Disclaimer: It is obvious that J.R.R.Tolkien, not I, wrote The Lord Of The Rings. I did not create the geography of Middle Earth or the events that took place in that world. I merely inserted my own characters into that “time period.”

Wanderers From Dol Amroth

I
Attack on the Isen

Déor stood on the dike before Helm’s Deep, looking out across the plain. He squinted at the setting sun and shaded his eyes with his hand. He saw a rider loping toward him.

The rider began shouting even before he was within hearing. Déor could see the banner the man carried. A white horse running on a green field. He was a messenger of Rohan.

Déor heard feet running toward him and he turned. Sigebryht, a tall young man came leaping toward him. “Come quickly,” he panted, stopping next to Déor. “Your father is worse. I will take your place.”

Déor froze, the messenger forgotten. His father had been sick all winter. Now he feared Anglen would not last till spring. A horrible cough racked his body.

“The Fords of the Isen have been attacked!” he heard the messenger shout near him.

“Attacked?” Déor wondered. “Who?” But already the questions were fading as he ran down the slope. The messenger cantered through the breach in the dike and passed him. Soon he was left alone, running in the dike’s shadow.

He reached his own horse and followed the messenger to the gate. Sweat stood out on his face from the run, but now he shivered as he stood at the top of the causeway, waiting for the gate to open.

The gate swung open and he darted past the guards. They let him pass; they knew about his father.

Déor wound through the outer courtyards, then into the tower. He burst in through a wooden door, looking quickly to his father. The old man lay panting with his mouth open. Déor strode to him and touched his forehead. It was hot.

The man murmured then waved his hands. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. He was delirious.

Déor sat down near him. He would wait. Perhaps he would become conscious later in the night.

~

Elfhild halted her mare and sat, watching her older brothers strain against each other. Their golden hair flashed in the sunlight and sweat trickled down their faces. She shook her head. Those two were always wrestling, or racing, or competing somehow. They turned everything into a game.

Now the older, Helm, twisted and sent the other to the ground. Den rolled over and the tussle continued. Their horses grazed close-by, unconcerned by their master’s antics.

“You would never think those two were men,” Elfhild thought, “the way they wrestle.” It had started with a simple question of who was hungrier. Den claimed he had eaten more stew the night before. It was too good an excuse to miss, and Helm had leaped at him. Now the two rolled over and over on the ground. But Den was already grinning.

“Helm! Den! When will you learn to act like men instead of boys?” Elfhild shouted at them.

Helm wrenched away and leaped to his feet. Den rose as well, watching his brother warily. Leaves and grass clung to their hair. Elfhild couldn’t help laughing.

Her younger brother, sitting behind her grinned, “Helm beat you again!” he shouted.

“Ah, but who beats you?” Den asked, stepping toward him.

“Elfhild, go!” Dwyn shrieked, kicking the mare with his feet. Elfhild pulled on the reins and held the mare where she was.

They both turned as they heard hooves pounding behind them. Another girl with a boy perched behind her cantered toward them.

“It’s Wyn!” Elfhild shouted. She loosened the reins and her mare leaped forward. Soon they were flying along at a gallop. Dwyn shrieked and clung harder to Elfhild as their mare shied in mid-canter.

Elfhild clung to the horse’s mane and flung herself in the opposite direction. “Dwyn! Cling with your legs or you’ll pull me off! We’re not using a saddle.”

“But I was falling, Elfhild.”

“And you nearly took me with you!” Elfhild shot back. Her chestnut red hair mirrored her frame of mind as she twisted to glare at him.

He grinned, “But you’re such a wonderful rider, it doesn’t matter,” his light blue eyes snapped back at her from under his shock of blond hair.

“What happened?” Wyn, Elfhild’s younger sister asked, cantering up to her.

“My lovely red-gold little Erohin decided to shy away from a hole in the ground and nearly threw me,” Elfhild replied.

“Well, you didn’t fall, let’s keep going. I want visit that spot on the Isen before we have to go home.”

“We’re going to beat you!” Dwyn shouted as Elfhild kissed her mare into a canter.

“Come on Wyn, faster!” his younger brother cried.

The two horses stretched out over the fields, racing after their shadows toward the river.

Wyn was slowly edging up to Elfhild when they heard a shout. Elfhild slowed her mare and looked southward.

