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: Yes, you're not imagining things... this is indeed a new chapter of TWT! :) While that last installment was difficult, this one was fun to write and it came out rather quickly. I suppose Denuwyn makes it a little easier. The title of this chapter comes from the poem "The Childless Woman" by T. A. Daly, if you were curious. Anyway, here you get to see more of life in Dunharrow. Please enjoy, and please let me know what you think! Thank you to those who have already done it.
Before the end of that first evening I spent with her, I understood that Denuwyn would be the only joy for me in Dunharrow. Certainly, Léodthain had greeted me amicably when he met me on the Firienfeld, and Bronwe and I had enjoyed many journeys together before, but my new friend Denuwyn was a singular cheer to me then, during the dimmest of days. She was intuitive and keen, quiet and respectful, and very much like my hobbits when it came to interjecting questions during my stories.
I spent the entirety of my earliest visit to the people of Dunharrow with Denuwyn and her family, eating with them even though I had already had my supper and telling them about the few adventures I'd had. The girl was interested in everything I had to say, but especially things on the subject of Elves — I had figured out from my time with the Rohirrim that they had, until recently, looked upon Elves as magical, devious phantoms — and I was glad to reminisce with her. She asked about the manner of Elrond, the location and structure of Rivendell, and the names of all the Elves I had ever met. Within hours, her curiosity moved on to the rest of the lands west of the Misty Mountains, eventually reaching the Shire, and she was equally fascinated by the news of a country filled with inhabitants as small as she was. I had not spoken so much for such a long period since being with my four hobbits, and it was late before I went back to my own tent.
Oh… my dear hobbits. I mentioned them to Denuwyn only in passing, for how could I have described to her accurately the things that made me love them? There were no words for the playful singsong quality of Pippin's voice, the brilliance that lit up Merry's countenance when he smiled, or the determined glint that so often came into sweet Sam's eyes. And Frodo — I could not even begin to explain to the girl what I felt for him. I loved the Baggins now more than ever and missed him terribly, and at the time that the Shadow was at its darkest over Rohan, my last memory of his pale, beautiful face and smoldering eyes from the evening he left Rivendell sustained me. I could only imagine what I would do when I saw him again — would the hobbit be too changed, too tortured by the evils of the Ring, for me to take him in my arms and kiss his smooth brow? I both dreaded and yearned for that meeting.
I put my mind to work the next day in order to drive these painful things out of my head, running errands for Léodthain in the morning and forcing myself to do other menial tasks for the rest of the afternoon. I visited Bronwe and gave her a good cleaning, taking her on a gallop along the River Snowbourn, and I later tried to get myself into a halfway decent state. There was no way for me to fully bathe, unless I wanted to risk the river; the most I could do was scrub my arms, legs, face, and hair over a basin with some rough soap lent to me by Denuwyn's family. When that was done, I changed into another of my few spare dresses, wrote a bit in my diary, and made sure my tent was in order. There was little else to do, and Denuwyn found me sitting on the riverbank in the middle of the valley shortly afterward.
"Where do you get such beautiful clothes?" she asked straightaway, plopping down in the dirt next to me without any other greeting.
Weighing a small pebble in one palm, I squinted down at the girl. "They were made for me in Rivendell," I answered.
"Oh, so one of the Elves gave them to you," she nodded shrewdly.
"Yes, I think I got this one from my friend, Nátucien," I said.
"Who was he, Milady?"
I shook my head, correcting, "No, Nátucien is a she. She was sort of my helper in Rivendell — she showed me how to get around, and brought me food, and drew my baths."
"Oh," she said, nodding again, her mind already jumping to her next question. "Is it true that the Elves live forever?"
"Yes, it is," I said, shivering in the coldness of the evening. "Lord Elrond's memory stretches back ages, back to almost the beginning of the world."
"How is that possible, Milady? Wouldn't it be terrible to live for so long?"
"I wouldn't know, little one," I said. "Lord Elrond seems happy enough… and I think he will eventually find peace."
Taking all of this in, she pushed unruly hair from her round face, continuing after a minute or two, "I know more about the Elves than anyone else here because of your stories, Lady Jorryn. Thank you for telling me all of them."
Smiling slightly, I shrugged and tossed the pebble into the river below. "It was good to finally talk to someone, little one."
"Did the Elves give you anything else besides a home and your gowns, Milady?" the girl wondered, shifting underneath her rough, gray shawl.
The sky was darkening, and thunder rumbled somewhere in the East. I peered up at the angry, roiling clouds. I told her, "A name — they gave me a name."
Denuwyn's eyes widened, and her mouth opened into an "O," as though to speak. All of these formed large circles in her innocent countenance, and I almost laughed out loud. I had seen the expression several times, especially the night before.
