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.

Chapter 11:

SUNRISE


ROWANNEN:

The image of Legolas and the company of elves is burnt into my mind as we travel deep down the stone passageways to the caves. I have been here before, as have most of our people. The glittering caves of Aglorond are a wonder and beautiful to behold. An annual pilgrimage and festival is held within our lands for those whose wish to visit them. I remember Legolas’s words and pray they will be our sanctuary and not our tomb.

We all carry torches, flaring into the darkness. Eowyn walks beside me, she pulls her hair into a twist and secures it behind her head. Her face is troubled. I can see she wrestles with her feelings and I touch her hand and smile my sympathy to her. If she wishes to share this problem she knows my ears are waiting.

Down to the beautiful cavern we travel, the colours and shapes of the stone glimmer all around in the light of the flares. We reach the underground lake, so black, so still. The chill of this water pervades the air and many families begin to light fires with what little wood they have carried here. It brings some cheer to the cold beauty enclosing our people.

Wenna settles herself before a blaze to feed Fram. Diorwen, her daughter, clings to my side and her new playmate Freda joins us, as Morwen comes also to sit by the fire. Eothain is nowhere to be seen. I must surmise that he also, like Haleth, has been pressed into combat. I do indeed pray, as Legolas beseeched me, for the safety of these new young warriors, not yet out of childhood and forced to fight as men. Freda and Diorwen, spared this particular trauma, cuddle against me.

From way above us through the rock we hear the crash of thunder. The vibration of the shock waves reaches us, even here. We can sense the threat of the enemy in the force of nature. Has Sauron harnessed the very universe against us? The children are shaking.

“Rowannen.” Asks Freda, trembling as she speaks. “The Kings white mare is called Snowmane. Is she the same horse you told us about in the story?”

“No, not quite the same, Freda.” I reply. “ The King’s horse is named for her ancestor only. It is many ages ago that the first Snowmane galloped this earth.”

“What happened to her?” asks Freda.

Diorwen smiles sadly, she is older, is of the nobility and benefited from some formal schooling, she has heard this story of the Mearas many times before.

“She and Ganlerain roamed the plains for many years and their joy had no bounds.”

I say, smiling down at their upturned faces.

“They travelled to the mountains, they cavorted by the Entwash. The gods smiled upon them. They had many, many children, year after year another perfect silver foal was produced and their descendents became the mounts of our Kings, allowing no other man to tame them.”

I lower my voice.

“Yet the years catch up with us all, and there came a time when Snowmane could no longer travel to the heights from whence she came. Her muscles ached and her eyes grew dim. Ganlerain was much grieved because he was descended from the horses of the Eldar and had long life on Arda and could return to the uttermost West should he so desire.”

The children are looking up at me wide-eyed. Suddenly it strikes me just what story I am telling. A story I have known since a small child, accepted as legend, but never had I really found relevance to my daily life. Like our tales of Unicorns, it seemed lost in the mists of time, only a myth, a fairy story, to give some history to our noble steeds.

Now its significance and its spirituality break upon my conscious mind like the force of the sea itself. I now know it’s origin, it’s meaning. My eyes are fixed unseeing .I remember what Legolas has told me, his elven tales about Beren and Luthien, about the joinings of the Eldar and the Edain, the gifts of the Valar. The pieces slot into the puzzle and the picture flares before my eyes. For an instant I see the pattern of the Gods!

Catching my breath I continue, and my heart is in my mouth.

“There came a time when Snowmane was weak but she wished to see the flowers in the high pasture of Rohan, those Forget- Me- Nots which blossomed amongst the pockets of frost in the spring. Ganlerain walked with her, curbing his strength to her slowed steps. There on the mountain amid the song of the larks and the rushing streams she sank down from her exertion and her life force left her, she crumpled to the grass. The grass she had run on swiftly all the days of her life, and her spirit departed.

