'Satin and jewels grand

Are all at my command

And I am happy now.'*

In my memories Rohan dwells as a land where winds blow as veils of white sunlight and cutting vapor. A land where the eyes of dawn place crystal tears on the meadows, mirroring back the memory of black velvet nights. A country where the strands of pale golden fields are woven through the fine embroidery of copper green grass. A land where people are sown of grey and yellow, a fabric swift and hard as the sharp-edged rocks of the White Mountains and the cold, glass-like waves of the Isen and the Adorn.

To this land I was born.

I spent my childhood in the capital of Rohan, Edoras, in the shadow of Meduseld, hall of the kings of the Rohirrim. My father was a respectable man and my mother a fierce woman who knew no jest in duty. My brother and sister were warriors, held in high esteem for their deeds while defending the country's borders. Of this I knew not much in my youngest ages; only pride was in my heart when they returned from their quests, and joy and laughter filled our halls which was so rare in those days.

The nation of Éorl never had a skill in agriculture. Aside from some wheat fields near the borders, people of Rohan were not farmers, and we had to get our supplies from outside the country. Once in a year, mainly at early spring, traders, caravans and merchants gathered inside the walls of Edoras, turning the city into a carnival full of colours for a week. Except for my brother's and sister's stays, this was my favourite period of the year. We bought clothes, wheat, watched the performances of dancers, acting companies, listened to the tales of storytellers and news from other countries. There was a Gondorian lady who always accompanied a caravan, she brought the finest jewelry; an old trader from the southern meadows of Rohan who had the finest horse-breeds; skilled smiths, craftsmen and all we could imagine.

But my favourite was Thórgeir, the dwarf, who dwelled in the glorious kingdom of Erebor and brought the most beautiful wooden carvings and toys with him that I had ever seen. In my youngest days I visited him for his toys, later for his wondrous woodworks which included dishes, cutlery and cups and also sculpture and pictures carved in flat wooden plates. Sculpts of bears, dragons, wolves; pictures of faraway lands, scenes from legends and tales. I was one of Thórgeir's favourite customers and he always gave me little presents – a necklace of a wooden eagle, a belt that was carved to form dragon's skin. He was always very kind to me, told me tales about his home under the mountain. He used to tell me that when I was to be married, he would bring me the finest necklace which can be made by the dwarf metalworkers of Erebor. I never missed to visit him when he was in town.

My elder sister was a rare sight to her fellow companions – although shieldmaidens fought alongside men from time to time, they were always few in number. She was blond and tall, determined and stern. I think she would have been happy if I had followed her ways. She had the finest smith in town to forge me a sword, a size which would fit a child and when she was at home, she often took me outside the city, to train and teach me.

I could never make her truly satisfied and that sorrowed me deeply.

'You have learnt the movements well, but I do not see your heart in your fighting.' she said disappointedly in an autumn afternoon, when a lesson again was over. I was sad because I did not know what I had done wrong.

'I thought showing your inside in battle would mean an instant defeat.' I answered.

'I am not talking about that. To show your guts would be a victory indeed for your enemy, but not for you.' she answered rather irritatedly and I had no courage to tell her that she misunderstood me. 'What you lack is the string that keeps the embroidery as a whole. You miss the flow, and if you cannot find it, Éorl himself could not make you a skilled warrior.'

That was the end of our lesson that day and I felt great sorrow because she got me wrong - but still, she was somehow right. Although I was born into a family of warriors and a nation of fighters, I saw no joy in the art of sword. Long years had I spent at home, at my mother's help to do the housework during the days. But at nights I often went outside the city, wandered the fields of the valley of Harrowdale, and I felt a weight in my chest which was crawling to get outside me. I did not know what that feeling was – I only knew that my nights were full of desperate longing. The hills stood like frontiers as I was waiting. Waiting for something I still had not known about.

Then one evening, something happened.

