Author Note: Inspired by "Steady is the Hand" by rhosinthorn. Thank you for everyone who has read and reviewed my story.
The Shards of Sorrow
Review: The Hunters and Gandalf dine with Théoden in his hall after Wormtongue is sent away. Éowyn is overjoyed that her uncle is restored and finds herself drawn to Aragorn son of Arathorn. Gandalf receives the gift of Shadowfax from Théoden and the others are taken to be outfitted in Théoden King's armory. The fourth member of the group of Hunters is a cloaked woman but Éowyn finds herself oddly disinterested beyond jealousy that she would be allowed to participate in battle.
Branwen is outfitted in mail and defends herself verbally from the skepticism of Théoden. She takes only her sword and knife and leaves behind her bag with her bow and quiver.
During the sharing of the cup of farewell, Éowyn finds herself trembling before Aragorn. When she goes to the last member of their party, the woman, Éowyn realizes she did not learn her name and is stunned to come face-to-face with a remarkable Elf-maiden. They exchange names and Éowyn is surprised when Branwen gives her a nonverbal warning away from Aragorn and then sees affection between them.
Branwen readies to set out as Théoden presides over his chiefs, lords, and heralds of who would lead the Rohirrim while he and Éomer are out to battle. Éowyn is named and is armored and given a sword before they depart. Éowyn makes her affection for Aragorn clear to Branwen and that she will not back down.
They depart with a thousand horsemen and Branwen is embarrassed as it is revealed what her epessë means to Éomer and why she is called as such. Her Witchcraft is revealed as well and she entertains Éomer with some Witchlight. They travel nearly halfway to the Fords of Isen before they stop for the evening. The depart again the next morning and are met by a horseman later in the day reporting that Lord Erkenbrand has been routed back to Helm's Deep and Théoden decides to head there. Gandalf departs on an "urgent errand".
A great host of Orcs and Wild Men of Dunland follow them from the Fords of Isen with the Shadow of Saruman coming from the North and the Shadow of Sauron in the clouds coming from the East to converge over them. The company enter Helm's Deep and prepare for a siege. As the night wears on, the clouds open up and a storm begins. A host of ten-thousand Orcs and Wild Men is revealed by Witchlight.
Some key events happen as the night wears on—Aragorn and Éomer make an attempt to repel battering rams from breaking the Gates of the Hornburg and are saved when Branwen brings lightning to bear against the ramming party. Éomer is nearly killed by Uruks but is saved by Gimli. Branwen scolds Aragorn and nearly breaks down and tells her how she cares for him—the sight of him facing the hordes with only Éomer having terrified her. The Deeping Wall comes under attack and they repel the siege ladders of the Host of Isengard as Branwen showcases deadly skill with a sword. They do so again and again before the Deeping Wall is breached by a bomb in the culvert of the wall to release the Deeping-stream. Aragorn and Branwen hold the gap before retreating. During their retreat, Branwen is stabbed in the heart and dies in Aragorn's arms.
Aragorn is overcome with grief and rage at her broken form and then fear as he begins to doubt that she might resurrect as she has said she would. He carries her body into the Hornburg and goes upward with Legolas. They come before Théoden and it is decided that they shall ride out to meet the host and Aragorn declares that he would tear down both Saruman and Sauron had he the strength. Théoden states that no less would be acceptable for having to hold the woman he loved in his arms as she died and Legolas hears this but Aragorn does not acknowledge it.
Branwen wakes up in the Realm in Between, alone, and ready to come back. She acknowledges that this was likely her most heroic death thus far. She is shocked to find she is not alone.
Chapter Twenty-Six – The Light of Anaróriel
"…Gilraen…?"
Branwen stared in shocked disbelief.
Why…? How…?
Her nudity in the endless sea of white flowers was suddenly a great deal more embarrassing with the clothed woman standing before Branwen. A white robe appeared in front of her seated form at the thought and Branwen took it up and threw it over herself before she stood up.
Hesitantly, Branwen met the eyes of the spirit of Gilraen before her and saw only kindness in her gaze. Gilraen smiled, "Yes, it is me."
She then opened her arms, inviting Branwen in for an embrace, and Branwen felt the grief reemerge over Gilraen's death and the guilt for not being open with her. Branwen approached and wrapped her arms around Gilraen's middle as the taller woman closed her embrace.
Gilraen whispered, "I am so happy for you. You found a family!"
Tears came to Branwen's eyes and she began to cry as she said, "…I'm sorry, Gilraen…for not trusting you with everything…it has been one of my biggest regrets."
Gilraen pushed her back and shook her head without allowing the kindness to move off her face, "No…if anything, I am sorry that I do not have the time to speak with you at greater length… Branwen, you have no reason to apologize… You were hurt…still are hurting. But now, I know. If anything, I am only sad because to me the fullness of who you are is beautiful…and not even you have Seen it yet despite how great your Sight is!"
Branwen was confused, "W-what do you mean?"
"You are the Deathless and are blessed with the Mantle of Athanasy. You are to change the Fate of Middle Earth and Arda! The Shards of Sorrow are not your sorrow! They were made because of sorrow, but they were made with hope!"
Branwen looked at her dazed and said, "…I don't understand… What are they—the Shards of Sorrow? Why do you say that I am to change the Fate of Arda? I am not from Middle Earth! What do I have to do with anything? Is this related to Manwë and the crossroads he has spoken of?"
Gilraen tilted her head and seemed to listen to something before she gave her a sad smile, "…My apologies. I am not allowed to answer all. Know this—you are the Most Beloved and no other would have been entrusted with this! You have worn your Mantle of Athanasy but you must take up the Regalia of Renascence—that is the fullness of the Truth of the Shards of Sorrow. They shall be Shards of Sorrow no more! Instead, they will become the Jewels of Bliss…and then, and only then, will you be ready to meet your crossroads when that time may come. But before the Fate of Arda may be decided, the Fate of Middle Earth must come first."
Branwen felt like a broken record as she repeated, "I don't understand! What does all that mean!? Please! Just speak clearly!"
Gilraen smiled and titled her head, "Tell me, Branwen, how much longer can you deny the feelings of your Heart? How much longer will you deny what you already know?"
"…What?"
Gilraen leaned down, "Even now, you deny to yourself what you feel and what you know. How can you know all of yourself, when you refuse to acknowledge the feelings that are near bursting at the seams!? I speak on this because it close to my own heart, but you love Aragorn and yet deny it! Even though you may choose one way or another, you deny what you know!"
Branwen pulled away, her cheeks would have felt on fire had this been a physical body, and she cried out, "What does that have to do with anything!? You don't think struggle with that! He and my sister are in love! How could I come between that!? You don't think I'm confused!? I knew him as a child! And yet, now, I pine for him! And what does any of that have to do with the Shards of Sorrow!?"
Gilraen did not appear upset. Instead, she laughed softly, "…Oh, Branwen, you met him as a child, but it has been over seventy years since then and you were separated from him for most of that time. Are not all Men like children to the Elves? I had warned Aragorn not to fall in love with you, because I feared you would never give your heart to another, not because I would be unhappy if you came together. You are a pure soul!
But…I digress… It would not do for me to become sidetracked and waste time on my personal matters… What that has to do with the Shards of Sorrow, is that to know the Shards…you must Know yourself."
Branwen felt a stab of fear. She clenched her jaw and lied, "I don't understand."
