Chapter Nine

Middle earth had been on the doorstep of winter when Elessiel and Legolas had parted their separate ways from Rivendell, and now in the fullness of time, winter seemed like a forgotten memory, ushered to the side as spring announced it's triumphant arrival to all the lands of Middle earth. Undulating hills and valleys sparkled with the lush green of a polished emerald, and the sky overhead bloomed a bright and welcoming blue. Old stone and tree seemed to come to life with the bringing of light, warmth, and inherent prosperity that spring heralded, and for none was this more true than the people of Rohan.

Within the kingdom of the horse-lords the faces of all folk shone with a new prosperity. Their farms and families prospered from the highest lord to the lowest peasant, for all shared in the glorious news that had only recently come to ripeness - King Eomer had been married! Three months had passed since the wedding of Eomer and his bride, and though their arrangements had been hasty - for it was known wide the sudden arrival of the Queen, and without consort or guard - their union had lain a cover of contentment over the kingdom, for more than little of late had the people of Rohan worried their king would find no bride. He had courted, the people would say in hushed tones in the marketplace, not further than a year ago, but the maid had disappeared, leaving no trace of their destination with family nor friend, or if they in Gondor, where her family did dwell, they would not share her new location. The Princess Elessiel, they would say with distaste, had done their king a sore wound.

But little did the memory of pain weigh on their minds when they saw the face of their Queen. Fair she was, and tall as the Kings of Old, from whose race she was directly descended. Her hair bloomed gold and woven silver in the sun, and with her ivory skin she stood proud upon the door of Meduseld, her face glowing like the full blown moon, and her eyes twinkling like stars trapped forever within the inky depth of her eyes. And although she shared not the race of shield maiden, nor bore any resemblance beyond a fair visage, she was called The White Lady of Rohan, a blending of her likeness to the memory of Eowyn of Ithilien, and her own name, which meant in the Fair Tongue, Lady of Light. For Altariel, she called herself, and coming to Rohan on the bear back of a horse in the fullness of an autumn day, she had won the heart of Eomer within the space of a moment. And Eomer looked on his wife with love, forgetting all membrane of the Princess Elessiel, except for when they were alone - or so the wives to the royal stewards would say - when the king would smile knowingly at his bride, and call her Tindomerel.

Forgiving her mystery, the people of Rohan loved their Queen still more for the place she had taken within the kingdom. She did not stay idle, but travelled far and often away from the lands of Rohan, with great fleets of men, to Gondor and her family's home, and north beyond the Misty Mountains to the plains of Eriador. What matter she had to travel often had first been looked upon with little interest, but soon the truth was revealed. Re-building, they said, in the north, and to the west. Queen Altariel was rebuilding monuments of old that had been used since the first coming of Elendil from the West.

The great watch tower of Amun-Sul had been wrought up, and glimmering now with white stone it stood as a northern marker for the Gondor's lands, then great monuments in the ruins of Osgiliath had been conjured from the dust, so near half the city of the western bank shone like the sun. Rohan wondered in awe of the White Lady, and although she had spent much time consumed by her labours, they rejoiced when recently she had returned. Now their pride ran not from the building of monuments great and fair, that would forever stand as shows of glory to the kingdoms of Rohan and Gondor, but in the simple beauty of their Queen. For as she walked through the streets of their town, or rode bootless and wild haired from the great wooden gates of Edoras, she seemed a creature most beauteous, raised above the minds of mere mortals, so all who beheld her could do little more than stare in wonder, for the white and silver flowers in her hair were littlest of the beauties of Queen Altariel of Rohan.

" Where do you leave for, my Lady?"

Altariel turned and smiled as she saw Eomer walking towards her, a grin spread wide across his handsome face - he was truly the image of his grandfather, and first Eomer, not only in the prosperity of his rule, but within the likeness of his face. " Out of a city, across a plain, and into a valley to meet a great river." She said happily while strapping her baggage to the saddle of Niphredil.

Eomer smiled and nodded, stroking the side of the white horse. " Niphredil will go with you, but I shall not." He said after a moment's pause.

Altariel did not need to turn to face her husband to know he no longer smiled. This was one of the things she cherished so dearly about him, his candid honesty - not keeping a secret of his feelings or of his thoughts. " I think wild horses could not drag you from your city, Eomer my love, but I sense that is not the reason for which you stay behind."

