Where The Heart Is

Cedoric had been dreading sleep, doing everything he could to avoid it. For a while, his efforts had been going well. It had been approximately three days since he had caught some shut-eye, and was to the point where he didn’t really feel like he needed the sleep anymore. When the group had set up camp to rest, he kept in his tent and managed to make himself appear to sleep, only to sit wide-eyed with his back to Wraith. He knew he couldn’t keep it up the whole way, but he was sure going to try; he’d do anything to avoid the nightmares of losing his family all over again.

Night had begun it’s approach, and the Wayfarers were rather close to returning to Durrow. It would likely be the last time they needed to set up camp. Wordlessly, Cedoric helped the others until they had all been prepared for rest. He and Wraith curled up within their tent, and Cedoric readied himself for another long night with his thoughts.

Much to his surprise, he slowly found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. Wraith’s steady breathing, coupled with the comfortable night air, seemed to almost hypnotize the young man. He was fearful of drifting off into the unknown, threatening dreams, but as the minutes passed by and the insects of the night began their symphony, he let himself close his eyes, finding a peaceful state. There was a dream, of course. But much to his relief, it was no nightmare. This time, it was not just a dream, but a memory from Forochel that he would cherish for the rest of his days.

He found himself again at the Fjords of Remembrance, his mother at his side holding gently at his arm. The memory was as clear as day, and he could even feel his heart pounding at the prospect of what he and his mother would find there. He thought back to when he had interacted with Deep-Gaze, remembering that single desire that sang in his heart as he looked within the mirror: to see his family reunited.

Cedoric’s eyes swept over the crystalline waters, searching nervously for, well, he didn’t know. His mother gently caressed his arm in support, keeping silent as they waited. At first, a simple fog began to roll in, though it seemed more concentrated than any normal sort of fog. Once it reached the land on which Cedoric and his mother stood, a figure began to form until the image of Ulfric was in plain sight.

Unlike in the nightmares, this time Ulfric looked at peace. He wore a soft, serene expression, his translucent form floating forward until he was right in front of the pair. Cedoric’s mother’s face softened as well, and she released Cedoric’s arm to reach out to Ulfric, letting him envelope her in a loving embrace. Cedoric choked up, both in happiness and relief to see his brother one last time.

After a few moments between Ulfric and their mother, he turned, placing his hand upon Cedoric’s shoulder.

“I…I am sorry I left you, my brother. I am so, so sorry,” Cedoric blurted out, tears streaming down his face.

Ulfric said nothing, watching his younger brother begin to break down. Before Cedoric could say more, however, the mist began to twist and contort, giving way to another shape.

The sight of his father took a much harder toll than Cedoric thought it would. Perhaps he had hoped that somehow, some way, his father had still been alive. Maybe there had been a way to bring him back, or that everything had just been a nightmare. But the confirmation of his father’s death stood before him, and he broke down into sobs.

Nothing Cedoric tried to say was coherent, just a mix of sobs and broken sentences. Godric, just as serene as Ulfric appeared to be, stepped forward and very slowly, very gently, wrapped his arms around the three. At that moment, Cedoric realized that this was the reunion that he had wished for with all his heart.

The overwhelming emotions he felt brought him to his knees, and so too did the rest of the family follow. The father, mother, and two sons held each other wordlessly, Cedoric’s sobs the only sound being heard. Fog swirled gently around the family, and as the memory began to fade away, the sound of his father’s voice rumbled across his mind.

“Rest.”

And so he did.

–

The rest of the journey back to Durrow had been thankfully uneventful. Their horses were stabled, and the group began to go back to their homes. Cedoric had refused help with carrying both he and his father’s belongings, moving at a slow pace with Wraith towards Godric’s home. When they arrived, they both stopped in unison before the steps. After a long, uncomfortable silence, Cedoric moved forward and set down a pack to open the door for her. With her head low, she trotted inside, making her way directly to Godric’s bed.

Cedoric entered in after her, and once he had brought in all the items, he shut the door. The sound of it was so hollow, so empty. It was like a resonating reminder of finality. The Rohir turned, facing the entry room with a pained expression as his mind began to wander. Slowly, he moved to rest his palms on the top of the table, closing his eyes while leaning over it.

Here and now in a better outcome, he had planned on giving his father the good news of deciding to join the Wayfarers. He and Godric likely would have embraced, then talked of their plans on when to go back to Rohan to visit. They would have discussed the routes to take, when to leave, when they would return. Planning Ulfric’s memorial would have likely been brought up. Cedoric would have been more open with his father about what was on his mind.

But now, the only thing certain, was an incomplete home.

His grip tightened on the table as anguish washed over him, and he lashed out, lifting it by the edge and flipping it in it’s entirety. Maps and parchment went fluttering about the room as Cedoric continued on in his rage, taking up one of the chairs. The moment the noise of the table crashing down was sounded, Wraith immediately flew into the room, looking ready to destroy whatever it was that was potentially a threat. She was shocked, however, to find that it was an inconsolable Cedoric.

With all of his strength, he struck the chair against the wall, wood splintering in various directions as the seat basically shattered from the collision.

“DAMN IT ALL!”

Wraith kept to the side until she knew for sure he was finished. When the telltale signs of his anger subsiding surfaced, she pattered across the floor and sat at his feet, staring up at him. Cedoric had no patience for the stern look in her eyes, and he turned, making his way to his bed. “I’ll clean it up tomorrow,” he muttered, sinking down onto the mattress. and lifting his eyes to stare at the ceiling. She kept staring at him for a while, but soon ceased and left him alone, returning to Godric’s bed where she would sleep.

Cedoric slowly turned on his side, letting out a deep sigh. He couldn’t begin to imagine how things were going to pan out now. Would he still join the Wayfarers? Would he go back to Rohan? Would Opechancanough and the Uruk be sought out? For some hours, he laid on his bed with so many questions and frustrations. As sleep finally took him, the soft rumble of a storm began far off in the distance.

–

A crack of thunder rippled across the sky over Durrow, clouds opening up to let loose a steady flow of rain. Cedoric’s eyes snapped open, his body going rigid. The longer the sound of the rain pattered on the roof, the more distant his eyes went. In a sudden burst of movement, the Rohir jumped to his feet and grasped at the spear his father had given him and small shield Cedoric had once carried into battle.

“Theoden King has fallen!” He cried out, flinging the door to the home wide open and surging forth into the rain and mud. From within the other room, Wraith’s ears perked up and she listened in confusion. Knowing that something was quite clearly wrong, she flew from the bed and out after Cedoric, barking madly.

“Death! Death!”

The man jabbed his spear violently into the air at the non-existent enemies, his eyes wild with battle fever. Wraith kept her distance, continuing to bark and snarl. He began shouting incoherent words into the air, speaking to either himself, or perhaps unseen brothers in arms. The moment his back was turned, Wraith took her chance and used all of her weight to jump onto him, pushing him to the ground.

When he dropped, he struggled somewhat until he was onto his back. Exhaustion began to overwhelm him, and in between his panting, he simply stared ahead as if watching something within his mind. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

Wraith laid on his chest and licked furiously at his face, yipping and even biting lightly at what skin she could get a hold of. He was slow to come out of what had happened, but when he did, he continued to stare up at the sky, rain soaking both he and Wraith entirely. With his shield strapped to his arm and spear in a death grasp at his hand, Cedoric lay in the mud, dazed and confused. He lifted his head slightly to look at Wraith, his brows furrowed.

“Why am I outside?”

Don’t Go

((The following RP before the break takes place almost a month ago. Special thanks to Godric for his awesome roleplay, as always.))

Every so often while up in Forochel, the father and son would find themselves at the edge of the ice bay, taking the brief moments they had available to update, plan and discuss matters at hand. This day was no different, and Cedoric had found his father in the expected spot.

The two conversed for a short time, going over Cedoric’s latest concern. Once a determination of what to do was reached, the discussion then took a strange turn.

Godric turned his gaze back out to the bay. “I feel nervous,” he spoke gently.

Cedoric blinked a few times, then looked over at Godric in surprise. “What is it that has you feeling such a way?”

His father returned both hands behind his back, grunting lowly before answering. “This place. It is beautiful, yet at the same time, unsettling.”

“Because of the close connection to the spirit world?” the son replied, glancing back to the water and scratching at his beard.

Godric was silent for a moment before he finally replied. “Perhaps. I am unsure.” He paused, then glanced over at his son. “I love you, Cedoric. Do not do anything reckless.”

Cedoric went silent briefly as well, then let out a chuckle. “And I love you, father. Please, you act as if something terrible may happen. This is a good group. I should have no need of getting reckless.” He paused and smiled to Godric. “Especially when fighting alongside my father.”

The older man hummed deeply. “Yes, but we are dealing with powers far beyond our own. There is no knowing what may happen.”

At the time, Cedoric was confident that his father was simply feeling cautious. After all, in such a place with unknowns, one had to be on their guard. But he never knew just how right his father was, until it was too late.

–

“I love you, Cedoric.”

The words from his father echoed continuously in his ears. Though they should have been words of comfort, they were agony to the Rohir. They were but a memory, and forever would be. Each laugh, each conversation, and each loving embrace he had shared with his father was now reachable only in the depths of his mind.

He was still in shock, but slowly, the anguish was seeping in.So hard he had wanted to get back to his father and Wraith. After the death of Ulfric, the house felt so empty. So cold. It was not a home. Cedoric thought back to how often he had asked his father to come home, and to his happiness, Godric had agreed to go.

But Cedoric knew in his heart that home, at least to him, was where his family was. Despite the traveling since he had found his father and Wraith, he had felt more at home with them than he had since his brother was killed in battle.

Now, home had a another piece of it missing, leaving a painful void in it’s place that would never be filled.

His thoughts broke for a brief moment as Wraith entered the hut. Since Godric’s death, she had rarely left Cedoric’s side, save for going to get something to eat for them. Even then, she passed no one a moment of greeting or attentions. In her mouth was a large salmon, which she moved forward to place at Cedoric’s side.

