A/N: Look at who's back! and yeah this time for real tho. As a gift, I also brought this super long chapter so y'all can get tired of this boring old tale.
I know that I said the end of July and it's like the start of October but life caught up in the meantime. I barely had any time to sleep more than four hours a day, much less write a chapter. But it wasn't for nothing people! The good news (For me at least fellas) I got into the Medical university! Woohooooo. So it's like all the hard work paid off and I'm here lazing all day on my much-needed vacation (typing away this ch lol). Okay, enough with my tirade but I wanted to explain why I was so late.
Also about this chapter... It's sort of crazy. I hadn't written a single word for seven months and suddenly (how do I even say this...) I had, sort of, forgotten my style of writing. So I hope y'all stick with it, even if you feel it's sloppy...
Also, old characters making a comeback, yes, please. Ok so these are my favorite characters, so make em your fav too people cuz there gonna be a lot of them. For all those wondering why they're back, well a wise person once said, "Never make a useless character" and they're like the first ones that I made so they're important.
ColdOnePaul: Thank you so much! It's lovely to know that you still enjoy the fanfic :) I hope to see you going forward too! Enjoy!
: One can say that she is with her team, but she does have a LOT of teams, doesn't she? Lol. Also, she is not aware of lotr. But as she is an avid reader so it'll not be that reasonable to have her not know about at least the main characters, so it's like lotr never existed in her world. Which makes it more believable in my eyes. Still, its giid to hear you still enjoying this fic. Stay tuned for future :)
I hope you all enjoy! R&R.
Chapter 26: Chaos.
15th January, T. A. 3019
Meduseld, The home of the Horse-Lords of Rohan
The mid of January dawned with a sudden chill that overtook the empire. The atmosphere had moistened, and the grey dome of the sky spoke of impending gloom, much like which had settled in the houses of Meduseld. Carts creaked across the dirt roads, and although the vendors littered the central market, hardly a word was spoken among the fellows. The men stood stiff and cold, rubbing their hands to rid of the chill that raked their bodies. The houses that had once bespoke good health and splendor now spoke of nothing but the darkness that had overtaken their land, and the people of Rohan: the horse lords known to the world for their strength, agility, and sharpness were weary, and disquietude had overtaken their minds.
The Scilfor wîc, the mansion of the Freemen of Horse Lords (as they were now termed), situated grand and homely in the central lane of nobility behind the walls of the Golden Hall, was unusually quiet in the second quarter of the day. The grey shine illuminated the inside of the master bedroom and the servants bustled about the noble who stood in front of the mirror assessing the work on the tunic. He tugged at the collar, frowning at the work of gold that adorned its length. The gold that had been spent buying such dressings could easily have been used to feed the starving mouths, and he felt as if the stark difference between the clothes that adorned his figure and the garb of the rangers that were hidden in his closet mocked his senses. Yet the Royal courts always demanded appearances and the court of Grima, the worm, thrived on such pretenses and it was his only shot at not being thrown into the dungeons for the danger he posed the snake.
Eohere's companion, the oldest son of Elfhelm, stood appraising the Lord that stood beside him. Despite the humble antics of a ranger that Lord Eohere had embraced all his life, there was royalty that clung to his form and maturity that appeared regal to the company. Now, his eyes, two blue orbs that were usually crinkled in good humor and compassion, were agitated and lined with distress.
Eohere allowed the emotions to linger on his face a moment longer, his hand pushing back the strands of his dirty blond hair, and with a sharp breath, he arranged his expression into one of a commanding nonchalance.
The servant took two steps to the side after buttoning up the last of the tunic and with a bow took his leave, leaving the commander, now clothed in fine robes of royalty, with his previous companion.
Eohere's eyes shifted to the desk, the opened crevices of the letter churning his stomach and his brow furrowed in thought. The knock at the door disrupted his musings and with practiced ease, his troubled look was hidden beneath a mask of indifference.
A boy in his late teens entered after the affirmation. He looked up at the older man with a barely quenched awe. It was with a small raise of the brow that he seemed to be shaken out of his idolization and he bowed deep at the waist,
"Lord Eohere, the King... He," he hesitated and it was the frown on the face of Elfhelm that ushered him to continue. His eyes shifted to the Lord and then fell to the carpet as he spoke the next words, "The King has denied your presence."
With his eyes facing the carpet beneath their feet, he missed the looks of indignation that passed between the two men and left the room after the barest of the signals from the Lord.
Herugrim turned to face Eohere, misery flashing through his troubled gaze, "It is that snake, Grima, I'm sure of it my lord, the king is not in his right mind to deny attendance to a noble and his commander," He said, his voice hiding a sharp edge, only to pause at the sharp look from Eohere, "It is true, my lord, whatever command that comes out of the Golden Hall, it is not made by the king. The whole cavalry is aware of that."
Eohere turned to survey the man beside him, his hands clasping at the back and chin tilted in question.
"Pray do tell, what whispers are raging across the cavalry of the King?" he gritted out, indignation prevalent on his face.
The man hesitated at the edge in Eohere voice but a resolute expression overtook his face and he inclined his head in respect,
"Due all respect, my lord, but you can not fault us for the shadow that has overtaken the halls."
"Yet in this abode, no one shall speak ill of the king. The word travel travels fast Herugrim, and when it travels, it does so with a poison that will destroy the roots that uttered those words" Eohere's voice was firm and austere and his words caused his companion's shoulders to buckle.
"Rohan is falling my Lord," he said, his tone thick with misery and contempt, all of which was directed at something that they both seemed to acknowledge as the trouble, "you should at least keep heed of the concerns of the military."
Eohere's expression softened a fraction and amidst the sophistication of his stance, the walls of nonchalance crumbled, so one could see the old man, the compassionate ranger peeking from behind.
He seemed to consider the words but before he could say something, his companion's stance turned rigid, a look of sheer horror, for a moment prevalent in his expression and he bowed deep at the waist at the new entry in the room.
"Prince Theodred."
Eohere glanced at the Prince, and his dark gaze seemed to convey something to the Lord that their companion couldn't understand.
An amiable smile bloomed on Theodred's face and his words were spoken with a certain amusement lining the deep tone,
"Do not fault him for what he thinks Eohere." and then ignoring the rise of Eohere's brow, stared at their companion, "Know that the Crown Prince has heeded your concerns. Run along now, Herugrim, your father, I'm sure, is asking for you."
There was silence as Herugrim took his leave, and Eohere turned to the Prince with a question in his gaze.
"Prince-" he started but was cut off with a flick of the Prince's wrist. Theodred moved deeper into the carpeted room, his gaze sweeping over the lush decorations and then out of the large windows that overlooked the happenings of the market.
His brow furrowed at the prevailing quiet and gloom, yet he said nothing that seemed to show his concern. Rather he glanced Eohere, whose proud stance was traded for the hands now clasped into the front, more like him, before the functioning of the court sucked all of the joyous horse Lords into the fragile game of the throne. He spared a smirk in his direction, his smile widening at the twitch in Eohere's brow and instead fell onto one of the chairs with a heave,
"Now Eohere, there is no company that you have to keep up the pretenses."
The man in question shook his head, amusement seemed to flicker through his sober expression,
"I still would rather, Prince Theodore," he murmured sitting across from his sire. His gaze was soon taken by the glass bottle that was loosely held by the Prince and he couldn't help but sigh in admonition, "isn't it a tad too early for wine."
