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 Three:

WILLOWS IN THE STREAM


ROWANNEN:

The day dawns bright and clear, so different to yesterday. I am unsure if I was dreaming or not, but surely I recall Legolas carrying me to my bed, unbraiding my hair, stroking me lovingly. Eowyn and I often dress each other’s hair, but no-one has ever caressed my feet before as the Elf did. My heart leaps at the memory of his touch, I feel a flush colour my cheeks. Could I dare to hope that some of my feelings for him are returned? Today we shall go riding for he wishes to see the trees.

I discard my black mourning garment and dress instead for riding, soft sueded leggings, the colour of bleached grass, beneath a full skirt of red and brown, and a dark red tunic beneath my leather jerkin that is traced with fine swirls of silver. I braid my hair but a little, leaving much flowing free. The wind may tangle it as I ride, but the trouble of this is worth it, to feel the air lift it free and flying. Too long have I been confined.

Legolas is waiting on the stone platform and again his smile turns me to water. When will I become accustomed to the sight of him? He is dressed again in his own garments, cleaned and cared for. His cloak fastened with the leaf brooch that both Aragorn and Gimli share.

“You wear the same cloak and clasp as your companions.” I remark.

“They were a gift.” He replies. “From the elves of Lothlorien, they have great wonder of concealment.”

Together we climb downwards, traversing the many steps and twisting pathways to the stables. Halfway there he reaches for my hand and interlaces his fingers with my own. The feeling is blissful. I do not pull away.

When we enter the dim light of the stables I see Legolas look around in wonder, for the home of our horses is every bit as grand as our own dwellings, after its fashion. I watch him gaze around with pleasure. I have spent maybe more hours in this place than in my own home or palace chambers, ever since I was a tiny child, and still it is beautiful to my eyes also.

Sunlight slants through high openings beneath the roof, striking the floor along the central aisle and the particles of dust dance in the beams. Everywhere is the sweet smell of hay, and the aroma of the oil, used to keep the saddles and tack supple and soft, mingles with the rich scent of the horses. The stalls reach as far as the eye can see and great pillars of oak rise up to the vaulted ceiling next to each stall, worked into wonderful shapes and carved with flowing designs of great complexity. Each stall has double doors or gates with curved and fluted edges, which are worked in different designs of the riders own choosing, for every horse in residence here.
Legolas steps lightly as he travels down the stalls taking in the detail, his hand reaches out to trace the pattern on a pillar.

“Though living trees are more pleasing to my eye.” he says quietly “This is a fine and beautiful use of wood. Your craftsmen are masters of their art.”

I smile and open the stall where Arod is munching hay and lead him out. I heave his saddle onto my arm but Legolas shakes his head.
“I will need no saddle today my lady, ‘tis only for the comfort of Gimli and the fact that Arod was saddled when he was given into my care that I rode with one before.”

I look at him questioningly.

“You will find that an Elf can ride as well as a Horselord and a Shieldmaiden of Rohan.” He answers, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile.

Arod blows softly into his hand and follows where he leads. We pass a stall where a dark bay stallion is stamping his feet restlessly and snorting.

“That is Theodred’s horse, Brego.” I explain turning my head away. “He has been restless so, for many days. I do not think he will accept another master.”

Legolas whispers to him as he walks by and Brego is stilled for an instant, ears pricked forward listening intently.

“You have a way with horses?” I ask.

“Elves, especially those of the forest have an affinity with all beasts.” He replies.

I stand still for a moment and consider visiting the bird loft to pick up my falcon. I would like to show him my affinity with her, my beautiful peregrine, raised by my own hand from a new-hatched chick. How she wings so high as to be a speck against the cloud then falls swifter and straighter than an arrow to the earth to capture her prey, so wild and free and then returning to me as I whistle and swing the lure, but perhaps this is not his meaning. It would not be the day best suited to her anyway, as she is at her best on the wild upland amongst the rocks and short turf and this day we ride through lusher meadows to reach the trees. I dismiss the thought and turn to my stall.

Legolas holds open the gate as I lead out my mare. She is dark, almost black with a sweeping mane and tail, not large or heavy, but not lacking in strength and stamina. “Her name is Feannim. It means dragonfly.” I tell him. Her gentle eyes regard Legolas and she dilates her nostrils to blow at his face. He laughs.

