WEST WIND OVER EDORAS

Disclaimer: The characters and places here are not mine, all but a few are Tolkein's genius. If it's in LOTR, Silmarillion, Hobbit or Unfinished tales it Tolkien' s. If not it's mine.
No profit in this but the fun of writing and getting to play in Middle earth for a while.


A/N: (( elven phrases translated in double brackets ))
Where dialogue from the film is included it is taken from the transcripts on website Council of Elrond.


Chapter 10:

DARKNESS AND LIGHT

ROWANNEN:

The banging on the door intensifies. There are others who will wish to use this chamber. We gather our clothing and wrapping it around us, we leave. I stow the brush in my pocket and head for Crirawen’s chamber, telling Legolas the story of Fram’s birth as we go.

When we enter Wenna is sleeping, her eyes are swollen and tear stained, but there is still a faint smile upon her lips. The babe is nestled in her arms. Legolas smiles at the sight. Crirawen and Hama’s older children, Haleth and Diorwen, lie curled in the corner, wrapped in woollen blankets, twitching slightly, lost deep in dreams.

The room is chill. Legolas brings kindling and peat and we build a fire together. Drawing stools close, we sit before the small blaze.

Fram lying at Wenna’s side begins to stir and I go to lift him carefully, rocking him gently in my arms and crooning soft, soothing songs to his tiny ears. Legolas smiles at me and reaches to take Fram from my clasp. He cradles him against his body and searches his face.

“He looks like your brother, Rowannen, and I can also see you too in his features, even now, when he is still so new and unshaped and not fully grown into his heritage.” He sighs. “To hold a child is an infrequent thing for an Elf. We have children so rarely that many, many years may pass in elven realms before a single child is born. They are very precious to us, very important, yet we do not lose them to disease or famine or death. How much more poignant and important must they be to you, when the future is uncertain and they are mortal. He kisses Fram’s dark golden curls and passes him back to me. The child stirs and begins to whimper. I pass him back to Crirawen who wakes and takes him to her breast.

Legolas starts to re-braid his hair.

“Let me do it. Let me learn.” I ask of him, and bring the brush to stroke again down the ripples of molten mithril. Then let my fingers stray through the silk to caress his scalp. He smiles at me and with his fingers guides my hands. He shows me how to separate the required number of strands and instructs me of the thickness to use. With his help, I begin to weave the pattern tightly together until all is secured and clasped at the end.

“All Elves have different patterns of braiding.” He tells me. “They show who and what they are. The back weave you have just completed, is particular to Mirkwood. It shows that I am a Sylvan Elf from the Greenwood. The fine plaits that frame my face denote that I am a warrior and their thickness signifies that I am skilled in archery. Always do I fashion these same patterns into my hair.” His fingers show me how to do this also, and I twist the narrow archers plaits beside his beautiful face as he speaks to me.

“The most elaborate ways to dress hair are reserved for nobility. Kings and Princes and indeed Advisors, and those who hold rank in warfare, are allowed to weave their hair in a certain way. As a Prince I could use elaborate twists and fastenings and falls, pinning the locks into shapes and curls, but I choose not to at this time. I prefer not use these as a sign of rank when I travel through Middle Earth, both for simplicity and ease.” He continues. “Yet now there is another pattern I would use. When an Elf is pledged unto another for all time then they can signal this through a weave into the hair. Let me show you.”

He takes strands back from his temples and adding more into the braid as he works backwards he twists the strands on either side of head from his temple toward the crown and then fastens the two together to fall either side of the central Mirkwood braid.

“This signifies my eternal bond to you Rowannen.” he whispers and brings his lips to meet mine, brushing them ever so softly.

He rises to stand beside me and his fingers run into my own hair and begin to flicker through the strands and first using the brush to free the tangles, he then braids my hair for me likewise, pulling in more fine strands as he moves onwards, weaving his patterns. On both sides of my face his deft fingers play and then he fastens the thin twists behind my head at the crown, with the clasp that he freed from my tresses earlier.

"You may dress your hair, in whatever fashion you desire.” He tells me. “ But I would be honoured if sometimes you would braid your hair in this way for me, to show your undying love for me, Melamin. Then all elves will recognize your pledge.”

