Chapter 27 - Armed
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was recently rereading parts of Tolkien's work pertaining to languages, and I thought I should clarify a few things. It was brought to my attention that the Hobbits speak a form of Westron or the Common Speech, but that there are various differences between the Westron spoken by the men of Gondor and that of the Shire. This explains the different "sound" that the hobbits have when speaking, compared to the more formal tongue of say, Boromir, or Aragorn. Then there is the Rohirric tongue and, of course, the various Elvish dialects. However, I make no pretence at being a linguist (as much as I wish I was) and so if there are inconsistencies in the way my characters speak, I apologise. I decided that I would just look upon Westron as English and disregard the smaller dialects. In the Appendices, Tolkien talks about how a lot of the Shire names (such as Brandybuck, Took, Brandywine, etc.) are peculiar combinations of English words because they are translated out of Westron. The complexity of Tolkien's universe never ceases to baffle me, especially when considering how much effort he put into the languages of his world.
In short, I have simplified/disregarded the complicated language histories and varied dialects because I am unable to properly explain them and place them into my fanfic. It's never going to be a perfect replica of Tolkien (because… well… he's Tolkien) but I thought I'd clarify this and explain my simplification of the linguistics of the books. Big thank you to TMI Fairy for pointing me to Tolkien's writing on these sources; always nice to have another read of the Appendices!
A tall man entered Théoden's pavilion, and Elanor stifled a gasp; for a moment it seemed to her that Boromir stood before her. Then she saw that it was not the case; the man was a stranger, though as like to Boromir as if he were one of his kin, tall and grey-eyed and proud. He was clad as a rider with a cloak of dark green over a coat of fine mail; on the front of his helm was wrought a small silver star. In his hand he bore a single arrow, black-feathered and barbed with steel, but the point was painted red.
He sank on one knee and presented the arrow to Théoden.
"Hail, Lord of the Rohirrim, friend of Gondor!" he said. "Hirgon I am, errand-rider of Denethor, who bring you this token of war. Gondor is in great need. Often the Rohirrim have aided us, but now the Lord Denethor asks for all your strength and all your speed, lest Gondor fall at last."
"The Red Arrow!" said Théoden, holding it, as one who receives a summons long expected and yet dreadful when it comes. His hand trembled. "The Red Arrow has not been seen in the Mark in all my years! Has it indeed come to that? And what does the Lord Denethor reckon that all my strength and all my speed may be?"
"That is best known to yourself, lord," said Hirgon. "But ere long it may well come to pass that Minas Tirith is surrounded, and unless you have the strength to break a siege of many powers, the Lord Denethor bids me say that he judges that the strong arms of the Rohirrim would be better
within his walls than without."
'But he knows that we are a people who fight rather upon horseback and in the open, and that we are also a scattered people and time is needed for the gathering of our Riders. Is it not true, Hirgon, that the Lord of Minas Tirith knows more than he sets in his message? For we are already at war, as you may have seen, and you do not find us all unprepared. Gandalf the Grey has been among us, and even now we are mustering for battle in the East."
"What the Lord Denethor may know or guess of all these things I cannot say," answered Hirgon. "But indeed our case is desperate. My lord does not issue any command to you, he begs you only to remember old friendship and oaths long spoken, and for your own good to do all that you may. It is reported to us that many kings have ridden in from the East to the service of Mordor. From the North to the field of Dagorlad there is skirmish and rumour of war. In the South the Haradrim are moving, and fear has fallen on all our coastlands, so that little help will come to us thence. Make
haste! For it is before the walls of Minas Tirith that the doom of our time will be decided, and if the tide be not stemmed there, then it will flow over all the fair fields of Rohan, and even in this Hold among the hills there shall be no refuge."
"Dark tidings," said Théoden, "yet not all unguessed. But say to Denethor that even if Rohan itself felt no peril, still we would come to his aid. But we have suffered much loss in our battles with Saruman the traitor, and we must still think of our frontier to the north and east, as his own tidings make clear. So great a power as the Dark Lord seems now to wield might well contain us in battle before the City and yet strike with great force across the River away beyond the Gate of Kings.