Ganlerain was bereft. He knew not what to do. There was no comfort for him anywhere on the earth or in the sky. He followed the flowing Snowbourn, cold and clear, back down to the Entwash. Galloped through the marshes, tail streaming, eyes staring. Followed the course of the Anduin back to the sea from whence he came.
The Gods watched his flight. Noted his grief, let him pass. He reached the shore and tore headlong into the foaming waves, mingling his mane with their spray. They broke and spumed around his body and took him to the deeps. Whether he drowned or he passed to the Uttermost West, swimming through the swell, is not known to mortal men, for never again was he seen in Middle Earth, though he is remembered in song and his silver children to this day are the mounts of Kings.”

Diorwen sighs. “That is still my favourite story Ro.” She says softly, using her baby name for me. Her finger lifts to trace the tear from my cheek. “You told it so beautifully, this time.”

Yes no doubt I did, never before has it been so real to me. I cannot answer her, my voice is stilled. I am so totally aware of the course I have chosen and stunned that its significance had not occurred to me so fully before. I will hurt him. I do not want that! I love him. How can we reconcile our futures?

The children, tired from the day’s tension, drift into slumber. Eowyn comes to sit beside me. Her face is beautiful in the firelight. It reflects back the coral and amber and mithril shades of the rocks from the curve of her cheeks. She seems calmer now. Her eyes are alight.

It is at this moment that a great booming explosion reverberates through the caves, the very air shimmers with the shock waves. That was no thunder. What devilry has Isengard unleashed? Hushed conversations cease and instead the atmosphere is charged with silent prayers. The sense of fear is palpable, so thick that you could almost grasp handfuls of it from the air. I try to quell my shaking. “Legolas, Legolas, Legolas.” Is all I can think of.

Eowyn puts her arms around me. “Aragorn has told me that Legolas is the finest warrior he has ever known and that he trusts him with his life, more than any other. Let that be a comfort to you as we await the outcome.”

She squeezes me tightly to her body to still my trembling.

“I am no longer afraid.” She continues. “ I too, now know where my heart lies and I have decided to follow it. Also I have no fear for this battle above us. My confidence lies in the certainty that Lord Aragorn will become King.”

I nod speechlessly and lean against my friend.


LEGOLAS:

Such a night of warfare I have never seen in all my long years. Never have I known such an enemy as this or in so great a number. These Uruk Hai are a new breed to me. Surely Saruman could spawn no worse. It is over now. Grateful but exhausted our company ride back towards the causeway and the battle is surely replaying in everyone’s minds…………………………

Legion upon legion were stretched out in the valley before us, waiting to make their move, but we had a good vantage and my quiver was full, my knives sharp and my mind as ever was keen. I could sense the minds of the Lorien elves behind and along side me, defending the battlements with their bows ready, they too were honed to perfection.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the vast ranked enemy. To the horizon they stood, Stamping, waving their spears and swaying. A sea of evil, yet they did not make me despair. ‘There is always hope! he said, Estel. His name means hope, and the Valar will support us.’ Indeed they did support us. Our arrows found their marks unfailingly. Gimli fought bravely, hacked to pieces with his axe, the orcs who breached the battlements with their ladders. I was glad also of Haldir’s warriors. We slayed many, yet the enemy kept advancing, without the myriad arrows of Lothlorien we should have been overrun sooner.

“Togo hon dad, Legolas” I heard Aragorn scream. “Dago hon, Dago hon!” ((Bring him down Legolas. Kill him, kill him.))

An uruk hurtled towards the wall through a path in the parted ranks, a huge flaring torch in his evil hands. My arrows found their mark, the weak spot at the neck, yet still he flung himself forward as he died, and hurled his fire forward into the culvert below the wall. Such an explosion then assaulted my ears; I thought I should never hear again. Amidst flying chunks of deadly masonry the wall was breached. ‘Had I failed? Could I have loosed my arrow sooner to reach it’s mark?’ There was no time for speculation only action.

Then I did fear. ‘How should we hold them now?’ We retreated to the keep as the enemy began an assault from the causeway also. ‘Those gates must hold.’ Aragorn too saw the situation going badly and entreated Theoden to send word to the caves and command the women and children to make for the hidden passage into the mountains. Rowannen! I sent my prayers to her. ‘Is this what is meant’, I thought, ‘that I should die defending her? If it should be so, then I must give it my all.’

