Chapter 2
Her scream was cut short as an Uruk fist knocked her back down to the forest floor. Bleeding from her nose and mouth, she somehow stayed conscious enough to see the Uruk-hai slaughter the orc. Roheryn bolted as soon as the orc and Uruk-hai started fighting, sure that her rider had been killed. Once the orc's head had been cut loose from its previous residence the remaining Uruk-hai turned to their smaller quarry who still lay dazed on the ground.
An armoured foot stomped into view in front of her nose and she whimpered quietly before preparing for what was to come. So I die alone at the hands of Uruk-hai, a bit later than I expected too. Blood sprayed from her mouth as the foot kicked her in the stomach, sending her impacting into a tree trunk.
Blackness; cold, silent and painful. The sensation of strong arms wrapping round her, picking her up. A warm solid chest moving up and down steadily beside her. The sound of bird songs again and hoof beats in a canter. A familiar and comforting smell. Heated breath blowing on her cheek. Lord Éomer?
Her eyes rolled open to take in the sight of an unfamiliar room, decorating in the white horse of Rohan and knots. Rising up, she sat for a moment taking in the room; it was cosy; a roaring fire blazing in a magnificent fireplace, beautiful pictures of ancient battles and majestic horses carved into wood, rich green and red tapestries hanging. Moving her attention down, she found that the bed cloths were soft and warm, very different to the haggard rag of a blanket she had in the stable. They too were embroidered with the white horse of Rohan, the rich dark green and red making the horse stand out. The room was empty, and there was no sound from outside the closed door. Climbing out of the bed reluctantly, she made her way over to the door and opened it. The corridor seemed to stretch out for an eternity and grew darker with every step forward she took. Entering the Golden hall, she found the huge fireplace in the centre blazing, casting odd shaped shadows across the walls. It was just how she remembered it from when she last entered the great hall when she was a child. But still she found no one; the entire of Meduseld was silent. Looking to the throne it was covered in dust and cobwebs and it seemed worn and broken. Suddenly a great pounding came from the doors and they shook as if been struck by a battering ram from outside. The pounding was amplified to the point of agony by the emptiness and every time the doors were struck the throne grew older and pieces started to drop off. Morwen's cries for help came out as a whisper over the hammering and she spun round in search of anyone. The doors suddenly burst open, the fire puffing out and a black mist swarmed in, enveloping everything. Just as the dark fog reached her feet the throne collapsed into ashes. As the fog slowly started to rise she could feel bony hands clutching her and stabbing into her. Every scream of agony and fear from every battle ever fought throughout the ages invaded her hearing and deafened her. As the mist consumed the entire hall, leaving only a small space around her head she saw the face of a burnt skull thrust towards her.
Morwen's eyes flickered open, her breathing was shuddered and she was covered in a cold sweat. Realising she had just been dreaming she steadied her breath and turned to studying her surroundings. It was the same room from her dream. Turning her head to the side she saw the slumped figure of a nurse smiling softly at her. "Nice to see you're awake." Morwen tried to open her mouth to speak her thanks but found that her mouth was as dry as a desert and her lips and stuck together temporarily.