She saw a lone rider creeping toward them. He sagged wearily and his right arm was cradled in a sling. His left hand held the reins.

The sisters paused for a moment. “It cannot be a Dunlander, for they have no horses,” Elfhild said slowly. The Dunlanders lived across the river. They were now at war with Elfhild’s people, the horse people of Rohan.

“He looks like Halaf,” Wyn murmured.

The two kicked their mounts into a canter in a moment. The boys clung to their sisters as the canter pressed toward a gallop.

“Halaf? Halaf? He was with Erkenbrand, guarding the Fords of the Isen, why has he come back?” Elfhild wondered. She feared to know.

The rider lifted his head as they neared him. Then he stopped his horse.

“Halaf!” Elfhild exclaimed, “What happened?”

“We were attacked yesterday at the Fords of the Isen,” he spoke thickly. “We managed to beat back the raiders, but Theodred was wounded and many were killed. Men bear Theodred back to the king now. They chose me to bring the message,” he looked at him arm, “for I can no longer fight.”

“How many Dunlanders did you kill?” Dwyn asked, peering around his sister’s back.

“Many,” Halaf said grimly. “Come, we must tell the village.” Halaf tried to urge his horse into a trot, but he nearly lurched out of his saddle at the first beat. The horse stopped.

“Come along slowly,” Elfhild said, “I’ll tell the village you are coming.” She whirled her mare and darted across the plain.

“I want to come too,” Wyn said.

“Go, go!” her brother urged.

“No, we should stay with Halaf.” Wyn looked at him with concern. So many died of their wounds.

Elfhild topped the slope between the river and the village but didn’t pause. The sun shone in her eyes and she struggled to see the ground in front of her. A flurry of hooves drummed into her ears as she galloped straight through a herd of horses. Before she even realized a horse was following her, arms wrapped around her and yanked her off her horse. “HELM!” Elfhild shrieked as her older brother pulled his horse to a halt. He held her, struggling fiercely for a moment before dropping her to the ground.

Dwyn had released his hold an instant before Helm grabbed her and now cantered back toward them, almost falling off the horse with laughter. “We’ve planned that for so long!” he shouted.

“You!” Elfhild shrieked.

“Little bloody hair doesn’t like a joke,” Helm teased, referring to her reddish hair. “Someone wiped their sword in your hair, and you’ve never washed it out, that’s why you get so mad,” he grinned.

“You! You…” she sputtered.

“Yes?” Helm asked, “at a loss for words?” He squinted in the sunlight.

“Well it certainly looks like the sun wiped his sword in your hair now! Just look at that red sheen!” Elfhild retorted

Dwyn began laughing again. “She’s right!” he shouted.

“Don’t crow too loudly,” Helm retorted, “your hair looks red too.”

Swords and blood, Elfhild thought. “There was a battle at the ford yesterday,” she said. “Halaf is coming, bringing news. Theodred was dreadfully wounded.”

Helm stared at her for a moment. “He’s not dead,” he said, grasping at hope.

“No,” Elfhild said, but her face told the rest.

Helm asked about Halaf, then cantered off to meet him. Elfhild leapt back onto her horse and started for the village.

They were situated near the Isen to the north of the fords. Isenguard lay twenty leagues to the north, a tower of defense in time of danger. For long had their village been safe. It had originally been a place of shelter for those watching the horse herds, but it had grown into a village. Close to a dozen buildings huddled around the well at the center and half a dozen families inhabited these houses.

A small girl stood in the road, watching. Elfhild saw her and stopped her horse. Mechanically she reached down and pulled the girl up to sit in front of her. The girl grinned with pleasure, but Elfhild scarcely noticed. She trotted the last few yards to the village.

“Halaf has returned!” she shouted. “He comes from the Fords with news!”

Halaf’s mother was the first to run outside, but the others were close behind.

“Halaf is wounded, Helm and Wyn are with him,” Elfhild responded to the inquiries. “He said there was an attack yesterday. He was wounded, so they chose him to bear us the news. He said that Theodred was badly wounded.”

The people gasped.

“How badly?” a man standing near her horse’s head spoke up. His golden hair was touched with gray, but he spoke firmly, as one used to command.

“I do not know, Father,” Elfhild answered.

“If he dies, Eomer will be next in line,” her father said. The crowd began murmuring.

