The tall grass drifted in the wind as we rode across the plains not far from Edoras. Far out in the fields a tall windmill loomed, its sails slowly rotating as the rusted mechanism inside ground stone against stone, eagerly pushed on by a northern wind. A herd of wild horses grazed nearby, paying little mind as we passed. The largest stallion tilted his head and looked at me for a moment; his big, brown eyes so full of life and wild, raw and untamed emotion. I bowed my head in respect to them, these creatures of wonder, while my own horse neighed a greeting in their own language. The windmill in the distance grew closer, and the sight of an old homestead came before our eyes. There were a couple of outhouses, small and neglected, and there was a larger house that had certainly seen better days. I heard my companion sigh at the state of her once beloved home. We suspected that the farm would be in bad shape, but didn’t yet know how bad the contents of the house would be. We rode around the field to get a closer view at the neglected farm, yet staying at a safe distance from the house. It all seemed so quiet, no movements, no voices at first, though there was a hint of gray and a smell of burning wood rising from the smoke hole in the roof.
We dismounted and left our horses near the windmill, silent thoughts exchanged by a glance to one another - were there men inside the house now? Who were they? I drew my sword from its sheath that always accompanied my saddle, a far more suited weapon than a tall spear in an environment such as this, if there should be danger to face. A sudden crash from inside the house, a bottle breaking perhaps, answered part of our question. I quickly gestured for her to hide behind the stone wall that marked the boundaries of the homestead, and I sat down beside her there. We didn't have to wait or think too long. The back door opened with a creaking noise, hinges rusted and slanted upon the wall. A man stumbled out on heavy feet. With each woeful step he took it became clear that he was a drunken man, who had spent his day, and likely many other days before this, heaving vast amounts of ale and booze down his ever thirsty throat. His appearance was ragged and torn, his dulled and weather-beaten face hadn't seen a wash basin for many a week, and the color and style of his clothing, if such a term exists for these people, was more that of a hillman, a dunlending, than one of the rohirrim. I looked to the woman who crouched by my side. I silently mouthed the words “You know him?” She shook her head at me, and her beautiful eyes were now full of disdain and contempt, and that alone told me everything I needed to know about this man. This was not her cousin, but a wild man who had taken up residence in her old family home; stealing, violating and disrespecting everything their family had built over the years. The man continued to make his way across the overgrown grass in the yard, his eyes set upon the outhouse not far from where we were hiding. Perhaps there was a chance, I thought.
He reached for the door handle, and the old door wouldn't open at his touch. "Ooooopen up, you wretched piece of junk!" he cried out and forced the old, half-rotted door open. What later followed was the unmistakable sound of a man dropping his pants and emptying his bowels, and a vile sound it was, though one we all know - for which man or woman have never done the same after a heavy meal and a wild night, with bellies full of roasted meat and ale that has to go, one way or another? While he was occupied with his own dirty business, I indicated she should remain hidden, and I crouched my way along the stone wall, closer and closer to the outhouse. It wasn't far, a few yards at most, and I crawled over the wall to lay in wait. I listened for the sounds inside, and the smell that arose from this outhouse was not pleasant to my nose, which wrinkled up in pure disgust. The man was soon finished and opened the door. I rose up behind him and grabbed his throat to keep him from screaming. With my other hand I laid a clean and polished blade against his unwashed skin.
Men such as he deserved no better, for they would kill without a second thought to get what they wanted. Men, women, children... no life matters to their kind, except their own. And in war and battle, even men with good and honest hearts aren't much different. Yet we kill only because we must, to survive, to protect our loved ones. I whispered that he be quiet, or face a death far worse than I'd give him now, if he only answered my questions. With a drowned voice struggling badly for air and drunken arms flailing about, he managed to wheeze out that there were more of them inside, and that they'd kill me and everyone I loved, they'd violate my wife and daughters, and they'd burn down Edoras; all those things a threatened man would say when facing death, to make himself feel better about his impending doom. "Thank you and good night.", I whispered and allowed my blade to quickly slice into his throat, severing the major arteries so he'd bleed out quickly with as little pain and suffering as possible. It was a death far more respectful than he'd ever have shown me, or the woman I sought to protect. He fell to the ground with blood pouring from his throat, and after a few seconds, he moved no more.
Turning to look at her, I saw a momentary expression on her face, fear or revulsion perhaps, and it struck me with some concern. What would she think of me now, having seen me kill a man right before her eyes? But I could not allow it to matter just then. It had to be done, or else he and his fellows would do the same, and much worse, to us. Climbing swiftly back over the wall, I moved back to her. We needed to think on what to do next. Though she could be determined, she was inexperienced in matters such as this. Clearly there were more men inside, but the question was how many, and if they were armed and ready. We decided to take a chance. Had we ridden back to Edoras for more help, they'd have found their slain comrade soon, and be prepared for an assault upon our return. Now we had a chance to take them by surprise. And, if Bema be with us, they were just as drunk as the other man was. We had to risk it. We moved closer to the house, each step carefully chosen to make as little noise as possible. No dried up leaves, no twigs, nothing that could make a sound - that was the path we followed, until we reached the walls of the homestead. There was a laughter coming from inside, and the sound of empty bottles rolling across the wooden floor. The windows were shut, but their neglected state had left us with an opportunity - a gap between the boards, where I dared to look inside for a moment. Three more hillmen I saw by the hearth, no more; all drunk and merry, on the verge of falling asleep where they sat. I looked at her a moment. Her face was very pale, perhaps of fear, perhaps of disgust, or both. "We can do this." I spoke with silent encouragement. I could take them all out if needed, as long as they were in this state. Three men in such a drunken stupor would pose no major threat to a prepared and ready man.
The time was now or never. We moved to the door, still as quiet as one could possibly be. In my left hand I held my shield, and in the other my sword. The occasional pain in my bad knee chose then to flare up once more, and my heart raced as I touched the door handle. It moved, and it wasn't locked. Twice I nodded to her, and mouthed “Trust me.” with barely a whisper. I opened the door and stepped inside. My mind played a trick on me for a moment - there were only two wildmen there, where I had seen three just minutes before. Had my eyes deceived me, or had he gone elsewhere? No matter, I knew there was at least one more then. The men, drunk and barely aware of my presence, just looked lazily towards the doorway and it took them a couple of seconds to realise what was going on. I saw my chance... three quick steps forward, and the tip of my blade swiftly embedded between the ribs of the man closest to me; a deep breath he tried to take, but to no avail - his lungs penetrated and collapsed, his heart likely damaged too, and he fell to the ground without knowing what hit him when I withdrew my sword. The other stumbled backwards in fear and puzzlement alike, tripping over the stool he had just sat on, and then found himself in the still glowing embers of the fire; he screamed in pain when he tried to push himself up from the scorching heat with his hands badly burned. The tumult echoed through the house, and the sound of footsteps from above reached my ears - the third man, he was upstairs and on the way down. The one with burned hands tried to flee, but his drunken state did not help his speed or agility, and with my shield I swiftly pushed him as hard as I could into a shelf, which broke upon the impact and sent down empty jars and bottles upon his already befuddled head. At the same time I could hear the man from upstairs stumbling down the stairs, and she was there to stop him. I heard only a shout and then the unmistakable gurglings of a dying man as my own blade took care of the one I had just toppled over. Then I heard footsteps running up the stairs...
"No, no, no! Don't run up there!", was all I could think of in that very moment, yet my tongue refused to form the words I wanted, and by then she had already disappeared up the stairs.
"STOP!", I then cried as loud as I could, and followed her.
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The story continues here, as told by Yllfa: Interlude: Man, Woman, Death