"Elfwine they call it, strong stuff." theodred replied, shifting the bottle over. The Cork opened with distinct pop and the sickly sweet smell of the wine wafted over to Eohere, whose brow furrowed on its own accord. He raised his brow, perplexed furrow marring his face.
"Strong enough to not be drunk in the light of day, I presume." he rebuked, a sarcastic hint in his deep tone. He was awarded a snort from the Prince who melted back into the cushioned chair,
"Says the man who smokes as his life depended on the act," Theodred replied and there was a sudden intensity of expression that he held. He straightened in his chair and the wine was forgotten on the table as his gaze flickered to the letter by the desk, "Wine should be the least of your concern."
Eohere said nothing and for a while, both men sat in the silence that was gradually becoming stifling. In the end, the Prince sighed. With his eyes closed and his head leaning against the top of the chair mixed with the haggard expression on his careworn face, he had allowed himself to look as weary as he felt. Something that was a bit of privilege to the royalty, something that their strong crown prince couldn't show, not when the times were so dark. Not when all the shadows of the land were dumped on his iron shoulders.
He sat like that for a while and Eohere's knowing look stared at the bottle of wine that lay desolate on the table. He wondered for a moment, how it would feel to just leave like he had done so many times before and with a sinking feeling at where his thoughts were going he shook himself of such cares.
His musings were cut short by the Prince, who seemed to take up the expression of strength and commandment once again.
"What news from Gondor?"
Eohere glanced at the letter, whose flap filtered in the wind and couldn't help the sigh that escaped him.
"Lord Boromir is yet to return, Lord Faramir is leading the cavalry."
"A fine man he is, Lord Faramir, a man of honesty and of a brilliant intellect, they say." Theodred mused, a palm stroking his beard but then the expression hardened, "Yet hardly a man of the army, much less a commander of their forces."
Eohere agreed with the words and his gaze fell again to the shimmering glass. A thought hung in the air. None of them voicing the concern. It was after a few long moments that Eohore spoke, "Gondor will fall." The words were uttered with the trepidity that was barely hidden, the effect of which hung like damnation across them and sucked the air of all the liveliness that was hard to find in Rohan in the recent times.
"They have lost the commander that had held up the forces. The cavalry of orcs has multiplied in numbers and with the lurking danger of the wild men, it will not be long before the fortress falls." he continued a moment later and the Prince considered his words.
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and even in that hunched figure, he appeared as regal as the Kings of old. He would make a king the people needed, Eohere mused and it was his words that shattered the train of his musings.
"I'm riding with the cavalry in a couple of weeks," he spoke ignoring the sharp look that Eohere threw his way. "It is time that the forces of Isengard are dealt with."
"Isengard is the Fort of the white wizard. We can hardly win over his schemes with the blighted spirits of our men." Eohere replied.
His words caused a sigh from his companion and when he next spoke there was a certain edge to his tone as if his words caused him much pain.
"I'm sure you've noticed Eohere. My father is weak, he has grown old and with that worm breathing falsities down his neck, one would think that the king is being led astray. Yet there is a darkness in the Golden Halls, a disease that has more influence than that worm can ever manage. It is not just the telltale that had bothered the King, there are deeper forces at work, darker ones and unless we uproot the problem, there isn't much left to do."
Eohere let the words hang across them. His brow furrowed in contemplation yet he couldn't rebuke his sire. Rohan was teetering on the brink of destruction, with nothing but the iron wills of their riders holding them down. The recent months have been some of the worst in their history and with every town and village that succumbed to the savage orcs the old glory of Rohan shattered into another million shards. With the news of the thread on which the fate of Gondor was hanging and with the sudden increase in the cavalry of the Dark Lord, the only light at the end of the tunnel was the defeat of Isengard which will spare their haggard minds some of their misery.
"When are we riding?" Eohere asked and was rewarded by a small smile, strained and weary, from the Prince.
"We are not, I am."
"That is utter nonsense." Eohere snapped, not caring at that moment whether his words were too harsh to be spoken in front of the Prince.
"It is not." Theodred replied and there was such confidence and strength in his expression that could've fooled armies, "With how the things are recently I can't rid Rohan of its greatest commanders. This battle is a gamble in itself"
"A gamble that the line to the throne shouldn't undertake."
"That is what I want you to know Eohere," Theodred said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "Eomer cares for you as a brother. He'll listen to you above any other man in Rohan. The times are dark Eohere, dark enough for desperation. So if the time ever comes-" he paused at that. As if he couldn't bring himself to complete his sentence.
Eohere threw a questioning look over to his companion. The torture in the prince's gaze, the tensed shoulders and the knuckles that strained white on his knees, and the expression of his tone that somehow mixed misery and plea, the engine churned in his brain and it was not too long before the pieces clicked to place. He inhaled a thin breath, his stance suddenly tense and taught. A look of reverberance overtook his face and with a sharp glance at the open door, he stood.
"You shouldn't speak it." his whisper was harsh and it was when his crisp steps had covered the distance and the sharp clang of the doors being thrown shut reverberated through the hallway that the prince's voice echoed across the room.
"If the time ever comes you have to choose the people over the King!"
The silence that hung across the room was stifling. The Prince stood from his seat, his gaze taken by the agony that the world outside the window portrayed and he closed his eyes despising the words that he had spoken.
Eohere, with his palms still pressed against the polished oak of the door and the forehead leaning against the cool planes of the wood, heaved.
"You speak of treason," he said, his voice hesitant and shook with a strain that they both understood.
"The horses that we trade every year. They go to the cavalry of the Dark Lord." Theodred murmured a moment later causing Eohere to glance at him in surprise. The prince's eyes closed and he took that while to compose the raging emotions, "I love my father, I always will. But I have a duty to my people Eohere, a duty to lead them truthfully, honestly. Courageously. I won't let my people vanish under the clutches of the Dark Lord. If the end is to come, I'd rather my people die like the Horse Lords, the free men that they are."
Eohere's expression fought distress and defeat and he stood still until the Prince stepped forward to clasp his arm,
"My Brother, I ask a lot of you. I don't want you to do it, not unless it is the last straw, the last card left to play. I cannot trust Eomer with this. He owes the king too much, too personally. He won't ever stand for it." there was an imploration in the prince's voice that Eohere couldn't deny. He stood rigid until his stance slackened and he clasped the arm of his companion,
"Then come back Theodore, you must come back to lead the people."
Theodred gave a strained smile at the plea,
"We don't make such promises in the war, Eohere"
Yet there was an understanding that touched his expression. A sudden intensity that lit his warm gaze.
"The Fort of Gondor will fall. The war is ever the more reason for you to return to lead your people to their victory." Eohere continued and was interrupted by the slight laugh from Theodred.
"That I can leave to the three Marshals of Rohan," he said and Eohere furrowed his brow in question.
The Prince stepped back and it was with a swift flick that the pouch, margarita and threaded with gold made its way to Eohere's palm. His eyes widened in recognition, at the crest of the Marshals of Riddermark and the surprise that etched across his face issued a smile from the Prince.
"The Riddermark have been made aware. I must say that it was by a collective decision that you were selected."
"There are three marshals for Rohan" Eohere replied, his fingers looping with the tread and with a tug he revealed the token of shimmering gold.
