As the March wind blows through the leaves of the trees, Cyrawyn rides forward. She covered meadows and forests, rode fast to escape roaming enemies, but generally most of North-eastern Rohan was emptying. Just like her brother a couple days earlier, she notices columns of men on their steed riding southwards. Cyra being in her full armour, shield and sword, would’ve looked almost like them. With one exception. Cyra was full of curiosity, interest, hope and desire for adventure. But these men looked sad, determined, and avoiding. Their eyes like, when made contact with Cyra’s, didn't scream glory, didn’t shine with fire of fury of judgement, with no hope and with no understanding. Eyes that are like a child's, staring at the beauty of nature. And Cyra understood, without any word given. She and many of their loved ones, Will never see them again.
The troop has passed and the road is deserted. But Cyra did not spur Anna on to go further. She stood there staring at the ground. A small yellow flower lay there. Every horse stepped around or over it, keeping it intact. Intact enough to tell Cyra, she won’t ever see her brother again. She turned Anna around, determined, wanting to go back to her parents. She will be their only child, and if sacrificing adventure and becoming a married woman and mother is needed to avoid them loss and pain, then it will be all worth it.
*clog*
The sound of a single of Anna’s hoofs hitting the gravel homewards echoed in Cyra’s head. Freezing again, she looked the road back, and somehow, she heard a calling behind her again. Then almost imagined her dad standing there further ahead in front of her on the road. “Really now? You? Marrying? You can't even do laundry without tearing it apart. Why don’t you go join the army and make us proud instead?” he said with a sneer and a smile.
Cyra inhales. ‘Make us proud’ echoing in her head. Yes.
Cyra turns Anna around again, focusing on the road again. This isn’t just my calling and desire. It will make my parents proud. She smiles to herself. “Thanks, dad, you old sod.” Cyra inhales again. “Come on..” she gently says, spurring Anna on and stepping respectfully over the flower.
New regions, new hills, new forests, new rivers. She found the Anduin. Now to go north further, covering the west bank until she can cross, best to avoid the woods of Lorien, she does not want to become bewitched. She found a crossing, but had to go over it fast. On the east bank, above tall bushes she saw the signs of alien camp decoration and smoke. She wanted to avoid any trouble and quickly dashed through the soft part of the eastern bank, northwards. “Perfect stealth, Anna” she patted her horse. As they picked up speed, having put a distance between scary places and wild nature. On a steady stride she continued further into the vale, little campfire here and there, hidden between some trees. Sleeping in a covered area to not be ambushed midsleep. Seems luck has been on her side so far. Her archery however, not much. She tried to shoot at a deer standing still. Her arms, strong with blacksmith experience, were able to shoot the arrow. But pushing a bow out and holding pressure, versus smashing a hammer with strength was different. She couldn’t aim, the arrow went off many different places and she could’ve sworn one resulted in her hearing “Ow” and then some angry Sindarin. But she never saw who, or never got addressed by it. She did say “I'm sorry!” But nothing was said by either of the two afterwards.
Most of Cyra’s food came from either fishing or the pack she got from home. Dried sausage, Dried bacon and some very low quality potatoes. But it had to do. She also realised on the first evening of her journey she forgot a fact, a terrible fact.
She can't cook at all. The potatoes felt like she bit down on a ball of sand, tasteless and rough and got everywhere between her teeth. A bit of luck was more on her side when a wild boar tried to attack her, but Anna used her hind-leg to break its neck quickly. She knew a bit which parts she should use as meat and which not. Sadly she wasn't very good at being a butcher.. So she butchered it. But she got a good slab of meat, on a stick above a fire. It filled her up for the days ahead, left over meat she kept in her pack. She hopes with the Dale-currency she got from home would allow her to get some grub in Dale-town.
