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 23:

TO CROWN IT ALL


ROWANNEN:

He stretches along the sheets as I turn back the coverlet and rise to a new day. He is exquisite, but I tear my eyes away and walk to the closet, if I stay to love him, there will be no time to prepare for all that we have in store. His eyes follow me happily.

Last night as we entered our chamber the dresses Inara had left were spread on the bed, but I had no mind to look at them or choose at that time and simply gathered them and hung them in the closet as he disrobed. My thoughts were wholly with him. Our lovemaking was tender and slow and passionate and when we came together I sobbed in his arms for the sheer beauty of it.

Now I feel his eyes on me as I take the gowns from their hanging and spread them along the bed. He moves to give me room. My fingers run over the cloth and I lift them in turn against my body and face the looking glass. There is a heavy silk, cream coloured gown with reddish tinged embroidery around the hem and sleeves, a
soft, flowing one of blue, the colour of woodsmoke drifting over fields, it is lovely, but my eyes are drawn to the third. It is the shade of honey, a rich gold, and when the fabric moves and catches the light it shines with a darker bronze and then magically becomes gold again. I lift the material and slide it over my head. There are winding black bands around the arms above the elbow, before the sleeves widen and shiver around my wrists. It rustles as it falls around me and the full skirt flares around my feet.

“Luithiac, enchanting.” Legolas comments as he dresses. I wind my hair into a partial twist and fasten it with a jet-black clasp. I have none of my jewellery, but I still feel fine enough for the occasion as I slip my feet into supple black slippers.

“Luithiac,” I smile at him in return, as he smoothes down the fine pale silk of a long tunic. His long fingers braid and twist his hair, tighter and more elaborate than I have seen before and he secures a mithril circlet around his brows. A prince indeed. “Will any of your people attend?” I ask. This rather perturbing and exciting thought occurring to me suddenly.

He shakes his head. “It is too far and my Father and people have had little contact with the world of men. Word will have reached them, but I am certain no emissaries will be sent. My father will rely on me to represent our people. He knows I would fulfil my obligation to Estel on the quest. Indeed there could be no one better equipped for this, as I have fought for this day and know Estel better than anyone from Mirkwood. ” He smiles at me and extends a hand. “Shall we go?”

The city is humming. As we enter the open space bells begin to chime and a flock of white doves scatters skyward from the battlements. Many of the Rohirrim are already lining the steps and walkways as Aragorn steps amongst the people. Legolas squeezes my fingers and takes his leave to join with the dignitaries and I stand amongst the Rohirrim close to Eomer. He looks every inch a King already in his rich green and burgundy attire, fastened with the jewels of our realm. He bows as Aragorn passes. I smile at him but he does not notice, his face is composed, grave and concentrated. Aragorn catches my eye as he sweeps by and nods slightly, the corner of his mouth turns up in a smile of recognition. I watch as Faramir hands him the keys of the city and listen to the formal speech, answered by Aragorn graciously thanking him and giving to Faramir his due and assuring him of fine continuing office. Thousands of flower petals shower down soft as snow and silence falls. In the waiting hushed atmosphere Frodo brings the crown and Gandalf places its upswept wings centred by a jewel on Aragorn’s brow and all kneel.

Aragorn’s strong gentle voice rings out. “This day belongs to not one man but to all.” He tells us and pays homage to the Hobbits who have played such a great part and a wonderful feeling of unity is realised for an instant between the now free peoples of Arda and a sense of new beginnings. There is promise in this moment.

The ceremony continues around us. Eowyn is gay and light-hearted, something I have not seen in her for a very long time. When Faramir’s part was done he came to stand with us and now he smiles and watches her attentively. I gaze at Legolas as he moves toward Aragorn and offers his allegiance. There is no deference in his manner as his hands press Aragorn’s shoulders and I see the love and care between them as Aragorn’s lips form the words “Hannon lle.”

