This is where the AU part comes in -- I did not know until I had begun writing this chapter that Unfinished Tales told of the First Battle of the Fords of Isen, and it says that Éomer was not even present; also that Théodred had a much larger army with him. Oh, well. Please forgive the error!

Chapter Three

Éomer did not have time to think as he rode swiftly behind Théodred to meet the on-coming orcs, which were now halfway across the Fords, and spotting the approaching Riders, raised an unearthly howling and screeching as they broke into a lumbering run.

Vaguely, Éomer felt Thenan and Éorlan’s presence on either side of him, and strong Léof behind him; but the words of Théodred from the night before rang persistently in his mind, and they frightened him more than the looming orcs.

Suddenly, from the Riders in the rear of the éored, there rose a cry: that a large group of Men, it seemed, were coming swiftly behind them. The reinforcements! At last, they have come! A wild hope sprang up in Éomer’s heart, and ignoring the fact that Théodred did not even look back to see for himself, he reined his horse into a trot and turned around in the saddle.

Behind them, so distant that they were only a smudge of black against the gold of the Plains, Éomer could see, faintly, the glimmer of sunlight against metal shields and swords; and as he halted and watched as the group neared, unaware of Thenan and Éorlan stopping beside him, Éomer suddenly felt a chill of fear pierce his heart. For sound carries great distances over the open Plains, and he now could hear the harsh, raucous voices: not of Men, but of yet more orcs!

Sucking in his breath sharply, and hearing Thenan and Éorlan doing the same, Éomer spurred his horse back the front of the éored to ride again beside Théodred. “They are not Men behind us!” he cried over the whistle of the wind as they galloped toward the Fords. “They are orcs! More orcs!”

Théodred turned to look at his cousin with an expression so full of understanding and acceptance that Éomer felt the blood leave his face and his hands grow numb where they held the reins.

“I know,” said Théodred simply, quietly. “No help has come, and doom is near.” Before he turned away to gaze ahead once more, Éomer, speechless with fear as he had not been ever before, saw that tears glistened in his eyes. The sounds of the approaching orcs from the Fords grew louder, and at last they could see the full strength of their enemy before them.

As Théodred drew his sword along with the other Riders, he cried, in a loud, strong voice without hint of fear, words unknown to the others.

“Out of doubt, out of dark to the day’s rising

I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing.

To hope’s end I rode and to heart’s breaking:

Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!

“Up Eorlingas!” he ended, raising his sword. In that moment, he appeared tall, fearless and proud, like Éorl of old, going willingly to death.

Up Eorlingas! Up Eorlingas! arose the shout from the Riders, just as they had in the courtyard on the day of their departure; now riding fearlessly towards certain death.

The Riders now saw the orc-troop running at full speed towards them, weapons drawn, and heard the sound of the orcs behind nearing. Glancing around him, Éomer saw clearly, as though everything had slowed, the faces of each man in the éored. Thenan and Éorlan, now bereft of their usual impetuosity and youthful merriment, looked more like the courageous soldiers they were at heart than Éomer had seen before. Léof had that same frightening look of acceptance that Théodred wore; impulsive Éothain’s face was grim and set, and gruff Haldred had a look of stoic determination. Doughty Grimbold, one of the chief captains, was gazing calmly around them with his bright blue eyes, and sped forward to speak to Théodred, too quietly for Éomer to hear what was said.

Théodred nodded toward Grimbold, who looked back at the other Riders with his sword raised. “To me, ten of you!” he shouted. “We must split and my troop turn west while those under Théodred turn east.”

Ten men quickly turned their horses and with a salute for the other Riders, they followed Grimbold, turning west to meet one of the regimans of orcs that had split upon seeing them and were hastening towards them.

“Up Eorlingas!” cried Théodred once more, and with a fierce cry, the remaining Rohirrim soldiers set upon their enemy.

The orcs howled with delight as they saw the other army behind the éored, and the leading Uruks raised their broad swords and tall spears as they increased their speed, coming towards their enemy almost faster than the Rohirrim horses.