It is my turn to reach for him and brush his lips with my own. They are so sweet, I never want to part from them, but I do, to say:

“Legolas. Ever will I do this for you. I am yours for all eternity.”

He smiles at me, but his eyes are grave.

“Your eternity and mine are maybe a very different matter.” He says softly, almost to himself and there is a hint of sadness in his tone.

I cannot address his comment here and now. It is too much for me to think on and I would not add to his sadness at this time. I simply squeeze his hand.
We lift our heads and see Crirawen, gazing at us intently as she feeds her babe.

“Strange it seems to me, to look on you together, Rowannen and Legolas. Such a thing is beyond my comprehension,” she says. “But I will give you my blessing. Hama knew you to be intent on this union, Rowannen. ‘Wenna’ he said to me, in the night at Edoras. ‘Always have I known my sister to be destined for a special life. She has always had a great fire in her soul, a free spiritedness. To be confined to a life of simple toil is not for her!’ Can you imagine his pride Rowannen, when Theodred turned his attentions to you and would have chosen you for his queen? He thought you deserved no less! His heart was bursting with happiness. He was anguished for you at Theodred’s demise. Then when Legolas came, he put aside his prejudice and opened his mind. He saw what was growing between you. A simple, pure man he may have been, but he had a shrewd eye. ‘Unlooked for and unimagined are these events,’ he said to me, ‘but I will give her my blessing. The Elf Prince has a fine and noble heart. Great things may come of this.’ ”

As I listened to Wenna’s words my heart lurched. The memory of my dear brother and his kindness, his heart, assailed me. I was sorry he would not be here to see our love come to fruition. I was sorry not to have his support. I was sorry to be bereft of his warm love. Unbidden my tears again began to flow, silently down my cheeks.
Legolas drew me to his body, held me close.

“I am glad to know of his approval, Wenna,” I answer her. “ It means much to me to know he was glad for me and had no fear for the future.”

There are tears flowing down Wenna’s face also.

“I cannot say that he had no fear for your future, but he would have helped you all the way. If I can do likewise then I will.”

“Thank You.” I whisper.

Legolas wipes the salty drops from my face with his fingers. Gazes deep into my eyes. He looks perturbed.

“Your tears flow so freely,” he says. “I suppose for you that is a good thing. Healing from hurt, will you find when you let your emotions run free.”

“Yes, it helps to cry, Legolas,” I explain. “Maybe if you cry for Aragorn then your grief will be less keen in your soul and you can accept this loss.”

“Elves do not cry,” he answers. “Only rarely in their childhood do they weep when physical pain comes upon them. They have great resilience to such ingress on the body. I admit to shedding tears as a child when my mother was slain by orcs, but since passing their majority it is an unheard of event for an Elf to cry.”

His eyes turn glassy blue and he stares into the distance. From his pouch he draws the pendant that Aragorn wore around his neck. The evenstar, the symbol of Arwen, and he twists it in his fingers. I cannot imagine what a burden it must be to live through the ages and see so much and yet not be able cry. I wonder at him and how he deals with life.

The noise of running feet brings him back to the present. He opens the door and asks of a guard of the mark what is transpiring.

“A lone rider approaches. We go to open the main gates and discover whether it be friend or spy,” is the reply.

We leave Wenna and the children and make our way through the throngs to the curved terrace above the main entrance. Down below a bedraggled bleeding figure is carried through the passageway by a sweat lathered bay horse.

'That is Brego, surely.' I think. Though I have never seen him in such a state before; ungroomed and filthy, he is still unmistakeable to my eyes. 'Who has he suffered to ride him here?' I wonder.

Legolas stares keenly below and gasps.

“Can it truly be?” he asks himself.

Eowyn comes up behind me and clutches my arm, she is breathing rapidly.

As the figure, now dismounted ascends the steps and staggers slightly onto the smooth slate and walks between the pillars, a cry of joy escapes her lips.

Legolas walks forward. His head is held high, his steps are firm. He grasps Aragorn by the shoulders, then drops his hands as his friend winces in pain from a wound.
My love stares him in the eye for long moments with as much intensity as I have known him stare into mine own.

