For Rohan

by Jay of Lasgalen  

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Lord Éomer summoned us at midnight.  Scouts had warned of an orc host descending the East Wall; orcs pledged to Saruman and Mordor.  That which we most feared had come to pass.

He spoke passionately:  “I do not command you to ride with me – I ask that you do so.  We will ride without King Théoden’s leave – but we ride for Rohan.  Will you join me?”

Would I join him?  I had eyes to see, and ears to hear.  I had seen the shadow that had fallen upon King Théoden – and I had heard the evil whispers of Gríma.  I had seen the shadow that had slowly crept across the land of Rohan.  Around me, my companions brandished their swords, cheering and pledging allegiance – allegiance to Éomer, not Théoden.

Another rider, Gárulf, glared at me.  He was both a companion and a friend. “Well?  Do you ride or not?”  he demanded.  I nodded, but this decision was not mine alone.  I looked to my other companion, my horse.

“Well, Arod?  What say you?  Do we ride for glory?”  With a snort, he agreed.  So with high hearts and high hope, the éored of Éomer rode into the night.

For Rohan.