From where she sat, Rohan spilled out across from her. It was a land of plains, where the grass grew high in the wet season; a great sprawl of red and green against the gold and blue of the sky. Rocky outcrops dusted the way like spilt snow, and the rolling hills swelled against the weathered earth. The day was warm, with barely a whisper of cloud. Manning the watch tower was no eorlingas' favourite pastime – there was no horse to ride, and no standard to bear.
But it was beautiful. And as Ensign of Mark, it was a responsibility that Loena, daughter of Leofwine, took seriously. Very little could motivate her to abandon her post.
She turned away, and faced south. Across the way, and beneath the dip of the White Mountain, a Horse breeder pushed his herd across the grass. He kept them in line with a long, fine stick, and walked on foot around them. They walked with him, unconcerned; dark flecks against the white behind them.
Loena had ridden hard at dawn, earlier that day. She'd been returning after a raid at the southern border two nights previously. She had come, racing up the steps to Meduseld, to see the king, and he had listened to her worries, and had seemed amiable to her pleas to increase the number of raids ordered. Better than that, he had gifted her a private audience. His horrid advisor, Gríma Wormtongue, had taken ill and had been attending the Houses of Healing for the day. Théoden had been distracted, it was true, and obviously exhausted, but he'd told her that he would consider her recommendations.
And it was the longest conversation she'd had with Théoden in months. Nay, years.
The settled feeling she'd felt in her chest when she'd first arrived in Edoras with her mother, so many years ago, had returned. She felt satiated, optimistic. As refreshed as she did by the cool winds off the mountains, that blew her golden hair across her face.
She left the south, and turned back to the north, sitting down to settle in. Rare was it that a traveller who visited did not come from the North; it was there that all roads led, and it was at the northern end of the city that Edoras's gates opened. She let her eyes glaze as the moment extended, nearly closing her eyes against the sleepy warmth of the sun.
These days, the eored riders came in and out of the city with an increasing regularity. So much so that Leona could distinguish them from hunting groups by sound alone. Hunting groups wore less armour, they spoke louder, laughed easier, and their horses were not so weathered. Loena could even usually place a few young noble's voices.
Loena let her mind drift, remembering her request, only a few months after she'd arrived in Edoras, to joint he king on a hunting trip. It had been presumptive – most hunts were by invitation only. But Loena had been inspired by the great stories of her house, and had been steeled by the encouragement of her mother.
"I would accept your request," Théoden King had said, not unkindly. "But for your sex. Women are not to hunt."
Not to hunt! Loena had been taught how to pull a bow and arrow as well as any of the Nobles atop their steeds before her. She could work on her spear throwing, that was true, but she had no doubt that she was more proficient than the 14 year old lad sitting nervously on top of, presumably, his father's Friesian stallion. Even as she watched she saw him glance down at the horse with apprehension, swallowing and gathering the reins tightly in his hands.
"My King," she's said, in a low voice, eyes flicking from his face to the face of his nephew behind him. Éomer was watching the exchange with curiosity. "I beg my house's attendance. I swear, by the Great Hunter, that I will be able to keep the pace."
"If Loena is to go, than I am too!" the king's niece cried from behind Loena. Loena had turned, and seen the young woman Éowyn, a few years her junior, with freckles across her nose, staring up at her uncle determinedly.
Théoden had sighed, and rubbed his lower back. "I will not argue with you on this matter, Loena."
Loena had bitten her tongue and bowed her head. It was, after all, by the king's discretion that she was learning swordplay in Edoras at all.
She'd watched the thunder of the Riddermark's storm as they'd raced from the cities gates with a shadow across her face. She'd spent the rest of the afternoon taking her anger out through her bow and arrow. She snarled with every draw, and grunting with every release. By the time the hunt had returned with pheasant and deer, she'd ruined the centre of the target, and had blistered her two fingers.
Looking back, she was surprised she'd been granted enough time with him for him to refuse her twice. Her blood line was significant, in truth; she was the blood of Baldor; Grandson of Eorl, the first rider of the Mark, and eldest son and heir of Brego. He-Who-Should-Have-Been-King. The Crown prince who had ridden off through the Paths of the Dead, and had never returned. He who, after just two generations of kings, had ended the line, and passed the deed onto his younger brother.
