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.

More romance more grief! Also childbirth. Those of you have not yet had children sorry! Those of you who have, no apology necessary I believe.

A/N: In the impromptu pledging ceremony. Rowannen’s words for the most part are some of the lyrics to the song “You Complete Me” by Stabbing Westward/album Darkest Days.
Also Legolas’s words although mostly original are also inspired by this song. Thank you to SAZI for showing me the lyrics and giving me the link to play the song.

Chapter Eight:

WOLVES IN THE HILLS


ROWANNEN:

I wake at dawn, my body still tight curled in his arms. I think he still sleeps, then I feel him stir and kiss my ear. His warm breath tickles me as he blows gently into it.
“Good Morning, Gwilwileth, my little butterfly,” he whispers softly.
Memories of his loving flood into my mind and I turn to him and seek his lips with mine. As ever his kiss is wonderful. His mouth and mine moving together make such magic.

The sound of people waking around us reminds us where we are, and we part and make ready to rise. Groans from stiff limbs, shivered breathing from the cold, children’s cries and coughs drift into the air. Aragorn is already up and buckling on his sword. He nods a greeting to us and smiles. Legolas stands and stretches and loosens his muscles, before fastening his cloak. I adjust my clothing and go with Eowyn and other women to wash in the stream.

Breakfast is a hurried affair of dry bread or fruit. Theoden is anxious to be on the move.
“If we make good speed we shall reach our destination, the fortress of Helm’s Deep before nightfall.” He urges us.

Our way begins to thread through the foothills of the White Mountains. Below us and behind the lakes glisten like blue mirrors. The path is harder to follow here, winding around bare rocks and crossing narrow rushing streams that carve gullies into the land. As the gradient rises the children’s steps slow and they falter, lagging behind, though none complain. We place as many as we can upon the horses. Sometimes up to three or four smaller children are mounted on each steed and the adults walk beside, but still our pace is not as fast as our leaders would like.

Eowyn walks ever closer to Aragorn. She has barely left his side all morning. We have heard snatches of their conversation. He has been telling her about the Ring, but when she asks of its history his face grows guarded and his tale is short. He speaks only briefly of the great battle, of Isildur and how the ring was lost.

“It is because he is Isuldur’s heir,” Legolas says quietly. “He is afraid he will not be strong enough for his task, that the weakness of man runs still in his line. This is wrong I think on his part. A more noble hearted man I have yet to meet and his strength and resolve never fail even though he be subject to much pain of either body or mind.”

“Have you known him long, Legolas?” I ask.

“Until this quest, the time I spent in his company was limited, though I have known him since he was a child. He was brought up by Lord Elrond in Rivendell and I have visited there. He was named Estel there. It means Hope, and Elrond’s twin sons Elladan and Elrohir are as brothers to him. As he grew to manhood he would travel far and wide, as you have heard, he was no stranger to the Rohhirim of old. Also several were the times he came to Mirkwood with Mithrandir and stayed for a while in our Forest home. Some good times we had in those days. Since the beginning of our quest I have not been out of his company and have grown to know him well. He is skilled in woodcraft, in tracking and healing. He has a keen mind and a braver man in battle I never saw. He will make a great leader.”

We stop to rest and drink from a stream then sit together on the grass. Flocks of Lapwing are tumbling across the sky. Eowyn sits close to Aragorn. She is staring
at the pendant hanging around his neck which has fallen from within his tunic.

“Where is she? The woman that gave you that jewel.” She asks shyly. Her hand almost reaches out to touch it around his neck and then draws back.

Aragorn smiles sadly and looks at Legolas. For a moment he is silent. Then answers,
“She is sailing to the Undying Lands, with all that is left of her kin.”

Eowyn looks astonished.
“Do you mean to say that she is an Elf?” and her eyes sweep to Legolas and I, shock widening her pupils.

“She is Elfkind,” Aragorn confirms. “We were pledged, but I have relinquished my bond with her. I would have her leave these shores and be with her people.”
For long moments there is silence. This has given Eowyn much to think on.

“It is very rare for Elf and human to bond together,” Legolas says in explanation.
“To mortals, the Elves are often strange and remote and the Elves do not usually find themselves drawn to mortals in this way, but when it happens it would seem to be a bond beyond telling; of a greater love than ever known.”
He looks at me and smiles, then looks at Aragorn, sympathy in his eyes.

