Snowmane's Tale

I have known sorrow and grief three times in my life; such unbearable sadness that has permeated throughout my very soul and being; to affect me with such torment
that my heart felt as if it were being wrenched out from my body, and shattered into minute pieces.

Oh? You didn't think an animal was capable of such emotion? We of the animal world feel the same emotions as you, who possess and walk upon this earth with two legs. We may not be able to shed tears as you can, but we feel the pangs of sorrow every bit as you can. We can also feel great joy, elation, love and fear with the same amount of intensity as you are able to.

My name is Snowmane, and I was sired by none other than Shadowfax, the last of the great, noble full-blooded Mearas. It was upon his many wild wanderings, that my father came across, and instantly feel in love with Finlas, a beautiful, dazzling, pure white mare, with a gentle, loving heart, and of whom was to become my mother. Though I was only a half-blood of the Mearas race, I had inherited many of my father's traits, particularly that of swift speed and of longevity.


My first experience of agonizing grief came to me when I was only one year old. My father, mother, and I were enjoying a peaceful, yet frolicking run across the vast open stretches of land in Rohan. It was a delightfully cool spring evening; stars glittered like sparkling jewels in the night sky, and our gleaming white bodies glowed by the light of the full moon. Oh, how carefree we were as we ran, feeling the spirit
of freedom surge throughout our beings; quite unaware of any menace or danger. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, we were suddenly besieged by a small army of
orcs mounted upon hideous wargs. Unknown to us, they had hidden themselves behind a cluster of tall rock formations. The chase was on!

My father and I had no difficulty in outrunning these horrid creatures, for we ran with the speed of the Mearas blood coursing through our veins. Oh, but my mother! Poor mother! She was of ordinary equine blood, and couldn't run nearly as fast as us. My father and I urged her on to run, run, run. Run for your life Finlas! And, oh how she did try. She really did, but she just wasn't fast enough. A great distance separated my father and I with that of my mother. It was then, at that moment, as I turned around to see how far behind she had gotten, that I witnessed to my horror several arrows fly up into the air in a wide arc, then come plunging downward and
pierce my mother's body. Instantly, she fell to her death. I halted abruptly. I just stood there. A rush of anger then filled me as I watched as these vicious orcs surround my mother and began kicking her body for their amusement. I started to run back, back to where my mother was, but my father intervened. He said, "Son, it will do you no good to go to her, and you may well be killed yourself. I couldn't bear it, if I were to lose you as well." I started to protest, but my father said sternly, "There's nothing you can do for her. Come. We must go." He ran off ahead of
me, while I continued to stand there for a few more moments. He was right. There was nothing I could do for my mother. An overwhelming sorrow hit me, a sorrow I had never felt or known before. I continued to stare at my mother's dead body for awhile longer, then said to her with a voice carried by the wind, "Good-bye my mother. I love you." Then I ran off to join my father.

A few years passed. My heart still grieved over my mother's death. I felt alone. Very alone. I hardly ever saw my father anymore. His was of a wild and solitary nature and preferred to be alone now. Perhaps, he was in deep grief as well, and didn't want to share his feelings with me. It was in my third year of life, that he told me that it was time for me to be on my own, and so I was. It was on a rather, dull, sullen, grey overcast summer day, that my life was to change. I was nibbling on some grass, lost in thought, yet in one of those states of mind where I wasn't thinking of anything particular. So wrapped up in myself, that I wasn't as alert as I should have been. Suddenly, I felt something loop around my head, then neck. The rope tightened around my neck, and the rope grew taunt. I was surrounded by a group of men, and one of them spoke.

"My Lord Thengel, this horse will make a magnificent wedding gift for your son."

"Aye, that he will. He's a beauty, is he not? He so much reminds me of that elusive Shadowfax," said King Thengel. He came closer to me, and looked me directly into my eyes. I saw a warmth in those eyes, and I felt no danger from this man. I could have attempted to bolt away, run for my freedom. but I didn't. Oh, how my father would've been ashamed at my lack of resistance.