“Lle abdollen!,” he says and the corner of his mouth twitches. ((You’re late!))
“You look terrible.” He adds, a mixture of delight and concern on his features.

Aragorn sways a little and then manages to grin. Eowyn squeezes my arm and is poised to fly to the Ranger when Legolas presses the Evenstar into his hand.
She hesitates as she sees the expression on his countenance and turns to me. Her eyes are both amazed at this wondrous turn of events yet also in conflict.

“What should I do, Rowannen?” she whispers desperately. “What should I do now?”

I gaze at my friend with sympathy. She may not have verbally admitted her love to me, or indeed to anyone yet, but it is screaming out into the world from every pore of her body.

“We must talk.” I say, “This is too important for rash actions.”

Her eyes widen. “That is the ocean calling the dew wet, coming from you!” she retorts.

Legolas steps close to us.

“We go for immediate audience with the King,” he says, his eyes burning with purpose. “Aragorn has important news. I will find you, when I have leave.” His hand runs across the new braids in my hair, runs under the rest of the thick sweep of my tresses and strokes the edge of my ear, then he wheels around to join his friend and they are gone.

I take Eowyn into my arms, my hands around her back, twine through the waterfall of her long locks. I hold her close as she sobs quietly against my shoulder. All the concerns of these past days and events threaten to burst through the dam of her determination, but the wall holds. Only small holes are breached and trickle down. Should Eowyn give free reign to her emotion a mighty flood will result. She shudders against me and raises her eyes.

“We must continue to make preparation for war,” she says, and leads me by the hand to aid her in the work, but she knows that I know, just how she feels.


LEGOLAS:

We walk to the upper chambers, Aragorn at my side, to come before Theoden, and my heart rejoices.

The thoughts are racing through my mind. I came to Helm’s Deep, sorrowing in spirit, and on arrival it seemed as though I would stay this way. Such dark imposing, damp, claustrophobic walls of stone, narrow winding ways, pressed upon me, and my heart sank ever deeper. Until the sight of Rowannen, so bright, so hopeful, so new. She came flying to my arms. By the Valar, I am grateful for her love.

I could not yet speak of what had befallen, others took my cue. My love led me on, and though the confining walls depressed me, she brought me to a warm pool, with lamplight and the scent of leaves. That was surely the best that I could hope for in our current plight and it was good. I could scarcely believe how well she took care of me, how she gentled my body and my mind, how she loved me so thoroughly. This girl, scarcely out of her childhood by elven standards and, by her own admission, only nights before, lacking in any experience, took me wholly to herself, body, mind and spirit and brought me healing, relief, love. When at last my body was once again deep within her own, I knew that it was the only place I ever wanted to be, a home for my soul. We are indeed meant for each other!

So much has happened in a short span of hours, many deaths, thankfully mostly Orc, though the loss of Hama was sore indeed, but also a child has been born. New kin for her! So special amongst these dark days. I pray that child will have a future, free from the slavery of the Dark Lord. And Aragorn almost miraculously escaped from a dire fate and returned to us, is the best of all. But my hopes begin to sink again when we come before the King in the cavernous great hall and Aragorn tells us of what he has seen.

“A great host, you say?” asks Theoden.

“All Isengard is emptied,” replies Aragorn. “Ten thousand strong at least. Marching upon us.”

“Ten Thousand!” exclaims Theoden.

Aragorn nods. “It is an army bred for a single purpose, to destroy the world of men. They will be here by nightfall.”

“Let them come,” Theoden recovers himself. “ They will break upon this fortress like water on rock..”

Aragorn glances at me and I know that we face a great battle. These Uruk Hai are no ordinary foe. They mean to destroy the people of Rohan down to the last child.

Theoden interprets our glance and steps closer to reply so no one else hears but we three.

“What would you have me do? We are alone, Aragorn. We are not so lucky in our friends as you, the old alliances are dead. My men’s courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be our end, then I would make have them make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance.” He turns and strides away shouting orders. “Draw the forces behind the wall. I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready by nightfall. Get the women and children into the caves.”