"But we will speak no longer counsels of prudence. We will come. The weapon take was set for the morrow. When all is ordered we will set out. Ten thousand spears I might have sent riding over the plain to the dismay of your foes. It will be less now, I fear; for I will not leave my strongholds all unguarded. Yet six thousands at the least shall ride behind me. For say to Denethor that in this hour the King of the Mark himself will come down to the land of Gondor, though maybe he will not ride back. But it is a long road, and man and beast must reach the end with strength to fight. A week it may be from tomorrow's morn ere you hear the cry of the Sons of Eorl coming from the North."
"A week!" cried Hirgon, eyes widening. "If it must be so, it must. But you are like to find only ruined walls in seven days from now, unless other help unlooked-for comes. Still, you may at the least disturb the Orcs and Swarthy Men from their feasting in the White Tower."
"At the least we will do that," said Théoden, and when Hirgon spoke of help unlooked-for his eyes flickered to Elanor for a brief second. "But I myself am new-come from battle and long journey, and I will now go to rest. Tarry here this night. Then you shall look on the muster of Rohan and ride away the gladder for the sight, and the swifter for the rest. In the morning counsels are best, and night changes many thoughts."
With that the king stood up, and they all rose, for it was early evening by this time. "Go now each to your rest," he said, "and sleep well. And you, Master Meriadoc, I need no more tonight. But be ready to my call as soon as the Sun is risen."
"I will be ready," said Merry, "even if you bid me ride with you on the Paths of the Dead."
Elanor attempted to suppress a smile; the tiny hobbit's earnestness before the mighty Théoden was so childlike and trusting.
"Speak not words of omen!" said the king, though his voice was kind. "For there may be more roads than one that could bear that name. But I did not say that I would bid you ride with me on any road. Good night!"
With a low bow, Merry exited the pavilion, muttering something under his breath which sounded distinctly like, "I won't be left behind, I won't be left, I won't."
Then Théoden turned to those who remained, and his face was grim and lined. "There is much yet to be done. Éomer, Dúnhere; if you will attend me. Éowyn, sister-daughter, and Elanor of Rivendell, I bid you to seek rest also. Much needs to be done ere the rising of the sun this coming morn, and you have done much already."
Elanor glanced at Éowyn, who's grey eyes sparked with indignation. However, she merely set her chin and gave a curt nod.
Éomer touched his sister's arm then, before departing the tent after Théoden and Dúnhere. Éowyn stood in place for a moment, her fists clenched into tight balls. Elanor sighed wearily, capturing her attention. Éowyn stared at her for a moment, hurt and frustration written on every feature. Realising how little time Elanor had left before the Rohirrim left for war, she moved towards the other woman.
"What say you now, Elanor?" Éowyn said bitterly, turning away from the gentle touch and flinging the hangings aside as they left the pavilion behind and passed out into the cool evening air. "You speak of hope, and yet I see none. My uncle and brother ride to war, and I know well what they shall say; forbidden to depart, and charged with the defence of our lands and people!" Her voice rose in a steady crescendo, and she spat the final words as if they tasted of poison.
Elanor took a deep breath, striding quickly to keep pace with the energetic princess. As Éowyn approached the edge of the Firienfeld, she fell slowly to her knees and began to weep. Her lithe, slender body shook with sobs as her hands dug into the turf.
Lowering herself to the ground, Elanor pulled her knees up and leaned back on her hands. Éowyn continued to cry, and for a long time they sat upon the cold grass. Darkness shrouded the valley of Harrowdale below, and for once the sky was utterly dark. Elanor had grown up in the country, and been accustomed to seeing the stars. Still, the sky above Arda had made her breath catch in her throat the first time she had seen it. In the absence of light pollution, the inky blackness was scattered with a plethora of glittering orbs.
And tonight, everything is dark, she sighed, wrapping her arms around her knees. War is brewing… wait, hang on, could this be the darkness of Mordor? She glanced up at the fathomless void above. If she remembered correctly, the following morning was the "Dawnless Day"; there was every likelihood that the dark clouds had already blotted out the stars above.
After a few minutes, Éowyn took a shuddering breath. In the dim light, Elanor saw her look upwards, her elegant profile damp with glistening tears. She then turned towards Elanor, forcing a watery smile.