When it seemed we could defend the fortress no longer against the hate and evil. Aragorn as ever became reckless and inspired.
“Ride out with me.” He cried.

The horses were brought. I stroked Arod’s neck and looked into his gentle trusting eyes before leaping astride. He had served me well, done all that I asked of him as a heart’s true friend; this fine beast of Rohan. I hoped I did not ride him to his doom. Theoden led our charge and we scattered orc before us as we drove in a heroic column down the causeway.

“For death and glory! Fell deeds awake! Now for wrath! Now for ruin and a red dawn!” shouted Theoden as he pressed an armoured Snowmane into the heart of the enemy, thrusting with his spear. ‘She is not just a compliant mount. It is as if his silver mare fights the battle with him, understands the urgency and the import. These horses of Rohan are without compare. Schooled to perfection for peace or war. Perfectly tuned to the mind of men and indeed, as I have found, to Elf.’

I saw Aragorn’s sword, flashing in the light of the rising sun. ‘The dawn!’ I remembered Gandalf’s words to us, as he galloped Shadowfax from the stable in Edoras. “At first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East.” I raised my eyes
And again hope flared at the sight that met them. The White Wizard and Shadowfax reared on the crest of the rise. The host of Rohirrim charged down the slope and the light of the sun behind blinded the orcs as they turned to this challenge. Slaughter ensued. It was good to fight alongside them.

The orcs and wildmen once faced with this fury began to turn and retreat, and to my amazement I saw a forest where there was not one before. The magic of Fanghorn, which I had felt when I was beneath its branches, had truly come to life and was embodied before me. As the enemy fled into its darkness a great roaring ensued and they were swallowed into that dark evergreen mystery. There was a mighty rushing as of wind amongst boughs and what they thought a sanctuary became their doom. Not one would ever emerge.

Suddenly I was transported from the physical heat and blood of battle to a more spiritual plane. I was transfixed by this wonder, enthralled by the power of the trees. Always had I known of a secret strength but never thought to see it so perfectly and magically manifested for the power of good. I bowed my head in thanks to Yavanna, goddess of all fertile growing things. ‘One day, may I make sacrifice to you Yavanna, in token of this great gift you have bestowed upon Arda?’ I prayed. As I stood in reverence a powerful feeling washed over my mind. ‘Thank you, Legolas, It is already begun. I have plans for you and your sacrifice.’ Came the reply.

As we ride the causeway, I turn in the saddle and gaze back at that magical forest. Gandalf follows my eyes.

“Well Legolas, there is something about trees that even you did not know.” He says with an enigmatic smile.

The morning was advancing as at last we returned to the Hornburg, flushed with relief at our victory against what had seemed insurmountable odds. There is much rejoicing, albeit it is still subdued, due to exhaustion and disbelieving relief amongst many of the men of Rohan. As I traverse the steps to the terrace I pass Haleth. His face is relieved and radiant. I stretch out my hand to ruffle his hair and he grins at me.

“There is always hope, Legolas!” he cries joyfully.

“Indeed.” I reply, “We shall never forget that again, eh Haleth?” His eyes as they meet mine, no longer are those of a boy but those of a man.

I do not expect to see her. She should be safe and walking the mountain path back to Edoras, but as I enter the square and dismount, she is waiting for me. A smile shines on her face as I walk toward her.

“Legolas, You are safe.” She breathes into my hair as her body folds against mine.

“”Why are you here, and not on the path to the mountain?” I find myself asking, sweet as it is to hold her.

“Word came that our fortunes improved. Victory was possible.” She says. “Many have left and now travel the uplands but even had all hope been lost, I could not leave. Legolas, had you fallen I would have found your body and laid my own down beside it.”

The image tears at my soul. My arms tighten around her; my face again sinks into her hair. I love her. I love her. I love her.

***********************

ROWANNEN:

My heart is overflowing with gratitude to the Gods as I go forward to meet Legolas.

“Why are you not on the path to the mountain.” He asks, “Did you not receive the summons to go?”

“I could not leave, Legolas.” I answer him. “ Had you fallen, I would have found your body and laid my own down beside it. If hope was lost and there was no hope of victory then my only wish would have been to die in the place you were also.

