The Greenwater

****
“Ah, young Théalyn,” the wizard greeted warmly from his spot near the window where he sat smoking his pipe. “I was hoping to speak with you again.”

Théalyn gave Gandalf a short, informal bow and gestured to the spot beside him. When the old man nodded and smiled, Théalyn sat down, draping her cloak over the back of the seat.

“I was good friends with your grandfather Théalad. I was sad that I did not get a chance to wish him farewell.”

Théalyn smiled at the memory of her mother’s father, tall and fair haired with gleaming blue eyes and a short beard. He had a strong but silent nature and it was he that taught Théalyn to wield a sword. “As I am certain he was upset that he did not see you one last time. Grandfather often told stories of you when I was a small child.”

“All good, I hope,” Gandalf said in a joking manner. He winked and it caused Théalyn to giggle. The wizard leaned back and sighed. “I have not heard the sound of carefree laughter for some time.” He trailed off then and frowned somewhat.

“What troubles you?” Théalyn asked softly as she reached out and took a hold of Gandalf’s hand.

“The enemy is drawing closer, I fear,” he spoke lowly. “Gondor is our only hope and I fear that Denethor will not be accommodating.” He looked squarely at Théalyn now.

Her throat tightened and she let Gandalf’s hand slip from hers. “I have spoken with him. He says that he will not come to Rohan’s aide. But he does not like me and he never has. If you were to speak with him, perhaps he would see it another way.”

Gandalf hummed in thought and puffed on his pipe a little further. “Now then, what troubles you, my dear?”

Théalyn shrugged. “These days, many things do. I…I have asked the King to let me ride with the Rohirrim if we go to battle.”

“And what did he say?”

She gave a small chuckle. “He said that it was the decision of the First Marshal of the Mark. I believe that if Theodred were still alive, it would not be a problem. If Éomer and I were not…” she paused then, and blushed. “If I were to approach Éomer as if he were the First Marshal, he would answer me as if he were already my husband.”

“Oh?” Gandalf said with a raised eyebrow. “So young Éomer has decided to marry?” When Théalyn nodded, he continued. “I can’t imagine a better suited match than the two of you.” He looked to the widow then and to the east, and he frowned. “The sun is still rising. Master Took and I are riding for Minas Tirith today.”

“Yes,” Théalyn answered. “I heard as much. And I wish I could go with you and help Denethor see that he is not immune to Mordor’s advances. He did not even send word to Faramir – he is in Osgiliath, and if he is still alive, he won’t be for long.”

Gandalf nodded silently and took a final puff of smoke. He patted Théalyn’s thigh and gave her a reassuring smile. “Do not lose hope now, child. There is still much to be done.”

And with that he was gone, already bustling through the hall and towards the great doors that would lead outside. Théalyn watched the wizard go, his words still echoing in her ears. Slowly, she pulled herself from the seat and wrapped her cloak about her once more. Her footsteps were soft as she crossed the stone floor and followed in the direction that Gandalf had gone.

****
Meriadoc Brandybuck sighed and leaned against a stone pillar on the parapet as his gaze fell to the east. If one thing was true it was that Shadowfax was indeed the fastest of all horses. Gandalf and Pippin had ridden off no more than five minutes earlier and already they were invisible on the plains of Rohan. Aragorn’s words had been kind but they did not help ease the sense of loneliness that now enveloped the hobbit. He shifted and sighed again, and this time he was answered.

“The walls of Minas Tirith are strong, Master Brandybuck. Your friend will be safe within them.”

Merry turned and watched as the fair-haired woman that ridden beside Éomer at Isenguard came out of the great hall and took up a similar position on a nearby pillar. She gave him a warm smile. “Gandalf will not allow harm to come to him, you must know that.”

The Halfling nodded. “I do. We have come so far already, Pip and I. All of us have.” He blushed then and looked at his oversized feet. “If you’ll pardon me, milady, I do not know your name or where you come from.” He raised his head and looked at her pale eyes.

“That’s right,” she nodded. “If you’ll excuse my poor manners. My name is Théalyn. My home was in the Grey Mountains, in a great city called Carr Loss. My people were called Eraddnians, though I am the last of my kind.”

