Short Stories: War in the East (Short story number two up, 1/16

[TheDarkKnight]

I have been wondering about what else I could share in this section of TWC, when I remembered this story. I posted this nearly two years ago in the TATW section as sort of a teaser of a much larger story. The whole story as it sits is around 22,000 words, but it is quite unedited and not even finished. I have not had the urge to work on it for quite some time. However, if I get enough feedback from this I may reconsider, though it will involve massive amounts of rewriting to make the story flow better.

Anyway, what is posted below has been copied from the original thread. The story is set in Middle Earth, some time after Sauron's defeat.

This story takes place many years after the battle of the Morannon, in a campaign undertaken by the men of Gondor, Rohan, and Dale to finally bring the Easterlings into total submission. It is led, of course, by King Elessar, as well as the quite elderly Eomer and Bard II. The story I am about to share is not the whole one, but just a small piece of the whole (much larger) story, which I have been working on for months. This is somewhat proofread, so I am sorry for any mistakes you may find.

At this point in the story, the army is located in Easterling lands, near the Orocarni Mountains (the extreme eastern mountain range). The footsoldiers of Rohan and Dale are under the direct command of Bard II, and have been roused from their sleep by an attack on their camp at dawn.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Hama was his name, and he came from the city of Aldburg in western Rohan. He was named after the deceased Captain of King Theoden’s guard who fell in the War of the Ring. His father, Eoder, had fought next to Captain Hama at Helms Deep as a young man, and the elder Hama died saving Eoder at the gates. His father had never forgotten it, and when he grew older and married, he named his second son Hama after he named his first after King Theoden. Hama had grown up hoping to serve his time as a soldier in relative peace. However, rumors had long been reaching Aldburg of a potential campaign in the East undertaken by the great King in Mundburg, and Hama was concerned that his own King Eomer would wish to ride with him to war. When it had been confirmed, Hama was spared of the initial forces sent, but Prince Elfwine eventually called for more men to be sent east, and Hama went with his force on foot to the aid of Eomer. His brother Theoden was also sent, as part of the thousand horsemen sent as a final gesture of aid from Elfwine.

Now he was being organized to be sent against the garrison assaulting his camp. His commander, King Bard of Dale, had hurriedly called his force to arms, and Hama was now being led by his captain out of the camp and running into the flowing waters of the river. Hama soon realized that he had forgotten his secondary weapon, his sword, and feared that if he lost his spear, he would die with no weapon. There was no time to retrieve it, for the enemy was concentrated on a small island in the center of the large river that guarded the fords, and that was where Hama and his company were heading for.

Hama’s trousers and tunic were wet from the fierce flowing river, but after surviving the initial volleys of arrows directed at his fellow soldiers, he made it to the small island. He and his company were the first ones to set foot on the island, and their captain ordered a charge as the rest of the men of Dale and Rohan came up behind and to the sides of them. Hama ran with such force into the wall of Easterlings that the body he punctured with his spear would not yield it, and Hama was rendered defenseless as his victim fell to the ground. The men of his company were now engaging with the men on the island, causing the neat battle lines of the enemy to disappear, and Hama could see arrows flying over his head as he frantically searched for a weapon. A man nearby fell amongst the intermingled lines, and with him, a short handled axe. Hama sprang towards this fallen comrade, and picked up his weapon. An Easterling came at him with a scimitar, and Hama blocked this attack with his circular wooden shield. Hama then hit the man with the shield, stunning him long enough for Hama to hack his new axe into the collar bone, breaking the armor and cleaving the man’s flesh. The man fell with a scream, and Hama pressed his attack on the rest of the Easterlings.

The dirt of the island soaked with the blood of men from Dale, Rohan, and Rhun as the battle raged on. Hama had claimed the lives of several more men with his new axe, and soon claimed another by striking a man it the temple, killing him instantly. The force of Easterlings was being replenished by more and more men from the opposite side of the river, funneling them into the island, leaving the battle with no foreseeable end. His helm was hot as the sun was quickly rising from behind the mountains, and the sweat poured down his face and dropped to the ground, mixing with the blood and sweat of other men. His chainmail seemed heavier from the weariness of battle. Another man challenged Hama, and he hit him with force that the axe head came off the handle, again leaving Hama weaponless.

His need was not dire, however, as horns from the opposite side of the river made the battle come to a standstill. Hama, being slightly taller than the Easterlings, gazed over their heads to the direction of the sound, and could see a large cavalry force charging towards the Easterlings on the opposite side of the river.

“The cavalry has found another ford and crossed!” yelled a nearby man of Dale, and cheers erupted all along the lines on the island and behind them. The men of the East were disheartened at this, and soon turned and fled away from the island and across the ford. Hama’s captain soon gave the order to pursue, and the company and the rest of the men gave chase to the retreating Easterlings.