For a few moments, he stared at the fish as if it were some foreign object. It was not until Wraith began to nudge at him that he realized that she meant for him to eat. He looked up at her, meeting her concerned eyes with his own blank ones. Slowly, she inched her way close until she was pressed gently against his chest, head resting on his shoulder.

No words needed to be shared. His arms wrapped around the wolf in comfort, and they sat in silence for some time. As he parted from the hug, Wraith locked eyes with him again, concern still reflecting in her gaze; the young man hadn’t cried since Godric had passed.

Cedoric moved his attention back on the fish, pulling out his knife to dress it. He had no appetite, but he knew he had to eat. Just like most of his actions the past few days, it was simply out of necessity. Wraith watched him silently, easing back onto her haunches. Cedoric soon found his mind wandering to the moment life left his father’s body.

It was like a memory, but it felt all too real. In front of his eyes was his father on the ledge again, and the hulking Uruk was right behind him. He could still see Opechancanough, the sheer sight of the man causing his blood to boil.

“No more of this. We are done,” Opechancanough called.

All over again, he watched the blade pierce through his father’s heart, and all over again, he looked on in horror as Godric’s body plummeted down until it landed, broken and lifeless in the snow. He could feel his heart pounding, feel how his breath was non-existent in that moment. And then he felt a stabbing pain within his hand, gripping the spear in his grasp so hard it was drawing blood.

Wraith brought him out of his flashback, growling and tugging at Cedoric’s arm with urgency. It was then that he realized that he was back in the hut, and instead of grasping his spear, he was grasping the fishing knife. Blood dripped freely down his fingertips and onto the cold ground.

His hand loosened it’s grip, letting the knife drop to the ground as well with an almost soundless plop. Wraith began to immediately lick at Cedoric’s face, whimpering softly. It was as though she were crying, but of course no tears fell. After licking at his face long enough to completely snap him out of his daze, she quickly began to pace in the hut, nose burying into bags here and there.

Her search began to grow more aggressive, and soon she was outright dragging things from inside their containers, causing a small mess within the hut. Without finding what it was she was looking for, she ceased her efforts and simply exited the hut, apparently going to find what she needed elsewhere.

Cedoric kept his attention on his hand, finally having enough sense to place pressure on the wound. He realized rather quickly that Wraith was looking for bandages, but he knew she wouldn’t find them; he had given them to the Lossoth for their wounded. His head lowered, knowing that she would likely find something to use before he tried to, anyway, and so he waited.

“I love you, Cedoric.”

At the memory of his father’s voice again, his eyes closed and tightened, his lips moving to mutter. “Father…please…don’t go.”

Drastic Measures

Three days had gone by, and Yusraa had felt no less broken from discovering Amro’s treachery. Even Yazan had noticed her change in mood, and he was acting more cuddly than usual. While it did illicit a smile from the woman, it did little to heal her shattered heart. On top of it all, she knew that at any moment, the time would come when she would have to act.

Sure enough, that night, Na’man prepared Yusraa and Yazan for a trip to Haashim’s again; there was to be a feast in celebration of good business. It did not take long for the trio to be on their way to Haashim’s abode, and soon they were welcomed inside with open arms, escorted to their guest chambers for the night.

Yusraa knew the plan Amro had told her. Dinner would be served, and Amro and Yusraa would do their usual taste testing of their Master’s food and drink. With the scorpion venom held in her mouth, a dangerous and potentially deadly endeavour, Yusraa would release it into Na’man’s drink when she took a sip. As instructed, she had been taking larger and larger doses of the venom to build a resistance. She still felt rather ill from the effects, but luckily had done things just right to where she would not die.

Amro said he would do the same, of course. Haashim would die as well. She had been told that she and Amro would leave Haashim and Na’man in the dining hall to die amongst themselves, and the two slaves would escape after grabbing Yazan. Amro had also already told Yusraa Rafik’s last known location; they would go to find him together. A happy ending for everyone. But Yusraa knew the truth of the matter.

Knowing what the real outcome would be, Yusraa had plans of her own. Luckily, Amro had already provided the main dose, trusting that he had the woman wrapped around his finger. Within the guest chambers, Yusraa placed Yazan down to rest, carefully tucking him in to the bed. The sleep powder had taken effect, and would keep him asleep for a few hours. She watched him for a few more moments with sadness, knowing that these would be some of her last moments with him until she took him to his new home.

Na’man shut the doors to the guest chambers, letting out a sigh of annoyance. “This ceremony of making me wait is an annoyance I do not plan on tolerating much longer.” His heavy steps echoed across the stone floor as he made his way to sit at a writing table. “Matraba. Wine.” It was a demand of course, and Yusraa swiftly stood to make her way to the small cabinet with various bottles.

Though her mind screamed with fear of making the wrong move, she outwardly seemed as calm as could be. Retrieving a goblet to the side, she uncorked a bottle of one she knew to be bitter, and poured the contents within. She did not know what Na’man was barking about as she did so, having grown used to his constant complaints and boasting. Carefully, her hand ever so slightly edged into a makeshift pocket that had been sewn into the lining of the collar of her dress.

As her fingers pulled back in the most subtle of gestures, a gleaming glass vial shined with a pale, thick substance within. It was a familiar sight, and one that would have been a soothing reminder of her mother. However, considering the circumstances and where it came from, she couldn’t help but look at it with pain and sadness. From a different makeshift pocket she had made within her sleeve, she pulled a small metal shard.

For many nights, she had sharpened the piece until it was almost enough to slice clean through her dress. That metal shard, the piece she had wiggled loose from the cage of the aviary, would become her only chance of defense should things go wrong. It was small, but used as a barb as she had done so many years ago, it was deadly.

She began to move with quickness now, knowing Na’man would soon get even more impatient. A small amount of the venom was rubbed onto the metal shard, and soon it was slipped back into her sleeve. She knew she would need to be extremely careful. While she had grown used to ingesting the venom, she was sure that taking it directly into her bloodstream would have terrible effects. After the shard was hidden, she poured the rest of the contents of the vial into the goblet of wine.

“- is the end of it. Would you not agree, Matraba?” Na’man’s voice came back into focus and Yusraa immediately nodded, setting the empty vial back within her dress. She turned, slowly striding over to him with the goblet outstretched. The woman knew better than to speak unless he outright told her to, and so she was silent. She also knew better than to drink from his goblet to test until he ordered her to. He smirked at her nod, then gestured his hand towards the goblet. “Drink.”

And so she did. She took a small sip of the doctored wine, then waited for the minute that Na’man always let pass before he would trust it was safe. The minute felt like an eternity to her, and she could feel the effects of the poison swelling up within her chest. Shortness of breath. Flushing of the skin. Light-headedness. Nausea. Chest pains. Despite all of this, she kept her face calm and collected, having been preparing for this for a long time.

Na’man finally reached out to snatch the wine and gulp from it himself like the disgusting pig that he was, completely unaware. She stepped back and lowered her head, heart pounding rapidly from the effects of the venom coupled with her fear of what would happen. “Gah, this wine is so bitter. He knows I hate bitter wine. Sometimes I think he does this on purpose. Really, as much as he plays these games, I ought to teach him a lesson for real one of th-”

The massive slave lord took in a sharp breath, his eyes widening. “Th-…” A small gurgle croaked up in the back of his throat, and the goblet fell to the floor. Yusraa knew it would happen fast, but she also knew that it would be extremely painful. His hands clenched at his chest, and foam began fall from his lips down his chin.

“It feels as if your heart may burst, does it not?” She said softly, eyeing him with an intense hatred. “I felt that when you snapped my mother’s neck. You remember that, yes?” Na’man began to look angry, then attempted to stand and draw his massive scimitar. As expected, his form fell straight to the ground and he began to seize.

“All of these years you made me suffer. All of these years, you have toyed with me. You should have expected something like this to happen. You may have broken my body, but you did not break my spirit. You never will. No one will.” Yusraa kept her distance from the man for now, glancing over to where Yazan slept. Luckily, he kept still in a deep sleep despite the noise.

Na’man continued to seize and gurgle, flailing on the ground like a fish out of water. The look on his face mirrored the one of the man she had killed so long ago on the night that changed her family’s life. Pain. Fear. Regret. Anger. But none of these expressions mattered to Yusraa. She felt no pity. If anything, she wanted him to suffer through those feelings longer. However, she knew that it would not be long until it was over.

After a few more jerks of his body, he began to slow in his movements until he finally grew still. Yusraa stared at the man whom had tortured her mind, body and soul. Even though she knew he was dead, her hatred of him did not diminish. Slowly, she moved to push him, then kicked at him to be sure he was gone. Of course, he was. There was no way he could have survived such a massive dose.

Using the sleeve of the back of her arm, she wiped away the cold sweat that had formed at her forehead, then took a deep breath. Before she had a chance to compose herself completely, there was a knock at the door to the guest chambers. “My Master will see you now,” came Amro’s voice from behind it. Yusraa swallowed hard, unknowing of just what to say.

In suspicion of the silence, the door was opened and Amro stepped inside. He looked first to Yusraa, then passed his gaze across the corpse on the ground before her. His face twisted with confusion and anger as he quickly shut the door behind him. “What have you done?!” He hissed, striding over towards her.

“I know what you and Haashim planned. I heard what you said. Tell me you were only saying those things to please him, Amro. We can escape together. Do not let him twist you so,” she cried out, tears welling up in her eyes. “Please tell me you w-”

Before she had the chance to complete her plea, Amro swept across the room and took Yusraa up by the throat, pressing her to the wall. “You are a fool. You stupid, stupid girl. Do you really think I would take you with me? So many years under Na’man’s thumb, and you did nothing. You sat back and let it happen. You are pathetic. No one will ever love someone like you.”