Gilraen nodded, "You do. It has been your greatest fear. You must face yourself."
Branwen shook her head slowly at first and then it became frenzied as she knotted her fingers into her hair, "…No…no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, nononoNONONONONONO! I CAN'T! NOT THAT!"
Terror had seized her but Gilraen grasped Branwen's forearms with her hands and made her face the taller woman, "You can! And you will! You cannot accept the Shards of Sorrow in the fullness of what they truly are if you do not Know them! And they are part of you! You must Know yourself to Know the Shards!"
Branwen shook her head with agony on her face as she screamed back, "No! NO! I! Can't! When I did so last time, it drove me mad! I did not come back to sanity until I came to Middle Earth! What person in their RIGHT MIND would kill themselves and have others kill them over and over and over again in so many horrific ways! NO ONE! I! WAS! INSANE! It was not until I spent some unknown eternity floating in darkness that I came back to my senses and I did not even recognize that until years later!"
Gilraen looked sad but unshaken, "Yes…I know. I know that the fear of falling back into that has crippled you. I know that you fear how you did not even recognize your truth of your insanity until you came out from it again—how you thought it had only been constricted to those few short years after it first took you. I know that the thought of decades of madness paralyzes you… You Know and you Knew what was required of you to master the Shards of Sorrow and yourself when Galadriel told you…you have simply refused to acknowledge it…"
Branwen shook her head, her wrists still held, falling to her knees. She pleaded, "Please…don't make me do it… I don't want to go back into darkness…"
Gilraen let go of Branwen's wrist to pull her back into an embrace as she fell to her knees as well, "…I cannot make you…nor can anyone… You must do this yourself. You must find the courage inside you again… As a child, what you feared most was fear itself…now, you fear yourself most… If you do not face your fears and take up the Regalia of Renascence, all will be doomed to fail… I fear most greatly for your happiness though…would you risk your family and loved ones here and now because you fear yourself…?"
Branwen's thoughts went to Galadriel's warning. Her stomach was clenched with both fear and the thought of future grief…but the thought of Seeing into herself again…it might break her again.
Branwen murmured, "…I'm sorry, Gilraen… I just don't know if I am strong enough…"
Gilraen kissed her forehead and said, "Of course, you are…and you will find that you are should you take that leap of faith… I am so proud of you, my friend! And I am so happy that you found Arwen and your family… Thank you, as well, for honoring your promises to keep my Aragorn safe. But now, I must ask you another favor, my dear friend…"
Branwen felt fearful as she looked into Gilraen's compassionate eyes. The woman said, "…Please, take that step…and then keeping walking forward. This is a road that you cannot stop on and must be done to completion. Think not of yourself…think of your family! You must protect them—not Gandalf, not Galadriel, not Elrond, not Glorfindel, or any others—you… You have always been a Child of Destiny and it has come to call again. Find courage and take up your strength. I believe in you!"
Branwen saw her vision was becoming fuzzy and her heart leapt into her throat, "Wait! I don't want to go yet! I've missed you! Please!"
Gilraen brushed her cheek, "Silly, girl, I am always with you… Take care of my Aragorn, take care of your family, and take care of yourself. Do not hesitate when you awake…do what you must do! Before you fall prey to fear again! Be as brave as Heather Potter once was and as brave as Branwen can become! I love you, Branwen, and my heart shall be with yours always."
Branwen's vision was nearly gone entirely but said, "…I'm sorry, Gilraen…and I promise. For you, for Arwen, for Aragorn…I'll be brave again."
Gilraen's smiling face disappeared and Branwen felt herself being pulled out of the cold tides of Death again.
҉
The Third Age – March 4th, 3019
Branwen awoke a gasp as she sat up.
Her eyes went in each direction but found she was laying on the stone floor in someone's quarters. Her mail had been stripped from her and she was clothed only in her blood-stiffened white tunic, brown breeches, and boots. At the top of inner side of her left breast there was hole where the Uruk's blade had found its mark. Her mail and helm were laying off to the side full of congealed blood next to her sword.
There was no one in the quarters with her and the noise of others sounded distant.
Branwen took a breath. She did not want to do this but Knew there was no other choice. That Gilraen had come as a messenger from beyond Death to tell her so spoke volumes. She could not run from this any longer. Though it terrified her that she now risked what had consumed her on Earth, making Bellatrix Lestrange appear well-adjusted, Branwen Knew that this was unavoidable.
If she wished to keep all of her loved ones safe—Arwen, Aragorn, Elrond, Gandalf, Galadriel, Celeborn, Legolas, Gimli, the Hobbits, and all the others that she had come to care for—she had to do this. Branwen was no longer a solitary agent of the Rangers of the North with only singular friend that she communicated with via letters, she had grown many bonds of friendship, comradery, family, and love.
For that, she would brave this. If Gandalf could endure a baptism of Shadow and Flame and she had already come through Time and Death, then she could face the Ruin of Heather Potter and finally learn what it was that had been placed within her.
Branwen spoke, "Water… Freeze…"
A mirror of ice with a glass-like finish appeared in her hands and she gazed upon her face and into her emerald eyes. She looked atrocious and ghastly covered in her own blood, but there was no time left to be concerned of that.
The moment had come.
Her eyes glowed like stars in their sockets as she Saw into herself for the first time in over one-hundred and twenty years and fell into the Mind and Heart of Branwen Anaróriel and Heather Potter.
She Saw first the gaping wounds and scars on her Heart, most self-inflicted by the self-hatred and loathing that she carried. It was…painful and she nearly ripped away out of herself but Knew that she could not.
She had to be brave.
Branwen continued down and found Memory beneath the surface of her Heart. Within, she proceeded through each recollection that she had from most recent to the deep past. It was sad for her to realize that her time in Middle Earth had, so far, been the happiest of her life.
In each memory, she felt the emotions within them as fresh as she had when they had occurred before her eyes. There was no hiding her true feelings under her Sight, not even from herself, and she Saw the love she carried for Aragorn, the happiness she had for Gandalf's return, the guilt she felt for Boromir's death, the joy of friendship she carried with the rest of the Company, the love she felt from Galadriel and Celeborn, the grief of Gandalf's fall, the fear of when her staff was broken, the warmth she felt of acceptance from the Company, the overwhelming and pure love from Arwen and Elrond, the guilt she had carried but no longer did for Gilraen, and onward and backward until she came back to Imladris again as Ashwen, then to Minas Tirth, Mirkwood, and then the birth of Branwen in Lake-town.
Branwen could See the healing that had occurred, in reverse, of Heather Potter as she passed through the Void of soft shadows and dim light. Her madness and lunacy before she stepped through the Veil of Death was…wretched. Branwen felt every emotion and all the pain as she watched the broken shell of Heather Potter being killed and killing herself again and again and again.
…It was disturbing to watch and she could only wonder how any had ever agreed to assisting her… Branwen wondered if their fear of her had been so great that, to have her willingly try and die, had been viewed as a blessing to them. Branwen Saw though how Hermione Granger had not been so willing at first and had pled and begged her to reconsider…but Heather Potter had not seen that in her insanity.
And the years proceeded backwards to the obvious stage of psychosis, each depraved act and disgustingly overt abuse and suicide seemed to hurt her as deeply as it had at the time. Finally, Branwen came to the moment where Heather Potter had been rendered insane—when she was made aware of the potency and near bottomless well for self-loathing within. There was nothing to be learned in that moment except that where Heather Potter thought she had been strong, she was rather more like a brittle sword that shattered into pieces when faced with the weakness within.