"The night is dark, Elanor."
"You know, there was a historian and theologian in my homeland who said 'the darkest hour is just before the dawn'. There is more truth in that statement than one might expect."
"You speak with such assurance, and yet I cannot find it in my heart to believe."
And I'm doing a better job of convincing you than myself! Goodness…
Perhaps it is time to… hint…
Elanor chewed her lip. There was a certain risk in bringing it up, but…
"What will you do, Éowyn?"
"I?"
"Yes. When the men ride out, what will you do?"
Éowyn laughed then, and reached up with one hand to brush the traces of tears from her face.
"Would you like me to speak plainly?"
"Of course," Elanor smiled, feeling as if this was heading in a more hopeful direction.
Éowyn's eyes glinted slightly in the darkness as she turned to face her. "I shall ride."
"I expected as much."
"Indeed?" she replied, looking a little surprised. "You are shrewd and clever, Elanor. And yet I fear I have belied myself! Pray tell, how did you know of my intentions?"
Digging yourself a hole again, Elanor Ravenscroft…
Instead, she shrugged. "I am a woman too. I can understand something of how you feel; seeing my own friends and family riding off to battle is hardly—pleasant. As little as I desire to see war… it makes me… I know why you might wish to ride. From what I understand, you have seen much sorrow already, in tending your uncle. My journey has not been half so hard, for I have encountered a great deal of kindness and been extremely fortunate. As it is… I understand how it is to have those that you love risking their lives when you are forced to remain behind." And as much as I want to, I can't tell you not to love Aragorn right now. You'll figure that one out on your own.
"You know not how comforting it is to hear such words," Éowyn half laughed. "I thank you, Elanor, from the depths of my heart. I take it, then, that you shall not hinder me?"
"Of course not!" And risk the Witch-king surviving? No thanks!
"And will you ride with me?"
Woah there Nelly! Come again?!
"To war?" Elanor's mouth felt drier than cotton wool.
"For glory and renown!" cried Éowyn, seeming more animated than ever. She reached over and clutched Elanor's arm, her voice full of desperate hope. Drawn from the depths of woe, she now seemed like a caricature of herself; painfully eager, and with a half-hearted and forced grin. "Have you had aught training?"
"Éowyn, I cannot!" She shifted upon the grass until she was a facing the Rohirric woman squarely. "You are a shield-maiden, born a daughter of kings with pride and strength. I am… I am a diplomat—of sorts—one who had not wielded a sword until the last half-year! And as I have previously said, my foster-brothers took wagers upon the transience of my survival in an encounter with orcs. I should never survive the battle."
"You should be by my side," Éowyn twinkled.
"No," replied Elanor, emphatically. Then she smiled. "I do believe there is one other whom you might take, however…"
The following morning never came.
Elanor was woken by Éowyn's soft voice from outside her tent. Blinking sleepily, she called for the other woman to come in.
"Théoden King speaks with the errand rider of Gondor," she said, and as Elanor forced her brain to wakefulness she noted that the other woman was clad in a mail hauberk and cloak on top of her usual attire.
"What time is it?"
"Dawn hath come, and yet the sun does not."
The Dawnless Day indeed…
Climbing from the comfort of her furs, Elanor moved to where her outer tunic was draped over a chair. She had slept clad in breeches and shirt. She pulled the blue garment over head, fastening the ties at the collar. Éowyn watched impatiently as Elanor knotted the leather belt about her waist and tugged on her boots, before reaching for the cloak she had carried since Rivendell; a soft article of deep blue, almost black, with a silver fastening at the collar. It breathed of Elrond, and Elanor took a deep breath of cold air to harry away thoughts of comfortable Rivendell.
"Hasten, Elanor, for there is much to be done."
Elanor gave a small smile, following her friend out of the tent with her cloak swathed around her.
As they approached a gathering of tall men, she spied Merry standing in their midst. Many folk were standing, looking up and muttering; all their faces were grey and sad, and some were afraid. With a sinking heart she followed Éowyn towards the king. Hirgon the rider of Gondor was there, and beside him stood now another man, like him and dressed alike, but shorter and broader. Éomer was also present. As the two women approached, they heard Hirgon speaking to the king.