Gasping out for air, her fingers reached up to try to pry his hand away. It was no use, his strength being much more than she could ever hope to overcome. “P-please…Amro. I love you. Do not…s-say these things. You d-do not have to pretend any l-”

His grip only tightened, stopping her completely from being able to speak. “I will take you to Haashim myself.” His eyes darted around towards his son. “Yazan. Wake up.” There was silence, and his eyes widened. “Yazan!” He called out, trying to stir the boy with noise. Again, there was silence. Amro’s head snapped back to Yusraa, a rage she had never seen before boiling up within his face.

“What did you do to my son?”

With his hand so tight around her throat, she was unable to speak- unable to tell him that Yazan was more than alright, and simply out from the sleep powder. If he had awoken when Na’man was passing, there could have been serious problems. Yusraa’s world began to spin a bit.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?” He roared into her face, cutting off all breathing and now strangling her with an intent to kill.

As the edges of her vision began to darken, her hands lowered and she fished out the metal shard, using what little strength she had to slash at his face. Her weapon hit it’s mark, a small, clean cut now seeping blood from his brow, across his nose, and down his cheek. At first, he had no reaction; such a superficial cut was laughable, at best.

Unfortunately for him, it was too late when he realized just what had happened. His grip released, dropping her to the floor to gasp out for as much air as she could take in, and he stumbled back, eyes filled with fear. “No,” he choked out, then dropped to his knees as foam began to form at the corners of his lips.

When Yusraa looked at him, regret filled her face and she cried out a stifled sob. As soon as she could stand with stability, she swept over to where Yazan lay, scooping him up into her arms. As she made for the window, the last look she had at Amro was him writhing on the floor in pain as the venom swam through his veins.

Despite her best efforts, she could not truly hide who she was in the streets. So many times, Na’man had paraded her around. Stares of confusion and surprise bore into Yusraa as she carried Yazan, and she knew she did not have long before a guard was alerted to something amiss. Luckily, she had a plan.

She knew she could not take the young boy with her, as the chance of him being harmed was too much. Never would she want to put him in harm’s way, and going as far as she was, she knew that the chances of him surviving was slim. It was by chance that she heard word from one of Haashim’s other slaves, of a place that was rumoured to be a secret orphanage. It was a place that children could be dropped off to escape the future of slavery. To many, such a place was just a dream- a story to give mothers hope. To Yusraa, however, she believed.

Following the routes along the alleyways to the rumoured location, she found herself before a battered and rather ordinary door. What her attention was drawn to, however, was the small circle with a cross in the center carved at the very corner of the door at the ground. Her small knuckles knocked quickly against the door, and soon an old women opened it, peeking out.

“…who are you?”

Yusraa looked pleadingly towards the old woman, frantic to get out of public eye. “Please let me in. I need to talk to you. I need to see if it’s true.”

The old woman looked to the child in Yusraa’s arms, then back up at her. “I can help you. Come in.” The door was opened, and Yusraa was swiftly ushered inside.

–

“How is he?”

“He will live. A week’s time and he will be back to himself again.”

“How long until he is able to get up and walk around coherently?”

“I…suppose he could do that in a few hour’s time, though I would not recom-“

Haashim sat with his fingers steepled, at his dining table, frowning lightly as he cut in to interrupt. “And Na’man?”

“Dead.”

“Well, at least something good came out of this,” the slave lord muttered bitterly, letting out a sigh. “What of Matraba and the boy?”

“Our people say she and the boy went to the streets towards the West side of town. She went to the docks where she was lost, but the boy was not seen.”

A small smirk rose on Haashim’s face as he looked to the young man giving him such splendid information. “I know where she took him. These slaves are all the same, you know. They think we are stupid. Take this,” he said as he reached into his robe and pulled out a vial. “There is a small building you will find on the West side of town under the archway beside the Mumak’s Mug. You know the place, yes?”

The man nodded, taking up the vial, awaiting the next orders.

“Good. You will know you have found the place when you see the symbol drawn at the right corner of the door. A cross inside a circle. Go there and take in the boy. The old woman should give you no troubles if you tell her who has led you there. Do you understand so far?”

“I do,” he nodded, eyeing the vial.

“Once you get the boy, take him back to the guest chambers and kill him. Use that,” Haashim said, gesturing to the vial.

“…but he’s just a-“

“I think I know what he is, boy. Is there going to be a problem?” The slave lord turned his head slowly to stare at his slave.

“N-no. There will not.”

“Good. Leave the vial there by his body. I think that will do well. Once you are finished, fetch Amro and show him what Matraba did.”

“…master?”

Haashim stood, moving to tower over the knelt boy. “After you have done so, bring him to me.”

“Of course,” the boy said softly, his eyes low to the ground.

“Think of this as a test. I realize it may be hard, but this is how things must go. This is life. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you will move forward.”

“I understand, master.”

“Do you? Good. Then we will have no problems. Get this done immediately. Before you leave, send in the guard. I have a bounty to issue.”

“At once,” the young boy exclaimed, then stood and made his way quickly out of the home.

Haashim sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers once more as he muttered to himself. “Either I always get the best, Matraba, or no one does.”

Sons of War

The battle had raged on, and Cedoric could feel his body slowly failing him. Each time his spear struck the body of the enemy, it felt as if a part of him was left behind, both mind and body. He was so tired, but he felt the fires of rage and sadness overwhelm his need to rest. The pain that shot across his body from his wounds were but whispers to the screams of revenge in his mind.

Bodies collapsed one by one as the Rohir made his way through the battlefield. Step after step, swing after swing, he buried himself deep within the swell of combatants. It was not until he was completely surrounded did he realize the error of his actions. It was strangely familiar to him, and yet he could not place just how. Standing in the center of the fighting, Cedoric held tight to his spear and planted his feet, ready to take on any who would make the mistake of facing him.

It was then that each and every person turned to face him. Slowly, he realized when looking upon their faces that none of them were the enemy he thought they were. There before him were the Lossoth that had gathered to take down the Angmarim. Each face was set with an expression of courage, determination, and an intensity that only a warrior truly prepared for battle could have. Cedoric’s spear lowered slowly, and before he had the chance to speak, the myriad of Lossoth began to part ways.

There, striding towards the young man, was a skeletal horse with a matching skeletal Rider on it’s back. The armour of both the soldier and horse was still worn, though it clanged mercilessly against the hard, unpadded bones. When the pair finally came to rest, it was then that Cedoric noticed a necklace strung around the Rider’s neck. His heart sank and stomach dropped, recognizing it as his brother’s. He dropped to his knees, letting his spear fall to the side. As his hands raised to cover his face, he choked out what words he could.

“Ulfric…please…”

What should have been perhaps a terrifying thing to hear for most, was a harsh stab to Cedoric’s heart. It was clearly his brother’s voice, but instead of answering, it simply laughed. The young man shrank against the sound, squeezing shut his eyes while trying to force himself out of the nightmare.

The sound of laughing was soon replaced by a familiar whistling of arrows flying through the air. An explosion jolted the ground beneath their feet, and screams of terror soon rippled across the surroundings. Cedoric looked up in panic only to see the explosions of black powder sending the Lossoth to their demise. Fire clawed at the skin and clothing of the warriors, and the faces that were once set with such courage, were now painted with terror and pain.

Mere seconds went by before the fire had completely engulfed the entirely of the warriors, surrounding Cedoric in a ring of flames and death. Still, he sat there on his knees, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop their deaths; this was just a horrible dream. With arrows now piercing the armour he had worn, and through the skull of his loyal steed, Ulfric looked down at Cedoric, finally speaking.

“You left them there,” he said accusingly. “Just like you left me.”

“Ulfric, you had passed. You…you were gone…”

“Was I?”

The question wormed it’s way into Cedoric’s mind, and his eyes widened. Had Ulfric truly been dead? If he wasn’t, had Cedoric left him on the field to die alone? He sat there, speechless, the small doubt now eating away at him.

“They weren’t,” Ulfric again accused, his bony hand reaching out to sweep in a gesture towards the burning bodies. “What about the Pelennor Fields? How many did you leave to die?”

Cedoric looked to the Lossoth, the smell of burning flesh now assaulting his senses. Slowly, they began to rise, skin falling away as the flames consumed them. As much as he wanted to look away, he could not, for the shock of what he saw was too much. Now, the faces were not just the Lossoth that had fallen, but they were the faces of other Riders that had been defeated. The collection of his brothers in arms, coupled with the people of Forochel, were now beginning to close in on him.

“You left us,” their voices echoed in sync.

Ulfric’s voice then rose above the others’, deep and full of anger. “You are just like father.”

The moment the words were spoken, Cedoric stood and tried to search for an exit. The people that had surrounded him reached out and clawed mercilessly at him. Flames that had engulfed the bodies had now began to close in as well. Each hand seemed to rip and tear at the young man, and soon the fire was now beginning it’s assault on his body. He screamed, but not from pain or fear. His scream was one of anger and defeat. Little by little, pieces of his flesh were stripped away by flame and hands, and as the world of this nightmare began to fall away, he heard but one last statement from his brother.

“You promised.”

–

The moment he awoke, Cedoric’s hands found his spear at his lap and he raised it threateningly before him. It took a few moments to realize just where he was, but he soon recognized the lake at Sûri-kylä. His spear lowered when he noted there was no one around him, and a frown crossed his face.

A chill in the air had been eating at his skin, likely the cause for the pain he had felt both now, and in the nightmare. His sleep had been suffering more and more as of late, and he was certainly not surprised to find that he had dozed off while watching the northern lights. Slowly, he stood with the help of his spear, then made his way to a fire.

Cedoric sat down and moved his hands close to the flame for warmth, brows furrowed with the memory of his nightmare still fresh. How many had they left behind to die to those flames? He could not, and did not want to think of it. But there it was, picking at the depths of his mind.

So too did he think of Ulfric. He knew the look on Ulfric’s face before he had left him; the blank expression and lack of breathing was surely a sign that he had passed. Cedoric was sure that Ulfric had been gone. But if he hadn’t? What kind of brother was he to leave him to die alone? The man took a deep breath, doing what he could to relax.