I must find Rowannen before she leaves for the caves, before this battle is upon us, but first I must go the armoury. I entreat Aragorn to rest.

“You are no use to us half alive,” I remind him, but he will not. “At least let someone tend to your wounds.” I implore. He nods and a messenger is sent for some healing aid.

The men of Rohan are dispensing shields and swords. Gimli struggles with heavy chain mail too long for his stature. I fit myself out with armour the better to protect my body. Not mail but the brass studded leather shoulderplates and gold chased breast shield of the Rohirrim. They fit me well, the strong dark leather is well cared for and supple and moulds to my shape as I fasten the straps firmly.

Eowyn and Rowannen enter. The lady of Rohan herself is carrying bandages and ointment and my love carefully bears a bowl of steaming water with the scent of antiseptic herbs.

“Will you sit my Lord?” Eowyn asks of my friend, so quietly, yet I am sure she will not take no for answer.

Aragorn who is busy helping match weapons to warriors, turns, slightly exasperated at this interruption. I smile. The look on his face is one I know well. Yet he catches her tone and sees the sense in complying. He nods in deference to her and seats himself on a closed chest.

Rowannen sets the bowl down for her friend and we watch as Eowyn unlaces Aragorn’s tunic and removes it from his battered body. I wish my friend had the same power of healing as I. His arms are traced with the lines of old scars. The skin of his broad chest is marked with the memory of bygone assaults running into the dark hair that curls below the well-defined pectorals. New bruises are colouring his flesh and a torn gaping wound on his shoulder weeps. A mortal warriors body indeed.

Eowyn so very carefully bathes the dried blood away, as he tries not to wince. She rubs ointment onto the bruising, comfrey it is, I can tell by the smell, and wraps the wound gently but tightly. Aragorn shows his gratitude to her with his eyes. She is so tender. Rowannen and I, standing so close to her, can see and sense Eowyn’s real feelings washing over him.

I wish for a moment that my friend could taste the benefit of the kind of healing I was treated to last night, I am sure he is in sore need of it by now! Then I remember his eyes as I pressed the Evenstar into his hand. He has not that option for comfort. I suddenly hug Rowannen to my side and kiss her hair. When I lose her, then maybe it will be the same for me, from then on forever doomed to walk alone, despite what may be offered to me. Rowannen leans into my embrace, strokes across my newly acquired leather attire.

“If it were not for your face and your hair, I could have mistaken you for one of the Rohirrim, dressed so.” She says almost laughingly. Then she moves forward as a young boy enters the chamber

“Haleth!” she exclaims. “What are you doing here? Are Wenna and the baby still safe?”

“Yes, fathersister.” He replies. “I have been sent to fight, for I am strong enough to wield a sword.”

He lifts a battered sword before him and I see that it is Hama’s sword, which Gamling retrieved from his father’s lifeless hand. Aragorn, with the eye of a weapons expert, recognises this also. He rises and takes the sword from the trembling hands of the boy, wields it experimentally.

“This is a good sword, Haleth, son of Hama.” He tells him.

Haleth nods but there is fear in his eyes, he is but a boy, and although strong and already well muscled, as are so many males of Rohan, he can have no more than twelve summers.

Rowannen moves to take Haleth into her arms. He struggles a little with embarrassment, to be seen so, under the gaze of warriors. Close together they look so alike, the same green eyes, the same fine bones, the same colour and fall and wave of hair. Her eyes are wide with shock, she looks at me beseechingly. I shake my head at her sorrowfully and she knows that it is not in my power to command here. In desperation she turns to Aragorn. He lifts his eyebrow to her and the same unspoken message passes between them. She releases Haleth with a sigh and tries to smile bravely at him.

“Farmers, farriers, stable boys. These are no soldiers.” Says Aragorn quietly to me, as Haleth moves away to find armour.

“Most have seen too many winters.” Remarks Gimli who is handing out spears to some elderly men.

I feel anger rising inside me. “Or too few!” I snap, looking back to Haleth. “They are frightened, all of them. I can see it in their eyes.”

Rowannen and Eowyn are staring at me. They have not seen me angry before. I try to pull myself under control. This never happens to me in elven realms. In elvish society I always am measured and in control, can discuss any issue calmly. Now I am failing to get a grip. What is it about these mortals that incites in me such emotion?

