Previously:
Ruins of Fornost, Arnor, Fourth Age, Narwain, 2
"My Lord," Éowyn teased, bringing him up the old stone stairs. "It is a time for celebration."
"We did not find battle, my love, though I am pleased for it," Legolas replied, watching her in amusement.
"We have retaken the old city of Men, and accomplished one of our objectives. It is worth giving thanks and being grateful," she said playfully, leading him to the remains of an old parapet.
"I am ever grateful in thy presence, Éowyn," he said smoothly.
"Good," she said cheerfully. "Then let us celebrate, my love. Take me here, beneath the stars, and I shall scream for thee so that all the host shall know that Lord Legolas has come to Fornost and emerged victorious."
He laughed, then took her into his arms, pressing a fierce kiss to her lips as he pulled at the laces of her dress.
Chapter 35:
Ruins of Fornost, Arnor, Fourth Age, Narwain, 2
Aragorn smoked his pipe slowly, looking out to the dark fields beyond the ruins of the city walls. The moon was bright overhead, the singing and carousing of the soldiers still dancing in the air. There were bonfires lit within the city and without, camps set up for the various factions. It was a time of celebration and triumph, the first objective of this campaign realized with not one lost life, and yet the King was pensive.
The winter air wasn't cold, though the frozen wastes of Forochel lay leagues to the North. The snow had been light, and almost unnoticeable as they journeyed here. With the mountain ranges all around them, Arnor was shielded from inclement weather for the most part. That was why the Rangers thrived here in days past, and how Men had come to inhabit this Kingdom in Ages of old.
"Estel," Legolas called, his voice deep and relaxed. The King nodded as his old friend came to his side, the two of them looking out to the North in silence for several moments.
"Deadmen's Dike," Aragorn said finally, his voice quiet. "This was once the Norbury of the Kings, and now the ruins themselves have almost been swallowed up by the land."
"It shall rise again," Legolas said firmly. "What truly troubles thee at such a late hour?"
Aragorn smiled wanly at his friend. "Where is Éowyn?" he asked.
"Asleep, as you ought to be," Legolas replied, looking at him pointedly. "Well?"
Aragorn sighed and looked out into the darkness once again.
"There is nary anyone amongst the host who can remember Arnor and Eriador at their height," he said softly. "Many know of Fornost, and Annúminas, even the Weather Hills and the Grey Havens, and yet, there is so much more to these lands."
Legolas nodded in agreement.
"The Trollshaws, the Tower Hills, Lake Evendim," Aragorn listed. "Men built castles, and fortresses, and settlements all throughout this land."
"Over time their numbers dwindled, until they disappeared entirely," Legolas said.
"Aye, but we know that stone and brick and wood survives the Ages far better than memory," Aragorn said grimly.
"You think that the lands are not nearly as uninhabited as these ruins would suggest," Legolas stated.
"And what sayeth thee, Legolas?" Aragorn asked.
"This was too easy," Legolas said, nodding his head. "The fall of the Dark Lord left his minions without a leader, but not without captains. We know that evil forces were seen as far as Eryn Lasgalen and the Lonely Mountain. Is it so strange to think that Arnor could have been used as a training ground?"
"Or lands to retreat to," Aragorn said. "Without the Eye to guide them, they are aimless, but no less dangerous, particularly when there is no one here to search them out."
"If they lie in wait, in ambush, then we shall meet them soon enough. With Fornost empty, all that remains is Annúminas," Legolas said.
"Unless they hide in the wilderness," Aragorn noted. "We shall need to remain vigilant, even after we rebuild the cities."
"A kingdom was not built in mere months, my King," Legolas joked.
Ruins of Fornost, Arnor, Fourth Age, Nínui, 2
The host remained in Fornost for three weeks, training and exploring the surrounding lands. Messengers rode back to Rohan with news that the city had been retaken and to escort a different army to join them. Engineers, craftsmen, labourers and artisans made their way to the old city, Aragorn determined to begin work on making Fornost suitable for Men to live in once again before he moved his army further.