Branwen saw the loneliness of Heather Potter before that—afraid of connection and hurt deeply by a distrust of authority—especially male authority, perceived cruelties from friendship, and a public that alternated between adoration and animosity on the flip of a coin.
Seeing the abuses of the teenaged Heather Potter was, at times, revolting to her. Branwen now looked back on these memories with the experience of over one-hundred and fifty years and she could only wonder how no one had seen…or said something. Finally, to a childhood where she felt unloved and, now Seeing it in Truth, terrified of Vernon Dursley and the verbal and physical abuse he heaped on her, but more of the implied threats of molestation that Branwen knew only Petunia Dursley had curbed in her vile husband and would not allow. Vernon had sparked her long distrust of men.
…Heather Potter never had a chance to be just Heather…
But Branwen Saw it all and Knew all that had brought her to where she was. She understood now what a family was supposed to be, friends were supposed to be, and that there could be goodness in the Hearts of Men.
Each memory she Saw and accepted was like an ugly wound being smoothed away into silvery scars—beautiful in their own way. It was as she accepted who she was and how she had come to be that she came beneath Memory and beheld the core of her Heart—Love.
It was an ocean of Love so great and deep that she had only Seen such from Arwen and Elrond. It was filled with the Love, Compassion, and Empathy Branwen held for her family, her friends, her comrades, those who were hurting, those who were tormented by villains, and those who could not defend themselves. Branwen…Heather Potter loved all of those and would have and had sacrificed herself to protect them.
…For the first time, Branwen found something to love about herself.
She continued deeper and deeper into her essence and spirit before she finally came to the center of who she was—her Soul. It was beautiful. Though her Heart was still scarred, her Soul was flawless and seemed wrought of only the purest gold that had been rendered into formless and shapeless mist. Within this, she Saw the Shards of Sorrow and beheld them for the first time.
Branwen Saw each in turn and then all together and Knew them for what they were.
The Shard of Power in her Voice was the Ruby of Valorous Flames, the Shard of Unknowing in her Veil was the Diamond of Exquisite Waters, and the Shard of Knowing in her Sight was the Sapphire of Graceful Winds. The very souls of the elements were bound in these ephemeral forms by a web that appeared like strands of mithril—the Strength of Vigorous Earth.
Branwen Knew that these had been forged, but not by Mortal or even Immortal hands—these could have only been crafted by gods. There was no sorrow or Death to be found within these Jewels of Bliss and that they had been called the Shards of Sorrow was a disservice.
These were not born of Death and Undeath but of Life and Rebirth.
Branwen was not Deathless…she was overflowing with Life. She was no Master of Death to usher in the Decay of Autumn and Death of Winter. She was a Mistress of Life to bring forth the Renewal of Spring and Fullness of Summer.
She could not have accepted the Shards of Sorrow because the Shards of Sorrow only existed so long as she refused to accept them. She would no longer bear a Mantle of Athanasy but take up the Regalia of Renascence. The Jewels of Bliss heard her call and Branwen felt the bonds between them and each other.
The bindings were, at first, as thin as gossamer thread and then wound thicker and stronger, waxing eternally in potency so that they could be likened to adamantine cables. The strength of the Jewels flowed within her and, through them, the Wyld flooded her body. There was no mistaking the sweet ecstasy of Magic that now coursed through her veins like blood as it had previously on Earth.
Branwen Knew that her work was done and began to rise upward—through Soul, Core, Memory, and Heart. She Saw that the scars of her Heart were now thin and healed. Branwen Knew who she was and had begun to accept herself, finally, and she would be ashamed no longer.
She would strive to love herself for she Knew what made her worthy of it—Boundless Love.
Branwen came back to herself as she stared into the mirror that she crafted and breathed in the air around her. Everything seemed so much…more—vibrant, colorful, potent, alive. The air seemed to caress her with gentleness and the stone spoke to her ears. The Living Earth and its hands—the elements—felt as if it meant to embrace her.
Branwen stood, feeling strangely but pleasantly, light. Her footsteps made no sound as she walked to the slit window in the quarters that looked out. She Saw the host of Orcs and Wild Men still lay at the gates and the Eastern sky was silver with the approaching dawn even as the Shadow of Sauron and Saruman laid heavy here. She could see the features of each individual in the host of Orcs and Men and thought it would be a simple matter to count them so long as they stopped moving about so much.
Then, she Heard the Living Earth crying—this host, under the Shadow of two that were astray, was an abomination and against all that was good and whole. In the voices and cries of the servants of Saruman, she heard only Darkness and she Knew them for what they were.
Branwen also Knew what she was capable of now.
No more of the Men of Rohan, good and true, would go to Death today at the hands of the Host of Isengard. She was a Witch, once known by many names. Though the Jewels of Bliss and Regalia of Renascence was that of Life and Rebirth, Light could be just as terrible as Darkness. Light was not insidious or cunning, rather it burned and held back nothing to vanquish Shadow where it was found.
Branwen walked back to her sword and picked it up. With a whisper, she summoned water and it came through and scrubbed her hair, skin, clothing, and sword free of encrusted blood and muck before it turned all into vapor again.
She drew her Veil about her, shielding her from sight, as she followed the rumbling of the Living Earth and stone to where she knew that the others had gathered.
It was time.
҉
Aragorn stood on the battlement above the Gates of the Hornburg alone. In the courtyard below, just inside the gates, the others were gathered and finishing their last preparations to ride out one last time. The Eastern sky was silver with the coming of dawn and Aragorn was ready to see it once more as they crashed into the dark host below.
The clouds above were still black but had great rents in it now. It appeared the fell magic of the Enemy was near spent. Below, the Host of Isengard writhed together in hungry anticipation. They seemed as great as they had in utter blackness of night and, even now, they howled up at him with jeers and cruel threats.
One of the largest Uruks, a captain it seemed, had a particularly obnoxious and loud voice. He spoke loudly enough that it carried up to Aragorn and seemed to make the ranks around him to quiet a bit so that Aragorn might answer if he wished.
The large Uruk taunted, "Come down, pinkskin! Bring out your king! We are the fighting Uruk-hai! We will drag him from his hole, if he does not come! Bring out your skulking king!"
The other Uruks and the Wild Men howled in approval and Aragorn declared, his voice frosty as he beheld the host that had caused him lay Branwen's still corpse on cold stone, "The king stays or comes at his own will."
The captain sneered, "Then what are you doing here!? All others have fled within to await our coming! Why do you look out!? Do you wish to see the greatness of our army! WE ARE THE FIGHTING URUK-HAI!"
The Uruks roared again in approval and Aragorn answered, "I have not come to see you filthy wretches. I have come to gaze upon the Morningstar and the dawn to come."
"What of the dawn!? We are the Uruk-hai! We do not stop the fight for night or day, for fair weather or for storm! We come to KILL! By sun or moon! WHAT OF THE DAWN!?"
Aragorn answered, his voice carried farther despite its evenness, "None knows what the new day shall bring him… Be warned that you had ignited a righteous fury that will not be quenched."
Aragorn had nothing else to say as he turned away from the rampart and went back down to the courtyard to join the others. He had seen the Morningstar there in the East, bright and powerful, and felt peace within himself for the wrath he planned to unleash.
