Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » The War Of The Rohirrim

As soon as they were out of the wagon, four soldiers came and took Runhild's father. They covered him in a green and gold blanket, and carried him in honour to the fortress to be laid in state. Dunhama watched as they walked away, and he bowed his head in honour to him. The wagon driver came around and said,

"Everybody take what they can to the fortress. Know it will be a blessing when hard times come."

Dunhama nodded at him and said,

"I thank thee sir for helping us."

"Ergon is the name and help is what I do. Now go!"

Dunhama lifted a sack of grain and a sack of potatoes, and said to Ergon,

"Dunhama am I, and this lady is Runhild. We are most grateful!"

Ergon nodded quickly as he directed others to take the goods. Dunhama looked to Runhild as she took what she could carry, and they set off for the entrance of the fortress.

The walk seemed longer than it was for the load was heavy, but there were several people going in and the cart was cleared out in good time. Dunhama said to Runhild as they walked the last stretch inside.

"I think maybe we will be safe here. Its walls look strong!"

They had just set down their loads when a distant horn was heard, and the soldiers around them looked grim. The armies of Isengard were coming.

Runhild set down the last of what she could carry and stretched. The throaty bellow of the horn reached her ears.

"No rest for the weary," she sighed. "It will be a long night."

She turned to Dunhama. Her jaw was set and cold determination in her eyes. "I do not doubt that we shall survive. The Hornburg has saved us before; it can do so again."

Dunhama sat and leaned against the wall as he regained his breath. Runhild's reassurance caused him to smile slightly. But the grim look on the soldiers faces said all was not well.

"We will trust in its strength and the fortitude of the Rohirrim!"

He took his axe out and looked at it, He had never fought in training, only the games children play with wooden swords. He wondered what his part in all this would be. He knew he would fight if needed, but an axe will ony be useful in close battle should the wall be breached. He then checked his knife on his belt. He looked up at the high arch of stone and said,

"What will be our part in this fight Runhild? Have you ever trained in arms?"

He looked to her, stern and sad, but most of all concerned.

Runhild sat down beside him wearily. "Aye, I have, though I have never seen battle. I am able to wield both sword and shield." She stopped short. "I have no plan to join the women and children in the caves. I will not hide from a fight."

She swallowed heavily, trying to force the growing fear down. When she was younger, she used to pretend that she was a shieldmaiden, fearless and powerful. Battle was a simple, glorious fight in her mind. But after the attack from the Wargs, she knew better. Death was heavy and unyielding. It would wait for no one and claim quickly.

At last, she whispered, like a small child, "...I am afraid." She looked at Dunhama with glassy eyes. "There is too much uncertainty."

Dunhama swallowed for he was afraid too. The faces of the soldiers and civilians alike showed fear and foreboding, and Dunhama nodded. What of death? The warg attack was the first he had seen of battle, and the fierceness of the wargs and orcs held no quarter for them. So much hate! Dunhama stood before Runhild and with that same fear trying to push its way out of him, he fought it back with the sense of pride in Runhild's words. He said as he looked to her,

"Yes, so much uncertainty. The gnawing fear inside of not knowing if one will see the light of another day scares me, but I know one thing that makes my uncertainty less. I will be honoured to stand and fight in battle beside you Runhild of Edoras, daughter of valour and shieldmaiden of the realm!"

Dunhama reached his hand out and his finger caught a tear that had struggledits way out of one of her bright green eyes, then took her hands in his and said,

"We will perservere"

Dunhama swallowed and nodded his head, wanting to believe that the strength of the Rohirrim would prevail.

Runhild looked up at him, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. I will be honored to fight beside you as well, Dunhama.

It was a fleeting moment, but the next thing she knew, she had thrown her arms around him, leaning her head against his chest. It calmed her, if only a little, to hear his heartbeat. Then she pulled away, blushing furiously.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me, she stammered, looking everywhere but his face. I, uhm...

A laugh border-lining hysterical slipped past her lips. I'm so sorry, she said again.

Dunhama slid his arms around Runhild as she hugged him, and he pressed his cheek against her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. Too soon it was over and she slipped away. Seeing her embarrassment, he too blushed for in that brief moment he felt a tingle inside himself he had never experienced before. Runhild was truly embarrassed, and her nervous laughter echoed around them. It was good to hear her laugh, for it has only been a grim day. It lightened his mood and he smiled. He motioned with his hand for her to come back to him as he said,

”Why do you apologize m’lady? Know that you bring comfort to my troubled spirit, and for all the evil and death this day, I will hold this day in memory not for all that, but for our chance meeting.”

