The Morning of Eorlingas
By Thalia Weaver
Thus we ride, all of us; a host clad in mail and spear and helm, unstoppable. In this moment the sun shines and we are one man riding forth to battle, courage and wonder beating in our hearts. This is the moment legend is made. The tale of this battle shall be passed down to our children and our children's children.
"Forth, Eorlingas!" comes the cry, two words that mobilize us. We are one in the charge, leading our horses down the slope, down to war, down to death in glory. This is the moment that triumph runs in the veins of all. Their pikes fail. Hooves and swords, spears and screams: blood as they run, or try to, hemmed in by the forces and the Deep.
Now avenged, the villages that fell to their torches, the children that died beneath their cowardly blades. Now with a battle-cry they fall. Now it is over; now the sun has risen. Now the night is over. Now sound the Horn that has not spoken for too long: see them shrink in fright. Foul armies of the darkness! Cower now before us- Eorlingas! Eorlingas forth, Eorlingas prevail!
Now morning, now hope! Now triumph- now victory! Now to laugh in the face of that which was terror, and now is a mockery of darkness. Our helms are bright and clear, yellow hair streaming forth. Rally now behind the White Rider, Eorlingas! Let the bright one lead us on to the glory of the day!