"What is it, Lady Jorryn?" she asked excitedly. "What are you named among the Elves?"
"Mistadiel," I said, and the sound of it made me appreciate how much I missed hearing myself called by it. I frowned, turning away from the girl, my heart aching. There were so many things I wished to have back in my life.
"Mistadiel," repeated Denuwyn, the word rolling thickly off her tongue. She giggled delightedly, thinking she had accomplished some great feat. "Milady," she said eagerly, "do you think, if I asked, that the Elves would give me a name as well?"
I sighed tiredly, throwing another rock into the Snowbourn. "I could not tell you, little one."
Late that night, my body refused to let me rest, and I got up to meander about the gloomy camp on the mountain plain. At that time, the Shadow could serve me some practical purpose — the shrouding of the Dwimorberg. If I didn't think about the Haunted Mountain looming somewhere above me, I was able to roam comfortably around the Firienfeld. My ramblings ultimately brought me to Éowyn's abandoned tent.
It was exactly as she had left it, with the thick, silken blankets on her cot thrown back, disheveled, and the brown skirt that she had taken off the morning of her departure still tossed in a careless pile nearby. Her trunks were open, her sword was gone. All that remained were the rich dresses and royal gowns of the White Lady of Rohan.
Pushing back the flaps of her tent, I entered, stepping lightly on the rich furs strewn across the ground. I had only just cleaned my own quarters earlier that day, and in comparison, Éowyn's looked like a catastrophe. I leaned down reflexively to pick up her rumpled, discarded skirt. Folding it and opening the closest trunk, I stopped at the sight of the clothing I discovered inside.
"Wow," I breathed to myself, running my fingertips over the deep green velvet of the gown on top. The one underneath it was just as beautiful, an inky blue wool decorated with tiny diamond patterns in gold, and I encountered several more after digging deeper. I had not seen Éowyn in any of these, and I suddenly found myself wishing that I had brought a few of the nicer, specially-made gowns given to me in Rivendell, instead of only traveling garments.
I left all her things intact, but as I finished tidying the rest of the lady's space — repacking and closing her chests and straightening up her bed — I began to wonder whether or not Théoden's tent was in a similar state. Had everything been left untouched since he had left, or had Léodthain already rearranged all of the king's belongings? If so, the man could not be blamed, for no one yet knew that Théoden would not be returning.
The next morning, I rose early, although I really felt like spending the day doing nothing in bed. I had been dreaming of sitting with Frodo in Bag End's front parlor, and to be wrenched from such a warm memory was not pleasant. I sat up in my cot with a groan, shielding my eyes from the brightness of the morning light streaming in through the entryway of my tent.
I stopped in surprise, lowering my hands. Morning light, here? Slowly, I stood, reaching out to part the flaps, not daring to hope.
A cry came from the other side of the camp, carrying across to me, "It is broken! The Shadow has gone! Awake, Riders of the Mark — the Shadow is gone!"
And, sure enough, I saw the Sun rising far away against the jagged silhouette of the mighty Starkhorn, pouring wonderful, warm radiance into Harrowdale, blinding me after so many days of endless dark. Basking in the golden light, I stood there with my shaking hands gripping fistfuls of canvas, nearly laughing at the beauty of the sunrise. I could see the mountains on the horizon — magnificent, shining, breathtaking mountains capped with snow and surrounding me on all sides. How long had it been since I had seen the sky and the mountains — weeks, months? Or just six days?
Not bothering to change out of the hobbitish shirt and breeches that I'd been sleeping in, I threw on my boots and ran into the field where the men of Rohan were celebrating the coming of the dawn. I met Léodthain and Dréorhyse there, and they greeted me with broad smiles.
"Mordor has suffered some blow," Léodthain said, his yellow hair ruffled by the fresh spring breeze coming down from the mountains. "Sauron's power is weakening!"
I didn't know what could have happened to shred the Enemy's dark shroud, but I didn't care. The sunlight was hope restored to the people of Middle-earth, and it meant that all would be over soon, very soon, and I would see my friends again!
Needless to say, there was much rejoicing in Dunharrow on that glorious day. I accompanied Léodthain when he visited the valley immediately after a hasty breakfast of dry bread and cheese. Even Bronwe was excited, tossing her majestic head at the Púkel-men all the way down the cliff path, and I found myself laughing into the clear, brightening sky. Our party rode down through the middle of the camp at a leisurely pace, but I heard the Rohirrim singing merrily before we were halfway to their hiding place under the trees. Their rejoicing lifted my heart even further.