Truly, the King's plans had an ulterior motive. He remained restless and suspicious, having never led a campaign that met with no resistance. The soldiers and riders were put to clearing roads, taking down trees, reopening ancient quarries and waterways. Having the army spending more of their time in construction and repair would give him and his generals additional time to contemplate the approach to Annúminas, and what they might encounter there.
"I would have Gimli's machines give us the advantage," Aragorn said seriously, looking at the map spread out before them. "We shall mass the catapults and other ranged weapons here, within range of the walls. That shall allow the army to approach without fear of answering volleys, and give us a breach to attack without relying upon a battering ram or towers."
"If the weapons can breach any wall that we find," Éomer noted.
"Breach them, they shall, Horsemaster," Gimli grunted.
Éomer shot him a teasing smirk, which he returned with a toothy grin.
"We will rely upon it," Aragorn said, smiling at the both of them. "This shall be no ordinary siege. The forces must be more compact, allowing us to change formation and be more flexible should we find harder terrain, or a moat, even. We cannot use the hard lines of the past. This map is old, and we know not the land or the state of the ruins that we shall find. If an enemy force hides there, we cannot assume we shall overwhelm them by sheer numbers alone."
"The riders can hold midway between the ranks," Legolas suggested. "That allows them to come forward if needed by moving along the lines, and serve as mounted archers should the march proceed unhindered."
"Aye, a wise idea," Éomer agreed, nodding his head. "Which also allows us to change the flanks, if need be."
"I would humbly ask for the Swan Knights to lead the vanguard once more, my King," Imrahil asked respectfully. "Thy banner shall fly in the city of thy ancestors. My men shall see to it."
Aragorn looked at the Prince thoughtfully, though his eyes did not miss the displeased looks of Éomer, Éowyn and Gimli.
"We shall consider different formations," Aragorn declared finally. "For now, train thy forces in moving as discrete units, rather than in wide lines. Gimli, we must know the true range of thy weapons."
"Aye," Gimli answered.
The generals all bowed in acknowledgment and left the King's tent, leaving Aragorn to stare at the map with a concerned frown.
Éowyn raised her hand and her private cavalry came to a halt behind her. During these rotating patrols, she did not use her entire Éored, preferring to leave most of them back at Fornost in training and job rotations, while taking two dozen riders with her. The lands around the ruins of the old city had been cleared and mapped to several leagues in all directions, with the road back to Weathertop having been smoothed over. Each of the different factions had taken turns patrolling further from the city, moving in ever growing circles. In the centuries since the fall of Fornost, trees and forests had grown, grass and brush had reclaimed the ruins, and many of the old roads and paths had become covered and disappeared. While patrol was often tedious and uneventful, it allowed the riders to do what they loved most – to ride. Though Éowyn was often required at her husband's side, and wanted to be there, going out on patrol had become a welcome distraction for her from the politics of camp. Taking Windfola out while wearing her full riding armour and carrying her sword was liberating; being in the wind and exploring this new kingdom was exciting, and conveniently took her away from the other generals and their agendas and selfish ways.
Which was why she brought her patrol to a halt just now. They were no longer alone, and she no longer felt relaxed.
The flag of the Swan Knights appeared in the distance, a patrol from Dol Amroth coming back from their ride. While all of their lot flew the banner of Prince Imrahil and his House, specific divisions wore different colours, signifying which of the Prince and his sons they were affiliated with. Éowyn frowned as she saw the white swan emblazoned on a field of red.
It was Prince Erchirion.
"White Lady," Erchirion said, bowing respectfully as he brought his horse before hers. "Off on patrol, I see."
"And you are returning from yours," she noted, inclining her head in return.
"Aye, we scouted for a full two hours and encountered nary a bird nor beast, though perhaps they were all hiding from having seen our approach," he said lightly.
His riders all smiled at his comment, and its implication.
"I shall know who to call upon then, when I next encounter a warren of enemy rabbits," she said sweetly.
Her riders laughed heartily at their Lady's retort.
"However I may be of service to thee, my Lady," he said, bowing his head once more. "I do trust that the King shall send us to Annúminas shortly, though. I have little interest in seeing the rebuilding of Fornost. I shall visit when it is completed, and in the meanwhile, wish to take back the old capital, so that my people shall be restored in Arnor all the sooner."
