Silverhelm: A Tale of Two Enemies

I Thought I Told You To Stop Getting Yourself Killed!

The mountains lay a day ahead of us. We galloped over the barren plains, Daelen's tireless hooves leading the way. I suddenly slowed, reining my dark horse in, my ears pricked up. Legolas stopped beside me and turned his head inquiringly.

"There are horsemen behind us," I breathed, gripping the hilt of Nahtar. "Riding hard. They will soon overtake us." We turned around, weapons drawn, facing our attackers.

"Halt!" Legolas cried in a clear, ringing voice. "Halt! Who rides in Rohan?" Our attackers checked their horses with astonishing speed and stopped fifty paces away. The full moon was covered in drifting clouds, making it hard to see them.

"Rohan?" a voice called out. A man dismounted from his horse, stopping ten paces away, and held out his hand in a gesture of peace. "Rohan, did you say? That is a glad word. We seek that land in haste from long afar."

"You have found it," I answered. The man, a tall dark silhouette, started at the sound of a woman's voice. "This is the realm of Theoden King. None ride here, save by his leave. Who are you, and what is your haste?"

"I am Halbarad Dunadan, Ranger of the North," the man said. "We seek one Aragorn son of Arathorn, and we heard that he was in Rohan." I breathed a sigh of relief. These were the men Elrond had told me about.

"And you have found him also!" Aragorn said joyfully. He dismounted and embraced the newcomer. "Halbarad! Of all joys, this is the least expected!"

It turned out that Halbarad was a cousin of Aragorn's. He had thirty of the Dunedain warriors with him. Elladan and Elrohir were also with them, desiring to ride to war. After Elrohir had told me that my hair was so messy I should be ashamed and Elladan told me that I apparently looked 'grown-up' (I'm nearly three thousand, for Valimar's sake), we rode off southwards as fast as our horses' hooves could take us.

Riding hard through the night, we came upon the Door of the Dead a few hours before dawn. Our horses, save Daelen, would not enter, but they would allow themselves to be led if their rider had the strength of heart to pass through that cursed gate. We went forth with lit torches because the path was pitch-black. Aragorn led the way, and Halbarad and I followed.

Suddenly, Aragorn stopped, moving his torch to throw light on the ground. He knelt, and I peered over his shoulder: there lay the skeleton of a man, clad in armor, fingers clawing at a sealed door ahead. Beside him lay a marked sword, broke, as if he had tried to cut down the door as the last attempt.

Aragorn rose his face determined. We pushed on in the light of our flickering torches until a sharp gust of wind extinguished every one and we walked forward in the darkness. As the road widened, we mounted again, riding with haste. Or, at least, as much haste as we could muster when Shadowfax was not there to show us the meaning of it. But, you know.

I sensed something behind me. I turned and saw shapes of Men, some mounted, with banners like pale shreds of clouds and spears like winter-thickets on a misty night. At the rear of the company, Legolas's eyes glittered as he turned to Gimli.

"The Dead are following," he said.

"Yes, the Dead ride behind," Elladan, who was the rearguard, answered. "They have been summoned."

At last, we came out of the ravine through which we had been riding. The stream that had flowed beside us now became a river and fell through the rocks. We were in Morthrond Vale, on the south of the Ered Nimrais: we had literally passed through the mountains.

Then Aragorn bade us ride like the wind to Erech, and ride we did, like the most terrible hurricane to devastate Dol Amroth. Just before midnight set, we reached the Hill of Erech. At its top was set a large stone of obsidian, as large as a man, and completely round like a marble.