Okay, L&G I gotta say that in my strident efforts to be precise (in my writing, if not in my fact, but hey in my defence; there's so much work involved in studying the world of Tolkien, a crowd in the UK made a degree out of it - but alas yet again I digress) to repeat: in my strident efforts to be precise, I have come across a couple of peculiar points that have stumped me:
1 Do elves sweat and smell? If not, why the hell not??? Immortal, I get; but above perspiration, I think not!!
2 If they do, do they bring a whole wardrobe (invisible to all but elven eyes) of clean clothes cos its not like they wash at any point in their marathon journey… I'm thinkin odourus muchus, eh??
3 Where does Legolas gets all his freakin arrows from - theory: since he don't need so much sleep, while the rest of them snooze, Legolas slips off, fells some trees, cuts the wood down to size and hunts him a peacock for its tail feathers. And yet, as wonderful as this theory is, somehow, I just can't see it happening. May be Leggies has a Mary Poppins carpet quiver….
4 Why in Elbereth's name does he carry long knives? I mean c'mon, lets just do daggers (short and sweet) or else go the whole hog and give him a man's (or in this case, long-standing-aged elf) weapon like a full size sword. What's with the half measures??
Many have commented on my capacity to overthink things, but I swear it is with the noblest of intentions that I ponder these things…
Anyway, to get back to the story…
Gimli felt refreshed by the five hours of sleep they'd had that night, though his back had protested at the rough ground and his head pounded for the want of more rest. They'd run now for nearly four hours, out across the plains of Rohan. A breeze had picked up from the west, and it carried on the air the tangy salty freshness of the Western Seas. It whipped past the now, its roar in their ears drowning out the silent worries. The trail had not disappeared but they'd yet to find anymore trace that their stray hobbits were still being held by the Orcs or that they were even alive.
Though he felt physically more able for the chase, Gimli's resolve had waned more with every hour they proceeded on a seeming directionless path. He was drawn from his solemn thoughts by Aragorn's loud cry.
"Riders!" he yelled, "Many riders on swift steeds are coming towards us."
He squinted in the bright light but could make out no more than a blur. His observation that it was a band of riders was based on the muted thump of many horse hooves. Beside him, Legolas halted and shaded his eyes with a long slender hand as he examined the speeding cluster. Nephryn stood tall beside him and Gimli saw her small fist tighten over the hilt of her longknife.
"Yes," the elf murmured, "there are one hundred and five. Yellow is their hair and bright are their spears. Their leader is very tall." Legolas squinted but could make out no more detail. He turned to Nephryn to see if she could discern more than he, but she also shook her head.
"Keen are the eyes of the elves!" Aragorn praised, a small smile on his face. But Legolas did not smile. He shook his head as he looked out on the plains again.
"Nay, my friend. My eyes judge well the detail because the group is close. Four and one half, perhaps five leagues by my reckoning."
Aragorn's smile faded at that. He knew instantly that there would be no escape. The level plains offered no cover and the horses would catch them quickly anyway. Gimli voiced as much.
"Five leagues or one," he muttered gruffly, "we cannot escape them in this bare land. Shall we await them or go on our way?"
Aragorn considered this briefly. They were all weary and while the approaching band were unknown, there were too many to escape which or whether. If they were not foe, they might well be able to aid the fellowship in their increasingly difficult task. The four left the small hilltop, where they were easy targets and walked slowly down to the tall grasses of the flatter plains. There they huddled in wait near a small mass of stones for the nearing company.
Soon the thunderous pound of a great many horse hooves filled the air and as it closed, they could hear shouting and yelling of the horsemen. As horse after horse swept past the group, oblivious to their presence, Aragorn recognised them. The Riders of Rohan often rode out in such numbers, most likely to hunt the creatures of Mordor that so often trampled the plains. The many riders had almost passed by when Aragorn stood and intoned loudly: "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?"
As quickly as the hundred steeds had rode past, they now doubled back with lightening speed, and within seconds, Aragorn and his companions were encircled by a ring off tall horses, their riders' swords drawn and trailed on the four. Nephryn and Legolas sat still behind the cluster of rocks, though they were now plainly in the view of the circling horsemen. Gimli stood, feet parted, axe drawn and ready.