Down in the courtyard, he swung up onto Hasufel, next to Théoden and Legolas. There had been some small stores of blasting fire in the Hornburg and the men were now placing the containers of it on the ruined Gate to be blown open to herald their charge. The Gate of the Hornburg was impassable otherwise, as it had been so heavily barricaded with wooden beams and large stones. Even so, the Wild Men and Uruks pounded against it.
Now, the Riders simply waited for the dawn and the blast of the Horn of Helm the Hammerhand.
Aragorn drew Andúril, its white light leapt up again, as Théoden King's voice rang out to the men that rode with them and would follow behind them. The king declared, "The Horn of Helm the Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep one last time! Let this be the hour when we draw swords together! Fell deeds awake! Now for wrath, now for ruin, and the red dawn that awaits!"
They raised their voices together and, any second, the Horn of Helm's Deep should sound. Instead, it was a Voice like thunder that shook the stones and bent the air before its echo.
"No others shall come to Death today at the hands of the servants of the Shadow."
Aragorn's sword dropped to his side and tears sprung anew. In front of them, Branwen had appeared from thin air with her sword in her hand, wearing no armor, and her raven curls unbound. Her face was like the moon and shined with light as did the white of her tunic. She appeared to his eyes alike to Gandalf.
His voice asked what his mind dared to hope, "…Branwen…?"
Her eyes found him and she smiled. He nearly leapt from the saddle to embrace her with joy, but something in her look stopped him. She declared, "Théoden King, you may have your charge…but you shall follow me… Also…I apologize in advanced…for Light can be as terrifying as Shadow."
Still facing them, Branwen's eyes became like stars in her face, a glowing jewel in the hollow of the base of her throat, and a veil over her ebon curls and a dress like twilight covered her as bride of the night. Before he could comprehend what he saw, before their eyes, she began to change again—her veil and cloak became akin to liquid moonlight and she cast no shadow in the courtyard. The jewel in her throat appeared now as a burning star. Her face shone like the sun and her eyes were filled only with emerald light and there no white or pupil to be seen. The elfstone in her mithril circlet had become just as bright and appeared almost as a third eye.
The men and horses seemed torn between awe and terror at the Bride of Light before them. Her Voice echoed louder than before and seemed to touch his Heart as she commanded, "Be not afraid! For I have awakened as Gandalf had said—through Time and Death, I have come and I shall use this power for Freedom and to burn away the Shadow that has plagued Middle Earth and Arda. Let courage fill your hearts and strengthen your sword arms!"
And Aragorn did feel stronger, lighter, and courageous. Legolas rose his voice in song, crying out with joy, and Aragorn would have joined him if he were able to comprehend words other than Branwen's in that moment.
Branwen turned to the Gates and commanded, "Step away, all who values their lives. The dawn is preceded by the Morningstar that is a herald of Light and Flame!"
She raised her hand toward the Gates, heedless of the blasting fire already there, and incanted, "Howling Flame!"
It was an explosion of azure flame and Aragorn felt the heat of it even from this distance. His vision was filled with stars from the flash but the Gates before them were gone! The ramp beyond was a hellish place of blue fire and the screams of the Uruks and Wild Men that were ablaze were horrifying. However, most of them on the ramp had seemed reduced to ash before they had known what had come over them. The entire length of the ramp and some distance beyond over the earth was burning.
Aragorn watched with an open mouth as there was a strong breeze then that pulsed away from Branwen…and she rose into the air like a feather as her feet left the ground. She soared above the courtyard like the moon and looked out upon the Host of Isengard.
Her Voice boomed outward as it echoed back and forth against the walls of the gorge, "Servants of Saruman and Sauron, heed my words! You shall find no mercy just as you have shown none! No one shall be spared! Flee while you may! I cast down the Shadow of Isengard and the Shadow of Mordor with the Light of Anaróriel!"
Her form blazed with Light even more fierce than Gandalf or Glorfindel and the Host of Isengard cried out with great fear. The dim light on the East seemed suddenly so much stronger and the black clouds above lightened to stormy grey. Aragorn felt in his heart a powerful courage rise up like a flood and he saw it reflected in the eyes of every man there.
Branwen raised her hand to the cloud above and commanded, "Stormhammer!"
Bolts of lightning fell and forked downward onto the servants of Shadow and, where it struck, it exploded outward with blue fire. There were many cries and howls of pain and fear. All of this, they could see through the broken gates that were still choked by azure flame. Branwen then fell from the air and landed lightly on her feet as any Elf might. She was no longer Veiled with Light and appeared as she would normally, but her eyes were brighter and her face still seemed to shimmer. With a dash and spring, she had mounted Hasufel behind him.
He felt warmth as her arm wound around his middle. She pointed forward her saber and the azure flame died in front as Branwen ordered, "Forth, Riders of Rohan!"
Altogether, they cried out, "FORTH, EORLINGAS!"
It was a morning and a charge that would go down in song and history as the Horn of Helm the Hammerhand sounded, blasting from the Deep and echoing endlessly on the canyon walls, as the dawn broke open onto the valley as they came out of the Gates of the Hornburg. Théoden rode forth on his white horse with golden shield and bright spear in hand. In Aragorn's fist, Andúril seemed to be glow like tongue of white flame and Uruks and Wild Men fled in crazed fear.
Andúril cleaved through flesh and bone as easily as fresh butter and Cýron seemed the same. Branwen cast lightning and crimson flame as easily as she breathed. Before them, none could stand and their foes howled in terror as they fled. Behind them, came the other riders and then the soldiers of Rohan spilling forth from the Hornburg and the caves.
The Wild Men and Uruks flew in panic back over the Dike and to flee out of the valley itself. Past the Dike, the scenery had changed though. A forest had sprung up overnight that stretched from North wall to South wall of the valley. Before he could wonder, Branwen declared, "It's the trees of Fangorn Forest! The Wyld of Fangorn even now devours the Shadow of Saruman and Mordor! Drive the Uruks and Wild Men within!"
Aragorn's attention was then drawn by the sound of many horns. There, upon the ridge leading down steeply into the valley, was Gandalf on Shadowfax. He shined nearly as brightly as Branwen had herself earlier and a thousand spearmen came pouring down after him with a tall man bearing a red shield in the lead. Aragorn heard some of the riders cry out, "Erkenbrand!"
Himself, Aragorn proclaimed, "Behold the White Rider! Gandalf is come again!"
Aragorn felt Branwen's arm slip from off his waist. She jumped up to stand on Hasufel's hind as if she weighed no more than an errant leaf. At once, she was a Herald of Light again and her Light joined Gandalf's so that the valley appeared as if it were midday.
The Light of Anaróriel and Gandalf broke the spirits of the Host of Isengard and they fled into the twilight beneath the trees of Fangorn. There was a great cry that came up in victory as three thousand had routed ten thousand and they drew to a halt in their triumph.
Branwen came back to her mortal form and lightly plopped back down like a feather behind Aragorn. With not a word, Aragorn sheathed his sword and twisted in the saddle. He wrapped his arms around her small form and brought her into his lap to embrace her fully as tears of joy came down his face.
He could only whisper into her hair, "…I thought I had lost you…"
She relaxed in his grip and replied with a content voice that eased his heart, "I am here for you, Estel. Always."