She passed further onwards, but her desire to spread further east from the Anduin and north was dashed quickly. She noticed suddenly large groups of fleeing orcs, heading eastwards. And charging after them, like a wind wave over the dandelions or the foam on a riverwave, elves glittering with their swords. Cyra’s eyes lit up, staring at the swords. How would those be made, can she learn that? Or better yet, craft it for them. Craft it at home! She could really make her parents proud. Imagine Rohirrim riding with those glittering swords, slicing the weeds of orcs. She could save many Rohirrim their life she could save her brother..-- “not yet..” A soft feminine voice said, sounding like a gentle tinkle of water for a thirsty person or like soft wind blowing through calm windchimes.”But continue on your path, and you will, and more..” Cyra then notices two elves, bow at the ready, but don't move or speak. Suddenly the voice sounds again. “Stick to the side of the river when you head north, until you meet the kin of Beorn, follow them east, towards your destiny.” She then notices that the archers stepped aside, letting her pass. A quick bow of the head from both of them in affirmation. Cyra bowed her head back in respect and followed the road the voice told her. The river and its reflection of the sun, gave Cyra all the light on this road, for the forest casted shadows so dark, the trees looked painted a black wall.
After a while Cyra came across a more open area, the Anduin thinned heavily and she wondered who this ‘kin of Beorn’ is. When suddenly, a troop of orcs appeared. Completely outnumbered, Cyra quickly tried to turn Anna around and flee, when suddenly a bear came rushing in from the west, and just as Cyra started to panic, fearing her journey ending too soon, another bear, and then another. Her panic turned to confusion, bears hunt alone or in pairs at worst. But this is a whole group. One bear stopped close to her, moving its head up to her in a slight recognising method then moved together with the other bears to charge the orcs, mauling them as the orcs fled east. To Cyra, that one bear, its eyes, it had something humanlike. She then remembered the stories of Beorn and suddenly released it. This is the kin of Beorn the voice spoke of. Cyra immediately spurred Anna on, and followed the wave of bears, she stayed behind to avoid being caught in the fight. This was a good decision, as notices a whole war being beheld below the trees. It was to Cyra a chaotic display. Arrows flying here and screams of dying fair and harsh voices over there. She stayed back, not sure what she should do. But then she saw it.
Light from an exit of the darkened forest, and an empty road, the fighting was at all sides, but the road was clear. Just before the fighters could be using the road again to kill each other, Cyra inhaled deeply through her nose and patted Anna. “Let's do this.” She spurred Anna on. They went into a Gallop and like a spear, her green and red armour, her blonde hair and Anna’s large size and beige colour, noticeable and unique in the colourscheme as she speeded past the fighters, no arrow flew at her, no shouts. Unaware that at this same moment many of her kin ride on horses just like this, through large legions of orcs further south, unaware that her brother rides on Anna’s sibling, through large Legions of orcs. As before any could react, she reached the exit. She kept on riding, even if her eyes had to adjust to the sudden change of light. But she kept riding, Anna feeling the road as even her horse had to adjust. But eventually, as they travelled more north, they grew accustomed to the light.
Cyra passed Longlake with a gallop, getting closer to the walls of Dale.
When suddenly she halted. Smoke.. And fire..
From out of the frying pan into the fire, as just as Cyra thought she made it, she noticed legions of Easterlings, laying siege to Dale and Erebor. The city of Dale was less of a target than Erebor was, so she had hoped she could turn around and get away sneakily. However, this was not to be. She saw behind her, three Easterling riders, on charcoal black and small steeds, charging after her. She spurred Anna on, hoping her Rohirrim horse could outrun the horses of the east, but these eastern horses were from even further east and north, from horse people who could rival Rohan. Cyra put her shield on her back out of instinct, and just in time, as she felt her shield being impacted quickly, an arrow hit it just mere seconds after she put her shield there. Anna being larger however, gave her a slight advantage, but as they fled, Cyra knew that it would take way too long for her to lose her pursuers.
Cyra took a breath and pulled her sword out of her sheath and turned Anna around as she put her helmet on. Facing the three Easterling riders, she knew she had to rely on more than her training. She charged forwards, heading towards the first of the Easterlings, just as another further back pulled back his bow and shot an arrow towards Cyra.
