The Family Line Part 14 – A Bitter Arrival

The Family Line Part 14 – A Bitter Arrival

Sniffing and movement close to Theomin woke him. As he came to consciousness he could hear birds singing and the wind rustling the leaves above. A feeling peacefulness engulfed him as he opened his eyes. It was morning on the dreaded overlook of Marton. Sadness and despair then flooded through him like hot water as he saw again the sheer devastation of the still smoldering remains of the razed town. He had hoped there were survivors of that devastated town so close to the Gap of Rohan but not a soul could be seen from way up high on that rocky cliff.

Theomin heard movement behind him. He quickly looked. Standing not too far from him, staring at him with deep black eyes was a deer venturing close to him. Its hooves were quietly gliding through the tall grass and wet morning leaves. It went down for grass and then looked back up at Theomin. Perhaps it was inquisitive. Perhaps it wanted some food. It seemed quite tame for a skittish animal. He watched the peaceful nature of the deer as it wandered past him and on to more grass elsewhere. There was still beauty in Rohan. Like that deer, he knew the strength and beauty of Rohan could weather the storm brought on by the anger and hatred of any enemy.

He stood up and looked around for his horse. She was tied up at a nearby tree. Theomin did not recall ever tying his horse up to a tree. The last he remembered was looking at the devastation of Marton and then crying himself asleep. The person who tied his horse must have been some person from Gapholt. Theomin smiled at the kind gesture and untied his horse. He mounted it and then started down the hill with the terrible feeling of finding not but death. Approaching the town was a terrible sight of utter waste. Houses, towers, walls, crops were all burned to cinders. There was no visible hope for Marton. Crows circled over the town, scavenging after the dead pieces of Marton’s townspeople.

Through the utter wreckage, though, a ways off to the east was a deer. Was it the same deer as before? It looked at Theomin for a long while and started toward a river just east of Marton. It then looked back as if to follow it. There was no road nor path to be seen other than the one leading through the devastated outlying village of Marton, which was where Theomin wanted to go. He looked back at the deer. It was still looking at Theomin. With more curiosity than anything he followed the deer. It led him around the outside of the town of Marton, every so often looking back to see if Theomin was following.

It rounded a rock and so did Theomin. Just like that, the deer, his guide, was gone. It vanished. He looked around him, perhaps thinking it double backed on him. It had not. It was gone. Did Theomin imagine the animal? Whatever it was, his guide led him completely around the devastated town. Theomin whispered, “Thank you,” to the deer that led him safely around.

He approached a river that flowed out of Helm’s Deep. It was not a deep crossing but Theomin stopped. He looked back, hoping to see that deer one last time. No deer was anywhere to be seen. Only the enemy riding wargs about Marton could be seen in the distance.

Theomin turned and forded the river. It only took twenty minutes to approach the gate of Helm’s Dike from the river. A guard from high above the bridge yelled down to him. “Hail, Traveler. Which town do you come from?”

“I come from a small farm in the Wold.” Theomin answered.

The guard gasped, “The Wold has fallen as well?”

“No,” Theomin wanted to correct him. “I have come on a quest of my own.”

The guard was visibly relieved by the news. “I am glad to hear. If you need to, you may rest here for the night. I am unsure when we will be beset by enemies, but I feel the tide of battle coming, and soon.”

“Thank you. I suppose you know of Marton’s fate.” Theomin asked.

“We can see it atop Helm’s Dike. Tis a sad fate. Not one refugee came here from Marton.” He sighed. “That is deeply disturbing.” He motioned Theomin inside. “Please, enter. Find a place to eat and sleep. As I said, we have plenty of places to rest.”

Theomin quickly road through the gates of Helm’s Dike and found a large empty field before a towering structure of dark ornate stone. Never has he seen such masonry work done. The deeping wall stretched to the other side of the deeping-coomb mountainside as the hornburg stood tall at the other end. A small river of water flowed out from the mountains, through the culvert, under the causeway and out though Helm’s Dike.

Inside the gates of the fortress was a bustling city of guards, refugees, cooks, stable masters, forges, all sorts of things that make this city functional and grand. Flags of Rohan were fluttering in the breeze. Horse statues were carved out of wood and placed strategically around the Hornburg to signify this fortress was garrisoned by Rohan.

Thatched roof tops surrounded the masonry work of the former Gondorian keep. Stables and hay stacks were kept for the horses. Small wooden structures were erected for grocers and healers. In the rear of the Hornburg a whole dining area was set up for those who needed a full belly. Meals were kept on the tables and replaced as soon as people finished. This fortress looked as though it could last a long siege. He hoped that would not be the case, though.

Theomin sat at one of the tables to eat the first full meal he had in days. There were full chickens, ribs, apple slices in cinnamon, loaves upon loaves of bread on the table. Mugs of ale and wine filled the cups around the tables.

Entertainment was provided next to the dining area; a must have in times of war. Guards, on their off time, danced to their hearts content. The ale added to their merriment, laughing, dancing, and clapping their mates on in competitions. For these guards, it was an unfortunate reality that these days might be their last, so they must enjoy what they have and have something to live for.

A man, in fine Rohan Armour, sat next to Theomin and tore into some ribs sitting on the table. He grabbed a hand full of bacon, stuffed it in his mouth and took an ale. He poured it into his mouth as waterfalls of ale came gushing down the sides. He slammed the cup down and gave an enormous belch. The man looked at Theomin. “Keymel” he said, extending his hand in greeting. Theomin took it and watched the entertainment. “You are not from around here, are you?”

Theomin shook his head. He was slightly disgusted by the eating habits of this man who sat next to him. “No, I am from the Wold.”

