Rohan is a lovely place full of gently swaying grass, lazy clouds, clear lakes, rolling hills, and a bright blue sky. The people for the most part are kind and brave, deeply set in their traditions. But that was before. Before Saruman, before Gríma, before the dark days.
Théoden, Rohan's king, has fallen into Gríma's clutches. He pushes away help, listening only to that whelp of a man, that sniveling mess of cowardice, shielding himself with Saruman's power. So I decide to do what little I can.
No one takes me seriously. Possibly because of my outlandish mannerisms. I refuse to wear dresses unless absolutely necessary, finding them cumbersome. Or it could be my looks. My eyes are slanted almost sleepily and have an odd silver color to them that change tints according to my mood and my hair is a bit shinier than the standard Rohan blonde, and lays straight down my back, swishing between my shoulder blades. My body is lithe despite my unusually tall height, resulting in nearly nonexistent curves. Then there's the ears with odd pointed tips. It's probably to do with my birth parents. They were unknown to everyone; they had left me at an elderly couple's doorstep as a babe. They had died when I was but nine winters old in an Orc raid and I've been on my own since.
Storming up the palace steps, I earn surprised glances from the guards which quickly turn to leers. Knowing that at least one will attempt to grope me, I draw a blade and drive it into the wall behind the clearly stronger guard.
"I won't miss next time." I growl, yanking the blade out, and continuing into the palace.
"Hey! You can't take weapons in there!" The smaller guard shouts, but I pay him no mind. Gríma looks up for only a moment before whispering in Théoden's ear.
"What do you need?" squeaks Gríma.
"I need you to die," I snarl. "You have plagued Rohan long enough!"
"There shall be no killing," Théoden drones. Time for plan B.
"Then accept me as a warrior,"
"A shield maiden would be more suitable,"
"I don't wish to cater to your whims. I wish to serve my country,"
"Why should I let you when you openly threaten my consult?"
"Because you are still the Théoden that cares for his people, and that the people love and respect. You know that Gríma is a pestilent, little tumor,"
The great doors behind me swing open, but I ignore the sound of approaching people. A slow, venomous grin begins to form across my face.
"I believe your time has come, Wormtongue," I cackle, drawing a blade a quarter at an inch out of its sheath, knowing full well I'll be stopped by whoever walked in.
"Sir now is not the time to take out your hostilities," A man says, gripping my shoulder tightly.
"Sir? Who is this 'sir' you speak of?" I beam, dropping the hilt, and turning to my restrainer.
"My apologies miss," The man ducks his head briefly, then looks at me oddly.
"Tell me, what is it the timbre of my voice or my garb that confused you? I shall take no offense, I am merely curious. Some days I wonder if the way my voice sounds in my head is the same as what others hear."
"Aragorn, come along," An elderly man clad in white commands. He looks at me oddly as well. Aragorn shifted back to the group of men with the elder leading them. A sight I never thought I would see greets my inspection. A dwarf and an elf walking side by side companionably. They give me that same weird look.
"Is there a bird in my hair, perhaps?" I slit my eyes suspiciously.
"No-" The elf begins.
"Sorry for interrupting... whatever it is you are doing, but we have an urgent matter to discuss with the king." Interrupts the elder.
"I am done here anyway. Good luck getting anything out of him with that rat bastard poisoning his mind." I turn to leave and am stopped by Théoden's voice.
"I accept your request. Your first task is to get a dress on and bring an instrument back. Éowyn has told me of your musical talent."
"Sounds dreary. Very well." Stretching, I saunter out of the palace and down the street to my small cottage. Only two dresses are in my wardrobe. One for celebration and one for mourning. Sighing, I pull the green and blue celebration dress on after stripping from my breeches and tunic. I don't put my shoes back on.
Before selecting an instrument, I head out the back door to a small pasture. My beautiful dun mare trots to me, knocking me back with her massive head. She is clearly a young animal both by demeanor and appearance. Only five years old, I've raised her since she was a foal. Already she is calmer than most of the old war horses the Rohirrim keep around.
