DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. In this chapter I own Léodthain, Dréorhyse, and Denuwyn.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, yeah. :) I don't know if I can express how sorry I am for taking so long. Real Life has been torture, and I had the worst case of writer's block in the history of forever during this spell between chapters. I've been extremely busy and stressed, as well. At any rate, I'm really sorry, and I hope you all aren't disappointed with this chapter in any way. It's really hard to write, I guess, when a certain quartet of Hobbits, a few Elves, or familiar Men are temporarily out of the picture. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Thanks for your patience, for reading, and for reviewing.
Being left in Dunharrow was not like the unbearable solitude I had experienced after the Fellowship's departure from Rivendell. In Rohan, I had seen one of my hobbits and been revived, and I had gained the love of a king. And, short-lived though both of these occurrences had been, I now felt no despair, other than that brought on by the ever-darkening Shadow of Mordor.
For the first few days following the removal of Théoden's companies, I escaped the desolation of the outside world by shutting myself in my tent and sleeping, catching up on the much-needed rest that I had lost since leaving Imladris. Huddled under my coverlets with the light of a candle flickering near my head, I succeeded only briefly in forgetting how terribly Middle-earth was suffering beyond the thin canvas walls of my shelter, until the power of the Shadow penetrated even my miserable haven, and there was no escape.
I awoke one morning with my blankets weighing down like solid lead on my tired form, and I rose to find the air thick and muggy inside my tent. Nearby, my candle was dead, and in the unpleasant atmosphere, I seemed to be looking at my surroundings through a gray veil. It was not cold, but I shivered as I lifted myself from my cot and dressed in one of my simpler silken gowns. I did not know what day it was or when I had last eaten.
"I guess it's about time to get up anyway," I told myself with a groan. My voice faded strangely into the emptiness, dying abruptly in the stifling air, as though I had never spoken. Unnerved, I tried again uselessly, "I probably need to find something to eat."
I sat down and began shoving my chilled feet into my boots, listening for any kind of movement outside. For all I knew, I could have been abandoned on the Firienfeld while everyone else moved into the valley below. How was I supposed to find this man, Léodthain, that Éowyn had mentioned to me before leaving? She had not left me with his location or his description, and I had not been summoned to meet him.
On the other hand, I had not thought to seek him out, either, and I was suddenly worried that the man would be angry with me for not offering my help sooner. What if he had needed something while I was sleeping? He would believe me to be irresponsible or untrustworthy. Hurriedly, I finished with my shoes and bundled my tousled curls into a tail at the nape of my neck — but the moment that idea came into my mind, I dismissed it and relaxed. I was just a girl, and the captain was most likely glad to have me out of his way for the present.
A minute later, I left the sanctuary of my tent for a world so cheerless and spectral, and so unbearably silent, that I thought I must be the only person alive in it. The sky had dimmed into a disgusting brownish-gray, and impenetrable clouds capped the mountaintops all around. Harrowdale was still and tomblike; no wind rustled the long grasses or played through the branches of trees. Walking across the soft turf to the edge of the precipice, I felt the air wrap itself heavily around me. I stood staring down on the tents of the Harrowdale refuge, noting how all of them lined up like solemn gravestones in the valley, and my stomach lurched. The force of the evil looming over my head nearly brought me to my knees.
I turned away, searching for signs of life in the camp on the mountain field. I saw little more than smoke curling up behind a cluster of tents around the king's pavilion, which was still erect just beside the main path. With no other idea of where I should go, I headed cheerlessly toward the unseen bonfire.
Reaching the king's pavilion, I caught faint voices coming from inside and found that I was not alone on the Firienfeld. There was no guard before the tent, yet I did not dare to enter. I remained just within earshot beside the hangings across the entryway.
The first words to reach me were low and gruff, edged with impatience and exhaustion, but brightened by a slight lilt. "So we've had no word from the strongholds in the North?"
"Nay, sire," came the abashed reply. "The scouts have reported nothing other that what you already know — that Sauron's forces are massed in the forest of Mirkwood and that they have most likely crossed into the Wold."
"Nothing further than that?"