"I'm surprised that thy father has not asked the King to allow thy Knights to ride out ahead of the host," she said. "It would make sense – given that thy House has already requested every favour."
Erchirion smiled, and leaned forward in his saddle.
"If my Lady wishes to ride in the vanguard, she need only ask. A place at my side shall always be reserved for thee," he said, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
"Aye, in the vanguard is the place for both me and the riders that I lead. I remain unconvinced that the Swan Knights are so deserving, when the King has other generals who have distinguished themselves in his service, some to greater acclaim," she answered.
"Be that as it may, Father has asked for the King's favour. He is a man of action, and takes the opportunities that present themselves, rather than keep quiet and complain about the initiative of others," he said calmly.
"Opportunistic is just the word I would use to describe the men of thy House," she said. "In Rohan, the right to lead the Army is earned, through deeds and service, not through politics, and whoever's voice is the squeakiest."
"And in South Ithilien how is it earned? Oh, forgive me, my Lady, I had forgotten that thy forces have yet to see battle. Speaking of thy colony earning any right at all is rather premature of me," he taunted.
"My blade speaks quite clearly as to what I have earned," she said, frowning at him. "You could also ask the Witch-King of Angmar about what respect I have earned, however I do not believe his tongue is capable of speech anymore."
Erchirion smiled wide.
"Speaking of battle, any idea as to how the spoils shall be divided amongst us?" he asked casually.
"I have no need for used stone and rotted wood," she said haughtily. "We are here at the call of the King and to honour alliances. Our realm prospers and we have all that we require without plundering the North."
"Of course, of course," he said. "It is true though, still, that to he who wins, all manner of treasure is permitted."
"Aye," she agreed. "Mainly because the enemy would be either dead or routed, and in no position to object."
"That is true, however there were many tales of the armies of the Dark Lord ravaging the lands of Men during the Ring War. They would take jewels, weapons and armour, beasts, and send them all back to Isengard and Mordor. We had heard tales of the White Wizard even ordering women to be taken prisoner for his…use…" he recalled.
"Thankfully we need not be concerned for such barbaric practices any longer," she said firmly.
"Aye, however it is a valuable lesson, nonetheless. Be sure of victory, or risk submitting to thy conqueror, and spending thy days in his service," he said. "Good day, my Lady."
Erchirion sent his mount forward and his knights trailed behind him. Éowyn watched him go, a frown on her face. Submit? She submitted to no foe, and if any wished to conquer her, they would need to be fearsome and skilled indeed to earn her as a prize. Many would wish it, of course, but she held no fear that Erchirion, of all Men, would be successful.
Shaking her head in annoyance, she raised her hand and closed it into a fist and her riders continued on.
Legolas leaned on the parapet as he scanned the horizon. Fornost Erain was built near the centre of the old kingdom of Arnor. Annúminas stood on Lake Evendim to the West, with Angmar beyond a range of hills to the distant East. Legolas looked in all directions and could neither feel, nor sense, any presence. During the Ring War, he could feel when the Eye was moving, and when it fixed its gaze upon them, such as when they were staying at Edoras. Here though, in this ancient ruin, he could not sense anything. Either that meant there was truly no enemy waiting to oppose them, or whatever was out there was unknown to even his Elven senses.
His unresolved thoughts continued to trouble him, but he turned away and smiled as he heard light footsteps approaching from a ways below. Minutes later, his wife came to join him, her hauberk undone and open, a frown across her face.
"Thy patrol was not an enjoyable ride, my Lady?" he asked lightly.
"It went well enough. We rode for a full three hours and did not find anything amiss," she reported. "The beginning did annoy me though, when we encountered Prince Erchirion and his knights."
Legolas laughed and shook his head. "The Men of Dol Amroth are not worth thy ire, my love," he said. "We are all here for the same cause."
"Aye, but still, we are different tribes serving the same King, and among the ranks, there is much to argue over," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I only wish for King Elessar to appreciate all that you have done."