Baldor had been survived by a daughter, a maiden of the Shield hand, who they said was one of the first women to ride a horse like a man. Beornia, they'd called her, for the sword she'd wielded for her King-uncle. Beornia, the blood of Baldor, spirit of the Riddermark.
During the time of Beornia and her children, the blood of Baldor had been strong, and had been tied to the king with strong ties. But Baldor's legacy had been inherited by squanderers, and the line had lost its money and its influence. Loena had always thought that it was significant that Baldor's line had been almost exclusively women, and had always supposed that the husbands they'd chosen had spent the money erroneously.
She had no proof, of course.
Nevertheless, by the time of Loena's birth, almost all the prestige and notoriety of her line was gone.
Just enough power, in the end, however, for Bréa, Loena's mother, to make an appeal to the king. Enough prestige for the king to invest in them. Enough for them to be moved back to Edoras.
She flew open into a panic, jumping to her feet as something descended from the sky. It was huge, with massive, feathery grey wings batting against the air. It looked like one of the giant falcons the young men would use when they hunted. She was half convinced it had flown from her dreams into the sky.
It was flying as fast as an elvish arrow towards the ground, before pulling up in the last moment, and settling down upon the grasslands. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene; a giant eagle landing outside her city, with a small, man-shaped creature climbing off. He stood beside it for a second, and both were still. Then the great bird reared its head and spread its wings, air beating against the earth as it alighted into the air.
With just a few strokes of its massive wings, it alighted to the clouds, and barely a blink later, it was gone.
Loena nearly stumbled in her haste to get to the base of the outpost. She sprinted past the sentry guards, and then half-fell the rest of the way down, dress snaring on the rungs as she descended. Her quiver beat against her back, and her sword, a fine, balanced blade named Gíed, slammed against her hip as she turned on the last step. She pushed on, beelining for Edoras's open doors.
"Loena!"
The voice stopped her in her tracks. She swivelled on her heel, and bowed her head meekly at the sight of her Captain bearing down on her.
From the stairs in front of Meduseld, Éomer approached.
"Hail, Captain," she said to him nervously. She glanced over her shoulder quickly, though she knew that without the height of the watch tower, she had no hope in seeing the person the eagle had left upon their grasses.
"Daughter of Leofwine," Éomer greeted her by her father's name. "It is not like you to abandon your post."
"Aye," she agreed. "But this is a matter pressing enough to leave the guarding to the sentries alone." She glanced at Meduseld shining out behind him. "Perhaps I should consult the king—"
"Théoden has retired for the day," Éomer said shoulders rigid. Loena couldn't distinguish between the concern and worry on the tightness of his voice. "Is there anything I can do for you in his stead?"
Loena dismissed the fleeting disappointment, sparing a moment for wryly chastising herself for becoming hopeful about the king's ailing health. The eagle, and the person who had been riding it, pushed themselves steadily to the forefront of her mind.
"Ah," she said, nodding quickly. She found it hard to hold Éomer's eye for too long. He was intense, and solemn. Both he and his sister were renowned for their solemnity, their apparent coldness. He was a good captain, but he was an intimidating man. "I suppose you might. Some strange parcel has been delivered upon the doorstep of Edoras. A man, I think, arrived here as if from a dream, on the back of a bird. I intend to ride off to meet it."
Éomer's eyes widened, and then narrowed. "Did anyone else see it?"'
"I doubt it," Loena said, shaking her head. "The bird moved too quickly for the eye to follow, and it came to the earth far from these walls around us. I saw only because I was watching from so high."
"You believe this, creature, means us ill will?" Éomer guessed, and Loena took that as him agreeing to accompany her. Together they strode off automatically for the stables. It was a close distance, but too far to walk with any degree of haste.
"Oh, I have no idea," Loena said, though she did grasp at Gíed's hilt nervously. "But either way, an occurrence this strange should not be neglected."
"Undoubtedly," Éomer nodded. "You are right. We shall set off immediately."