He stepped over to her and rested his hand on her shoulder before gently giving her a hug.

She eagerly accepted the second hug, burying her face in his chest and breathing in the smell of rain and other scents that still clung to his clothes. She breathed in deeply. She wanted to commit this feeling to memory. She hadn't been held for so many years, and after what she had just experienced, it was nice to feel someone's arms around her. She tried to think of something witty to say, to lift both their spirits, but all she could think of to say was a simple,

"Thank you."

She felt heat rising to her face, and she pressed against him.

Dunhama was silent as he held Runhild. His hand gently rubbed her back as she leaned against him, and he slightly rocked her. She has had no time to grieve her father's loss, and now that they were in the relative safety of this fortress, there was time to let down the walls. He said in a slight, whispery voice,

"Runhild, it's ok to let it out..."

He felt his own eyes welling up as he thought of all that he saw that day. Seeing all the death and the loss of so many, and seeing those left to live without their loved ones. It had been some few years since his mother died, and Dunhama had nobody he was close to since that day. Had he ever let it out? Was it ok to do so? He never thought so before now. Having a feeling of closeness now with Runhild seemed to have cracked the wall he had built around him so long ago. He found himself shuddering as he let go, and his tears fell from his face into Runhild's hair. He had never grieved for his mother, and now he grieved not only for her, but for Runhild, and all those he saw today who suffered loss.

"Thank you Runhild..."

He managed to say as he tried to regain his composure. He kissed Runhild's head and then felt a rush of embarrassment erupt inside him.

Runhild looked up at him through teary eyes. If she'd been alone, she would've fallen into despair, or even into madness. But Dunhama was a lifeline, one she had never expected to find. She reached up, gently brushing away his tears. She gave him a small, watery smile before rising to her toes, and planting a gentle kiss on his lips.

It was quick, but she put everything she could into it. The hope, the pain, the gratefulness, the fear. She could care less if she'd just met him. It just felt right.

Runhild pulled away, searching his eyes. Her own had crystallized into hard emeralds.

"It is my pleasure, and my honor, to know you," she said quietly.

Dunhama swallowed as he felt the gentle touch of Runhild’s lips. It sent him tingling. Dunhama had seen many couples being intimate with each other through his life at the tavern. He himself would wonder about it at times, but he never felt it himself. Was this what it was like? The heat inside him showed as he flushed. When Runhild pulled away, it was gentle and slow, and not so far as before. He took a breath and smiled, his face getting one of those goofy looks he would get when something unexpected, yet quite pleasant happened. His dark eyes were like glass, and he beheld her emerald jewels as his hand touched her cheek. He could not gather words to say to her so he just nodded his head.

They had not moved since dropping their loads, and they were oblivious to everyone else around them. Erkand, a regimental commander of infantry at Helms Deep paused for a moment as he observed the two young people share a moment between themselves. It lifted his spirit some and he smiled, allowing them to have these few precious moments. It may be the only ones they would get. That thought reminded Erkand there was no time to waste, and he said to Dunhama and Runhild as he walked over to them.

”You two, there is work to be done! Some wounded are coming in. Take them to get aid. I think the healing ward is set up in the back chamber toward the caves. While you’re there take a moment to clean up and refresh. We will need every able-bodied man on the wall.”

He looked somewhat suspiciously at Dunhama at first, but gave him a nod. He knew there were more than a few mixed-bloods in the far reach of the Westfold, for the raiding had been going on in varying degrees for well-nigh 500 years since the time of Eorl the Young, Rohan’s first king. Dunhama gave him a nod back as he walked away to direct the preparations for their defense. Dunhama gave Runhild a brief look before two wounded people were brought to them. They were a husband and wife. He had a bandage over his eyes and Dunhama took his arm from the woman who had a grievous leg wound. She was reluctant to let go of her husband, but Runhild took her in arm to help her walk. Dunhama wasn’t sure where the back chamber was, but Lady Éowyn came through an archway and said,

”Come this way!”

Dunhama nodded and they walked their charges toward the healing ward. Éowyn though paused and turned, and went out to the wall. Farr off in the Deeping-coomb, the horns sounded as King Theoden and the riders approached. They were in haste, and what sounded like the distant roar of thunder seemed to pursue them. A cry went up from someone,

"The King has come!"

But as he approached, he and the riders were grim, for they had bought time but at a cost. The army of Isengard approached as the light of day faded into twilight.