"Aragorn is not one for grand gestures," he said, smiling at her. "It matters not which banner enters Annúminas first. Our forces shall have the glory owed to them, and even should not everyone agree or acknowledge it, the thoughts of others ought not to concern, or bother us."
"Of course," she said, shaking her head as he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. "Have you seen anything?"
"Nay," he said, sighing as he glanced out past the ruins of the city walls. "It appears as though we are alone here, that there truly is no enemy to oppose us."
"And yet you do not seem at ease," she noted.
"I am not," he confirmed. "Aragorn is concerned, and so am I. We cannot be so arrogant as to believe we know all the dark forces that may exist in the world, or the weapons and powers they would use against us."
"Would that I had the time to comfort thee," she said, smiling up at him. "I must go and meet with the healers and tend to the sick."
"It would be wise to send them back to Rohan for proper healing," he said.
"Aye, but with no threat to us here, we tend to them and hope they shall recover in time for the campaign to Annúminas," she replied. "An illness should not stop them from seeing the Northern Kingdom retaken."
He kissed her lightly and watched her leave, going back down the stairs to the area of the ruins that had been set up as a temporary gathering place for the sick. Turning away from his wife, he looked to the horizon again, searching for an enemy that he still could not see.
Faramir ran the stone over his blade in smooth strokes, watching closely as the sunlight glinted off the steel. He flipped the blade over and began sharpening the other side, the rasp of the stone against his sword ringing through the air.
"Cousin," Erchirion said, approaching and taking a seat on the stone bench that Faramir had taken over in this temporary smithy set up in the rebuilding city. "Always staying ready for combat, I see."
"Aye," Faramir replied, smiling at the Prince. "One must always be prepared."
"One must, yes," Erchirion agreed, looking at his cousin curiously.
Faramir stilled his stone and raised his head, an amused smirk crossing his lips as he looked past Erchirion and into the distance.
Erchirion followed his cousin's gaze and smiled himself as Éowyn came into view, giving instructions to attendants as she walked from the healing grounds and away from them.
"Careful, cousin," Erchirion joked. "Some may see thy stare as being inappropriate."
Faramir huffed and went back to sharpening his blade.
"You are not concerned," Erchirion noted in surprise.
Faramir shook his head slightly. "In battle, one must take what one wants," he said easily.
"Aye," Erchirion agreed, looking at his cousin with great interest now. "And what does thy mind want, cousin?"
"What a lord such as I deserves," Faramir replied, his eyes never leaving his sword.
Erchirion smiled, looking up and watching as Éowyn disappeared into the distance.
"And what shall the Lord of Emyn Arnen do to take what is rightfully his?" Erchirion asked lightly.
Faramir lifted his sword, turning it in the sunlight and gazing at it appraisingly.
"All that I must," he said quietly.
Surrounded by soldiers and decidedly occupied with military duties, Legolas spent much time with Aragorn, Gimli or the Elves under his command. In the evenings, different factions would be charged with the watch, leaving the others to rest, smoke, drink and relax. Though there was no imminent threat from any enemy, everyone's mind was still focused on the campaign and the coming march to Annúminas. As a result, Éowyn usually spent her evenings asleep in their tent. She would take dinner with her husband, and walk about the city and spend time with their companions, but usually her busy days would wear upon her and with a soft kiss to Legolas, she would take her leave and retire.
Normally Legolas would come with her, but she encouraged him to remain with his companions. It was rare that he could have so much time with her brother, and Aragorn and Gimli, and she also wanted him to be seen, by their forces and others, at the King's side, a trusted ally to be respected.
Her sleep was usually restful, the sounds of the soldiers coming in and out of camp barely registering. At their home, she slept with Legolas behind a roaring waterfall, so the quiet of the night in Fornost was not a bother. She would fall asleep soon after lying down, even Legolas coming to bed hours later would not rouse her. In the night, she would sleep, seldom even dreaming, so deep was her slumber. Sometimes though, her eyelids would flutter and images would come to her resting mind. The Pelennor Fields. The roar of the fell beast just before she severed its head. The towering dark figure of the Witch-King rising menacingly before her. She remembered mere fragments of these visions by the time she woke up in Legolas' arms the next morning, and they were forgotten shortly after, only to come to her again in her sleep.
