and my prince.'
'What of our son?'
'I am nearly a man grown, and a soldier of the town éored. I would be ashamed to be left here, mother,' said Thorongil.
Miriel turned to her firstborn, the same sad smile upon her lips. 'You are near a man grown, as you say, but you are still my child,' she said, brushing his face lightly with her fingertips.
'You may be near a man grown, Thorongil, but you are green as the summer grass,' said Déored with a shake of his head. 'When we ride for the Isen, we ride to battle, and glory, and perhaps death. Captain Fastred and I have taught you well in the arts of war, but those were mere games.' He sighed. 'My heart tells me the struggle on the Isen will be long and bloody, and victory doubtful. I would have you stay here, to guard the Deep and look after your mother and sister, should the battle go ill.'
'But I wish to fight!' cried Thorongil.
'And you may, my son, should Saruman's horde win the Fords of Isen. Helm's Deep is a strong place, and hither will we come, should the enemy break through, and they shall follow after.'
Miriel gazed on her husband in fear at this. 'But the Deep has never been assailed successfully, not even in the Fell Winter when all the Mark was overrun! Surely the Hosts of Isengard do not number enough to take the fastness!'
'Prince Théodred said the scouts reported a host larger than any seen in years uncounted, my wife,' answered Déored. 'But be not afraid! Saruman's thralls must first win the Fords of Isen, if they are to invade the Mark, and Prince Théodred will see that they cross not at all, or that they pay dearly for the crossing.'
'So I am to remain here, father?' asked Thorongil.
'Yes, my son. You have not yet been tempered in battle, and like a flawed sword, you might shatter at the first blow struck,' he replied.
'Do you doubt my courage?' Thorongil demanded, cheeks flushing with anger.
'No, Thorongil, I do not doubt your courage. If you lacked courage, you would never have wished to ride with the prince. I doubt only your skill of arms.'
'Though you yourself trained me, as Grandfather Alfred did you?' the boy demanded.
'The training yard and open battle are worlds apart, my son, and orcs are savage foes. This is not a matter open for further discussion, Thorongil,' said Déored firmly. 'You will remain here and join the Helmingas.'
'Would it not be better if both went, or both stayed?' asked Miriel. 'For what seasoned soldier shall look after Thorongil, should battle come here and you not?'
'I need no looking after!' Thorongil hissed, anger flashing in his eyes.
Déored struck him. 'You will not speak to your mother in such a way!' he growled. 'I have taught you better than that. You will apologize. Now.'
'Yes father,' sighed Thorongil. He took his mother in his arms and kissed her, saying, 'I should not have spoken to you like that.'
'You are forgiven,' Miriel said, holding him close for a long while before releasing him.
'I shall ask if Thorongil might join the company of my friend Déorwine. Would that comfort you?' Déored asked.
'It would, my husband.'
'And would you be ashamed to fight beside Déorwine, my son?'
'No, father, I would not,' answered Thorongil, and he meant it, for Déorwine was a fine soldier and had taught Thorongil much in their winters at the Deep.
Déored nodded. 'So be it. Come, Thorongil, we must speak with Lord Erkenbrand,' he said as he turned and departed the grotto.
Miriel watched them depart, a black shape silhouetted against the light of the lamps. Upon the bed, Firien continued her play.