҉
Branwen, as tempted as she was to allow Aragorn to hold her as long as he willed, knew there were things to be done, comrades to check on, and news to be shared. Gently, she separated his arms and slid out to land on her feet on the ground below. If she had any doubts that her transformation into an Elf was complete with her acceptance of the Jewels of Bliss, she had cleared them away when she had alighted onto her feet with ease on Hasufel's moving back.
Her vision was far greater as well and saw Éomer, Old Man Gamling, and Gimli running out over the Dike towards them. Gandalf was so vibrant as he approached them that she needed no Elf-eyes to see him. Branwen heard light footsteps behind her and she was suddenly swung about with joyous laughter from her assailer—it was Legolas.
He cried, "Lady Branwen! You live though surely I had heard Life leave you! What a happy and joyous day in the face of darkness that I had thought it to be!"
Branwen laughed as she came back to her feet and replied, "As I stated, I have come as Gandalf said I would. And I am not here for a time—I am here for as long as the stars remain."
Théoden looked at her also with wide-eyes and said, "I had thought you a phantom at first, come to wreak vengeance on those who had slain you, and yet, here you stand living and breathing! How has such a miracle come?"
Gandalf had arrived by then and smiled broadly at her, "So…the Shards of Sorrow are no more and now you bear the Jewels of Bliss."
Feeling far too light now that the pain of the past seemed to be floating away behind her to be left where it should have been, Branwen could only laugh, "You old goat! I had sworn to myself before this change that I would pluck every hair from your beard one at a time until you gave up all your secrets! However, my dear friend Gilraen gave me the courage to do what I knew that I must."
Gandalf laughed at her threat as Aragorn asked with wonder, "My mother?"
Branwen looked at his face and she could no longer even pretend to deny the love that filled her heart. Though, she would not act on it in respect to her sister, who she still did not begrudge, it was there and as powerful as the sun. She answered, "Yes… I crossed through the dark tide of Death and came to the endless plain of white flowers. There we spoke and she did as she has always done in our friendship—voiced the truth that I did not wish to hear. She forgave me as well for hiding that which I did not reveal to her… Though there will still be scars to soothe, I have faced myself, finally, and I have seen the fullness of the Truth of myself. My Heart is no longer so broken. I have forged the bonds between myself and the Shards…the Jewels of Bliss. I now wield my own Light as surely as Gandalf, Glorfindel, and Galadriel."
Branwen could See it now. It was the silver of the Morningstar and the dawn before the sun breaks over the horizon. She saw how it had stoked the fires in the Hearts of those around her and burned up the Shadow of Saruman and Sauron. She thought it likely because of distance and how spent the Shadows already were, but she had felt some pride at how quickly they had been exercised.
They were soon joined by others, including Lord Erkenbrand who was greeted joyously by Théoden. All around them, the Men of Rohan cheered, laughed, and cried. There was then a shout and Branwen looked back to see Gimli, Gamling, and Éomer had reached them.
Gimli ran to meet them first. The Dwarf's helm had disappeared at some point and he now wore a linen bandage around his head that showed evidence of an injury, but he was in delightful spirits as he declared to Legolas, "Forty-two, Master Legolas! Regrettably, my axe is now notched! The forty-second had an iron collar on his neck. How is it with you?"
Branwen laughed at the Dwarf's one-track mind as Legolas answered, seeming to happy to care, "You have passed my score by one! But I do not grudge you the game, so glad am I to see you and Lady Branwen on your legs!"
Gimli looked at her and then seemed to notice the bloodstain from her left breast and his face went white, "Are you injured, my lady!?"
Branwen smiled, "Fear not, Master Dwarf! I have recovered remarkably. When we have a moment, let me take a look at that wound so that I might heal you."
Legolas laughed, "Yes, that is one way to say it! In any case, Gimli, I do believe Branwen has us both beaten! Just in this final charge, I think she slayed nearly a hundred or more! It was impossible to tell."
Gimli gaped, but before he could ask, Éomer reached them and Théoden greeted with delight, "Welcome, Éomer, sister-son! Now that I see you safe, I am glad indeed!"
Éomer wore a smile bright enough to light up the dark of Moria, "Hail, Lord of the Mark! The dark night has passed and day has come again! But the day has brought strange tidings."
His eyes went to Gandalf, "Once more you come in an hour of need, unlooked for!"
Gandalf chuckled, "Unlooked for? I said that I would return and meet you here!"
Éomer contested, "But you did not name the hour nor foretell the manner of your coming! Strange help you bring. You are mighty in wizardry, Gandalf the White! Was it you that I had heard, as if the heavens sounded their own mighty horns?"
Gandalf shook his head with amusement, "No, friend Éomer. I have not yet shown my skill in wizardry—only gave good counsel in peril and made use of the speed of Shadowfax. The stout legs of the Men of Westfold with Lord Erkenbrand marching through the night and your own valor has done more… I do believe that we missed the entrance of the Morningstar into her full glory. I saw it just before we had come over the ridge—a great light reflecting off the clouds and it vanquished the Shadow of Sauron above then followed by a rain of lightning."
Gandalf looked at her and Éomer gaze turned. He too then saw the great stain of blood from where her heart had been pierced and looked aghast but then confused as she appeared hale and whole. Branwen asked Gandalf, not willing to explain all at this time, "Was it you that summoned the trees of Fangorn? I had thought they might have the ability to move, but this far exceeded my expectations!"
The others looked at the forest as well and Gandalf laughed loudly, "The trees? No, that is no deed of mine! It is a thing beyond the counsel of the wise. Better than my design and better even than my hope the event has proved!"
Théoden asked, "If it was not Lady Branwen nor you, Gandalf, whose wizardry is it? Not Saruman's, that is plain. Is there some mightier sage than you or the lady that summoned lightning and blue fire from heavens?"
Gandalf answered, "It is not wizardry, but a power far older—a power that walked the earth, before Elf sang or hammer rang.
Ere iron was found or tree was hewn,
When young was mountain under moon;
Ere ring was made, or wrought was woe,
It walked the forests long ago."
Branwen chuckled as the answer was clear to her even as Théoden asked, "And what may be the answer to your riddle?"
Gandalf looked at her, seeming happy that she had guessed his riddle, but he was one for theatrics and mischief and said, "If you would learn that, you should come with me to Isengard."
Many voices rose up together, "To Isengard?"
Gandalf nodded, "Yes. I shall return to Isengard and those who will may come with me. There, we may see strange things."
Branwen began to put the pieces together as the Living Earth beneath her spoke of trees.
Théoden replied, "But there are not men enough in the Mark, not if there were all gathered together and healed of wounds and weariness, to assault the stronghold of Saruman."
Gandalf did not speak of the likelihood that Saruman was already under assault and, maybe, even already defeated. Instead, the Wizard declared, "Nevertheless, to Isengard I go. I shall not stay there long. My way lies now Eastward. Look for me in Edoras, before the waning of the moon!"
Théoden shook his head, "No! In the dark hour before dawn, I doubted, but we will not part now. I will come with you, if that is your counsel."
The Wizard nodded, "I wish to speak with Saruman, as soon as may be now, and since he has done you great injury, it would be fitting if you were there. But how soon and how swiftly will your ride?"
"My men are weary with battle and I am weary also. For I have ridden far and slept little. Regrettably, my old age is not feinted nor due only to the whisperings of Wormtongue. It is an ill that no leech can wholly cure, not even Gandalf."
