Chapter soundtrack: 'Black Betty' by Spiderbait.

♪ = cue music

☨ Chp. XXII ☨

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➳  Eretria's P.O.V

I ride beside Aragorn, slightly tense as the wind carries the harsh screeches of an approaching army. The beasts are yet to come into sight, hidden behind the slight elevation of land we now climb, yet dust has brewed within the distant air.

As tradition, Koda's war paint adorns my face. Whether it is the reminder of his training, keeping his tradition alive, or simply my heart yearning for a touch of his character, I am yet to figure out. Though what I do know is that it brings confidence.

Turning my head, I look past Eomer to Legolas, and feel a flick of humour at the sight of an elf riding a war goat. Thorin Stonehelm was ever-so-kind enough to let us borrow some of his steeds. And, to be quite honest, I'm not complaining. They're sturdy, and the horns work as a great shield. Not to mention how soft their hides are. I have also heard they have amazing balance, making me rather excited to see what kind of manoeuvres I can pull off. Who knows, maybe this will become my main steed? That could be pretty humourous, raiding Mirkwood on the back of a goat...

As we reach the top of the hill, slight dread sets in, and my grip on the reins tighten at the sight of Sharon's army. Though, I am relieved at the size, for our army holds a descent advantage in comparison. It surprises me how many dwarves can fit into one mountain.

My brows come to furrow as I observe he frontline, noticing men in leather and coats of fur.

"Dunlendings." Aragorn mutters, rather unimpressed at the sight. "We had an agreement on peace and diplomacy, as I chose to show mercy after the ring was destroyed. It seems Sauron has once again stirred hatred and corruption."

"Wildmen will always be ruthless and unreliable." I reply, scowling down at the army as I reflect upon the brutal stories many of my kids have shared. Behind the Dunlendings, I notice the new breed of orc, their black armour flooding the plain like a sea of death. I am yet to experience this new hybrid, and that makes me quite nervous.

The dwarven army gathers behind us, full of energy and unreleased testosterone. Stonehelm rides beside Aragorn, and as the war goats line the elevation, we see Sharon's army come to a halt. Confused screeches can be heard over the slight wind, followed by aggressive shouts.

Got ya assholes.

There is a moment of silence, before Stonehelm pushes forward, his large axe raised as an impatient shout booms from the royal dwarf.

"What are we waiting for? Let us carve some meat and water the grounds with orc blood!" He rallies, and his army fires a flood of guttural war-cries in response.

Dwarves. They don't have time for anyone's nonsense.

I give my goat a slight kick of my heel, and he races forward, remaining in formation with the frontline as we dive into the first battle of the season.

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Sliding my daggers from their sheathes, I prepare for contact, keeping my body low as the goats charge forward. Adrenaline pumps in my veins as we hit the frontline, and before I know it, we have penetrated their army with a mighty clash of metal. Grizzly grunts and war shouts echo throughout the valley, myself releasing a determined cry as I swipe at the neck of my first kill, coming to the reminder of how brutal war is. Blood spurts, covering my forearm, yet I must delve into my ruthless 'battle mindset'. I was never one for gore, though with enough experience you gain a switch for empathy.

My goat swings its head as it advances, knocking many Dunlendings, before trampling them with its heavy hooves. I continue to swipe my daggers left and right, the metal staining red with each blow. Heaving thuds sound throughout the thick air as the dwarves hack a path with their massive axes, though my brows come to furrow as I notice goats falling by the knees. The wildmen have discovered a vulnerability at the legs, and begin to hack the creatures down.

I spot a dunlending duck as I advance towards him, preparing his blade. My mind delves into a series of rapid thoughts, and one sparks. I quickly jump to a crouch upon my goats back. Grabbing its horn, I give a rapid tug, and the goat swerves to the right. With my grasp still tight, I swing out a leg and kick the man's head. My goat steadies itself, and I realise this ride can be equipped easier than expected. 

With a light kick of my heel, he races forward, and I once again crouch low on his back, steadying my balance with a hand upon his large horns. Looking a fair way to my side, I notice Legolas simply standing on the hide of his goat as it charges, firing arrows at the enemies in front.

Gripping onto a horn, I lean my body out, blocking swings and slicing wildlings as I pass. Though my breath hitches as my goat stumbles, hit by one of the bastards.

Leaping from his hide, I land on the hard ground in a crouch, before quickly rising to block a swift blow. The dunlending hisses at me, before dashing forward with an animalistic fury. I send a kick to the stomach, and as he stumbles back, I slice at his neck with my dagger.

One thing I have learnt is to always swipe. Stabbing takes too long, and there is the chance your blade could get stuck.

Advancing forward, I grab the horn of a mounted goat as it passes, and hang to the side. A wildling ducks in front to hack at the leg, however I swing myself forward as the goat flicks its head and kick down the man before he can strike. His blade slightly nicks at my calf, though before he can do more damage, I grip his matted hair and cut his throat.

Raising, I spin to block another blade, though stumble back at the force. My eyes widen as I come face to face with one of Sharon's new and improved beastly creations.

Third Person ➳

"God you're ugly." Eretria breathes out, channeling all her strength to knock away the orc's blade. With a ghastly cackle, the wretched beast reveals a mawl of rotten teeth.

Dodging a blow, the outlaw does a quick scan of its dark armour, noticing vulnerabilities at the neck and knees. She sends a distracting hit to its chest, which the orc blocks, before Eretria ducks down to swipe at his knee cap, though her blade fails to do much damage against its thick, blackened skin. Cussing, she rolls to the side to avoid a heavy downward strike. Noticing a fallen weapon dropped by one of the orcs, the outlaw swiftly sheathes her dagger to yield the jagged sword. Once again rolling to avoid another hit, she sends a ferocious swipe to the demon's knee, and this time damage is indeed inflicted.