I was kept in what the men called a stable, and tethered. I thought I had been abandoned, forgotten, as I remained there several days, all alone, with the exception of when Garlon, the stable boy, came to bring me fresh food and water. Then, one day, only an hour after the sun's rising, Garlon came in along with King Thengel. Garlon was carrying something in his arms and was commanded by the King to attire me with it. It was a full, highly decorative armor befitting a horse of the future king to be, the young Theoden of whom was to be my master.

When I was presented to Theoden by his father, I immediately saw the same gentleness in his eyes that I had seen in his father. And, oh! What a handsome man Theoden was, and at that moment, I could sense his uttermost joy and happiness, for he had just wedded the woman his loved beyond measure, Elfhild. Alas! Theoden's happiness in life was not to last long. Upon the birth of his son, Theodred, his most cherished, beloved wife died. Theoden was never the same again for many a year to come; nor was I.

Theoden's grief was overwhelming; he plunged into deep, disparing depression that was beyond measure. I could feel no joy at at in his heart, and I seldom saw him. No longer did he take his daily rides upon me in the country, as he had done while Queen Elfhild had been alive. His rare visits to the stable were always brief. He would come up to me, without saying a word, while gently patting me on my head or neck, looking directly into my eyes with the utmost sadness. Oh, how helpless I had felt. I wanted to comfort him somehow. I wished that I had the gift of human speech, for I wanted to tell him that I understood his sorrow; that I too, had experienced the lost of someone dear to my heart. But what could I do? I was just a horse.

His last few visits filled me with horrific alarm as well, for before my eyes I saw the drastic change that had dramatically altered his appearance in a relatively short time. Instead of a relatively young man in the prime of his life, he now looked like a man in his golden years. There was only one time that he rode upon me again, and that was to take a long ride to fetch his niece, Eowyn, and his nephew, Eomer after
the deaths of both their parents---they were to live at Meduseld. After that, he never rode on me ever again for many a year to come.

I cannot tell you how many years were to pass by, for in truth, I soon lost count. I felt so abandoned, so alone once more in my life. I never left the stable, never saw the outside world, yet I would be able to sense the changes of the seasons by the way the air felt and smelled. The other horses of whom I shared the stables with were of no company for they ignored me. I got no comfort or attention from the other riders either, who, from time to time would enter the stables. I think they pitied me and my situation. On and off, I'd catch the conversations they had between
themselves. They never bothered to lower their voices, as they thought I couldn't understand their words; but I did. It filled me with dread whenever I heard talk about how rapidly my master's physical condition had further deteriorated. From what I could gather, this was particularly so soon after the arrival of a man that none of the riders favored. They seemed to despise this man, who had somehow wormed his way in becoming my master's counselor. Even his name sounded loathsome to me---Grima.

Then, upon the dawning of one day, my fate was to change. I could sense that it was early spring. There was a slight chill to the air that could still beckon snow to fall; yet I could smell the scent only spring has; a certain freshness, a newness, that
herald's that the world was renewing itself and becoming alive again after winter.

I was munching on some feed that the stable Garlon had given me; lost in melancholy gloom, then suddenly the stable doors burst open. At first, I took no real note of it, as the Rohirrim were a noisy lot and always tended to make a grand entrance whenever they came in to fetch their horses. But then my ears picked up a voice, that I hadn't heard in so many years. Could it be? Was it possible? I looked up, and yes! It was! It was my master! And, oh my, he looked so handsome. His appearance wasn't of an old man that I had heard about, but appeared almost as he had on that very first day I met him. As he approached me he had the most stern, intense look on his face, but then, as he stood before me, he gave a great smile that reflected in his eyes. Garlon quickly adorned with my armor, and when I was fully attired in my splendor, Theoden mounted upon me, and
led his men out of the stables. We had a mission to fill, so it seemed. We were going to a place called Helm's Deep.

All did not go well at this place; a place that from time immoral had never before been breached. Helm's Deep was impenetrable until then, for breached it was. We were surrounded by thousands upon thousands of fighting Urak-Hai; a horrible race of creatures created by the Dark Lord, and by thousands of the race of man who had given their allegiance to the traitorous wizard, Saruman.