"Not at present, sire, but we should hear something more by tonight. We have men riding back and forth from the northern posts every day."
The two speakers must have moved away from me, for their voices grew fainter, and I bent my head close to the flaps covering the entryway. At length, the first man said, "It has been four days since Théoden rode to Minas Tirith — we should know more of the Enemy's position and intent by now. Orcs could be roaming freely in the Wold as we speak, and we would not be aware of their presence until they ravaged Edoras and the rising smoke signaled their arrival."
"It is a long journey to the Entwood from Harrowdale, my lord," the second voice pointed out hopefully. "The scouts will come."
I licked my dry lips, frowning as I thought back through the fog of my dreams. I had not done much the day that Théoden had left us, but I had gone to bed late that night, unable to fall asleep until the earliest hours of the next day's morning — so I had probably been in bed for roughly three days. No wonder I'm so famished, I thought, rolling my eyes.
Shifting indecisively outside the tent, I glanced around the deserted Firienfeld and wondered if there were any other soldiers I could ask for help. I was wavering between knocking my fist against the stiff canvas of the pavilion or just sneaking away, when I suddenly realized that someone was preparing to exit the tent — one voice was calling a farewell to the other. I scrambled back from the entry and hastily smoothed my hair, waiting innocently to be seen by whomever I was about to meet.
The man who exited was shorter than many of the Rohirrim I had seen, stocky and broad, and I immediately associated him with the smaller, more obsequious voice I had heard. His weathered face was bare except for a neatly trimmed sandy-brown mustache, which matched perfectly the long locks falling in loose tangles about his rough features. He had a red woolen cape secured at his shoulders, thrown back to reveal a brown leather vest over a hauberk of scale-like armor. The soldier's bright eyes shone beneath furrowed eyebrows.
His head was down, and he was muttering something to himself as he secured the tent's hangings behind him, so he took no notice of me until he began to move away and almost tripped on the trains of my skirts.
While I struggled away awkwardly and he tried to avoid leaving too many footprints on the clean fabric, our gazes met. "Forgive me, Milady, I failed to see you there," he said promptly, and I murmured at the same time, "I'm very sorry, sire, I was in your way."
He smiled fleetingly, distractedly, giving me a fast bow and asking, "You wish to see Léodthain, I suppose, Milady?"
"I don't wish to bother him, sire," I said, hesitating. "I only want to know if I am wanted for anything."
Squinting at me, the man said, "I could not tell you, Milady."
I frowned and was about to thank the man and leave him hastily, when from our backs came an interjection, "But I could, Dréorhyse."
The man with whom I was standing turned, straightening to attention, and I followed, finding that the captain Léodthain himself was standing in the entryway behind us with the tent's drapery held bunched in one of his fists. "Milady," he welcomed me, with a slight nod of his head.
I returned his sign of greeting, observing the line of his slender form that was silhouetted against the darkness of the tent beyond him. He was dressed like the first man — Dréorhyse, I think he was called, the one I had already met — in mail and armor fitted with the rich, colorful symbols of the Mark. Léodthain's hair was likewise golden, and a neatly trimmed beard covered his angular chin; both provided an appropriate frame for a stern, young face and a fierce stare. I guessed him to be in the prime of his life, somewhere between his mid-twenties and thirties.
"We had no sign of you these three days, Milady," he said, bringing my attention back to the present. "I was beginning to wonder if someone should be sent after you."
"I was tired, my lord, and confined to my tent that whole time," I apologized. "I do hope I wasn't needed."
"No, Milady, but we did not wish to disturb you either way," said the man, clasping his hands at the small of his back and stepping toward me. Reflexively, I leaned back, otherwise unable to look at him without my head tilted far back, like a gawping child. He continued knowingly, "You have gotten your rest, and now you seek other necessities. How may we serve you, Lady Jorryn?"
"Well," I said, stricken by his earnestness, "I would like some food, if it isn't too much trouble."
"Not at all, Milady," he said. "Where shall I have it brought?"
"I'll take it outside my tent — please."
"Is there anything in particular that you would request?"
"Only that which you can spare, my lord," I said modestly.