“The Wold, huh?” he asked while taking another mug of ale and pounding it down. “Never seen it but I hear it is rather dry.”

“It is quite dry, if you must know. I was pleasantly surprised to see the green grasses of the Norcrofts. Really, before recently I only saw it from a distance. If Rohan had not been invaded by orcs and Dunlandings, this land would be beautiful.”

“Oh, my friend. She is still beautiful. If you have a chance, go see, from a distance, Edoras at dawn. The gleam of the rays of the sun coming up behind Edoras is almost magical. I wish I could see it again but I have no reason to go out again.”

“And what do you do when you go out?”

Keymel gave a slight chuckle. “I have many different roles. Mostly I am hired muscle for things to be done outside Helm’s Deep.”

“Ahh,” Theomin said. “You are a mercenary.”

“I would not quite put it that way. I was one of his princes’ riders before…” he paused.

“Before what?” Theomin insisted.

“Before I had a disagreement about a certain advisor. Nobody would say he was a sneaky worm but I spoke up. Had my rank stripped from me they did, and had my rider’s status removed.”

“Are you speaking of Prince Eomir or Prince Theodred?”

“Prince Eomir and do I have stories to tell you about that.” He paused in thought about what Theomin said. “Has nobody spoken to you about Prince Theodred?”

“I have not heard word. What happened?”

“He died in the Gap of Rohan. They were ambushed by ors after a daring, and I would say, foolish offensive.”

Shocked, Theomin had to take a few breaths. “Who then takes the throne if Theoden passes?”

“Prince Eomir takes the throne as the new king. I do not believe that will happen, though. Sooner or later that snake Grima will learn of Eomir’s distaste of him. He will either send him into exile, imprison him in the dungeons, or have him executed. My lord Eomir has a character about him that would suit Rohan perfectly and I believe that is what Grima, who we think is in league with the enemy, hates.”

“Wait, if you have spoken of Grima with such a foul tongue, why then were you removed from his band of riders if Eomir agrees?”

Again, he chuckled, “I spoke of it in the court of the king. They do not take too kindly to dissidents in Edoras these days.”

“I will remember that.” Theomin smiled, knowing he would never set foot in Edoras. He just hoped the feeling was not the same in Helm’s Deep. “I believe I am finished. I will take my leave of you and walk about this awesome site.”

“Good evening to you, good sir. I hope we meet again.” Keymel said to Theomin.

“I hope so too.” Theomin smiled.

He took a mild walk around the whole of Helm’s Deep. He visited the Deeping Wall, the massive structure that streatched the length of the Deeping Coomb. He walked round the outer wall of the Hornburg and looked at the beauty and strength of the keep. He was amazed at how the masons of the great fortress keep could build such a wonder. It was far more impressive than that Gondorian tower he visited or that small city north of his farm. He was in absolute awe of the whole place and knew that no matter what, no enemy could take the walls and reach the Hornburg.

Theomin finally searched for a bed to sleep in. He approached a guard on duty. “I am looking for beds. Do you have any available for visitors?”

He was pointed to the upper part of the wall of the outer wall of the Hornburg. “Those would be the best accommodations we have available at the moment. We had not a clue we would have to house so many refugees.”

“Well, I am no refugee. I am only passing through.”

“At any rate, bedding is available on the outer wall of the Hornburg.”

“Thank you, good man.”

He walked through the streets of Helm’s Deep and could not help but wonder what the next day would bring. He climbed the stairs and found himself at the sleeping chambers of the Helm’s Deep guards. He chose an unoccupied bed, asked if it was okay to sleep in, and climbed up to the top bunk.

He removed his map and looked at it. The next day’s journey would take him out of Rohan. He never thought he would leave his home country but he had to. His thoughts then turned to his mother. She would have no idea he was heading into the land of the Dunlandings. It was probably better she did not know. He drifted off to sleep with the thought of his mother. He soon fell to a quick sleep in the tower of the Hornburg.

Night went fast. Very early in the morning, while the light had not come over the eastern horizon yet, he heard yelling and a call to “Open the gates!” Still a little groggy, Theomin slid out of bed. He walked to the nearest window to look out of. It looked like a group of refugees perhaps fifteen strong. No guards nor horsemen were with them.

Theomin quickly gathered his belongings and ventured down to see the incoming refugees. Two lines of guards and other refugees made a path as the poor tired people made their way into Helm’s Deep. They looked disheveled, lost, and tired as if something horrible happened on the way to Helm’s Deep. Others could be heard saying, “oh, my,” and “where are they from?” Keymel stepped next to Theomin. He shook his head in disgust. “More refugees?”

Theomin took a quick glance at Keymel and back at the refugees streaming into the fortress, “It looks like…” He paused. He saw someone familiar. He looked down and there, among the dirty rags of muddy clothes was a little girl. She had a blank lost stare on her dirty face. It was the little girl from Woodhurst who reminded him of his sister. Theomin looked up at who she was with. He only saw her father. The mother that was right there with them back in Woodhurst was gone.

Worried, Theomin took the man’s arm. “Excuse me, do you remember me?”

He looked at Theomin and rage built in his eyes, “You!” He forced his arm away from Theomin and slammed his fist in Theomin’s face.

Theomin fell to his back. As he looked back up at the man who punched him as chaos erupted in the crowd. Keymel took the man and dragged him away. The little girl followed her father, grabbing at the guards and crying “Stop! Stop!” Her filthy tears were streaming down her dirty face, leaving trails of her clean face underneath. The guards took the little girl and the man away while the rest of the refugees were yelling at the guards and pleading to let him go.

Special thanks to Hersery, Thorsul, and Balcome of Rangers of the West on Gladden server.