Aerynnwold raised herself from the grain sack and lurched to her feet. Her entire body felt as if she had been petrified in stone and suddenly released, leaving her mobile but taut and aching all over. She reached up to her face and felt the crusting of orc blood mingled with her own. At this moment she realised that the foul smell she had noticed since awaking was not coming from afar but rather from her own person. Her armour, cloak and all her clothing were soaked with sweat, hers and that of her horse Aldburga. But twas not the sweat that gave the smell, orc blood is a poisoned substance that is dark and foul. She would need to wash and change before seeing to her hunger.
Leaving her weapons and armour in the care of the smithy, who was working mightily at his forge battering the great shield of the stoninglund commander Zelderan back into shape. As she walked towards the river, where she hoped to wash in the clean rushing flow that swept down from lake Evendim, for the first time she noticed the great numbers of sellswords and guardsmen sitting or lying about the town. The buildings which Dernfréa had been working hard on repairing before the attack had been turned into field hospitals or rest houses for the exhausted warriors. Women moved about them seeing to wounds or carrying food and drink to revive the troops. Here and there the sounds of a mourning cry could be heard as people discovered their friends, fathers, sons, brothers or lovers among the dead from the battle.
As she approached the bridge she saw a large train of wains moving across the span and over into the north downs, some carried supplies and refugees returning to the outlying settlements others held piles of the dead and wounded to be taken back into Bree land. From the far side of the gorge a dark ploom of smoke could be seen rising up into the air and drifting east. The bodies of the enemy burning on a great many pyres thought Aerynnwold as she began the descent to the river bank.
Partway down the slope she was forced to clamber over the rocks that Dernfréa had left to prevent orcs sneaking up upon the down via boat. In doing so she was reminded of the terrible throwers from the battle, the screaming of the men as they were thrown from the devastated wall. She had escaped unharmed and in the rush of the battle had focused on moving those that were wounded to a safe distance. Now she considered it in the light of day she shook a little with fear at the memory, the horrific sounds made by the dying, the crunching sound of projectile s crushing, the thick thump of arrows... no she must not dwell upon it. In truth she had little visual memory of the battle, she had been caught in a red rage striking wildly at anything around her. The burning flames in the hills around combined with the black of night had made it hard to see far beyond the wall on which they had made their stand. But to remember the charge out she was filled with hope and pride at her efforts again, the feel of the fresh morning wind on her face as she charged Aldburga into the fleeing beasts. The clear sound of the horns proclaiming their victory and the smiling faces of her fellow Rohirrim, glad to be upon a horse again.
Reaching the river she sat and removed her boots before again standing to haul off her tunic and underdress. Naked she waded into the cold refreshing water of the trestle, the fast pace of the river had already washed away the orcs they had driven from the cliff. She looked up to the bridge above and marvelled at the fact that it remained standing, a single strike from one of the heavy stone flinging catapults could have crushed down and weakened the bridge enough for it to colapse. As she looked up she noticed a few men and boys staring down at her, feeling self conscious she ducked her head under the river and swam about a rock to a small sheltered alcove. Though she would have liked to stay for a greater time in the soothing clean flow of the river her muscles, already strained and used from the battle, forced her to slide out from the river and lie against the jutting rock. She lay back against the firm rock and again without strength drifted gently into sleep.
Aerynnwold looked up suddenly, she was in somekind of encampment. Not one of the eagle guard, the men about the place moved with urgency and shouted at each other in her own tongue “To the ford, Isengard comes! Eorlingas follow the prince of the mark! Follow your captain!”. She saw the men move hurridly and in fear , they took shields marked by a white horse and long spears before moving out from the gates in the small palisade that surrounded the camp. A rider on a great war horse clad in golden armour greater than that of any Theign she had seen before kicked forward into view, flanked on either side by tall grim horsemen. “Take your riders about to the left of the shieldline Grimbold, keep the main force clear of their warg riders!” the golden clad rider shouted in a high clear force to another man on his right. “Aye my prince, forth for theodred! Forth for the mark” replied the man as he led away a charge of rohirrim through the gates. She had no time to wonder if the golden rider could truly be prince theodred and she truly in Rohan before a gruff man hauled her to her feet and pressed a spear into her hand, “To the line Harla, to the line boy” he spat at her.
Am I dreaming she thought? The land seemed so vivid and real, looking over the palisade she could see a great river ford and behind her the wild open plains of her homeland. Upon the ford the lines of the princes men formed up a thick shield wall as a horde of unnumbered orcs, uruks, trolls and warg riders rushed forward to meet them. This enemy was a far greater number than she had seen in her only battle at Trestlebridge, she thought it must be the greatest army of orcs ever seen on middle-earth as she followed forward the line she had been shoved into.
Her company reached the ford and she stood behind a greybearded huscarl who held his shield strongly to hold the rushing uruks. As the line crunched into the front ranks she screamed and stabbed with the spear straight into the eye of the beast attacking the greybeard. The battle seemed to rage for hours, her stabbing and the greybeard blocking as their line moved slowly back. At last a great sweeping charge came along the line to clear back the uruks, with the prince at their head. But alas as he did so a volley of cross-bow bolts from a group of goblin men smacked into the riders, destroying the charge. She had a brief moment of utter terror as she looked for the prince among the tangled bodies of horses before turning back to the battle to see a spear coming straight for her face.
She awoke with a start and threw her hand up to stop the dream spear from slaying her. Just a dream, but it seemed as real as the daylight scene around her. She shook her head and gathered up her clothing to begin washing them. Just a dream...