Gandalf said, "Then let all who are to ride with me rest now. We will journey under the shadow of evening. It is as well—for it is my counsel that all our comings and goings should be as secret as may be, henceforth. But do not command many men to go with you, Théoden. We go to a parley, not to a fight."
Théoden accepted the advice and began to order messengers from those that were not weary onto fast horses to deliver news across Rohan of the great victory and to summon more men to Edoras for the coming task that was left unsaid by Gandalf after the parley with Saruman. The king picked near two dozen to ride with him from his household, but no more.
Branwen could only marvel at the sense of peace within her now. She had so long been at war with herself, to feel none within was simply…wonderful.
҉
Éomer watched with awe as Lady Branwen leapt up onto the saddle behind Aragorn with the ease of a hare that weighed as little as a mote of dust. She had not seemed so very elegant or effortless even just a handful of hours before when she danced through Uruks and Wild Men with savage grace. His eyes again went to the deep and large stain of blood on her tunic and the flutter of the opening over the inside of her left breast. It appeared, to his experience, as if she had been stabbed in the heart and yet, she sat her alive and well.
They began to return to the Hornburg to rest and recover for the planned ride of Isengard that evening. Éomer noticed that Aragorn seemed to be glancing back at Branwen at least once every moment or so, as if he were afraid she might vanish.
Finally, his curiosity could be held back no longer, and he asked, "Lady Branwen, what happened to you? It seems that you sustained a terrible injury, but you seem well to me. And what was it that Gandalf spoke of regarding your 'full glory', as he said?"
Aragorn looked at him with an unreadable expression but Branwen did not seem concerned. She smiled and explained, "For many decades, I had thought myself cursed with some very powerful artifacts that have dwelt within my Soul—the Shards of Sorrow, as they were first told to me. Though it may seem fanciful to you, they have not allowed me to truly die and I come back to my body once they have healed me. I was stabbed through the heart by an Uruk as we fled into the Hornburg. It was a short time before I returned and I had a conversation with a dear friend who has passed into Death some years before. With her encouragement, I faced the Shards of Sorrow and found them to be unlike what I had thought. It was what my grandmother, Lady Galadriel, had told me—I must master myself and so I have done that."
Éomer's mouth was open. Someone who could not die and speak with the Dead? He was unsure if that was a blessing or a curse. Aragorn's face was stony as Branwen had spoken of her being slain. Branwen seemed to allow Éomer a moment to process, along with the others as well. It seemed to him that this was the first time Legolas or Gimli was told this either.
Branwen continued after a moment, "I have only ever spoken of this to few individuals before but, seeing as Legolas, Théoden, and the Valar knows how many others saw me dead, it seems silly to attempt to try and sweep it away from those most likely to understand me. The rest shall dwell in ignorance, I think…
When these Shards originally came to me, they granted me great power and abilities—including my Sight of Knowing. For decades, I have feared to See into my own self as I had caught a glimpse of it before and…it devastated me for many years. But, I finally braved myself, and I have come to understand the Shards of Sorrow. I do not know who or what crafted them, but they are phantom Jewels of Fire, Water, and Wind bound by the Strength of Earth. I Know them now as the Jewels of Bliss overflowing with Life from the Living Earth. I was not cursed with Undeath, I was blessed with Boundless Life… Someday, I hope to understand them more fully, but, for now, this is enough. I have recovered the magical strength of my prime and grown even greater…"
Legolas laughed aloud at this and said, "Yes, friend Éomer and Gimli! You are unlucky to have missed her return! We had left her in Théoden King's quarters and, as we readied the charge, she appeared before us as if from the wind! She was suddenly clad in Light. Lady Branwen was both beautiful and terrible, but her Voice and Light filled my heart with courage that I have scarcely felt before! With a word, she broke the Gates of the Hornburg with blue fire that consumed all Uruks and Wild Men that had stood on the ramp!
Then, she rose into the air like a bird and ordered the host to flee before she declared the Shadows of Saruman and Sauron cast down in her Light! She appeared like the sun for moment before she called down lightning from the clouds that burst into azure flame where it struck the host! She then came back down from the air and ordered the charge!"
Éomer stared at her with open-mouthed awe. There were no words to describe what he was feeling. It sounded simply too fantastic to be believed and yet, Aragorn did not dispute Legolas' words and Branwen seemed only to be blushing lightly, as if she was embarrassed.
She said, "…I may have been a little too passionate after coming to terms with myself… I was rather weary of the Host of Isengard and these damnable Shadows. I am glad to have a means of fighting them now so that I do not have to bear them any longer!"
Legolas smiled, "You did say once that you might one day have your own Light like Lady Galadriel."
Branwen snorted, "I did not think it to be so soon."
Eventually, they arrived back in the Hornburg and the horses were taken aside. Branwen sat down with Gimli and sang a quiet song that filled the air with golden light and warmed his heart. However, Éomer was far more concerned with Aragorn. He appeared greatly disheartened. Away from the others, Éomer asked, "Aragorn, what is it that troubles you?"
The man looked at him with grey eyes and bowed his head in silence. Éomer thought that he would not reply before Aragorn then did speak, "…Branwen was pierced to protect me… I stumbled on the stair and the blow she took to the heart was to save me… I…have known of this curse she spoke of and that she could not die, but I have not ever seen it and I did not know how it might work. As I held her in my arms and her body died, I doubted and thought that she was lost finally—her curse broken by means unknown… I have never been so agonized, fearful, and furious before in my life… If not for me, she would not have had to suffer that."
Éomer sighed, understanding now, "Aragorn, she is not gone. She is returned and you should be joyous for it! I cannot imagine the agony that you felt holding…pardon me if I presume, holding the woman you love as she died."
Aragorn, if anything, appeared in even greater turmoil. He spoke after a moment, his voice whisper quiet, "…I…I would not admit to that… I am pledged to her sister, Lady Arwen."
Oh…
Éomer placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, unsure of how to counsel him, and said, "…I would say, be happy that Branwen is returned hale and whole. We have not only Saruman to consider but then the Black Lands after… Be glad that you do not need to bear news of her death back to her family."
Aragorn looked at him with sudden clarity. He nodded slowly and took a deep breathe and released. He gave Éomer look of assurance and Éomer saw his heart had been steadied for now. Aragorn replied, "You are correct. Thank you for your wisdom. Indeed, Saruman comes first…and then, I fear, that the Lord of Mordor shall strike in earnest before the year is even half gone… Indeed, I am glad that I do not have to bear such news back to her father, her brothers, and her sister."
And Éomer felt his concerns ease as Aragorn seemed to set himself straight now…or appeared to. He did not doubt that it was still troubling him, but Éomer recognized the man knew how to sort his priorities.
Concerns of a conflicted heart could come after the defeat of the enemies before them.
҉
Aragorn entered the private room that he had been allowed up in the heights of the tower of the Hornburg. All of their party had been allowed such to recover before the ride this evening. Branwen had been given some new clothes to replace her blood-soaked ones; especially her tunic, as the flash of pale skin through the hole where she had been pierced had caught a number of eyes. She had left her pack in Edoras and so did not have a change of clothing. Her mail had also been removed from Théoden's quarters and was being quickly repaired.
Aragorn rinsed and scrubbed as well as he could with the bucket of cool water that had been brought up for him. Black Orc blood and red Mannish blood was all over him from the night's battle. He had to push out of his mind that much of the red blood was Branwen's. After cleaning, he felt much better and laid down to sleep.