With a loud hiss, the orc stumbles, and Eretria goes for its throat, tensing as dark blood sprays onto her face. Standing, she only has a moment to catch her breath before another wretched beast storms forward. The process is repeated, and Eretria begins to find a rhythm for fighting with the new hybrids.

Éomer has managed to clear his way towards his friend, and the two stand back to back, positioned to fight the leering orcs.

"Go for the knees, then slice the throat." Eretria orders, and the man of Rohan nods, preparing his blade.

Suddenly, a powder bomb explodes into the thick air, causing a cloud of black dust to fill their vision, limiting their sight of the enemy.

"You've got to be kidding me." Eretria hisses, moving back as the two continue to hold their stance.

"It is just as though we are training." The man of Rohan responds. "We must rely on our other senses."

Eretria nods, closing her eyes to prevent any further irritability to her sight. Focusing on other senses is hard when a battle commences around you, though with many years of training, the outlaw finds herself lucky to have practiced on this particular circumstance.

Swinging her blade, she meets the armour of an orc. Wind whirls to her right, and she is quick to duck, swiping at what she hopes to be the knee. With a grunt the creature falls, and Eretria lifts her blade to meet with the orc's sword as it attempts a final strike. With haste, she slides her blade down to cut the wrist, before proceeding to its neck.

The blind fighting continues as many other beasts strike forward, and Eretria grows anxious as it never seems to end. Keeping her strength grows harder by the second, and though she can sense Éomer continuing to battle behind her, the outlaw grows concerned for her friends who may not be so familiar with the circumstances.

Though, relief pools through her veins at the sound of a victory horn. Hesitantly opening her eyes, she lets out a soft breath as the air clears, revealing a plain littered by wildmen and orc carcass. There have been dwarf casualties, but nothing close to the number of fallen enemies. Scanning the perimeter, she notices Legolas and Aragorn holding a forearm lock. With a full heart, she turns to Éomer, and the two embrace.

Although it was a fight already won from the beginning, as they held the element of surprise, along with the difference in numbers, it did get risky. There are strategies which must be strengthened before a proper army is sent.

•

•

•

The dwarves party.

Hard.

Loud cheers and victorious hollers sound from within Stonehelm's halls as the kingdom celebrates a battle won by their brute strength. Though a fairly small fight, it was their first in many years, and dwarves will take any excuse to drown their sturdy organs with the realm's finest alcohol.

Though, as the celebrations commence in one room, the fellowship can be found in another, separated by a large wooden door as Eretria stands outside with her kids. Aragorn is first to leave the room, a look of irritation upon his face as Éomer and Legolas follow behind. The outlaw raises a brow.

"Unsuccessful?" She questions, her arms crossed as she leans against the stone wall.

"He dares not speak against his master." The man responds in frustration. "Our attempts could draw no information."

Eretria pushes herself from the wall, a smirk placed upon her face.

"He's a male." She remarks, walking passed the king as she sends him a confident nod. "I've got this."

She strolls towards one of the dwarven guards who stand by the entrance, whispering something inaudible into his ear, before opening the large wooden door and disappearing inside.

Centred within the dim lit room is a wildman bound tightly to a chair with iron chains. The feral human hisses at the sight of Eretria, though she continues to stride forward, slowing her pace as she comes to circle him, placing a hand upon his gruff shoulder. The enemy writhes beneath her touch, grunting in anger.

"Frisky." The outlaw snorts, before coming to crouch before him. She eyes him down, from the matted hair entangled upon his head, to the torn boots holding his feet. Standing, she gives him a small grin, before turning and walking towards a table placed by the side of the room. She moves the object infront of the man, then continues to snatch and place a chair. Striding back over, she ignores the chair and sits upon the table's top, facing the wildling with one leg crossed over the other.

"Here's how this is going to go." Eretria speaks out, breaking the thick tension which has mustered within the air. "You are going to sit there and tell me Sauron's plans for Minas Tirith. You will tell me why he hasn't attacked, what his plans are, and why he sent your army to Edoras."

The outlaw leaves a moment of silence, and the wildman lets out an animalistic cackle, spit dripping from his mouth as he wheezes in amusement at the outlaw's orders.

"Ah, let me finish." Eretria continues, pushing herself off the table as she comes to stand before the ghastly man. The cackling silences as she places a hand upon his thigh, causing the enemy to tense in confusion.

"If you fail to tell me, you can say goodbye to your little friend." The outlaw informs with a low whisper, unsheathing one of her daggers and resting the sharp metal upon his other thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. Her demeanour turns from friendly to cold within the flick of a second, a stone hard look carved upon her face.

This has caused the wildman to silence completely, and Eretria notices sweat forming on his brow line. Tension arises, before the outlaw cracks another sickly-sweet grin, standing to her feet as she spins and approaches the table. Pulling out the chair, she sits in time for a dwarven guard carrying a silver plate to enter the room.

"You have until I finish my dinner." She informs. The dwarf places the plate before Eretria, revealing a freshly cooked sausage.

Bringing her dagger to the meat, the outlaw's sharp metal cuts clean through the thick sausage. With a grin, she stabs into the skin, firmly holding the man's terrified gaze as she bites into the meat.

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Ramsay from GOT would be SO HOT if he wasn't a horrific bastard.

Also, can we appreciate how fit you'd have to be to fight in a war? I mean, run out of breath and you literally die.

Hope you enjoyed my merry women <3