Dispair was felt amongst all the men of Rohan, even my master felt all was lost but he refused to give up for the fighting spirit was still within him. Upon the break of the third day of the battle, when the gloom of defeat was felt by all, Theoden King commanded that the great horn of the Helm be sounded; and so it was. Upon hearing the blast of this mighty horn, pride once more surged through the men of Rohan; giving them strength and courage to continue their fighting efforts. My master mounted upon my back, and with a warrior's spirit who refused defeat, shouted,

"Forth Eorlingas!"

With him, were a host of men who rode out with him down the long causeway, crashing and plunging through the enemy, driving them away. Oh, what a grand gesture it was! But there were so many of the enemy, and so few of us left. Then, two miracles occurred. The first was the appearance of a thick, lush forest, where previously there had been none. There were so many trees, one couldn't begin to guess how many there were; all stood side by side, like sentinels, silently waiting.

Then there was the second miracle. I heard the sound of a veritable chorus of battle horns being blown, and upon looking up at a ridge, I saw at least a thousandmen on foot----our men, and all were ready for battle. Amongst them was a rider in blinding white attire; the rays of the rising sun shone upon him, creating a glow that could be seen for miles around. It was his horse, however, that drew my attention. I had to blink my eyes several times to make sure that I wasn't seeing things. It was my father, Shadowfax! Just seeing him alone, after all these years, made my heart soar. I now knew deep in my heart, that all was not lost. We would win this battle, and win we did! The appearance of the men and of the White Rider made the enemy tremble with fear, and all fled into the thick of the forest, where never again were they to be seen.

Oh how wish my feeling of elation over the victory at Helm's Deep and of seeing my father could have lasted. We had barely rested from battle, and wouldhave enjoyed the chance to celebrate, but only a little more than a week was to pass by, when once more we would be engaged in battle.

Before heading back to Edoras, my master and some of his company made an encampment to rest at Harrowdale. News had reached our ears that the beacon-hills had been lit. One by one, their roaring flames surged into the sky; first Amon-Din, then Eilenach, Nordol,Erelas, Min-Rimmon, Calenhead, and lastly, Halfirien. This was not good news. Not good at all, for the hills were never lit unless there was a dire need; a call for aid between the realms of Gondor and of Rohan. Yet, with it all, this news didn't upset my master. After all, we were at war; war against the rising evil of Sauron. What did upset my master, that made him tremble, was the reality of it all, upon a certain occurrence that came to pass.

At the encampment, set upon the Hold of Dunharrow, was a large, roomy, spacious pavilion. Inside, there was set a table, of which seated around it was my master,
his niece, Eowyn, his nephew, Eomer, Dunhere, the lord of Harrowdale, and, amusingly, of all things, a hobbit who had gained my master's favor. Being tethered
outside the pavilion, I was privy to listen in on the conversations going on within. Suddenly, I saw a lone rider make his way to the pavilion. As he dismounted,
I saw he was carrying an object in his right hand. Conversation came to a halt as the man entered; all was silent, until I heard my master's voice say loudly, "The Red Arrow!" There was a shaking in his voice as his said those words, and I began to shake as well. Long ago, amongst the talk between the riders who fetched their horses in the stable, I had heard them mention this arrow. The Red Arrow had not been used in anyone's memory; it represented the most urgent of all signals, surpassing even that of the beacon fires; it was a signal of the most dire need for aid in war. The mighty Minas Tirith, the City of Kings, was calling for our help, least it perish to rubble.

It was only the hour of the mid-day sun when my master briefly returned to Edoras for a gathering of forces, before taking leave for Gondor. A melancholy gloom had settled like a death's covering shroud, not only in the sky above us, but in the hearts of all; even of my own. Oh, how could we possibly win this war? Word had reached my master, that the enemy's forces attacking Minas Tirith was beyond reckoning or
imagination; far, far greater than the six-thousand of our bravest warriors. But then, how could we not fight? We were fighting for the very existence of life in Middle Earth itself. Seldom did we stop, but for a brief repast and to gain our strength. Otherwise we rode, and we rode, and we rode; not brashly to herald our coming, but silently, and stealthily, often during the cover of darkness. And so it was, with the deep, blackness of the still night sky, that we finally arrived to where we would fight the greatest battle of all time.