"It comes from Mordor, lord," he said. "It began last night at sunset. From the hills in the Eastfold of your realm I saw it rise and creep across the sky, and all night as I rode it came behind eating up the stars. Now the great cloud hangs over all the land between here and the Mountains of Shadow; and it is deepening. War has already begun."
For a while the king sat silent. At last he spoke. "So we come to it in the end," he said: "the great battle of our time, in which many things shall pass away. But at least there is no longer need for hiding. We will ride the straight way and the open road and with all our speed. The muster shall begin at once, and wait for none that tarry. Have you good store in Minas Tirith? For if we must ride now in all haste, then we must ride light, with but meal and water enough to last us into battle."
"We have very great store long prepared," answered Hirgon. "Ride now as light and as swift as you may!"
'Then call the heralds, Éomer," said Théoden. "Let the Riders be marshalled!"
Éomer departed then, and presently the trumpets rang in the Hold and were answered by many others from below. Dull they seemed and harsh in the heavy air, braying ominously. To Elanor, they proclaimed the coming doom and death.
The king turned to Merry, and Elanor watched nervously. "I am going to war, Master Meriadoc," he said. "In a little while I shall take the road. I release you from my service, but not from my friendship. You shall abide here, and if you will, you shall serve the Lady Éowyn, who will govern the folk in my stead."
"But—but—lord," Merry stammered, "I offered you my sword. I do not want to be parted from you like this, Théoden King. And as all my friends have gone to the battle, I should be ashamed to stay behind."
"But we ride on horses tall and swift," said Théoden; "and great though your heart be, you cannot ride on such beasts."
"Then tie me on to the back of one, or let me hang on a stirrup, or something," cried Merry. "It is a long way to run; but run I shall, if I cannot ride, even if I wear my feet off and arrive weeks too late."
Théoden smiled. "Rather than that I would bear you with me on Snowmane," he said. "But at the least you shall ride with me to Edoras and look on Meduseld; for that way I shall go. So far Stybba can bear you: the great race will not begin till we reach the plains."
Elanor gave Éowyn the faintest of nudges then, and the latter stepped forward. "Come now, Meriadoc!" she said. "I will show you the gear that I have prepared for you."
The hobbit nodded resignedly, and followed the two women away from the others. Elanor fell in on Merry's other side.
"This request only did Aragorn make to me," said Éowyn, as they passed among the tents, "that you should be armed for battle. I have granted it, as I could. For my heart tells me that you will need such gear ere the end."
Now she led the pair to a booth among the lodges of the king's guard; and there an armourer brought out to her a small helm, and a round shield, and other gear.
"No mail we have to fit you," she admitted, "nor any time for the forging of such a hauberk. But here is also a stout jerkin of leather, a belt, and a knife. A sword you have."
Merry bowed, and the lady showed him the shield. It bore the device of a white horse.
"Take these things with you," Éowyn said, "and bear them to good fortune! Farewell now, Master Meriadoc! Yet maybe we shall meet again, you and I." She exchanged a knowing look with Elanor.
Merry turned to her then, his eyes wide. "I shall see you again, before everyone leaves, shan't I Lady Elanor?"
Elanor nodded and tried to look reassuring. "Certainly."
Still seeming reluctant, the hobbit gathered that which had been given to him and departed. At this moment, Éowyn turned to Elanor, keeping her voice low.
"And this promise I made to myself; that I should see you also well-equipped, for if you are to remain behind at Edoras I should not wish to leave you defenceless. You shall be well cared for; I shall speak of you to the keeper of my uncle's house, and he shall give you honour as befits you. As for gear…" She turned, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and the armourer brought forth a second pile of equipment.
Elanor gaped as Éowyn held up various pieces of equipment, including a slim mail hauberk like the one she wore herself.
"Éowyn… I cannot wear this!" she gasped, holding the chain mail and marvelling at it's weight.
"You shall bear it well, for you ride upon Fundanár, and I believe he is more than capable of carrying it." She reached amongst the armour and pulled out a sword. "I know that you speak poorly of your skill with a blade, and yet no other weapon that you are capable of wielding could be found. As it is, this sword is sharp and not unwieldy; may it serve you well."
