Silverhelm: A Tale of Two Enemies

Do I LOOK Like An Orc To You?

That evening, the King held the burial of his son, Theodred, who had been killed by the Uruks. Theodred lay on a bier of swords and shield with his sword clasped to his chest, and four men carried the bier to the second line of mounds where the simbelmyne grew. As they neared the entrance, Eowyn began singing in the tongue of Rohan. I could not understand the words, but I knew it was a song of mourning for her cousin. In the crowd, I could see the women mouthing along.

Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended
giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende

(An evil death has set forth the noble warrior
A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels)

Aragorn, Legolas, Gandalf, and I stood near the King. As the coffin bearers set Theodred's bier in the mound, I bowed my head as a sign of respect for this valiant (I think) prince I had never met.

on Meduselde þæt he ma no wære,
Þæt he ma nowere is þurh niedig rest.
And mægen deorost.
Bealo...

(in Meduseld that he is no more,
That he is nowhere anymore, for his necessary rest.
And that he is the nearest kinsman.
Killing took him...)

Later that evening, Theoden stood beside the closed tomb of his son with Gandalf. Aragorn and I stood a little distance from him.

"Simbelmynë, ever has it grown on the tombs of my forebears," Theoden said, referring to the white flowers that grew on the tombs. "Now it shall cover the grave of my son." I felt it sad, that this old king's son should die in the prime of his life. "Alas, that these evil days should be mine. The young perish and the old linger. That I should live to see the last days of my house."

"Theodred's death was not of your making," Gandalf said.

"No parent should have to bury their child," Theoden countered.

"He was strong in life," Gandalf assured as Theoden began to cry, covering his face. "His spirit will find its way to the halls of your fathers." I uttered a silent prayer in Quenya that Theodred would reach the Halls of Awaiting.

"Westu hál. Ferðu, Théodred, Ferðu. (Be-thou well. Go-thou, Théodred, go-thou.)" Gandalf turned away. I could speak no words of comfort to the old king. I knew what it was like to lose one I loved, and I knew that no words would comfort him for long.

I looked up, above the mound, and saw a great horse bearing two children. The older one, a boy, fell from the horse. The girl was barely clinging on. Keeping a respectful distance from the mounds, Aragorn and I dashed over. He crouched next to the boy and picked him up. I approached the horse with the girl on it.

"Are you an orc?" she asked with a wavering voice. She couldn't be more than four years old. I smiled sadly. No child this young should have heard of orcs, much less seen one.

"No, child, I'm an elf. I'm here to help you," I told her gently.

"What about the orcs?" she asked me again.

"The orcs? I help fight them," I said.

"Fight them?"

"Yes." I halfway unsheathed my sword. She looked at it in wonder. "With this." I sheathed Nahtar again and held out my hands to her. "Will you come with me? My friend has your brother."

"He looks scary," she commented. "More than you." She thought I looked scary? Then I realized that she was a small child, and I was fully armed with a terrifying scar through my eye (I had startled the hobbits quite badly the first few days). Nevertheless, she permitted me to carry her.