Runhild helped the woman to sit down, gingerly positioning her leg into a more comfortable position just as the horns let out a distant bellow. Even from inside, Runhild could hear the awful sound of the hordes beyond the Deeping Wall. She pressed her lips together. The time had finally come.

She tugged her hair back behind her shoulders, securing the braids and loose locks with a strip of leather. Disregarding the blatant stares of the men, she made her way to the armory. Thankfully, it was fairly empty, save for a few stragglers struggling with chestplates and chainmail. Runhild took up her own pieces of armor. There, she stripped down to the grey cotton tunic she wore under her apron dress and pulled the chainmail over it. The weight surprised her, having not worn such things before. After a few moments of putting it into place, she put the apron dress back on. Finally, she selected a sword. All of this, she knew, would not do her much good in the long run, but it was her best chance of survival.

She returned to Dunhama, fierce determination settling in. She took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Dunhama helped the man sit by his wife and she took his hand. He gave her a nod and turned to Runhild, who was working with her hair. Her face had a solemn look of grim determination, and she soon left the room without a word. Dunhama was going to follow her, but someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to find a petite woman in a green dress standing there. Dunhama said to her,

”These two need attending!”

She looked to them, then back at Dunhama.

She said, ”You look familiar. You work in the royal kitchen?”

“Yes, Dunhama is my name.” he replied looking at her trying to place the face.

”I am Athilda, maid-servant to the Lady Eowyn.” she said and Dunhama nodded. He said,

”Yes, I remember now. You stayed close to the Lady when that wretched creep Grima was lurking about.”

Athilda nodded and then said,

”My duties, as have yours, have changed now it seems. I am assigned to the infirmary as I have some skill with herbs. I will have to ask you to leave as room is short.”

She stepped by Dunhama and knelt to look at the woman’s leg. Dunhama stepped back and left the chamber. He went out to the wall and watched as the King and his cohort came up the rampart gates. He felt a hand take his, and he looked over to see Runhild standing beside him. She was armed and steeled, and looked every bit as fierce as any Rohirrim soldier. But he could feel her shake in her hand. He looked at her and nodded grimly. He said quietly,

”I will face this enemy and stand proud with you Lady Runhild, shieldmaiden of Rohan!”

He put his free hand on to his axe and straightened his leather jerkin as the soldiers of Rohan started assembling along the walls.

Runhild let a rueful smile creep across her face. She straightened her back and stood proud before the wall. The sounds of the army beyond it was deafening, then suddenly faded into silence. The world held its breath, and Runhild with it.

And with a earth-shattering roar, the fight began. Arrows hissed down from the wall, screams from the soldiers of Isengard scraping the night sky as the barbed shafts struck their mark. Arrows rose to greet the ones of Rohan, some striking true. Armor clanged as bodies tumbled down to the ground below.

Runhild watched in horror, her mouth agape. Her father had told her that war was not how it sounded in the stories. The wargs had proved that true. But this! This was worse, somehow. Instead of fighting in a frenzy, this was coordinated. The fight wasn't just for survival. It was to kill. To kill until one side had fallen completely, or had lost the strength to stand.

Breathing shallowly, she drew her sword. To kill. Could she kill? What was it like, to be the reason behind a living thing's death? To see the light go out of her enemy's eyes. Maybe it would be easy. The hordes of Isengard weren't human. But to fight another person? Runhild shuddered.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

A hole was torn in the wall.

Shards of rock rained down as the orcs scrambled in. Runhild couldn't help gasping. She'd seen the orcs from afar, some astride the wargs, but it did nothing to prepare herself for their twisted faces. She stumbled back, the tip of her sword dropping as they swarmed inside, scaling the stairs to the top of the wall, mouths open in hideous snarls. Aghast, she watched as they began cutting down unwitting soldiers. For a while, she was frozen in fear.

It was only when they slayed a young man, barely into his twenties, did she crack.

With a piercing shriek, she lifted her sword. "For Rohan!" she screamed, throwing herself headlong into the fray. She swung frantically, blade connecting with flesh, sometimes with armor, other times with a blade. It was clear that she could fight, but there was not the same precision as a seasoned solider.

Dunhama tried to have Runhild’s back when the arrows started flying. But as the men started to fall from the wall around them one by one, he sheathed his sword and picked up a fallen archer’s bow and grabbed all the arrows he had left. He had not used one before but worked at firing a few down into the waves of Uruks. He was never sure about his aim, but some of his arrows found their mark. Enough to make him a target for the enemy archers. An arrow flew past him, the fin cutting some of his hair as it went past. He instinctively ducked and looked about to his right.