"Hey Rana," I giggle, feeding her tulip.
!"You should not be dilly dallying. Take your lute. It's your best."! She snorts.
"Eh... All right. Don't get into trouble."
!"No promises."!
"I should be back before the moon is high."
!"Okay, mom."! I rub her nose, and then head back inside for my lute. As I waltz back to the palace, I tune. The village children trickle from their homes, pleading with me to play for them.
"Cresa! Won't you please play for us! Just one!" A little boy begs. The other kids take up his pleas, and I have little choice but to give in.
"I have to sing while I walk. Théoden is expecting me." I laugh cheerily.
"I bet he's gonna arrange a marriage for you and Éomer!" A little girl beams. I do not have the heart to tell them of Éomer's banishment.
"I doubt that. How about that song now?
Shule, shule, shule aroon/ Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn/ Shule go durrus oggus aylig lume/ Shule, shule, shule aroon/ Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn/ Shule go durrus oggus aylig lume/ Iss guh day thoo avorneen slawn/ I wish I was on yonder hill/ Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill/ And every tear would turn a mill/ I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel/ I'll sell my only spinning wheel/ To buy my love a sword of steel/ Shule, shule, shule aroon/ Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn/ Shule go durrus oggus aylig lume/ Iss guh day thoo avorneen slawn/ I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red/ And 'round the world I'll beg my bread/ Until my parents shall wish me dead/ Shule, shule, shule aroon/ Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn/ Shule go durrus oggus aylig lume/ Iss guh day thoo avorneen slawn/ Shule, shule, shule aroon/ Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn/ Shule go durrus oggus aylig lume/ Shule, shule, shule aroon/ Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn/ Shule go durrus oggus aylig lume, Iss guh day thoo avorneen slawn."
"One more?" The boy asks, but I shake my head seeing as we're in front of the castle already. Most of the village children are swarming around me, and normally I would oblige their request, but something seems different today. I climb up the steps with the children following me closely, hoping I'll change my mind. My mouth turns to a small 'o' when I see a healthy and furious Théoden pointing a sword at Gríma's throat. A small grim smile flashes across my face before I remember that the children are still behind me.
"Kids, go home! Go!" I shout, throwing my arms out futilely to block their view, and in the process i drop my lute. The older kids pull away their siblings and neighbors, leaving me with one little boy too frightened to move. My best friend's, Miena's, son.
"Rhoryn, sweetie, come here," I lower my voice almost to a whisper and extend my arms to the young boy. He races into my embrace and I pick him up, tucking his head against my neck so he can't see anything. I walk with purpose to take him back home, not caring about my abandoned instrument. "I am taking you home to your mommy, okay?"
"Okay, Auntie," He murmurs. He's close to falling asleep and soon his breathing slows to signal his rest. I pet his hair as I walk and I come across Cauwen, Miena's neighbor.
"She is not home yet. Would you like me to watch the boy?" Cauwen smiles gently.
"I have him. Thank you." I reply smoothly. With that, I head back to the palace humming an old tune to fetch my lute and tell Gaenry, Miena's husband, that I'll be watching his son until Miena returns home from her job. Gríma slams into me just as I reach the palace steps. Miraculously, I keep Rhoryn from hitting the dirt and he actually remains asleep. The strange men folk rush down to help me up, but I dismiss them, using one hand to push myself up and the other to hold the boy steady.
"Cresa? Are you alright? Kincaid said he saw you fall." Gaenry rushes over.
"I am fine, as is your son," I roll my eyes. "You are a poor guard what with letting Gríma knock down a civilian."
"Your wit knows no bounds. I see why Miena keeps you close. Are you sure you are fine? You seem to have a head wound."
"I do? Perfect." I hand Rhoryn to Gaenry and probe my scalp for blood. There's a deep gash running from my hairline to my ear. "Gaenry, fetch Haiweth and tell her I've hit my head. Leave Rhoryn with Cauwen if her offer to watch him still stands. It would be better for his young eyes not to see this blood."
