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: This is as far as I've gotten in the story. I still want to finish it, but as I said, my muse is a fickle thing, and right now, it doesn't apparently give a damn about this fanfic project. Please forgive what may be an extensive delay between this chapter and the following ones. Now then, on with the story.
Lords Took and Lowly
The Armory
'Father, if orcs hate the sunlight, how can they be on the march?' asked Thorongil.
Déored did not answer for a space, for he did not truly know the answer. 'Perhaps our scouts spotted them at night,' he suggested. 'But Saruman is also a wizard of great power, and perhaps it is within his power to grant orcs some measure of protection against the light of day.'
Thorongil frowned. 'But that would remove one of our chief advantages over them, for are they not easiest to slay in full daylight?'
Déored nodded. 'That is what your grandsire always told me. But it matters little, for we have a yet greater advantage over them: we shall be upon horseback and they on foot. My father told me many tales wherein small forces of mounted men could sweep soldiers on foot numbering more than twice as many before them as leaves in a storm.'
At this, Thorongil frowned. 'But how is that possible?'
Déored laughed. 'Imagine, for a moment, the sight of a body of horsemen, spears lowered, charging at full gallop, and that you are armed with but a sword and shield. What would you do?'
Thorongil flushed. 'I would flee for my life, or die in the attempt. That was a foolish question for me to ask, father,' he answered, a sheepish grin upon his face.
Déored clapped his son on the shoulder and smiled. 'Yes, that was a foolish question, but you are young yet; there is no shame in a little foolishness.'
They continued the long walk to Lord Erkenbrand's chambers in silence. Men of the garrison filled all the halls around them, carrying orders or provisions hither and thither, as the fortress was prepared for the siege that might yet come. Without, the tumult of the blacksmiths moving their forges could be heard, and that of the stone masons destroying the scaffolding around the walls and tower of Helm's Deep. They could also hear the clash of arms as men of the garrison drilled in the courtyard below.
The wardens at the doors of Lord Erkenbrand's chamber stopped them. 'None shall pass unless they bear dispatches from Prince Théodred or Lord Commander Gamling,' they said, crossing their spears before the doors.
'Our pardons, sirs,' said Déored with a small bow. 'Might I inquire where the Lord Commander may be found?' he asked.
'Lord Commander Gamling is in the armory, overseeing the armament of the farmers and craftsmen,' said one.
'We shall seek him there. Our thanks,' replied Déored, and together he and Thorongil took their leave.
They descended into the depths of the fortress, the stairs winding down through bare rock or hewn stones cunningly shaped together, torches flickering in sconces lining the walls. Ever and anon someone they would meet someone ascending the staircase, a helm upon their head, a sword girt about their waste, a shield slung across their back, a hauberk upon their soldiers. Other times, men of the garrison ascended bearing the great ash spears of the Rohirrim, or quivers of arrows. Whether meant for those riding to the Fords of Isen or those remaining behind, neither Déored nor Thorongil could tell.
As they drew nigh to the armory, they could hear the clamor of many voices, and they could soon see a crowd of people in the corridor outside the without, most unarmed and unarmored. Déored found his good friends Dúnhere and Déorwine among the crowd, already armed and armored. They were soldiers of Erkenbrand's éored, Dúnhere a swift scout and Déorwine a guard of the Hornburg. Déored had become friends with them through his winters at Helm's Deep. They and a few other soldiers shepherded the craftsmen and farmers into and out of the armory, in as orderly a fashion as was possible.
'Ah, so there you are Déored!' called Dúnhere in greeting. 'And I see your son has come, too. Shall you ride with us to the Fords, or will you skulk behind high walls with cowards like Déorwine here?' he asked, jabbing Déorwine in the ribs and smiling broadly.
Déored clasped hands with his two friends before answering. 'I shall join you, my friend, but this battle is not one to test the mettle of a new-forged sword,' he said.
Dúnhere looked at the smith in puzzlement. 'Young Thorongil is near a man grown, and well trained of his father. Why say you he is new-forged?' he asked.
'I have not seen battle yet, sir,' answered Thorongil. 'My father thinks it unwise that someone as young as I ride out to meet the Hosts of Isengard.'
Dúnhere smiled at this, and tousled Thorongil's hair. 'There is no shame in having a father that loves you, boy, and don't you forget it,' he said. 'The best riders of Westfold will be gathered to face the swords of Isengard, the Lord Erkenbrand and Prince Théodred among them, and yet many of them will not ride back. It will be a bloody business, and as he said, no place for the untried. You are young yet, and will have many chances to prove your valor.'
'You have arms and hauberks,' said Déorwine suddenly. 'Why have you come?'
'To speak with Lord Commander Gamling, but I will not ride into battle with naught but a sword to hand,' answered Déored.
'What need have you to speak with the Lord Commander?' asked Déorwine. 'All who ride for the Fords need only muster without the Deeping Wall in two days, and all who will stay behind need only stay behind.'
'But I wish Thorongil to be placed in your company, my friend, so that someone might look after him should the need arise.'
'Consider him it done, my friend,' said Déorwine. 'I shall look after your son, should the battle at the Fords turn ill and the enemy assail the Hornburg,' he said, clapping his hands on Déored's shoulders.