Brandywine River, Arnor, Fourth Age, Nínui, 2
The plains around Fornost stretched as far as the eye could see from the ruins of the city. The old path from Fornost to Annúminas ran south to the Great East Road, west through The Shire and north to the shores of Lake Evendim. With Aragorn's proclamation that no Man may enter The Shire without permission, he elected to take the Army north and west, blazing its own trail to the Brandywine and along its shores until they reached the lake and Annúminas. Not only would this give them the advantage of using a different path, but it would allow them to see the state of the former capital without traveling the old road that could be exposed to ambush.
So, with a garrison remaining behind to oversee the continuing work and repairs, the King and his generals led the host out of Fornost and across the fields to the West. Riding over ground previously scouted by the patrols, their pace was easy and measured, the sun above warm but not oppressive, the wind following at their backs.
As the march progressed, Éowyn and Éomer would take their Éoreds on ahead, breaking from formation to scout and exercise the horses. Erchirion and his brothers would follow suit, always remaining within easy reach of the marching army. The force was so vast in number that even riding from the vanguard back to the end where the Dwarves were pulling their large war machines along was lengthy enough. These scouting groups would return with the same news - that the plains were wide and empty, with nary a bird nor beast to be found.
The army camped after the first day on a field within sight of rolling hills to the West. Upon the second day they crossed the hills and traveled down into a slight vale, the Brandywine still another day's ride away. On this second day, they saw their first signs of life, a flock of birds flying in formation high above them, headed to the East. Hours later, they noticed wild boar roaming in the nearby forest, and thin deer in the distance. At the sound of the host's thundering steps, the animals scattered, though their presence was a comfort to Aragorn.
"The land is not barren, after all," the King noted.
"Aye," Legolas agreed. "They are weak and small, but they have survived, nonetheless."
"There are scrolls in Gondor telling of the golden fields of Arnor," Aragorn recalled, smiling wistfully. "Bountiful harvests that fed a kingdom to its heart's content."
"Aye, it was a fertile ground," Legolas said, nodding at the memory. "Eriador itself was nurturing and green, but for the Dwarven realms, of course."
"I heard that," Gimli grumbled from behind them. "Shut your mouth, you pointy-eared, rail-thin scoundrel!"
Legolas and Aragorn laughed as they rode on at an easy gait.
"Where is Éowyn?" Aragorn asked, smiling at his friend. "I have barely seen her this day."
"She has taken her Éored on ahead. There is a small forest near the edge of the Brandywine according to the old maps, and she wished to see it before we arrived," Legolas explained.
"She has been rather diligent in these campaigns," Aragorn noted. "Her enthusiasm is not misplaced, I pray."
"She wishes that you see our realm as a worthy force and ally," Legolas said.
"I already do," Aragorn said warmly.
Before Legolas could reply, he turned at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. He frowned as Varion brought his horse alongside Arod.
"My Lord, the wind turns. We have had it at our backs through the day and now it comes towards us," Varion said quickly.
Legolas frowned and turned his head, lifting his nose and sniffing the air.
"There is a foul smell," Varion said.
"How dare you!" Gimli grumbled. "Just because we Dwarves do not use your scented oils and bathe with your soaps, it is no ground to insult an ally!"
Legolas raised his hand.
"A thousand apologies, Lord Gimli, I was not referring to thee, or thy people, who I hold in utmost esteem and friendship," Varion said, bowing his head respectfully.
Gimli blinked in surprise. "Aye, well then, apology accepted," he said gruffly.
"Quiet, Gimli!" Legolas snapped, looking to the horizon.
"What is it, Legolas?" Aragorn asked, looking at his friend in concern.
"It is but a hint on the breeze, my King," Varion said. "It would not come easily to thy senses, nor is it precisely the smell we are used to, but I do believe that…"
"Wargs," Legolas said gravely, then blinked as he made the connection between where the scent was coming from and where his wife's Éored had rode ahead to. "Éowyn!"