It is the first time I have heard him laugh. Just when I am beginning to function in his presence, when I am learning to return his incredible smiles, he shows me something else about himself that undoes me completely. I have to lean against the gate. The sound runs through my being from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. It is like a bright music, the kind of which my ears have never heard before. My eyes open wide and I am suddenly happy and light and laughing also. It is many long weeks since I have laughed; it is healing for my soul.

We lead the horses into the morning sunshine. I too, will ride bareback this day. Without the benefit of stirrup, I use the mounting stone and spring onto the back of my mare. Legolas needs no such aid and with just a hand at Arod’s withers leaps with ease and lands square, seating himself lightly. I pull my skirts higher about my legs and fasten them with the attached long ribbons above my knees so they do not fly up into the wind.

We begin at a walk, side by side, the noise of hooves clattering on the stone cobbles and the townsfolk, going about their business, cast curious glances in our direction. Legolas has his bow and a quiver full of arrows slung tight across his shoulders. I have but a small bone handled knife sheathed at my belt.

“Do you intend to hunt today?” I ask him. He sees the direction of my eyes.

“Nay, today is for our pleasure only, but I fear Rowannen, you do not yet know just how close war is come within your borders. It is prudent to have the means to defend oneself at all times.”

We quicken our pace as we leave the strongholds walls, trotting briskly along the southeastern road down through the rounded foothills passing small settlements, smoke rising from the chimneys. Legolas handles Arod with great ease almost as if they are one beast and I can see that the grey is happy with his rider. Legolas pats his neck.

“He prefers to have just my own form astride him.” He remarks. “The dwarf has little skill or confidence as a rider or indeed a passenger.”

When the way becomes flatter I leave the road and Legolas follows. Feannim legthens her stride and we canter across springy turf in the direction of the sun. The grasslands stretch before us and I have a great urge to fly, to leave sorrow behind and seek freedom. Gripping my mount with my body, flowing myself into her muscles, I spur my mare to greater speed and we gallop toward the horizon. I hear Legolas whisper to Arod. “Noro lim, Arod, Noro lim.” ((Ride fast)) and he draws along side me; close enough to touch, matching the pace of Feannim.

Our hair streams behind into the breeze, as do the manes and tails of our horses and we outrace the moving shadows of the huge, slow white clouds. We move swiftly over the grass from shade to sunlight, sunlight to shade. I am conscious only of the speed of the air rushing past our bodies, the thrill of the movement, the soft drumming of hooves and Legolas in time beside me. This is what I need.

We gallop almost until we reach the trees. I rein in Feannim as we approach the stream, slowing her pace gradually to a walk and urge her through the shallow but icy waters of the Snowbourn, which run down from the snow-capped peaks on their way to the Entwash. The horses are fit; they are taken great care of and are blowing only slightly. I am a little breathless, but Legolas shows no effect of this effort at all. He is indeed a superb horseman.

I can feel his beautiful eyes watching me as we follow the course of the stream as it sings over the stones. I find I am no longer uncomfortable under his gaze and a weight lifts from my mind.

“You ride very well, Rowannen.” He says.

“As do you.” I reply. “Yet so I should, Legolas, for children of the Riddermark are fed on mares milk if their own mother’s milk should fail, and are carried to the stables as infants to lie in the straw as their parents tend the horses. We are lifted astride and taught to ride before we have even mastered how to walk. I helped with the birthing of Feannim and have tended her from a foal. Well do I know her mind and capabilities. You on the other hand have been with Arod only days and I can see that he is already your horse. You must keep him. I know that Eomer would recognize the bond and wish it also.”

Legolas nods his head to me and smiles “I am glad of your words.”

As we reach the trees he dismounts gracefully from Arod’s back and offers me his arm helping me to do the same. I release the ribbons and my skirts fall swishing around my ankles. Again he takes my hand and we walk through lusher, long grass beneath bare branches. Legolas stretches his other hand to caress the boughs and stroke the bark as we pass and it seems as though the trees are leaning towards him and the twigs rustle as he passes. I find myself wishing he would caress my body in the same manner.

We walk on, the horses following behind, stooping to graze a mouthful here and there, until the stream widens into a clear pool of glass and great willows bend over the water.

