~ What follows is written on several loose, age-stained sheets rolled up tightly and bound with three green ribbons. It is written in a legible, practiced hand impressed deeply into the sheets in most places, but in some places the writing appears rushed and is difficult to read.~
My name is Bregoàn. I do not know why I feel I must write this down, but there is some urge driving me to bare my soul upon this parchment while the memory is fresh and deep. I fear that this memory will always be so, the simple recall is like shoving a finger in an open wound. Perhaps I hope that if I can pour it out in my own way, I can lessen its weight on my mind.
Of me, there is not much to tell. I live in a small village in Rohan. My father is a guardsman. Most folks farm, or tend horses. I did not fit in with any of them as a child, and perhaps even less so now. I prefer studying the beasts of the field and wood, and reading stories from the past.
But this story actually begins in my fourteenth year, a few weeks ago, or perhaps it was months. I awoke to the sound of horns cutting through the night with their warning cry. It could mean only one thing – Dunlenders. Wretched creatues… (script becomes agitated and impossible to make out).
Barely awake, I pulled on my clothes and opened the chest where I kept my weapon. I had a small sword, a bit underused, and undersized for a man, but it suited me. By the time I finished getting ready, Father was already prepared and gathering the family together. It was the four of us: Father, Mother, ‘Baby’ Leothross, and I. I call him ‘Baby’, but Leothross was almost three. All were bundled tightly against the early winter cold, and Leothross was strapped to Mother’s chest, allowing her to move a bit better and keep track of him. He was really too grown for such an arrangement, but now was not the time for that.
“Are you ready, son?”
“Yes Father.”
“They are attacking down by the old oak. I must go quickly. I need you to get your mother and brother to safety. If they make it in the village there is nowhere safe here – we are sending you all to town. You will be riding away from them, and it will be safe. Go!”
“But Father, shouldn’t I come with you?”
“- Son. Keep them safe.”
I can still feel his heavy hand gripping my slender shoulder as he looked into my eyes and spoke…
The first light of dawn was still some time away, and darkness obscured everything. A haunting red glow came from the direction of the old oak tree. I hoped against hope that it was not the oak burning. We quickly mounted our two horses – Mother and Leothross on one, and I on the other. Father had already taken off down the hill toward the glow.
We rode through the village quickly, falling behind a few other families going in the same direction. As we neared the edge of the village, we met a cadre of other young men heading in the opposite direction, toward the fighting.
“Bregoàn, come on! Are you just going to run, with the women and children? Or are you going to fight with the real men?!”
“I’m protecting my family,” I retorted, though they had not really stopped to listen. “Because they need so much protecting while fleeing to safety,” I continued in a mumble.
We continued past several farms, really having left the village now. The nearby town was close – just over the next ridge or two. It looked like a straight shot. Surely it is safe now. In a second, I had decided.
“Keep going, Mother. You will make it easily. I am going to help Father.”
I did not wait to hear her protest, but quickly turned my steed around. I turned and waved briefly, and heard her say, “Wait – and there he goes. Be safe!”
I urged my horse to go faster, wanting to catch up to the others. I did, near the center of the village.
“Oh look who decided to join us! Just in time. Come on, we are going to flank these scum and drive them back to the mountains. Nobody messes with the Rohirrim!”
Shouts of agreement and similar threats rang from every throat, and we were off.
I do not actually remember much of the ensuing battle, only that it was short. There did not seem to be too many of them, and the coming of the cavalry (as we thought) scared them right off. Some gave pursuit, but I decided against it. I had swung my sword a few times, but was fairly certain I was a greater danger to others than to them. My father had also stayed behind to begin cleaning up the mess, and he gestured me over as soon as he saw me.
“That was easy, too easy it feels. But what are you doing here? Where are Fraethwyn and Leothross?”
“The way was clear, so I came back to help.”
He frowned, and turned his gaze to the oak tree. In the place where once a great oak had stood shading a sister stump that was sometimes used as a platform for the odd traveling musician, a smoldering corpse of tree stood. The white wisps of smoke that rose the charred wood seemed still more melancholy in the early dawn light.
“They got it. But that is about all they got, we should feel blessed. Come, let’s go find your mother. I should ride to town to report this raid and request protection anyway.”
I knew something was wrong as soon as we got out into the plains toward town. There was a deathly quiet – especially to my ears. No birds called to us cheerily, no little creatures scurried through the grass. Suddenly, we saw why.
(The writing becomes very weak and shaky. Large spaces separate words and lines.)
I … I … cannot describe it. It is too painful.
A few dozen bodies, both of Dunlenders and Rohirrim, lay strewn about.
The blood.
But I could only see one. Mother lay face down amid the death – a crude spear seemed to pin her to the ground.
I tried to avert my eyes, but I had to look …
Her sword lay naked a few inches from her hand, and the stains it bore told of the fight she had made.
Father ran to her side, desperately checking for signs of life, and then gently began to roll her over. He let the body slump back down and turned his face away. I had seen it too. The spear had gone through both mother and brother in one cruel blow.
I do not know what happened next. Life became a blur. All I knew, and know, is that I should have been there to protect them.
Eventually we made it back to our village. I think we even had an escort from town.
Days pass, even weeks, without any notice taken. Most of the village simply are going through the motions of rebuilding – it is not easy. In that one blow, the (harsh scratched blot of ink) have taken many of the families, most of the horses, and most of the will to live from us. Some stay on because they have farms. Some have left their farms to move elsewhere. Those that did not even have farms moved on to other towns. I even heard that one man and his son moved way up north to Dale.
My father and I… well, we stay for each other. We do not speak of it, but we share our grief silently. Still the image is burned into my mind, a scar and a tribute. I know I am to blame. But I also know this.
They will not go unpunished.