And at exactly the same moment, though none in Rohan (including myself) knew it, King Théoden reached Minas Tirith with his great host, and he rode across the Pelennor Fields shouting, "Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden! Ride now, ride to Gondor!"
"It is said that you were a friend of Gandalf Stormcrow, Lady Jorryn."
Running my hands across Bronwe's smooth flank, I stood on my tiptoes to see Denuwyn, who was grooming my pony's opposite side, or as much as she could reach of it. She peeked up at me, diverting her attention from her brush for only a moment.
It was a rare occurrence for Denuwyn to visit me on the Firienfeld, but that day she had; she'd walked the whole way up the mountainside with one of her family's dogs and discovered me grooming Bronwe at the camp's main corral late in the morning. Léodthain had come with me and was a few steps away, tending to his own horse, and he caught my gaze, arching an eyebrow when he overheard the child's statement. Happy sunlight was shafting down to us through the dancing tree branches, and wind was tugging at Bronwe's mane and my curls.
"You know of Gandalf, little one?" I returned curiously.
She nodded her fair head. "I lived in Edoras, Milady, where he was known to come and go for a time, but I only saw him once. And he did look like a crow to me, like his name — he wore a pointed hat, and long gray robes."
I smirked nostalgically, thinking, Yeah, that's Gandalf all right.
Léodthain put in, "It was said in Aldburg that a visit from the Grey Pilgrim was a sign of grim times, and undeniably, it was he who brought King Théoden tidings of the Dark Lord at the beginning of it all. Did you indeed know him, Milady?"
Remembering the wizard's rich voice and clear, twinkling eyes, I replied softly, petting Bronwe's neck, "Yes, I am glad to say that is one of my dearest friends."
"Truly, Lady Jorryn?" Denuwyn squeaked, making my pony jump at the high and unexpected noise. "Did you ever see him use his magic?"
"It depends on your definition of magic," I laughed. "Gandalf knew more about the whole world than anyone in it, and he could do quite a few things with fire. His fireworks are famous in the land that I come from. Other than that, I never witnessed any of his more advanced feats."
"What about the Lord Elrond? Did he have the same powers?"
"Elrond is known more for his wisdom, little one. I would say that Galadriel of the Golden Wood has talents that you'd consider closer to magic."
Léodthain, heaving his weathered saddle onto one shoulder, quipped, "Perhaps it would be better for you to ask the lady of something she does not know, little one."
Denuwyn seemed to consider this, but she chose to lead the conversation down another path. "I don't think I've ever asked how you came to be in Rohan, Milady."
"I thought it was obvious," I said, moving to join her on the other side of my pony. "I told you I am in the service of your country."
"But you weren't always — I know that from your stories," the girl pointed out patiently.
"All right, then — I came here from Rivendell to help all my friends who are fighting for Middle-earth. Along the way I managed to come into King Théoden's company."
She gave me a brief, condescending glance that showed just how much she believed that. "How can you expect to help your friends, Milady? They are far from here, and you can't fight. You don't even have a sword."
"I do too have a sword," I corrected defiantly.
Her features crinkled into a frown, and she said, her high little voice lifted with childish arrogance, "Even so, you were not born a lady of Rohan, and our noblewomen are the only ones who are taught to fight and be Shield-maidens."
Too amused to be hurt by her bluntness, I retorted, "Oh, and how would you know that?"
"I just do," she said evenly.
I heard Léodthain chuckle behind us, and my mouth tipped. "Well, I won't argue with you," I relented, "but I will say on thing more. Not all hope comes from one who bears a sword — and that is the sort of help that I am offering to my friends."
At this, Denuwyn was uncharacteristically silent. I looked down and noticed that her brush was moving slowly, and she had allowed her bushy hair to fall across her face. At length, she said, "You have seen much, Lady Jorryn."
I leaned forward, resting my elbow on Bronwe's back, overcome by the sudden weight of my memories. "Yes, Denuwyn," I answered, "I have seen much."
There was little news in the period between our little grooming party with Denuwyn and a morning three days later, and so I had nothing to bring to the people of the valley all that time. Dunharrow had grown to be a world unto itself, disconnected from everything outside except for the occasional scout that came in or departed.
The daylight hours were painfully slow, and I didn't even know what day it was. I had no idea what was going on in Middle-earth or how close we were to the End. I risked asking Léodthain about it one afternoon, but I ended up getting dates in some odd reckoning that I had no hope of converting to my old Shire calendar. Thus my journal was filled with entries like, "Did nothing today. No idea of the date," or "Met a girl with blue hair ribbon — she let me borrow some and braided my hair. Think it's Wednesday."