Seeing that Runhild had moved down the wall some, he unleashed the last arrows in the direction of the deeping wall where there seemed a concentration of orcs and Dunlandings. Dunhama did his best to aim for the Dunlandings, for they were men who wore little armor other than their leathers. When he saw them fall to his arrows in their torchlight, it gave him a growing confidence in himself. He had killed Dunlandings! May his father have been one of them! His last arrow hit a torchbearer in the leg and he fell, setting fire to his comrade as they cursed in a rough language. One of the Dunlandings looked up at him as he picked up a torch. He looked grim and fierce, with a scrappy thin beard and dark hair and dark beads for eyes. Then someone yelled to Dunhama and he turned his head.

”Beware! The Ladders! ”

He saw Runhild over toward the deeping wall while siege ladders clapped on along the fortress wall behind her. The Rohirrim battled each one and some were thrown down with orcs scrambling up them, but one seemed unchallenged and an orc jumped off. He impaled himself onto a young man’s quickly-drawn sword. He hacked and hewed at the others coming up the ladder until their numbers overwhelmed him. Dunhama dropped his bow and picked up a fallen soldier’s sword, for close battle had reached them on the wall now. There were too many of them and too few Rohirrim there to stop them all, and Dunhama stood retreating down the wall toward the deeping wall. He stopped when he bumped Runhild’s back, and he turned and gave her a look and his free hand gave hers a squeeze. In that brief moment in the middle of battle, their eyes touched each other. It was over as soon as it began, and the yelling of orcs and the clash of steel rang out into the black of night. A voice called from up the stair in a foreign sounding Westron tongue. A grey clad man who had accompanied the King yelled to him,

”Run! Off the wall!

Dunhama looked and saw they had been forced out along the Deeping Wall. Dunhama turned back to Runhild when something loud shattered the air. A flash of white, as if lightning struck from afar, hit the wall where the creek flowed out of the fortress and the deeping wall exploded. Bits and chunks of stone flew out, and Dunhama was blown back off the crumbling wall. His ears could only hear muffled sounds and his eyes could see only blackness. It felt as if he was falling slowly, and in that void, he could see Runhild in a vision, bloodied and crying. Her dress was tattered and torn, exposing the chain mail she wore, and she faded away into his blackness….

Dunhama hit the ground hard and rolled, splashing into the trickle of the creek. The chill water on his face woke him some, but he was stunned and bruised, and he could not feel his leg. The muffled sounds became louder as the charge of the Uruk’s and Dunlandings poured through the broken wall toward him. He could see others running down to try and fill the void left by the explosion, but it was only Dunhama who was thrown before them. He reached for the sword, but it was gone. All he had was his Dunlanding axe. He took it and gripped it in both hands and stood tall. When the first Dunlanding reached him, he swung the axe and split his head. The Dunlanding behind him was cut deep into his chest. He battled several more Dunlandings before others reached him.

He thought he saw Runhild among them as they came running fast. He could her her voice calling out in a battle cry… ‘For Rohan!’ and others rallied to her cry! She came to battle beside him! He took a breath and rubbed the blood from his eyes and gained strength knowing Runhild was there! As they faced the charging enemy, Dunhama hacked away in a frenzied berserk shock at the Uruks that now pressed into them. The melee became chaotic and he again lost sight of Runhild. When Dunhama embedded his axe into the skull of a Uruk, he could not retrieve it. He let it go as he kicked the orc in the chest, and he fell backward as a Dunlanding axe hit him in the head….

Dunhama spun around as everything seemed to slow down. Sounds again grew muffled and far away. His spin stopped abruptly when another blow hit his arm. Someone killed the Dunlanding that had hit him, and they dragged Dunhama back and lay him down by a chunk of broken wall …

Had he died? Would he ever see Runhild again? His scrambled thoughts as he lay there in the rubble unmoving swam this way and jumped that way. When Runhild found him, Dunhama was not moving and barely breathing, and blood flowed freely from his head and arm as she helped him up. Dunhama was filled with the scent of Runhild’s hair, a scent that he had only so recently had breathed. Another came to her aid and he could feel them both carrying him as they retreated in to the keep. Dunhama said in a weak raspy gasp…

”Runhild…. you live…”

He felt them lay him down, and he slid in to unconsciousness as he held on to that beautiful scent of Runhild, and in dream he found himself walking with her as music played….