“It is often something of great significance. In our history there have been joinings of Eldar and Edain, as we called the old race of men who were our allies. Beren of the Edain and Luthien Tinuviel an Elf, pledged themselves and wrought a Silmaril from the crown of the enemy. Tuor of the third house of the Edain, a mortal man and Idril Celebrindal, elven daughter of the King of Gondolin, were pledged also. Half elven children from these two unions, Earendil and Elwing fell in love and were married. Elrond of whom we have spoken was a son of this union. The Valar granted these half elven descendents, the Perhedhil, the choice of which race to belong to. Elros, Elrond’s brother chose mankind and remained with the Edain, became mortal, but was granted long life. Elrond chose Elfkind and has lived many thousands of years upon this earth, and to his children has been given a choice to pass into the Uttermost West to the undying lands, or to remain in Middle Earth and become mortal. Arwen Undomiel of whom Aragorn speaks is Elrond’s daughter.” He turns to look at Aragorn. “And Aragorn is a distant descendent of Elros.”

Aragorn casts his eyes down to the grass. Eowyn’s fingers reach out to touch his hand. He does not pull away but he does not look at her either. In the quiet we can hear the mountain larks singing their beautiful songs, the notes falling like water through the air, rising and falling, as they soar out of sight.

Legolas stands up and we all look at him. Fair and proud, he is framed in the sunlight.

“Until now it has always been a pairing of Mortal Man and Elf Maiden.” He says. “This, which has happened to me, is the first time that an Elven male would pledge himself in this way to a mortal woman. Legolas Thranduilion will become part of history and legend and song also, for I would pledge myself this day to Rowannen of Rohan, in the company of friends who will be our witnesses.” He glances to his friend. “Will you do this for me Aragorn?”

He raises me to my feet to stand before him.
“You will need a witness to your pledge also Rowannen.”

“Then will you be my hearts witness also Eowyn? You know I think of you as a sister. I would wish this of no-one else.” I ask.

Aragorn smiles at his friend, with love and respect in his eyes. He nods.
“I will be happy to do this Legolas, for I think you know your own heart.”
He turns to Eowyn questioningly.

“This is a hard thing you ask of me,” Eowyn says. “When you know how I love my brother, Rowannen, and would have wanted you to be his, if not Theodred’s bride; but I will do it. I will embrace these new turns our lives are taking, for our friendships sake.”

“Then come,” says Legolas. “Only a little while past, we passed a perfect spot.”
Aragorn and Eowyn walk with us to a dip in the hillside where a slender birch stands sheltered from the wind. Its silver bark and elegant branches arch gracefully skyward.
Legolas stops beneath the tree and I see him breathe deeply as though he draws energy from its life. From the roots beneath his feet to the sap rising into the outermost budding twigs.

I know not what to do but he leads me onward. He turns to me and takes both my hands into his own. His soft voice is sweet and strong.

“You bring me life, You bring me warmth.
You are the fire that I’ve been seeking.
I will join my world with yours; my whole life leads to this moment.
To Eru will I pray, for the strength to ever protect you.
For such great love as I would give you.
For the right to have you with me.
Only you can make me whole.
Just one touch and you complete me.
I pledge to you my love and it will be forever.”

I look deep into his eyes. Those eyes which captivated my soul the moment he first looked on me, and I begin to speak, the words of my soul echo his own.

“You rescued me from black despair.
I was lost, far in the darkness.
You are the light that I was needing.
Between two worlds we come together.
You are the truth that I’ve been seeking.
To the Gods I’ll ever pray, that you will find me worthy,
Of the right to stand beside you,
And of your truth and of your passion,
Of the right to sleep beside you.
Only you can make me whole.
Just one touch and you complete me.
I pledge to you my love until the world stops spinning.

Aragorn steps forward and takes our joined hands in his great strong ones and motions for Eowyn to come also. Her slender white fingers join in the clasp.

“I witness your pledge. May I be privileged to watch your love grow, and have opportunity to support you.” Aragorn’s voice is low and reverent.

Eowyn looks from me to Legolas and back again, then at Aragorn before she speaks.
“I witness your pledge. May I see this love bear fruit and as you travel through life together, may I be there to help you.”