The past days had been harsh, being lost in the snowstorm, and he had much time to think. But now, all there were, were more questions and frustrations. He knew he should be happy to be alive, to have been found. But he could hardly feel anything but anger as of late.

“Is it your intention to kill me, son? If I had lost you too, I…”

His fathers words rang in his mind and his jaw clenched. How many times had Cedoric kept his true thoughts from his father? How many times had he simply nodded his head or said what was wanted to be heard? It was true that he wanted nothing more than to make his father proud. But he could not help but wish he had the courage to speak his mind as well.

In the back of his mind, he knew his father cared deeply. He knew that it would crush him to lose his remaining son. But what he also knew, deep down, was that if such a thing were to happen, his father had the others there to help him. They were like a family. Cedoric had said it countless times, and he meant it.

The emotions that ran over him were brutal, a mixture of shame and anger at himself. He was jealous, and he knew it. His father had left and taken Wraith for the mission of helping people. It was as honorable and selfless as would be expected. However, Cedoric had secretly hated that it happened. The Wayfarers were good people, and he meant it when he said such a thing. He also meant it when he said he was going to join. Though, much to his shame, the jealousy he felt would not go away.

The relationship he had with his father felt different somehow. They had always been close, and when Cedoric came to find his father, he felt the bond rekindled. But there was something there in the way. Perhaps it was his fear of disappointing Godric, or perhaps his jealousy was giving way to an anger he felt towards him. Regardless of what it was, it only confused Cedoric even more. Should he not be fully honest with his father?

There was a crash that snapped Cedoric out of his thoughts, his eyes bursting open and spear once again finding it’s way into his readied hands. As he hopped to his feet, he scanned the area quickly, only to find that a barrel had simply taken a tumble from the harsh winds. After another deep breath, he grit his teeth and muttered softly to himself.

“If I am to be awake, I might as well do something productive.”

After propping the barrel back up, he made his way to a training area, letting his practice cover the building frustrations he had.

Poor Judgement

Cedoric walked along the snow-packed pathways towards the hut, his brows knit. There were a number of things going through his head, but first and foremost was the scroll that had been sent to the Chief. He tried to piece things together, going over all the information he had learned with the others.

More and more, the Rohir felt as if something was missing, and it was a feeling that did not sit well with him. The less the group knew, the more possible it was for dangerous situations to arise. When he arrived at the hut, he pushed the flap to the side and peeked within. Though his father was not there, Wraith was, and she looked to be rather snug upon the fur blankets.

Cedoric stepped inside and began to gather his pack and weapons. With confusion, Wraith sat up and watched him, perhaps a look of question in her eyes. “I need your help,” he explained as he checked over his spear. “There is a courier that left here I assume not long ago. I think they may have information that we could find useful.”

Looking back up at the large wolf, he smiled when he saw her making no move to leave just yet. “You are not going to make me go find him by myself, are you? I trust in your abilities of tracking far more than my own.”

Wraith seemed to think this over, and soon her eyes passed to the entrance to the hut, almost as if posing her own question. Cedoric scratched at his beard as he looked as well, then shrugged lightly. “Father has enough to worry about. We will be back in no time. I really do not think this courier could have gone far.” He paused, then looked back to her. “We really need the information. Any we can gain could be a difference in lives lost.”

He thought back to the bodies of those that had fallen to the black powder, and then to the look on Chief Panja’s face. The Lossoth deserved so much better than the troubles they were facing, and Cedoric was determined to try to help in any way he could. “These people need a chance,” he said softly to Wraith.

A few more moments went by, and finally she moved towards the flap of the hut. Cedoric smiled to her, placing the butt of the spear onto the ground. “Thank you. We will be back in time for the meeting, with or without this courier.”

Their brisk, yet concentrated pace, was hindered by the snowstorm that bit and gnawed at their bodies. Second thoughts of his decision began to nip at the back of Cedoric’s mind the more the snow kicked up and obscured his vision. Even Wraith appeared to be struggling, her body tensely pushing against the winds with her nose low to the ground to sniff for their hunt.

Despite the second thoughts, they continued on, Cedoric’s determination rapidly devolving into stubbornness that would do them no favours. He did what he could to watch around them, spear in hand and used to aid in walking. As he tugged his snowmask up closer to his face, he could not help but think back to his small conversation with Eruviel. Perhaps he should have asked her to come along as well. In fact, he had thought for sure that she had the same idea he did. However, the last thing he wanted to do was trouble her, when it seemed she already had something on her mind.

He was quickly snapped out of his thoughts when Wraith let out a low growl and went bounding ahead. Cedoric grasped his spear tighter and ran after her, finally arriving to find she had the courier by the clothing at his legs. “Do not hurt him,” he called out to her, raising his spear towards the man. “And do not make any sudden movements,” he directed to the courier.

Wraith let go, keeping her body low to the ground as if she would pounce if he so much as blinked the wrong way. “We need to head back quickly,” Cedoric said to Wraith above the roar of the snowstorm. “It is getting worse.”

And indeed it was.

Wraith did what she could to lead them back to the settlement, but it was getting harder and harder to press against the winds and snow. Cedoric frowned to himself, glancing around to see that he could barely see the man ahead of him, and could not see Wraith at all. Nevertheless, they pressed on as much as they could.

So focused was he on their surroundings, that he did not notice the dip in the snow ahead of him that his spear had driven into. It was the briefest of moments in his lapse of attention, but in a land as harsh as this, such a moment was the difference between safety and danger. He tumbled, his feet failing to hold him upright within the deep snow, and soon he found himself on his side.

To him, it was a silly thing, and he laughed it off, standing again. However, his laugh soon turned to silence as he realized that neither Wraith nor the courier were anywhere to be found. What made it worse was the white-out conditions that proved to obscure any sort of tracks they had left behind. His heart sank at this realization, his mind now quickly trying to come up with just what to do.

Should he wander? Where would he go? Should he make noise? Should he stay in one place? His sense of direction had never been too terrible, but with the worsening snow storm, he was helpless to know exactly which way he was going. It was then that he decided to try to head in the direction he thought they had been going.

For what felt like hours, he wandered, moving at a slower and slower pace the colder he got. His anger at himself at his poor decision seemed to warm him and at least give him fuel to keep moving. In what he determined to be dumb luck, he walked right upon what appeared to be a teepee of some sort. From what he could tell, it appeared uninhabited.

Immediately, he used his gloved hands to push snow aside and try to wiggle his way within. It took some effort, but finally he found himself inside and in a place of shelter. His brow raised when he noted just how lucky he was to find what he did within. Not only was there a small fire pit, but there was what appeared to be rations- enough that he could certainly survive in the harsh conditions for quite some time- if he was smart about it.

With his pack and weapons set down, he moved to do what he could to make a fire. His body was frigid and protested against any sort of fine movements, shivers causing him to tremble and drop the flint repeatedly. Finally, the small sign of life of a fire was seen, and Cedoric carefully fed it, huddling close for warmth.

His thoughts first drifted to if Wraith was okay. Was she able to make it back? Did she manage to get the courier there as well? His worry began to eat away at him, and guilt began to set in as he thought of the danger he put her in.

As it began to get darker outside and the temperature began to plummet further, Cedoric had one final thought, murmured quietly under his breath.

“My father is going to kill me.”

Quiet Contemplation: Present Day

Smoke rose within the air, and a familiar sound danced it’s way into Cedoric’s mind. His sapphire eyes opened, looking around the open battlefield. Screams of pain and the last gasps of death seemed to echo all around. Blood had soaked into the ground, the rain causing it to seep into the land’s soil. Though it should have washed away, the crimson liquid only seemed to stain the mud until the entirety of the battlefield was consumed.

All around, the fallen were strewn about. Cedoric gazed upon the casualties, frozen in place. Be it Rohirrim, Haradrim, Easterlings, Variags, Uruks, or Orcs, the sheer number of bodies upon the field was endless. As his eyes swept across to the horizon, he only saw more corpses. No matter where he looked, he saw death and pain.

“Go!”

The familiar voice caused the young Rohir to break out of his stance and turn until he was facing Ulric again. His dear brother stood there, blood gently seeping from each wound he had sustained. His skin was a deathly grey, and eyes were sunken with the appearance of death. Cedoric shuddered in both heartache and discomfort. “Ulfric…”

“GO!” Ulfric’s voice boomed out, taking on a darker quality.

Cedoric moved forward to stand eye-level with Ulfric. He looked to his own hand, finding that torn piece of tunic within it. As tears began to roll down his cheeks, he raised it and tried pressing it to Ulfric’s deadly wound at his stomach. “I promised you,” came Cedoric’s voice, soft and breaking.

At Ulfric’s feet, darkened, shadowed hands rose from the soil and began to tug at him. Cedoric looked down and his eyes widened. He went to pull at his blade, only to find that he had no weapon. The more the rain fell, the more the mud began to liquify and sink around them.

As the cries of pain grew louder, the hands tugged harder at Cedoric’s dear brother, slowly beginning to pull him into the blood-soaked earth. “Cedoric!” Ulfric cried out, reaching for him. “Do not leave me here! Do not let them take me!”

With all of his strength, Cedoric grasped at his brother’s arms, but it was no use. The hands clawed and ripped at Ulfric’s legs, tugging him further and deeper down. “I will not leave you! Hold on!” Cedoric’s desperate attempts at freeing his brother grew more and more futile. It was when Ulfric was up to his neck in the murky depths, that Cedoric knew he could not save him.

“But you did,” Ulfric whispered, no longer struggling against the darkened hands. “You did.”

Cedoric faltered in his grasp, his breath ceasing as the words were spoken. Ulfric’s head dipped down fully into the mud, and though Cedoric tried to renew his hold of his brother’s arms, he could not. His hands drew back, thick with blood that had coated them through and through. He looked upon his arms, and then the pit which had consumed Ulric. With his hands rising to cover his face, he dropped to his knees, the sounds of screams now overwhelming him.