“I have never heard of your city, nor of your people. You do not seem so different from the men and women here in Rohan,” Merry pointed out.

Théalyn smiled and nodded again. “We are not,” she agreed. “Although we are more like the Dunedain. I am also a Ranger.”

Merry was satisfied with her answers for a time, but then his gaze shifted and took in her sword. “You are a warrior, then. Pip and I…we were learning to use swords when we first set out from Rivendell. Boromir…”

“You knew Boromir?” Théalyn asked as she took a quick step forward and looked into Merry’s eyes.

Merry gave her a funny look. “Aye. You knew him as well?”

“When we were younger,” she affirmed in a soft voice. Her eyes wavered and she looked to the east, feeling the wind lift her hair from her shoulders and stir it about. “You were with him when he died?”

Merry noted the tightening of Théalyn’s voice and guessed that she had felt his loss even more than any within the fellowship. He cleared his throat and answered. “He died saving Pippin and me. He died bravely, milady.” He watched as the tears welled in her gray eyes and spilled silently down her cheeks.

Théalyn sniffed and rubbed at her tears with the corner of her cloak before looking back to Merry. “Thank you.” They were silent for a moment. “If Boromir was teaching you and your friend how to use a sword, then you should not worry about whether or not Pippin can fight.”

“Some people,” Merry began with a growl, “don’t see it that way.”

“Oh?” Théalyn asked with an eyebrow raised in question.

The Hobbit nodded and went on to explain. “There is talk, you know, of the Rohirrim riding into battle. If they do, I have requested to join them.” He cast his blue eyes downward then and chewed his bottom lip. “Although it seems as though my request was met with many a boisterous laugh.” His cheeks brightened with his embarrassment and he dared to steal a glance of Théalyn.

She grinned then and shook her head, dismissing Merry’s foul mood. “Do not trouble yourself with the grunts and grumbles of these Horse Lords, Merry. Stay close to the lady Éowyn. She will see that your wishes are granted.” The Eraddnian turned and made her way back towards the hall.

“Wait!” Merry piped up. He watched the woman turn, her hair swirling about her shoulders and her cloak billowing in the wind. He crossed the stone parapet and skidded to a halt before her. “I…I meant to say thank you. For easing my fears for Pippin.”

The Eraddnian smiled faintly and offered only a short bow before turning and making her way back into the great hall. Sighing once more, Merry turned and looked back out to the mountain tops in the east. He couldn’t let Pippin ride into war alone, but the decision lay in Rohan’s hands. If Gondor called for aid, would Théoden answer?

****
“It’s been two days,” Gamling grumbled around a hank of mutton that he had torn off of the slab before him. “And we haven’t heard anything from Gondor. Denethor must be mad if he thinks he can keep Mordor at bay with his armies alone.” He finished his sentence with a pointed look at Éomer before ducking his head back to his plate and taking another bite.

Éomer merely grunted at his bristling friend. It amused him to see Gamling twisted in knots like this. Still, the younger Horse Lord was beginning to become anxious himself, especially since Aragorn had taken it upon himself to stand watch at the beacon. He had learned to trust Aragorn’s instincts and Éomer knew that there was something looming on the horizon.

The thought of Théalyn, however, tugged Éomer’s lips into a curving grin and he shifted in his seat to look across the hall to where his sister was seated. The spot beside Éowyn was empty and Éomer’s heart sank a little. Upon waking that morning, Éomer had found Théalyn’s side of the bed cold; this was not a surprise as she often went riding before the sun even rose. But now, at the midday meal, Éomer’s temper began to flare for he hadn’t seen her all morning. He let his eyes wander to the other tables within the hall and noted that while the Elf and the Dwarf were present, Aragorn was nowhere in sight either.

The young Horse Lord grumbled under his breath, cursing the secretive ways of Dunedain Rangers and the special bond between them. He swiveled back to his meal and found Gamling watching him with a wry grin.

“Can’t find your woman, eh?” The elder man snickered and took a gulp of ale. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Gamling continued. “She’s disobedient, brother. I told you that…”

“She is obedient to herself and her ways, Gamling. She is no woman of the Westfold. You of all people should realize that by now. Théalyn is not meek; nor is she soft or docile or waning in any capacity.” Éomer fixed his comrade with a hard look, daring the other man to challenge his words.