He stares into my eyes. Is he angry that I did not go? Then his arms tighten about me and his face is in my hair. The world is put to rights again.

Eowyn steps forward also. She too would not leave.

“No Rowannen.” She said when I urged her to go. “You refuse to go and so do I also. My future is no longer confined to our land. Whatever will befall I shall go out to meet it.”

Now as the warriors return, she runs forward and flings herself into Aragorn’s
Arms. I can see he is hesitant, then he embraces her.

“I am thankful to have helped your people”. he says carefully. “It is a good outcome!” And he extricates himself from her clasp.

He and Legolas begin to divest themselves of their armour. Behind them the riders of the Rohirrim come clattering into the courtyard. Eomer at their head. It is so good to see him again, back where he belongs, a leader of our people, a Lord of the Riddermark. I smile with pride at him. His face is proud and strong. He catches sight of me and I see his brown eyes soften, from those of a fierce warrior into those of a gentle man. He dismounts and comes striding purposefully forward. Joy in his eyes.

“Rowannen!” he cries, as he sweeps me into his strong embrace. He smells of sweat and leather, of straw and horses. Such familiar scents to my nostrils. Also of blood.
He looks searchingly into my eyes and his eyes become puzzled when he finds no answering joy and feels me stiffen in his arms. I must tell him before he takes this further.

“Eomer,” I say sadly. “Glad I am to see you back with your people again and unharmed. It warms my heart, but please release me.”

His eyes are questioning.

“From the manner of your embrace I think you hope for something of myself that I cannot give, Eomer.” I continue. “My heart belongs to another.”

His gaze is kind and loving. He is a good man.

“I can wait. I can give you time to grieve for Theodred. I will help you salve the hurt.” He says softly.

“I am sorry Eomer, but you do not understand.” And I shake my head. My eyes are sorrowful for him. “It is not Theodred of whom I now speak. I have pledged myself to Legolas.”

“The Elf!” he cries in disbelief, his arms drop to his sides, casting me away as if I were hot coals that burnt. “Have you lost your mind, Rowannen?”

He wheels around to stare at Legolas. Eomer’s body is shaking. His fingers flex as though they are aching to close around his sword. I notice Legolas almost imperceptibly stand taller and straighter. His muscles shift in readiness but his eyes and countenance remain quite calm.

“Is this lunacy true?” Eomer barks at him.

Legolas nods. “Unlooked for, but inescapable for us both, Eomer. I swear I will defend and take care of her, for she is a dearer to me than mine own life.”

Eomer stares for long moments at the Elf before him. I can see that a part of him wants to hew him down on the spot. Yet he has respect for him as a warrior, and the ranks of Lorien archers who helped save our people cannot have escaped his notice, he owes some debt to Elfkind. He turns to me again and sees my eyes as I look at Legolas. He sees the love there. His own eyes lower to hide his pain. He knows, should he slay Legolas, I would never be his.

“Take her then, but reside not in Rohan! I will not have you under my gaze! Hurt her and you will answer to my sword!” he hisses and then turns away.

With a great roaring shout as of animal in agony he drives his fist against the wall and bows his head to rest against the cold hard stone. People move away with sadness in their eyes, to give him space, for they know he weeps. Eowyn passes me, anguish in her own eyes and goes to her brother and rests her hand upon his armoured outstretched arm. I see his fingers grip her own and I feel his pain. My friend and near brother, how I have hurt him. Yet it was not of my own doing. How can we control what the fates bring to our lives and hearts?

“Come.” Says that soft beautiful voice, and Legolas leads me away. We leave Eomer to deal with his feelings alone.

We walk to the battlements and stare out at the aftermath of battle below. Already the men of Rohan are building funeral pyres and digging graves according to the custom of the dead. I feel honour for my people then, that even though the wild men had risen against us in the service of Isengard, my people still give them respect in death. Rohan has a great heart, a good understanding of what is right and good and true.

Many elves surround us, smiling their victory to Legolas. Haldir is at the wall giving out orders for a regrouping and march back to Lothlorien. He approaches us with a smile.

“That was a fine battle , Legolas. We have suffered losses but our aim was true. Songs will be sung of this night and its glory!” he exclaims joyfully.

