Day 4 of my midterm marathon! This chapter opens the beginning of Estel's – and now also Eldarion's – journey into The Two Towers and into Rohan.

Chapter Twenty

~ Estel ~
"A red sun rises. Blood has been split this night."

Legolas's voice startled me out of my reverie. We had followed the Uruk-hai party for more than the couple days my brother had said that we would be apart, and the constant traveling plus the agony of being separated was taking its toll on me. Hope had resurfaced in me when Aragorn had found a cloak clasp that almost certainly came from a cloak of Lórien, but I wondered numbly how far this chase would continue.

Aragorn suddenly stopped, and his expression became that of one far away. I stopped beside him just in time to see Legolas and Aragorn looked first in the distance and then at each other. I frowned and opened my mouth to question what was wrong when alarm suddenly crossed the Elf's handsome face.

Legolas grabbed my arm and yanked me behind some cover as Gimli and Aragorn followed. I turned to face Legolas, intending to question what was going on, but he put a finger on my lips and shook his head, warning me to be silent.

Just then I heard the sound of hooves thundering our way.

What seemed like a whole battalion of riders rode past our hiding spot, kicking up a whirlwind of dust and causing a huge commotion of sound. I shrank back into Legolas's hold, my instinct urging me to stay close to those I could trust. I sensed Aragorn and Legolas exchange looks over my head, and got the distinct feeling that they knew each other so well that they could communicate without words. Legolas tugged my hood up and over my head, silencing me yet again with a shake of his head.

Aragorn stood then, coming out of hiding and startling me by his sudden action. "Riders of Rohan!" he called, getting the riders' attention. "What news from the Mark?"

Legolas, Gimli, and I all emerged out of hiding to join Aragorn as the riders checked their rush and turned to head straight toward us. I felt like I was caught up in an endless whirlwind of riders as they rushed past and around us, forming a circle of horses, Men, . . . and spears.

Spears that were all pointed straight at us.

Aragorn raised his hands much the same way he had when the wardens of Lothlórien had surrounded us. However, in this case, I felt a great deal more fear. I had known that the Elves would not have fired upon us unless provoked, and especially not upon Aragorn – who had been there before – and Legolas, who was one of their kin. The Elves were willing to listen and willing to possibly accept us as allies, even if we did have a Dwarf among our Fellowship and carried the One Ring.

But there was no such comforting knowledge now. The Men would probably be more inclined to shoot Legolas and Gimli, as they were of a foreign race. Elves and Men especially were estranged, as the Men were always suspicious of the Elves' strange ways and haunting beauty.

One of the riders came forward. "What business does an Elf, a Man, a Dwarf, and a woman have in the Riddermark?" he barked, addressing us by race.

I was at first startled to find that he was able to determine my gender, but then I realized that it was obvious to the trained warriors of the Rohirrim. I was not as skilled or as fortunate as the female Dwarves who could more easily hide their gender.

He was obviously the leader of this group. When Aragorn did not immediately reply, he said sternly, "Speak quickly!"

Gimli had apparently been pushed far enough by then. "Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine," he said.

The leader's eyes darkened, and he handed his spear to another rider before dismounting, never taking his eyes off Gimli. Legolas stiffened almost unnoticeably at my side. Aragorn put a restraining hand on Gimli's shoulder.

"I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground," the rider said with great disdain.

Within seconds, Legolas had a readied bow pointed straight at the leader. "You would die before your stroke fell!" he warned, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that almost scared me.

Aragorn interceded then, pushing down the bow and giving an almost imperceptible nod towards me. Legolas slowly allowed Aragorn to push his bow down. The rider looked warily at Legolas before Aragorn distracted him.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he began, calling the leader's attention to him. He gestured at us one at a time. "This is Gimli, son of Glóin; Elena, daughter of Elessar; and Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

The leader turned his gaze upon me. Any relief or thankfulness I held for Aragorn for not introducing me as Estel vanished to be replaced by fear. Legolas stiffened even more, if that was possible. Aragorn did not visibly tense, but his eyes narrowed. Gimli viewed the whole thing with a question in his eyes that he wisely did not ask.

