Ethelfride's Story
Or, Why We Should Not Eat Dog
The following text is a translation I have made (for as well as the tongue of the Elves I also know how the Rohirrim speak) of a journal that was handed to me by the ancestor of a man of Rohan who was about at the War of the Rings, and present at the battle at Helms Deep . He told me that the journal had been in his family for years, and everyone could read the tongue. However, his parents passed away before he could pick it up, and went to live with his Gondorian family, and thus had no chance to learn to read in the langue of Ancient Rohan (which is much different from what they speak today). The man who wrote this was named Ethelfride of Abelswyn, who died in his 78th year, peacefully.
This is the first entry to appear, where Messier Ethelfride tells of the raids upon his village
Messier Alban Gesafore
Out of all of the things I hate to have left behind, my dog, Tod, was the worst. We rode away, my older brother and I, and I could still hear his deep bark as he tried to chase after our horse.
It didn't help that I could hear my grandfather's voice as he told me war stories.
"The Orcs will eat anything, Ethelfride. Hog, horse, dog, man, even each other. So you be weary, or they'll end up eating a plate of Ethelfride broth with Tod bread for afters."
I had beat my fist on my chest and sworn that no Orc would ever scare me. Big words from a small mouth, as I learnt when I tried to live up to them.
What angered most about the Orc raids were that they more often then not stole our horses and then fled, not even fighting us. My village was well stoked in horses, more then usual, and so we were a prime target being also close to the borders of Isengard. There were only the most scraggly mounts left by the time we chose to run – though I was proud of the fact they still ran swiftly. Mine I named Horsa, despite her being a mare and she was white like the horse on our flag. The children all got mounts, first, then the older brothers and sisters, then the men and women. The elderly people were left fighting.
When we fled my village, it was not the first Orc attack. There had been three before that, more then anyone could ever remember, even before grandfather, but we had managed to repel them, with our rusted swords, scythes, clubs made out of chair legs and anything we could find. That is not to say there had been no casualties – out of my three sisters, only one survived. By the fourth and final raid, there were few of us. We had to flee, as hurtful as that was to our pride. Everything was left as we made first for Aldburg, then from there to Helms Deep as our few men were called to battle and Aldburg became as unsafe as any hamlet.
Leofric had taken up arms there straight away. He was much older then I, and already grown with a wife who carried his child. I stayed in the Glistening cave there, holding my younger sister Liutwyn as I was held in turn by my mother. I was one of the few boys that did not have to fight – there were lads as young as 10 I saw don arms. Pitiful arms. They had a better chance of beating the enemy to death with their wooden, splintering shields, then of cutting anything with their swords.
I think there were even women fighting. This is not unusual, women dressing as men to show their courage. In the press of war it is easy to overlook their faces, and those do not, after seeing their skill in battle, hold their tongue's anyway.
Being down in the caves, it was as if we could all hear the heartbeat of mountain. I had a romantic view of it, until my mother told me it was not the mountain shuddering at the thought of Orcs and Uruk-hai trespassing on its passes, but the sound of thousands and thousands of men and monsters hurting one another and firing each other into oblivion.
We were all under a lot of stress, I suppose.