He surveyed the town, a burnt shell of it’s former self, and he concluded that had it not been for the Company, Trestlebridge would have been all but destroyed entirely. He had stayed behind to ensure the security of the town until more forces from the Bree-town watch would arrive and he had the unenviable duty to bury the dead of his enemies.
He thought it best to give them a burial on the hillside in which they had attacked from, they were hillmen after all. He chose the spot in which their soldiers died defending his charge against their siege engines. Three catapult teams were left defenseless against his soldier’s charge. He had no hesitation to end their lives, but, in the shroud of the grey clouds of the North Downs, he had more than once paused his digging of the graves to think of his part in their slaying. The commander did not know of their customs or beliefs. He knew not what gods they prayed to, and yet he and the soldiers under his command had sent the hillmen to meet them.
Under the shade of the greater hills of this far Western country, Commander Altheric placed river stones on each grave, each boulder recovered from the river far below this town’s once great bridge. He knew no names, but instead gave them the names of the letters of his mother tongue. Far away in his homeland of Dale, another Bardling was doing the same to his enemies. He knew no more respect that he could give his enemies, nor another ritual worthy of their story.
Few in his number bore many wounds from this fight, though well fought. The Company, under the training of the Commander and the harsh drills of the dwarven Sergeant Kildwin, had made short work of their sneak attack. Both he and Kildwin had stood at the side of Furley, the leader of the Company during the parley at the battle’s end. This new enemy claimed this attack was but a small show of their forces and that they would return with greater numbers.
Altheric, with his mailed hand bloody from the fight gripping his halberd firmly looked at Kildwin before giving his retort.
“You faced the sons of Erebor and Dale. Subjects of Dain and Brand.” The words came easily to him, and he felt a tear well up in his eye. He continued, “Our ancestors fought and smote a great dragon. And, yes, it destroyed an entire city with it’s fiery breath. And the smell of burning buildings and wreckage must be much the same now as it was then.”
He dug the butt of his halberd into the ground in front of him in resolution. The three of them standing in defiance of their attackers.
“Today, dear enemy, I see no dragon.”