The practiced ease of the Rohirrim preparing their horses to ride meant both Éomer and Loena were saddled moments later.
Snowbourne seemed to nicker in annoyance below her. The grey, dappled mare had been her companion as she'd ridden around the Westfold, hunting Orc with spear and sword. Snowbourne was a clever horse, bred in the foothills of the White Mountains. She was swift, faster than any who rode in Loena's company, and recovered quickly after hard riding. She was, however, not immune to the effects of exhaustion, and had likely been looking forward to resting after Loena's latest raid alongside the eored.
"Just a short trip, my girl," Loena whispered to her, patting along her neck. "You'll be back here soon."
Éomer led the way through the streets, seated comfortable upon a proud, bald face stallion. Loena and Snowbourne followed shortly behind him. Loena watched him as he rode, straight backed, shoulders relaxed. She blinked as he turned and smiled at her, the early-sun shining off his golden hair. She imagined Éomer then, before she could stop herself, as the kindly Lord as the hero in a love-story.
The latter thought made her blush, and she was glad for the chill of the wind to hide it.
They found themselves quickly out of Edoras, riding out free from the confines of the city. The man would have been impossible to see if Loena had not been looking for him; one irregular dark spot against the landscape.
As they approached Loena made out the small figure all the clearer. An old man, with a tall walking stick, a tall grey hat, and a grey cloak.
Her mother had sent her, for 10 years of her life each summer to Minas Tirith to learn to read amongst the rare texts housed in the royal libraries there. Minas Tirith was a strange memory to her now, she both recalled it with clarity, and yet could distinguish very little between each year that she had gone. She did remember that in her first year, the two well-mannered sons of the Steward had bowed to when she arrived. Her deepest impression of the city itself was its veined white stone that she'd trace with her fingers, and the smell of the dust and books in the dank rooms of the library.
Her clearest, and most treasured recollection was, however, the kindly old wizard who would talk to her for hours about dragons, trolls, and far off lands.
She recognised him now, and she spurred Snowbourne into a canter, overtaking Éomer, her face broken into a grin. "Gandalf!"
He had been standing, quite content, in the spot where the eagle had landed, and he raised his hand at the call of his name.
"You know this stranger?" Éomer asked her, bringing his steed in line with hers. He sounded surprised, and a little suspicious.
"I met him during my studies in Minas Tirith," Leona answered, feeling suddenly brazen, looking into Éomer's eyes and smiling. "He's a wizard, a Grey Pilgrim." Her grin broke out, childish and broad, as recollection stirred in the back of her mind. "He makes the most wonderful fireworks."
"Fireworks?" Éomer seemed lost.
"Great flowers of light that explode into the sky," Loena described, feeling nearly giddy, remembering their red and yellow light reflected in the white stone wash of Minas Tirith's walls.
"Sounds like magic, to me," Éomer said, sounding bemused.
Loena shrugged. "I don't doubt it."
Soon thereafter Loena slowed Snowbourne to a trot, and then stopped the young mare altogether. She leapt eagerly from the saddle and strode toward Gandalf. "The Grey Wizard! How many years has it been since I gazed upon your face? I swear I recall at our last meeting, that you promised to finish some odd tale about some hobbit and a merry band of dwarves."
"Loena, daughter of Leofwine and Horse-Mistress," Gandalf smiled, and when Loena was close, grasped her shoulder, his kind eyes finding hers. She beamed up at him. "I remember the promise, though I do swear I had good reason for not returning that summer."
"It is good to see you, old friend," she said, and the two embraced.
Once they'd broken apart, Gandalf took a proper look at her. "You have the same smile, but I see you have grown into a proper woman since our paths crossed last." A flicker of something like memory, or grief, flickered over his eyes as he gazed upon her face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.
A polite cough called from behind them, and Loena turned quickly. "Gandalf the Grey, I introduce Éomer of Edoras, Third Marshal of the Riddermark."
"I've heard many interesting stories about the bravery of this day's Marshal," Gandalf said, bowing his hat toward Éomer. "Well met, son of Rohan."
