The horses had been turned loose in a hanging valley to graze. A slanting apron of snow hugged the northeastern curve of the slopes that cradled the rolling meadow, watering its rich mats of purple and white alpine flowers. The noonday sun was warm, drawing up spirals of mist from the snow, yet the air had a crisp, biting clarity, carrying the wild spare scent of junipers and stunted firs growing on the slopes above. Here, in this sheltered haven above the keep and the lake, warhorses and farm animals grazed side by side. A few of the most high-spirited were wheeling and churning up the broad ribbon of snow as if cavorting in the shallows fringing a lake. One great lordly shape flashed before them all, gray and shimmering against the gleaming white.
Haleth stopped in her tracks as they stepped out from the birches on the new track leading up into the valley. What is that? she asked in a hushed voice.
They call them horses, Legolas deadpanned. There are a good number of them in this country.
she scolded, plucking a twig of birch that was caught behind her ear and chucking it at him. I shall have to start calling you Laegelalaith. (laughing green-elf)
Legolas sidestepped absently; it was too quiet here for laughter. His name is Shadowfax. I do not know how the line of Nahar came to this country, but I suppose if any men were to earn their trust it would be the Rohirrim. They call such creatures mearas. Mithrandir rides him.
A few shouts and high voices greeted them as they came over the lip of the trail, for there were a number of youths keeping an eye on their family's chief wealth, the horses. Most were perched on outcrops or raised hummocks scattered around the fringes of the valley; one or two were mounted and moving among the herd. There was also a cluster of younger children playing on the boggy banks of a little stream, building tiny walls and the keep in miniature, apparently unphased by the cold meltwaters. Haleth stumbled as she and Legolas passed them by. Her attention had been diverted by an urchin who seemed especially adept at getting covered in mud, and was evidently more interested in making little pools than the walls that held them; she had quite a collection of tiny lakes and spillways already.
Legolas gave Haleth a keen glance, which she returned with a hushed, Children. It's strange to see them.
The elf walked slowly, giving her time to find firmer ground where his own feet made no prints at all. Past the stream they turned aside, threading their way between a ring of horses to reach the man they had come to see: a marshal clad in mail and a deep green cloak, presently conversing with a leather-faced old man in drab clothes. The horseman acknowledged the visitors with a courteous nod as they approached, but the elder's voice droned on; he was reciting a litany of the living, the lame, the dead, and the newly ownerless horses. At length the rider held up his hand to interrupt his flow of speech. The speaker not only stopped in mid-word, but seemed to have lost the power of speech altogether when he turned to find an elf standing beside him.
Lord Legolas, said the knight respectfully. The loan we gave you has been repaid in generous measure.
Legolas inclined his head, recognizing the rider from Éomer's company, a man who had risked more than he realized by putting a spear to Aragorn's shoulder at their first meeting. Arod is strong and sure-footed. If you have any smaller animals who are riderless, my friend here is from Lórien, and needs a mount for the road to Gondor.
The man blinked in surprise. Elf, dwarf, wizard, holbyta... elf-maid going to war? These are strange times, as Lord Éomer said!
Haleth grinned, throwing back at him, Does not the Third Marshal have a sister?
The soldier laughed. So he does. He fell back into his own tongue, consulting with the old man over the lists. At length he shook his head and turned back to tell them, I am sorry, my lord, but right now we ourselves are trying to match horses to every warrior who can ride. I will send a lad to fetch you if we find one for your shieldmaiden.
Thank you, sir, said Haleth, with no sign of disappointment save the slight movement of her shoulders. She gave the other man, peering at her suspiciously, a bright smile. I will be with my people at the muster.
As they were leaving, a boy sitting on a boulder leapt to his feet and raced towards them. Fíriel! Fíriel! Darting between horses, he suddenly pulled up short, gawking the tall elf.
Haleth punched his shoulder gently, grinning at his expression. Hai, Éothain. This is Legolas, an elf-prince and comrade to Lord Aragorn. How's my young axe-man?
The boy held up his right hand, which was bound and wrapped. My first scar, it will be, he said proudly, although he swallowed his words under the scrutiny of the keen-eyed elf. M-my lady, I'm sorry. I used up all your arrows.
All of them? Are you sure? Her face grew stern. Legolas, what do you say to an archer that uses up all his arrows in a battle?
