Hello everyone :-) This is my first fic reposted. I had it up a while ago but then took it down for some reason unknown to me... Anyway, it's going back up again. Unfortunately I only have the first few chapters down so I'll post those but then there's going to be a bit of a wait. I'll try not to be too long...
Gléowyn sighed as the rain pounded against the thatched roof of the cottage. She could hear the wind howling through the trees as if having a life of it's own, reminding her of stories she had heard as a child of cruel spirits haunting the living.
She sighed once more, expecting at any moment to hear the tell-tale wails of her grandaughter's awakening. Gléowyn hoped for the sake of her daughter that this would not be so. Déorwyn had finally managed to put the babe to sleep not but one hour ago.
Sighing for the third time that evening, Gléowyn continued stitching the tear in the faded brown tunic. Letting her mind wonder, her thoughts went to the well being of Éadmód, her daughter's husband.
The thought of being out on a night like this sent a shiver down her spine, but she knew that it was necessary for the protection of the village, and her family.
He had been out with the village patrol for almost two weeks now. Times were getting darker and the land of Rohan was no longer the peaceful place Gléowyn remembered from her childhood, with the wide, open spaces and lush, green fields, free to roam at ones content.
No. Times were different now. Orc sightings were a common occurrence, and rarely a month passed without the warning bells sounding due to a troop of the foul beasts being spotted by the ceaseless gaurding of the men of the watchtower.
Gléowyn often wished that Éadmód had been assigned to a post at the watchtower, to sound the alarm, but never to leave the safety of the village. 'Yes, he would be safe then', she mused, 'And my daughter and I would not have to be put through this heartache and fear every time his patrol is called out'.
Setting her stitching down, Gléowyn peered out the creaking wooden shutters to the dark canvas of the night sky, riddled with countless stars, looking like little candles in the gloom. Squinting into the dark she thought she could hear a cry, a harsh call in the night, but closing the shutters with an all too audible bang, she settled herself in her comfortable chair once more, thinking it was most likely just the sound of the wind. Éadmód was not there.
With another sigh, Gléowyn once more returned to her stitching. She could not help but contemplate what would happen if the men were to bring the news that she and daughter had been dreading all these years, since Éadmód had been recruited. Déorwyn would surely be heartbroken and the babe needed a father. Her small family would surely fall apart with the death of Éadmód.
Another shrill cry came from outside and this time there was no mistaking it for the wind. A second noise reached Gléowyn's ears and with a start she realised that it was the sound of a horse's neigh.
Jumping up from her chair beside the fire, Gléowyn crossed the small room and once more peered out the shutters. Yes, there was no mistaking it.
Approaching the village was a single horse which appeared to be carrying two people. Gléowyn's heart lurched in her chest. Could one of the men be injured and returning? Gléowyn worried that her fears could be coming true. Her pale face stared out into the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of who it was, her frail hands clutching the sides of the shutters.
Her fears were for naught though, as she soon realised that they did not have the armour of the Mark on them, and this was no horse of the Rohirrim. It was far too stocky, almost like a cart horse belonging to a farmer, certaintly not one of the swift horses of her people.
Gléowyn's heart lurched again as she realised that these were strangers. But surely if they meant trouble they would come in larger numbers? 'I am getting far too paranoid in old age. No, not old age, troubled times', she told herself, with a grim smile.
The two riders approached the gates of the village and the taller of the two dismounted. Gléowyn could see that it was quite obviously a man. Looking closer she saw that he had dark hair and a pale face. This meant the strangers were not Rohirrim. Most likely Gondorian, thought Gléowyn with a shake of her head. What were they doing out here?
The man then proceeded to help the other rider down. Ahh, so one of them is injured.
Gléowyn peered closer at the second rider who was hooded with a large, black cloak, wrapped the whole way around them. Once dismounted, the howling wind whipped the cloak of the smaller rider behind them and Gléowyn could see that it was a woman, and a heavily pregnant one at that too. The round stomach protruding from between the sides of the cloak. Judging by the size her, Gléowyn could tell she was rather far along.