"Remove your hood," the leader said. I hesitated as my eyes darted to Aragorn, seeking an answer. My eyes flew back to the leader when I heard the rasp of a sword being unsheathed.

I inhaled sharply as the leader pointed the blade towards me. Legolas's eyes clouded with fury, but the leader said softly, his tone filled with menace, "Raise your bow and the ground will be spoiled by her blood." He gave me a dark look. "Assuming you are a woman."

"~Estel?~" I asked quietly, not moving my eyes from the leader as I addressed Aragorn by his Elvish name. I did not want to call him Elessar; the Rohirrim might pick up on that. And calling him Aragorn was kind of pointless for a conversation in Elvish.

"~Do it.~" Aragorn and Legolas replied as one, to my great relief. Now that both had answered, the leader – whoever he was – would remain uncertain as to the identity of the true leader of our group. In case it came to blows, that could be a very useful advantage. Raising my hand slowly, I pulled down the hood.

~ Èomer ~
The cloaked person questioned something in a strange, melodious language that I assumed was Elvish. I sensed that there was something strange about her. Her tone carried enough confidence, I judged, for her to able to make any decisions on her own, yet she was willing to defer to others.

That's the kind of behavior Èowyn needs to gain sometimes, I thought resignedly. My sister was far too interested in the deeds of the Rohirrim for her own good.

The Elf and Aragorn replied as one in that same language, startling me. I had assumed that Aragorn was the leader, yet the Elf had spoken as well.

In any case, the cloaked person was apparently reassured by the response. One hand crept upward and the hood collapsed around her. Dark brown hair spilled out of the hood, cascading over her back like a dark waterfall. Grey-blue eyes met mine with equal determination and wariness. She was dressed in a similar fashion to the Elf, and bore similar weapons, for I glimpsed a bow and quiver on her back.

I heard murmurs from my men. Elena was now a mystery to them, a challenge that begged to be confronted. Èowyn was really the only other woman of true rank in Rohan; now here came another just as fierce and different from the standard, shy housewife. For starters, I thought, both are more interested in the doings of men than that of their own proper gender.

I glanced at the Elf. He was tense, and even though his expression was outwardly neutral, I could see the plain hostility in his blue eyes. But then I noticed that hostility was not the only emotion echoed in those eyes; there was another emotion as well.

Protectiveness?

I glanced inconspicuously at Aragorn, and noted with unease that his eyes to contained the same warning and the other emotion, although these were better hidden in him, and I sensed no hostility from him.

The Dwarf, on the other hand, was completely unaware of the mental battle going on, and gazed on with confusion and interest.

"Is this proof enough for you, Èomer Èomundion?" Elena said suddenly, drawing my attention back to her. "Or will you now claim that you see before you only an illusion?"

I gazed at her, startled that she knew my name. She must have read the question in my eyes. Elena laughed lightly. "Your fame is well known to my people, son of Èomund. Most especially when you leave your uncle's court, never to return under the pain of death."

One of my men spoke up sharply in my defense. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. We who ride under the command of the Third Marshal of the Mark are the only ones now still loyal to Rohan and her people and her king. So do not speak to us with harsh words."

Elena turned slowly to face the rider. "I said no words of any degree of harshness," she countered mildly. "And nor have I said any insult of any degree to your captain. I was merely commenting on the goings on of Edoras's court. Pray tell, what goes on that the only heir to the King comes to be banished? Certainly the king has not fallen so far under Saruman's power?"

I got over my astonishment. "The White Wizard is very cunning. He walks here and there they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked." I turned to glare meaningfully at the Elf. "And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

The Elf bristled, but Aragorn cut in immediately. "We are no spies," he assured us. "We track a band of Uruk-hai westward across the plains. They have taken two of our friends captive."