Eomer sighed lightly and nodded. " You always know my mind, Tindomerel. That does not change with time. But something does about you, since I have known you in your youth." He took Altariel's hand and pulled her towards him. " Where is the girl I knew? Quiet and adventurous, a laugh to shake the mountains, and a voice to soothe the streams?"

" I do not know, Eomer, but I am still adventurous." She protested.

Eomer nodded in ascension. " Ai, you are, and it is in your travel, away from the city for many hours a day that I wonder at these changes. Standing upon the terrace of my hall I see you ride across the plains on this fair horse, " He patted Niphredil lovingly, the horse neighed in appreciation, " but always alone."

Altariel laughed and raised a hand to touch Eomer's cheek; he worried so about her, constantly. " I am never alone when Niphredil bares me."

"But if it is solitude you seek, then can there be none found within the walls of our city? Forever I seem to see you coming and going, coming and going. Either east and south towards the lands of Gondor, which I do understand, for well do I remember the bond within your siblings, and I grudge it not, knowing you missed them dearly in your recent time away. But at other times..." his voice faltered, "...at other times I see you travel north, and far into the distance the white flurry of your dress and Niphredil's neat image are seen, pressing on across the plains to meet the rushing horizon. What is north that you miss so dearly?" He finished quietly.

Altariel was touched by Eomer's soft confusion, and moved by the detail with which he so obviously monitored her comings and goings from the city. "North is the home of my mother's kin, Eomer. The hidden realm of Lothlorien, where none now live, but for a time by mother did dwell. I travel north to Lorien."

" But..." Eomer frowned in confusion, trying to find a way to speak his thoughts without offence. " But Queen Arwen has passed, has she not?"

" Yes." Altariel said with a soft smile. She understood the meaning of his words, knowing well the confusion within Eomer's eyes, but the truth - ever present and presented within the eyes of the king - spoke louder than his kind words. Eomer cared little for religion, and though he did tread with solemn pace the paths of Rohan's temples, he knew no real spirit within his mind, could not comprehend the appeal which drew Altariel like a moth to a flame, to the forsaken woods of Lorien.

She sighed, and standing on her toes kissed tenderly first the forehead of her husband, and then his lips. " Do not worry for me, my love, I do not leave to escape, but simply to be."

" I will see you soon?" Eomer said, recovering some of the guard that he had lost during their conversation, he glanced at the small packs Altariel was using.

She nodded and kissed him again before mounting Niphredil, and slowly making her way towards the great doors of the stables.

" Goodbye! Eomer called after her.

Altariel stopped, turning back to face him, she smiled softly. " Namarie, Eomer."

A fair man leant against the stone railings of a balcony, looking with longing out over the sea. The strong, salty breeze caught his pale hair, flowing upwards in the strong draught that coursed around him. The sea lay like a deep green and blue blanket, spread out across the world to the horizon. Here and there across the tumultuous surface small rippled explosions edged in white foam rose up from the sea into the sky, only to fall back to the sea in a myriad of crystal clear droplets.

The man sighed, and tore himself away from the rhythmic churning of the sea to face the city in which he had spent to little a time.

" I see the Grey Havens have taken grasp of you, my friend. You long to stay here." Cirdan patted Legolas' shoulder.

Legolas smiled and followed Cirdan through the pale stone paths of the city until they reached the stables. Legolas leapt onto his horse, and turned to smile once more at Cirdan, feeling there was something he should say. " Ai, it has been too brief a stay for me, but I think it is time from me to leave one sea, and return to another."

Cirdan laughed. " But over land, no less?"

Legolas shrugged. " Is there nothing that escapes your attention?"

" Nothing, my friend, save the reasoning of a journey across the earth, when your own ship does now head in the same direction - to Ithilien. The Lossefalme and its crew will come to Ithilien before you, at this rate, having left nigh on a week ago."

" Maybe it is my desire to stay in your city that holds me from boarding that ship." Legolas said.

Cirdan cocked and eyebrow and shook his head. " You have some matter to which you must yet attend before leaving these shores, this much is clear in your face, though for what that matter might be, I have no clue."

" Namarie, Cirdan!" Legolas called finally. " I fear we shall not meet again, ere long days have passed!"

" You are right, Legolas, for I to have much to which I must attend before meeting my kindred beyond the seas."