Without warning, the riders halted and one horse broke the circle and approached Aragorn. As he drew closer, he too drew his broadsword and pointed it at the man's chest.
"Who are you, and what are you doing in this land?" The stranger spoke the Common Tongue, his voice deep and resounding. Nephryn could see that even in the saddle, he was tall. His hair was the colour of burnished gold, and it flowed from under his helm unbound to his shoulder blades. Though she could not see his face, his piercing brown eyes caught hers, even as he bore down on Aragorn. Gimli smiled approvingly as Aragorn did not budge. He stared up at the man who wielded the broadsword and spoke calmly.
"I am called Strider. I come out of the North. I am hunting Orcs. We mean no ill will to the peoples of Rohan." The stranger seemed to consider this for a moment before he leapt from his horse gracefully. As he stood, he sheathed his sword. He stood taller than Nephryn would have imagined, taller than Aragorn, perhaps even taller than Legolas, and certainly of bigger build. He pulled off his helm with a flourish and Nephryn could see that it was a man, fair of face, with the same open manner as Boromir of Gondor.
"At first I thought you yourselves were Orcs," he squinted as he studied Aragorn suspiciously, "but now I see it is not so. Strider is a strange name for a man, and strange is the way you would hunt Orcs. Are you elves?"
Aragorn shook his head as he spoke, "I am not, but these two are elves of Mirkwood and Lothlorién." He gestured to Nephryn and Legolas, who stood but kept their hoods drawn over their heads. It seemed that the stranger was unconvinced. With a nod of his head, two of his company drew the hoods back with a sweep of their blades. The sharp metal grazed Nephryn's cheek, breaking the skin, drawing a thin line of blood. She flinched as it did and her quick movement startled the group, for they advanced on her until the tips of a dozen bladed hovered in a circle around her head.
The leader saw instantly that the pair were of elven descent, and that the elf they'd pounced on was a girl-elf.
"Fall back!" he yelled. Legolas's eyes darted around menacingly as he fingered his dagger. Intuitively, he stood back-to-back with the elf-maid, forcing back some of the drawn blades. As their leader spoke, the swords were pulled back to a less threatening distance.
"Where have you come from?" The leader asked Aragorn.
"We have come from the wood of the Lady Galadriél, though each of us has travelled from different corners of Middle Earth."
The stranger looked at Aragorn with even more wonder now, but also a greater measure of wariness.
"Then there is a Lady of the Golden Wood as the old tales tell! Few escape her nets, they say. Perhaps you are among her cohorts, net-weavers and sorcerers?"
Gimli, who'd been silent up to then, bristled visibly at his words. Nephryn could see the heated anger on his face, much as she'd reacted when Boromir had uttered similar words at Imladris. She wanted to reach out to calm the dwarf, but new that if she made any more sudden movement, she might well find herself impaled on the blade of one brash warrior.
The leader noticed the dwarf's reaction and turned to him, his keen eyes scrutinising Gimli.
"And you, why do you not speak?" he queried quietly.
"Give me your name, horse master, and I will give you mine!" The dwarf spoke from hooded eyes, angered by both his comments about the glorious Lady of the Wood and his treatment of Legolas and Nephryn.
The leader circled him menacingly then, leaning over the dwarf, who in turn raised his axe defiantly.
"As for that, as a stranger you ought to declare yourself first, but no matter. I am Éomer, son of Éomund, and Third Marshal of Riddermark. We travel from Edoras, city of the Rohirrim."
At this, Gimli looked Éomer in the eye and replied warningly: "I am Gimli, Son of Glóin, and you should be warned against such hasty remarks against the fair Lady of the Wood. Clearly you know not of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only wit can excuse you."
Éomer's nostrils flared visibly and he exhaled, his eyes blazing. His men murmured angrily and began to close in.
"I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little taller," the horseman cautioned loudly.
Before Nephryn could stop him, Legolas stepped forward, his bow drawn and arrow set faster than the eye could follow.
"He stands not alone," the elf shouted, startling Éomer, "You would die before the stroke fell."
Suddenly enraged, Éomer raised his sword.
"Ai letr is anar yanae…" Nephryn began to chant. As it is cast in the annals of old…
As he let it fall, in the same instant, Legolas let loose the arrow.
