Hello everyone, I'm sorry that I have not updated this story in a very long time, but I am finding it hard to find time to write. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, although I must say I was not expecting such sudden outbursts from a few of you. If you have read Nightingale's Song you will know already that Aníron does not betray Legolas and leave him for Éomer, so do not worry. Hopefully I will be able to update more in the next couple of weeks since I will soon be taking a break from school. This chapter might have some angst, since Aníron is dwelling on what happened, but other than that, I think that the story is moving along nicely. Please continue to read and review.
Chapter 17. Betrayal
Aníron shrunk back from Éomer's touch her eyes downcast in shame. The horse lord watched her, the sudden realization sinking into him as she tucked a lock of star-bright hair behind her pointed ear. 'Aníron...' he said softly, 'I am sorry, please forgive me...' He reached out a sun-browned hand to comfort her, but the hand was pushed aside roughly. 'Leave me be!' she cried, turning and running from the balcony. Éomer listened to her soft footsteps fading in the distance, before burying his face in his hands, whispering, 'What have I done?'
Dark clouds began to cover the moon as Aníron ran to her chamber, a solitary tear coursing down her cheek. As she closed the heavy door behind her, she sank to her knees tears flowing slowly down her face. The night skies blackened as the stars and moon faded beneath the clouds of foreboding that covered the land. Aníron sat in the darkness, her mind echoing with dark thoughts and the memories of pain and suffering that she had endured through her life. No light of hope shone through the dark, no bright memory surfaced. Only black despair filled the elven lady's mind as she drifted off to sleep.
The land was dark and the landscape was bleak as the proud banners waved in the wind. Smoke poured forth from blackened craters, and lightning flashed from the heavy clouds above. Men and Elves stood silent, facing a great army of orcs and other fell creatures, wind blowing softly through their hair. Aníron looked about her, though none seemed to take heed of the woman in their midst. Without warning, a horn sounded and both armies charged forward, arrows flying through the air with deadly accuracy. She turned and saw Legolas, his silver knives in hand, and Éomer fighting side by side. An orc stabbed Éomer in the leg and, as the horse lord crouched low on the battlefield, hewed his head from his neck in one movement. In absolute horror she watched as the same orc raised it's curved blade and thrust it into the blond elf's back. A mixture of surprise and pain was etched on Legolas' face as his beautiful blue eyes clouded over in death. A scream escaped her lips but none heard her, save the orc who drew back his blade and...
'Aníron!' an urgent voice sounded and the dream faded. Éowyn stood over her bed, hand raised as if to slap her, but the Lady of Rohan lowered her hand as she saw the fear in Aníron's green eyes subside. 'What is wrong? You were screaming in your sleep, and your eyes were wide in fear,' She asked quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. Aníron did not answer and looked around the room instead. Merry was standing near to the doorway, looking as if he was going to cry, and Éomer stood in a far corner of the room, gazing out the window.
'What time is it?' Aníron asked, ignoring Éowyn's question, looking out of the window to see pitch black skies. 'It is eight-o-clock in the morning,' Éomer said, his voice raspy, not looking at her. 'Why has the sun not risen?' she asked, panic filling her voice as she looked to the window once more. At this, Éomer turned to face her, his eyes gaunt and lifeless, 'The sun will not rise again, it has begun.' Aníron bowed her head; Sauron's attack on the free peoples of Middle-earth had started.
That afternoon, Théoden called a council to discuss Rohan's plan of action in the coming war. Torches were lit in the hall and the golden walls gleamed in the dancing light. Aníron and Éowyn stood silently behind the king's chair, not making a sound, although their eyes betrayed the worry they both felt. Théoden was speaking of the Paths of the Dead when a voice called out from the hall, 'Théoden! Théoden!' A guard that had been positioned at the door opened the door to give his King a message. 'An errand rider from Gondor is here with urgent news, shall I allow him to enter?' Théoden had no time to consider, for a tall man, clad as a rider, strode into the hall.
Merry gasped, as did Aníron, for the man who walked into the hall looked as if he were Boromir, alive and well. 'Hail, Lord of the Rohirrim, friend of Gondor!' he said striding up to Théoden's throne and presenting the king with an arrow, it's steel tip painted blood-red. 'I am Hirgon, errand-rider of Denethor, who brings you this token of war. Gondor is in great need. Often the Rohirrim have aided us, but now the Lord Denethor asks for all your strength and all your speed, lest Gondor fall at last.'
