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I was born and brought up in the Westmark, the land of my sires. I didn’t go gallivanting around much, due to my Father’s early death and my younger brothers not being old enough to help my Mother out. So I stayed home and worked the farm, just like my Father had before me. My life seemed pretty normal- I mean, there were times when something just didn’t seem right somehow, but I just shrugged it off and got back to planting, or harvesting, or whatever needed done. As a matter of fact, I think that I would’ve done that all my life had Fate not stepped in. Yes, I’m convinced it’s Fate. You see, there was a storm: the biggest that ever hit the Westmark in my time! And that storm blew down the barn. So while the neighbors and I were fixin’ it up, I came across an old, ripped Cavalry uniform, a spear, and a dagger. I didn’t know whose they were, so I asked Mother, who was by this time feeling poorly. She just smiled and told me that they were my Grandfather’s, and that once upon a time he was in the Cavalry. She said that when he died from fighting the Orcs, my Father hid his effects so that my brothers and I wouldn’t be tempted to join up too. I went outside and looked at the spear. Its shaft was dark, smooth and hard: to this day I don’t know what kind of wood it is. The spearhead was rusted and broken; dry blood fell from it. I looked at the uniform. From the position and length of the rips, I could tell just how my Grandfather had died. I could also see the rank insignia, and though I didn’t understand what it meant, I knew that the fist, the sword, and the horse made him from the Westmark Eored. Right then, I knew what was wrong. And I knew what I wanted to be. I rushed inside and kissed my Mother goodbye, who said that she knew I’d go sooner or later, and to take care of myself. I put my next youngest brother in charge of the farm, who was old enough now and never wanted to go into the Cavalry anyway: truly my Father’s son. I grabbed the uniform, the spear, and the dagger, (a plain soldier’s dagger) jumped on my favorite horse Hwitstan, and rode off towards... Khazad-dum? Yes, Khazad-dum. I decided that if I had to get my spearhead replaced it had better be by the best, so I looked for the Dwarves, naturally. I got there, was greeted with a most warm reception, and got my spearhead replaced. The craftsman was an expert, and the tempered Dwarven steel the strongest in the land. I came back to Rohan, went to Meduseld, walked into the Cavalry Recruitment office, and signed myself up. Since then, my life has been one adventure after another: rescuing Hawk, attacking the Dunlending camp, finding Dernhelm, etc. Off-duty I have fun, too: Racing rats, spending time in the Pub, and just generally having a good time. I even met my longtime childhood friend, Amhran, when she signed up for the Cavalry around the same time that I did! Ah, life is good: I know how to use that spear now, Hwitstan’s the best, I’ve got friends, Rider’s Ale when I want it, and all for the glory of Rohan! Yes, as I think about all my fellow Riders and their attitude towards life, death, and duty, I know that Rohan will not fall. For while there is still some Eorlingas out there who knows the difference between right, and wrong, and chooses right, Rohan will never fall! |