"…sí man é, yúlma ortanmë…" her words lost to all but her in the furore. Give me this, my rightful power…
Aragorn screamed warning too late and Gimli raised his axe to defend himself.
"Sí vanwë ná, Elentári!" Elentári, I invoke thee!
Eyes wide with fear, she stepped into the path of the falling blade and raised one hand in supplication.
The blade stood but a hair's breadth from her head as the last word was formed. As the word left her lips, her eyes grew pale as the faintest glow emanated from within them: the sword and arrow were halted and wrenched from their fatal paths by a powerful unseen force. Legolas and Éomer were thrown back, both landing on the ground. Gimli's axe found only empty air where Éomer once stood.
Aragorn stared on as the hovering weapons floated to the ground as Nephryn dropped her hand. The elf-maid stared back at him, though her eyes were glazed over. After a moment, she dropped her hand and at once, the sword and arrow clattered to the ground.
Nephryn barely heard the murmurs of 'Witch!' that rippled through the crowd of horsemen. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli stared at her, amazed. Éomer had on his face a peculiar mix of fear and gratitude and he frowned warily as he stood, dusting himself off.
"What dark art is this?" The shaken horseman wandered, shaken by the close encounter. Nephryn stepped forward and eyed him warily, cold steel reflected in her features.
"The dark art that saved you from a swift death. Brash words lead to brash actions. What reason do you have to mistrust us so?" She asked, her tone low and foreboding, as an eerie courage came over her.
"All strangers in this land must first go by the lord of the Rohirrim, Théoden King!" Éomer protested, though it was a peculiar sight to behold such a warrior defensive against a slighter girl-elf, half his size. All around, his men eyed Nephryn warily, for she was now one to be feared; she fought with weapons, invisible to the eye and deadlier than any wielded by them.
"Peace, Éomer!!" Aragorn cried, drawn out of his silence by the unsettled whispers in the crowd of men around them. He held out his hand for the horseman to see that his words were genuine. He came closer and spoke in low tones.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Legolas and Nephryn the elves, and Gimli the dwarf join me in my journey. We have no quarrel with you, but we are in haste. I cannot tell you of our journey lest you answer me this: are you allied with the great evil that rises in the east?"
"We are neither allies of Mordor, nor are we at open war. Rohan merely wishes to continue as it is now at peace and in prosperity." Éomer replied, surprised by the question. "We did slay a foul crew of Orcs back north, but only because they trespassed our land."
At this, all of the company's attention was roused, and it was Legolas that voiced the fear that had erupted in their minds. "Did you encounter halflings in the slain crew of Orcs?" the elf cried, fear plainly cast on his features.
"Nay, there were none among them but their own fell kind. I dare say I know not what a halfling is, but I know what it is not; it is not an Orc, and Orcs blood alone stained our swords."
The entire company breathed a unison sigh of relief. Then Aragorn stepped forward again, this time though his temperament was softer, more appeasing. "I must ask favour of you now sir: I will ask for leave of your horses, you have three to spare."
His head was bowed at the request. Éomer's eyes widened at the request, and for a moment, he seemed dumbstruck by the audacity of the appeal.
"You would ask that I give you our horses, when already you break our laws, by intruding on our land. What reason do I have to give you the horses, and even to trust that you would come to our great city to seek leave of the King! If I were to allow you this, such a liberty taken by myself is severely punishable by my superiors!"
Aragorn sighed at this. He could think of nothing to offer the man, but if they were to have any chance of rescuing the hobbits, they would need the horses, and yet he could not and would not take them by force.
"All I can offer is my word, for as much as that is worth." The Ranger winced inwardly for even to his own ears, the offering seemed inadequate: he could not expect Éomer to take the word of a stranger in such treacherous times, anymore than he could accept such an offer. As he expected, the horseman began to shake his head at the offer.
"Take me…"
Nephryn stepped forward, appearing once more as the quiet demure elf-maid. Éomer and Aragorn stared at her, shocked and confused by the offer.
"What do you propose?" Éomer murmured curiosity lacing his voice. Truly, this elf amazed him!
"The word of an honourable man is not enough for you. If you would loan the horses to Aragorn, I will accompany you back to you King. I will seek the consent you speak of on their behalf. I shall await there until they return with your horses. Then we shall be on our way." Though her voice was soft and measured, Nephryn felt fear rage within her.