I paused. Èowyn did indeed follow the traits of Men, but I could not imagine her running for many miles just for her friends. And if she would not, most women I knew definitely would not. I eyed Elena curiously for a brief moment, carefully avoiding the watchful and hostile gaze of the Elf. What would motivate her to do such a thing? And, further more, how could she have done it? Most Men would be exhausted by now.

Aware that the silence was growing awkward, I quickly said, "The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night." I hoped that that would cover my earlier silence.

I needn't have worried. "But there were two Hobbits," the Dwarf spoke up suddenly. "Did you see two Hobbits with them?"

"They would be small, only children to your eyes," Aragorn supplied.

Apparently they were more concerned about their friends than with my silence and curiosity towards one of their members. I was glad for that, but also glad to find out that we shared a common enemy in the servants of Sauron and Saruman.

However, their devotion to small children was such that I feared to deliver the news of their deaths. As I delivered the stunning words, I wondered what her reaction would be. Would she cry and wail? Or would she bear it in silence as most Men preferred to?

"We left none alive." Stunned silence met my words. Aragorn looked shocked as I continued, "We piled the carcasses and burned them." I turned to direct their attention to the smoke rising from a short distance away.

I then turned my attention to Elena. Her eyes were closed and her expression tight, but she was not crying or wailing. I felt a degree of relief. I had no wish to deal with weeping wrecks.

Elena looked up when the Elf put a comforting hand on her shoulder, the hostility fading from his eyes to be replaced with sorrow and concern. I was startled by the open display between the two. I knew that it was highly unusual for Elves and Men and Dwarves to have steady relationships and cooperate willingly, although all of those stereotypes seemed to cease where this particular group was concerned.

"Dead?" The Dwarf's shocked question drew my attention away from Elena and the Elf.

I nodded sorrowfully, sneaking another glance at Elena. She didn't seem about to burst into tears, but I didn't want to cause her any more sorrow than I had too. "I am sorry," I said softly.

Then I turned, whistling briefly. "Hasufel! Arod! Miras!" I called. All three of the horses' masters had been killed in last night's attack. We had been better armed and well prepared, but the Uruks had not gone down quietly.

The horses approached. The Elf caught Arod's bridle as I caught Hasufel's before handing it to Aragorn. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than the former masters," I said sincerely. "Farewell."

I had placed my helmet on and had nearly mounted my horse when Elena suddenly registered once more. Surely, if this party meant to go chasing after hopes and intended to wander straight into Gríma's slimly, detestable hands, the lady would be better off with us, surrounded by many Men and away from Gríma's clutches?

I turned back to the lady, who was facing the Elf. She seemed to be arguing quietly with him, although it appeared that what she was saying was not swaying the Elf, whose face was impassive and tight.

"My lady?"

Elena turned to me. "Yes?"

"I would advise you not to go to the court of Edoras," I said. "Gríma is there, and he will consider you fair game."

Elena raised an eyebrow and interrupted me before I could make my suggestion. "I know," she replied. "But Gríma Wormtongue will suffer greatly before he lays hands on me. Women of Edoras may easily submit to his power, but I am not a woman of Edoras and I will not submit to him."

I was startled to hear Gríma's full name; I knew that I had not mentioned it. "Then who are you, my lady?" I questioned, trying to find another way to politely suggest that she leave her party.

"A daughter of the Rangers of the North," she answered proudly. "I will not cower and flee from Edoras because of Gríma Wormtongue."

I was silent for a moment before I inclined my head and mounted. There was no argument I could use against her. The Rangers were among the most skilled fighters alive – assuming they still existed, of course. Even if Elena herself was unable to fight, her kinsmen would not simply sit by and tolerate her being taken advantage of.

"We ride north!" I called to my Men.

But as we rode away, I couldn't keep my mind on the future Uruks we planned to destroy. My mind was far more pleasantly occupied by this daughter of the Rangers.

~ Eldarion ~
I sighed as I rose from the ground. After my talk with the Lord and Lady, I had packed and left Caras Galadhon. I had spoken the truth to Rumil and Calanon: I would not return to Lothlórien. I knew, somehow, someway, that neither I nor Estel nor Aragorn would ever come back to the Golden Wood.