"In peace, yes there are only three. But these are the times for better measures." Theodred replied and it was by his nod that Eohere bowed deep at the waist accepting the token of commandment.
"Grima Wormtongue will be hardly pleased," he spoke, when he had straightened. It issued a snort from the Prince and he thrust open the door, moving to the hallway and down the great courtyard, out to the Noble lane.
"That snake may curdle whatever poison he may; the cavalry will stay under my command."
They paddled across the lane, quiet and deserted it was except for the few guards leaning against the gates. They took a turn and came across the square market. A hush seemed to overtake the atmosphere at the view of their beloved Prince. It was after a strained voice that the square erupted into commotion and in that moment the Prince let the mob overtake him and stood there until the sun was dipping across the horizon, listening to all their woes and making sure that for at least this day his people don't retire with an empty stomach and heavy heart.
Eohere stood beside, occasionally taking the command but content to stand behind and look at the relieved looks with a small smile.
It wasn't until the dark hues had overtaken the sky that they both turned towards the barracks and as Theodore's gaze fell to the group of soldiers huddled together he couldn't help the smirk that he threw in Eohere's direction. Instead, he spoke, his voice now a few notches too high to be considered normal.
"Remember Lord Eohere, with great power, comes great responsibility," he said and his voice disrupted the soldiers from their circle. They bowed for their sires and it was the shimmer of the gold that caught their gaze and the roars of congratulations that erupted lightened the weariness of their city.
"I'll keep it with honor," Eohere said, putting it to his chest and bowing in front of the Prince.
Theodred moved forward, a smile, proud and noble touching his expression,
"There is no one in Rohan Eohere, that can doubt your honor, my brother." he said and amidst the loud cheers, his voice dropped to a murmur, "Hold the Fort. Hold it until we can race across the meadows without care."
There was a promise that passed unspoken but there was a heaviness of heart that followed the prince's words.
It wasn't until the rowdiness of the day had died down and he was safely behind the walls of his room that his mind wandered to the promise. There was a weight on his heart that prevailed his senses and a defeat that touched his shoulders and something told him that those days were not again to come.
15 January, T.A. 3019.
The Great mines of Moria.
"They are coming!" yelled Legolas, his hands straining against his docked bow. Boromir rushed forwards and his face tilted in shock as he flung himself against the door.
"They've got a cave troll," he said, voice lined with distress. His eyes, wide in panic, moved between the axes thrown by Legolas to jam the orc's entry and Aragon's figure heaving at the door beside him. They rushed back, stood at the forefront of the fellowship and drew their weapons. The hobbits huddled in a circle beside Gandalf, followed suit and I felt my own hands drawing Agnaria from its scabbard.
I took a step back, the tremors assailing my leg and took in their taught expressions.
In the next moment, the world moved as if in slow motion.
With the boom resounding periodically and the shrill screams of the orcs as they hammered down on the door, I felt my muscles tightening in something akin to anticipation (perhaps desperation) and adrenaline spiked through my veins.
It was ridiculous, I thought as Legolas shot an arrow through the small opening of the door, there was no way we could fight off a huge army of orcs and trolls all by ourselves, trapped in this dank room. No matter how much of trained warriors they all were it wasn't just scientifically possible. I closed my eyes, positioning the sword in front of me, and stepped closer to the fellowship.
Despite all the anticipation, the moment still came as a sharp jolt to the senses. The doors flew inwards, splinters of wood embedding on the walls and the orcs, at least a few dozen of them charged into the room. It took only a moment for me to lose the cover Gandalf and the hobbits provided.
From the corner of my eye, I registered the tall figure of Boromir impaling the orcs and it took an arrow zipping past my arm to draw me back to reality. I slashed at its hand, and the orc dropped the heavy sword with a scream shrill enough to pierce the ears. I drew back from him and ducking around the back thrust the blade into his spine. The sickening ooze of blood filled my senses, causing bile to rise in my throat. I had barely pulled out the blade when another came running from the side. I pulled at the blade, stumbling back and colliding with the grave. My blade sled down my left palm. In a moment of desperation, I picked up the stone from the rubble and swung it with all my might. It fell away, but not before a loud crack of the orc's nose. Making use of the moment I brought down the blade on its knee and then with both hands grasping the hilt of Agnaria, I struck it through its neck. Pulling the sword out caused me to stumble. The sight of the blood gushing out of the impaled orc settled a stone in my stomach. I choked on my spit. Stumbling back, I stabilized myself on the stones jutting out of the wall.
'Swift movements, Light feet' Filvendor had said, 'the moment you stop to think, to feel, you lose.'
I couldn't help the panic that had settled in my mind and I froze, my legs planted on the ledge, at seeing Boromir being flung against the wall. I couldn't even manage a sound of alarm. My throat became tight and knotted. It was because of that lapse when I stared at the bleeding cut on Sam's head, the grunts of Boromir while he lifted himself from the ground, the cries of the hobbits as they fought their terrifying opponents that I didn't see the arrow whizzing past my left ribs. It tore the skin and for the moment that I doubled over to the side, came the orc colliding with my shoulder. The ledge broke free of its place and I rolled down the rubble and rocks straight into the path of the troll. My body ached from the fall and my white shirt pooled with blood from the cuts. I scampered to the fours. Hearing the heavy movements of the troll, stumbled behind the gravestone. The gash at my left throbbed and my hand holding it dripped red. Locating Agnaria a few feet into the rubble, I dashed towards it. I picked up a stone from the ground and plunged it towards the orc hoarding the way, it hit its head and it fell to the side revealing another one of its fellows rushing towards me. I dived into the rubble, perhaps not the best idea when my chest skidded across the littered floor and my skin bruised at the contact.
Struggling to my knees I looked up. Only to duck down and out of the way of the orc charging at Gimli. Finally, I grabbed the hilt of Agnaria, just in time to bring it down with full force on the foot of the orc, aiming its bow towards Legolas. It dropped its bow. The scream that followed was shrill and agitated. I closed my eyes waiting for a blow to split open my head but it fell backward with an arrow jutting out of its mouth.
My head snapped up in surprise, just in time to see Legolas swirl out of view but my gaze was drawn to Aragorn lying on the floor and Frodo rushing forward. The next scene felt surreal, with all of our gazes fixed at one thing. Everyone rushing towards Frodo but still knowing they can't help him, and he fell cold on the floor. Someone's voice screamed Frodo and I found myself squatting near him, only one thought prevailing my mind. Was it this easy to end us? And by something no less than a miracle Frodo gasped and opened his eyes.
"He's alive!" came Sam's screech. His face crumpled with emotion and he grasped his friend's arm. Gandalf urged them to stand, his eyes lingering on Frodo for a second. Then we were rushing out of the door down the great Hall. The view that greeted us froze my feet. My heart hammered as if it would beat straight out of my chest. Down the great pillars rushed the Goblins, like cockroaches streaming down to the hall, in numbers too great for us to fathom. There was a sudden lag, a portentous presence and a glow that erupted at the far end of the chamber. The ear-piercing screams of the goblins, their scuttling feet stopped and suddenly they were rushing away, leaving them huddled alone in the great hall.
I stared around, my hands shaking and I stepped closer to Legolas whose alert stance kept a watchful eye.
"What devilry is this?" murmured Boromir, his voice strained and jaded but laced with an edge we all felt.