"Well met, Wizard," Éomer nodded slowly in turn, eyes flicking from Loena and then to Gandalf, and then back again. "Loena and I rode out after she had seen some great eagle drop a parcel for the Rohirrim at the doorstep of our city, and I am relieved that it was a friend, not a foe."
"Indeed," Gandalf smiled. "Now, where is Théoden? There is much the two of us need to discuss."
Théoden would not be roused to meet with Gandalf, but the wizard didn't seem too perturbed.
"I can afford to spend a day in Edoras," Gandalf smiled softly, looking around. Loena had come to deliver the bad news to him, for he'd waited out the front of Meduseld, content to watch the people move around him. "Much has changed since I was last here. It would do me good to reacquaint myself with the horse-lords."
"Would you like me to join you?" Loena offered.
"Oh, no," Gandalf waved her away. "You are far too young and able to squander your days alongside an old man with too many stories."
They farewelled, with Gandalf promising to visit her again before he left. Loena watched Gandalf stroll away, his grey hair catching in the midday wind.
"I would not know you to be in the company of wizards," Éomer spoke behind her, and Loena turned, surprised. He was watching her, his eyes grey and serious, but his mouth quirked with the hint of a teasing smile. "Next you will tell me that you've been walking with the elves in Lothlórien, or feasting with the dwarves under the Lonely Mountain."
Loena laughed at his teasing, and turned to look at him fully. "I fear my invitation to Lothlórien must have been lost," she replied easily. She wrinkled her nose. "And I have not been convinced on the existence of dwarves."
"No?" Éomer looked bemused. "Surely in your studies you were taught the truth of Dwarves."
"Of course, they were mentioned," Loena said breezily. "But so too were hobbits, whom I'm certain have never graced the land of Middle Earth."
Éomer laughed. "I never picked you for a sceptic."
"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you'd think," Loena said breezily.
Éomer looked faintly discouraged by the thought. "Perhaps I do not."
Loena steeled her nerves and looked Éomer in the eye. He seemed taken aback by her forwardness; to him, she knew, she would seem shy and skittish. "Will you not join me on the watch-tower? I must relieve Hargar, for I promised I would return as soon as the matter of Gandalf was settled."
Éomer looked at her for a moment longer, and ducked his head. "I…should not."
Something about the way he said it caught at Loena's throat, as if he knew her motives, and was trying to subtly undermine them.
Loena smiled, though spared herself by staring at a spot just above his eyes. "The duties of a Marshal never cease! I shall see you soon, dear friend."
As the sun set, Loena stretched herself from her scouting position. Alphred had come to take her place, and she greeted him with a tired smile.
"No news to report," Loena informed him. "Good luck, tonight."
"I fear it will be another night thick with mist," Alphred looked to the sky with apprehension. It was true that the day had been cold enough, and the dew that gathered even now harkened no good sign. If the mist was thick, sentries were practically useless.
However deep and absolute the fog was, Alphred would have to maintain his vigilance until morning. Manning the watch tower was frustratingly idle at the best of times, and with nothing to distract, and no moonlight to work by, it would be impossibly boring. She attempted weakly; "I shall get someone to send you up extra blankets."
Dusk had settled in soundly around Edoras by the time Loena had climbed down from the perch. Around her torches were being lit, and people were hurrying back to their homes. The poorer citizens had likely all already gone to bed – they often turned in before sundown to save them the cost of tallow and wax. Those she saw milling around now were soldiers and guards, and even they seemed to be hastening home.
She had a brief flashing memory of Edoras when she was young, when people would sing and dance and drink until late at night around great roaring campfires. Now no one had the will, nor the energy. It felt like a nation in mourning.
Hers and her mother's home was near the base of Meduseld. It was a tall fine home, and though modest by noble standards, but grand in comparison to the world Loena had been first raised in. As she approached, she saw that the torch near the door had already been set alight.
Loena left her sword, bow and quiver at the front door. Her mother had a strict no-weapons policy when it came to their home. She paused when she saw an unfamiliar sword, still in its scabbard, waiting patiently at the door. She hadn't known that they'd be entertaining a guest.
She pushed the door open, "Mother! I am home!"
There was a strangely pregnant silence before her mother called back, with a strained voice, "Well met, my child. Come into the dining room as soon as you are able."