“What of the other men?” someone asked. “How many were wounded?”

“I don’t know, wait till Halaf arrives, he can tell more,” Elfhild answered.

“After he rests,” Halaf’s mother cried.

The crowd broke into knots, talking excitedly. Dwyn slid off the horse and ran to join a group of boys his age.

The little girl twisted around to look at Elfhild. “Halaf was fighting those bad people, wasn’t he?” she asked.

“Yes, Goldhild,” Elfhild answered.

“Will they come hurt us now, since they chased away Halaf?”

“No, darling, father wouldn’t let them, nor Helm nor Den.”

“Oh,” Goldhild said. “Can we canter?” she asked suddenly.

Elfhild laughed and kicked her mare into a canter. They swept around the village, passing the groups of boys who were now battling phantom Dunlendings. Then around again. Goldhild kept one hand near the mane but her face shone pleasure.

Soon Elfhild stopped near one of the huts. She lowered Goldhild then slipped off herself. Goldhild ran and threw her arms around her father’s legs. He swung her up in arms and she crowed with pleasure. Then she wiggled to get down and ran for her mother. Her mother laughed as Goldhild buried her face in her skirts.

Elfhild picketed her mare in the field, then returned to the village.

Soon they saw Halaf with his escort, riding slowly toward them. The village left their chores and hurried out to meet him, surrounding him several yards from buildings. He told them the same news Elfhild had brought, but in greater detail. Then he said, “Erkenbrand fears a second assault. He needs more men.”

“Mounted?” Elfhild’s father asked. He was thinking of the number of horses and men in the village. There would scarcely be enough.

“Most men are on foot,” Halaf said. He swayed and Helm reached out to support him.

“Let him come in and rest,” Halaf’s mother cried. She grabbed his bridle and began to lead him toward the village. People broke up, talking more nervously than before.

“If we leave in force, we must send the women and children to the Hornburg.” Elfhild heard her father saying.

Helm slipped off his horse and stood near her. “That stallion still wants to leave the herd,” he said.

“Or leave with the herd,” Elfhild answered.

“Someone needs to watch him.”

“Aren’t you in charge of the herd today?”

“No, well, yes, but Den is up there.”

“Helm!” someone shouted, shouldering his horse through the crowd.

“Not anymore,” Elfhild grinned.

“Yes?” Helm asked, swinging back onto his horse.

“Why did you leave?”

“To hear the news, little brother,” Helm answered.

“And left me to watch alone?”

“I was just coming back to tell you everything.”

Den scowled.

Helm laughed and clapped him on the back. “Come on,” he shouted, and trotted back toward the herd.

Elfhild wandered around the crowd, listening to the men discuss what to do. If the men left, she knew the village would be easy prey for any band of Dunlendings. Yet if half the men remained, they would be too few to defend much, and the village was no fortress.

If any group of men left, she knew her father would lead them. Her heart grew cold at the thought. Already Halaf lay in his mother’s house, burning with fever. She had heard stories about her ancestors and their great deeds. But so many died of their wounds. The village would forever remember Halaf’s deeds, how he dealt out death in return for his wound. Perhaps death and renown won in defense of country was better than death in ignominy as a horse herder. Elfhild didn’t know. She could only think of what her grief would be if her father died.

“They say they will send us to the Hornburg.” Elfhild turned to see Frea at her side. Frea’s father was already with Erkenbrand, while her brother rode with the Rohirrim. When her mother had died years ago, her father had brought her to live with her mother’s sister, Goldwyn. She had grown up as a sister with her cousins. Ever quieter, but a skillful rider, now she reckoned on her fingers the number of horses and the number of people in the village. “The men need the horses. We will have maybe four to help carry the burdens.” She sighed.

The sun dropped beneath the horizon and the horse watch changed. Helm and Den rode in to join the men. Elfhild helped the women bring out food for the men as they gathered around a fire. Then Elfhild went back to the house. The men were still debating. Near midnight she was woken by a great shout. A few minutes later her father and brothers entered the house.

Elfhild rolled over, bumping her sister. Wyn groaned.

“What have they decided?” Goldwyn asked her husband.

“Tomorrow we will make ready. We must pack everything. The men will ride to join Erkenbrand and you must go to Helm’s Deep. There will be few horses left. You must pack as little as you can.”

Elfhild shivered in the darkness.