Their hands fall way from us and Legolas and I are suspended in this moment of joining; even more profound somehow than our physical union, although I would not have thought that possible. He kisses my forehead, his eyes closed, and takes me in his arms to hold me close. I rest my face in his hair against his shoulder, eyes closed also. A great power washes over us. I can hear larksong and it feels as though the world has been new created this instant.

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~**~**~*~*~

Our journey continues. We travel on through the hillsides, the land growing ever steeper around us. I walk beside Feannim who carries Eothain and Freda upon her back. Legolas looks around his eyes narrowing.

“Something is amiss.” He says. “I am not sure what approaches but there is a danger on the air.”

He sprints ahead, lithe on his long legs and halts on the brow of the next rise. Suddenly he fits an arrow to his bow and fast as lightning looses it with such power and speed that I cannot see its flight. Body stretched and supple he reaches for another and another, as fast as light, sending them winging to follow the first. Hama and Gamling gallop towards him, Aragorn spurs his horse and they disappear over the hill from view.
We group together listening to the sound of battle cries and hear an unearthly howl. Freda begins to cry. I draw my sword from its scabbard. Eowyn too has hers unsheathed, held before her in readiness.

Legolas appears on the summit and runs back down toward us.
“Orc scouts.” He cries. “Riding wargs as large as our horses. There will be more.”

Theoden calls for the warriors to group.
“Eowyn, Rowannen…. take the women and children, use the lower road, make such speed to Helm’s Deep as you can.”

“No uncle, I will fight.” Cries Eowyn.

Theoden looks at her hard.
“Do this for me niece. I need you to lead our people!”
Eowyn glares back and then turns to do his will. Aragorn appears, galloping back across the grass, she stares at him longingly. Gamling too, on the slopes calls out to the warriors, gathering his forces about him.

“Hama, my brother. Where is Hama?” I ask my heart suddenly cold.

Legolas squeezes my hand. Eyes grave.
“Hama will not be coming back.” He says quietly. “Go now quickly, reach safety. I will find you at Helms deep.”
He whistles for Arod and leaps gracefully onto his back, bow in hand, even as Arod is moving. I have not seen him thus before, ready for battle. There is an intenseness radiating from every fibre of his body. His eyes, seemingly focused on what is to come, gleam with power and even excitement. He looks like a mighty warrior from legend as he gallops over the hill.

Beside me Crirawen wails, eyes shocked and staring, then crumples to the ground in a faint. For an instant I am numb with horror, but there is no time for grief. I send Eothain and Freda to Eowyn and find a spare horse carrying blankets.

“Crirawen, You must wake, we have to save ourselves. Look to yourself, look to your children.”
Her eyes flicker open and she tries feebly to rise. Using all my strength I support her pregnant body and lift her astride, packing the blankets around her to steady her shaking frame. With Eowyn in the lead we take the lower road, winding downward through the rocks. This road is longer by many miles but safer we hope. I try to keep my mind from Hama. This is not the time to mourn his departure from the world, however sorely it will grieve me in times to come. I marvel at my own resolve. Where has this new strength of spirit come from?

Even when night falls about us, we keep going, a shocked, desperate people, moving only because we have to. There are clouds, but these are well broken and we can see our way by the moonlight. ‘Ithil, the moon.’ I think. ‘My Legolas. Eru, please keep him safe.’

We travel as swiftly as we can. No-one speaks. The only sound for many miles is the occasional soft whimper of a child, until suddenly Crirawen begins to moan and falls forward in the saddle, her body tense.

“Wenna, what is it?” I ask, using my familiar name for her.

“The child, Rowannen. It has started. It is coming.”

This is news that we could have done without also. Ill news for the child for it is weeks yet until its due birthing and ill news for Crirawen for we are still many miles from our destination.

“You must try to be calm and hold on.” I entreat her. “Were your other birthings swift or slow?”

“Slow and painful!” she gasps.

“Then much as that is a torture to you, we must hope for the same again.” I reply and rub my hands across her bowed back as we walk onward.

