Daughter of the Dunedain

Chapter 11

Disclaimer:

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"They have bright colour, but are like a broken stained glass window reassembled without design. They are in fact "mad" as your reader says – but I don't believe I am." J.R.R. Tolkien on the names of his elves.

A.N.:

I'm introducing some new character in this chapter and some old I haven't made mention of yet. Also, I just got over 400 hits so my day got made!

The two women, one fair and the other dark, sat close in deep conversation. Many maps covered the long table and to the right of the dark-haired woman was a sword. It was sharp and seemed to glow in the dim light of the Meduseld. Suddenly, the fair-haired rose and began to pace like a caged warg. Her eyes were narrowed and fevered.

"They do not have enough men, Éowyn ." the dark-haired woman said softly, her hand reaching to grab her companion. She only just missed her and let her hand and eyes fall back to the maps. "I do not doubt you Eorlingas-"

"There is a "but" there, I know, Aelswyth." interjected Éowyn wearily.

"Aye, there is... But with those numbers? I do not like those odds even if they do gather more men on their March."

"What do you purpose, counselor?"

"Send to Minas Tirith." But then Aelswyth shook her head quickly. "No, Faramir sits in Minas Tirith and he is much more level-headed than his brother. He would think before he acted. Send to Osgiliath for aid."

"What if help comes too late?" There was an eager light in her eyes as she leaned forward.

"Help can never come too late; it always comes when it is needed. A Rider to Osgiliath... and one to the North to seek out some of my kin... if they can be found. I do not know if they can though as we are not fond of strangers and too scattered perhaps to be reunited." She frowned, deep in thought, and shook her head as though she were shaking away a horribly daft idea.

"You cannot go; that would be-"

"Foolish, I know, and few would recognize me now. It has been twenty years since I was last among my kin. Send... Send Leola to the North. She is young and swift as a doe and looks well enough like one of the Dúnedain. And to my husband holding Osgiliath... send Rowenna. She is old, I know, but the hoary hair on her head makes her wise. He will heed her council well." She sighed heavily and rested her head in her hands. "This is tediously boring work we do."

"But necessary!" said Éowyn as she sent for Leola and Rowenna. It did not take the pair long to reach them. Leola was as tall as any woman among the Rohirrim though she was slender and pale with dark hair and blue eyes. Perhaps the blood of the Men of the West ran also through her veins. If Leola was tall, Rowenna was bent with age, her hair white as snow on a mountain top. Her eyes were nothing if not keen. The Lady of Rohan gave them their order and they departed.

"Wait! Rowenna, may I ask something of you?" The old woman nodded carefully. "Take this." Aelswyth said as she handed the her Lady over by the hilt. "Use it if you must but see that he gets it." Rowenna searched her eyes for a moment, smiled, then took the sword and sheathed before departing. Again, Éowyn and Aelswyth took to the stairs to watch their Riders until they could no longer see them.

"And now I must leave you." said Aelswyth with great thought. Éowyn flicked her gaze over and betrayed her entirely. "You are the Lady of Rohan, a sheildmaiden... and I can not sit idle while war wages."

"You intend to fight?"

"That would foolish. No, I cannot fight but I will at least be of some use. I can't swing a sword but I can still loose an arrow if I must."

"And you leave me here?"

"Someone must stay and these are your people. You are just and gentle. It is your place to lead them."

"I am caged here!"

"And you would have me caged with you?"

"No! I would go with you!"

"But who would command here?"

"Preparations have been made; our young, our old, our women... They are making for the mountains even as we speak." And what good it would do them, they could not say but sure enough, the remaining Horse-folk were leaving in small groups. Large enough to defend themselves but small enough that might escape notice.

"Then go with them; they need you."

"And I need you."

Aelswyth shook her head slowly.

"I suppose you shall need a horse." The Lady of Rohan could not hide her wide grin as she let out a piercing whistle and a painted mare was brought before them. Aelswyth began to laugh, a musical sound akin to that of her distant Elven-cousins. "I knew you would wish to go but I did not know when. She is old, this one, but she is as fast as any filly. May she carry you where ever it is you wish to go."

Leola rode for as far North as her horse could carry her in a day. She knew she had at least made it out of Rohan for she had already passed over the uncannily desolate banks of the Isen. When night had fallen, the round moon cast a silver glow upon the land and she had enough light to see her path. She dismounted her black courser and lead him by the reins along her night time path. She was ever looking over her shoulder and casting her glance in all other directions. Her whole body was held tense and her fingers played at the hilt of her dirk restlessly. She knew she was being watched, being followed but she made no move on her shadow. She could not actually see him and for all she knew she was wrong.

"Well" she began in the language of the Eorlingas. It sounded not unitarily like the neighing of a horse. It had it's own sort of music but was otherwise strange and foreign, soft and strong much like the people who spoke it. "It is time to rest, my old friend." As she was tying the black courser down, someone came up from behind her and grabbed her so quickly she did not know what was happening. A dagger flashed at her throat in the moonlight and she felt the cold metal press into her throat.