Legolas stayed his horse for a moment, holding Cirdan's gaze - there was much about the silver-haired elf that Legolas did not understand. Finally the lock of their eyes broke, and Legolas spurred his horse on, out of the great stone gates of the city and into a world that seemed alien. It had been near a month since Legolas had arrived in the city of Cirdan the Shipwright. He had come with Gimli straight from Rivendell, urgent riders on most a most important errand. For it was in the Grey Havens that Legolas and Gimli had built their ship, the Lossefalme, which now sailed the coasts of Middle earth, and would reach in near a week, the home of all that remained of Legolas' people. Gimli had chosen to stay with the ship, deeming his work of carving and shaping the dark wood, with which the Lossefalme had been built, as not yet complete. Legolas knew not to what design Gimli worked, and the dwarf guarded his intentions like a hoard of jewels.

Legolas remembered standing on the docks of the city, waving farewell to Gimli and the crew of Lossefalme. All present at the farewell had agreed the ship was most beautiful and a testimony of the eclectic nature of the masters who had designed it - the influence of both elf and dwarf could be seen in the long sides of the boat, and finely carved figures, and silky white sails.

But the initial excitement of the Lossefalme had worn off, and now Legolas was consumed by a sense of partial hollowness. He wanted to wander the lands again, to ride like the wind across plains unnumbered, uninhabited, until he had crossed great mountains and come through deep valleys to reach places that had, of old, been home, or at least familiar.

The East-West road before him was long and clear, and the country around became a blurred image of fleeting hills and sapphire skies as Legolas whispered words of encouragement to the ear of his horse. The beast sped into the road before him like an eagle across the sky, and had the elf and horse been seen by some curious passer-by, they would have seemed little more than a dream, the sort of vision that spurs a memory, deep and fond, within the minds of those who often forget...

*

The path had been long, and the days flew quickly past before Legolas had come, in the fullness of midday, to the shadowy borders of Lothlorien. He had learnt a great many things during his journey. The world seemed changed. He had first noticed it while travelling slowly down the Great Road from the forests near the old town of Bree. The road was changed, no longer a wide beaten track, and edged with sparkling white stone, carved into many shapes of kings and memories, the long, low stone hedge that now bordered the sides of the road were etched with a story, almost, of the world. Legolas had looked upon the stone in confusion, and when not two days later he had met travellers along the same road and asked them the origins of the stone, they had smiled and said ' the Queen of Rohan' and stealing one last stare at the face of an elf, they had rolled their giant wooden cart away down the road towards the west.

Legolas had stayed staring after the travellers for a moment, his face a study of deep confusion, before he shook his head slowly and turned to ride again. But he could not escape mention of the Queen of Rohan. It seemed all along the greater roads of Middle earth this queen had wrought her mark. Where once stood dilapidated ruins now rose high towers of stone, finely made and happily welcomed. Her sway over the lands extended from The north of Eregion across the countryside to the base of the Misty Mountains, touching even the old stone ring of Isengard - where the stones had long been thrown down by the Ents of old, now there were sparsely positioned statues of men, facing out from the wild forest as though guarding it's inhabitance against the onset of stranger. Legolas had not entered the forest.

And so Legolas had found his way through the Gap of Rohan, and there more than ever did those lands and people whisper of the White Lady. The streams sung a lullaby of her pale skin and fair face, the breeze quoting a strong anthem of her righteousness and greatness. And for it's part the earth spoke nothing more than a crooning lament for the absence of her soft bare feet, which had once - or so Legolas was led to believe - walked each blade of grass with a solemn tread. The Queen of Rohan, it seemed, was bound up with the earth like a tightly wound rope.

That night Legolas climbed a long forgotten rope ladder to reach one of the flets that still adorned the trees on the borders of Lorien. During the dark hours his horse remained below the tree, ever silent and watchful, while above the elf wondered at this new mystery that seemed to precede his steps like an elusive shadow, and he promised himself a visit to the city of Edoras, if for no other reason than to see the woman of which all the lands did speak so highly.

He bit his lip thoughtfully and leaned back against the strong trunk of the tree within which the flet was perched. I will go to Edoras and pay my respect to the King Eomer, and his Queen. It has been too long since I last saw that Golden Hall. Not since the reign of Eomer the Great have my feet led my thither. But first there was another matter to attend to - Lothlorien. That golden city which had once been too beautiful, the last great home of elven kings and queens.

And to think, he need only wait until the sun rose to find his way along familiar paths to the great hill of Caras Galadhon.

***