A trembling, despairing panic raced through the fiber of my being, and I'm certain this same sensation surged through each and every one who beheld the horrible sight before us. In the pitch of darkness, a fiery glow could be seen, lighting up the sky as if it were day, yet day it was not. A foreboding sense came over me that, alas, we were too late; for it seemed that the great City of Kings was perishing in flames before my eyes. Yet, my master did not seem to feel the same fear; instead he urged us onward, until we reached the outer walls of this grand, noble City. Here and there, were we met by the enemy; surprised no doubt by our appearance, and many were slain; those that weren't, were driven away. Still, we did not stop, but continued to slowly ride to the vast, open, spacious field of Gondor.

Then, a different light could be seen, rising steadily but surely. It was the light my master had been waiting for; the morning's light. I felt my master straighten himself upon me, rising tall with pride flowing through him again; the warrior spirit had once
more seized hold of him, and in a voice, loud and clear, I heard him say;

"Arise, arise, Riders of Theoden!
Feel deeds awake; fire and slaughter!
spear shall be shaken, shield shall be splintered,
a sword day, a red-day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride now to Gondor!"**


My master rode up to his banner-bearer, seizing his battle horn and blew upon it, shattering the silence; and, with that, all the horns followed suit, and were sounded. The time for quiet, for stealth had ended. My master urged me on, to ride forth with the swiftest of speed that none of his men could catch up with him. I could feel the strength in my master, the blood-lust of the fighting warrior. And now, the darkness of the night dissipated, for as we rode full speed to Gondor, morning had finally come into full light. And, oh, how the very sight of us filled the enemy with terror; many fled for their lives, more were slain, and the men of Rohan began singing as the thrill of the battle flowed into their veins and into their souls.

We were far from total victory, but we knew we would win this battle. Nothing could stop us. But, oh! How I wished I had the gift of foresight, or could have had some foreboding of what was to come. Unknown to either of us, my master's every move was being watched, and little could we have known that this evil watcher had personally marked my master for death.

Suddenly, the brightness of the sun's morning rays diminished, and darkness seemed to have crept upon the land again. But, it was no cloud that hid the sun,
for as I looked up into the sky, I saw a fast approaching shadow being cast down from a creature that was bird-like. Yet, this was no bird; it was a hideous evil being; the likes of which I have never seen before. As it came closer, and closer, and
closer to where I and my master were, this creature gave off a foul stench that filled the air; a stench like putrid, decaying flesh, and the sound it made was like the cry of death itself.

Terror, sheer terror as I had never known before seized me, yet my terror was not so much for myself, but for my master. I reared myself up, standing up high on my back legs, and with my front legs I tried to fight off this evil villain, to make my master safe. But, oh! Pain! Agonizing pain did I feel. Something had pierced me and I fell. I feel upon the very one I was trying to protect. I feel upon my master, my king.

And so it was, here, on the field of Pelennor, during the greatest battle Middle-Earth had ever known, that for the final time I was to feel a deep, despairing sorrow. No, my grief was not for myself, for I knew I was dying. It was for my master. King Theoden hadn't died from being slain during battle; I had caused his death. I knew I had killed him instantly when my body fell upon his. His body was shattered, broken.

Oh, how could I have done it?

Never before had I felt such remorse, such guilt. I was almost glad that I was dying, to put me out of my misery. I could feel the very last ebb of life draining away from my body. My heartbeat slowed, slowed, slowed. My breaths, the very last I'd ever
take, became shallower and shallower. My eyes were beginning to close, but before they did, I saw her. I saw her coming toward me, running wild and free as she had done so many, many years ago. I saw her.
Finlas........my mother.

~~The End~~