After this had been said, Hirgon looked about the room, noting the hardened warriors who stood about their king, but his eyes rested on the two women who stood behind the throne, conversing in low whispers. Why should these two women be here? He was shaken out of his thoughts, by Théoden's answer, but he did not hear everything, his eyes straying to the tall woman dressed in pure white, Éowyn.
Théoden took the arrow, and dismissed Aníron, Éowyn, and Merry from the hall as they discussed war tactics. The three of them wandered the cold stone halls, the hobbit, having taken a liking to the two women, was trying to raise their spirits. A halfhearted smile played on Aníron's lips as the hobbit recited some of his favorite jokes, but nothing could release her thoughts from the dream. After being silent for quite sometime, Éowyn picked up a small stone and threw it out of a window in frustration, then sank to the floor burying her face in her arms.
'Tis not fair!' she cried, pounding her fists on the hard stone floor in frustration. Aníron froze in her tracks as Merry ran over to comfort the Lady of Rohan. 'What is not fair?' he asked, knowing well the answer. Éowyn looked up and saw the hobbit's encouraging face, but Aníron was nowhere to be seen. She was about to answer when a soft hand pulled her to her feet. The elf lady met the shield maiden's grey eyes with steely resolve. 'Do not let anyone prevent you from that which you are determined to do,' she whispered, and then turned away, walking in the direction of her chambers. Éowyn stood as if rooted to that spot as Aníron left, and Merry's eyes were wide in confusion as he watched Aníron's retreating back.
In her own chamber, Aníron opened a chest that she had hidden underneath her small bed and removed the items from it, gazing upon them. She picked up a bronze helm, holding it in her hand, as if deciding something, and then placed it over her head. Her mind was made up, tomorrow she would ride to war, disguised as one of the Rohirrim.
Éowyn sat alone on a chair in her chambers, brooding on Aníron's words. The elf had told her once of how she had disguised herself in order to be one of the guard in Lothlórien, perhaps she herself could do the same to follow her brother to war. She considered the consequences of her actions, but could find no alternative to following. 'I will ride to war, seeking naught but death,' Éowyn told herself gazing into a mirror, surprised at the hard determination in her eyes.
The following morning dawned black, and the riders prepared for war, not knowing that two women would be joining them. Aníron bound her chest tightly with linen, and tied back her long pale hair, hiding it under the shining helm. Armor and mail covered her person, and she staggered under the weight of so much metal. Aníron's own sword hung at her side, and her bow was strapped to her back, hidden under a thick brown cloak. As she marched down the hallway to the stables, she collided with another rider in heavy armor. They both fell backwards, and as she gathered herself up once more, Aníron locked eyes with the rider, catching a familiar grey gleam. 'Éowyn?' she whispered hoarsely as Éowyn whispered 'Aníron?' The two held a shocked gaze before rushing off towards their destinations.
Celebfindel whinnied loudly as Aníron entered the stable. She patted the mighty steed's soft nose, slipping a bridle into his mouth, and whispering words of encouragement. The elven horse stood silently as his mistress saddled him, and then mounted, shifting uncomfortably in the foreign saddle. 'Come,' she muttered in the horse's ear, 'We ride to war!' With that she spurred him into action and they galloped to the place where Théoden was to be meeting the riders.
Aníron came quickly to the place, recognizing Théoden and Éomer mounted at the head of the riders. As she steered Celebfindel through the crowd, she noticed Éowyn near the back of the company and rode to meet her. As she came up to the rebellious Lady of Rohan, a small anxious face peeked out from the front of Éowyn's cloak. It appeared that Merry was being stolen away to war. The hobbit seemed to notice that she was watching him, and quickly hid himself once more. 'Call me Dernhelm,' Éowyn mouthed to Aníron, and the elf lady nodded in understanding, before turning to see Éomer cry, 'Ride on! Ride on!'
The company thundered forward, and as she rode, Aníron realized that she had once more broken Legolas' trust and betrayed him. Uncertain thoughts streamed through her head and she rested on one thought. 'Perhaps, if I live through this, Legolas will forgive me for all that I have done wrong.' She told herself before turning Celebfindel southeast, not knowing that she was endangering a life other than hers by riding to war.