“Brother…”

–

His eyes opened again, this time to the world of reality. Gasping out in short breaths, Cedoric raised from his bedroll and glanced around. His father was still to the side, and Wraith had been curled up beside the man, both seeming to be sleeping soundly. His breathing slowed, the comfort of seeing the two placing him at more of an ease from his nightmare. As quietly as he could, he rose from his place of sleep and placed on his cloak and gloves to step outside briefly.

The rush of cold air was refreshing, despite him not being used to it. It was that same cold air, however, that caused him to realize that the tears within his dream had been real now. With frustration, he used his gloved hands to wipe them away, shaking his head. His steps led him until he found himself at the edge of the waters. He took a slow seat, turning his attention up to the sky.

Each night, he never ceased to be amazed at just how beautiful the auroras of Forochel were. He had heard such stories of them, but the experience of viewing them for himself was that much more rewarding. Though it was subtle, he could even hear the soft hum they were giving off. Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his hood more around his face, then rest his forearms at his knees.

He almost had not heard her, his attentions set elsewhere. But just as she was arriving near him, Cedoric turned his head at the sound of Wraith’s paws padding across the snow-packed ground. Her eyes that were so similar to Cedoric’s seemed to reflect an expression of question and worry. Cedoric smiled a bit, knowing he should not be surprised; she had always been incredibly intelligent, and there were times he wondered if she was even truly just a large wolf his father had found.

“It was just a nightmare, that’s all,” he said softly, opening his arm towards her. Wraith got as close as she could to him, nuzzling her head against his and softly licking at his cheeks. He chuckled, wrapping his arm around the large wolf, hugging her. “I will tell you about it, if you like? Perhaps it will feel better to get off of my chest,” he suggested.

Wraith licked at his face again, then moved her head back to stare at him, almost as if she was waiting. Cedoric smiled, then nodded his head. “Very well.”

It did not take him long to tell her of what he had dreamt. By the time he was finished, she had pressed hard against his body to lean, and renewed her position of nuzzling against his head. Cedoric leaned against her as well, then moved to look out across the water. The sight of the auroras reflecting against the darkened water was an extraordinary sight, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Ulric would have loved this, you know? And everyone would have loved him. He would have fallen for that woman, Feira, right off the start, too.” He paused, furrowing his brows. “I think it should have been me, Wraith. Ulfric was ready to start a family. He was so much more experienced. It should be him sitting here. Not me.”

Wraith gave him a hard headbutt, which took him by surprise. He glanced to her, using his free hand to rub at where she had hit. The look in her eyes was strangely human, and he could have sworn he saw a flicker of his own mother’s stern look behind them. As quickly as it was there, it was gone, and he looked away.

“It is true. I think of how I should be preparing for a family, and it does not feel right. He had things together. I do not.” Wraith adjusted herself to rest her head in his lap, and he lowered his hand to scratch behind her ears.

“Regardless, I have enjoyed meeting the ones that travel with father. They are an interesting bunch, aren’t they.” He chuckled, tilting his head back to look upon the sky once more. “And the people of Durrow are great as well. I can see why he has stayed so long, duty or not.”

After some minutes went by, he spoke up again. “I believe I have made my decision. After this trip, I will notify father that I will seek to join the Wayfarers with him. I could think of no better man I would want to follow. I do not believe the Captain in the Stonedeans will mind it, considering all that has happened. If all else fails, I can always be called back for an emergency.”

Wraith looked up from Cedoric’s lap, then stood and pressed into him again for what he knew was a desire for a hug. He complied, of course, wrapping both his arms around her. “I think he will be happy to hear it. We can make it a surprise for him. When we step back into the house in Durrow, I will reveal it to him then, away from the others. What do you think?”

Judging by Wraith continuing to press against his hug, she agreed. He smiled and squeezed her. “I will take that as a yes. Come, we should get back to rest, lest he wake and find us gone.”

Cedoric and Wraith made their way back to the hut, and it was not long before Cedoric was back within his bedroll with Wraith curling up at his side. He rest his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. The cold had sent a shiver across him, but it soon passed as his thoughts drifted to happier and much warmer memories.

When he fell back asleep, it was with a smile on his face and a mind set on a decision that he knew would make his father happy.

Betrayal

Yusraa looked down upon the boy sleeping in the pile of blankets, a soft smile crossing her face. She had no sense of time anymore, but she knew it had been quite a while since the child was placed in her care. Her love for him was much like the love she held for her young brother, Rafik. However, Yusraa couldn’t help but feel as if this love was somewhat different. Yazan was not hers, but at times she felt as if he could be.

Each laugh she heard, each tear he cried, every part of him was perfect to her. She had told herself in the past many times not to get close to the children she was ordered to care for, but her heart felt as if it could burst each time she looked upon Yazan’s face. Perhaps it was the love she had felt for Amro that helped strengthen this. Yazan was his child, after all, and Yusraa felt a sense of happiness in the idea that there was some sort of family that she had despite being Na’man’s slave.

Her romance with Amro and her care of his son was like an escape. Each day she grew closer to the little boy, and each time she was able to see Amro, her heart sang louder. When she slept, she was beginning to dream again, her mind filled with visions of finding Rafik, Amro and Yazan at her side. True it was that some of Yusraa’s happiest memories were these times.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she carefully tucked the little boy in, then exited the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. It was still strange to her, these meetings between Haashim and Na’man. However, she was not about to question it, as these were the only times she could be with Amro.

Yusraa quietly made her way down the hall towards the room she and her lover always met. She still could not believe neither Haashim nor Na’man caught on to their meetings, but then again, they seemed too interested in trying to outplay each other. As she passed one doorway in particular, she paused upon hearing her slave name. Cautiously, she pressed to the wall by the door and listened to the voices she was beginning to recognize as Amro and Haashim’s.

“Can Matraba do it?”

“She can. She has been taking that poison like I told her. Where is Na’man?” Came Amro’s voice.

“He demanded a moment with my new slave. Keep it from your mind. I want this done within the week. You are sure she trusts you?” His master asked suspiciously.

“Yes. I could have her do anything. You are going to take good care of her?”

“Oh do not tell me you are actually getting feelings for the woman.”

The sound of Amro scoffing was heard. “Of course not. She is just a body, used and battered. I ask because it would be a waste for all of this only to break her further or sell her off.”

“You are quite ruthless, you know that? No, she will be taken care of. That used and battered body you refer to is a fine one, at that. I look forward to using it myself,” Haashim replied. Yusraa heard the sound of a chair moving to the side. “I must get to the meeting room. I do not think my new slave will last long with Na’man. He will get bored rather quickly. Get things ready to happen. Here’s the main dose for Matraba to use on him. I have already notified the captain you and your son are expected soon. He will get you both from the city with no issue. Just do not screw this up.”

“I will see to it things go smoothly.”

Yusraa stood in shock at the side of the wall, then finally moved as quick as she could around a corner to hide as the men exited to head their opposite directions. She began to tremble, her hand resting to where her heart would be. It felt as if it had shattered into a million tiny pieces. In fact, it was both an emotional and physical pain, one she did not understand.

Everything began to make sense: Amro’s access to poisons was not coincidental, the meetings he and Yusraa had were most certainly set up purposefully, and Amro’s random attention to her in the past, were all the signs of this being a set up. How could she not see it before? Her hand clapped to her mouth as she stifled a light sob, tears flowing freely. Never once had she felt the pangs of heartbreak. On top of it all, the feeling of betrayal was all too familiar and a reminder of how all of this had begun. She could hardly hold herself back from simply collapsing from the overwhelming emotions.

She knew she had to play things right, or she would simply end up right back where she had been for so long. Her hopes of finding Rafik were still there, and nothing, not even heartbreak, would change that. Her mother’s dying wish had been for Yusraa to find Rafik. If she confronted Amro too soon, she would risk never finding out just where it was her dear brother was sent.

Slowly, she regained her composure and put on as normal and passive of an expression she could muster. It was a trick she had learned long ago, thanks to Amro. As she made her way to the room to meet the man she once cherished as her love, she began to plan her next move.

Yusraa learned the hard way that day of just what could happen when giving your heart away.

Ride To Death

Rain had continued to fall, but it seemed to matter little to those upon the field of battle. If the death of their King had not stirred the blood-lust within their hearts, then surely their powerful, unanimous cry of “Death!” would. The Rohirrim charged forward towards the Southrons in their path, weapons raised, ready to meet any enemy that was unlucky to be in their way. Wicked grins and calls of battle were the answer of the Southrons, for they knew that this was a desperate and futile movement at best. Though the Rohirrim had allies on their way, the charge had been called much too fast; the horsemen would face being cut off from pressing their attack.

When finally the host of Rohan had met the Southrons, the clash was as bloodied and vicious as had been at the initial charge. Ulfric and Cedoric rode hard into a number of the dark-skinned men, piercing their blades into any bit of body they could come into contact with. As Ulfric’s blade drove deep into the skull of one of the Haradrim, Cedoric’s spear pierced at the heart of one as well. They used their fury to their advantage, and with the adrenaline rushing through their veins, they felt as if nothing could stop them. Not even death.

Their attention was draw to a loud bellowing not far from them, where one of the mumakil had raised up briefly, only to crash it’s large feet onto a fair number of Riders. The sound had been sickening, the crunch of bones and stifled cries of their brothers in arms forever echoing in their memory. Ulfric glanced to Cedoric, sweat and blood spatter glistening on his face, rain dripping down to cause it to mix. “What say we avenge our brothers?” He said with a hardened look upon his face, flicking the blood on his blade off to the side.

Cedoric caught his breath, jaw clenching in anger. He said no words in reply to his brother, instead giving him a nod.

“We will aim to hit behind each foot. The tendon. Make sure to cut deep. You focus on the left, I will focus on the right.” His hand twirled the blade he held, eyeing the direct route they would take.