Calling out to his riders, Legolas spurred Arod forward, Varion and two dozen of the Royal Guard breaking ranks and following after him at a gallop.
"Be aware!" Aragorn called across the line to Éomer. "There is trouble ahead. Legolas senses it!"
The King of Rohan nodded and called out orders to his riders. Aragorn's Royal Guard came into formation and the messages were passed along the lines. He took a deep breath and prayed that Legolas would be fast enough to help Éowyn, should she need it.
Éowyn glanced about, the foothills to one side and the Brandywine river to the other. There was a tree line, though the trees were gnarled and old, sickly looking compared to the tall towers of Ithilien. The soil looked sandy and dry, unlike the dark fertile earth of her forest realm. She could imagine this land being renewed and restored once the old capital of Annúminas was retaken and Men allowed to live here once more. For now, however, the land did not look as though it could even sustain itself, let alone a renewed city.
Windfola snorted as they moved along. This was uncharted territory, and the old maps had shown a larger forest here, as opposed to the thin lines that she now saw. As she looked at the roaring river beside them, she imagined Arnor as it must have been in days of old, green and healthy, the descendants of Númenor roaming the lands on their grand steeds. She cursed the monsters of Angmar for causing so much strife almost two thousand years ago, severing the Northern Kingdom. She would ensure such a terrible fate never befell her people while she still drew breath.
Warrior.
She was a warrior, fierce and fearsome, not just a woman, but a Shieldmaiden, skilled in the art of the blade, as fast and assured a rider as there was in all of Middle-Earth.
Queen.
Though Lothíriel was Éomer's wife, and the Queen of Rohan, the Rohirrim still held their White Lady in high esteem. And so they should. Was she not the strong and steady presence during the dark days of Saruman's deception? When the riders were scouring the land trying to fend off Orc raids, was it not she who stayed behind and protected her people from Wormtongue's harsh declarations? And now she ruled over Elves and Men alike, a feat that even Queen Arwen herself did not manage.
Woman.
A wicked smile crossed her lips as the word seemed to fly on the wind and into her mind. She was desired and lusted over by Men across the realms. The attack by Balian and the Southrons had only confirmed this. Her reputation was well known. Her pale and soft skin. Her fit and lean body that women envied and men craved. She was as beautiful as she was powerful, the only woman to claim an Elven Prince as a mate. As a young girl, she wasn't permitted to consider such things as feminine charms and the advantage they could bring, but now, as a woman, a ruler, a wife, she knew well how to use her appearance and her body to bend the will of others. It was as useful a weapon as any sword or bow, when used properly.
Her mind again wandered back to the Pelennor. Disguised as Dernhelm, she had appeared as but a meek soldier to the Witch-King, her true nature hidden from even his penetrating gaze. She imagined the shock and terror in his ghostly eyes when she removed her helm and revealed herself to him. Aye, as a woman, she could bring the most deadly of foes to their doom.
Her eyes moved from the river and back to the tree line, the canopy becoming more dense so that shadow stopped the sun from shining through as before.
"My Lady," one of the Elven riders called, coming to her side. "There is something amiss. The wind has changed."
Éowyn frowned and looked to the branches of the trees. All during the march the breeze had been at their backs, but now it seemed to be moving against them.
"It is but our close proximity to the river," she said. The wind changed as it howled across the plains of Rohan all the time, she reasoned.
"Nay, my Lady," the Elf said, glancing around cautiously. "There is something on the wind, something that does not quite belong."
She raised her hand to bring the riders to a slow trot, trusting in the instincts of the Elves in her Éored.
"Éowyn! There is danger!"
Legolas' voice rang in her mind. Her eyes went wide as her hand went to the pommel of her sword.
"Wargs!" her riders called out as dark shapes came crashing out of the forest and careening towards them.
"Bows!" she shouted, drawing her sword and pulling on Windfola's reins. Her riders turned towards the threat, the mounted archers among them drawing their bows and letting loose a volley as they charged.
