Our quiet company continued on with Legolas and Gimli's chatter becoming a comforting drone in the background. I remained silent for a long time, losing myself in memories of traipsing through the outskirts of the Firien Wood near Fenmarch. I missed those sheltered groves dearly, and I wondered what had become of them since last I had wandered within them.
Fenmarch was the easternmost fief of Rohan, and as it was the closest realm of Rohan to Mordor, the shadow of the great enemy was darkest there. The defense of the eastern border was left to my father's forces.
Attacks were plentiful during the spring and early summer to the north of us, near the Emyn Muil, where the terrain was treacherous and the fighting gory. But the greater threat came from the White Mountains, capable of masking the wild men, wolves, and other fell beasts looming in the mountain's hillocks. Because of this, I had never strayed too far from home, always staying in sight of the spires and banners of our manor, which rested on a hill beside the forest. The town of Fenmarch was centered in the valley below the manor, and the Fendowns, the farming communities of Fenmarch, were spread out like a great fan around the valley and encompassing hills.
Whereas I had always felt a twinge of fear when walking in the forest because of my father's constant warnings and my mother's protestation, I felt safe in these woods. Although unknown to me, and clearly possessing a conscious that was capable of destroying whatever it pleased, these woods currently held a benevolent aura. An aura of neutrality that was constant until threatened. I figured that as long as we kept our swords sheathed and Gimli kept his axe lowered, these trees would let us pass without question.
The sun began to set through the bare limbs of the forest, and eventually, we made it out of the forest, now looking upon the Snowbourne the mouth of the dike running north and east on either side of us.
Just as the scraggly shadows of the foreboding forest reached their ends beneath the hooves of our steeds, Legolas gave out a cry. I turned to see him pulling Arod around, prompting him back into the woods.
"There are eyes! Eyes looking out from the shadows of the boughs! I never saw such eyes before," he said, and my own eyes beheld the very scene he spoke of. Great glittering orbs sparkled within the shadows, filled with a golden hue of benevolence and knowledge. With the same sigh Legolas had uttered, I spurred Meleare around.
"Calahdra, please do not go back into those woods. You may have found them charming, but I think them anything but," Meleare told me. Gandalf and Gimli shared similar sentiments with Legolas.
As the words were exchanged, the eyes had neared us, and now great hulking tree-like trolls were shrugging out of the wood. Gasps lit up all around me, but I could merely gape.
The creatures let out long ringing tones, much like deafeningly loud yawns. Our steeds grew increasingly nervous, but we held them in place, seeking some explanation as to what these creatures were. But when the tree-people ceased their calls and beheld us, looking somewhat surprised, many of our men did stray away, hands on their swords.
"You need no weapons," Gandalf told us sternly, "These are but herdsmen. They are not enemies; indeed they are not concerned with us at all,"
And he was right, for having only glanced at us the great creatures had faded back into the landscape from which they had emerged.
"Herdsmen!" Theoden, speaking allowed the collected thought of all of us, save the seemingly omniscient white wizard. "Where are their flocks? What are they, Gandalf? For it is plain that to you, at any rate, they are not strange,"
"They are the shepherds of the trees," Gandalf said, and suddenly a memory of old, weathered parchment touched at my conscience.
I remembered them now, the Ents of Fangorn. Great troll like creatures that walked about the trees, seeing that peace and health prospered in their lands. Like parents tending newborns.
Gandalf explained them to Theoden and the other riders, and Legolas looked between Gandalf and the forest, looking intrigued by both the explanation and the sighting that had spurred it.
It became clear then that the Ents and their mystical wandering charges were responsible for the destruction of the orcs.
"You are not without allies, even if you know them not," Gandalf said to Theoden.
Theoden looked gloomy at the statement, and mumbled something only Gandalf could hear. The wizard responded, placing a hand on Theoden's arm in comfort. But the act did little good for King or company, for our temporary wonder passed, and instead the sickening aftertaste of war beat anew within our hearts.
Gandalf led our party along the river, which was subtly turning northwest. As we followed the plains and hills beyond the Coomb, night fell and a pale moon rose above us, looking as weep-ish as many of the woman I had seen earlier that afternoon.
A few hours into the night, we came to a crossing in the Snowbourne. Leading our horses down the gentle slope to the river, we came upon an odd sight. The River, usually churning and rushing with water from the mountains, was now as bare and brittle as charcoal. We crossed in silence, looking about with a common expression of confusion on our faces. But the foremost expression was exhaustion. My body was beginning to tremble with tiredness once more and I knew that I would not last much longer.
Our company stopped around midnight, resting in a secluded hollow near the river bank. After dismounting Meleare and sending her out to graze, Legolas and I sat by a fire shared by Gimli, Aragorn, and Eomer. Eomer's gaze widened a little when Legolas rested his hand on my knee, but I dismissed his reaction, use to the surprise of those who saw us by now.
Aragorn passed us a plate of sausage he had been heating, but we both refused. Instead, Legolas pulled two apples from within his cloak and gave one to me.
I ate mine drowsily, staring blankly at the fire. I thought after Eowyn, who was by now camping with those she was leading back to Edoras. Surely she would see the task she had been assigned to as a blow to her honor. I could imagine the pout on her face as Edoras came into view, the great hall glittering boldly as the autumn sun slanted off of Meduseld's golden roof.
