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“I’m afraid I cannot, Lord Erkenbrand,” Gandalf replied. “Your King needs you. Can you ride to him?”<br>
What trouble had befallen Edoras that could possible incur the King to call away all that was left to defend the western region of Rohan? For many years he had ignored the goings on at Edoras, preferring the familiarity of his position in the Westfold. He felt a stubborn urge to refuse the summons, wanting nothing less than to leave his home vulnerable.
“And leave my land undefended against the malice and ruin of Orcs?” He returned, and felt humiliated that he failed to keep his disbelief and resentment out of his voice.
“Saruman has ordered all his servants to march again your King, and the Westfold will be overlooked. Your King is now cornered in Helm’s Deep and soon undertakes a battle the likes of which will not be seen again in Rohan. Have faith in a wizard, Erkenbrand, and ride with me to Theoden King.”<br>
Erkenbrand was silent, thinking. He saw the evil stain on his land, smelt the stifling stench of death. Could he leave these fields unwatched and defenceless? He was Lord of these lands, a title he had honoured and meant to honour until he died defending it. It would be folly to leave these lands to the corrupting power of an Orc’s blind violence.
“What of the King’s men who accompany him?” he asked, feeling the heavy gaze of Gandalf rest on him.
“They stand with him still,” answered Gandalf. “Yet they are not enough.”<br>
“Not enough?” He wondered what force could be assailing Helm’s Deep. The enemy must be in the high hundreds-
“Ten thousand strong stands the army of Saruman.”<br>
Erkenbrand felt his blood run cold. Ten thousand? Ten thousand Orcs would tear the unassailable walls of Helm’s Deep to the ground. All the women and children of the Westfold would be caught like cornered birds in a cage, and they wouldn’t receive mercy from the d**ned mockery of elves. They would be slaughtered without thought or hesitation- just like his soldiers had been killed on the banks of the Ford of Isen.
He was afraid; not for himself but for the boy who must don a soldier’s face, and bear another’s sword. He feared for the old man who would spend the last moment of his life parrying with a monster, instead of lying contentedly in a bed with his wife. He feared for the woman who would wait for their husband and son to return, and give up hope when they do not. He feared for the young girl who would never grow into a woman and feel the bliss of love, nor bear forth the children of the man she loves.
Theoden’s army could not triumph or escape.
What good could he do trying to regain the Westfold, if Theoden King and the people of Rohan fell in its place? His loyalty was for his King and not for the lands he was bequeathed to protect. He and his men could save the lives of their people instead of vainly attempting to retake these lands. His obligation as Lord was to defend this land, but his foremost duty was to his King.
Erkenbrand took hold of his sword’s hilt and gripped his shield tighter. He swung his horse around to face his men and stood in the stirrups.
“We ride to the aid of Theoden King!” he cried out, and a loud roar of approval was the only reply.
He turned back to Gandalf.
“Gather those you can, Erkenbrand of the Westfold,” Gandalf said. “-and head to Helm’s Deep. There I shall find you.”<br>
Then Gandalf Greyhame spurred Shadowfax on, and like a streak of morning sunlight over the hills he fled out of sight.
Erkenbrand took one last, desperate, lingering gaze at the Westfold, then raised his horn to his lips and blew. The low, rumbling boom echoed across the plains, stirring the hearts of all men, women and children who heard it. It was a call of arms, and even as his company set off towards Helm’s Deep riders appeared on the horizon, heading toward them.
He rode on, his heart aching for the abandonment of his homeland, but soaring for the prospect of aiding his King in battle. As his horse’s hooves thundered beneath him, he was reminded of the day he was granted leave to defend the Westfold. Only a boy at the time, he had never known what it meant to defend one’s land. He had never known the fulfilment a man could feel from belonging, or the glory in being recognized for his deeds and named successor for the title of ‘Lord’. He had been a young man, on the verge of being one of the greatest leaders the Westfold has seen.
He knew that he lived for only two things- to serve his King, and to defend his land. And now he rode to do both. Once he served his King his land would be saved, and Erkenbrand felt the pain in his shoulder fade away, felt the air become clearer, felt his vigour return and...
And he felt hope.
If they reached the King in time they could destroy Saruman’s army and release Rohan from his malevolent grasp. For too long Rohan had been left to grow wild and unwatched. Strange creatures passed overs the borders uncontested and evil laced itself into every tree, rock and blade of grass. He knew it was time to end the reign of wickedness and restore Rohan to its former glory. The Rohirrim would purge their lands of evil.
They rested sparingly; too far they had to ride, and not enough time to do it. The sun sank and still they went on, pushing their horses to the limits. More riders came every hour and soon he had lost count of those that followed him. They drove away weariness and fear and filled their minds with courage and determination. And finally, the ridge of Helm’s Deep appeared on the horizon.
He urged them on faster, and to their left a great host of riders came to join them. Gandalf, now the White Rider, led them on, and the two hosts merged and become one. As the sun rose they reached the crest of Helm’s Deep, and saw the great army of Saruman.
Hailed by the beams of the rising sun they descended the steep hill behind Gandalf, and Erkenbrand lifted his horn to his lips and blew again, and his horn sounded across the Deep and reached the ears of Theoden King. Orcs fled in terror at the sound, but the spirits of the Rohirrim were lifted and a great roar erupted from behind him.
“Erkenbrand!” the riders shouted. “Erkenbrand!”<br>
Erkenbrand, Lord of the Westfold, smiled softly as he lifted his red shield. He leapt from the hills and the golden sun climbed into the sky, flooding the land of Rohan with light and banishing the shadows.
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The End
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