I shaded my eyes as I gazed across the plain. For four days I had traveled consistently, striving to make up for lost time and ground, striving to catch up with my sister. If I had been thankful before for Haldir training me to be a warden, now I was even more – in fact, I wasn't even certain there was a word for how grateful I was feeling to him. His training was the only thing keeping me standing right now.

But I still had much more ground to cover. I bit my lip. I knew that eventually, no matter where they wandered or who they met, Aragorn would lead to the Fellowship to Edoras, capital of Rohan. I also knew that right now there was no way I would catch them, unless by some miracle they doubled back, slowed down, or I learned to fly.

Should I simply make my way to Edoras and wait? I had a vague sense of where Edoras was, and going there might be better than simply trailing Aragorn all the way only to trail him directly and end up at his final destination, which would be Edoras eventually. And that feat would exhaust me. Adding it to the fact that soon afterward Edoras would be emptied and the people would make their way to Helm's Deep, I realized that I had no choice – I would have to go to Edoras if I still wanted to be able to stand when I met up with Aragorn and my sister again.

I wished I didn't have to. I wanted to be at my sister's side when she entered Edoras; I didn't trust Gríma at all. I knew that Aragorn would never allow anything to happen to Estel, but I would feel horrible if something happened to any of them. Aragorn was the king, and my lord as the captain of the Dúnedain. And Estel was my sister. If something happened to them and I wasn't there, I didn't think I'd be able to live with myself.

A soft whinny startled me. I spun around, my hand flying to the hilt of the sword Galadriel had gifted to me upon my first departure from Caras Galadhon.

My jaw dropped.

A white horse with a flowing silver mane cantered up to me, gazing at me with intelligent dark eyes. The stallion came to a halt only about a foot in front of me, tossing his mane and nickering. He pranced slightly as I gazed at him, wonder-struck.

I knew at once that this was no mere stallion. No. He was too noble for that. I guessed that he was a mearh, one of the Mearas and a descendant of Felaróf.

I raised one of my hands slowly and extended towards the mearh. He seemed to consider me for a moment as his dark eyes gazed calmly at me. Then he nickered, prancing closer, and allowed me to rub his nose.

After I had stroked his nose a few times, he pranced away from my touch and shoved me. I blinked in surprise. The manner in which he was approaching me now told me that he wanted me to ride him. But that – that couldn't be. Mearas were intelligent horses; they carried people only so long as they wished and made the choice of who would ride them . . . and who would not. And for many years, ever since Eorl, first King of Rohan, had tamed Felaróf, only had the kings and crown princes of Rohan been the ones the Mearas consented to carry.

The mearh nudged me again. Slowly, a suspicion of who this mearh might be began to creep into me. In all my knowledge of Rohan's horses, only one had consented to carry another besides the king of Rohan – Shadowfax, chief of the Mearas.

"Shadowfax?" I asked tentatively.

The mearh's dark eyes seemed to suddenly gleam at me, as if it couldn't wink but was trying to get across that kind of message. I smiled. So, this was Shadowfax. He was even more glorious than I had imagined. Just like the light of Telperion and Laurelin, the Two Trees of Valinor, and the beauty of Lúthien Tinúviel, most beautiful of all the Children of Ilúvatar, had surpassed all attempts to capture, the splendor of Shadowfax was too glorious to be described in song or speech.

I inclined my head to the lord of horses. For Shadowfax to choose to allow me to ride him was an honor few received yet many coveted. I could not ignore the fact that Shadowfax was bestowing upon me a rare privilege.

I swiftly mounted him, and at once he began to gallop. First it was a slow gallop, but soon Shadowfax seemed to be racing the wind. It howled in my ears, making my cloak stream behind me as if I were in a parade.

I bent over his neck, urging Shadowfax on. If he continued at this pace, I would be in Edoras in no time.