The ground shook ominously, rocks fell from the ceiling and the great foundations of Moria shook like paper in crisp wind.
Perhaps we all felt the unease of Gandalf, saw the way his eyes closed for a moment in weariness and the disbelief that laced his tone.
"A Balrog..." he said, staring into the flickering flame, "a demon of the ancient world."
He looked around the fellowship, his gaze urgent and desperate, "This foe is beyond any of you! Run. Quickly!"
Aragorn leads us down the hall, a right and into the narrow stairs. I kept my eyes off of the plunging chasm beneath us. I turned the path and found Legolas pulling Boromir from falling to his death at the very last minute. We turned to the right, fleeing down the narrow staircase. I chanced a look at the dark void extending beneath us and bile rose up. Closing my eyes, I stepped carefully to the middle to the staircase. With the balrog rising behind us, the orcs surrounding the premises, the stairs shaking vulnerably beneath our feet, the chasm seemingly rising to swallow our very figures and the arrows whizzing past our distressed figures it was truly one of the worst moments I've ever faced in my life. The fear that once was while facing the orcs alone and impotent was nothing compared to this wretchedness and panic eating up at my consciousness. I tried to regulate my breathing, focusing on the path in front and praying that the arrows hit anything but us.
We stopped at the broken path. Legolas jumped over the crack. Gandalf, and then Boromir along with Merry and Pippin followed.
I stepped out of the way of two arrows nearly tumbling over the side. Sam's hand curled around my cloak, pulling me back. I gulped at the depth swirling below me.
"Lady lanette," said Boromir, his tone light and urgent, snapping me out of my anxiety and with one look at his broad palm outstretched in front of me I took the leap.
My legs hit the side of the rocks. Pain coursed through my side and I gasped, flailing before Boromir's hand grasped my left palm and pulled me up to safety. My legs gave out beneath me. I squatted behind them, watching in concern as Aragorn and Frodo jumped on board. Then we were all rushing down the stairs and towards the bridge.
The gash in my side burned with every step and I pressed one hand over it in a failed attempt to appease the pain.
Halfway through the bridge, Gandalf stopped. A flash of light blurred the surroundings and the bridge broke at the very feet of the balrog. The cement gave way and the demon fell into the pitch darkness.
I stopped at the very edge of the bridge, just behind Aragorn and for a fleeting moment, as the balrog fell to its demise with the end of these great mines in front of us, I felt comforted. Somehow, with some spark of luck that I didn't know existed, we all survived this hell. We all lived.
Then, as in slow motion, something that we all saw but couldn't stop, one of the arms of fire curled around Gandalf's leg. He was pulled into the chasm and the brief moment when he hung desolately to the edge of the broken bridge, his eyes, perplexed and woeful implored us. "Fly! You fools," he whispered and the force pulled him with it to the depths of the darkness.
I registered Frodo's cry from behind and perhaps also the arm of Boromir that was quick to stop him from advancing. My gaze followed the blob of flame as it disappeared from our view, with him Gandalf, the person that was to lead us all towards the end.
It was anguish, perhaps, that curled itself into my stomach. The tears that welled up in were unbidden, dejected.
We had lost Gandalf.
Aragorn stumbled forward and with a look at Boromir, who dragged the grieved hobbits out, I grabbed his arm. He seemed to be in a trance, and when he looked back at me in question it was perhaps the first time I had seen Aragorn so desperate. His eyes were wide with anguish, with disbelief, and his eyes spoke that he was trying to hold himself together. Grief and repudiation welled in his orbs and I tugged his arm, stepping away just as another shower of arrows befell us. We stumbled to the side and down the hallway that led us away from this horror. All of us stuck somewhere between grief and disbelief, somewhere between desperation and perseverance.
It was halfway through the tunnel, with the light of the day shimmering with a promising welcome in front of us, that I realized that the blur around my eyes was not the dust and rubble falling from the ceiling.
We barely made it to the light. The broken road, that could've once been a sight, a piece of architect stretching towards the mines of Moria, was left to rot.
We stumbled to the clearing, the adrenaline, the anxiousness pushing us from behind. The fellowship dispersed in the area, their grief too palpable, too prominent for them to move on. I saw the blue of Frodo's eyes swirling with tears, the pain on his face apparent and a lump hackled my own throat.
All of these, most of these people had known Gandalf better than I had. He had been a friend, a companion, support for all of them and now with his death, at this point of fellowship, spoke volumes in itself.
Sorrow shook my insides. Far more than grief there was fear, there was angst and there was the letter by Gandalf that heaved like a great weight against my back.
We stayed in the valley for a while. My legs gave away and I sunk to the ground.
The fellowship wept. That was the only way I could describe it while wiping away the tears that would just not stop. I saw the face of Aragorn from far, the way he looked away and the way his shoulders slumped in silent grief that wetted his cheeks. Legolas stepped away from all, his pain also quiet but overpowering.
A lump bobbled in my throat and I looked up only to meet gaze with Lord Boromir. We were perhaps the only ones that understood each other better than them all. There was sorrow, of course, but we didn't reach the bond that some of them had with Gandalf. For us, while there was grief, there was an even more amount of desperation, of fear taking its place.
Aragorn shook everyone up and willed us to move. We followed down the road with its stones upturned and road broken, as it had not been repaired in a long time. We stopped at Gimli's insistence and he led Frodo towards Kheled-zhvarm. I followed, more out of curiosity than anything. Gimli ran up towards the stone, and we trudged behind.
We stooped over the water. As if with magic the forms of the mountains appeared in the deep blue. The whole line of ranges filtering in the water as if someone had carved a portrait. The sky glinted with stars, even though there were not in the sky and a gasp escaped me. The sight was beautiful, simply breath-taking. Gimli gave me a small smile, the grieved panes of his face lighting up for a moment as if he knew what I felt looking down there, which he most definitely did.
"O Kheled-zvarm fair and wonderful!" he said, his voice caked with emotion, "There lies the Crown of Durin till he wakes. Farewell!" He bowed and hastened away at the same speed. We all scrambled behind him. Aragorn did not even waste a second before he was moving away. We followed his lead, as he was set on reaching the safety of Lothlorien before the orcs could swarm these lands and we all followed behind, quiet and brooding while carrying a stifling silence among our selves.
I stayed quiet throughout, my mind filled with a lot of concerns. All of us were fixed in our thoughts. I couldn't help but wonder how different it would've been if I had come here in a time when there was no war, no conflict to take up our time and peace. What would I have done then? Would I have settled somewhere accepting a mundane and respectful life or would I had been traveling, experiencing the joys of the world so different (yet somehow the same) like ours?
The growing sting of my cut made focusing on my thoughts harder than it previously was. We had walked miles from the gate, with Aragorn still keeping the front and I could see him getting farther and farther away but somehow my legs couldn't seem to move any faster. The cut in my side stung with every step. The bruises covered my body and it took an even greater effort to keep my nonchalance while lagging at the back with the drowsy hobbits.