Hama managed to find a sword on the ground from a fallen comrade before the order to give chase. The sword was well made, perhaps a family heirloom. Hama made a silent promise to keep the legacy alive and eventually return the blade to the rightful owners. After righting himself, he raised his sword and joined with the men in the pursuit. He soon reached the north end of the island and began to ford the river again near the left edge of the ford
--
An archer on the other side of the river managed to fire off one last arrow before he was forced to flee before the charge of both cavalry and foot soldiers, and prayed that the arrow would find a victim amongst the invaders of his country.
--
An arrow pierced Hama’s body, just below the heart, in the middle of the ford. Hama immediately ceased his pursuit and dropped his newly acquired sword, could feel blood staining his tunic. His armor had failed him against the missile of the enemy. He fell backwards, men running around his large body to avoid being crushed as he fell in their pursuit of the enemy. He felt his back wetting with water as he hit the bottom of the ford, the force of the river now carrying him downstream, away from his comrades. He looked upwards as his armor eventually pulled him down, his body no longer keeping him up. He saw a bird flying amongst the clouds and the morning sun, and wondered where it came from as his body sunk below the surface of the river. He held his breath as long as he could, but he felt weak, and soon, the combination of his wound and the lack of oxygen forced him to open his mouth and his lungs to the cool water, now stained by his blood. He felt darkness envelope him as he grew weaker and weaker until finally, he felt nothing…

Feedback is greatly appreciated. For now, this stands as a short story.

[Rex Anglorvm]

I thought that was a nicely worked story, the battle scene was hectic and disorganised as you would expect and the death(?) passage worked nicely, giving the reader perhaps the glimpse of a possible bit of magic if Hama was rescued by some mysterious force or presence from the water.

I liked it

[TheDarkKnight]

Here's another selection from the story.

War in the East, Part 2

Adrahir was a soldier of Dol Amroth, and he was in the fight of his life in the Far East. He had never known that he would be here now, with his sword stained with the blood of foreigners, when he would have rather have been home. But his lord, Prince Elphir, had answered the call of Elessar, and here he was slaying men with whom he had no quarrel with other than they were trying to kill him. He was not enthused with his duty. He had wanted to be a poet, thought Adrahir, but his family had pressured him into service. He could have served in the militia of Dol Amroth or even that of Gondor, but had instead been practically forced into joining the ranks of the regulars. The only benefit he saw of this that if he was going to fight, he might as well fight well armed: he felt his steel helmet and cuirass would protect him well, along with his broad shield and well made chainmail. He admired the makers of his equipment. He would have rather have learned how to make the weapons of war, not make war itself. But now, it was too late. His mind wandering had almost allowed him to be slain himself, but now he focused on the task at hand. He had already slew two men, and quickly killed a third who had attempted to end Adrahir’s life. He was on the front lines of a battle he felt was unfair, for the men he faced were not even well equipped. All they bore was a small shield and a short sword, some only a small axe. He took pity on them, as he cleaved another with his razor sharp sword. But his duty was not to take pity, but to fight for his lord. His other duty was more personal: to survive to live for another day. The sun was high above his head as he claimed two more lives with his blade, and the Easterlings were still coming across the river. He could not see any men of Dol Amroth dead, for they all were well clad and armed, and the unclad Easterlings were easily falling to the blades and arrows of the men of Dol Amroth. There was no justice in the world, felt Adrahir. The attack was faltering, and he wounded a man who immediately surrendered. Adrahir stayed his hand, and pushed the cowardly man aside. Adrahir raised his blade and sliced downward, removing a charging man’s hand in the process, the man’s eyes widening with shock as he stared at where his hand used to be. Adrahir, not wishing to let the man suffer, knocked him down, and stabbed downward, piercing the heart of the crying man. Blood gushed forth, pooling around the blade and dripping to the ground. He was about to stab another man when he felt something pierce his side. He felt weak as he looked to his right, saw the man who he had spared, his hand on the blade that was now in his side. Adrahir looked at the man with shock, his eyes showing disbelief. The man was soon dead, Adrahir’s comrades killing the man as Adrahir fell sideways with the sword still under his arm. His chainmail had failed him, and his cuirass could not have protected him. The man he spared had found the one weak spot in his armor. The battle was all but over, but Adrahir was dying. He was now on his back; the wound he suffered was bleeding tremendously. He tried putting pressure on the wound, but all that accomplished was turning his hands red. The blood of his enemies mixed with that of his own as he tried; Adrahir thought there could possibly be a poem to that. His eyes were towards the clouds, shrouding the sun. He wished he was home, smelling the sea air that continuously surrounded Dol Amroth. He missed his family, his friends, and his city. Why was he here? Why was he dying on this field in the Far East? Men of Dol Amroth were around him. They had removed his shield and his helmet from his body and taken his sword, and were now tending to him, attempting to stop the bleeding. But Adrahir knew it was too late. He could not hear the words of comfort that the men were telling him. The sun blinded him now, the clouds having shifted. A tall man stepped in front of the sun, relieving his eyes of the sun. He recognized his prince, his lord, as the man blocking the sun. He felt strong at the sight of him, for though he was an unwilling soldier, he was still a staunchly loyal one. Adrahir tried to form words, but the effort was too much. He raised his bloodied hand, unable to do anything else. The prince kneeled, taking Adrahir’s hand in his. Elphir was talking to him, but could still not hear. His mind was elsewhere. He felt weak, the strength of the sight of his prince now wearing off on him. He felt his eyes closing, but could finally hear the words of his prince. “Sleep well, son of Dol Amroth” One final, long breath escaped Adrahir’s lips, and with that, he passed into blackness.

[Rex Anglorvm]

Another melancholy ending; I'm beginning to think that you like heroic death scenes

Will rep+ when able

[TheDarkKnight]

Well, they are short stories, aren't they?


In the big story, Hama and Adrahir are not the main characters. There are two main POV characters that I wrote for the battle scenes. It's just that part way through the story I decided I can't always write from their perspective because it makes no sense to have them in the middle of every battle (i.e., the enemy attacking different wings of the army or an ambush on one part of the column). So I created these two, and I think there's a third somewhere. I'll have to double check.