It was a few days after Bronwe's last grooming session when Léodthain called me to the king's pavilion. Dréorhyse was the one to shake me from my dreams before the sun was even up enough to lighten the Firienfeld. "Wake up, Lady Jorryn — Léodthain wants to see you," came his uncertain voice.
I groaned and pushed myself into a sitting position. "What, right now?" I grumbled, making an effort to focus on the thickset man.
"It is very important, Milady," he said, and I noticed that he was nervously adjusting his clothing and armor, refusing to stand still over me. "Please come, and hurry."
Throwing a cape over my sleeping garments, I rose and followed Dréorhyse through the camp. Despite the early hour, many of the men were already awake, and every inch of the field was lit by torches and fire-filled braziers. The deep, bluish sky was showing the barest hints of dawn. The man led me silently past the sullen groups of soldiers, taking me between the grim standing stones lining the short route to the pavilion.
It was the first time I had been in the king's tent since he had left it. There were the animal skins across the ground, and the colorful banners hanging from the canvas ceilings, and Théoden's makeshift throne. Upon entering, I immediately saw Léodthain, sitting in a small, carven folding stool just next to the king's majestic, unoccupied chair. He looked very tired, with his large form resting loosely and slumped in his seat, half of his visage covered by the hand cupped pensively over his jaw. The firelight flickered ominously over this dark scene.
I stared for a second, my heart turning to ice, then asked, "What has happened?"
Blunt and unmoving, the man said, "Orcs have attacked Dwimordene."
I stared at him blankly, trying to place the unfamiliar name. "Where is that, lord?" I questioned, meek.
"The magical wood, Milady," he said, not looking to me, "at the banks of the Great River, near the mountains in the North."
"Fangorn?" I guessed.
"No, Dwimordene is north of Fangorn," he said absentmindedly.
I gasped, realizing what wood he was talking about, "Oh, my lord, you mean Lórien!"
"Whatever its name, it has been invaded. Do you think aid should be sent?"
The suggestion was so stony and emotionless that I couldn't help but feel that he didn't care at all what happened to the Elves of Lothlórien. "I think," I said, "that the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel can handle it themselves, Milord. They have not yielded to any enemy in all the years they have lived in Lórien."
"Very well," Léodthain agreed, sighing. Dréorhyse shifted awkwardly behind me, obviously wanting to be somewhere else.
I could not understand what was going on. Frowning, I examined all of the pavilion that I could see, yet I found nothing out of the ordinary. Beyond a separate silken hanging to my right, I perceived Théoden's neatly made bed in the shadows, and a few paces to my left rested the wooden stand on which the king's armor had once been arranged.
Finally, I couldn't bear it any longer, and I declared, "I can tell that's not all, Milord. What else has happened?"
Léodthain moved at last, lifting his head to glare directly at me, trembling with contained emotion. "Lady Jorryn," he said with difficulty, "we have received word that King Théoden was slain in Gondor four days ago."
I felt darkness creep into my vision, and a bitter, poisoning grief filled my breast, but I beat them both back. Yes, I had known this would happen, I had been grieving for the lost king for weeks — however, nothing could have prepared me for the anguish in Léodthain's voice. To hear him say that Théoden was dead was more painful than it should have been, and I clutched my cape around me, unable to speak.
The captain went on, sounding even more inhuman now that he had told me his news, "Please go dress in whatever clothes your country feels is appropriate for mourning, and then you may ride into the valley and tell the people."
"I have no clothes of mourning," I said numbly.
"Did not the Lady Éowyn leave behind all of her ceremonial gowns?" the man demanded, bristling. "I am certain that she carried with her a black cloak; you have my permission to borrow it."
Feeling sick, I attempted a curtsey, saying, "Yes, lord."
I left the tent, nearly running into Dréorhyse, walking back to Éowyn's empty quarters with my concentration bent on the ground in front of me. I came to Éowyn's tent and went to one of the chests I had rifled through before, and sure enough, I found the large, deep gray velvet cloak that Léodthain had described.
With a heavy heart, I went to my tent and changed into the darkest of my few gowns, donning Éowyn's cloak over it and drawing the thick hood over my head. It was simple and undecorated, and it ended up being about two feet too long for me, but I hardly noticed. I let it drag and catch in the grass as I went to saddle Bronwe.
I rode my pony slowly down the cliff side, and before I had reached the bottom, the sun climbed over the tips of the mountains, intense and dazzling. In my sadness, I didn't hide myself in my hood to block out the brilliance. Instead I squinted out, thinking that Théoden would never see another morning like this one, and that it was unfair to have such a noble man stolen from the world. I bowed my head, breathing deeply.
"Goodbye, my king," I muttered, and I spurred Bronwe on.