The arrows flew ahead, punching into the wave of wargs bearing down on them. The wargs were carrying devilish looking Orcs, not the hulking Uruk-hai but the smaller goblin-like creatures. Éowyn's heart pumped in her chest. Finally, battle! Any thought she had of calling to Legolas with her mind left her as she pointed Stormshatter at the coming enemy and ordered her Éored to attack.
Legolas saw the battle in the distance as he charged forward towards the Brandywine. He had been in many battles in his long immortal life, far more than Éowyn or any of the others amongst the host. Riding to reinforce his allies was nothing new to him. He also knew Éowyn was a skilled and accomplished Shieldmaiden, and he did not fear that she would be unable to resist against a pack of wargs. He was concerned that this might be the first wave of the enemy they had been unable to see until now. Who was coming behind the wargs? Who commanded them? Were these just riders from Sauron's armies that had escaped back to Arnor, or were they a small part of a larger and more menacing threat?
Once he reached the very edge of the range of his Galadhrim bow, he pulled it from his shoulder and loosed an arrow, Arod keeping a steady gallop beneath him. A volley followed from his legion, though it was dangerous to shoot from such distance, especially with Éowyn's Éored engaged in close quarters with the enemy.
Coming ever closer, his heart felt relief as he saw that the Éored had matters in hand. The 120 riders had been well drilled and trained, and it seemed as though the wargs were disorganized and reckless, barrelling forward with near suicidal madness. The arrival of Legolas' legion swayed the battle decisively in their favour. They blasted into the flank and galloped through the centre, Legolas' twin blades shimmering as he slashed with both hands while Arod sprinted on. After one pass, the Éored charged anew and between the two of them, the wargs were swallowed up, any beasts seeking to retreat picked off in a storm of arrows.
"Lord Legolas," one of Éowyn's lieutenants called, bowing her head as he came over. "They were Orcs. Not particularly well armed, or disciplined."
Legolas glanced about the carcasses, his riders dismounting to begin collecting weapons and armour and piling the bodies. The Orcs were small and gangly, similar to the ones he'd seen many times, including during the ambush on the march to Helm's Deep. And yet there was something different about them as well that he could not quite describe. Their scent was off, for one.
"My Lord," another rider called. "Their armour."
Legolas caught a pauldron that was thrown up to him. He looked at the black leather closely turning it over. Embedded in the armour was a small gem of some sort, dull and red.
"What is it?" the lieutenant asked.
"I do not know. A bauble," he said, frowning at the strange piece. "Where is Lady Éowyn?"
"She chased after the captain into the woods, my Lord," the lieutenant answered. "The rest of us were ordered to remain and deal with this rabble."
Legolas looked to the forest with concern.
"Thy orders, my Lord?" Varion asked, sharing a worried look with Éowyn's lieutenant.
"Stay here and collect the armour and weapons. Burn the bodies. The host is an hour's ride behind," Legolas ordered, turning Arod and galloping into the forest.
Éowyn urged Windfola forward, charging through the forest, her quarry several strides ahead. The terrain had become uneven and rocky, and it was difficult for her to find the best route along the tangled forest floor. The captain of the attackers was far more comfortable, his large warg leaping from point to point with far more ease.
"Steady," Éowyn ordered her horse, reaching down and lifting her bow from its hook on her saddle. She drew an arrow from the quiver and notched it, leaning to the side to get a clear shot. Windfola kept charging ahead, and Éowyn had to wait for a patch of stable land before she let loose.
The warg cried out as the arrow took it in the hind leg. The beast stumbled and tripped, launching its captain forward and off.
Éowyn stowed her bow and drew Stormshatter. When Windfola carried her within range, she leapt out of the saddle and yelled, spinning her sword in the air before bringing it down hard, stabbing the fallen warg through the neck. The monster howled, its voice breaking as Éowyn landed and sliced through the sinew and fur before raising the blade above her head and cleaving the animal's head clean through.
Windfola reared and neighed, stopping short of a creek bed. Éowyn wiped her sword quickly on the dead animal's fur and came running up. The Orc captain had already crossed the creek and scrambled up the hill on the other side, disappearing from view.