“It's all about balance and trust, you won't fall if you trust your steed AND your equipment.” Her uncle said. “Then after you hold yourself down like that, remember to use both the legs AND arms to hold yourself up. It's faster that way. Think you can do that?” Small Cyra nods. “I can! I can! Let me try again!”
Cyra leans to her side, almost sliding off her saddle but holding on as she keeps to the side of Anna, just as the arrow shot at her flies past her and misses. She then uses the sword she held to slice through the ankle of the charging easterling. Taken by surprise by Cyra's horsemanship, the easterling was too late to adjust and let out a loud screen as a sharp short amputated his foot. In the fast gallop of his horse and loss of support from one of his legs, the Easterling tumbled off his horse and the horse slowly stopped charging. Just as the other two Easterlings were passing her by, Cyra attempted to do a quick stab. Just like her training, just thrust! Right time! Thrust!. But she missed, followed by mocking laughter. But she passed the Easterlings who now were turning around. She then decided enough is enough and dismounted Anna, gently patting her to make her go into the trees as she pulled the shield off her back and readied her stance.
The one Easterling with the bow however, pulled his bow back again, ready for another shot. But before he could fire, Anna leaped out of the bushes and over the two Easterlings, her leg hitting the Easterling with the bow heavily, loud crack and he fell down together with his horse. Cyra did not see the kill, but heard from the sound, it was a broken neck.
Now one Easterling remained, and this was an older, tougher, bigger one. He dismounted his horse and pulled out his two handed hammer, marching up to Cyra. Cyra put her shield up to be ready, just as the Easterling got closer, his appearance alien to Cyra. squinting eyes, thin sleek black hair in a pointed beard from the chin and like a woman's length hair at the back. The Easterling attacked first, his hammer hitting Cyra’s shield at the side. Fortunately Cyra has experience in defence. But this aint a friendly spar anymore, she has to attack, she has to strike, to kill. Can she do that?
Cyra moved her sword arm in ready to strike, but the Easterling uses her hammer to parry and bash her sword out of her hand. The force made Cyra tumble over and fall down. She held her shield up to protect from blows. And the blows came. Like a sound of thunder, the Easterling smashes his hammer against the shield, eventually causing holes to splinter in the shield.
Cyra moved her hand to her belt, she felt the shaft of her blacksmith-hammer. She might not be a good fighter, but she is a damn good blacksmith. Just as the Easterling moved his hammer up for another strike, Cyra pulled the hammer out and quickly slid around and smashed her hammer against the Easterling's achillesheel with a blacksmith's-force. The Easterling fell down immediately with a loud cry that echoed through the land. Cyra quickly stepped up and picked back up her sword, she then moved to the Easterling and leaned over him, holding the sword at his throat ready to make the killing move. But she could… this was a living being… she cant… This moment of hesitation came at a cost however, as she suddenly gasped, a knife from the Easterling slid past her mail just at the side. The sudden surprise and hurt made her lose balance however and she tumbled forward a bit. But by doing so, the sword at the Easterling's throat went in him. Cyra, in shock at what just happened, looked down at the Easterling, and looked into his eyes.
These were human eyes. Not alien. They shined like a child’s eye admiring the beauty of nature for the first time. Eyes that had hoped, that had loved ones looked into and looked into loved ones eyes. Eyes that many loved ones hoped to see. But now..
Thanks to Cyra… Those eyes… they will never see them again…
Cyra tumbled down next to the easterling, blood pouring from her side as she stared up. The sky was bright, but all she could see were the eyes. The eyes of what once was considered inhuman. But where human, where always human.
Cyra hears gentle voices and a cart, voices in Sindarin. She didn’t know who or what. But she felt gentle and caring hands lift her up and put in a cart. A voice of an elf spoke; ‘Do not worry, it's fine. It is an easy wound to heal.”
But as the cart moved, all Cyra could see was the eyes, eyes some wanted to see, eyes now gone, by Cyra, by all this.
“Why..”
Cyra asked, a small tear rolling down her side.
“Just.. why?”