“I am ready when you are, Ulfric.” Cedoric stared hard at their target, his eyes wild with the fury of battle.

The brothers kicked off together, slowly picking up speed as they worked their way towards the massive beast. Though their horses had desired nothing more than to flee such a large threat, they kept on, swerving every so often to avoid various enemies. One Southron in particular had caught on to the brothers’ movement, swiftly making his way to intercept. As Cedoric’s eye caught sight of this, he hefted his spear up, then tossed it through the air.

The man’s eyes widened as he saw his fate coming to meet his skull, the sharp end of the weapon driving clean through his skull, sending him off of his horse. Cedoric swiftly drew his longsword and prepared it as he and Ulfric finally approached the painted mumak. Their steeds screamed in protest at the proximity, but loyally listened to the brothers that had grown with them.

“NOW!” Ulfric cried out as they passed the first set of legs. The glint of their steel blades flickered in the air, raising up and then crashing down onto the tough flesh of the mumak. In answer to the pain it felt, it let out a loud trumpeting sound. The archers on to top of the beast began to cry out in panic, knowing something was terribly wrong. Ulfric and Cedoric continued through with their quick rush, then striking their blades down on the back set of legs.

It was more than enough to cause the mumak to come crashing down, and those on top were soon crushed by the creature’s overwhelming weight. It was a small victory, but the brothers knew that it would do little use. Ulfric glanced about the heat of the battle towards Cedoric to check and make sure he was alright. A light comfort, but one to help keep him going nonetheless.

Perhaps it was a weakness of the men that family had meant so much. Some would say that it was a strength to keep one going, but in the heat of battle, such a thing could be the difference between life or death. Cedoric turned to nod to his brother with what little of a smile he could muster at their accomplishment.

In that moment of focus on his dear little brother, Ulfric did not note the archer aiming at him. He did not hear the sound of the arrow as it flew through the air. And at first, he did not even feel as the projectile pierced through his armour at his right breast. It was not until he noted the look on Cedoric’s face that he realized something was wrong. His focus turned down to the protruding arrow from his body.

A second arrow came flying through the air, this time swiftly driving into the head of Ulfric’s loyal horse. The beast went crashing down, sending Ulfric tumbling off to the side.

Cedoric screamed out in a rage and zeroed in on the enemy that had dared make the mistake of harming his brother. As Cedoric charged, the archer’s eyes widened in the beginnings of fear of what was about to happen. Stumbling backwards, he dropped his bow and scrambled to back away as quickly as possible to avoid the oncoming raging Rohir.

Ulfric made no real reaction, save for reaching down to break the shaft of the arrow, then do what he could to pull it from his body from behind. Blood had begun to seep through, staining his clothing underneath the armour and dripping out in it’s red colour to contrast the silver metal he wore. He ran to meet his brother in battle once more, noting the archer’s fear.

Just as he strode up beside him, Cedoric had hopped off of Deorwine to meet the archer with his blade in hand and ready to take the man out face to face, rather than from horseback. As the archer’s hands raised, he cried out in an unknown language to the brothers’ ears. It was an obvious cry for mercy, and one that Cedoric was in no mood to hear.

Just as Cedoric’s blade raised to strike the man down, Ulfric intercepted. “Wait.” His hand held Cedoric’s arm in place to stop his movement. “He wields no weapon. He is no threat anymore,” he said softly to Cedoric, eyeing the trembling foe. Cedoric looked on in shock, seething in his anger.

Ulfric moved up to grab the archer by the chest, hefting him up to his feet. “Get out of here. Meet your fate elsewhere, for you will have no fight here.” He pushed the man forward, pointing off to the distance of the rest of battle. The Southron man gave no moment’s hesitation, quickly stumbling off to the distance.

“What are you doing? He will come back! Or worse, he will harm someone else!” Cedoric protested, though made no move to defy his brother’s decision.

“You would strike down a man who put his weapon aside and yielded to you? We were taught better than this, Cedoric.” Ulfric glanced back to his fallen horse, grimacing. “We must keep moving.”

Cedoric’s jaw set as he thought over his brother’s words, then let out a sigh in defeat. He stepped back up to Deorwine’s saddle, then offered a hand to his brother. “Your wound…”

Ulfric shook his head and gave his brother a smirk. “Is just a wound I can show off to Leofwyn when we return. I am truly beginning to think you have become a woman, Cedoric. All of these sentimental feelings,” he said with a roll of his eyes, taking his brother’s hand and arriving on the back of Deorwine as well.

Deorwine gave a bit of protest at the weight, but seemed more concerned about the state of Ulfric’s now fallen steed. Her head tossed and she let out a small cry. Cedoric nodded back to his brother, then leaned a bit to whisper into Deorwine’s ear. “Now is not the time to mourn, love. We must make it home.” He gave her a rough, yet loving pat, then kicked off once more.

The brothers had begun to get to a better position, Riding closer towards the rest of their companions, when they were abruptly taken by surprise. Two horsemen of the Haradrim had seemed to target the two, clashing hard enough to knock both Cedoric and Ulfric from Deorwine. In a panic, she ran off, leaving the brothers dismounted and at a disadvantage.

Ulfric and Cedoric quickly got to their feet, standing back to back with weapons drawn and shields raised as the Haradrim began to circle them menacingly. “When they charge forward, aim for the horses; we need them dismounted,” Ulfric said under his breath, keeping his eyes set on the enemy.

As Ulfric had predicted, the two horsemen rushed forward with their steeds in a coordinated attack much like how Cedoric and Ulfric had done in the past. It was almost as if it were possible the two they faced were brothers as well. Blades were met with air for the Haradrim, and horse-flesh for the Rohirrim brothers. The foes dropped to the ground as their horses fell and bled out onto the ground before them. The men were not phased, and soon they began to circle Cedoric and Ulfric again.

This time, Ulfric had no chance to give an order. Swift fighting began, and the four men met blades with clangs and grunts. Ulfric did his best to defend against the quick slashes of the man he fought, though the wound he felt seemed to tug at the strength he had in his right arm. Cedoric, on the other hand, looked to be doing quite well. In fact, it was almost as if things were going too well.

Ulfric furrowed his brows at his realization, and before he had a chance to warn his little brother, a blade sliced clean across Cedoric’s thigh, then moved to slice at his arm. Cedoric seemed surprised, stumbling back, though showing no signs of dropping. Despite the blood that began to pour from his wounds, he grit his teeth and yelled towards his foe in a challenge.

Unlike his younger brother, Ulfric had always been able to control himself. This included when he thought those he cared for the most were in danger. This was a man who used that control to his advantage, and soon he found himself able to push his own foe away enough to move to the aid of his brother.

Cedoric did not seem afraid of the blows he had received, nor did he show signs of any loss of courage. He was fighting for people’s freedom, for his friends that had already passed, and for the chance that his brother would be able to go home and start a family. All of this he thought of while coming up against this foe.

Ulfric had been no different. So too did he think of freedom, the fallen, and of family. But the idea that he would have to live in a life where he could not fight for it beside his brother, was not an idea he was keen on. He raised his blade to fight Cedoric’s foe as well, using hard, unwielding blows.

Just as they had looked to best the man, another sound of an arrow flew through the air in close proximity, until a thud was heard. Cedoric looked in horror as another arrow had pierced his brother, this time in the back of the man’s knee.

Ulfric swiftly dropped, but kept his sword and shield raised as much as he could to continue to fight for his brother. “Go!” He called out to Cedoric, knowing full well that he would now be the focus of the enemy’s attacks; he was wounded prey. Cedoric pressed hard into his attacks on the man before him to try to gain his focus, but was soon knocked to the side by the Southron Ulfric had fought before.

Switching tactics to defense, Ulfric did what he could to fend off the man’s attacks, slashing back when he could. In the small moments he could, he scanned the battlefield around them and noted the failing offence of the Rohirrim. They were beginning to be surrounded. He called back to his brother once more in the most commanding voice he could muster.

“GO!”

Despite the fight he had put on, it was no use. Cedoric’s eyes moved up just in time to see the sword of the man they had both been fighting plunge into Ulfric’s stomach.

The scream of anger that came from Cedoric was unlike any he had released before. Even the men he and Ulfric had been fighting were taken aback, their moment of pause being their undoing. Swiftly, Cedoric rose back to his feet and kicked his boot into the stomach of the Southron whom had knocked him over. As the man went sprawling backwards, Cedoric lept forward and drove his longsword into his neck, twisting the blade back and forth.

Without a moment’s pause, he then strode up and buried his fist into the face of one whom had stabbed Ulfric. Between Cedoric’s sheer strength coupled with taking him by surprise, the man dropped to the ground, gripping at his nose. Cedoric’s hardened grip came to the man’s hair, and with a fluid motion, he lifted the Southron up, tilted his head back, and sliced the neck clean through.

The blind rage he experienced was like a tune into battle he had never felt before. His eyes swept across the bloodied battlefield and soon landed upon a spear that had been left behind in the body of a fallen orc. After taking it up, he targeted the archer, noting that it was the same one they had let go before. The rage was intensified ten-fold, and he hurled the spear through the air.

Though he tried to turn to run, the archer was immediately stopped by the spear meeting the back of his own knee. He cried out in agony, then tried to crawl away in a futile attempt at fleeing. Cedoric was right behind him, and he flipped the archer over, using his fist as his weapon of choice now. Blow after blow, Cedoric screamed at his catch, the crimson flow of life’s essence spattering across his face and enveloping his fist.

What was left of the archer’s skull was but a shredded pulp of meat.

Cedoric stood and quickly made his way back to his brother. Ulfric was trying his best to stand, but it was no use, and the blood that escaped his lips as he coughed was a tell-tale sign of dire times. Cedoric tore off the heavy armour chest plate he wore, exposing his tunic. Tearing at the fabric, he did what he could to try to come up with a make-shift bandage of sorts. “Just hold on. We will get out of here soon.” He said softly, his hands trembling in his worry.