He smiled faintly. That he has not wasted them.
Éothain flushed. Thank you, sir. He still looked crestfallen, but his words picked up speed as he chased down his thoughts. But I have your bow! Do you want it back? Fíriel, you were right! It shot very far, and the rain didn't bother it at all. The men said I was a good archer.
Haleth nodded in satisfaction. Did you hear that, Legolas? They gave him an axe. But this is no dwarf. He just needed a weapon his size to prove himself.
The elf observed the boy gravely, folding his arms. To prove himself a firion, you mean?
Her eyes danced. Yes, exactly. She considered the boy's question. You may keep it. I don't have time to hunt for new arrows right now.
Thank you! Éothain's eyes shone. Mother— My mother told me to thank you for her also. Will you be staying long? She wants to give you something.
She patted his shoulder, declaring confidently, No, I ride to Gondor with Lord Aragorn and your king.
He sagged. You're leaving? I thought you said you had no horse.
I am looking for one. She glanced towards the two men, who had resumed their conversation without another glance at the visitors.
The youth sighed, tugging restlessly with the bandage on his wrist. There are not going to be any horses left in Rohan until the war is over. So many warriors are riding away to Gondor.
Haleth dropped to one knee next to him, her elven manner of speech growing subtly more pronounced, or at least more deliberate. Éothain, hear me.
He fidgeted with his hands but listened attentatively.
The younger children will look to you for courage, for you have fought in the battle and know a little of what we face. And that will be hard, because it may grow very dark before your king returns. But remember how dark it was that night, and how frightening, and then think of the dawn with your king riding out and the horns ringing, and victory with the sunrise. Tell the children what Lord Aragorn said, that there is always hope. We have great men with us— she glanced up with a hint of awe herself at the archer standing patiently beside her— and fell-handed elves. The Hornburg did not fall. Neither will we.
I will remember, the boy said softly.
Westu hál, young archer, she told him. Perhaps I will see you on the fields of Rohan when the war is over. She kissed his hair.
With that, they went on their way, leaving the boy to fend off excited questions from some of the other children converging upon him.
Legolas repeated as they reached the top of the path down to the keep. Even to your own kind?
They don't know what it means, Haleth said, amused.
That is a game you play, Legolas observed, glancing down at her hair where it covered the tips of her ears.
When they reached the bottom, the archer glanced upwards sharply, noting a familiar silhouette against the sky. Aragorn was leaning against a balustrade high above them, bracing his arms as if he were bearing the weight of the mountain behind him on his shoulders. The elf's brow furrowed.
Haleth squinted into the sun, searching for whatever had caught his attention. What is it?
Lord Aragorn.
She frowned, although there had been little in his tone to give her suspicion. Then I hope I'll see you at the muster. A distant horn in the Deeping Coomb seemed to punctuate her words. Hannon le, Legolas, for the seeking of a horse, the song, and some much-needed orc-tossing.
Gimli sat upon a low wall behind Aragorn, arms folded along the top of his axe. What has happened? he asked finally. I thought you said you'd take a little rest. Looks to me like you're worse off with a few hours' sleep than four days without.
Aragorn turned away from the parapet, shaking his head. It will be some while before I can rest, Gimli. There are two roads before me, and I think the one I must take is the Paths of the Dead.
The dwarf sat up with a start. That bauble Wormtongue threw down— it didn't bounce off your head, did it?
The ranger gave a wry laugh. It did, but not then. He met the dwarf's gaze squarely. I looked into it.
Gimli groaned. Worse and worse. I leave you alone for a few hours and you turn into a hobbit. Behind the grumbling, the dwarf was watching him with grave concern. Did you... did you see the Eye?
Yes, and he saw me. Aragorn smiled raggedly. Though as our comely elf complains, that is not much to look at these days. Sauron now knows who I am, Gimli. But no more than that.
The dwarf pushed to his feet and stumped over. What in Durin's name possessed you? Even Gandalf would not touch it, once he knew what it was. He foisted it off on you!
Nothing possessed me save need, replied Aragorn sternly. There was a hardness in his face which the dwarf had not seen before. Nor did Gandalf give it to me simply to keep safe. It was a challenge, Gimli, to see whether I can best our foe by will or design, since we cannot defeat him by arms. That challenge I met, barely.