Sometimes I brought my sword along, trying to catch the flow about which my sister was talking to me, but it never came. That day I was walking under the hills, beneath the rarely growing trees. I was trying to figure out out a cutting exercise my sister had shown me, when I hit a tree by chance. The tree was wounded and I stared at the yellowish spot that emerged from the bark as a result of the touch of my sword. I put my hand on my chest in alarm – and I felt the forms of the eagle necklace I got from Thórgeir last year. I stood there for a long time – in one of my hands, the sword; the other held on the necklace while my eyes were gazing at the tree.

As I arrived at home, I took a little knife, then a piece of wood from our hovel. I looked at my eagle necklace then I lifted up the knife and cut into the wood. I worked until the break of day. I was eager to finish housework that day and although I hadn't slept for two days, I stayed awake again all night, working on my carving. And I never went to practice fencing again.

When my sister came home next time, she came up to my room and she saw what I was doing. I smiled at her and showed her my wooden eagle which now was coming to form. She looked at it, then back at me – and her eyes were full of incomprehension.

'Why are you spending time with this?' she asked.

Her question seemed so stupid at first I nearly could not find an answer.

'Because I love doing it.' I replied finally.

She shook her head and saw my sword standing by the wall. The sword she gave to me.

'Did you practice while I was away?' she asked.

I saw that she was longing for a positive answer, but I did not want to lie to her.

'I have stopped practicing for a few weeks.'

I never saw such great disappointment in my sister's eyes. She looked at the eagle in my hand, then at me again, then with a sigh, she left my room. She never called me to practice fencing again.

I remember that she looked at my eagle but she would not see it. It was her indifference that hurt me the most.

Next day I was with my mother with the kitchen, I helped her to peel vegetables for dinner. We worked without words, as always – she was not a talkative person. I was quite surprised when she suddenly sent away the servants and then slowly began to speak.

'Why don't you go fencing with your sister instead of useless woodworks?' she asked in a deep toned voice.

My mother never understood my affection for my wooden treasures. Aside from the halls of the King, people of Rohan would seldom decorate their environments, maybe with the exception of their houses. My mother could use a nice dish or cutlery but could do nothing with a sculpture of a bear. Therefore she valued it close to nothing.

She didn't even wait for my answer.

'Leave the woodworks for the experts of the king, girl.'

'I could make such carvings they do, mother.'

'That is the task of the king's woodworkers and not for impudent children. '

'I could be a fine woodworker.'

'You will be a fine woman to your husband, child – if you ever manage to peel those vegetables before the day is done.'

She left the kitchen with a bowl in her hand, never letting me answer. I felt a heavy stone growing in my stomach. So far, my family talked to me as if I would follow my sister and brother and I would be a shieldmaiden when I grow up. I knew I would never reach my sister's skills, but I always thought that I will accompany her on her quests, at least with the pretence of freedom. Now this seemed to slip away and I did not want it to slip away. But still, I did not know what I wanted. But whatever I wanted, I knew I could never endure a life in a cage.

Autumn and winter passed and in the early spring, the merchant's week started again. I ran off to the market happily, and when I saw Thórgeir's counter, I could hardly wait for my mother's constrained nod and ran to him.

He wore a red brocade gown and his beard was braided in the same elaborated way as I remembered it. His eyes filled with joy when he saw me.

'My little dragon!' he greeted me warmly. It seemed he hadn't aged a day since I last saw him, but he observed at once that age had an effect on me – beginning my fourteenth year, I was taller than him by then.

'I see you can't wait to grow any longer!' he teased me. 'I can bring you that fine necklace next year, I presume?'

It took a little time for me to realize that he was talking about the wedding gift he promised me. Since that talk with my mother, marriage was not mentioned by my family, but I felt a shiver running through my spine and this he perceived.

'You don't want the old dwarf's jewelry, child?' he asked mockingly. I tried to smile at him and compose my words softly – however nice he was, he was a dwarf and I knew that dwarfs held their talents in higher esteem than anything else.