"Stay," she ordered, not looking at her horse before sprinting across the shallow creek bed and up the hill on the other side. The footholds were few, and she realized Windfola would never have been able to cross safely as she half-crawled, half-jumped up and over the hill. Seeing the fleeing form of her prey, she darted after him.
"Stop!" she yelled, though it was obviously a useless command. The Orc weaved through the trees, and though Éowyn was not carrying her bow, it would be near impossible to take him down with no clear shot.
Her chase brought her deeper into the forest, the Orc turning and bobbing in different directions. He remained out of her reach, and she wondered where he drew his stamina from. Orcs were not known for their ability to run.
She stopped as he led her into a clearing and turned, his foul mouth curled into a snarl. He drew an axe from behind his back and hefted it, swinging it with one arm as he watched her.
She drew Stormshatter holding the glowing blue blade before her as she approached him. For a moment, she regretted leaving her Elven shield behind, tied to Windfola's saddle.
"The White Lady," the orc said in broken Common speech, his voice and accent sharp and angry. "A fool you are to chase after me here."
"Who are you?" she demanded. "Where are your forces? How many do they number?"
"We are everywhere. We see everything," he taunted her with a vicious laugh. "Did you believe you could come North and retake lands that were lost over a thousand years ago? Your King leads you all to your doom."
"Arnor belongs to Men," she said, circling around him carefully. "You and your kind are leaderless and directionless. You're refugees, the last of a vanquished army. Time shall see you fall."
"Time has no hold over us," he retorted.
Éowyn frowned as he switched to a different language, seemingly shouting at her with bitter and angry words. She couldn't understand any of it, though it rang in her ears with as much fury as a war cry.
"Your only hope is to join us," he said, alternating between Common and whatever dark tongue he was speaking. "Side with Men and all of thy allies shall perish."
She grit her teeth and prepared to charge.
"Join us, Lady Éowyn," he commanded, his eyes boring into hers.
She frowned and stepped forward.
"Join us!" he snarled, throwing foreign words at her angrily.
She raised her storm into high guard.
"Join us," he repeated.
She blinked, lowering her sword in front of her.
He spit further strange words at her, stepping towards her, his axe at the ready, the dirty claws of his free hand extended in her direction.
She pointed her sword towards the ground.
The Orc leered at her as he grabbed for her shoulder.
The arrow pierced his head before he even realized it had been fired. It went clean through his temple and out the other side. The orc's eyes rolled and his mouth fell open, a harsh gasp gurgling from his throat before he fell to the ground, lifeless.
Éowyn blinked several times, glancing down in shock at the dead Orc. She turned her head, her breathing ragged as Legolas came running to her, his Galadhrim bow tucked behind his back once more.
"Are you all right? Did he hurt thee?" he asked, looking her over.
"I'm fine. I'm fine," she said, nodding her head as he took hold of her shoulders. "I was trying to see if he would confess anything before I ran him through."
"I'm sorry that I interrupted, then," Legolas said. "Did he reveal anything?"
Éowyn turned and looked down at the fallen Orc, his vacant eyes drawing her attention.
"Nay, nothing," she said softly.
Legolas kneeled down and untied the Orc's armour. Turning over the leather breastplate, he frowned as he uncovered a dull red gem sewn into the inside.
"What is that?" she asked.
"I don't know. All of the others had the same thing on their armour as well," he said. "Come, let's get back. Aragorn and the army should be arriving soon."
He rose to his feet and brushed off his leggings before turning and moving back towards the trees.
Éowyn lingered for a moment, looking curiously at the Orc's eyes before she eventually turned and followed her husband.
Ruins of Annúminas, Arnor, Fourth Age, Nínui, 2
"The raid was a failure."
"I disagree. It was quite successful."
"The army has reached the river. They will be at the Lake within two days, and at our gates shortly thereafter."
"We are ready for them. They do not know what will greet them upon their arrival."
"And the White Lady and the others?"
"All is proceeding as we hoped."
"Cover the stone! The King approaches. We do not need to risk discovery when our victory is at hand."
"What of the Elf Prince? He foiled our plans."
"Target him and his legion first. Once he is dead, she is ours."