Somewhere along the way, Aragorn realized the toll it was taking on us all; the fight, the escape, the death, the fear, the wounds, and we set up to rest in the small clearing. The stream gushed beside it and I placed my hands in the cold water, having not heard their tirade about the icy depths before Legolas pulled me away with a warning. I looked around, finally staring at Aragorn while he inspected the hobbit's injuries and tended to them. I stretched my legs and winced at my wound. It caught his attention and he beckoned me over. He had already prepared water of athelas and I simply shook my head when he offered to bandage knowing that I could do this much myself. He gave a tight-lipped smile, his gaze tired and weary. He hid it well, under his mask of indifference but the panes of his face had hardened and in that lighting, sitting before the fire and mixing the athelas into a paste there was a droop in his shoulders that was not a characteristic.
It was hard, seeing the leaders of the company barely holding themselves together and I said nothing, instead of finding the flickering flame to be much more amusing and gave him a humorless smile when he excused from there.
I inspected the cut on the side. It took effort, craning my bruised and aching muscles but it took mere minutes before my hands were rolling around the bandage around my middle, more of like an instinct. The athelas, true to its nature, had a great effect and it felt as though the burdens were melting away. I adjusted the straps of my boots and was just tightening the ribbon that held my hair in a knot when Merry came over with bread filled with a little meat and cheese that we carried. We ate quickly and soon Aragorn was up and about, ushering us all to our feet. We made haste and it was already nightfall when the woods came into plain sight. There was something scary about entering the woods, quiet and stifling when the night had fallen but the threat of Orcs was too much and the safety of elves endearing for anyone to stop and with little hesitation, I followed behind. Boromir though stopped just before them. He seemed to share my thoughts, having enough of walking in the shadows and through perilous ways and rather wishing for a clear road. Aragorn and Legolas were insistent and soon he gave way but the uneasiness didn't leave. His shoulders were tense and alert, the hand twitching towards the sword at the barest of the signals.
We walked a mile before coming across Nimrolel. Legolas convinced us to wade through it. On the other side, we rested. Ate food and, Legolas hoping to keep our minds away from the weariness spoke much of Mirkwood and the tales of old that he knew, some even that he had experienced. At length, he sang us a song, his voice sweet and enchanting, and falling soft on the ears. More than focusing on the words I felt my mind drifting off to silence, enjoying the little comfort that the speech of elves gave in the perilous times. Hoping that our lives were as calm and soothing as his voice was. Wishing that there comes a time when we could sit around, happy and sated, with no worries of death looming over us and listen to this wonderful song while laughing merrily amongst ourselves. Oh how I wished that time would come, and how I felt that somehow it never will.
"I will climb," Legolas said. We all looked at him as if it was a given and he ignored us all placing his hands on the bark. From the dark came a strong command, halting all of our activities. Legolas stiffened, looking back at us, he whispered, "Stand still. Do not move or speak."
He spoke with the elves for a while and then a rope was thrown down. Legolas took Frodo and Sam up with him and we stayed behind waiting for his order. The unease entering the woods had settled. The fact that there were elves present here calming our nerves of the threat of orcs. Legolas came down with the instructions. The hobbits were supposed to bunk with the three elves and we were given the next treehouse. If Aragorn or Legolas were concerned for them they didn't let on and I thought that perhaps they trusted them well because they avoided to even leave each other alone with Frodo.
Another rope was thrown this time from the adjacent tree. I went last, climbing the thin ladder and sighed in relief when we reached the plain surface. Neither in the depths nor at the heights was I comfortable. How uncanny.
I sat with my back on the bark, staring out in the dark and gave Gimli a little smile as he dropped down beside me.
"There is much on your mind, lass." I gave a small chuckle leaning my head back to look at him,
"I feel as if it is still less than yours," I said and then motioned towards Boromir who was stretching his legs before us, "or yours to be honest." He looked down, his face anxious and fearful. I closed my eyes at their honest expressions, knowing that my face would look as haggard as theirs were, if not much worse. "Things aren't exactly going our way huh?" I murmured.
"They seldom do," Legolas replied, having laid down to the side.
"In the war, it seems, that they never do." Aragorn joined in. We sat in silence for a while. After all day's excitement, it felt better to just sit there, unmoving with the wind filtering through the leaves and the calmness of safety reigning around us.
"Haven't you ever seen a war, my Lady?" Boromir said, effectively catching everyone's attention. I felt Gimli leaning forward from the side, his expression curious.
"You live in a wondrous world it seems, I wonder if yours is free of these evils too," Aragorn said. I could not see his face as he had already settled to rest yet his voice indicated that sleep was far from his mind. I wondered if the ones on television counted. There had been wars, in the world, the one in Afghanistan. The one in Palestine, in Kashmir, and even more countries she couldn't now remember.
"That will truly be a great world, huh," I murmured, a small smile pulling at my lips, "where there will be no conflict, and an impossible one too, it seems."
I waited for a moment, wondering where to start, "We had two great wars, a little less than a century ago, but the world developed too fast after that. The times changed too much, too fast." I saw Legolas's inquisitive look at that, but I remained quiet. My mind drew a blank whenever I thought about describing the electricity or worse, the internet. In the two decades that the world had known this invention, it had changed in ways that were incomprehensible to anyone who hadn't seen it, who hadn't felt it themselves.
I had been here for more than two years now. It was still frustrating not pulling out google maps when you were lost. Sometimes I missed the major things, like a phone. If we had one God knows I wouldn't be traveling at all. Sometimes it was the little things. The best of which I could say were pads. Another problem that was soon to be upon me.
I frowned a bit and then focused back on the point at hand. "There still are wars, but not where I live. Not in the 'whole world is fighting' scale."
"It's also never this... this obvious." I continued. For a second I stumbled over my words wondering how to describe them, "Like here its all black and white." I saw Aragorn propping himself on his elbow, and continued, "We know who is wrong and who is right. There is one army fighting for world dominance and massacre, and one is protecting the free world. There, in my world, it was mostly gray. Sure there were some battles, some wars that were quite obvious but mostly it was men fighting to protect and there was something understandable on both sides."
Silence reigned after that. I knew that there were many people from the north of Gondor that were going to side with the dark lord, there would be men fighting men but it would still be an obvious clash of ideas.
My mind drifted to the letter in my bag. An icy feeling gripped my heart and I gulped down the lump forming in my throat.
"I wonder what I should do." I had said before I even realized that I was speaking out loud. They all focused on me, and I bit my lip giving them a sheepish smile. I wondered if I should confide in them, they all had their concerns and worries to deal with. Gimli had just seen his entire clan annihilated for God's sake, but the words were tumbling out of my mouth before I could fathom.
"Am I allowed to go to Lothlorien? Isn't it a secret abode of elves? I'm not from the fellowship." They exchanged a look amongst themselves, and I stared at them, desperation apparent on my face.
Aragorn sat up at last. He hesitated a moment before speaking, "You cannot go to Rohan with an army of orcs behind you."
"I wonder if I can go to Rohan at all." I cut across him. At his startled expression, I stared down at my knees. I sighed when the silence became uncomfortable. Looking up I saw them all waiting for me to continue, even Legolas was now sitting attentively. I could only regret the words that tumbled out of my mouth.
"The letter, it was given by Gandalf," I started, and at Boromir's nod, I continued. Although I could see Aragorn coming to the realization already, "It was written with a promise of his support to their people. But now with him gone, wouldn't it increase their resolve against us? Wouldn't knowing that the only force that can defeat Saruman is no longer, have the exact opposite effect?" I was vaguely aware that my voice had risen, and all the carefully hidden fear and anxiety was apparent from my shaky tone and lost expression. I sighed at the stunned silence that followed and closed my eyes.