Elanor surveyed the collection in amazement. It had not occurred to her to seek out any form of equipment. She had never desired any form of armour; even Elrond had agreed that she needed no extra hindrance, for she had her knife, and…
With a smile, Elanor waved the sword away. "These things I will take, but the sword I need not."
"How will you defend yourself?" Éowyn frowned.
"I already have a sword."
Elanor looked down at the scabbard of her Elvish blade, resting upon her knees. It was as light and deadly as she recalled, the scabbard tipped with silver and the hilt elegant without being fussy. The grip melded into her hand, and as she glanced to the other gear Éowyn had provided, the Rohirric armour seemed almost cheap and poorly formed in comparison.
She sighed heavily and placed the sword down upon her camp bed.
All about her tent, she could hear the Rohirrim preparing to ride. Many voices were veined with alarm and discomfort at the growing darkness, something Elanor felt fairly well able to ignore. It was disconcerting without the sun, but it would pass.
If all goes well.
And why shouldn't it?! Everything is on track. Aragorn rides to the Corsair ships, Éowyn is going off to kill the Witch-king with Merry in tow, and Sam and Gimli have… Gimli… well… oh Eru, let all of that be alright!
What will you do now? Wait patiently at Edoras until the peace comes?
No… perhaps I shall ride out once I know the battle is over, so that I can be at Minas Tirith whilst Éowyn is recovering… that would be nice… to see her and Faramir interacting… Boromir will be there too, I suppose. Wait, no, he'll be leading the armies to the Black Gate with Aragorn—if he survives. And I wonder if Denethor…
"Everything is on track" indeed! There's about ten billion things that could go wrong! It's all very well to hope for the best, and to tell that to Éowyn, but goodness woman, you'd better start praying that Eru didn't just send you here to get picked off by orcs!
Elanor covered her face with her hands, willing her thoughts to quiet so she could concentrate. She hated to think what might go wrong were her presence in Middle Earth to distort the chain of events at this crucial time. Were her coming, Frodo's death and subsequent Fellowship changes to throw the world into disarray, she did not know what she would do. Even staying in Edoras would not be safe then.
What would Georgia do?
The unexpected thought startled her.
Her quick, resourceful sister would undoubtedly have had things worked out by this stage. Furthermore, she would be genuinely useful were she faced with a dangerous situation.
All I have done is put Glorfindel in danger by having him save Boromir, stuff the Fellowship over, and encourage Éowyn in her pursuit of glory. How noble.
A tear escaped then, surging down her cheek. Biting her lip viciously, she waited until the threat of threat of emotion had passed. Still, she could not help wishing that Glorfindel or her foster-brothers—or better yet, Elrond—were present to advise her. All she had was the echoing silence of her own consciousness.
Georgia wouldn't play it safe.
That was true enough, and her lip curled wryly at the thought. Georgia had a high sense of loyalty and bravery—much like Éowyn—and this, coupled with a complete lack of self preservation, would have seen her joining the reckless shield-maiden on the Pelennor Fields.
But no, she couldn't. She was poorly equipped, basically hopeless with a blade, and full of paralysing fear. Medicine here was virtually non-existent. If she were to get injured…
I'd better hope Aragorn is wandering around with some athelas!
Of course she would not ride. She had never worn mail before, she had no idea what it was like. Besides, she couldn't kill anything! The closest she'd ever come to killing was crushing huntsmen spiders when they ventured within 5km of her house.
And Fundanár needed rest, naturally. Even the Elf horses couldn't run forever! She would allow him to recuperate in Edoras. Yes, that was wise.
Not to mention she would only hinder Éowyn in killing the Witch-king. It was imperative that that should be successful. What if she fell and the other woman got distracted from her efforts to save Théoden?
Ridiculous…
Elanor stood up.
No harm in donning this stuff anyway, she justified. She tugged a padded leather jerkin like the one Merry had been given over her own tunic, before adding the mail. It lay upon her cot, and she slipped her arms through it's icy folds. Leaning down, she worked her head through the neck hole. When that was done, she stood up, and the mail thumped viciously upon her body, almost beating her to her knees. It was frighteningly heavy, dragging upon her shoulders like she carried twice her usual weight. A thick sword-belt went over the top, as did bracers on her forearms.