For his part, Gamling had stopped chewing and turned pale at the reminder of Théalyn’s nature. The hand which rested on his thigh brushed the surface cut that he had received from the Eraddnian’s sword only a day and a half earlier. He had not lost, nor had she, but the fight was called a draw by a very amused King Théoden, and Gamling could not deny the skill with which Théalyn fought. But she was still a woman to him, and a woman was meant to be respectful to men, especially those among the Rohirrim.

Clearing his throat, Gamling tried another approach. “Do you suppose she’s riding?”

Éomer shook his head and looked out the western windows to the surrounding mountains. “Nay. She is with Aragorn at the beacon.”

****
“I’ve never had pipeweed from Hobbiton before,” Théalyn mused as she exhaled a lungful of smoke. She sniffed the air and shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

Beside her, Aragorn grinned and drew heavily on his own pipe, letting the smoke curl into his lungs and settle his nerves. He said nothing in return, and was at peace with the silence on the hillside and the time he was sharing with a fellow Ranger.

“This, however,” Théalyn began as she pulled her satchel to her lap and opened it, “will surely make you long for better days.” She tossed a leather pouch to Aragorn, who caught it with ease and opened it immediately.

Inside the pouch was a rarity indeed; Northern pipeweed had been scarce during the last age and Aragorn had not been North in a long time. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled deeply and then looked at Théalyn with a sidelong glance.

“Where did you find it?”

“It was a parting gift from my grandfather. He told me that I should take it with me and share it with those who knew its worth, for it would be a comfort to them and to me. I think he knew that I would come across another Ranger.” She smiled faintly and looked back out onto the stronghold of Rohan.

“Were you close with Boromir?”

Théalyn turned at the sound of Aragorn’s voice and she saw that he was not looking at her, but he was concentrating on filling his pipe with the Northern gift.

“Aye,” Théalyn answered faintly. “I was. For a time. When we were children, Boromir, Faramir, and I were almost inseparable. My father was Gondor, you realize, and he was Denethor’s most trusted advisor. When he married my mother and took leave for the Grey Mountains, Denethor renounced their friendship. He will not acknowledge my right to reside in Minas Tirith, but I am hardly bothered by that.” She paused then and touched Aragorn’s shoulder so that he might look at her. “I am bothered that he will do nothing in this war.”

Aragorn shook his head, his clear blue eyes unblinking. “Gondor is strong, Théalyn. They will do all they can in this war.”

“I wish you were right,” Théalyn groused, looking back to the mountains. “But you do not know Denethor and you do not know what has happened to the White City without Isildur’s heir. Aragorn, I fear for the fate of Gondor.” Théalyn bit her lip and looked to the Ranger beside her. “I fear for the fate of men.”

“You are not alone in that, Théalyn. But Gandalf is on his way to Minas Tirith as we speak. If anyone can talk sense into kings, it is surely the White Wizard.”

“I remember him now,” Théalyn said, her voice faraway in her memories. “I remember Gandalf coming to Minas Tirith when I was young. He held many councils with Denethor and my father, and when he wasn’t giving political advice, he was teaching Faramir the ways of the world. It was hard enough for Faramir to grow up in Boromir’s shadow, but to have further attention from a wizard that your father has no confidence in…” She trailed off and shook her head clear. “Denethor is a hard man, Aragorn. He will not be swayed easily.”

To this again, Aragorn did not answer, and instead he puffed silently on his pipe. Théalyn dropped the subject and took a moment to enjoy the calm before the inevitable storm. The sun was high and warm, making for an enjoyable breeze that swept down the mountainside. It lifted the ends of Théalyn’s hair and brought with it the scent of snow and evergreen. Homesick from this, Théalyn quickly stood and brushed off her breeches and knocked the spent pipeweed from the bowl of her pipe.

“I promised Éowyn that I would help her repair the stirrups on her saddle,” Théalyn offered as an excuse for her departure. She took a step to the rocks that they had used as stairs but as an afterthought, she turned back to Aragorn.

“If you are crowned King Elessar, will you take a queen?”