“Cedoric. Go.” Ulfric croaked out, finally conceding to the heavy weight he was feeling. He slipped onto his back, coughing blood out to the side.

“No, just hold on. I just need to put pressure on this,” Cedoric replied quickly. He pressed to the wound with the cloth, looking up at Ulfric.

“You need to get out of here, Cedoric. Or is Father going to have to hear that you disobeyed an order?” His colour was slowly draining at the loss of blood, but he wore a small smile regardless.

“Orders be damned. I will find a way to get you moved.” Ceodric glanced around at the surroundings, giving a sharp whistle for Deorwine. She was no where in sight, but a Southron seemed to pick up on the sound and his attention was drawn. “Damn it all!”

The Southron approached quicker than Cedoric had anticipated, his blade giving a clean slice across the Rohir’s breast. Cedoric jumped back, then raised his blade to counter the attack.

In what was the final effort of Ulfric to protect his brother, he stood and rushed forward with all of his weight to drive his blade into the Southron’s chest. His body then failed him, and he collapsed onto the ground, gasping out for breath.

Cedoric limped over, lowering his weapon and knelt by his brother, trying once more to press the torn tunic to the wound. “Just a little longer, okay? Just…just hold on.”

Ulfric grasped his hand to Cedoric’s forearm tightly, looking him in the eyes. “I told you to go,” he demanded.

“And I gave you a promise. I will not leave your side, Ulfric,” Cedoric finally cried out, tears slowly stirring in his sapphire hues.

“If you do not go now, who will speak to Father about what happened? Do not let him hear of both sons dying. It would crush him.” After another cough, Ulfric did his best to look at their surroundings. “They will spot you soon. Cedoric, you must leave,” he pleaded.

Cedoric bit back his anger, lowering his head. “Do not do this. Do not do this to me, Ulfric. If I leave you now-”

“Then you will survive and carry on. Do you hear me?” Ulfric looked to be fading fast, his skin now grey in colour.

As Cedoric went to protest further, cries began to sound throughout the area.

“The Corsairs are upon us!”

Cedoric’s heart sunk at the words. Sure enough, as he looked up towards the sea, the dreaded black sails loomed, threatening the hearts of men and strengthening Sauron’s army.

“Do you think he would be proud,” Ulfric said softly, now seeming to be in a daze of some sort. His hand had been grasping something, which Cedoric soon realized as he glanced back down was the necklace his brother had found not long ago.

Choking up, Ceodric seemed to struggle to speak. After a moment of composing himself, he grasped his brother’s hand that held the necklace and gave it a tight squeeze. “I know he would.”

A smile crossed Ulfric’s face, and slowly, his eyes drifted up to peer into the rain-clouds above. Within moments, those eyes which had matched his father’s faded into a blank stare, and one final sputtered breath was taken.

The only thing that had snapped Cedoric out of the shock he was in, was a rough tugging at the shoulder of his tunic. He glanced up, his face meeting with Deorwine’s. She had been unharmed, but was certainly spooked. In what was likely a muster of courage for the steed, she had come back to Cedoric in his time of need, knowing full well that he needed to leave, lest he be slain as well.

Cedoric’s hand clenched his brother’s, tears mixing with rain that fell from those darkened skies. Before parting from his brother, he took the necklace and slipped it on with care, then took up his chestplate. His mind was foggy, and things were not quite clicking. However, he soon found himself back upon Deorwine and on his way back to his companions in battle. He passed one final look over his shoulder to his fallen brother, and anger sparked within him yet again.

“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!”

Eomer’s words struck to the depths of Cedoric’s emotions, and despite his own wounds, he replaced his armour, looking more ready for battle than he had ever been in his life.

The winds began to change, rain ceasing, and soon the light of the sun shone upon the ships with an offer of hope. As the banner was dropped to reveal the White Tree of Gondor with Seven Stars, cheers erupted from Rohirrim. It was a turn of tides that was needed, and soon hope was renewed among the host of Rohan.

Cedoric gave no cries of joy, instead focusing his attention on which enemy he would fell next. The armies fought once more, and as the day wore on, Cedoric fought with the strength of two men, for he fought for his brother. No mercy was shown, and his blade was wet with the blood of any enemy that crossed his path. Not until the last enemy was felled did Cedoric rest.

When that rest finally came, Cedoric laid upon his bedroll in his tent alone, his sorrows consuming him with tears pouring down his face. The words were thick within his mind, giving him no quarter just as he had given none to his foes.

Ulfric, son of Godric, was dead.

What Could Have Been

“Get up.”

Yusraa’s eyes flashed open at the sound of Na’man’s voice, and she quickly moved to stand. The towering man had already been within the aviary that she slept, standing over her like a predator inspecting it’s prey. It surprised her that she had apparently slept through his entry to her place of rest, but when she remembered the small dose of powder she had taken, it all made sense. No wonder she had slept so soundly.

Na’man’s eyes pierced the small woman’s body, examining her from head to toe. “You must be upsetting them,” he said with a laugh, jerking her arm to study the various nicks upon her skin. With his hands on her, she was able to pick out the dried blood crusted on his hands. She said nothing, keeping her eyes low. Though the beaks of the birds had certainly pained her, they were nothing compared to if she openly asked him about his actions.

He glanced around the aviary briefly, then looked back at her. “Come.” As he stepped out of the aviary, she followed obediently and this time took notice of a rather obvious limp he was sporting. Still, she said nothing, trailing after him until they reached the washroom. Before stepping inside, her attention was drawn somewhat to a noise from within the bedroom. Though Yusraa did not show it, her heart sank when she realized that it was the quiet cry of a child.

“Worry about that later,” Na’man ordered, jerking her into the smaller room with him. “I have need of you.” Yusraa knew just what he meant, and she stepped over to a small cabinet, retrieving a bottle from within. She wondered just what he had done this time. Did a slave attack? Was it another slave lord? Or had he simply had an accident? Whatever it was, she had grown used to taking care of the wounds he received. While she was certainly no healer, her knowledge of herbs was enough to keep Na’man alive, and he knew this.

When she turned back to face him, he had already stripped and was sitting on the side of the tub. With no sign of pain, he unwrapped a makeshift bandage from his thigh, revealing a nasty stab wound. The blood began to seep freely, rolling down the side of his leg. He tossed the cloth to the side and folded his arms, staring at her expectantly. After cleaning her hands and retrieving an actual bandage, she moved forward and used a cloth to begin to wipe away the blood.

“I am sure you know what is in the bedroom. This one is not too young, but young enough that he needs a bit of care before he is sold further,” Na’man began to explain. Yusraa listened quietly, scooping the contents of the bottle to pack into the gaping wound. “You should have everything you need, as always,” he continued. Despite his words coming out rather normal, she could sense that he was hiding something. It gave her a sinking feeling, but she pushed it off and continued to tend to his wound, wrapping it tightly.

A pound began to sound from the front door, causing the two to glance that way. “…I am not expecting anyone,” he said curiously, then stood and replaced his clothing. “Answer it.” Yusraa nodded her head quickly and strode through the home towards the front door. Her eyes moved to glance at the blood on her silken clothing and across her hands with a frown, and slowly she opened the door. It was a mess she knew she’d have to clean later.

Surprise crossed her features when she saw who it was. Both Haashim and his treasured slave, Amro, stood at the doorway. The two men had strange looks on their faces, which soon turned to dark ones at the sight of the blood upon her skin and clothes. What was stranger still was Amro’s expression; it was as if a deep seated rage had awoke within and he was soon to burst. Haashim tilted his head and held his hand up to Amro, offering Yusraa a smile.

“What a mess. Tell me, he did not harm you did he?” Haashim asked softly, glancing past Yusraa. Na’man had not been there to greet who it was just yet, and Yusraa was guessing he was retrieving a weapon. She shook her head to Haashim, replying with but one word. “His.”

Haashim’s brow raised and a slow smirk rose across his lips. “Oh? Is he dead or dying?” Again, Yusraa shook her head, and the smirk the other slave lord wore soon turned to a look of disappointment. “Pity,” he said with a sigh, then smiled wide as Na’man finally made his way towards the door. A rather wicked looking scimitar was in his grasp, and he laughed. “Ah, it is just you. And here I thought I would get another fight. Come in,” Na’man said, motioning Yusraa to step to the side and allow them in.

She complied, and soon the two men did as well, stepping within. “I have heard that you have acquired a rather specific item, though I do not know why you would look for such a thing,” Haashim began, glancing about the entry room. Amro kept his eyes to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “Is it true? If so, I would like to bargain.”

Na’man set the scimitar to the side and folded his arms, grinning. “I thought you might. A good choice on your part, I think.”

“…can he see him? As a gesture of good will. He has been quite upset since the news, and I can’t have that. You understand, of course,” Haashim said with a smile.

A few moments of silence went by as Na’man thought it over, before finally nodding and gesturing for Yusraa towards the bedroom. “Take Haashim’s pet and show him what is within.” Yusraa nodded and immediately set off towards the bedroom doorway. She knew that this was no gesture of good will. Whatever it was, was likely just some sort of sick game that was unknown to her.

Amro followed her quietly, his movements stiff as if he was ready to snap at any given moment. The two entered the bedroom, and Yusraa gave pause at what she saw. There asleep on the pile of pillows she had once been brought to was a small boy that could have been no older than two years old. It had not been uncommon for Na’man to have Yusraa care for young and potentially useful slaves, but this all felt wrong. Her eyes moved to the man at her side, taking in a breath as she noticed his tears.

“…has he hurt him?” Came his voice, soft but shaky. Yusraa quickly moved forward to check the boy for wounds, finding none. She glanced back to Amro and shook her head. The relief in his expression was apparent, and soon he stepped forward as well.

Yusraa slowly began to piece things together, grimacing at her conclusion. “He is-” she began, barely above a whisper.