Disregarding the helm, she fastened her Elvish blade to her left hip. She hefted the round shield onto her left arm, marvelling at it's weight. Metal rasped on metal as she drew her sword, thankful that the weapon of Rivendell was so light. The rest of her body felt fatigued already under the mass of the hauberk.
Taking up the stance Legolas had taught her, Elanor practiced a few experimental moves. It was vastly different to sparring in a tunic and breeches, but Middle Earth was a hard school. Her muscles had become taut; she was stronger than she had ever been in her life.
Still, you wouldn't have much stamina…
But that was of little import. She was going to Edoras, until she could convince someone else to ride with her to Minas Tirith after the battle had concluded. Yes, Edoras…
Hoping that she didn't look utterly ridiculous, Elanor sheathed her weapon and left the shield leaning against her cot. With a deep breath, she departed the tent, eyes seeking the slightly-longer hair of Éowyn amidst the sea of blondes.
It did not take her long to catch sight of the Lady of Rohan. Éowyn raised an eyebrow when she saw Elanor approach—walking slowly, for her part, as the mail weighed her down considerably. Éowyn tactfully moved several paces away from where several Rohirric lords were conversing, her appraising eye roving up and down Elanor's armour-clad form.
"Do I look foolish?"
Éowyn shook her head seriously. "No indeed. You should pass for a woman of Rohan, as I have said before."
"Good." Elanor shifted uneasily, wishing she hadn't put on the armour. "What now, Éowyn?"
"I am to remain in Dunharrow," the woman replied, a hint of scorn in her voice. "Though this command I shall not heed. Meriadoc goes with my uncle, and I think it best if you accompany him openly, under guise of travelling together. For my part…" She hesitated, fair brow wrinkled in contemplation. "I shall contrive something." Touching Elanor on the shoulder, she gave a faint hint of a smile. "Remain with the halfling."
There on the wide flats beside the noisy river were marshalled in many companies well nigh five and fifty hundreds of Riders fully armed, and many hundreds of other men with spare horses lightly burdened. A single trumpet sounded.
The king raised his hand, and then silently the host of the Mark began to move. Foremost went twelve of the king's household-men, Riders of renown. Then the king followed with Éomer on his right. He had said farewell to Éowyn above in the Hold, and the memory was grievous; but now he turned his mind to the road that lay ahead.
Behind him Merry with Elanor and the errand riders of Gondor, and behind them again twelve more of the king's household. They passed down the long ranks of waiting men with stern and unmoved faces. But when they had come almost to the end of the line one looked up glancing keenly at the hobbit. A young man, Merry thought as he returned the glance, less in height and girth than most. He caught the glint of clear grey eyes; and he watched as the young soldier rode out of sight, for his face was lit with fiercest determination and fire that caused those about him to pale in comparison.
On down the grey road they went beside the Snowbourn rushing on its stones; through the hamlets of Underharrow and Upbourn, where many sad faces of women looked out from dark doors; and so without horn or harp or music of men's voices the great ride into the East began with which the songs of Rohan were busy for many long lives of men thereafter.
From dark Dunharrow in the dim morning
with thane and captain rode Thengel's son:
to Edoras he came, the ancient halls
of the Mark-wardens mist-enshrouded;
golden timbers were in gloom mantled.
Farewell he bade to his free people,
hearth and high-seat, and the hallowed places,
where long he had feasted ere the light faded.
Forth rode the king, fear behind him,
fate before him. Fealty kept he;
oaths he had taken, all fulfilled them.
Forth rode The´oden. Five nights and days
east and onward rode the Eorlingas
through Folde and Fenmarch and the Firienwood,
six thousand spears to Sunlending,
Mundburg the mighty under Mindolluin,
Sea-kings' city in the South-kingdom
foe-beleaguered, fire-encircled.
Doom drove them on. Darkness took them,
horse and horseman; hoofbeats afar
sank into silence: so the songs tell us.