"No!!" The loud protest came from both Legolas and Gimli, who now stood behind Nephryn. There was a pleading in the elf's eyes that she'd never seen before.
"I would sooner walk than sit on the back of the back of any beast so great, free or begrudged." Nephryn smiled lightly at the dwarf's gruff refusal, knowing well that it was as much for her benefit as for his own. But Legolas seemed determined and as she looked to him, the resolution burned bright as any anger behind his liquid eyes. By the Valar but he was stubborn!
"Consider Legolas!" She chided him gently. The request that the he keep their private affairs out of such decisions went unsaid but for the heated gaze that sparked between them.
"It is the most sensible solution: I will only slow you further, for though I am strong no one foresaw that such a chase would be necessary. You will have the horses and will a better chance of finding our stray charges. I will be safe at Edoras until you return. Éomer will have assurance that you will return, for he can see that, though you are a stranger, you would never abandon one of your own."
Nephryn spoke with a confidence and flippancy that she did not feel, but it was necessary, as much to convince Legolas as Éomer. Aragorn met her gaze squarely, and she could see that there was a pride and approval glowing in his eyes. Legolas walked over to her and bent his lips to her ear as he whispered: "I would speak with you."
"Nay," Nephryn replied, for if she listened to his pleas, her resolve would break because she was afraid. "I will not change my mind. If this is acceptable to Éomer, then I will go with them."
But the firm words were not enough to stay the words that had hovered on Legolas's lips.
"They are strangers! Just as they cannot trust us, we know naught of their honour!!" For a moment, Nephryn was speechless, for she could not refute this. It was Aragorn that intervened.
"Do not speak ill of the honour of the men of Rohan. They have long proved their honour. Let this be settled: are you agreeable to the terms set forth, we shall take the horses and return with due haste and for our absence, you shall keep safe our comrade and friend, Nephryn of Lothlorién. Is this acceptable? Choose now and let us be done!"
Éomer did not hesitate, and nodded his agreement. He raised his hand to a fellow soldier and ordered that the spare horses be brought to the fore. As they were, the circle of guards withdrew, apparently satisfied that the four were no longer a threat.
As Aragorn readied the horses and spoke in low tones with Éomer, Legolas took Nephryn by the arm and led to away from the group.
"Why would you do this?" he whispered fiercely, trying to sound angry but succeeding only in sounding frightened. At another time, Nephryn would have been angered by his tone, but she knew well that it was a product of the fear they both felt.
"Legolas," she uttered quietly, reaching up to caress his cheek, "You know as I do that this is the best solution. I cannot keep the pace and you cannot afford to ease it. I will be safe at Edoras. I can protect myself."
Legolas refused to meet her gaze, and he bowed his head into her touch. He shook his head defiantly, refusing to be appeased by her words. But she refused to allow that they would part on bad terms. Their time together was too rare and precious to be wasted so! She tilted his chin forcefully; such that he could see the tears that glittered unshed in her eyes.
"Please," she entreated passionately, "I cannot part with you like this. I am scared! Give me the strength of your blessing!"
Try as he might, Legolas could not deny her, though it was against all his instinct to let her go. He cupped her face with both hands, tracing his thumb along the newest cut along her cheek. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then to her lips. They lingered together for what seemed like an eternity, each lost in the touch of the other. When at last they drew apart, Nephryn's tears had vanished. Such was the strength of their bond that it dissipated the fear.
"Remember what you told me, the very day we met? Today is the tomorrow you feared yesterday, and still all is well. You are the sun in my life. However far you are, your light will bridge the divide between us. All will be well, for I shall see you upon your arrival at the Courts of Rohan." She whispered the words in his ear, her voice dying as fear choked her.
She spoke no more, and turned back to the group, who now stood waiting, their gaze discreetly averted. She walked back to Aragorn. She leaned in and whispered in his ear: "Do not fear if you cannot return. I can fend for myself. Do what is necessary!"
Though Aragorn nodded, there was no conviction in his eyes, and he hoped the elf-maid would see that.
Then, as agreed, Aragorn took one horse, Hasufel, and Legolas took another, Arod. Gimli conceded and agreed to ride with Legolas. Without further words the three departed.
Nephryn stood watching their swift progress until they were little more than faint specks on the long horizon. She was alone now.