"I'm sorry. This-This is not the time."
"No, you're right," said Boromir.
"The strategy must be discussed again," Aragorn agreed with a nod in my direction, a thoughtful expression was taking its place.
"The White Lady and Lord are one with the council." Legolas said from where he was laying down again, "I'm sure they will help with your decision." I shared with him a small smile, "I hope so."
"Now, let us all rest," Aragorn said, dispersing our little circle, "Tomorrow will be no less taxing." I gave him a look of surprise, "Well, I do hope it is not." I murmured, smiling at the little chuckle that followed.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, we were all awakened by the sound of orcs. An army of them, at least, running through the trees. I leaned towards the edge, barely making out their shape before a hand-pulled me back and the voice of surprise was stifled by Boromir's hand. He indicated to be quiet, his other hand gripping the hilt of his sword. I nodded and he dropped his hand.
With a pounding heart, I slipped back towards the bark. Everyone was tense and alert. Waiting, and wishing that what we feared may not come to pass. It ended just as soon as it had begun. One of the elves from before came by, discussing something with Aragorn, and he left with a fleeting look at all of us.
For the rest of the night, sleep was seldom and even then agitated. I sighed in relief when the sun rose and we were asked to travel deeper into the forest, closer to the safety of their capital.
We had covered only a small distance when the leader, Haldir I had learned, stopped before the branch of Celebrant gushing before him. On his whistle, an elf stepped forward from the other side. He was wearing similar garb to the other two, gray and simple with his hood thrown back to reveal golden hair that shone even in the small light of the day. Haldir threw a rope towards him, and he tied it to the tree. I stared gobsmacked as Haldir moved on top of with a grace that felt as if he were walking on the flat floor, not on the rope thinner than the sole of his feet, dangling helplessly over the gushing water. I could've only wished for the grace like that.
My method was not different than Merry that traveled in my front, nor from Boromir that came behind. All three of us scooting over the rope, clinging for our dear life. Aragorn was not wrong, I realized, in his observation last night.
"Now friends," Haldir said, "You've reached the Naith of Lorien or the gore." He talked as I dusted myself and stood up, "As was agreed, I shall blindfold the eyes of Gimli the dwarf."
He fished out a silken cloth from his cloak and I gaped open-mouthed at his words. Blindfold Gimli? But why?
It ensued a battle of wits that grated on our nerves. Accusing Gimli of being a spy truly was horrendous and he had nearly drawn out his axe in anger. Had it not been for Aragorn it would've taken a physical turn. In the end, all of them had agreed. As a result, a cloth was tied around my eyes and the world plunged into darkness.
Many times during the journey I felt a hand steadying me when I stumbled. Saying that it was hard to walk through a freaking forest blindfolded was not even necessary. I wondered how all of them could be talking so freely when with each passing moment I felt more agitated at this business.
In the end, we walked all day in darkness. Even in our sleep were we not allowed to take these blindfolds off. This time I felt as if I wanted to fight with them and their stupid laws. The next day, halfway through our trek a gaggle of elves surrounded us. They spoke with Haldir in hushed tones and at last, we were allowed to be free of the blindfold. I ripped away the cloth, not caring if it tore. My eyes squeezed against the sudden brightness and I looked down trying to steady the scenery spinning before me.
The view was truly breathtaking. For a moment I forgot my anxiousness that had been pent up the whole day while I stared at the Trees, their magnificent barks rising to the sky. Their leaves were of gold and small white flowers glistened under the sunlight of the blue sky. We all sunk to the floor to rest a moment, but I could do nothing but stare around in wonder at the blue of the sky, and the sunlight streaming in, dulling the cold wind of the winter. Then at the leaves that shone yellow. Truly I had never known that leaves like these, of Gold, could exist. But then again this beautiful forest, completely free of any type of decay or infestation. Made of trees with smooth barks that shone in the sunlight was not a sight fit for humans alone. It had an aura around it, much like there had been in Rivendel at its first sight. Simply breathtaking.
Haldir took Frodo somewhere, so it seemed like we would stay here for a while. I leaned back on the grass, finally dropping to its sweet softness and relishing the view of the blue sky stretching infinitely above me. I stayed there for a while, content to stare at the sky in peace when the movement of Aragorn caught my eye. He picked up a Golden flower of Elanor, as Haldir had described them, and stared at it with an expression that played at one's heartstrings. He seemed younger then, with the light of the sun illuminating his features and his mind lost in a memory that must've been sweet, for the weariness of his face was drowned out by a serene smile, and the tense shoulders of his back were now calm and relaxed.
I didn't know why I stared so intently at that scene. With Frodo coming to stand beside him and him saying something to his little companion but it felt surreal and for a moment, as if by the play of the eye, I could see a king, dressed in the finest of robes with the crown of Gondor resting on his brow before me.
We walked until night had descended. There came another clearing where Haldir stopped to face them, "Welcome to Caras Galadhon," he said. There was a softness to his features when describing this place, a sign of pride and love that made my heart ache in memory.
We climbed many stairs and came across many talans that interconnected this city of trees. In the night one could see the effect of the elves, for the whole scene shimmered before us and so did the few elves that we met along the way.
We stopped in a considerably bigger talan (Their rooms), the one belonging their Lord, and from above the stairs, I could see nothing but light, blinding. Powerful. I turned my eyes to the floor, my vision becoming unstable with its intensity and then two figures stepped out form the shimmer and it dulled to reveal the royals in all their glory.
I finally looked up, their steps drawing all the attention towards them and the gasp that left my lips was unbidden. For before us stood the white Lady, dressed in pure white, with the moonlight giving way to the shimmer that clung to her very movements and the Gold hair that cascaded down her back.
Her striking blue gaze took in the scene, stopping to stare at us all of us. It was enrapturing, the way her eyes held my attention but I couldn't bring myself to look away. She smiled then, her gaze focusing for a mere second on me and even though her mouth remained still, yet a voice pierced into my mind.
"Welcome Lanette Anderson, I've waited long for your arrival."
Wait. What?
15 January, T.A. 3019.
Minas Tirith, the Walled City of Gondor.
The House of Lord Denethor.
It took patience. Patience the likes of which she hasn't shown in years. Her fingers tighten around the delicate China, an angered growl nearly making it past her lips.
But she was not the heir of the house of Denethor for no reason so she settles to place the cup back on the saucer and clasps her hands on her lap.
Her kohl-lined eyes land on the man fidgeting before her. She sees his hands putting down the cup, his sloppy antics causing the dark liquid to slosh onto the saucer. She takes in the way he stirs, his anxiousness causing him to slip his pale fingers under the table. Her icy gaze takes in the fiery mess he called hair, his freckled cheekbones, and his shy smile. Finally moving down to his creased dress coat, taking in the threads that were leaving the embroidery. The grimace nearly makes its way to her face and she clears it with another sip of the warm tea.
He looks up at her, his blue gaze warm and twinkling.
"When will Lord Denethor arrive?" he asks, for the third damned time.
She gives him a tight-lipped smile in return. Her hands clasp on the table and she turns the sapphire ring on her finger.
The moment of silence stretches for a moment too long, and finally, she sighs, fixing him with a stare.
"I would appreciate it if you tell me the reason for your visit," she says, her words carefully controlled. Measured. Polite.