Gaenry departs with a nod.
"That was not necessary. I could have tended to you." Aragorn says.
"But I would not know that if you had not just told me. Besides, you are a mysterious stranger who keeps odd company. A wizard, a man, an elf, and a dwarf." I grin despite the growing pain in my head. My vision flashes between nothing and ultra-intense colors, a sign of the what has yet to come. I lower myself to a crouch, which is awkward in my dress, to lessen the blow.
"Are you well?" The elf asks.
"What do you think?" I snap, much sharper than I intended. A rush of color springs to my eyes and then it goes black. Two small beings, hobbits I believe, lie curled up on a rock, surrounded by molten rock, coated in thick red blood. They don't appear to be breathing. A large, flaming eye trains its gaze on me.
"Cresa, I can give you the answers you want, if you help me," It croons. "You can be so much more than you are, if you let me into your mind. You can be a queen."
"I am not that petty." I snarl, glaring at the eye. It trembles with rage, the flames curling wildly. Water breaks me from the vision. With a hiss, I lash out at the closest object, my sight still dark from the vision. When the darkness lifts, I see Aragorn leaning over me with an angry red welt on his forehead. I'm surprised that he watched over me. Then I realize that I'm still in the dirt now surrounded by the odd men, Théoden, Éowyn, Gaenry, Haiweth, and Miena.
"I am afraid you interrupted something," I frown. "Though I am sorry I struck you."
"It is fine. Many do not appreciate water being dumped on them." Aragorn chuckles. "I do not believe we have been properly introduced. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and my companions are Gimli, son of Glóin, Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and Gandalf the White."
"Tis a pleasure. If I may ask a question, do you know of two hobbits that may be connected with an eye? One is blonde and stout and the other has dark curly hair."
"How do you know of the hobbits?" Gandalf cuts in, voice icy.
"She sees the future," Miena pipes up.
"Miena, do not-" Gaenry starts, bewildered she would say something.
"Gaenry, it is best not to interfere with the dealings of outsiders." I cut him off. "I expect the hobbits were their companions for a time."
"What did ye see?" Gimli glares accusingly at me.
"You have to understand that what I see is not definite. Things change, events may come to pass that should not have even a minute ago."
"Tell us of the hobbits," Aragorn commands.
"They were bloodied and still on the side of a molten mountain. It was difficult to tell whether they lived. An eye conversed with me, and I believe I insulted it by refusing it access to my mind."
"Sauron has already trained his eye upon Edoras. I must go find Éomer. I will be back in five days time. Look for me at dawn." And Gandalf leaves in a swish of his robes.
"Alright, child, time to get you cleaned up." Haiweth scurries over to me, pulling me up, and dragging me down the street. "Pardon lads, but it's mainly due to you!"
"Kidnapper!" I shriek girlishly, but the pair of us begin cracking up. I turn to yell at the group we left behind to see Gaenyr and Miena giggling at my antics while the men look confused. I spot my prized instrument in Miena's arms and rip away from Haiweth to fetch it.
"Thank you mellonamin (my friend)!" I shout, racing back to Haiweth. "Sing with me, Haiweth!
Far over the Misty Mountains rise/ Leave us standing upon the heights/ What was before, we see once more/ Our kingdom a distant light-"
"Hush, girl. The newcomers are staring." Haiweth scolds, but there's a tint of amusement to her tone.
"Loosen up! Live a little!
-Fiery mountain beneath the moon/ The words unspoken, we'll be there soon/ For home a song that echoes on/ And all who find us will know the tune," To my delight, Haiweth joins in. We're dancing through the street ignoring the stares the Rohirrim give us.