“My son,” Amro finished for her, his jaw clenching. He reached out to grasp Yusraa’s arm, pulling her close as he whispered, half not wanting to wake the boy, and the other half not wanting to alert the slave lords. “Do not let him touch my son. Please. Whatever it takes.”

“He will not. He does not harm the children. I promise you this,” she replied softly. Her hand reached up to rest gently on his own that held her arm. “When he is older, he will get to a better place. As long as he is not here, he will be fine,” she explained with sincerity. As far as she knew, it was certainly truth. Most of the children whom had been sold off that were under her care were released to shipyards and small metal shops. For the most part, the worst they had to look forward to was potential burns or death at sea. In her mind, any of those options were better than a fate with Na’man.

After some moments went by, Amro let out a sigh and rest his forehead against hers. “Thank you. This changes things, though. We should move faster,” he began to explain, glancing around before moving to hand her a vial from the depths of his tattered clothing. “You need to start taking this. Small bits at a time.”

Yusraa raised her brow and studied the liquid contents within. Judging by the consistency and how she had seen it before, she immediately picked up on what it was. “From scorpions?” She asked, placing the vial in a safe place with urgency so as not to be discovered.

“Yes. Remember, small bits at a time. When it is right, I will give you another to put in his drink. He will have you drink from it, but it will not make you as sick if you pace yourself. Do you understand?”

“I do. Amro I-”

He placed his finger to stop her speech and leaned back forward, replacing the finger with his own lips. The kiss was brief, but it still melted the woman’s heart. When Amro moved back, he still had a look of urgency, or perhaps desperation. “We will be free soon. Just please take care of him.”

Yusraa nodded, saying nothing more. With one last look at the small boy upon the pillows, Amro followed Yusraa back to the entry room. Na’man glanced over with a big smile on his face. “You see? He is fine. And he will continue to be, thanks to Haashim.” He boasted, turning his attention to his business partner. “I am glad we could come to an understanding. It is so nice when people see things from my point of view.”

Haashim gave one of the most forced smiles Yusraa had seen him do thus far, then motioned for Amro to follow him as he began to leave. “Yes, I should have seen it from the start. Until next time, Na’man.” His parting words were brief, and soon he and Amro left the building.

“The boy does not cry?” Na’man asked Yusraa curiously, glancing towards the bedroom.

“He is sleeping,” she replied softly, eyes moving back to study the now dried blood across her skin.

Na’man grinned wide and grabbed Yusraa’s chin. “Then you best not scream to wake him up, hm?” He led her off back to the washroom by the hair, his intentions now far from having her tend his wounds.

–

Amro kneeled, slamming his fist against the ground as Haashim closed the door behind them. A small tsk escaped Haashim’s lips as he glanced the broken man before him. “Do not act so surprised. Na’man knows how to pull strings. How do you think he has made it this far without dying?”

“That is my son!” Amro protested in his rage.

Haashim’s knee met Amro’s face with a crunch, causing the slave to crash to the floor on his side. “I am well aware. And you will control yourself, is that understood?”

Amro held his hands to his face, a mixture of blood from his nose and tears from his eyes gracing his fingertips. The slave lord circled him, folding his arms with an annoyed sigh.

“If anything, this just gives you more incentive to get things done right. You wouldn’t want something happening to the boy, would you? Keep your head focused on what you have been told to do, and all will be well. You get what you want, I get what I want. It is simple. Now clean yourself up.”

–

Yusraa’s body trembled lightly as she lowered herself towards the ground beside the small boy now moved to sleep in the aviary. While she had suffered Na’man for years, her body still could not get used to the trauma he caused. Despite this, she felt a sense of comfort at the child under her care.

It was like a fond memory of when she cared for her brother. Not only this, but the hope of escape was strong in her mind, and thoughts of what could come to pass gave her a small lift of spirits. She studied the boy’s face, softly humming to him as she moved to hold him close. Where would she be now if the family had never been captured? Would her mother be alive? Would she and Rafi still be close? Would she have a family of her own? A husband and children? All of these things that could have been felt like unobtainable dreams.

Nevertheless, they made her smile. With Amro’s plan to kill off Na’man and have them escape, maybe it wasn’t so unobtainable after all. This small glimmer of hope she had in her mind eased her body’s shakes, and soon she fell asleep, arms wrapped protectively around the small child as she had once done with Rafi.

Ride To Gondor

The ride through the Grey Wood had been a silent and quickened one, pounds of the hooves of their armoured steeds coupled with the jingles of armour being all that was heard. Still, it had been an eerie silence, and their horses were growing skittish. The poor creatures only felt worse the closer they got to their destination. Their human counterparts did their best to ease the minds of their companions, but gave no pause in their travels.

Ulfric and Cedoric had been lucky; the proximity of their steeds aided in way of calming one another, the brothers needing do little to give comfort. Despite this, Cedoric leaned down as they Rode, whispering words of encouragement into Deorwine’s  flattened ears. Ulfric glanced to his brother, then turned his attention ahead as he noted the host of Rohan slowing.

Up ahead, Theoden King and his nephew, Eomer, seemed to be speaking to one of the Wild Men that had lead them thus far. After what felt like ages upon a day that was meant to be devoted to battle, the Wild Men all vanished, leaving the Rohirrim. Many of the Riders, including Ulfric and Cedoric, looked to each other with confusion. It was not long, however, until they all began to move again, and their trust in the direction of their King ran true.

As they neared the end of the woods, the light of dawn that had begun was but a mere shadow of it’s former self. A darkness had set upon the land, and though it was an aid in the covert travel of the Rohirrim, it sent a chill through their bodies. Soft whineys began from the creatures they rode, their senses having picked up on something that the men just could not at present. Finally, as they continued Eastward, the men could tell why their horses were so fearful.

The smell of fire tickled upon the noses of the Rohirrim. It was subtle at first, but the closer they moved upon the Field of Pelennor, the more it began to assult their senses. Thus far, it seemed they had not been noticed by the enemy, or if they had, no group dare challenge them. The King’s Riders lined up, listening to their captains order positioning, though they all looked upon in horror at the scene before them.

Minas Tirith was already under siege.

What made matters worse was the sheer size of the army they were to face. Cedoric looked upon the number, and it felt as if his stomach had jumped into his throat. The scout from before was not mad, though he very well should have become so after setting sights on the number of the enemy at hand. Had the Rohirrim enough men to truly be able to aid in a battle so large? Cedoric glanced about the battlefield, a swell of courage rising within his breast.

The King and his Riders had the tactical advantage. He studied the scene carefully, smiling to himself at the perfect placement. No barricades had been in their way where they stood, and with their flanking position, they were sure to press the enemy into a tight squeeze that would split their numbers and cause confusion. Glancing to his right, he noted his brother seeming to analyze the battlefield just the same. Judging by his smirk, he had come to the same conclusion that Cedoric had. The dread was still threatening to overtake their hope, but they stood strong together, turning to look to their King.

As they did so, their attention moved to a bright flash towards the city. The brothers could not tell where it came from, nor where it went, but the moment it was over, their King cried out. His words rose up to spring forth the confidence burrowed deep within the hearts of Men.

“Arise, arise, Riders of Theoden!
Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!
spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,
a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!”

The host of Rohan swelled up with courage as Theoden King took up a horn and let loose a blast from it that pierced their souls and called for their strength. Cedoric and Ulfric took up their own horns to sound as others did too, and the mighty roar of the sound echoing across the fields in an announcement of their intention for triumph.

“Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!”

Cedoric and Ulfric had but a moment to look to each other, clasping their forearms briefly, before Theoden King started the charge of the Rohirrim. Across the open field the Riders went, their steeds having a newfound courage from the confidence of their human companions. With each moment the Rohirrim Rode closer, the enemy began to cower, realizing that they were indeed at a disadvantage. The sun parted from the horizon and met the fell army of Sauron just as Theoden King and his own army reached them.

With a mighty clash of steel meeting body, the armies met, cries of battle-lust and songs of war escaping from the lips of Men. Cedoric Rode close beside his brother, raising his spear to meet the neck of one orc in particular he spied directly in front of him. To his right, Ulfric seemed to have spotted an enemy to take out of his own, raising his longsword with a yell. The two broke into the line of orcs together, working in sync as they halted the breaths of as many of the fell creatures as they could.

For some time, the brothers continued this, focused on their battle with the orcs as their King slew the Chieftain of the Haradrim with his knights. The battle had been going well. The Riders that had focused on the fleeing orcs were quick to stamp out a fair number, and with the Chieftain of the Haradrim having fallen, it felt as if a small victory had been obtained. However, as all good things must come to an end, so too did this feeling.

Cedoric and Ulfric slowed in the slashing of their blades, giving pause to a new darkness that seemed to wash over the field and block the sunlight. Both of the brothers drew back in surprise, eyes widening in terror as a great winged creature descended upon the King and his knights not far away. Their horses shrieked and kicked, almost forcing them from the very saddles they rode upon. The brothers could do little but fight the enemy around them and try to cut their way to aid their King, much to the protest of their steeds.

Neither would know just what had happened, but as their horses carried them closer, they looked upon a most heart-breaking scene. Though the terrible winged beast and it’s master had fallen, their King had passed from this life, and his knights that surrounded him wept. Ulfric and Cedoric began to weep for their fallen King, but were soon met with another sound of a horn and the voice of Eomer, their new King of the Mark.

“Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world’s ending!”

It would take no coercion for such a command, the anger and fury of their King being slain heating their blood to a boil. Rain soon began to fall, as if the heavens themselves wept for the death of Theoden King. The remaining Rohirrim gathered with Eomer and began to charge Southward in a fierce battle-cry of “death”, rain soaking through to their bodies in an attempt to cool their heated rage.

It would be no use, as the Eorlingas had nothing more than pure hatred for the enemy before them. Cedoric and Ulfric kept close, channeling each other in their sorrow and anger. With their weapons raised and horses charging, they moved swiftly to meet the Southrons before them, clashing against them with all the fury they could muster in their bones.