Without looking back, those in the éored knew that the orcs behind them were nearing as well, but they remained focussed on their adversary before them. Éomer raised his sword high, and the sun’s rays glinted off the sharp silver point of the weapon. He marveled, for a moment, that a tool only designed for death could look so beautiful.

But then the first of the Uruks reached them, and instead of attacking Théodred, it lunged at Éomer, perhaps seeing that he was younger and had less experience than the leader. With a horrendous snarl, and what Éomer thought with disgusted horror seemed to be a malicious leer, it reached up with one powerful arm to catch its quarry by the waist and pull him from the saddle, while raising its sword with the other.

Fortunately, Éomer’s reflexes were quick, and just as the Uruk’s arm tightened around him, he brought down his sword with a mighty blow, and hewed the limb off. With disgust, he pulled the limp arm off and threw it down; and then quickly raised his sword to block a powerful blow from the Uruk. It did not seem effected by the loss of its arm, but the cruel smirk it had worn before had vanished. Its expression was filled with absolute hate and lust for blood.

Éomer strove to bring his sword down again, but every time, the Uruk blocked it was a heavy returning blow that sent jarring pain up the young Rider’s arm. Both were persistent, and determined that only one would survive the battle.

Dimly, Éomer heard the sounds of battle around him—the two orc armies had joined now, and the Riders were completely sorrounded. He heard cries of pain, and the shrill screams of horses. He heard the snarls and howls of orcs, the clash of steel upon steel, and the splintering of wood as spears were broken.

But his entire mind was concentrated on overcoming his enemy, and he could not think of anything else. The Uruk was cunning, not like the dim-witted orcs, and it seem to anticipate his every move.

Suddenly, a screech was heard close to his ear, and he had only time to look up before he was thrown out of the saddle and to the ground—an orc on top of him. His spear snapped, but he still held his sword.

Recovering from his winded state, he managed to raise his weapon in time to meet the orc’s blade and turn it aside before it was driven into his throat. The orc hissed, its yellow eyes bright with fury, and attempted to pin his sword-arm to the ground with one clawed hand.

After a fierce struggle, Éomer succeeded in overcoming his enemy and ran his blade through it. Rising, he was almost immediately engaged in a furious battle with the one-armed Uruk again. He at last hewed off the head of the vile creature, and then wearily raised his head to look about him.

The battle was a mass of orcs, men and horses. The men were all but smothered by the foul legions of Mordor, and only their golden hair, shining in the afternoon sunlight, was visible. Éomer saw the bright coat of Goldenwind amongst the fray, and the faithful horse whinnied loudly as it fought to return to its master.

Quickly overcoming another bow-legged orc that attacked him, Éomer made his way to Goldenwind’s side. The horse’s flanks were damp with black blood, as were his hooves—obviously Goldenwind had been fighting just as fiercely as any soldier.

Swiftly springing into the saddle, Éomer saw from his new vantagepoint that a Rider—it appeared to be Thenan—had lost his horse and was cut off from the others, surrounded by orcs.

Éomer spurred Goldenwind forward to Thenan’s aid, and used his sword to cut a path through the ring of orcs. Thenan’s countenance brightened as he saw his friend, though he did not pause in his fighting. His dark golden hair had come out of its braids and was matted with blood on one side of his head, and his right arm hung useless at his side. Fortunately, he fought with his left; but bereft of one arm, he could make no use of his shield.

Seeing this, Éomer urged Goldenwind forward to protect Thenan’s exposed right side. After that, everything became a blur once more as he fought furiously to make headway through the army of orcs.

Éomer glanced up briefly and saw with dismay that the Rohirrim were scattered, alone or in small groups, all fighting to reunite. Grimbold’s troop had joined with Théodred’s, but it did little to help them. The enemies had also seen this, and were determined to keep the Riders seperated.

At last, there was a brief respite as Thenan killed a great Uruk leader, causing the orcs to fall back slightly. Éomer seized the opportunity. “Come, Thenan!” he cried. “Get up behind me, and we will go aid Haldred!”

Thenan swung up into the saddle, without his usual nimbleness because of his injury. Quickly, Éomer urged Goldenwind forward, but the stallion was already fighting madly through the orcs; trampling them beneath his hooves and rearing up to kick them.