Her curiosity got the better of her as she called down her daughter, softly so as not to disturb the sleeping baby. Déorwyn swiftly walked down the stairs to find her mother wearing an old cloak, opening the door to their cottage.
'Mother! Were do you think you are going on a night like this?', Déorwyn scolded, minding to keep her voice down.
'Hush child. Do not scold me as though I am a child with no sense. I am not yet too old to have lost my wits.' Gléowyn reprimanded. 'There are two strangers approaching the village and one of them appears to be pregnant. I am going to see what I can do.'
'Well mother, if you do intend to go out in the darkness of night to meet with two strangers, then I certaintly do fear that you have indeed lost your wits!' she exclaimed, a frown marring her pale face. 'These people could be dangerous! Mother, you cannot take the risk!'
'Déorwyn I am going out there whether you agree with it or not. I am not yet too paranoid that I will leave a pregnant woman out in a storm! Now you may help me by gathering clean blankets as they will no doubt be frozen, or you may stand there scowling all night,' Gléowyn said firmly. And with that she pulled up the hood of her cloak and strode out into the darkness.
By this time the two strangers had made it up to the gate and were being held back by the sentry, Gléadmod. Gléowyn rushed over to ease the situation and try to help. Gléadmod would not be in the best of moods considering he had been put on sentry duty in the middle of a storm. He was usually the unlucky soul who managed to pull the short straw, and was constantly being teased for his neverending bad luck.
'Gléadmod!' Gléowyn cried against the pounding rain. 'Gléadmod, let these people pass! Can not you see that the lady is with child? You would not leave a pregnant woman out in a fierce storm, would you?' Gléadmod glanced over at Gléowyn to see her greying hair plastered to her head, intense blue eyes glaring at him. He gave an involuntary gulp. He knew better than to get into an argument with Gléowyn, who was famous around the village for having an extremely fiery temper.
'Nay, I would not, Gléowyn,' stated Gléadmod, unlocking the heavy bolts crossing the gate. And with that, Gléadmod pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the gate, the loud creaking audible even over the pounding rain and howling wind. The two strangers then crossed through into the village, the man supporting the woman as best he could. Gléadmod rushed over to help, supproting the woman from the other side. 'We must bring her to the healer, Gléowyn!' He cried over the noise of the storm.
'No, Gléadmod, Rowena's house is the other side of town. She must be brought inside as quickly as possible. My cottage is not far. We shall bring her there, then you may rush over to Rowena's house and bring her as swiftly as you can.' The two men then walked with the woman while Gléowyn led the way to her cottage. The sheets of rain hammering into them, causing the ground to become a muddy, brown stream. Not a moment too soon they saw the warm, yellow glow of the front door of Gléowyn's cottage being opened. They quickly procceded into the warm room, a roaring fire in the hearth at the opposite end. The two men then settled the woman into the large chair situated to the right of the hearth.
'Swiftly, Gléadmod! Bring Rowena, she will be needed!' said Gléowyn, gently shoving Gléadmod out the front door and into the harsh weather once more. She turned to see the strange Gondorian man kneeling before what she assumed to be his wife, and shooting Gléowyn odd glances every now and then. Déorwyn was helping her out of her sodden clothing and wrapping her in the blankets she had warmed by the fire.
The man trusted this strange Rohirrim lady, and he was by no means in a position to reject her kind hospitality, so he continued to help his wife warm up by the fire. He hadn't been able to understand what his hosts were saying as they were speaking in Rohirric, and while he did know a few words, he was by no means fluent. 'Do you speak common?' He asked the old lady.
'Aye, that I do, and a good thing that I do as well, as your wife seems to be in quite a situation.' Gléowyn said absentmindedly, as she was making hot tea by the stove. 'Déorwyn, take this man up to my room so he may change into some dry clothes. You may give him something of Éadmód's to wear.' she said in Rohirric to her daughter.