Though he was exhausted, his mind seemed frantic still.
It was hard to comprehend that he had held Branwen as she died in his arms and, yet, she was now back as if she had never been struck at all. He had known as she had claimed as such, but it was different than seeing it and experiencing it. Aragorn might have even been simply overjoyed at her return like Legolas if it had not been Aragorn's fault that she had been struck and that he loved her.
He had come disturbingly close to admitting to Éomer that he loved Branwen. To none, would he let those words pass his lips. However, in his wildest fantasies, he often remembered Arwen's words to him. That she could have said what she had at all seemed more like a dream that he had and, often, he wondered if he had imagined it.
However, even if Arwen should accept it, that spoke nothing of others—especially Elrond. That did not even speak of Branwen's own feelings. He knew that she cared for him greatly as a friend and companion, but Aragorn did not dare to assume she might feel the same for him as he had for her. It was just so difficult for him as they had built up great trust and a powerful bond as only comrades-in-arms could and, at times, he would nearly forget himself.
He certainly had today when he grabbed her and pulled her into his lap to hold her. Aragorn had not cared what anyone thought either. It was not until after he realized how that might look. Also, he was now acutely aware that he had not denied his affections to either Théoden or Legolas when Branwen was still lying cold. Aragorn was unsure if his and Arwen's troth of future marriage had yet been made knowledge among the Elves, as though they had not hidden it nor had Elrond, the news had not exactly been announced. Aragorn could imagine how it might look to the Elf regardless—the Elfstone that Galadriel had passed to him from Arwen was pinned to his left breast even as Aragorn had wept over the dead body of her younger sister and did not deny affections that Théoden so clearly had identified.
…However, Éomer was right…there were more pressing concerns at the present and, more than anything, Aragorn was overjoyed that Branwen had come back—not only to mend the rend in his own heart but so that he did not have to bear such evil tidings back to Imladris. Thoughts of scandal and matters of the heart could be pushed to the side.
With that thought, his mind settled and he fell into an exhausted sleep.
҉
As she laid in the bed of her private room, Branwen found that sleep did not come as she had previously experienced it. Rather, it was as if thoughts and waking dream came together. She felt her body and mind resting, but it was not the unconsciousness of Men. Rather, Branwen felt she was still very much aware of all around her. The whispers of the Living Earth filled her and she Knew all that happened in her vicinity despite her closed eyes.
It was by far the most intensive and deepest meditative state she had ever entered, and, in a way, it was even more restful than sleep had been.
The state allowed Branwen to sort through and process her thoughts. Earlier, she had hesitated for only the smallest pause before she had so readily shared the curse she had borne. Oddly, she felt none of the shame previously associated with it. Her only shame now centered around the actions she committed in her madness from thirty-five until eighty years of age. That, she would not share easily.
The Shards of Sorrow…the Jewels of Bliss, she felt no need to hide any longer. Branwen would not announce that she was completely immortal, as her body was bound to the Living Earth itself by the way of the Jewels, but she did not feel that shame anymore. As Gilraen had told her, the sorrow for which the Jewels had been forged was not her sorrow.
Having Seen so much of who she was though, it allowed her to understand a great deal more of her actions and thoughts. Branwen understood that she did not feel worthy of love—not familial or romantic—and that was not healthy of her. That did not stop her from feeling unworthy, but it allowed her to begin to correct that.
Branwen told herself what Gilraen, Arwen, and Elrond had all told her in some way or fashion—'I am worthy of love.'
Would telling herself that once fix her and magic away her self-loathing? No. But it would be a start. Her Sight had not only put a magnifying glass on her flaws, but it also had done the same to what was good within her. And Branwen had found far more good than she had ever thought was possible.
'I am not broken—I am hurt, but I will heal.'
And did thinking that to herself and believing that not feel like screaming aloud from the rooftops and seeing the sun for the first time.
Branwen desired nothing more than to go and be held then—in joy, in relief, and in fear of the unknown that loomed before her. She thought fondly of Aragorn and her waking dreams allowed her to imagine it far too easy, but she stirred that away. More than anything, she wished that Arwen was here.
Branwen imagined her sister might be proud of her and she only wanted to tell Arwen how much she loved her and how it had been her love, Gilraen's encouragement, and the desire to protect Aragorn that had given her the courage that she could not find in herself for so very long.
҉
Branwen came awake out of her meditative dream-trance some time in the mid-afternoon and felt greatly rested. She dressed in some clothing that had been gifted to her—the tunic and breeches had both been too baggy but, with some patience and some transfiguration, they were like a tailored fit. Now, if that was not wonderful to have access to simple transfigurations again and her other spells, Branwen did not know what.
Wards, enchantments, and all else was now open to her again and Branwen imagined they would even be a great deal stronger now that she could freely draw upon the Jewels and the Wyld from the Living Earth. She was still unsure how this connection functioned but imagined that this was similar to what Gandalf had said of a Wizard's staff—her essence was bound to the Great Song and the Rhythm of Arda.
She found her mail had also been lain out in the hallway. With only a handful of quick links, the mail had been repaired easily—though the line of Rohirrim steel links was a bit dull and obvious in the bright Gondorian chain. None the less, she placed it back on with her helm, belt, sword, and knife.
Besides the repair of her mail, it was as if she had not even gone through a battle at all.
Coming out from the tower of the Hornburg, she found whispers and glances followed her as she went. Branwen put it out of mind and paid them no heed. She had proven herself and these seemed closer to looks of admiration than fear or dislike. She could deal with it.
What she did find, was that her ability of Knowing had indeed shifted some. Though Branwen knew it was not the same as Arwen's gift—both in aspect and potency—she found that she began to Know some things as she Heard the voices of others. Mostly flickers of emotion, even as she remembered she had Known the darkness in the hearts of the Host of Isengard. Was that because they had been so impassioned? She did not understand for certain, but felt no concern that she would eventually come to comprehend it with time.
Her Sight had become more powerful though as she found the thoughts of others seemed to nearly jump out at her when she made eye contact. Branwen imagined that her other gifts may have become similarly as potent and she would need to feel out these new limits. The Shards of Sorrow had only been shadows of the Jewels of Bliss.
In this way, she learned a few things—the Men of Dunland that had surrendered had been put to work repairing the mess they had caused and digging graves for the Men among the dead; in exchange, they were not put to the sword so long as they swore never to cross South of the Isen again. The Dunlanders had expressed some surprise to the Rohirrim as, allegedly, Saruman had been filling their heads with lies that the Men of Rohan would burn them alive and that they had been doing so to Dunlanders for centuries.
Three great mounds were being raised. Two were just outside the Hornburg—one for the Men of the East Dales of Rohan and the other for the Men of the Westfold of Rohan. Then, below the Dike, the Dunlanders were being allowed to raise a mound for their own dead. Branwen learned also that Háma, the doorwarden, had fallen in the defense and a separate grave was being dug for him just under the Hornburg itself. Branwen felt some sadness for that death. Háma had been a good, if naïve, man and was loyal to his king.
The Orcs had all been piled up not far from the new forest and left to rot as there were simply too many to bury or for a fire, as there was no fuel to be spared and the men did not dare to take axe to the dark woods. Gandalf had instructed them to leave them be and hope that the morning to follow would give them more wisdom on how to deal with the matter.