"Some folk we never forget/ Some kind we never forgive/ Haven't seen the back of us yet/ We'll fight as long as we live/ All eyes on the hidden door/ To the Lonely Mountain borne/ We'll ride in the gathering storm/ Until we get our long-forgotten gold/ We lay under the Misty Mountains cold/ In slumbers deep and dreams of gold/ We must awake, our lives to make/ And in the darkness a torch we hold/ From long ago when lanterns burned/ Till this day our hearts have yearned/ Her fate unknown the Arkenstone/ What was stolen must be returned/ We must awake and make the day/ To find a song for heart and soul/ Some folk we never forget/ Some kind we never forgive/ Haven't seen the end of it yet/ We'll fight as long as we live/ All eyes on the hidden door/ To the Lonely Mountain borne/ We'll ride in the gathering storm/ Until we get our long-forgotten gold/ Far away from Misty Mountains cold." With the final line, we enter my house, locking the door behind us. Rana sticks her head in the back door with a snort.
!"What happened?"! She tosses her head.
"Oh, I got run down by Gríma who just so happened to be fleeing from a wizard, an elf, a dwarf, and the lost king of Gondor," I grin.
"Be careful who you use your telepathy in front of," Haiweth cautions, helping me out of the ruined dress. "You never know who might want to use it for their own benefit."
"I know. Only three know of it. You, Miena, and Gaenyr. Well, and Rana, but I do not believe anyone will be able to drag that our of her. And I know the three of you will keep it with you past your grave."
"Okay. Now go get in the tub. I shall help you with your hair and then we will have to stitch up your head in time for the celebration tonight."
"A celebration? What for? Lute or fiddle?"
"The king has returned to his proper state of mind. Both. Now shoo fly." Smiling at the maternal woman, I slip into the tub, already filled with warm water. Gentle hands push me underwater, and then let me up as they begin undoing tangles. Haiweth massages various flower scented oils into my scalp before rinsing it with cool water from a basin nearby. She hands me my massive towel and heads into the foyer of the cottage. I dry off quickly, letting an electric current run through me to speed up the process. There's a small knock at the door, and I wrap the towel around myself before opening it.
"Wear this tonight," Miena and Haiweth step in, pressing a bundle of cloth into my arms and laying a pair of slippers on the floor. Miena leaves before I can say anything. I unfold the bundle and gasp. A dress that I would wear on a regular basis has somehow been created. It's a pale silver, like moonlight, with a heart shaped neckline. I slip it on to further my inspection of it. It's form-fitting, bringing out normally unimpressive curves, but is loose enough that I can move and it feels like I'm wearing water. The hem barely skims the ground when I walk.
"Did Miena make this?" I ask absently.
"Aye, I helped a bit. We have been working on it for months. It was meant to be your birthday present, but seeing as you are now in possession of only one dress, we decided to give to you now," Haiweth grins. I hug her tightly before she makes me sit on my bed so she can brush out my hair. She does so with delicate efficiency and then sets about weaving small flowers in my pale hair. She insists upon smudging kohl around my eyes, saying it draws you into them, and then promptly pinches my cheeks for "noticeable color". She brings me over to the full length mirror and I can't tear my eyes from the ethereal creature in it. My musician's hands push back a strand of hair so my pointed ears are visible. I actually look like an elf, like I should be traipsing with deer and wandering lonely forests. I've always considered myself a human, despite my obvious elvish descent. I have the biting personality of a man, but the affinity with nature associated with those of the woodland realm. Cresa is not even my name. I adopted it to attempt to assimilate after my foster parents, Seobryn and Kedelilind, were killed in an Orc raid. But today I see that I am an elf and that I always have been.
"You look unreal," Haiweth breathes. A happy giggle slips from me and I embrace the woman again.
"Ni 'lassui (Thank you)," I squeal.
"You are most welcome, Cresa,"
"My name, my real name, is Idhrenniel. I changed it when Lily and Bryn passed."
"Well then, you are most welcome, Idhrenniel."
"Come hodoer (wise one), there is much to celebrate!" I beam, slipping my feet into the slippers Miena brought. They make me feel like I'm barefoot and it's wonderful. I sling my lute across my body and cradle my fiddle and bow. I play long, sweet notes on my fiddle as we walk to the palace. As we pass Miena's house, she and her family wave, rushing out to walk with us.