As morning approaches we finally reach the fortress. Gates are flung wide to receive us. Many men and women, survivors of the burning of the Westfold are here. They are desperate for news. My relief at gaining this sanctuary knows no bounds.
“Eowyn, Thank You for leading us here.” I say. “This is surely our only hope!” Crirawen is slumped across the neck of the packhorse, moaning desperately. The contractions are chasing each other now with increasing speed and ferocity. I help her dismount although she can barely stand. As I thread through the throngs, a woman comes rushing towards us, tears streaming down her face. She gathers Eothain and Freda into her arms, the children are squealing with happiness. 'This must be Morwen,' I think. My heart is more than glad for them.

Eowyn sees to the unpacking of supplies. Crirawen is clinging to my neck for support. I lead her to the nearest empty chamber. We have no supplies, no drink to wet her lips, no cloths to soak the blood or wrap the babe, but no time to procure these things! Wenna lies down upon the pallet in the corner, her cries and screams are more uncontrolled by the moment. When she begins to swear, using the foulest Rohirrric words you could ever hear, I know the transition is in progress. She thrashes and screams and hits out at me as I try to gentle her. I breath steadily, I must keep calm. I have been with bitches whelping and assisted mares in foal but this is the first birth of one of my own kind that I have witnessed. It is not so different after all. This expulsion from the body, of a being that has been one with your own flesh for many moons, that is dearer to you than your own life, but is so terrible that it could rob you of your own, would seem to be a common experience for all warm blooded female life.

“Hold onto me, take my hand.” I urge her. I remove her clothing and help her legs raise, bracing her ankles the better to push against me.

She screams desperately.
“I cannot do this. It will not move.”

On and on she labours caught in this lonely hell. 'Surely the babe should be on its journey now?' I think. Her body thrashes and writhes and I can see the flesh of her belly tighten and convulse over and over, but still no babe appears.

“Wenna.” I say, though not confident that she will hear me, caught as she, in throes of agony. “I must see what obstructs this childs coming. Forgive me, brotherwife if I cause you much pain.”

As carefully as I can I insert my fingers deep into her straining vagina, searching for the babe. Thankfully I feel hardness and wet hair pressing insistently down against me. At least the babe is not born upside down. For bitches this is not so much an issue, for they birth this way commonly, but for women it is a dreadful thing, and for horses fatal.
Crirawen screams in torment at my invasion but there is no choice. The babe is twisted, sideways on to the natural flow of her channel. I have to insert all my hand gently. I have never before heard such an unearthly noise as issues from her lips.

“You are pushing my babe back in. I will kill you if I get out of this alive.” She screams. Her hands are clawing the air. Her body leaping in unimaginable pain beneath me. As carefully as I can, I grip the straining head of the infant, crowning through her cervix, and ease it round. Eru, let not the cord of life twist around its neck and instead of its lifeline become its noose of death,' I pray.

Excruciatingly slowly it seems, the child turns, and better shaped now to begin its journey, I feel it move toward me. Her contractions now are fruitful. At last they are bent on their true purpose and her body bears down upon the driving force of them. Pain there is, yes, and such pain, but now with purpose, it can be borne, it must be borne.

Her screams of agony become like the grunts of an animal, she is lost in the waves of inevitability. The babe moves downwards and emerges with a rush of fluid and blood, her tender skin ruptures and tears at the emergence. I hold the babe as the body slides easily after the head. Dark in colour, blood streaked, seemingly lifeless, and then it gasps for air, the first breath of a new life, clutching desperately at the world. As the placenta emerges from her body I sever the cord with my knife. With our horses and bitches they break these cords themselves and the cords close and shrivel quickly and fade leaving very little mark. For us this is different. Such a bond between helpless babe and mother is there, that a permanent reminder of their link remains forever on the body. The cord still pulses thickly and I tie it in a tight knot close on the babe’s belly.

“Wenna, you have another son.” I say to her and place the babe on her breast.
The child is small but perfect and colour flushes through its skin as it breathes and begins to suckle at her nipple. Crirawen looks down at her boy child and for a moment grief is forgotten in the joy of creation and the absence of pain.

“I must call him Fram, for the great dragon slayer.” She says. “Hama would of wished it.” I nod to her and smile. “ It is a worthy name. Welcome to our world, Fram, we will protect to you as best we can.”

I go to the door and breathe deeply of the fresh air, away from the stench of birthing.
When Crirawen curls around her babe, I move to the parapet. There is no sign yet of riders approaching. My eyelids shut against this unwelcome news and my heart prays.
'God, whatever else may befall, bring Legolas safe.'