Loena shrugged off her cloak to leave at the front door, and a conversation – one that must have paused for her arrival – sounded out through the house. The voice that wasn't her mothers was low, and familiar.
She frowned, the voice's owner slipped just beyond her comprehension. Of the small number of guests they'd entertain over the years, none seemed to match the tenor.
She ran through the faces and voices of the men they'd sometimes meet, as she made her way quickly to the dining room. There she found her mother, a steaming pot of soup, two unused bowls and the Grey Wizard.
"Gandalf!" She said, nearly choking. She blinked, and then, remembering herself, moved to Bréa's side. "Well met, mother." She came around the table and embraced her. She looked up at Gandalf, and tried to smother her surprise. "It is good to see you again, my friend."
"I apologise for the shock, my dear, but the secrecy has all been well intended." He turned to my mother. "Bréa, I apologise for this inconvenience. Will your soup remain hot for the next few hours, if Loena and I are to make our leave?"
Leave? Loena snapped her gaze from her mother to Gandalf, surprised.
Her mother worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Loena wanted to say that the soup could always be kept warm over the hearth, but she realised with a sudden clarity, that her mother cared not for the temperature of the food. Something else was colouring Bréa's cheeks and quickening her drawing breath.
Loena had the strangest feeling come over her, like a cold wash come unexpected. A secret was about to be revealed here, something she should want to know.
"Come with me, my dear," Gandalf said slowly, as Loena's mother made no attempt at answer. "There is something I must show you outside of Edoras tonight."
"We should warn the sentries, if we are leaving the city," Loena said carefully, looking first to her silent, worried mother, to the serene profile of the grey wizard. "They may confuse us for criminals in the gloom."
"The gloom is thick enough to hide us from even the friendliest of eyes," Gandalf implored her. He stood. "Follow quickly, child. There will be time enough to worry if what you fear comes to pass, after the event has occurred."
Loena thought his logic flawed, especially if the "event" was them being stuck through with arrows, but decided to trust that Gandalf's magic could act as a shield. Gandalf arose and moved quickly to the door, waiting for her under the frame.
Confused, Loena looked to her mother, who watched her with round eyes. Bréa had once been a royal beauty, her Rohirric golden locks and tawny eyes had captured the hearts of every worthy man in Rohan. Now she seemed small, and lined, and tired.
"Farewell, Mama," Loena said, a sudden rush of affection for her mother swelling her heart.
"Farewell, my sweet," Bréa said quietly. Then, smiling, "I shall be here, waiting, when you return."
Loena hurried to catch up with Gandalf, who'd disappeared to the front door. His grey hat one gain covered his hair, and he had reattached his sword to his cloak. "I apologise for the lateness of the hour, but in these times, this sort of thing cannot be helped."
"It is no bother," Loena insisted, though she felt how her nervousness cinched her smile. "Truly." She affixed her cloak at her throat with tremoring hands, and reached for her own sword, Giéd, and tied it to the belt around her waist. She hesitated before leaving, "Gandalf, what we are doing…is it dangerous?"
"Oh, no," Gandalf shook his head. "But a sword is a friend when the night is dark. Tonight shall be dark indeed; even the moon is eclipsed by the denseness of the clouds."
He was right, Loena realised, looking around. The only light for them came from the torch light her mother had lit to help her when she arrived home. "Shall we take the torch with us?"
Gandalf shook his head roughly. "No, my dear. Your eyes, I'm sure, will adjust."
"Perhaps, if I were an elf," Loena murmured, quiet enough that she thought it well below the ability of an old man.
"Perhaps," Gandalf agreed good naturedly. "Alright, my once-Pupil, follow me closely, and do not make a sound." He went to go, but then drew back. "No matter how the night evolves." He made to go again, but drew back a second time. "No matter how curious you are."
Loena nodded her affirmation, and the two stole through Edoras quickly. Loena was light on her feet, but Gandalf was soundless. She figured she'd hear the rustling of the grass before she heard the sound of his footfall.