They reached Haldred, who had found another Rider named Éon, and the four formed a circle, using their two horses as shields. Éon’s horse fell after a few minutes, struck down by an orc arrow.

Suddenly the deadly arrows were flying everywhere, and Éomer felt one pass so close to his face that it blew his hair. He heard the scream of another horse as it was struck, and then a long wail of an injured Rider who suffered the same fate.

But Goldenwind, though bleeding from several wounds, somehow avoided the arrows, and from his high vantagepoint, Éomer could see that no more than fifteen golden heads were still visible—the Mark was suffering heavy losses already.

Then a sharp pain in his right shoulder made him look down—into the face of a wiry orc. It was clinging to Goldenwind’s side and gripped Éomer’s shoulder with one strong hand. The claws pricked through the chainmail and into the skin, and scarlet blood began to trickle down the Rider’s arm.

Before even his swift reflexes could react, the orc tore him out of the saddle and pushed him to the ground. Éomer managed to bring his sword up with a desperate blow, and succeeded in breaking the orc’s already weakened weapon. The beast snarled and wrenched the blade out of his hand, twisting Éomer’s wrist in the process. He saw his sword go spinning beneath Goldenwind’s hooves and looked up in despair. He struggled to escape, but the orc’s clawed hand gripped all the harder, and felt as though it was cutting right to the bone.

With a hiss of delight, the orc let go of Éomer’s shoulder and transferred its bloodstained hand to the young soldier’s throat. Éomer brought both hands up in an attempt to pry the strong fingers off, but the orc merely used its free hand to grab both of the Rider’s wrists and pin his arms above his head as it tightened its grip on his throat.

Éomer choked and coughed, his chest pumping uselessly for air, and stars began to appear in his vision. He felt warm blood trickling down his neck from the orc’s claws, but he did not feel the pain of it. His wrist no longer hurt, nor did his shoulder. He seemed detached from his body, as though he was watching the events from far away.

A peace settled over him, and as if through a blackening mist he saw, past the orc’s head, Goldenwind, with Thenan upon his back, rearing up and furiously beating down the orcs in his path with his sharp hooves, struggling frantically to reach his master.

Strange,Éomer thought hazily, as he felt himself drifting away, that I thought this would be Théodred’s last orc-hunt, and it turns out to be mine. Where is Théodred? I wonder if he still lives.

Éomer’s hands went limp in the orc’s grasp, and just before darkness overcame his vision, he raised his eyes to the blue sky above and saw something. A golden eagle! Just as Théodred’s dream foretold. And now it has come true. Doom is near, but I shall have to fight it no more.

But suddenly, the hard hands were loosened, and the mist lifted. Instead of the orc’s leering face, Éomer’s eyes slowly focussed on the golden-haired face of Thenan. His friend’s blue-grey eyes were filled with tears, and his bleeding lips trembled.

I have never seen Thenan weep, Éomer thought with surprise, his mind still hazy. What is wrong?

“Th…Thenan?” he gasped, after a moment, taking in a large gulp of air and savoring it. His voice sounded hoarse, and he coughed, then grimaced at the pain that it caused his neck.

Thenan’s eyes widened and his face broke into a hopeful smile. “Éomer?” he asked, half fearfully. “Are you all right?”

Éomer swallowed slowly and took another blessed breath of air. “I am fine,” he answered. “Please… Help me up.”

Thenan gently did so, and helped Éomer lean against him as the young Rider found that his legs would not support him at first. “What happened?” he asked quietly, looking around and finding that the battle had shifted away from them.

“An orc nearly strangled you,” Thenan told him, “and after I overcame it, I rushed over to you. Your hands were already cold and you were not breathing.” He shuddered, and tightened his arm around Éomer. “But there is no time for lengthy explanations—tell me truthfully: are you able to go back?”

Éomer closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he found that they were clearer. “Of course I am,” he replied firmly. “I must help Théodred.”

Thenan nodded without speaking and they helped each other in mounting Goldenwind, whose sleek coat bore new wounds. With Éomer sitting in front, they rode back into the fray, praying that the other Riders still lived.

To be continued...