Elanor nibbled apprehensively on her bottom lip. Ahead, on a tiny pony by the name of Stybba rode Merry, looking severely deflated. She had watched as he noticed Éowyn, noting his open admiration at sight of the disguised shieldmaiden. Elanor also found her eyes resting upon the figure of Dernhelm, for in place of hopeless determination "he" wore burning courage and valour.
Think that won't change anything?
…hopefully nothing important…
Desperately praying that Éowyn's brightened outlook wouldn't result in someone's untimely death, Elanor gripped firmly to Fundanár's saddle. According to her last-minute perusal of Rings, they should arrive at Edoras at noon.
And then?
…well… I'm staying!
She gave a deep, disgruntled sigh. The prospect of fate tossing her in harm's way was entirely distasteful, and altogether likely. Thus far she had escaped quite well; the ride south had been uncomfortable but manageable. A battle was entirely another matter.
If you don't, you'll be left on the outskirts of the whole thing!
I can't believe I'm even considering that… I don't want to fight! Heck, I can't fight! And I have loved ones, back home. What happens if you die in Middle Earth, huh? What would happen to my family?
Her fingers bit into her palms as the thoughts faded to silence. It had been many months since she had come to Middle Earth, and a great deal had changed. Likelihood was, she would never see her real family again; she had not ever become fully resigned to the fact, but the odds were against her. That had led her to a begrudging acceptance of Middle Earth and its inhabitants as her home. And yet…
You won't commit yourself to this world..?
No, she smiled ruefully. It's not my…
It's not your cause?
No…
But isn't it? Isn't it really? You've already put yourself in harm's way; at least, you've done the hardest part. You've left your cushy safety net, and you're one step from biting the bullet and doing your bit.
Elanor rolled her eyes skyward, taking in the clinging darkness which shrouded the pale blue somewhere above. The cloud was not like a regular storm cloud, but something which reeked of evil and malice.
Do you think Merry looks at that cloud and wants to go to battle? Do you think he goes toward war expecting to come out the authorised unscathed? No! Merry goes because he wants to do some, small thing for the cause. For the Shire. For his home.
Half-smiling, Elanor steadied Fundanár with her hands as they passed down a slope.
How on earth did I… this is… how… goodness, how did I manage to convince myself that…
Think of Merry.
Elrond would be speechless, Elladan and Elrohir horrified, and Glorfindel positively irate, but she would go. She'd been magically transported to a book universe, rescued by Boromir, adopted by Elrond, travelled with the Grey Company, and befriended Éowyn. She had long passed from the logical to the impossible.
May as well throw my lot in with the others!
It was as if her body was filled with reckless joy, a flooding sensation which poured from the top of her scull to her boot-clad toes. She laughed inwardly, a rash and maniacal cackle which added to her buzz. Something inside her rent it's chains, bounding forth with fevered eagerness. It had taken a change in dimension, leaving Earth behind for a completely new universe, to crack Elanor's defences; no longer a bastion of implacable logic and common sense.
And, as reluctantly as she confessed it, being irrational felt good.
Something deep within her chuckled at this.
Now you know how Georgia feels!
Ok, chapter 27 is there!
I am sorry it's taken so long to update. I've just gotten back to university after a break, and luckily I've only got 6 weeks until I'm on holidays for the summer then anyway (Australia = December summer. Just clarifying haha).
I feel as if this is quite disjointed, and I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. Feel free to offer comment via review or PM if you like. There are definitely some imperfections and I'd appreciate any suggestions you might have. As much as I know it diverts from the "realistic" element, I had to let Elanor ride forth. It's necessary for the forwarding of the plot. If I leave her in Edoras, you're going to end up with a very boring fanfiction. In this case, I've decided to sacrifice realism for the sake of enjoyment and adventure.
Comments on Elanor's thought processes are particularly welcome. I struggled to make it coherent, relevant... She's got so much going on right now (loss of home, loss of new ME family, loss of new friends, apprehension about the future, being stuck between worlds, etc.) and it's hard to capture all of this in one person. It's hard to write all of that, whilst keeping the plot moving and stuff. I really hope it's believable and not irksome to read!
Thanks so much ya'll!
Finwe :)