Before too long they were at the gate entering the city. The sentries there were rigid and alert, staring off at the plains in front of them. It seemed a folly, for even in the protected city, the mist had begun to descend. Through the darkness, Loena had to strain her eyes to keep track of where Gandalf was going.
He murmured something under his breath, and the gate to the city pushed slightly open. Loena paused at the sight of magic, even something so simple. If the sentries heard the creak of the wood, neither turned to check for its source. Gandalf pushed ahead without glancing back to see if Loena was following. Internally cursing, she did.
Once outside of the city, the gate silent swung closed behind her. Out here, the fog was complete, like a cloud that had been snatched from the sky. Gandalf led her on and on from the city gate. Neither sentries moved. Looking back at Edoras after just a moment of walking, she saw that the lights of the city were all that could make it through the viscous mist accosting it. A few more steps, and even the strongest torches shine would not make it through to her.
Still they moved, her and Gandalf, on across the moor. Grass and rock crunched underfoot, and mist began to coat her face and hands with cold droplets of water. When they finally came to rest, Loena was wiping the water from her brow as if it had been sweat.
"We shall stop here," Gandalf said, in a low voice.
"This weather is unnatural," Loena murmured to match his volume. All around her the frost had descended, absolute in its density. It seemed as solid and thick as the walls of a house. She looked back the way they had come, and could only make out the most fleeting of shape from the direction of the city. "It feels as though Edoras has been cursed."
Gandalf turned to her. She couldn't make out the expression on his face, but his voice was grave. "There are unsightly works ongoing in Rohan."
Loena wanted to push him for more information but, ever vague, Gandalf turned and sat down. "Sit with an old man, my dear. We have some waiting yet."
"I still do not know what it is we await," Loena said, her voice tantalising close to a whine.
"Which is part of the fun for me, as agonising as it is for you," Gandalf replied, and Loena could hear the smile in his words. "Now, tell me dear, how long have you vied for the affections of Éomer?"
Loena nearly choked. "Éomer?"
"Yes, I am certain you know him," Gandalf said. "Tall, well built, the one you often stare at when you think he is not looking…"
"Ah, yes," Loena said, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. "Well." She wanted to deny it, but she knew it useless. "Do you think he knows?" She sounded weak, and felt light-headed.
"Perhaps suspects, but is far from certain," Gandalf said. "Although he would be the only one in Endoras who is unaware."
"He is the second in line from a great house," Loena said, gloomily. She thought of all in Edoras knowing she vied for him, and wanted to put her face into her hands. She balled them on her lap to escape the impulse. "A glory amongst his men, proud and kind. There is no hope."
"For, I am guessing, you believe yourself from a faded house, far removed from its former glory," Gandalf surmised.
"That is not a matter of belief," Loena snorted. "The House of Baldor has crumbled for eon, and crumbles now. Any alternative is fiction."
Gandalf paused before he spoke again. When he did, his words were tight, like he'd selected each one carefully and after a lot of thought. "There is still hope for your house, Shieldmaiden. Need and opportunity have, in this age, coalesced with your coming."
"Need?" Loena frowned.
"Hush!" Gandalf said quickly, hearing something Loena had not. "All will be made clearer in just a moment."
Loena obeyed him, watching, eyes straining, through the mist.
She did not see the orc party, but she could hear them. Great hulking footsteps, and the clinking of boorish armour sounded out across the plains. Loena hastened a hold on her sword, but Gandalf held her arm, stilling her. She stood straight and tense, hearing their snorts and grunts as they moved. It was obvious, though, that they were doing their best approximation at silence. None spoke, none growled or snarled.
The sound of them moving came louder, and louder, and soon enough Loena thought she could make out their figures just ahead of her. They passed in and out of sight so fluidly she half felt that she'd made them up, if it weren't for the fact that the nearness of their sound placed them right in front of her.
Loena watched them as they went. None saw, nor sensed her. She wondered if it were some wizardry hiding her and Gandalf from their eyes.
Once they had disappeared, Gandalf was the first to speak. "This illustrates Rohan's great moment of need."
"How dare they stride so confidently across our lands!" Loena hissed, tightening her hold on Giéd once more. "If I had had my horse, and a lance, I would have charged them all, and strung them through. They'd know, then, how the Riders of Rohan treat their kind!"