"Auntie Cresa, you look like a faerie!" Rhoryn giggles, clapping his hands.
"I am not Cresa! I am Idhrenniel once more!" I laugh, twirling around. Oh how silly I must look, but I have finally accepted who I am.
"You are yourself again!" Miena cheers. "I have not seen this bright and bubbly personality since you were a girl!"
"We have arrived!" I holler, throwing open the celebration hall's doors wide. Many people in the hall are perturbed by my uncharacteristic cheeriness, but the children are delighted, and whisk me off to entertain them. The eyes of the newcomers bore into my back as I lead the children in a wild dance.
The kids laugh as we spin around and I break off to drag Miena, Gaenyr, and Haiweth into the circle. Soon I end up dragging many of the people I was close to as a child over. Most of the childrens' parents have joined in the fun, allowing them a moment to forget the war. Watching them makes me grin like a madwoman. I race across the room to get my fiddle from where I had left it. While swaying back, Rhoryn realizes that I intend to play for them. He hugs my legs, staring up at me, "Auntie Ren, can you play us something pretty?"
"I can," I pat his head, "Now go dance, aier (short one)."
He nods, rejoining the throng of dancers. With a broad smile, I begin a tune.
"As I came down through Dale City/ At the hour of twelve at night/ Who should I see but the Dwarven Lady/ Washing her feet by candlelight/ First she washed them, then she dried them/ Over a fire of amber coal/ In all my life I ne'er did see/ A maid so sweet about the soul/ Whack for the toora loora laddy/ Whack for the toora loora lay/ Whack for the toora loora laddy/ Whack for the toora loora lay/ As I came back through Dale City/ At the hour of half past eight/ Who should I spy but the Dwarven Lady/ Brushing her hair in the broad daylight/ First she tossed it, then she brushed it/ On her lap was a silver comb/ In all my life I ne'er did see/ A maid so fair since I did roam/ Whack for the toora loora laddy/ Whack for the toora loora lay/ Whack for the toora loora laddy/ Whack for the toora loora lay/ As I went back through Dale City/ As the sun began to set/ Who should I spy but the Dwarven Lady/ Catching a moth in a golden net/ When she saw me, then she fled me/ Lifting her petticoat over her knee/ In all my life I ne'er did see/ A maid so shy as the Dwarven Lady/ Whack for the toora loora laddy/ Whack for the toora loora lay/ Whack for the toora loora laddy/ Whack for the toora loora lay/ Whack for the toora loora laddy/ Whack for the toora loora lay/ Whack for the toora loora laddy/ Whack for the toora loora lay." I surge into another piece with the skilled grace only practiced musicians can pull off. "With a hammer and nails and a fear of failure/ We are building a shed/ Between here and heaven/ Between the wait and the wedding/ For as long as we both shall be dead/ To the world beyond the boys and the girls/ Trying to keep us calm/ We can practice our lines 'til we're deaf and blind/ To ourselves to each other where it's/ Fall not winter/ Spring not summer/ Cool not cold/ And it's warm not hot/ Have we all forgotten that/ We're getting old/ With an arrow and bow and some seeds left to sow/ We are staking our claim/ On ground so fertile/ We forget who we've hurt along the way/ And reach out for a strange hand to hold/ Someone strong but not bold enough/ To tear down the wall/ 'Cause we're not lost enough to find the stars/ Aren't crossed why align the/ Why fall hard not soft into/ Fall not winter/ Spring not summer/ Cool not cold/ Where it's warm not hot/ Have we all forgotten that/ We're getting old/ Where it's fall not winter/ Spring not summer/ Cool not cold/ Where it's warm not hot/ Has everyone forgotten/ That we're getting old/ Where it's fall not winter/ Spring not summer/ Cool not cold/ Where it's warm not hot/ Have we all forgotten/ That we're getting old." The townsfolk break into an old, Rohirric ballad, swirling and twirling around each other. I lay down my fiddle in a safe place and watch the dancing. Even Éowyn and Théoden are enjoying the merriment. It gives me an idea. I spot my targets leaning against a wall, away from the festivities.
