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About Michelle Lynn Brown. Michelle Lynn Brown. When Michelle Lynn Brown was a teenager, her mother used to take her to used books stores at least once a month. It was there she fell in love with the written word. As a writer, she uses this passion to share with others the joy of having a personal and intimate relationship with Christ.
She is a housewife, mother of three, military spouse, writer, blogger, hopeless romantic, and a cuddly lap for When Michelle Lynn Brown was a teenager, her mother used to take her to used books stores at least once a month. It was in forgotten years long ago that Eorl the Young brought them out of the North, and their kinship is rather with the Bardings of Dale, and with the Beornings of the Wood, among whom may still be seen many men tall and fair, as are the Riders of Rohan.
At least they will not love the Orcs. At length even Gimli could hear the distant beat of galloping hoofs. The horsemen, following the trail, had turned from the river, and were drawing near the downs. They were riding like the wind. Now the cries of clear strong voices came ringing over the fields.
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Suddenly they swept up with a noise like thunder, and the foremost horseman swerved, passing by the foot of the hill, and leading the host back southward along the western skirts of the downs. After him they rode: a long line of mail-clad men.
Their horses were of great stature, strong and clean-limbed; their grey coats glistened, their long tails flowed in the wind, their manes were braided on their proud necks. The Men that rode them matched them well: tall and long-limbed; their hair, flaxen-pale, flowed under their light helms, and streamed in long braids behind them; their faces were stern and keen. In their hands were tall spears of ash, painted shields were slung at their backs, long swords were at their belts, their burnished skirts of mail hung down upon their knees.
In pairs they galloped by, and though every now and then one rose in his stirrups and gazed ahead and to either side, they appeared not to perceive the three strangers sitting silently and watching them. The host had almost passed when suddenly Aragorn stood up, and called in a loud voice:.
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With astonishing speed and skill they checked their steeds, wheeled, and came charging round. Soon the three companions found themselves in a ring of horsemen moving in a running circle, up the hill-slope behind them and down, round and round them, and drawing ever inwards. Aragorn stood silent, and the other two sat without moving, wondering what way things would turn. Without a word or cry, suddenly, the Riders halted. A thicket of spears were pointed towards the strangers; and some of the horsemen had bows in hand, and their arrows were already fitted to the string. Then one rode forward, a tall man, taller than all the rest; from his helm as a crest a white horsetail flowed.
He advanced until the point of his spear was within a foot of Aragorn's breast. Aragorn did not stir. The Rider leaped from his horse. Giving his spear to another who rode up and dismounted at his side, he drew his sword and stood face to face with Aragorn, surveying him keenly, and not without wonder. At length he spoke again. Indeed you know little of Orcs, if you go hunting them in this fashion. They were swift and well-armed, and they were many. You would have changed from hunters to prey, if ever you had overtaken them. But there is something strange about you, Strider. And strange too is your raiment.
Have you sprung out of the grass? How did you escape our sight? Are you elvish folk? The Rider looked at them with renewed wonder, but his eyes hardened. These are strange days!
But if you have her favour, then you also are net-weavers and sorcerers, maybe. Gimli rose and planted his feet firmly apart: his hand gripped the handle of his axe, and his dark eyes flashed. You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only little wit can excuse you. We intend no evil to Rohan, nor to any of its folk, neither to man nor to horse.
Will you not hear our tale before you strike? First tell me your right name. There is trouble now on all our borders, and we are threatened; but we desire only to be free, and to live as we have lived, keeping our own, and serving no foreign lord, good or evil. We welcomed guests kindly in the better days, but in these times the unbidden stranger finds us swift and hard.
Who are you? Whom do you serve? At whose command do you hunt Orcs in our land? There are few among mortal Men who know more of Orcs; and I do not hunt them in this fashion out of choice. The Orcs whom we pursued took captive two of my friends. In such need a man that has no horse will go on foot, and he will not ask for leave to follow the trail. Nor will he count the heads of the enemy save with a sword.
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I am not weaponless. Aragorn threw back his cloak. Here is the Sword that was Broken and is forged again! Will you aid me or thwart me? Choose swiftly! Gimli and Legolas looked at their companion in amazement, for they had not seen him in this mood before. For a moment it seemed to the eyes of Legolas that a white flame flickered on the brows of Aragorn like a shining crown. He cast down his proud eyes.
And what was the meaning of the dark words? Long has Boromir son of Denethor been gone seeking an answer, and the horse that we lent him came back riderless. What doom do you bring out of the North? None may live now as they have lived, and few shall keep what they call their own. But of these great matters we will speak later. If chance allows, I will come myself to the king. Now I am in great need, and I ask for help, or at least for tidings.
You heard that we are pursuing an orc-host that carried off our friends. What can you tell us?
Were there no bodies other than those of orc-kind? They would be small. Only children to your eyes, unshod but clad in grey. The ashes are smoking still. It seems that you have heard in Rohan of the words that troubled Minas Tirith. They spoke of the Halfling. These hobbits are Halflings. But they are only a little people in old songs and children's tales out of the North.
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight? The green earth, say you? That is a mighty matter of legend, though you tread it under the light of day! Let us leave these wild folk to their fancies.
Or let us bind them and take them to the king.