Several days later, the bright, warm, late autumn sun shone down upon Éomer and Déorhild as they began to assent the mountain upon which, as Déorhild claimed, lay her village. They went slowly, taking their time. After all, they spent many days, even a few weeks to get here. Best not rush it.

But as they drew closer to the top, Éomer noticed that the village looked very much like Edoras. When he remarked so, Déorhild responded, "Aye, 'tis so. I have always been told that a guard of Edoras was told to build a outpost to guard the Gap of Rohan against any enemies. He had this village, Rohandras, built in the same way as Edoras. Though I am not so sure of the particulers."

Éomer said, grateful for this conversation, the first one they had had for awhile, replied, "That is alright. I'm sure he never told the reason for his choice of layout plans."

Then they were silent. As they drew near the top, Déorhild was stunned by the silence. Many days, the village could be so noisy that it was a common jest that those at the foot of the mountain could hear the sound. But this day, it was silent. A dead, eerie silence. It made a shiver creep up her back. Éomer saw what had happened and he drew up close next to her. "What is it?" he whispered.

"It's the silence. It has never been so quiet. Something's not right," she whispered back.

"Well, we won't find out the reason why until we go up there," he whispered in return. "Shall we go on?"

"Aye, we shall." Déorhild replied. And so they went on with Éomer riding right beside her.
Then they reached the top.

A slight breeze blew across the village and past them leaving behind a faint stench of rotting corpses. Déorhild wrinkled her nose in disgust. Éomer prodded her on by saying softly, "If it smells so bad now, several months after it happened, can you imagine what it smelled like a day after it happened when the hot July sun poured down upon the bloodied bodies?" Déorhild looked at him and nodded, before getting off her horse.

Éomer did the same and tied his sword belt around his waist. He drew his sword, tested the edge, and put it back into its sheath.

Déorhild belted her sword and slung her quiver onto her back along with her bow.

They went up to the village and went through it. What they saw horrified them. Still rotting corpses, some with bleached bones exposed, lay strewn everywhere. The stench filled the still air here atop the mountain. Éomer finally understood Déorhild's reason for coldness. Surely, if he had to go through such a experience, wouldn't it make him so? Déorhild's expression changed from horror to a stiff mask of absolutely no expression. She knew those people. Knew all of them. Only when they had reached the end of the village did they see orcs. Dead orcs.

Éomer went back to the center of the village whilst Déorhild went into a side lane on which her old house lay. She had seen her two older brothers slain somewhere else in the village, but she hadn't found her youngest brother, her twin brother who looked exactly like her. The one who was only ten minutes older than she, but was her best friend.

She opened the door, and went in. Face down on the floor and stabbed through with a orc blade was her brother, Lindúin. She turned him over and gazed sadly at his face. Then the steel mask broke and she sobbed, violently...

Eventually, she calmed down, wiped her tears off her face, and sat back, just staring at Lindúin. Scenes from her childhood came back to her and a solitary tear trickled down her face. She brushed it off and began to sing.

"Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended
giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende
on Meduselde þæt he ma no wære
his dryhtne dyrest and mæga deorost.
Bealo..."

(An evil death has set forth the noble warrior
A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels
in Meduseld that he is no more,
to his lord dearest and kinsmen most beloved.
An evil death...)

Then she whispered, "Rest in peace, my brother. Your death shall not go unpunished. I can promise you that." Then she bent over him and kissed his still, cold forehead softly.

She waited a few minutes more and then exited the house and made her way to the center of the village where Éomer was glancing around the ghostly village worriedly. He noticed Déorhild coming toward him, her eyes searching the ground. "Déorhild," he said, "Let us get away from here quickly. I like not the look nor feel of this place and something is not right. My heart tells me that we are being watched and that any minute, we might be attacked."

And then, as if on cue, a orc horn sounded quite close and they heard shouts in the distance coming closer. Déorhild ran to Éomer and shouted, "Get the horses! We'll have a better advantage then."

"What do you mean?" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to fight?"

She glared at him and said, "Éomer, I know not what plans you have had should we have been attacked, but let you hear now what I have to say. I will stay and fight, to the death, if need be, till I avenge the deaths of my kin and friends. Whether you decide to flee now whilst the running's good, or stay and fight by my side that is up to you. But whether you flee or fight, leave the horse for me that I may have a better advantage."

Éomer looked at her and then to where the noise was ever growing louder and ran down to where the horses were. Déorhild assumed that he was leaving and whispered, "Good riding to you Éomer. I hope you may live. You have no part in this unless you wish too."

And then she turned and prepared for battle.