"I don't doubt your valour, Loena," Gandalf assured her. "But these orcs must live. For them to die would spoil plans long put into action." He hesitated. "I shall tell you much, tonight, but you first must understand, that in the days of old, the orcs would have never dared cross Rohan's lands so freely."
"Of that fact, I am keenly aware," Loena answered, her anger sending a sting to her words.
Back at her house, Loena sat across from Gandalf, her anger hulking her shoulders up her neck.
"I have a long story to tell you," Gandalf said. "But tell it, I must."
Gandalf told her of how he'd visited Saruman the White, and how Saruman had revealed himself as the Wizard of many colours. He recounted with a deep bitterness how Saruman had tricked and captured Gandalf. He told her of his lucky escape on one of the giant eagles Loena had beheld. His voice dropped low, as if to avoid being overheard, when he described his worry for Rohan.
He told her that Saruman had sent the mist to hide the comings of the orcs as they hunted for Gandalf after his escape, and that killing them would not allow them to report back no sign of the grey wizard was safer than silencing them completely.
"Rohan is being overrun," Gandalf said, severely, his ancient eyes intense beneath his hat. "Orthanc operates as if Rohan has already been captured for the dark."
"I don't understand why you are telling me this, and not Éomer, or Théodred, if Théoden has become too frail," Loena frowned, once the tale had been finally completed. "Éomer is a Marshal, and second in line, and Théodred is Prince and heir. Compared to them, I am powerless."
Gandalf beheld her for a moment. She felt very young under his gaze. "Do you truly believe that?"
Loena considered for a moment. She looked down at her lap, and pushed her skirt out over her knees. "I believe that my line has significance, Gandalf. And I believe that my ancestor held great power. But I also believe that the power is gone."
Gandalf considered her again. Loena did not like the slowness; it made her feel as though something were wrong. "But you do believe that there is, say, a power to being the scion of the line?"
Loena paused again. She knew he must be circling onto some sort of point, and she wanted to snap at him, so that he might arrive at it a little faster. "Theoretically," she settled on.
"But in no real, actionable way?" Gandalf pressed.
Loena pursed her lips. "Oh, no, I believe that there is a way forward, perhaps. And there might be a world in which this sort of news should come to me first. But it is not this day, nor this night."
"Someday," Gandalf figured for her, and she nodded. "Tell me, have I ever told you what I remember from the death of Brego's eldest son?"
Loena shook her head slowly, flicking quickly though all the old tales Gandalf had told her while she'd been in Minas Tirith. "No, I do not remember."
"The death of the King's heir spoilt the first, desperate years of the Rohirric nation," Gandalf said, a faraway look in his eye. "The youth of the country was lost in that moment. The days that passed before he fell had an altogether different feel to the days that passed after. True, the days ruled by his younger brother were golden ones, and true that they were a time of peace; but true it is also, that they were days of mourning." Gandalf was often grave like this, often spoke as though History was an unfolding story. "They would have been Baldor's; Golden days for him to watch over carefully. But it was to not be so."
"Golden days," Loena repeated, sighing, and rubbing her hand over her eyes. "It seems a foolish thought, in times such as these."
"It is not."
Loena looked up, frowning. "Is isn't?"
Gandalf shook his head slowly. "No. Loena, the death of Baldor was not unseen by the great magic that turns this world. It has been foreseen, by creatures other than I, that the line of your family is tied to the fate of this country. Baldor had lost his chance to push Rohan onto the path toward greatness." Gandalf paused. "It has been seen, that when this House is reaffirmed, the Golden Days shall return."
Loena stared at him. "Me?"
"Your family tee cannot wield a sword," Gandalf said, slightly irritated. "The spoken name cannot defend a country."
"How could a line such as mine bring about a New Age?" Loena demanded. "We have barely enough income to train and saddle its only daughter. There is no money for a host of men to fight in our name."
"It has never been the wealth of your House that given it power," Gandalf reminded her. "Yours, and all others, are only as valuable as the scions who inherit it. "Loena, you have noticed the orcs, and mourned the ever increasing blood spilt of your fellow riders. Other than the evil of Saruman, another enemy is gathering it's strength."