Then he turns and gestures to a procession approaching. Flanked by the twins, stately elves carry fluttering silver banners. Behind, walks a tall dark elf, hair elaborately fashioned. I assume he must be royalty or very high rank and then as he steps toward the twins and smiles gravely at Estel I notice the resemblance. It must be their father Elrond of Imladris. The banner is lowered and Legolas moves aside, his eyes smiling at Aragorn. Revealed is the most beautiful female I have seen, hair as long and straight and raven as her brothers, eyes of a unique blue changing to mimic her siblings of grey silver and then flashing deep violet as the emotion she is displaying with her body language floods through her. Aragorn too shows a lifetime of feeling on his features as he stares. The lines of his countenance crumpling in a mixture of grief astonishment, hope and joy. Then she moves toward him and he crushes her in his arms and swings her high in a circle kissing her. The cheering drowns the peal of the bells.

Bodies are milling everywhere now. Amongst the throng I notice many of my own people in red and green and black finery, in their midst, a dear face. “Haleth!” I call and he meets my eyes, happiness gleaming in his eyes. “Rowannen!” He is in my arms with no embarrassment this time, even in the presence of warriors and strangers.

Legolas finds us; his obligations fulfilled and wrap his arms around Haleth.
“Hope!” The word comes from them both simultaneously and they laugh joyfully in complicity and remembrance.

We retire to a quieter spot to sit close and talk. Haleth is growing so fast. These weeks have made a man of him. His body is strengthening and his hair tumbles around him. He will make a beautiful warrior. First we relate to him the events he is eager for. The Battle of Pellenor he knows of from the surviving marshals, but his eyes widen at the stories of the Black Gate and he is horrified when he hears of my injuries. I can see disbelief in his eyes that Legolas allowed me to go, but my elf offers no apology. That is something we faced together and will remember between us always.

“Then tell me all your news,” I ask of him when my story is done.

“I am part of the Third Mark now under a new commander,” Haleth tells me proudly. “I have new ceremonial armour for Vingren. When I return I shall be involved in the overseeing of matings for next years foals, as the mares come into season, and I have been assigned to write the pedigrees. That is because of you Rowannen. It was you who taught me the colours and the scripts and the patterns, I shall think of you always as I work.”

I smile remembering those times with the parchments spread wide on the huge oak table. Filling the spaces with stylised letters. Red ink for the sires, green ink for the mares, and the special black used for added accolades beneath the names. If a stallion or mare had won acclaim in battle or consistently produced outstanding offspring, it was recorded in this way. The Mearas always were noted with a star symbol in silver and the whole document decorated around the borders with flowers and fruit in intertwining patterns.

“Diorwen has a new foal of her own she is raising,” Haleth continues. “Almost as black as Feannim, she is so very excited. Mama still cries over father, but Fram is growing healthy and strong and he looks more like me everyday. I can’t wait until he is old enough and I can teach him to ride. Mama will be overjoyed to have news of you Rowannen.”

“Then tell her I am well and happy.” I reply. “You must remember to give kisses to Fram and Diorwen for me when you return. When will that be?” I ask, hoping that he will spend some time here in the city with me.

“We leave in the morning when the horses are rested.” He sees the disappointment flash across my countenance. “Spring is a busy time at home, you know that,” he adds in explanation.

“Maybe you have a girl back home to return to and cannot wait?” Gimli appears, catching the end of the conversation and jests with him.

“I never thinks of girls in that way,” Haleth denies and his face blushes crimson.

Gimli smiles warmly. “I would wager that your present colour is a sign that it will not be long before you begin to, my friend,” he retorts and Haleth cannot suppress an embarrassed smile in return.

“There are many fine young lasses within the city. You could have a merry few days here.” Gimli insists jovially.

“I would rather return home. A city is not for me.” Haleth says. Indeed as I look at him I recognise the hunger already in his grey-green eyes for those empty open spaces, the vista of mountains and lakes. Also I recognise the fact that he would not consider dallying with anyone not of Rohan who was not brought up among the herds.

He looks mortified at this unspoken admission and the flicker of understanding which passes between us, and he glances at me a little shamefaced.

“I did not mean any offence, Rowannen, only that my own kind is what I crave. I understand that each person must choose their own path.” His head bows and I tilt his chin upward to see my face.

“Haleth, do not worry, I understand you too. We each must follow the course we think best that opens up to us.” I tell him and hide my feelings.

“I know, I have learnt that and do not judge you, though I miss you.”

Legolas smiles softly and adds his measured voice to the conversation.