“Boe a hyn, Aragorn. Neled herain dan caer menig!” I am shouting now in Sindarin.
((And they should be, Aragorn. Three hundred against Ten thousand!”))

Aragorn looks at me warningly. He knows me well enough, knows when I lose myself like this I am a danger to myself even more than to others. The last time it happened he managed to curb me. When I stood at the council hurling my indignation at Boromir, he stood and quietly said “Havo dad, Legolas.” ((Sit, down, Legolas.))
He tries again, in a sensible resigned tone, using my language.

“ Si beriathar hyn ammaeg na ned Edoras.” ((They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras.))

I look at Haleth again and at Rowannen. What chance is there of keeping her safe?
I do not doubt my own courage; this is a quality in which I have never been found lacking. I do not doubt the courage of Rohan either, when the battle will come upon us, but despite the resilience of the fortress these odds are just too great.

“Aragorn, nedin dagor hen u erir ortheri.” I shout again. “Natha daged dhaer!”
((They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die.))

Aragorn’s eyes turn to steel. “Then I shall die as one of them!” he flings back at me, in the common tongue.

Eowyn and Rowannen are staring, understanding beginning to creep across their countenances. Aragorn turns away and continues his tasks, finding himself a shirt of mail. Rowannen returns to me and wordlessly puts her arms around me.
Haleth has been listening to our exchange. He too has grasped the meaning of it.

“The men are saying that we will not live out the night. They say that it is hopeless.”

He looks to Rowannen and then over to Aragorn. Aragorn comes over and touches Haleth on the shoulder.

“There is always hope.” He says, and looks at me, searchingly.

I lower my eyes and my anger is gone. Aragorn has a great spirit, King Theodred is showing himself a worthy leader, Gandalf may yet find a way to bring some aid and I myself should know better and have trust that the Valar are even now watching over us in this hour of need. I bring my eyes back up to my friend.

“We have trusted you this far, Aragorn. You have not led us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to despair.”

“U-moe edavad, Legolas.” He says. ((There is nothing to forgive.))

Rowannen releases her hold on me and my friend embraces me. The noise of a horn floats eerily into the chamber.

“That is no Orc horn.” I exclaim, and my feet are running outside up to the battlements. The others following in my wake.

I will never not trust the Valar again.

ROWANNEN:

Legolas is almost flying as he leaps up the steps from the armoury, taking the stone risers three at a time. We follow as best we can. Once out in the cool air an incredible sight meets my eyes. In the gathering dusk an army, maybe two thousand strong marches toward the causeway. Dark cloaked but infused with inner light.

“Open up the gate” shouts a guard of the Hornburg, and the company begin to pass within.

“How is this possible?” breathes King Theoden as he steps forward.

Legolas and Aragorn move to greet the leader as his words ring out echoing clearly against the stone.

“I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together. We come to honour that allegiance.”

Aragorn surges forward. “Mae Govannen. Haldir.” ((Welcome/well met, Haldir)) his voice holds joy. “You are most Welcome.”

“We are proud to fight alongside men, once more.” Confirms Haldir.

Legolas takes the imposing Elf into his arms, then steps back a look of pride on his face.

The great company of elves are deployed along the Deeping Wall; they greatly swell our forces in numbers and in skill. They stand still and watchful in ranks, their long bows upright, quivers full. They are all hooded and cloaked but Haldir, whose head is bare, and his hair falls free, as pale and long and silky as Legolas’s with the same archers braids. Legolas comes to me.

“My prayers have been answered.” He says. “You must go now with others into the caves, I pray you will be safe. Never despair. I love you Rowannen. I will slay ten thousand Orcs for you.”

My last sight of him, before I am carried with the exodus of women departing for hoped for safety, is of him stood on the battlements with Aragorn, Gimli and Haldir. At the forefront before the assembled throng of strange elves, he stands fair and proud and courageous. Ready to meet whatever fate may bring. I do pray then, to my God, and to the Valar to keep him safe, for I know in that instant that should he be taken from me I cannot continue to live.