'I am in your debt, my friend,' answered Déored solemnly.
'No, for even if you had not asked it of me, still would I have fought beside Thorongil if needs be,' replied Déorwine. 'I know what it is to lose a son, and I would not wish such a sorrow even upon an orc.' The cold sleep had taken Déorwine's son Horn the winter past, when Horn was caught upon the heath gathering wood as a great blizzard began.
'Still, I thank you all the same,' said Déored.
Dúnhere looked towards the doors and saw that they were almost within the armory. 'But alas, here we must part company, for Déorwine and I are shepherds, and as you can see, there are many more sheep behind you to be led to the fold.'
The two soldiers took their leave and moved off, into the crowd that had formed behind them since their arrival. Déored and Thorongil filed into the armory and joined the throng waiting for arms. Déored took for himself the spear of a rider, for he disliked having but one weapon to fight with when mounted. Thorongil took up an axe at his father's behest, so that he need not worry about finding a new weapon in the heat of battle should his sword break. Helms they had, and shields also, and their swords and mail, for they rode always armed to the Hornburg in autumns, lest wargs or orcs or Dunlendings set upon them on a sudden. For good or ill, such an attack never came, and thus Thorongil had yet to draw his blade in anger. Together, father and son departed with their gear of war, giving Dúnhere and Déorwine good morrow as they started back up the spiraling stairs.
They spent the day behind the Deeping Wall, drilling with men of the garrison and such craftsmen and farmers and strong lads as were there. Thorongil fought with hide-blunted axe and sword until his body ached from unblocked blows. Déored fought similar battles with men of the garrison, and worked his horse to a lather riding down the straw targets with his long spear, or hacking at them with blunted sword as he galloped past. And all the while they trained, more joined them. They came in companies small and large, the men and strong lads of the Westfold, and all their families and whatever livestock and provision they had gathered in their haste. Many of the men and older lads had shields strapped to their saddles, and many did not. Some wore helms and hauberks, while others wore helms and leather jerkins. Some had naught but a blade and half helms of steel and leather. All the day long came a steady stream of mounted men up the causeway, and through the great doors of Helm's Gate, and from thence down into the fastness of the Hornburg, to join in the drill, or seek better weapons or armor from the great armory that Déored and the other smiths had labored these long winters to fashion. And as men drilled, so too did others labor, and the women and children and animals were led into safety of the caves behind the Deeping Wall.
Rubble from building was piled piece by piece along the battlements overlooking the causeway and Helm's Gate, to be hurled downward on any foes advancing that way. Spears, too, were piled thus against the battlements and down the length of the Deeping Wall. Arrows innumerable were placed in barrels and buckets for the use of the archers, and fresh torches and barrels of pitch were also placed upon the wall for the night's watchmen.
The sun had long since sank behind the peaks of the Thrihyrne, and yet more and still more people of the Westfold poured slowly in through Helm's Gate. Watchfires burned upon the battlements, and the towers, and Déored knew that Lord Erkenbrand had set watches upon the ruined rampart of Helm's Dike, which stood across the coomb a mile or more from the Deeping Wall. Déored sat upon a cold stone, wrapped in an old blanket with a mug of hot cider in his hands, and watched. The great press of people, and animals, and the bustle of the fortress reminded him so very much of Minas Tirith, where he had been born, and raised, and taught the arts of the warrior and the smith, and where he had met his loving wife. He remembered his father's tales of adventures in far distant lands, and of the great Captain Thorongil, and his mother's soft hair and kind smile.
'How like home it is,' sighed Miriel, who sat beside him upon the rock, also cradling a mug of hot cider.
'Yes, yes it is so like home,' agreed Déored, placing an arm around her and pulling her close. 'I remember days and nights so like this one, when the army headed off to war, or returned victorious from battle, and how all the city came to farewell the soldiers or welcome them home. How oft was it that mother and I watched father depart, she afraid that each time would be his last, I proud to say my father was a man of the Citadel and hoping he would return with new tales of war to tell?' He sighed. 'Know you that this great press of people disturbed Thorongil?'
'No, husband, I had not, but does that truly surprise you? He grew up in the wide and empty spaces of Rohan, not the strong and crowded citadel of Minas Tirith.'
'True, very true. Recall how strange the emptiness of Rohan appeared to our eyes at first, and yet how this fortress that we had never before seen seemed to welcome us home that first winter…'tis strange that we should be so discomfited by emptiness, and so at home in a strange place,' answered Déored.
'Husband, what is it?' asked Miriel. 'You are not yourself this night.'
Déored sighed. 'I ride to war in a day's time, my love, and while this is not strange to me, for I started when I was little older than Thorongil, a shadow has been growing in my mind. My heart tells me that the coming battle will be great and terrible, even the greatest Rohan has seen since the Fell Winter. I do not fear to die, and yet something bodes ill. I know not how, and I know not why, but my heart tells me this war is even more than the final throw of the dice in a feud between two kingdoms.' He paused, and drank from his mug, and stared out at the fire-lit space of the Hornburg. 'For good or ill, all that we have come to know shall pass away, I fear.'
Miriel answered nothing, but lay her head upon his shoulder and placed her arms about him.