Branwen saw no reason to do that and found Fléotig in the inner courtyard with Hasufel, Arod, and Snowmane. The stallion was glad to see her and she rest her forehead against his nose for a moment. She whispered, "Come, Fléotig. We shall go cleanse the malice of the Orcs from this valley."
The horse snorted and she leapt up into the saddle with ease. She seemed to weigh nothing to the great stallion, though she had hardly burdened him before. She guided him out and they went out of the broken Gates of the Hornburg. The Dunlanders were busy working and digging and raising the mounds with Rohirrim watchers, but it seemed things were proceeding peacefully.
Passing the Dike and then the Dunlanders burying their own dead, she found the pile of Orcs. It was phenomenally large. Branwen could easily guess near two thousand or more corpses were here in many piles. As she approached, she saw the tall man with the red shield she had learned to be Lord Erkenbrand gathered with some other Rohirrim. He looked up at her approach and his eyes widened a bit. He raised his hand in greeting, "Hail, Lady Anaróriel daughter of Elrond!"
Branwen raised her hand back, "Hail, Lord Erkenbrand of Westfold!"
He asked, looking up at her from the ground, "How may I assist you, Lady Anaróriel?"
Branwen saw the others were staring up at her with some wonder. She said, "I had heard there had been some concerns of what to do with the Orcs."
Erkenbrand sighed and gestured, "Yes, as you can see, there are simply far too many to consider for burial or the pyre… Foul beasts as they may be, we have no wish to let them simply rot and spread their disease and summon carrion beasts."
Branwen nodded as she opened her Sight to look upon the Orcs. They were full of the twisted malice that they carried within themselves. Glancing back to the trees of Fangorn that were a distance away, she Saw they were still agitated within the Wyld—vigilant and full of malice. Yes, there would be no wood gotten from them and these trees were most certainly willing to maim and kill any that thought otherwise.
She said, "If you would like, I can get these corpses burning without use of fuel…if you are not opposed."
Erkenbrand was looking at her with wide eyes again and nodded slowly, "If you would be willing, lady, we would be most grateful! Though their corpses are foul, Orc-ash is as useful as any for turning into the earth."
Branwen thought that was likely because fire cleared away their malice, but she did not think Erkenbrand or any other common Men would understand that observation. Instead, she nodded, "I would not have offered otherwise. If you would, please stand back."
Branwen dropped from Fléotig and nudged the horse with a push of thought to step back with the Men. She thought this might be a good opportunity to see what the Jewels were capable of and what she could do.
Without a single word, a small mote of fire blossomed in her hand that she cast into the pile of corpses in front of her. Feeding it the power from the Jewel of Valorous Flame, it grew large and hot. The control over the blaze was amazing and it was reminiscent of the control over magic she had had back on Earth with a wand. It was less word and motion and far more of intent and desire. She had dared to hope as much this morning after having some time to consider the destruction she had leveled. She thought it likely that she might only require incantations, as she had previously, only when wanting to draw out the full power of the spell.
In short order, the field of Orc corpses was completely in flames and soon the bodies themselves became the fuel. To Branwen, it felt like coming home to her. It had been so long since she had been fighting and pulling on the Shards and the Wyld that, to have the Jewels readily give and channel the Wyld for her, it was like a dream.
Branwen fed air into the fire as she raised the heat of the flame and, after an hour, the field of corpses had been rendered into ash and blackened bone. The men there had stayed present the entire time as they watched their foes rendered into thick black smoke. Satisfied with her work, Branwen allowed the fire to do as it pleased and released it. It stayed clinging to the charred corpses but would go out soon.
Lord Erkenbrand seemed to notice that she had relaxed as he commented, "You have saved us a great deal of time and headache. Thank you, Lady Anaróriel! These ashes and bones can be put to better use now."
Branwen nodded, Seeing that the malice on the Orcs had completely dissipated, "Certainly. I'll be heading back to the Hornburg then… I would stay well away from these trees for now. Hopefully, they shall journey back to where they came from soon."
Erkenbrand nodded gravely, "Yes…there is a fell power within them, I imagine."
Branwen chuckled, easily guessing what they may appear to him, "No, not fell—just untamed. These are trees that have not abided Elves, Men, Dwarves, or any others among them… I think more than anything, they hate Orcs…but, to take an axe to one would likely see them taking bough to you. As I said, hopefully, they shall be on their way soon."
Erkenbrand looked green and agreed, "Yes. Hopefully."
Branwen walked to Fléotig, just a short distance away, and leapt back into the saddle before going back to the Hornburg. At the Gate, she found Gandalf looking out. He regarded her with some mischief and asked, "Took care of the Orcs, did you?"
Branwen nodded, "Yes. Better than letting their malice spread out."
Gandalf hummed in approval, "Yes, I would imagine so… Well, then, have you any questions for me?"
Branwen regarded the Wizard and he looked back at her. She said, "I have a feeling that, even now, there is little that you can tell me. Do you know the crossroads that I am supposed to come to and where the Jewels of Bliss have come from?"
Gandalf chuckled, "You would be correct—there is little I can tell you as I know little myself. I had been made aware that the Shards of Sorrow were to become much greater than they were once you came to know them and accept them. I could easily guess how you might do so, from what I knew of your abilities, but I had hoped to speak with you once the matter of Rohan had passed. I knew that it would be your greatest hurdle…"
Branwen sighed, "You would also be correct… I suppose that I had known the entire time what I might eventually have to do…but I had not wished to acknowledge it. The thought of it was simply too terrifying and painful for me. However, now, I am saddened that I waited so long… There is little use agonizing over it now, though… I do have one question—I have been fighting and pulling on the Shards and the magic of Middle Earth for years and, now, the Jewels give their strength easily, which I expected, but they also channel the Wyld magic to me as well. Does this have to do with them binding me to the Great Song?"
Gandalf laughed, "At times, I forget that you have told me that you are an avid scholar of magic despite your penchant for the more destructive aspects of it! Indeed, you are correct. Had you been able to craft a Wizard's staff, it would have done the same. The Wyld, as you call it, does not acquiesce easily to the casual practitioner. It takes great skill, patience, and talent to bind yourself to the Great Song. It is why there are so few truly skilled magicians in Middle Earth—but those who do exist, are immensely powerful! The Elves have bodies able to withstand binding themselves directly. The Istari, with bodies like Men, simply do not have that option. As it stands, my own body has been…improved a great deal. It is why my power has grown as well, among other reasons."
Branwen hummed in thought, "…Fascinating… I also must report that I seem to have fully transitioned into an Elf now. The difference was sudden after bonding with the Jewels."
"Yes, I had noticed… This falls into speculation, as I was not told this, but I believe that the Jewels have done so, even when they were the Shards, because they would bind you to the Great Song. Your human body likely would not have been able to withstand it and so they changed you. But who can say?"
Branwen snorted, "I still feel like there is more that you know, Gandalf the White, but I am far too happy with the recovery of my magic. I have not felt this way since before I came to Middle Earth… Let me ask one thing, is there anything that you are hiding or unable to say that will put me or any others in danger?"
Gandalf shook his head, "No. There is nothing that I know that would put any in danger."
Branwen sighed, "…Then I have no concerns. I can understand that when there are gods and bindings involved, it might be a bit more difficult."
Gandalf laughed heartedly at this, "If that is not a truth, I do not know what would be!"
Branwen turned Fléotig to continued inside and asked as the stallion continued, "I assume we leave soon to Isengard soon?"
Gandalf called, "Yes, be ready!"