"And… might I have permission to join you?"
Our sentences had rallied back and forth so rapidly that I faltered for an instant, then said, "I — I would be honored, sire."
Léodthain bowed, saying, "I am glad to have finally met you, Milady. The Lady Éowyn spoke well of you, and I can see now why she did."
I felt my cheeks flush from embarrassment. "You are too kind, sire," I murmured.
"It is merely an observation," he countered, glancing back at Dréorhyse. He said to him over me, "I have decided to accompany you to the river post, Dréorhyse, if you don't mind."
"No, my lord," the other answered hastily.
Léodthain adjusted the belt about his thick waist, focusing back on me. "I fear we must take our leave, Milady. I will meet you within the hour?"
"Yes, sire," I said.
Without another word, the two excused themselves, and they walked off together down the main path, passing the gloomy standing-stones on either side without flinching. I watched them go, rewinding our odd conversations in my mind, unsure of how I should react to meeting the strange new pair. As I made my way back to my tent, I decided that Dréorhyse and Léodthain were two of the most eccentric Rohirrim I had ever seen.
Roughly an hour later, Léodthain met me at my tent, bringing with him the promised meal. I had spread a coarse blanket from my cot just beside the stakes holding my temporary dwelling to the ground, and had been sitting cross-legged upon it waiting for him since we had last talked. I had observed during that time that with the day's progression, movement increased on the Firienfeld. I had seen soldiers leading somber horses to corrals and errand-runners coming from the valley and going somewhere or other. No one had been remotely happy, and none of them had even spoken to me, but I'd been cheered to discover that I wasn't living alone in Dunharrow with two unfamiliar men.
Now, meeting me pleasantly, Léodthain handed down a plate of dry meat and vegetables before sitting himself unobtrusively next to me on the blanket. Muttering a perfunctory "thank you," I began to eat, using my thumb and forefinger as utensils, pinching bits of potatoes and carrots between them. The man at my side observed my habits briefly, loosing a flask from around his waist and handing it to me wordlessly. It was filled with a bitter wine, but I drank from it anyway.
We spent several minutes in silence, until I had eaten half of the contents on my plate. I tried to think of what one of the hobbits would say in my place — probably something about the food, or the climate — and eventually I ventured the question, "My lord, how long have you been in the service of Lady Éowyn?"
He averted his stare from the yellowish, blurry section of sky that should have contained mountaintops and replied, "I have served the Mark all of my life, Lady Jorryn, but I chanced to come under the Lady when King Théoden determined that Edoras should be emptied. I served her here until she left with the muster of Rohan."
I could guess none of his feelings from his bland tone, so I swallowed, pressing, "But would you have rather gone with them to Gondor?"
A corner of his mouth quirked, and odd brown shadows fell across his cheek, cast by his sharp, thin nose. "I would not say that — I wish only to serve King Théoden in whatever way he sees fit. At any rate, I have grown accustomed to my duties here."
"What are your duties, exactly?"
"Leading the people of Dunharrow and ensuring their safety, guarding Edoras and watching over the surrounding area, and keeping the men here prepared for war," the soldier said, nodding his head at each listed responsibility. "Among other things."
I took in a deep breath of the musty air, narrowing my eyes curiously at him. "Ah — and what part will I have in all that?"
"What part would you like, Milady?" Léodthain smirked. "I meant for you to run messages to and from the people in the valley from time to time, and see that all is well with them."
"I can handle that," I said, contemplating the idea, "but perhaps I should ride with some of your men through the camp, first. The people don't know me, you see. I came in with King Théoden's company, but I doubt that I was noticed, and I don't know how they would react to hearing messages from someone they've never seen before."
"I understand, Lady Jorryn," the man nodded. "I will go with you this evening, if you wish."
"I would like that," I answered. "I'll do anything within my power to help, sire."
"That is well. You should be proud to be in the service of Rohan, Milady," he said. "King Théoden and the Lady love this country as much as those who serve it. We are fortunate."
"I do feel honored, my lord."
He paused, turning away once more, and then he murmured casually, "It has been said that you rode with the Lord Aragorn in the North. Is this true?"