“You speak truly Haldir!” replies my love. “Without you, things would have gone ill. We are indebted to you.”

Haldir’s eyes become questioning. His fingers reach out and touch Legolas’s braids.

“What is this, Legolas?” he queries. “I have never seen these braids before in your hair. I did not think it of you yet, knowing your free nature, that you would bind yourself to one for eternity. It is beyond belief! Why then did you not invite us to the pledging ceremony, when you were with us in Lothlorien? It was very remiss of you. A prince of Mirkwood and such an important event! I am affronted! I cannot believe I missed it! Who is the lucky Elf?”

“It happened not in Lothlorien and is not to an Elf.” Legolas smiles and draws me to him. “Haldir, I am pledged to Rowannen of Rohan. My heart is hers.”

The shock in Haldir’s eyes is like the stroke of an axe.

“Surely you jest!” he says, but his eyes as he looks at us, recognize the bond.

He does not know how to answer this news. “Lothlorien will be amazed and surely Mirkwood will fall into disarray when news reaches them.” He continues, and his face is shocked and concerned.

“Haldir,” replies Legolas. “ Lothlorien is not my realm or of my kin and Mirkwood will have to learn to encompass this in its heart, for I know the Valar bless this union.”

“Then you have more certainty than I,” he replies and turns away. There is confusion in his eyes.

My heart sinks. Both Legolas and I have been rejected, by my own people and now by his own kind. Where shall we find acceptance?

Gandalf has been watching. He approaches, his eyes are kind

“Rowannen.” he asks me “Tell me true, and think hard on this. When did you first know that you loved Legolas?”

I look into the Wizards kind but knowing eyes and search for the truth in my mind. Was it when he first kissed me under the trees? Such a powerful moment was that. Was it when he told me his name in his chamber? Before that even, I think I knew. Was it when I first beheld him and those eyes met mine? No. Before I even had sight of him I heard his voice and my heart fled to its owner.

“I Hul Annui tol padol, ah os idh raim as vad.” I remember he said. I think back to that moment at Edoras and my heart knows. I was lost. My life was changed.

“When first I heard his voice, before I even beheld him, Gandalf.” I reply. “ My very being was joined to the speaker of his words.”

“The western wind comes walking and about the walls it goes.” Says Gandalf very quietly. “Yes I remember that moment also. I am glad of your words. Whilst perusing the history of Isildur in the libraries of Minith Tirith, I came across a prophecy pertaining to this age. It makes me wonder. I can only remember snatches of the verse and know not yet it’s meaning, but hearken to this:

“When Mithril and Redgold are melded let the fourth age of splendour ensue.
The curve of his lips writes new history and her pledge brings forth promise anew.”

The wizard looks at us searchingly. “It may be, that you are those to whom this refers. Keep true to each other Legolas and Rowannen, whatever befalls.” He says, and his eyes are serious.

“There is no other course open to us, Mithrandir.” Legolas answers and before the assembled company he draws me to his arms and kisses me deeply. A great hush descends on all gathered around us.

When we part Gandalf is still gazing at us.

“I fear I must ask you to accompany me Legolas, to Isengard. I have hope of good things, not ill, and a reunion with Hobbits and Ent. Will you ride with us?”

Legolas turns to the wizard. “If you have need of me, then you know I must go. Rowannen where will I find you on my return?”

“There is talk of a muster, when all warriors of Rohan shall meet together at Dunharrow in preparation for war, before marching toward Mordor. I will stay with my people and lend my aid until then. Will you find me Legolas?” I ask.

“I shall find you wherever you are.” He replies and with a last kiss he breaks away and follows the Wizard.

I am left with some sorrow but a great sense of destiny swells within my soul.


A/N The prophecy bit is a tribute to my daughter, despite thinking I am mad, she wanted to contribute to my fic. She is currently reading for an English degree and one of her texts “The Picture of Dorien Gray by Oscar Wilde” which is ironically about the desire for eternal youth (think Elves) has the quote “The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips re-write history” She said to me… ‘That is how you think of Legolas isn’t it Mum?’… And so that is why it’s here. J