Runhild stood trembling before him, her eyes wide and face pale. Heavy breaths wracked her body. Her lip was busted, and a cut had been opened above her eye. She gripped her shoulder tightly; a blow too strong had pulled it out of socket.

"Yes, I live, and you will too," she said thickly, watching him fall unconscious. She knelt beside him, cupping his face in her good hand. "Dunhama? Dunhama!" Runhild grasped him by the shoulder, shaking him, pleading for him to wake up.

"Dunhama, wake up!" she cried. Tears cut tracks in the grime covering her face. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. "Please. Do not leave me. I cannot...I cannot lose another..."

She clung to him as the armies of Rohan rallied one last time. More than anything, she wished to join them, cut down every bastard that was responsible in slaying her father and now, possibly Dunhama, but she didn't have the strength to do so. She couldn't leave Dunhama to die alone. Not like her father did.

She wrapped her fingers around Dunhama's wrist, discovering a weak pulse. "I am here. Dunhama, I am here, and I won't let go. Stay with me! Just a little bit longer!" The fight would be over soon, she knew. Someone would win, and it would be over. Doubt crept into her mind as she waited. Isengard would win. They would swarm the Hornburg, defiling it, causing the stones to become slick with blood. Rohan would fall, and be a people either forgotten or used as an example.

At last, a cold sunrise flooded the keep. Runhild heard the sound of footsteps. She spun about, leaving her useless arm to sit, and scooped up her sword. She would not go down without a fight. But much to her surprise, it was warriors of Rohan who had returned. Many were tired, a few wounded. There were few left of the rally. Runhild's heart sank.

She dropped the sword with a clang. "Please. My friend, he is hurt. Can someone help him?" Again, tears pooled in her eyes.

One of the Rohirrim soldiers heard Runhild ask for help and he paused with a couple of his comrades. He said,

"There are many hurt m'lady. I lost many men to the likes of one of 'your friends'. Take him!"

he said and two of the Rohirrim grabbed and lifted Dunhama to his feet.

"Help this Dunlanding out and throw him in with the rest of the dead savages. We need room for a soldier of Rohan in need!"

They started to drag Dunhama out and the soldier stepped in front of Runhild and said,

"You are a lady of Rohan, but it appears your loyalties are misplaced."

He could see Runhild's eye burn, but he held her gaze with a cold glare.

"Since when do loyalties have to do with looks or race?" Runhild spat. "The last I saw, we also had a man of Gondor, an Elf, and a Dwarf in our midst. Why should this man be any different? He fought for us, not against us. Saved my life, even. And you here are too ingrained in your...purity! for you to show mercy. Being a soldier is not knowing how to kill; it's fighting to save. Dunhama knew - knows - that. I am disgusted to see that you don't."


She made a move towards the soldiers supporting Dunhama, but the first one blocked her again. Runhild's lip curled.

"Move. Or you will be moved," she hissed.

The sergeant was taken aback at the fire that arose in Runhild’s eyes. Hands rested on sword hilts and the tension seemed to build. Eowyn’s handmaiden Athilda had heard the raised voices and came out. She was aghast at Dunhama’s condition.

”Stop! Dunhama works the kitchen of Meduseld. Bring him in at once!”

The sergeant relented some, and Runhild was able to take Dunhama’s arm. But there was still resistance to helping and the other let Dunhama go. Fortunately, Dunhama had regained consciousness and tried to stand as le leaned to Runhild. Lady Eowyn came out and asked,

”Is there a problem here sergeant?”

“No m’lady.”

He gave her a nod and turned to go, giving Runhild a glare.

”Get him in here. He has a headwound!”

Athilda said and Runhild helped Dunhama walk to the mat. Dunhama found he held Runhild’s hand much longer as he looked to her.

”Runhild… we live!”

He pressed the back of her hand to his cheek as he closed his eyes.

Runhild returned the sergeant's scowl, her lips still pulled back in a snarl. She pressed a hand to Dunhama's chest protectively before setting him down on the mat. She brushed his hair away from his face.

"Yes, yes, we live," she breathed. Relief flooded her veins. Dunhama would live to see another day. She would not need to weather another loss. She stayed beside him, clasping his hand, not caring who saw or who judged. He was not the man Rohan believed him to be. They would see it, someday.

Runhild sat in silence beside him as the healers worked, handing them fresh bandages or wiping the blood away from the wounds.