Child of the Grass

by The Bawdy Bardess

Wigburh, a Rohirric girl , discovers she is half-elven, and is sent to live with her elven father. She eventually ends up following in her lady Eowyn's footsteps as a shieldmaiden and a hero Not a Mary-Sue, no slash, bookmovie mix, mostly book.

1. Shadows of Air

Disclaimer- I do not own Galadriel, or Eowyn, or Eomer, or Merry, or the Witch-king, or Faramir, or any other recognizable Lord of the Rings character, although I wish I did. I do not own the poem below (it belongs to Ezra Pound), or the poem in Quenya. The translation was done by Boris Shapiro, and the poem itself was written by Tolkien.

Child of the Grass

Ezra Pound

Child of the grass
The years pass Above us
Shadows of air All these shall Love us
Winds for our fellows
The browns and the yellows
Of autumn our colors
Now at our life's morn. Be we well sworn
Ne'er to grow older
Our spirits be bolder At meeting
Than e'er before All the old lore
Of the forests woodways
Shall aid us: Keep we the bond seal
Ne'er shall we feel
Aught of sorrow

Let light flow about thee
As a cloak of air

Wigburh, Galadriel's frosted eyes pierced mine like icicles. Do not shy from that which seeks you. For I have seen into your heart, and you seek it as well.

But what is it that seeks me?

As Galadriel turned away from me, she became a young maiden, one whom I knew long ago, but could not remember. Her voice was cool, but rang of kindness.

You seek what I seek. Have faith, Beriadanwen, you shall find it soon.

A strong wind blew in from the east, and grasped the maiden's hair in its fists. Her long yellow hair blew in front of her, and hid her face from view. I felt the need to help her- for how should she be able to see to fight off that which was approaching…

I was no longer in the presence of the maiden. I was sitting upright in my bed, with my hair wrapped around my face, probably from tossing and turning. I turned to face my eastern-window, and, where I should have seen dawn approaching, I saw only night.

Perhaps I have woken too soon, and am still in Night's domain, I thought to myself, but I knew that was not true. In the seven years that I had spent in Lorien, I had woken every morning with Dawn, and not an hour earlier or later. No, Dawn would not come for me today. Perhaps for the others, but for me it would not come.

It was time.

Instead of reaching for my dress, I reached for the Rohirric dagger that I had kept concealed in my trunk. It was all that remained from my life in Rohan, other than the brooch that I had kept for sentimental purposes. I paused only for a moment in front of the looking-glass, taking one last glance at the beautiful, floor-length hair that I had been so proud of. Then I cut it off, until the only hair I had left came down to my ears. I still looked feminine, but that was the best I could do for myself, other than dressing in breeches, which I would do once back in Rohan. For now, I had to settle with a riding costume that I stole from the riding stables. I pulled on the trousers, the underskirt, the overskirt, the bodice, the coat, and the boots.

I glanced in the looking-glass again, and upon seeing myself, prayed the Valar would keep me hidden from sight until I was safely out of the forests. If caught, I knew I could plead my case to Galadriel, who would believe me, but I did not have the time to seek an audience with her. Every fiber of my being urged me to ride to Rohan without hesitation.

As I stuck the dagger in the sheath at my waist, and hurried silently out the door and into the hallway, I quietly recited a poem that I remembered, from what seemed ages ago.

Masse sí rocco ar roquen? Masse ná romba i súyane?
Masse ná cassa ar varme, ar findesse calima sirala?
Masse ná má nandenna, ar náre narwa uryala?
Masse ná tuile ar cermie ar yáve halla loala?
Avánier ve miste orosse, ve súlime lairenna;
Auri nuntar mí Andúne ambor pella fuinenna.
Man hostuva usque wilwa turuo hessa uryala,
Var cenuva yéni sirala et Earello entula?

I had no time to lose. As I reached the stables, I murmured one last lament for Tegalad, who would never ride again. I mounted Rocheleg, and rode south, for Rohan, and for destiny.

Masse sí rocco ar roquen? Masse ná romba i súyane?
Masse ná cassa ar varme, ar findesse calima sirala?
Masse ná má nandenna, ar náre narwa uryala?
Masse ná tuile ar cermie ar yáve halla loala?
Avánier ve miste orosse, ve súlime lairenna;
Auri nuntar mí Andúne ambor pella fuinenna.
Man hostuva usque wilwa turuo hessa uryala,
Var cenuva yéni sirala et Earello entula?

This was the Lament of the Rohirrim found in J.R.R. Tolkien's The Two Towers, and recited by Theoden in the movie by the same name.