Return to the North [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

More Than a Sword

That night, Elfwine slept fitfully. For hours he lay awake, staring up at the beautiful carven wood that was the ceiling. He watched the tapestries along his walls blow in the wind of his open window. He listened to the occasional neigh of the horses far below Meduseld or the chirping of crickets outside his home. Finally the teenage boy threw off his covers in frustration and sat up.

Elfwine cast his gaze over to the table at the far end of his room. There, atop the table still in its scabbard, was his sword. Guthwinë, Battle-friend in Rohirric, had once belonged to his father, Éomer. But now that Éomer bore Herugrim, the ancient sword of royalty in Rohan, Elfwine wielded his father's former blade.

He stood from his bed, slipping into soft slippers, and walked slowly over to the sword. Gently he placed his hands on it, one on the scabbard, one on the hilt. With a swift movement, he drew it forth. The moonlight shining in through the window glinted off the steel blade and cast light around the room.

"You will see battle again someday, my friend," he thought with a smirk. "You and I will do great deeds in the North!"

He ran a hand over the flat of the sword. This sword was the sword that had battled the legendary Uruk-hai of Saruman at Helm's Deep. It had slaughtered orcs of Sauron on the Pelennor Fields. It had defended the Free Peoples at the Morannon.

"Now," he thought bitterly, "you sit idly on my table or strapped to my waist."

He swung his sword at an invisible enemy to his left.

"Just as Eldarion and Aderthon showed me," he smiled to himself.

Back and forth he danced lightly, careful not to creak the floorboards or hit his furniture. Back and forth like a pendulum he flew. His golden hair flashed around his face, the golden hair of his father, of his people.

At last he stopped. The moon was sinking low in the sky and he had yet to sleep more than an hour. With reverence, Elfwine sheathed Guthwinë.

"Do not worry, my friend. We will slay real foes soon enough."

That morning, the fellowship met up yet again in the great hall of Meduseld. That morning just the royal family and the travellers were there, eating a healthy breakfast before the fellowship was to set off towards Helm's Deep. King Éomer told them many things.

"As you know already, perhaps, Erkenbrand's son Elden is now Marshal of the West Mark. He took the position over when his father died a few years back." Éomer looked sadly at those around him. "We miss the Lord terribly, but his son is an excellent leader. Anyways, you should find him at Helm's Deep. He himself was visiting the dwarves of the Glittering Caves to ask then about constructing a new fortification."

After breakfast, the royal couple walked them down to the stables. With a sad smile, Lothiriel hugged her children quickly. Éomer nodded to them firmly.

"Listen to Eldarion," Éomer insisted. "Especially you, Elfwine."

The boy stood at attention and nodded. He felt his hand around the hilt of Guthwinë and took comfort in knowing that it might actually get some use in the coming months. They would be heading through Moria after all.

"Good luck to you all," the king bowed his head slightly in respect and good fortune. "Do us proud."

They all bowed and thanked the monarchs. Stable workers had brought out their steeds and they mounted up. The journey needed to continue. It was time.

"What's the pace for today, Eldarion?" Aderthon asked as he rode up beside his best friend.

"I figure we might gallop a bit, get the horses moving. I'd like to reach Helm's Deep by late tomorrow night. Midnight perhaps." Eldarion urged his stallion out into the rolling fields of Rohan.

Fëalas instantly took off, Elfwine not far behind. The others laughed and shook their heads before following. Evidently Fëalas had wanted to gallop also.

The green rolling grasses passed them by as the sped onwards. Taking periodic breaks allowed them all much needed breathers, especially for the horses. Edeva fed her horse an apple once, sneaking it from the food pack.

Her horse was a brilliant white mare. The filly of a lesser Mearas, her horse Snowheart wasn't quite as strong or fast as Greymane, but she was of royal horse blood nonetheless. So she deserved an apple every now and then.

Edeva loved her horse, as all Rohirrim did. She had raised Snowheart since the filly had been born and now the horse was a brilliant mare that almost kept up with her cousin Greymane. Only Mearas were fit for royalty of Rohan.

They made good time, camping out at last that night when the moon was high. Barahir and Círeth were on guard first.

Barahir yawned as he settled down at last. "There's nothing out there. Haven't been for a long time. All the servants of the Dark Lord have gone into hiding."

"Can never be too careful," shrugged Círeth. "It is good we have guards. Ruffians may not serve Sauron, but they are just as evil. And they do exist."

Barahir shrugged. He supposed she was right. He seldom got called to do more than defend his country from thieves or other minor criminals. Emyn Arnen and the rest of Ithilien was peaceful countryside. He acknowledged that Círeth, being a ranger captain on the borders, saw more combat and violence than he.

"What was that?" Círeth murmured an hour later, gazing out into the night.

She and Barahir stood slowly and drew their weapons, he his sword and she her bow. Notching and arrow on the string, she looked sharply out where she'd seen movement.

Suddenly from beside them on their left they heard a twig snap. Whipping their heads that way, Círeth pointed her bow straight at a man carrying a dagger.

"Don't move," she hissed angrily. "Drop the weapon."

He looked frightened and did as he was told. Barahir ran off and pulled another two men from the tickets at sword point. They pushed the three together just as the others began to wake.

"Please!" begged the first man. "Spare us!"

"Why should we?" Círeth glared. "You tried to rob us!"

Eldarion and Elfwine stepped over to Círeth and Barahir. Eldarion cocked his head and looked the thieves over before turning to Elfwine.

"This is your country," he told him. "It is your choice."

Elfwine hesitated. He looked at the men and knew they would probably attack another traveling party as soon as they were out of reach. He would be protecting others by ending these criminals' lives.

He drew his sword and stepped forward.

"Do you see this sword," he said angrily. "This is Guthwinë! This is the sword that fought side by side with King Elessar of Gondor! This is the sword that once belonged to your king and now belongs to me, his son!"

The thieves cowered beneath his blade, sure they were about to meet their end. Elfwine raised his blade and brought it down.

Right in the ground before them.

"Remember that this is also the sword that spared you. But I will not hesitate to kill you if we catch you thieving again. I will alert Lord Elden of your crimes and he will obey my decree that you should die if you commit another one."

They thanked him over and over again. Elfwine ordered they turn over their weapons and they obeyed.

"Leave now." He pointed off into the distance. "Return whence you came."

The thieves scuttled off quickly, fleeing before their prince. Elfwine took a deep breath and turned to Eldarion.

"Was that the right choice?" He asked uncertainly, sounding like the teenage boy he was once more.

Eldarion smiled and shrugged. "Perhaps. Who can know? But it is what I would have done."

Elfwine grinned and nodded. He had done like the man he looked up to the most. That, he could live with.