If he notices her discomfort, he doesn't let on instead focusing on the painting that adorns the main wall. She takes in his expression, and her eyes narrow. This time he seems to be pondering over something, a serious look taking place of his happy demeanor and she wonders if his shy awkwardness and complete lack of court clues were just for show.
Then he turns his head towards her, his blue eyes shining merrily, in a manner of pure inquisitiveness. For a moment it feels as if he were staring into her very soul.
"A caravan is leaving for the Duncan Palace up the North," he starts, unlike before his words are smooth and immaculate, his manner terse and serious, "I must be made aware of everyone that leaves the gates."
She raises a brow at that sloppy excuse,
"And this is why you're insistently waiting for the Lord even though you could meet him in the court," she asks, her voice stretching out in sarcasm, which he doesn't realize. She sighs, leaning forward on her elbows, making sure that he was looking at her before she continued, "I don't appreciate people who play around."
A small smile plays on his lips.
"Of course, my lady, after all not everyone can make Lady Fnaria yield the position of the Lord commander for her father."
She leans back, catching herself just in time before rolling her eyes. There still is a sobriety that follows his words. It was true that her father was entrusted with something that would've been, in greater times, a life-changing title for the family to keep, but now it only became their weakness. She hides the grimace behind another sip.
For a moment she taps her fingers against the cup, wondering where this conversation was heading. Then she speaks, all the good humor washed out of her face,
"We're both aware where the hearts of the nobles lie. If they say that only a tunnel can safeguard their hundred people from this war, they will tear down this grand city, and it's common, to make it happen."
"You do not agree with their actions," he replies, an eyebrow raised in surprise. She only gives him a smile, agitated and strained, wishing no more to talk of all the hassle happening in the court right as they speak.
"I'm sure you're not here to indulge in the views of the war, from a woman and a lady at that."
"Indeed, I'm not here to listen to the views of war my lady, although I greatly appreciate ones like yours," he says with a nod towards her, "still I am here to listen to your viewpoint, just for a different topic."
From the corner of her eyes, she sees Anariel bristling. How good of gossip it must be, she thought. That a lowly man, rescued from the terror by her father, had come specifically to meet his youngest daughter. Alone at that. Still, she was glad that it was Anariel standing chaperone and not Ehara otherwise this conversation would've become the pleasure of the court ladies by the night time.
"I'm sure that it must be the cultural difference, Mr. Wellington," she starts, relishing the way his eyebrows become drawn, "but in Minas Tirith, this stunt of yours is considered rude and preposterous." She gathers her skirts, making to stand up, "If you're here to meet me then you may leave, you're overstepping your bounds a tad too much."
His hand shots across the table, stopping just before her own. She recoils her hand, a glower taking its place. He shakes his head, frowning intently.
"I'm afraid that my words would've come across not as intended." he starts, and then draws back his hand to the lap at her displeased look, "There is one thing for sure my lady, you've done much to protect your family from the clutches of the rotten court, and I think you will continue to do so." She stares at him, wondering how all of this was connected and what he was getting at. Unease coils in her stomach, a rotten taste-making its way into her mouth. She seats herself again and motions Anariel, who was nearly beside the man to make him go, to stop.
With a flick of the hand, she motions for him to continue, the frown becoming a permanent mark on her face.
"Your father, Lord Denethor, has been made the Lord commander, after the leave of Lord Boromir." he started, leaning forward on his elbows, "He's an esteemed figure among the men, especially those that are putting aside their lives for this kingdom."
"Your point-"
"No matter if a lady, you still are the heir of this house." She frowned at the interruption but said nothing, willing him to get to his point.
"I'm afraid that your absence, your leave with the caravan won't be appreciated." She chokes on her spit, glaring at him in indignation. He wanted her to-
"You want me to stay here, in this city holed up while, while all the hell rages around us all?" she said, spluttering over her words, her voice rising in rage. He was surprised at her tone, perhaps after her tirade of not agreeing with the nobles he thought her to be different. She herself was surprised at the reaction. She had been considering all this herself. Her thoughts have been heavy for the past few weeks.
"If it only was about the morale of the men I wouldn't have said anything, but this might end up in a riot." he said, his tone took up a tentativeness as if he wasn't sure of his words anymore, "The men, the commoners are already going to be agitated when the news of the nobles fleeing for safety breaks out."
His words were true, spoken wisely. Spoken from a man who truly cared what became of her father. Hadn't this she wanted all those years, keeping that little portrait of her family, their merry faces captured in that ink without her. Hadn't she become the Lady of court, taken Lady Fnaria as an ally only to show her that those messing with her family were not going to have the world go their way. Hadn't she promised herself to stay a step ahead of them all, to protect the name of their household no matter what steps she had to take?
This situation was given. It had been a reality that she had considered the moment her father had come home weary from the court, dressed in his finest with the mark of the commander tied to his arm. Then why was she hesitating right here? Knowing the reality and hearing the words, making the decision in front of this stranger were two different situations. Him asking for her decision drew all the insecurities upfront.
She took a deep breath, taking care to not look at him straight in the eye. For a court man, he was too inquisitive, too intelligent for her indifferent front to be effective.
"I might not be the man of royalty, my lady," he continued, snapping her from her reverie. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze for him to continue, "certainly not one of Gondor, but I have seen much more than any man who hasn't stepped one foot out of this stronghold has. It won't be preposterous of me to say that in war, the anger of the soldiers has always been truly frightening."
She smirked, the pull of lips devoid of any humor, "What do they expect me to do? Take up a sword with them?"
"The logs said that you have training in nursing," he says, coking his head to the side. She nearly punches him then, wondering if he didn't know when to stop. Work as a maid in the hospitals? He was an interesting man.
"They are wrong, I've visited them in my younger years out of curiosity and the healers are always ready to improve face in front of the Lords. What better way to do so than to coax about one's children?"
"It is still helpful," he says, "those skills can help save many lives in tis era of war."
She inhales a sharp breath, her eyes closing for a stark second, "Are you, Mr. Edward-"
"Eddie"
"Mr. Eddie, are you insinuating that I work in the medical wings as if the heir of the noble house of Denethor was nothing but a, a maid."
He gazes at her, as if he couldn't see the source of her incredulity, and then his expression clears and he nods, "I'm aware of what this could mean in a normal time, Lady Brinielel, but with how things are going, soon no one will even care whether the water they drink comes from the sewers or the food they eat is the waste of someone else."
From the corner of her eye, she sees the comical expression on Anariel's face and knowing that her incredulity will not be less she settles to sip her tea.
He realizes that his words were not the best of the choices and he clears his throat, plainly flustered,
"What I meant to say Miss-" her eyes brows shot towards her hairline.
Miss?
"Lady, my lady Brinielel," he continued, his anxious finger tapping at the table, "Soon it all, the wealth, the status, wouldn't mean anything. No stronghold can save them, save anyone if the dark lord's forces take over."
She says nothing in response but his words, although incredulous their context was, somehow resonate with her thoughts. If she would've said it would've been more pessimistic. For if the Dark Lord won then truly, no amount of protection, no Northern hideouts and castles would protect them from death. She feels a lump in her throat, the same that she had been feeling quite a lot as of recently, so she just stares down at her tea, hoping to drown in its black depths.