"It is," I answered evenly, setting my empty plate aside and leaning forward with my arms about my legs.
"And then with the sons of Elrond Half-elven of Imladris?"
"Yes, I came to Rohan with them," I said, not missing a beat. I had deduced that Léodthain liked his talk succinct and quick, and it was taking some time for me to get used to it.
The man, pondering this, shook his head. "It is a wonder you were not born a Lady of Rohan," he said, "for it is not uncommon for them to ride in such companies. You say you come from the North — where, may I ask?"
"The land of the Halflings," I said, nostalgia coming into the words. "The Shire, it's called."
"I myself come from Aldburg, in the Eastfold. That is where the Lord Éomer grew up, as well."
"So you are close with him?" I asked.
"I am afraid not — I have spoken with him only on a few occasions."
"Ah… me too. I was closer with the king," I said ineffectually, realizing I had led us to a dead end, for I had no wish to speak of Théoden.
Léodthain remedied that quickly by coughing into a gloved hand and pushing himself to his feet. "Forgive me, milady," he said, "but I must leave you now. I will have your evening meal brought to you, and afterward we shall visit the valley. I trust you will be fine here for the rest of the day?"
"Yes, sire," I said, nodding at once.
He bowed and left me. It was then late in the afternoon, and I spent the few hours before supper sitting outside my tent alone. I knew should not have mentioned Théoden, for my heart soon grew heavy with regrets — why hadn't I said this to the king, and why hadn't I done that with him — and my last image of the elderly man smiling down at me atop his white horse kept coming to the front of my mind. I'd had so many chances to speak more with him, learn more of his personality, but like a fool, I had let them escape me.
A short time later, filled again with the good, plain food of Dunharrow, I took Bronwe to the edge of the Firienfeld to wait for our escort. Léodthain came with his companion, Dréorhyse, and we rode together in single file down the winding cliff path to the plain of Harrowdale where refugees camped. So steep was that trail that Bronwe was angled nearly perpendicular to me, and pebbles skittered incessantly down ahead of us, disturbed by the horses' hooves. It was a long trip, devoid of conversation, and I kept my concentration fixed mostly on a spot between my horse's ears, to avoid seeing the warped Púkel-men at every turn in the path. I took fleeting glimpses of the valley as we rode, and in time I realized that the encampment was lifeless as it had been from above. After nearly twenty minutes of riding, we entered a virtual graveyard.
No one could be seen from the path, but Léodthain veered away after we reached the first tent, leading us through a maze of extinguished fires and abandoned cookware. It was eerie to see the signs of Théoden's army still scattered everywhere — there were bundles of spears, standing tied together at their heads like odd teepees, and banners tied to leaning poles, drab and unmoving in the breathless air. All was utterly quiet, except for the muffled hush of the river beyond the trees.
I was beginning to wonder what good was in my being there, if no one was around to see me. "Where is everyone?"
"They are staying off the road, Milady," Léodthain explained.
We angled through several more rows, until finally I perceived weak hints of voices, and I saw a guard standing with a tall lance at the head of one column. These tents were in the shadows of a line of trees standing at the edge of the valley, concealed under their large, reaching branches.
The guard at the entrance to that hidden row bowed to us, then turned and gave a shrill whistle. Immediately, the flaxen heads of Rohan's women and children were thrust out into the open, and the three of us found ourselves pinned under the stares of countless eyes. Their fair faces were grubby, smeared with dirt, and their clothes were plain and ragged. The news that visitors had come into the valley spread rapidly down the line of tents, and more and more of the refugees appeared within seconds, craning their necks to see over those in front of them, climbing on whatever they could find to get a better view. I observed them from atop Bronwe, noting that most of the refugees were either women, elderly, or very young. All with the strength to fight in the war against Sauron were gone, save for those left to protect Harrowdale.
"People of Rohan!" shouted Léodthain above the noise of the crowd's curious murmuring. "I have brought you Lady Jorryn, a friend of the Mark. She is a ward of the king and a servant of the Lady Éowyn. Make her welcome here!"