'I really want your jewelry, Master Thórgeir.' I replied. 'But I don't think I want marriage.'

He seemed a bit stunned. 'You don't? I thought that is a crucial wish in the hearts of human ladies.' I shook my head, for which he smiled again. 'And what is then do you want, lassie?'

I stopped for a moment and looked around, but my mother went forward, she could not see me anymore. I put my hand in my pocket and I pulled out the wooden eagle on which I was working in the past months, late at nights. I gave him the eagle which he took away interestedly.

'What is your opinion of it, Master Thórgeir?' I asked nervously.

He examined it carefully and thoroughly. 'Did you make this, missy?'

'I did.'

'Hm.'

His gruntle alarmed me, but he kept on examining my piece. As he held it in his palms, I began to see many little mistakes and I nearly regretted showing it to him but then he looked at me.

'This is not bad, child.' he said with a clear surprise in his voice. 'This is not bad at all.'

I sighed of relief.

'Can I be ever as good as your fellow dwarven woodworkers?' I teased him and he growled again.

'For that, you should live for a thousand years at least.' he said proudly but then he added: 'But I am forced to confess I see talent in this thing of yours. Your hands are blessed by Mahal, girl.'

'So you think I should continue?'

'I definitely think so.' he nodded.

He leaned on so only I could hear what he wanted to say. 'You know, lassie, not all dwarven women marry.'

'Not all of them?' I asked, surprised. In Edoras no woman could stay unmarried, and if she had done or ended up so, she was considered miserable and left by all luck.

'No, not all of them.' Thórgeir echoed. 'They marry only if they want to get married and only to the one they want to marry. If they don't or cannot do so, they live for their crafts in all their lives.'

'And do not they end up lonely and miserable?' I asked, still astonished.

'Do you think they can end up lonely and miserable?' he asked back, showing me my own carving.

I was lost in my thoughts, examining his steely face and then I dared to ask: 'Are you married, Master Thórgeir?'

He shook his head slowly and I saw pain and pride in his eyes.

'But you were married?' I asked.

'My chosen one would not want me.' he said shortly.

This hit me really hard. 'Oh, I am very sorry.' I said. 'It surely was a great sorrow for you.'

'Greater would have been my sorrow if she had married me as her second best.' Thórgeir said sternly.

His speech confused me and I just stood there, being unable to say anything that would comfort him. Then I heard my mother's voice calling for me.

'Oh no, I haven't even taken a look at your items.' I said irritatedly, and Thórgeir laughed.

'I'll be here for several days, lassie, I will be waiting for you.'

I smiled at him and he took his hand on my shoulder. 'Continue with the woodworks, child. I want to see some specialty next year when I return.' He winked at me. 'If you do a good job, I may buy it from you and I shall show it to the mighty Thrór, the King under the Mountain himself!'

I felt a deep red blush running through my face as he laughed at me. However I knew that he was joking, but I felt a sudden flame burning inside me.

'And what would you want to see from me, Master Thórgeir?' I asked back, smiling. His eyes became thoughtful then.

'You know, lassie, I travelled far and wide Middle-Earth, but I never saw the shores of the sea.' he said.' I am old now, I do not think I shall ever travel that far… but I would be happy if you gave me the chance.' He winked at me again. 'Make a wooden ship to my thoughts, young missy. Make a wooden ship for next spring and I shall bring you the most wondrous necklace of Erebor – as a price.'

A price. He was now talking to me as I was a craftswoman, never mentioning wedding gift. I felt such happiness that I hardly ever experienced before and then I heard my mother's voice again, calling me.

'I shall make the ship for you, Master Dwarf.' I bowed to Thórgeir and he nodded to me.

'Go, your mother awaits you.' he smiled and I turned away from him to search for my mother.

I visited him several times during the week but not until the annual market ended did I realize that I never got back the eagle from him.

