Rohirrim Quotes

Forth, and fear no darkness! Arise! Arise, Riders of Theoden! Spears shall be shaken,swords shall be splintered! A sword day...a red day...ere the sun rises! Ride now!...Ride now!...Ride! Ride to ruin and the world's ending! Death! "Death!" Death! "Death!" DEATH! "Death!" Forth, Eorlingas!!

Then suddenly he beheld his sister Éowyn as she lay, and he knew her. He stood a moment as a man who is pierced in the midst of a cry by an arrow through the heart; and then his face went deathly white; and a cold fury rose in him, so that all speech failed him for a while. A fey mood took him. 'Éowyn, Éowyn!' he cried at last: 'Éowyn, how come you here? What madness or devilry is this? Death, death, death! Death take us all!' Then without taking counsel or waiting for the approach of the men of the City, he spurred headlong back to the front of the great host, and blew a horn, and cried aloud for the onset. Over the field rang his clear voice calling: 'Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world's ending!' And with that the host began to move. But the Rohirrim sang no more. Death they cried with one voice loud and terrible, and gathering speed like a great tide their battle swept about their fallen king and passed, roaring away southwards.

But the helm of her secrecy had fallen from her, and her bright hair, released from its bonds, gleamed with pale gold upon her shoulders. Her eyes grey as the sea were hard and fell, and yet tears were on her cheek. A sword was in her hand, and she raised her shield against the horror of her enemy's eyes. […]Still she did not blench: maiden of the Rohirrim, child of kings, slender but as a steel-blade, fair yet terrible. A swift stroke she dealt, skilled and deadly. The outstretched neck she clove asunder, and the hewn head fell like a stone. Backward she sprang as the huge shape crashed to ruin, vast wings outspread, crumpled on the earth; and with its fall the shadow passed away. A light fell about her, and her hair shone in the sunrise.

Still she did not blench: maiden of Rohirrim, child of kings, slender but as a steel-blade, fair yet terrible. A swift stroke she dealt, skilled and deadly. The outstretched neck she clove asunder, and the hewn head fell like a stone. Backward she sprang as the huge head crashed to ruin, vast wings outspread crumpled on the earth; and with its fall the shadow passed away. A light fell about her, and her hair shone in the sunrise.

I had hit on the most positive solution to the world’s most negative problems. What we needed were a bunch of little, hairy Hobbits! Not large armies of Gondoreans and Rohirrim, just beer drinking, song-singing, riddle-solving, barrel-riding, pipe-weed-smokin’, second-breakfast-eatin’, long-walkin’ Hobbits!

But one moment stood out to me, as I sat beneath a dark sky full of stars and retold a moment from the Lord of the Rings. Trick memory. It was just one conversation in a three-hour long film in a quartet of movies, but I’ve always remembered it. “And Gandalf paused, and spoke. He looked at Pippin with a smile, and said ‘End? No, the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.’ And Pippin said, ‘What? Gandalf? See what?’” I look around. My audience is spellbound. I take a breath. “‘White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.’” As I finish speaking, I look up, about to finish the scene and describe the Rohirrim coming to Gondor’s aid.

Still she did not blench: maiden of the Rohirrim, child of kings, slender but as a steel-blade, fair yet terrible.

And then wonder took him, and a great joy; and he cast his sword up in the sunlight and sang as he caught it. And all eyes followed his gaze, and behold! upon the foremost ship a great standard broke, and the wind displayed it as she turned towards the Harlond. There flowered a White Tree, and that was for Gondor; but Seven Stars were about it, and a high crown above it, the signs of Elendil that no lord had borne for years beyond count. And the stars flamed in the sunlight, for they were wrought of gems by Arwen daughter of Elrond; and the crown was bright in the morning, for it was wrought of mithril and gold. Thus came Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elessar, Isildur's heir, out of the Paths of the Dead, borne upon a wind from the Sea to the kingdom of Gondor; and the mirth of the Rohirrim was a torrent of laughter and a flashing of swords, and the joy and wonder of the City was a music of trumpets and a ringing of bells. But the hosts of Mordor were seized with bewilderment, and a great wizardry it seemed to them that their own ships should be filled with their foes; and a black dread fell on them, knowing that the tides of fate had turned against them and their doom was at hand.

The cosmic battle being worked out between God and the Devil takes place in the lives of God's creatures, fallen though they are. They are His chosen instruments. Were the Rohirrim destined to come at just that moment? Yes. Were they free people? Yes. Were they more or less free because they were stepping...into their destiny? More. If God has prepared good works for us to walk in, then it is a joy and a wonder to walk in them. If God is working in us both to will and to work for His good pleasure, then it is our delight and our fulfillment to realize that we are doing exactly what was planned for us to do all along.

INT. EDORAS, GOLDEN HALL - DAWN CLOSE ON: ARAGORN bursts into the GOLDEN HALL. ARAGORN The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit! Condor calls for aid! ANGLE ON: THEODEN looks up startled. (CONTINUED) Final Revision - October, 2003 44, CONTINUED: CLOSE ON: EOWYN, EOMER turn to look at their UNCLE ... tension builds. CLOSE ON: THEODEN his head lowered ... Slowly it rises - he looks ARAGORN in the EYE. THEODEN Then Rohan will answer. Muster the Rohirrim! EXT.

But this is madness,’ she said. ‘It is not madness, lady,’ he answered; ‘for I go on a path appointed. But those who follow me do so of their free will; and if they wish now to remain and ride with the Rohirrim, they may do so. But I shall take the Paths of the Dead, alone, if needs be.

She did not blench: maiden of the Rohirrim, child of kings, fair but terrible. A swift stroke she dealt, skilled and deadly... the huge shape crashed to ruin, vast wings outspread, crumpled on the earth; and with its fall the shadow passed away. A light fell about her, and her hair shone in the sunrise.

For as the Rohirrim do, we now love war and valour as things good in themselves, both a sport and an end; and

The Sindarin names Rohan for the Mark and Rohirrim for the people were devised first by Hallas, son and successor of Cirion, but were often used not only in Gondor but by the Éothéod themselves.

Thus the Rohirrim earned the hatred of the Dunlendings, which was not appeased until the return of the King, then far off in the future.

That, I guess, is the language of the Rohirrim," the Elf commented, "for it is like to this land itself; rich and rolling in part, and else hard and stern as the mountains. But I cannot guess what it means, save that it is laden with the sadness of mortal men.