"I'm aware of your concerns," she finally says, her voice short, controlled, "I'll make you aware that mine are similar to your own."
She stares resolutely at him, and in that light, the blue of his eyes appears darker, solemn. There is a silent agreement between them, then he blinks and the moment is gone, the old twinkle making its way back into his gaze. He waits for another moment, and then realizing that the conversation was at ends drops another cube of sugar into his tea.
She sort of hopes that he chokes on one piece.
"When will Lord Denethor be back?" he says, his deep tone could've been impressive, had the man been finer. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realizes that her agitation is pointed towards the wrong person, except she really didn't enjoy his company.
He peers up at her, his neck curved down because of his posture, which she takes in with some fascination for in the one and twenty years of life she hadn't seen anyone from the court who didn't walk like they had ice imbedded in their spine.
The same question, yet again. She places down the teacup with a sigh. A court man would've already known to shut up, just hearing the continuous sighs escaping her, yet he still stared with the questioning gaze that left her unsettled.
She decided that she hated him.
"As I've told you," she starts, exasperation seeping into her calm, "the Lord commander has not been home for days for long-"
The sudden slam of the front door makes her jump. There is a lapse in sound and then footsteps are approaching their grand Hall. She turns to the man in front of her, "Luck seems to be on your side Mr. Wellington." she says before the door opens and her father steps in. He is followed by Cathiel, whose gaze takes in the room only to stop at Brinielel. The smile that she directs at her like she has been doing for the past year, still makes Brinielel uncomfortable and she settles to nod before turning away and motioning to the servants to set the table for two more.
Her father clasps the hands of the Edwa-Eddie Wellington who has been hoarding her time for the past half an hour.
"How does the weather find you, Eddie?" her father asks, smiling at him and leaning back to let the maid pour his tea.
Mr. Wellington settles for a smile, not quite being the man of idle talk as she had come to notice in the past agonizing minutes.
"I'm here to confirm your answer, my lord."
Her father's hand hesitates before reaching for the tart and Cathiel's expression hardens a fraction. It comes unexpected, yet no less unpleasant to realize that she was not privy to the information. As if sensing her discomfort her father's gaze flickers towards her.
"It is about the relocation." and it was all she needed to hear.
Her lips curl into a humorless smile. Of course. Her father was not aware of the conversation that took place minutes before his arrival.
The letter from Lady Fnaria, stating that there was space for only one vacancy in the caravan and in the castle, still sits unanswered on her desk. It was more of a warning, a threat that they weren't welcome. It's how the court always have been, making other's life hell to get what you want. Although the only person aware of the fact was her.
It takes no more than ten minutes before the young minister is getting up from the seat and bowing for his leave, as he had only been here to hear what her father had to say. The answer was not at all unexpected, she realized, not for anyone in the audience when her father had pledged to stay here and fight to the death with his men, considering the fact that after lord Boromir he was one of the trusted commanders. It was also this reason, his unwavering willingness, and loyalty to his men that the nobles were turning a sour eye to their family. She spares the man a glance in return for his bow, catching his eye one last time and somehow she thinks that he knows about the single vacancy. It causes a sour taste in her mouth, realizing that he was here perhaps only to judge her reaction. Would she be the notorious selfish and greedy lady that the court believes she was, or she was the woman that saved her family, as her sister (who after Lady Lanette's leave had been insistent on digging into her matters) claimed she was? Sometimes, she wondered herself, what sort of person had she become? Where did her acting end, and where did her real self begin? These days it had become hard to tell.
They sit in silence, the three of them, with their tea getting cold in front.
She realizes that all of them had confessions to make, but no one knew where to start or whether they should start.
Cathiel speaks first, her voice strained and low, as if the words were hurting her very soul, "Lord Hemingford wants me to leave, with the relocation, I mean to say." she says. Her eyes flicker between the poker expressions of father and Brinielel, and she stops.
"He's not wrong to care for your safety, considering you are to be his wife."
Brinielel nearly grimaces at the statement, the figure of the skanky Lord making its way to her head and she curses, once again, her sisters' decision to go along with her fate, as she liked to call her foolhardiness.
Their father nods towards them and them stares at Brinielel, "My dear, why don't you take care of the travels, both of you-"
"Only one can leave" she cuts over him and the silence that follows her words is stunned.
She knows that they want her to explain and she knows that her father will give up his decision to command the armies if only it meant that both his daughters were safe and sound, so she just breaks the biscuit and pops it into her mouth, "I'll stay here. It is what I want." She's surprised at the smoothness of her voice, the confidence that was not there with Mr. Eddie.
Her father starts to say something, the fear flickering through his eyes makes her heart ache but she keeps the nonchalance instead looking at Cathiel, "You should pack soon, I'm sure they'll be leaving in no more than two days."
For a moment she hopes that the conversation had ended like it always did when there was no one to question her decisions. Then she sees the sadness lading Cathiel's expression and a lump seems stuck in her throat.
"It'll stay the same then," Cathiel says, her voice not more than a whisper, "you'll always be the one plunging yourself into darkness while we both retain our calm and peace."
Her words hit home but in a way that Brinielel doesn't appreciate. It had been years when she became the bitch of the house, the haughty lady that knew nothing more than her comforts, but then it had taken one lass, Lanette, and the two most important people in her life had become more perceptive and the careful facade in which she protected her family was brushing off.
She settles for a laugh, the sound hollow and humorless and her lips curling into a sarcastic smirk, "You've been flattering yourself too much." she says in the form of departure, but in her chest, there is a chasm that keeps expanding, a fear that hackles her breaths.
She puts off her maids and rushes to her room with a hammering heart and a pounding head.
The dark is lonely, it's quiet and stifling and the velvet feels too heavy for her to draw it away.
She sits at her table, and under the flickering light of the candle, the letter of Lady Fnaria causing her stomach to knot.
She had always been that lonely child. The one that had learned the ways of the court. The one that in the absence of her mother and the breakdown of her sister had kept their house a respectful abode. She was the one who had fought the battles of court and who had protected them all only for them to look at her with accusations and hate. But she was also the one that had accepted it all, after all, she was the one who had set a facade of vanity and grace.
But her family was better now, her sister back to herself, better than her previous self and somehow, miraculously, the sister that had once seen through every one of the little Brinielel's every facade was back and this time Brinielel was not going to lose her to the terror. If there was something that the Lady Fnaria never realized, it was how far Brinielel was willing to go for her family, how desperate she was to hold them all together, alive and well, until all the raging dust settled around her.
The tip of her quill rests on the paper, her hand shaking and her breaths sharpening. She wonders whether she was always like this, somewhere along the facades she had forgotten her true face.
But there was one thing that was always the same and always will be the same. There is a small portrait in her drawer, of the three people smiling contently, happy and sated. She was perhaps never meant to be there, in that perfect photo she never was, never will be. It is perhaps the reason she doesn't feel remorse plunging her fate into the horrible eves of the war. After all, someone had said that soon it all wouldn't matter.
She lights a candle, it's faint light flickering across her bedroom, and her hand takes up the quill resting on the table.
It takes a while to still the tremors taking her body, a while to quieten her mind, and when she opens her eyes she realizes that it is the only way she could protect Cathiel from the war.
With bated breath, hidden in the darkness of her room she begins to write.
To be continued...
A/N: Herugrim= from heoru, "sword", and grimm, "fierce"