"No! Wait!" she cried desperately as she clawed at the hands and arms that held her.

"Man le?" querried her shadow but she did not know that language.

"I-I don't... I don't understand you."

"That is very dangerous in these parts. Tell me who you are and where you are going."

"I..." She cleared her throat, the dagger breaking her skin a little. She stiffened. "I am Leola. I am come from the Riddermark."

"What business do you have traveling these roads at night?"

"I cannot say!"

"Then, it is the Enemy you work for."

"No! My Ladies would very cross with if I told you and you were not the right peoples!"

"Which Ladies do you serve?"

"The White Ladies." she answered hesitantly. "I bear a message from the White Lady of Rohan and her counselor, Aelswyth of the North." The pressure at her neck suddenly disappeared but still her captor held her tightly. She brushed her neck with her hand and felt a drop of warm blood at her throat.

"What people do you seek?" he asked quickly, his voice a breath of wind on her ear.

"The Dúnedain."

"They are not the only ones then. We are few and scattered at that. What good would we be? No, do not answer." He released her from his hold and handed her the reins of her horse. "I cannot allow you to make your journey alone and you do not know the way, I fear. I will lead you." he muttered as he took the reins back from her. He placed himself in the saddle then offered his hand to her. A look of shock spread across her face as she stared at his proffered hand.

"Well?" he prompted with a small smile and bright, gray eyes. "Take my hand."

She grabbed his rough hand and he pulled her into the saddle in front of him.

"Hold on tightly; we'll be riding as fast as this horse can carry us. I am called Arradon..."

Rowenna's long, white hair streamed out behind her like a blanket of snow as she rode into Osgiliath. The clang of metal and cries of men-folk reached her ears with an unexpected familiarity. She had fought in her fair share of battles. The Lady thinks it is just her who wishes to fight but long has my sword arm ached for battle... And at her hip was the unknown blade Narnimwen. All great swords had names and this one was one them though not as widely known as it's brother-sword, Narsil. She drew it before entering the fray she drew the sword and let out a cry of her own.

She brought the blade down and hewed the head of an Orc in.

"Where is your Captain?" she asked the Men of Gondor that waged their battle around her. "I say, WHERE IS YOUR CAPTAIN?" Her strong, clear voice broke through the clanging and shouting and grunting. Every living being stopped and looked to her as though she were some forgotten warrior-goddess come down from the heavens to slay them all. Even the dead seemed to stir at her voice. A boy- He has no beard, this one, and knows more of war than any other lad his age- took her to his Captain. Behind them the battle continued. It seemed to her that the Gondorians were slowly making thier way through the ruined city. Perhaps it can be done...

The boy brought her to a tall, broad-shouldered man on a slim, white stallion shoving thier way through a small line of Uruk-hai. He fought surely as though he were ten men instead of just one. She slipped gracefully from the saddle, her feet barely making a sound as they landed on the slick ground. She brought out the sword she had been given and rushed into the fight, her teeth bared.

"That is my wife's sword!" growled Boromir, thinking the worst has come to pass. "How did you come upon it?"

"It is for you, Captain and High Warden. I come with a message from your wife in Rohan!" she called as his sword point suddenly thrust out beside her head and an Orc let out a howl and fell to the ground, dead. "Théoden-King is healed and has taken men to Hornburg for battle! She asks for men!"

"Then she shall have them! How many-"

"All of them. She requests you and all your men retreat from this fight-"

"And move onto another? I will not do it!"

"You cannot reclaim this City." Her voice was strangely calm as she separated an Orc's head from it's shoulders.

"I will not let it fall!" But even as he spoke he knew it had to be done. He gave the order to retreat to his men but they did not seem to understand him. Around him the battle went on. Gradually his order sunk and his men began to fall back. By night fall, they were out of the city and could hear the Servants of the Enemy cheering behind the ruins.

"We march for Rohan!" he commanded harshly as the bedraggled host began to grow uneasy.

Clad in the plate and metal of a man no one seemed to notice she was not who she said she was. And with her helm on, it was impossible to see her face. She was not Aelswyth of the North. She was Aeldir, her father risen from the grave, and that was the name she gave any whom asked her. Few seemed to wish to know and so it was only a few who called her that. It made no matter to her; she would answer to any name but her own.

She was grateful though that she had yet to draw her sword. She stood upon the walls of the Hornburg, side by side with a great number of the Eorlingas( and a few Elves) and nocked an arrow in her bow. She waited patiently for the order to fire. Her heart hammered away frantically inside her chest as Aragorn gave the order. Her bow sang as her arrow went flying and the rain began to fall from the black skies above them...

A.N.:

I imagine this is a very stupid thing for her to be doing. Oh, why, do I do these things? Ai! Well, Boromir's on the way... and Éomer... and Erkenbrand.

As to the names of my new characters:

Rowenna- Of Anglo-Saxon/Germanic origin. Meaning white-haired.

Leola-Also of Anglo-Saxon origin. Meaning deer, in the sense of swiftness.

Arradon- Sindarin, this one is! Meaning one without a path.