“I am happy for you Haleth that you already have conviction about your own way in this life at such a young age. I wish you success, happiness and certainty on your chosen path. May life treat you gently.” He reaches for my hand and squeezes gently.

Haleth is hailed by his commander and takes his leave of us in order to go and feed and water the horses for the coming night, promising to find me later.


LEGOLAS:

As the spring night deepens, a banquet is laid and the lanterns strung along the balustrades and on poles are lit, to illuminate the wide square for dancing. Musicians take their places on the steps. Rowannen brings me some food, for I have been speaking with elves and advisors of Gondor and have had little time to attend to my own needs. She spends some time with her people as the evening wears onward but now we are together again, enjoying the happiness of this night. Close by Eomer is with several of Imrahil’s captains and paying attention to a tall lithe woman with a fall of dark chestnut hair. He is laughing and as snatches of their conversation drift across I realise, though very much a lady, she is telling bawdy sailors stories, which although drawing some shocked stares are providing much amusement.

Rowannen catching some of the meaning of their conversation and the raucous hilarity ensuing from it, is staring, a little shocked. Prince Imrahil strides into the gathering and the abrupt change of mood is noticeable. The lady curtseys to him and then he embraces her. I smile.

“That must be Lothiriel, Imrahil’s daughter,” I conjecture. “Her jokes come to a halt in her father’s presence I see,” I remark to Rowannen as a more demure veil is drawn across her face as she speaks with the Prince. Eomer bows to Imrahil and draws Lothiriel out into the wide space reserved for dancing and soon they are moving together to the gay music. Imrahil looks on with an inscrutable expression.

Rowannen watches them and as Aragorn and Arwen join the dancers her gaze is fixed on them, fascinated. Her expression too is inscrutable. What is she thinking? Many more elves join the revellers and the music changes, haunting flutes and strings interweave in harmony.

“Dance with me, meleth?” I ask.

She is reticent though I can feel she longs to try.
“I do not know these dances. In Rohan we dance in lines and squares and interweave, this is so different.”

I smile at her shy reluctance. “Come, you have watched long enough. I will show you.” I lead her out into the centre of the space, stepping sideways when needed, to avoid disturbing the dancers there and then stop facing her and offer her my hand. Her fingers rest in my upturned offered palm and mine close around them lightly. I move away drawing her with me, encouraging her body to follow my steps and then circle slowly and I pull her closer as the music dips and wavers, all the time my eyes on hers. My body curves around hers, hard and light and graceful. Sensuously pressing against her, our hips graze as I pass behind her and then twirl her around to face me and draw close again. Her breasts are against my chest, both of us aware that layers of silk are all that separate our bare skin and as she follows my steps our legs slide between the others and touch like a promise.

She follows the music and my prompting and we circle, pulling apart but fingers held fast, stepping away and then together again arms entwined. An erotic thrill creeps up my spine. “You dance beautifully, meleth, especially graceful, to say that you did not know the form of it. Lle hannon.” I kiss her lightly when the music pauses and we step from the floor. Eomer passes holding Lothiriel’s hand.

The evening continues. Aragorn I can see is longing to slip away but this is his coronation night and he must stay. Arwen is gracious as ever. We go to speak with them and Arwen kisses Rowannen’s cheek softly. It seems Aragorn has told her of our relationship and I can sense she is glad, but Rowannen is a little overawed and though friendly she is quiet and utters only polite sentences. Despite her reserved demeanour I can tell her mind is in turmoil and I long to have time to speak with her, but so many require our attention as the celebration continues, elves I have not seen since my journey through Imaldris or Lorien and those of her own people who are curious to see her again and learn of her adventures and tell their own. When eventually people tire and begin to slip away to their beds, we too are tired. Rowannen I can see is exhausted by the days events and when we take our leave and reach our rooms she hangs the dress carefully in the closet and slips between the sheets and is almost taken over by sleep as she curls along the sheets and sinks her head on the pillow. Now is not the time to talk. I slide with her fitting my body to her back and take her in my arms.

“It has been a long, full day. I loved dancing with you, Legolas.” she whispers and drifts into slumber.

Indeed it has been a long, eventful day, but I cannot sleep.

As the moon tracks across the sky and spills its silver light through the casement I trace the galaxy of freckles scattered down her long back and think of all that has come to pass since our meeting.