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the muster of rohan 1053
Thus it came to pass that when the king set out, before
Dernhelm sat Meriadoc the hobbit, and the great grey steed
Windfola made little of the burden; for Dernhelm was less in
weight than many men, though lithe and well-knit in frame.
On into the shadow they rode. In the willow-thickets where
Snowbourn flowed into Entwash, twelve leagues east of
Edoras, they camped that night. And then on again through
the Folde; and through the Fenmarch, where to their right
great oakwoods climbed on the skirts of the hills under the
shades of dark Halifirien by the borders of Gondor; but away
to their left the mists lay on the marshes fed by the mouths
of Entwash. And as they rode rumour came of war in the
North. Lone men, riding wild, brought word of foes assailing
their east-borders, of orc-hosts marching in the Wold of
Rohan.
‘Ride on! Ride on!’ cried Éomer. ‘Too late now to turn
aside. The fens of Entwash must guard our flank. Haste now
we need. Ride on!’
And so King Théoden departed from his own realm, and
mile by mile the long road wound away, and the beacon hills
marched past: Calenhad, Min-Rimmon, Erelas, Nardol. But
their fires were quenched. All the lands were grey and still;
and ever the shadow deepened before them, and hope waned
in every heart.