The Gap of Rohan
”Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the harp on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the deadwood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?”
Edton had ridden for around three days since leaving the village, as he packed up all of his meager belongings, he trotted of on the dirt-packed road, the dusty hoof prints of of previous riders echoed from below.
Edton looked down at the dew-sprinkled grass that stretched as far as the eye could see, with the exception of on front of him. West, there was the gap of Rohan, his destination.
As he pulled into the gate, the two guards looked over him without an ounce of recognition, this was a good thing, because Edton was still in the Helms deep region. This meant that this was Elfwine’s region. No HIS region, and he couldn’t forget that. Edton knew that these were his mean, and he would hate to have to kill them to get through. But luckily, his peasant clothing was enough. They only asked him the basic questions.
“What is your buisiness heading West?” Edton thought a second before he replied, and this made the guard raise and eyebrow. “I’m heading West to see and old friend.” “Have you ever been past the Misty Mountains before?” The guard asked. “No sir, this is my first time.” “I thought so, you hesitated when I was asking you the questions, anyway, do you have any weapons?” The guard asked again, his eyes blank as he simply recited the words out of muscle memory. “Just my ole’ faithful dagger, you can never be too careful on these roads.” Edton said, although this was a lie, Edton had also brought his sword. “You never can, alright, safe travels to ya.” Edton trotted away, and held his breath until the green cloaks and shiny helmets had disappeared from view.
Ahead was dunland, and he knew how much they hated the Rohirrm, the journey ad just begun, and Edton could tell that he would have to fight some of the hateful farmers. (Illustration above.) He could only hope that they didn’t have one of their patrols of hundreds on his route...
Elliot Johnson, Head scribe Of king Eodric Galaheim of Rohan, year 129, fifth age.