From then, I practiced as hard as I could on my woodworkings. My mother would not let me leave housework behind, so I did all my tasks as fast as I could and practically I did not even leave my room. My family never talked about my carvings, as if they wouldn't exist. My sister never missed to express how deeply I disappointed her, so I was not so eager for her visits anymore.

Time went by, autumn and winter passed. No marriage of mine was mentioned. I began my fifteenth year and by early spring, when the market week started, I was ready with the wooden ship and could not wait to show it to Thórgeir.

But his counter was empty and he never arrived that year.

Months passed and no words came from him. I never stopped my carving works but I often cried while I was holding the knife. What happened to him? Why didn't he come? Why didn't he send a message to me at least? I was full of worry and sadness. Whenever I heard a trader or merchant came to town, I always was first to question them, but never got to know anything. My heart was heavy with sorrow and the feeling of loss. The loss of seeing his face when I would give him my work.

Autumn came and one day my mother came up to me.

'You are to be sixteen next year, daughter.' she told me. 'You are now in the right age to get married.'

I felt myself turning pale. I couldn't help but stutter. 'But… I… no, mother, I am not…'

'I will not hear any objections.' she told me sternly. 'You are old enough to leave all childish activities behind and act as your duties wish. '

I wanted to tell her that it is not my duty to leave my greatest joy behind, that a craft in which my hands would be blessed by one of the Valar is not childish. I wanted to tell that she cannot lock me into a cage. I wanted to tell all this, while I was listening to her voice which sounded like distant, weak thunder in pouring rain.

'Your future husband dwells at Aldburg, he is the son of an old comrade of your father; a benevolent, respectable man. He is coming to town in a few days to meet you. Do not disappoint us, daughter!'

I finally tried to raise a word but she waved at me, her voice as sharp as a knife.

'I told you: I will hear no objections!'

I remember the following days as a long night without dreams. My mother bought the finest fabrics and she sewed me the most wonderful dress I ever wore and yet I felt like a rope around my neck when I tried it on. When the day of the meeting came, she dressed me up, and told me I was beautiful to which I could not answer. When my father let my groom in, I could not say a word, my lips were like trees that turned to ash in a destructive fire. He was a fine man, my groom; a tall, handsome man of honour, with raven black hair – so rare amongst our people – and blue eyes. I saw he liked me. Though I cannot recall a word we have spoken, I remember he was very kind to me.

During dinner, my mother said something about my "carving fooleries", to which my groom answered my mother: 'Your daughter will not have the time nor the need to raise her fingers in this matter.'

He looked at me softly and his voice was full of prancing kindness, as he offered me wine in a glass cup filigreed with gold. I took it and gazed at my reflection on the glass, captured between the golden lines. I couldn't help but feel my stomach take a turn.

I took my farewell of my family courtly and withdrew into my room. I opened the window to feel the cold air on my face; I slowly felt the urge to throw up go away but my stomach still trembled.

I don't know how much time I spent there. The house was silent and I suddenly noticed the breaking of dawn beyond the mountains. Looking at the icy peaks, I thought of the kingdom in the Lonely Mountain and then Thórgeir again, about whom I still had not heard anything. Was he still alive? I thought of the tales he used to tell me about his homeland and I felt desperate longing to see the city of Dale, its famous market and the magical fortress-city of the kingdom of Erebor.

And suddenly it hit me: he could not come, for something prevented him. But nothing prevents me from going to him.

I took off my beautiful dress and put it on my bed. In a hurry I collected stuff I would need for the long way, and it did not take but some hours to leave the city. The guards took no notice of me, as I was in my most worn dresses, no one could tell that I was a noble lady of the Rohirrim.

As I stepped out of Edoras, I hesitated for a while. My parents will disown me for such a shame; my birthplace shall not be my home again. Yet I didn't feel like home was behind. Looking at the mountains in the distance, with my woodcarving knives in my pockets I thought home was ahead.

Thus I started my long journey to Erebor.

*Bridal Ballad by E.A. Poe