“Look.” He says softly. “The alder catkins are hanging full and red, and here the willow begins to burst into tips of soft grey velvet.” His fingers stroke across the buds and then he stops and very lightly brushes them across my lips instead and rests them upon my cheek. It is as if the oxygen has fled from the very air. Am I really still breathing?

“All is not dead, Rowannen,” he continues “Not even in the depth of a cold and bleak winter. New life is always there waiting only to burst into fruition. Soon all will be alive again with blossom and green again with fresh leaves unnumbered.”

He slides the quiver and bow from his shoulder and leans them against the nearest trunk and then, oh so slowly he draws me into his arms. My hands move under his cloak and reach to hold him close, sliding around and up his back. I feel the muscles rippling there. I can scarcely believe I am doing this, yet it feels so right. I lower my head against his neck and draw in a much-needed breath. It is full of the scent of him. Clean yet warm, like rain-washed leaves and green sap rising and spring bark in the sunlight. His long fingers stroke around the back of my neck caressing slowly, then they gently entwine in my hair and he lifts my head back and upwards and looks deep into my eyes. Such a moment of magic passes between us then. It is as if everything he is, and everything I ever was, am now, and will be to come, is reflected in his eyes.

“Is this what you want, Lirimaer?” he asks. My eyes are fastened to his.

“Yes.” I whisper. His lips part as he brings his mouth down to my face. I think I will faint but he holds me so firmly, and as his lips cover mine, spinning me into bliss, fire shoots through my being giving me new strength.

I have never been kissed like this before. In truth I have not been kissed very often. There was a time when Eomer used to try to catch me in the stables and would laughingly plant a stolen kiss on my cheek, or even my lips before I span away, but he never pressed it further than a tease. I was never one to roll and tumble in the hayloft with a partner or two as many girls did. I always kept myself pure. Indeed this was one of the reasons Theodred had pressed his suit with me, for it was only fitting that a wife of the future King should be a virgin and know him only. Theodred himself had caressed and kissed me and though he was tender and honourable he hinted of much passion, but it could not compare to this, to the wonder that was Legolas.

His lips are soft and firm and sweet, as they move against mine. His tongue flickers at the edges of my mouth and then gently but insistently demands entrance, licking along my own. My eyes are closed and yet I can see a million stars. My body flares with aching longing, the intensity of which I have never known. His hands slide into my hair to hold my head, as if he is afraid I may pull away from him. He need not fear! I bring my hands to caress his face and hungrily taste him with my tongue, my fingers at last stroking his silken hair, tracing to the tips of pointed ears. He moans softly and without his lips leaving mine, lowers me to the grass, drawing his cloak around us. Time has ceased to have meaning, it feels as though this bliss will never end, and I am glad.

Then unexpected sounds float into our consciousness. The horses are stamping and whickering. Reluctantly we break apart and turn our heads to the noise and sit up suddenly. A large, tired looking horse is approaching. Legolas springs upright and almost faster than my eyes can see, fits an arrow to his bow, then lowers it; for the riders are two children. A small tear-stained girl and behind a taller boy, who as we watch, slides sideways with exhaustion and crumples to the ground. I run forward and steady the horse.

“Where is Edoras?” weeps the girl. “Mama said we must go to warn
Edoras that the Westfold is burning.”

Legolas shoots me a glance. “Orcs!” is all he says.

He lifts the boy carefully, places him behind Arod’s withers and springs behind himself to hold him steady. My hands gripping her mane, I mount Feannim, draw the huge sweating horse nearer and grasp the girl child, pulling her across to sit before me. My intention is to lead the now riderless horse with us, but as I look at the state of the children and the exhaustion of the horse that has carried them here, I know there is not time to wait.

“Follow when you can.” I command the horse in my own tongue and set him free, spurring my mare ahead. For the second time this day I hear Legolas say, “Arod, Noro lim.”
………………
We leave the horses at the stables. Although I prefer to groom and feed Feannim myself, the burden in my arms has more pressing needs. Legolas follows me, carrying the boy as if he is no weight at all. Servants and the guard run to help us as we reach Meduseld.

“Bring food and drink and blankets.” I command as I carry the girl child within.