I looked then to Eomer, who was talking quietly with Aragorn. The resemblance between the Horselord and his sister was striking. He had the same golden hair, wide, earthy eyes, and high forehead. He was understandably broader than she, but had an air of slenderness about him, as if he was quite conscious of his own stature.
A squeeze around my middle told me that I had been caught in the act of inspecting another man.
"He's certainly stunning, Aieriel. I can see why you could find him captivating," a low voice spoke in my ear.
I blushed thoroughly, ducking my head like a chastised child.
Legolas chuckled, though, and I knew that I wasn't really in trouble. "Don't be put out, lirimaer," he whispered, "Just promise me that you'll make it up to me later,"
I smiled sensuously at the fire and squeezed the hand resting on my naval.
Eomer noticed and nodded to us. "How long has that been going on? You were unclaimed last we met, Master Elf," he said. I raised my eyebrows, unaware of the fact that the two had met already.
When Legolas and Aragorn did not answer, I sat up straight and looked the bold man in the eyes.
"Much has changed over the course of very little time," I told him, "While war breaks many hearts, it mends more than one might think,"
Eomer looked doubtful and glowered in the direction of the fire between us. "I have yet to see the proof of that," he muttered.
"The proof you seek for is before your very eyes, Eomer," Aragorn said firmly, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. Aragorn stood, retrieving his pipe from within his weathered cloak as he did so. Legolas shot him a questioning look and Aragorn nodded.
"I will go with him," he whispered to me, and I nodded.
Eomer watched the pair go and then looked back at me. "Tell me how you met him," he said. The command in his voice amused me, and I wondered how long it would take for the habitual tone to wear off.
"We met in Meduseld, the day he arrived. And we have been inseparable ever since," I explained, wrapping myself in my cloak as I spoke.
"Are you cold?" he asked suddenly, and stood as if to come to me.
I shook my head firmly. "What elven blood lies in me keeps me from growing cold,"
Eomer did not seem surprised by this. By now, I had come to accept that my once mysterious heritage was now known by all. But Eomer did seem confused.
I looked pensively towards the eastern sky and shuddered unconsciously. "I feel the evil growing closer, as if the shadow gains on us even in the dark,"
Eomer was all at once uncomfortable, as if some insect had found its way into his shirt. He glanced towards the east himself and recoiled from the sight as if it burned him.
"I would think that I would be used to such a comment by now. Yet even through all that has occurred, I am shaken by the very thought,"
"We all are, Eomer," I told him, now beginning to undo the laces of my bracers. "Some of us hide our fear better than others because we've learned that we cannot live with the tarnish of terror lying so heavily upon us,"
Eomer nodded solemnly in agreement.
I undid my boot laces and pulled my feet from them. With a sigh, I let my toes sift through the verdant river-silt lining the Snowbourne. Eomer gave me a look that plainly conveyed his perplexity.
"Think me strange, if you so please, but do not risk my temper," I said, standing with a catlike stretch.
"I do not think you are strange, Tarilyn. Nor would I risk your temper," he said with a chuckle. But the amusement passed from his face and was replaced with a much softer, more intricate look. "I find you...delightful...in an exotic way,"
Unknown to him, he had indeed risked my temper. But before my anger at his having spoken as if I was a passing clothing style amounted into anything potentially violent, I stormed away.
My anger passed quite quickly though, due mostly to the unrelenting fatigue pressing ever closer on the perimeters of my mind. My pulse slowed to a dull ache as I neared the river.
The river itself still flowed gently, but chapped islands, choked of water, had appeared. The white striped rapids were eerily missing, yet instead of giving the river a softer appearance, it looked sickly and frail.
Too exhausted to contemplate as to why the river was so shallow, I ignored my confusion and hiked up my breeches over my knees, intent on wading in the cool water. Feeling the currents lap at my shins, I breathed in deeply, savoring the scents of pine, snow, and earth. The night sky was a pale violet; a burning blue diluted by the last rays of sun still clinging to the husky gloom.
The cool water soothed both my aching muscles and my troubled mind. Despite its healing powers though, the river could not entirely cleanse me of the scourge of battle.
Especially the sadistically serene voice of an unnamed lady.
The memory of whatever it was that had transpired before the gate of the Keep was sinister enough to induce trembling. And although I did not wish it, my mind delved deep into the memory, attempting to unveil whatever secrets bound the event.
Before me, the brisk waters of the Snowbourne flowed over the rocks strewn haphazardly by the mountain. Within me, however, the bodies of goblins feel without a finger having been laid upon them.
Tears rolled inexplicably down my face. I could scarcely comprehend the depth of what I had done, yet I knew enough to tell me that my actions whatever they had been, were rooted deeply in evil.
A sudden sickly warmth settled over me, and the pale light of the moon seemed to intensify around me.
"You're acts were not in vain, Calahdra. Do not let my words lead you to despair,"
I looked about in alarm, blinking rapidly to clear my eyes. But it was not hard to spot the speaker.
Before me, a lady swathed in pale silver and the softest white stood regally amongst the dim waters of a dying river.
The scene involving the ents and the conversation between Theoden and Gandalf was pulled directly from The Two Towers: The Road to Isengard. I'd like to thank Tolkien once more for his genius.
Please, please, please review this chapter. Your reviews would be like early Christmas presents, and would be greatly appreciated. Happy Holidays!-Whisper