"You know that to make merry, one must participate in the merry-making," I grin. The response I get is a mutual sigh. My smile falters a bit before I regain my composure to ask, "An lema? (long journey?)"
"Very," Aragorn nods solemnly.
"Then loosen up. Take a bath, dance, drink, socialize!"
"A bath?"
"Trust me, it is needed."
"Very well,"
"Le merna salk? Do you want to dance? And I will personally drag all three of you out there no matter the answer."
"I suppose my answer is yes,"
"As is mine," Legolas smiles. I thought him to be very serious, but this small smile proves otherwise.
"I'm not much of a dancer," Gimli groans. "But I'll bet I'm better than an elf!"
I grab Gimli's and Aragorn's hands, pulling them to the group of people with Legolas walking beside us. We're sucked into the children's dance area by Rhoryn pulling my skirts.
"Who are they?" He asks, then points at Legolas. "He's a fairy too!"
"Rhoryn this is Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli. Legolas is an elf, not a fairy." I laugh. Aragorn stoops beside the boy with a friendly grin.
"I am Aragorn." He smiles. "What is your name?"
"Hi Air-uh-gorn. I'm Rhoryn." Rhoryn says, suddenly shy, and he hides behind me. "Auntie Ren will you sing again?"
"Not tonight, aier. But I'll stop by in the morning and sing a special song." I crouch, hugging him. He plays with my hair, pouting.
"Please!"
"Oh, alright, one more. But only one."
"Hehe, yay!"
"Now Rhoryn, can you do me a favor while I get my lute? Can you make sure Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn have fun? You see, they're not very good at having fun. This is a very important job, aier (short one). Only you can do it."
"Okay!" The boy suddenly overcomes his shyness and grabs Aragorn's and Legolas's hands and, making sure Gimli follows; he introduces them to the other children. Some girls start braiding Gimli's beard and Legolas's hair while the boys launch into a tale I recognize instantly. The story I told them when they asked why I looked different from everyone else. A flare of anger surges through me, kindling my movements. My fingers strike a chord at random, and then they tickle a soft tune from my childhood. One that Lily and Bryn taught me.
"Anírach únad/ Egor gurth hen/ Han cenin vi chen lín/ Egor ú-erin le devi/ Tellin men achae/ Brennin men anann/ Rago! Ú-erich leithio/ Ú-erich o nin gwanno. (You want nothing more than this death/ I see it in your eye/ But I cannot let you/ We have come too far/ We have held on too long/ Reach! You cannot let go/ You cannot leave me)," I care naught that the only ones who can understand me are two strangers. I don't even notice the silence in the room until I find myself outside in the same silence. I lean my lute and fiddle against the wall and lean against the railing, staring at the moon. Why did Lily and Bryn know Elvish? They were definitely human. Maybe my parents wrote the songs on the letter they had left with me?
Unconsciously, my hand goes to the necklace I always wear. The only thing my birth parents left for me. They may still be alive... Have they ever tried to visit me? With a growl, I kick the wall. The physical pain fades quickly, leaving only a raw emotional pain. Tears build up in my eyes. Most only cry when frustrated, so what frustrates me? Or am I the exception, sad and alone and cold? Neither Miena nor Haiweth have seemed to notice my absence, for they would have come to comfort me if they had. Gaenyr is probably trying to keep Miena and Rhoryn from breaking something. My only other companions are the children, none of which are old enough to understand my sorrow. Of course there is Éowyn, but we haven't spoken in months. She has no reason to console me. I am alone in all senses. So terribly alone.
But I learn that I am unfortunately not alone, for hands grab me, muffling my voice, and pulling me from the torchlight.