Eowyn rushes in followed by the King. When the children are settled and safe, we learn they are Eothain and Freda. Their mother Morwen sent them to ride swiftly on Garulf, in the hope they would be saved and raise the alarm. Their story of the wild men and orcs and the destruction of the villages, brings grave expressions to all who hear. There is a new urgency about the King. Once fed, the servants come to take the children to be bathed and put to sleep, but Freda is terrified still and clings to me.

“Don’t leave me Rowannen.” She cries, “I want my Mamma.” I clutch her to me.

“I will care for you, Freda.” I assure her. “Hush your fears, we will have hope that your mamma is safe.”

I look at Legolas over her tousled head. Even this new disaster has not quelled my desire.

“Legolas, come,” Orders Aragorn. “We must decide our actions immediately.”

The beautiful Elf smiles reassuringly into my eyes and touches my face.

“I will find you, later, when I may. Melamin.” ((my love)) He whispers and he turns away and strides from the hall.


LEGOLAS:

I stand by the window, needing fresh air, free from the fug of pipeweed. Aragorn and Gimli are still muttering in the background and Gandalf draws slowly on his pipe. At first light he will ride out on Shadowfax to search for the Rohhirim. The townspeople will be ordered to prepare supplies and travel to Helm’s Deep for safety. I long to go and find her, my shieldmaiden, but the hour is late, and for what I have in mind a whole night and more must stretch before us ere I proceed.

I reflect on the day just past and how it has changed me. When first she came to the platform, I stood amazed. I had thought her lovely from first sight, but was this the same maid, whom yesterday dressed in black, with tear washed eyes had leant against me? Sleep had refreshed her and she glowed. Her hair, only lightly braided at the crown fell thickly to her hips, a waterfall in flood. I was almost overcome with the desire to touch it and a shiver ran over my skin. Her eyes were as bright a green as leaves of the forest in summer, with the sun upon them, and her attire! She was vibrant with gold and reds and browns. Her skirts swirled about her, revealing leggings, worn for protection as she rode, no doubt. The silver, chased into her jerkin and belt, reflected the morning sun as a mirror, and the carved bone handle of her knife rested at her belt. She looked so wild and untamed, a shieldmaiden of Rohan in all her glory. As we descended through Edoras, my desire for her mounted, I knew I must have some contact unless the ache in my being should cause me to cry aloud. I reached for her hand and her slender fingers interlaced with mine. Even this simple touch felt so good.

We came to the stable, the largest building in the settlement. When first we arrived the stable boys had tended to our beasts whilst we were escorted to Meduseld. This was my first sight of the interior and it was splendid. I wondered that this fine place was home to horses alone, and here she was at ease. It was plain to see that here her heart lay and her memories. There was no uncertainty in her manner as she readied the horses, moving deftly, knowing each one of hundreds by their given name. When her mare, Feannim, blew in my face, she laughed with me. The first time I had heard her express mirth, her eyes danced. I must make sure she does this more often!

She can ride! She has great skill at speed, but then what did I expect of a daughter of Rohan? Her hair streamed behind her like a banner as she leant low over her mare’s mane. It was joyous to be riding for pleasure alone and not for the purpose of pursuit or war. It was exhilarating to race the clouds and to be so near to her as her spirit flew free. I had seen a fire in her soul from our first meeting but had not thought to see it freed so completely from the confines of grief so soon, or to burn so fiercely. This ride was good.

I showed her the trees and what they mean to me, and talked to her of life renewed. She speaks to me more now and is relaxing in my company. I could not bear to lose seeing her so happy, this way. She must not slip back into sorrow again. I wanted to give her hope. I found I must touch her and traced my fingertips across her lips.

“Where is your resolve now, Legolas?” I asked myself silently. “Where are you leading her? Just because you can have her is no reason for doing so.”

I hesitated, but for an instant only. Her need was crying out to me, and setting aside my weapons; I drew her into my arms and held her. She smelt delicious, of new mown hay, apricots and honey.

“By the Valar, why am I doing this?” I thought. “She is no conquest, to take for a nights pleasure and leave behind when you depart.”

I knew that she would love me, would give me her trust, and give me her heart. I ran my fingers up her slender neck into her hair and lifted her eyes to mine. Then it happened. Had I been struck by lightning? What arrow pierced my heart? This is not just about her. It is about me. It is I, Legolas Thranduilion who will love her, will give her all his trust, has just given her his heart.