Inwardly, I winced, not really wishing to be introduced so grandly, only to later surely disappoint the Rohirrim with my plainness. But Léodthain's announcement got the desired effect, and the people burst instantly into another raucous round of mumblings, speaking to one another in their own tongue, some of them motioning toward us excitedly.
"It seems you were wrong, Milady," Léodthain told me softly, bending close to my ear, "for they are saying that they recognize you as the girl that rode behind King Théoden several days ago."
"Oh," I said in surprise, my cheeks flushing with the thought of being familiar to Dunharrow's inhabitants. I ran my fingers distractedly through a lock of my hair, trying to ignore all the gestures being thrown my way. "I guess you didn't have to bring me down here, then, though I do still appreciate it, my lord."
"It is nothing," he said, flashing a teasing, cock-mouthed smile, "particularly because I have other business to attend to here. If you'll excuse me, Milady?" Not waiting for my response, the man nodded to me, dismounted, and walked his horse back to the guard standing at the head of the column of tents. The two began conversing, turning away from us.
Sitting next to Dréorhyse on my pony, I was not certain what to do next. Thank goodness that Léodthain had found something else to do here — otherwise I would have felt more troublesome than ever. I scratched awkwardly at the back of my ear, heaving a huge sigh for all my newly discovered uselessness. It was at this time that there came an unexpected tug on my skirt, and I looked down to discover a small girl standing at my right stirrup.
She was young — perhaps six years old — with a round, eager countenance curtained with a mess of tangled yellow hair, which may have been braided at one time but was already falling out. Huddled in a heavy woolen blanket and a loose, soiled tunic, she peered at me with large brown eyes framed by dark lashes, her mocking little mouth pursed. She was scrutinizing me closely.
"Hello," I said slowly, frowning bemusedly at her and nearly inquiring a second later, Where on earth did you come from?
Without pretense, she stated in a voice high and sweet and lifted by a sharp accent, "They say that you are one of the Holbytlan, Lady Jorryn."
I leaned toward her in my saddle, my eyebrows rising in surprise, and I marveled curiously, "Do they?"
"Yes, and they also say," she said, "that your horse was bred by the Elves — in some magical realm where you once lived."
Bronwe jerked her golden head and angled her ears as the young girl took hold of my bridle to inspect the curling Elvish figures decorating the leather. Her tiny fingers traced a leaf design, and once again she returned her questioning gaze to me, waiting for me to answer.
My lips twitched with amusement. "Well," I said gently, "I'm afraid your friends are correct only on one count. I am no hobbit, though I stayed with them in their country for a long time."
"Then your horse is not one of our own?" she prodded.
"No, she was raised in Rivendell."
Her eyes suddenly widened, and she breathed in astonishment, "Rivendell?"
I found myself smiling at her; I had not spoken with a child since traveling through Bree with my hobbits, and I realized that I missed the simple interaction. Ignoring the abrupt twinge of pain in my heart, I asked, "What's your name, little one?"
"Denuwyn," she pronounced proudly, clutching her blanket around her tiny form and peeking over a shoulder. "My family lives just there, next to the horses' pen."
I followed the direction of her nodding head to a white tent under the shade of a great tree, beside a crude horse corral. It was a plain tent, as small as mine and exactly the same, save for the red symbols that marched along the border of the entryway. The turf around the makeshift home had been flattened by the trampling of many hooves, and a wagon filled with unwanted supplies sat nearby.
"May I beg you to come down for a while, Milady?" Denuwyn continued hopefully. "I've never met anyone who knew Elves before, and I would be very grateful if you could tell me stories of your time with them."
Considering the offer, I turned my face upward, studying the shafts of dust-filled light that filtered down through the lean branches above. Evening had come upon the valley, and the little radiance that had managed to slip though Sauron's darkness now seemed almost friendly. Noting my hesitation, the girl gave my skirt another impatient tug, and I was reminded, strangely enough, of Pippin. I could not stop a grin, and, slipping down to the ground, I told Denuwyn, "I think I would enjoy telling you stories, little one."
Thank you again for reading, and please forgive me for taking so long. :) Please let me know what you think!