Aragorn looked at his hands for a moment and then folded them in his lap. Looking out to the mountains, he turned his gaze east and glanced up at Théalyn from over his shoulder. A playful grin touched his lips and he chuckled. “Has the Lady Éowyn sent you on an errand?”

Théalyn had to smirk. Éowyn was no good at hiding her growing feelings for the future king of Gondor, but she had said nothing to Théalyn and feigned ignorance instead. Théalyn shook her head. “No,” she mused lightly. “She has said nothing to me…not like she would have to. I was merely making conversation.”

“Then I suppose I should ask you, if and when Éomer is crowned King of Rohan, will he take a queen?”

Théalyn opened her mouth to speak, but at the playful glint in Aragorn’s eye, she instead jutted her lip out in her best pout, crossing her arms over her chest. “Who told?” She muttered.

The Ranger shrugged and his grin grew wider. “The light in your eyes, I suppose.”

Théalyn narrowed her eyes and huffed, but she could not fool Aragorn nor herself. Smiling to herself, she let her eyes find Théoden’s great house in the valley. “I suppose I should look for him,” Théalyn said quietly, almost to herself. She toed the ground with her boot for a moment. “He will no doubt…”

The sharp scrabbling of boots across rock made Théalyn stop and look back to Aragorn. He was standing, his sights fixed on the top of the slope to the east, his hand hovering over his sword out of habit.

“The beacon,” he murmured, taking another step forward and climbing onto an outcrop of rock to get a closer look.

“What?” The startled expression left Théalyn’s lips even as she turned towards Aragorn, and she now saw the pinpoint of fire atop of the mountain peak.

“The beacon is lit!” Aragorn hissed, turning from his perch and bounding down the slope. “The beacon of Minas Tirith has been lit!” He smiled, grasping Théalyn’s upper arms, and he shook her quickly. “We must hurry!” Not letting go of her arm, Aragorn rounded the knoll against which they sat and tugged Théalyn behind him until she matched his pace. Together, the two Rangers sped down the scree and rubble towards the stronghold of Edoras.

****
Éomer leaned over a map, only half-hearing what his uncle was saying. His mind was occupied with the whereabouts of Théalyn; it was well past midday by now and still there had been neither word from her nor any sign of her throughout Meduselad. He chewed on his bottom lip and suddenly glanced up at the sound of the far doors opening. Here was Éowyn, but she entered the hall alone, and made her way across the stone floor to where Gimli and Legolas sat. She caught her brother’s worried expression and shrugged helplessly. She had seen Théalyn climb the western slopes with Aragorn early that morning, but the pair had not returned yet.

“Any way you look at it, Minas Tirith cannot not stand in this fight,” Théoden said lowly as he looked to Gamling and then to the back of Éomer’s head. “Are you here with us, Éomer, or is there something more pressing you need to attend to?”

Blushing furiously, Éomer turned back to Théoden and cast his eyes downward, shaking his head quickly. “I am sorry, uncle.”

Théoden muttered something about young love under his breath and patted Éomer’s shoulder in ease. “She did not wander far, boy. She is a Ranger at heart and four walls will never hold her forever.”

“Aye,” Éomer breathed as he turned his attention back to the map. He pointed to North Ithilien. “Théalyn has told me that Denethor sent Faramir to Henneth Annun and that eventually he will make his way back to Osgiliath. If Sauron’s forces cross the river there, they will be unstoppable.” The hand which pointed to the map curled into a fist and it slammed onto the table, rattling the stray daggers and a tankard of mead. “Damn the Steward and his stubborn nature!” Éomer hissed. His jaw tightened as he ground his teeth together.

Suddenly the main doors of Meduselad swung open, casting the bright afternoon light through the hall and causing all heads to swivel. In rushed Aragorn, with Théalyn dashing close behind, and the Ranger’s eyes were wide and blue, his face bright with hope.

“The beacons of Minas Tirith!” His voice rang through the hall, bringing forth gasps of surprise from those present. “The beacons are lit!” He skidded to a halt at the dais and looked to Théoden. “Gondor calls for aid!”

Théoden paused, looking from Aragorn to where his nephew stood. He watched Éowyn rush to her brother’s side and look on, anxiously awaiting an answer. With a nod to his kin, the king of Rohan turned back to Aragorn and smiled. “And Rohan will answer!”

****
TBC