The man then found himself being usherred up the old wooden stairs to a room on the far side of the hall. The younger woman then set a pair of breeches and a faded green shirt on the bed before him, and left the room. He donned the clothes quickly before returning downstairs, sitting himself in the chair beside his wife and stroking her dark, wavy hair. Her forhead was fevered but she seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Gléowyn offered him a cup of tea which he accepted gratefully. 'Now Sir, if you would be so kind as to tell me how your pregnant wife and yourself came to be travelling in a storm so far from your home.' Gléowyn asked, taking a sip of her tea.
'Aye, that I will do, kind lady. My wife and I have been travelling from our home in Minas Tirith. I know what you will say - why in middle earth would you bring your pregnant wife travelling? Well I can tell you that she was not far along when we left.' He looked down at the floor, elbows on knees, dark strands of his shoulderlength hair flopping over his grey eyes. 'I know, that is no excuse. I should never have let this happen. She just insisted that we leave, she would not stay any longer. She-' he gave a quiet sob, 'she said she would leave without me.'
Gléowyn sat back in the old wooden chair she had brought in from the kitchen and watched the tired looking man sitting opposite her. He ran a pale hand through his unruly dark hair and took another sip of tea. 'Can you tell me where your wife wanted to go?' Gléowyn asked, smiling comfortingly at the man.
'Have you ever heard of the elves?' he asked, looking up at her with a queer gleam in his eyes.
'Only from old stories and legend, nothing more. My mother was never one to believe in those old wives tales and discouraged the telling of them. I, however, have always been interested in the old legends, but I am afraid I will not be able to tell you much about them. I am sorry but why ask me about elves?' The man looked back to his wife, a loving expression in his eyes, and continued with his story.
'During her first month of pregnancy, my wife began to experiance strange dreams. They did not make much sense at first, merely strange voices calling out to her. Then the voices began to get a little clearer, telling her to seek out a place named Imladris, for there our daughter will be safe.' He placed a hand lovingly over his wife's protruding stomach. 'My wife and I did not understand the meaning of these dreams, but she began to get frightened, concerned for the health of our unborn daughter.'
The man's eyes glazed over, lost in memory. Gléowyn placed a reassuring hand over his arm and urged him to continue. 'I tried to reassure her that everything would be fine, that they were merely dreams, but...but she would not listen. Then one night the voice in the dream came to her clearer than before. It spoke of a prophecy - a prophecy concerning our child. It said how she, and three others, would play important parts in a war to come. It said how she would be invaluable to the forces of good. However, there were others who knew about her, others who would want to put her to evil use.
Gléowyn lifted her head to look up at the pale man. 'What do you think this means?' she asked, astonishment clear in her blue eyes.
'We do not know for certain, but the voice in the dream once more told my wife to seek out Imladris, for there her questions would be answered, and the truth unveiled. We decided to take the matter to the Steward, Lord Ecthelion. We did not know what else to do and she was getting more panicked with each passing day. We asked, but he too had not heard of this place named Imladris. Hope once more left us and we despaired.'
Gléowyn watched him while he spoke. The fire sending shadows dancing across his face, outlining his high cheekbones and showing the dark circles beneath his eyes. 'But it would seem that fortune was with us after all, as the Steward's son, Denethor, overheard our conversation. He brought us to his private study, were we would be undisturbed. There, he told us all he knew of Imladris, or Rivendell as some call it. He told us that it is the home of the half-elf, Lord Elrond, a very wise being who may know the answers to my wife's dreams. She insisted we leave immediately. That was around five months ago now,' he said with a half-hearted sigh. 'And so, we came to be here.'
The room was silent while Gléowyn took in all that she had heard. The only sound coming from the crackling of the fire and the howling of the wind outside. Gléowyn felt as though she were once more a small child, listening to her father tell her stories of the elves beside the fire, on a stormy night such as this one. As a child she had always loved to hear the stories, but never for a moment did she believe any of them to be true. Her mother had made sure of that. And yet, here she was, listening to this strange man speaking of prophecies and elves as though from one of the very same stories, and she found herself believing him.
She was brought out of her thoughts from a low moan coming from the woman. The woman's eyes snapped open as she let out another moan and clutched her stomach. The man jumped up and knelt before his wife. 'My love, what ails you?' His eyes were wide and he looked terrified.