Loena remembered the shadow haunting Gondor with an aching clarity. Her studies at Gondor had been ever cast in its dimness. "Mordor," she surmised. "Sauron."
Gandalf nods slowly. "Yes." He glanced to the doors. "There is more for you to know, but I fear that Edoras is no longer the haven it was once was. Accompany me to Rivendell, where Elrond has called upon a host of free nations to a council. Gondor will be there, and the elves, dwarves." He paused, and smiled for the first time since they'd returned in from the mist. "Even a host of hobbits."
"Hobbits are real?" Loena asked, eyes wide, side tracked.
"Accompany me," Gandalf insisted. "And you shall renew the days of your house, Lord and Lands."
Loena barely needed to consider it.
"I shall visit the elves beside you, Mithrandir," she said, using his elvish name. Her voice was confident, her head held high. Opportunities such as the one that was presenting herself could not be squandered. "I shall see the days of my family renewed at last."
Perhaps to him she looked like a child, for he smiled fondly, and sadly.
As the night deepened, they made hasty preparations for what Loena would need with her when the two departed the next day after Gandalf had spoken with Théoden.
Gandalf made his leave when his part in the packing process had been exhausted. He warned her that travelling when she was exhausted would be an excruciating ordeal, and saw himself out the front door. Loena walked him to it, and saw as the door opened for him, that the mist had nearly completely dissipated, and that the stars above were clear and bright.
Once he had gone, Loena felt strange and distant, like a foreigner in her own home. It was as if her eagerness to leave had cursed her to be a stranger within her own walls, cold to the touch of the fire her mother had lit, distant and unseeing of the bouquets of flowers that had been presented along the entranceway. A great sadness overtook her soul in that moment, clouding the excitement for the weeks that lay ahead. This was the home that she and her mother had made was comfortable, and clean, and theirs. And she would likely not see it again for some time.
Acting on her urge, she padded up the stairs to her mother's room. The door opened easily at her touch, and she saw that her mother had left the fire crackling down to embers, slumbering under a mound of furs and woollen blankets.
"Mother," Loena whispered, kneeling by her mother's side. When Bréa didn't move, Loena cupped her cheek with her hand, and stroked the skin there with her thumb. With feeling, she tried again. "Mama."
Her mother moved under her hand, and with a bleary blink, she awoke. She frowned when she saw that it had been Loena who'd awoken her. "Daughter…" she started, voice weak with sleep.
"Do not strain yourself, mother," Loena warned her, pulling her hand away, and crouching at the side of her mother's bed. She smiled softly, with all the love in her heart. "I have been speaking with the Grey Wizard. He has asked me a mighty favour, a boon that might see Baldor's children renewed."
Loena had expected her mother to implore her to accept the favour, and laugh with the joy of their opportunity. But her face darkened, and her mouth puckered, and she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "It is as I had feared, then."
Troubled, Loena leant forward. "How so, Mama?"
"This will be a great undertaking," Bréa said quietly. She reached out and clasped her daughters hand. "One dangerous and enduring. One, I fear, that you may not return from."
"You underestimate the sword I wield, and the determination in my heart," Loena assured her. "I will not fall." Inspired, she moved to sit on the bed beside her mother. When she spoke, she felt tears come to the corners of her eyes, hot and proud. "I swear by the blood of our forebears and their generations of sacrifice, by both the strength of my arm and air in my lungs, that the great days of our house shall be restored." She looked down to her mother, locking eyes "This is the duty I was created for, Mama, and is a duty I shall see done."
"I knew you were strong of soul the moment I first held you," Bréa said proudly. "Now come, lie with me like you are a child again. I would spend the night with you if I am to lose you tomorrow day. Come, the bed is warm, the fire glows even now. The world outside is dark, but I am with you."
Loena cast off her boots and sank into the furs across the bed.
"Sleep now, daughter," Bréa murmured, holding Loena's hand and coaxing her into closing her eyes. "The way is dark, and deep, and full of danger, but even against the strongest of odds, you will hold the course."