'Déorwyn, hurry, boil some water and find clean sheets! I fear the baby is on it's way. Oh, where is Rowena?' Gléowyn ushered the man out of the room just as his wife let out another groan.
'Leave me be, I cannot leave my wife!' The man protested, turning around to return to his wife. Gléowyn placed a hand on his back and not too gently shoved him through the door and into the small kitchen.
'You can and you will. It will do your wife no good to see you panicking when she is already in a frail enough state as it is!' Gléowyn replied, shutting the man out of the room. He was left to sit on a rickety old chair at the kitchen table. The time passed and he did not know for how long he had been sitting there, hands clasped together, sweat gathering on his brow as he listened to his wife's screams from the other room. At some point in the night he had heard the front door opening and a new voice joining the others. He knew that this must have been the healer, Rowena, as he recalled. He could sit there no longer. He took to pacing the floor, back and forth across the tiles of the kitchen.
A little while later and he could hear the cries of a new born baby. The door opened to reveal Déorwyn walk in carrying a pile of bloody sheets. The man immediatley jumped up and strode past the woman and into the living room. His wife was lying on a large pile of blankets on the floor in front of the fire, back propped up against the back of the chair. Her pale face was drenched in sweat, dark hair plastered to her head. But that was not what caught his eye. There, lying in his wife's tired arms, was a baby wrapped up in a blanket, dark tufts of hair peeking out from the top. He rushed over to his wife and child and placed a kiss on his wife's brow. She was utterly exhausted, deep shadows beneath her tired eyes betraying the smile on her face. She looked up to her husband and kissed him.
'Her name is to be Neniel.' she said, her voice a mere whisper. 'You must travel to Imladris, my love.' She told her husband. 'There you can find the answers to this riddle. But you must promise me, my love-' she looked up to him, tears evident in her grey eyes, 'you must promise me to return to our daughter.' He stroked the hair out of her eyes.
'I can do better, love, I promise to return to my daughter, and my wife.' he said, tears catching in his eyes as he placed his hand on her cheek. 'I shall return to you both. That I will promise to do.'
'No, my love. I can feel death seeping into my body. I am not long for this world now.' She said gently, placing her free hand over her husbands.
'Do not leave me! You must hold on. For me...for our child.' He said, his voice breaking. The tears that had been gathering now falling freely down his face. 'You are simply tired my love, it is not your time - not yet, please!' She smiled weekly up at her husband's tear stained face and placed a loving kiss on his forehead, brushing a strand of his unruly, dark hair behind his ear. Looking down at her daughter she placed a kiss on her brow.
'You must do this for Neniel, my love. Promise me,' she siad him, looking into his grey eyes, the eyes that she loved so much. The same eyes that now graced her daughter. 'Do you promise me?'
The man looked upon his wife, her dark, wavy hair falling gently around her pale face. She had never looked more beautiful to him. He kissed her softly on the lips. 'I promise.' Those two words were all he was able to manage. She smiled up at him again and then slowly closed her eyes, never to open them again. The man sat beside his wife while she drew her last breath. He then weeped into his hands.
Gléowyn watched him from the corner of the room, her eyes tearing over. She watched as the man placed a finale kiss on the brow of his wife, watched as he wiped a tear from her still-warm cheek. She watched as he took the child from her lifeless arms and looked into his daughter's eyes. He then walked across the room and placed the child in Gléowyn's arms. 'Would you look after her? I do not know what else to do. I cannot take her with me, she is too young.' The man's tear-filled eyes looked into Gléowyn's, pleading with her.
'Of course, we would not ask you to bring her. She shall be safe here.' Gléowyn placed a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. 'We will make sure of that.'
The man thanked her with a smile that did not reach his eyes. He bowed his head to her and gathered his belongings. He took one last look at his daughter sleeping peacefully in Gléowyn's arms, and strode out into the night.
And the little girl slept on, blissfully unaware that her small family had just been ripped apart.
Sorry about the cheesiness of the death scene. I tried but there was just no avoiding it. Hope it was okay :-)