The dwarf stared at him agog, a few embers of doubt still flickering under his brows. Seems a mighty risk just to flaunt your fist in his face, Aragorn!
There is more. The ranger turned east, eyes narrowing. When I wrested the Palántir from him I saw his plans. There is a great threat coming from the south which Gondor cannot withstand, and I doubt Rohan will reach the city in time to counter it. I am not even certain Théoden's people have the numbers and strength enough for the task.
Gimli's face fell. Then our hope fades.
Aragorn straightened. Remember who I am, Gimli son of Glóin. Isildur's heir I must be, now that I have thrown down the gauntlet and shown myself to the Enemy, in deed as well as blood. He exhaled, evidently reaching a decision at last. So I must take Isildur's path.
And that is? Legolas said, stepping out onto the parapet behind Gimli.
Aragorn met the elf's fierce glance with one of his own. The Black Stone of Erech. Come. I will explain as we go down. I must speak with Timdaur.
Horns were ringing from cliff to cliff when Aragorn and his companions came to the gates. The host of the Rohirrim were assembling across the mouth of the Deeping Coomb. Their green cloaks and mail shone in the noonday sun, at least where shadows from the looming cliffs on either side did not cover them, and some of the watchers fitting stone to the broken wall wept as they looked down from the heights. Théoden and Éomer were supervising the muster from the lower span of the causeway. Meriadoc, wearing the colors of the Mark and mounted on a sturdy pony at his new master's side, watched the proceedings with a worried but determined expression that would have startled the cousins he'd left behind in the Shire.
In the flats below, marshals were leading their éords one by one to the glittering stream for a last watering before the journey. This had taken some time, for Théoden was bringing nearly every rider in the Mark who could wield sword or lance. He was counting upon the hammer of Sauron's might to fall hardest upon Gondor and the Golden Wood, between which any force from the east must pass to come at Rohan. This was not to the liking of all his councillors, who did not wish to hazard their folk on the strength of elven bows and a Lady they feared to name, or upon the uncertain will of the shepherds of the ancient forest. Nor were all foes in the west vanquished. Saruman might be contained, but the Misty Mountains still had their orcs and lesser vermin. But Aragorn had been adamant at the council, and the king agreed: prudence and despair had nearly cost them everything in their dealings with Saruman. This war could only be won by trusting to fragile hopes.
Legolas searched for the Galadrim when he followed Aragorn out into the sunlight. They had assembled on the far side of the Coomb, clustered in formation on the toes of the crumbling slope down which the White Rider had come blazing two days before. The archer was pleased, for he saw that Rohan had given its finest treasures to his people to speed them on their way: long-limbed but strong horses showing a hint of Shadowfax in their proud bearing. He was also quick to note one absence among them.
Aragorn noticed two others, and touched his shoulder. I rych.
The elf dipped his eyes and turned back towards the citadel to seek the stables. Aragorn and Gimli went on, striding down the causeway to meet the king. Timdaur, spotting them from afar, rode over from his company to join them.
Lord Aragorn. Théoden hailed as they approached. All is in readiness, and my doubts are set aside.
As are mine, Aragorn said with a smile at the dwarf's grumble.
Éomer, studying the Ranger's lined face with a frown, opened his mouth to speak, but Gimli interrupted him.
Are you tied on, Merry? Gimli called up to the hobbit. I am not chasing after you a second time, so be sure you don't fall behind.
I don't intend to, the hobbit said stoutly. But if you want to keep up, I hope you have a horse.
Aragorn laughed. Legolas is fetching ours. The Three Hunters have had enough of running across Rohan for the moment.
Timdaur nodded a greeting to the king before turning to Aragorn. Dunédan. Where would you have us?
Gimli snorted. And well you should ask, Captain! Aragorn has a notion to try a road that should earn us a song or three, if any live to tell of it.
But the grave elf seemed to know what was afoot, and stated simply, Then you have chosen prophecy.
I have, said Aragorn, for time grows short, as Elrond warned me in his last message. I shall put the words of the Seer to the test. Will you follow?
The elves do not fear your dead, Dúnedan. We will go wherever need drives you.
At this odd exchange, several of the king's guard murmured uneasily to one another. Éomer, nudging his mount forward, interrupted their discussion, speaking in dismay that was mirrored on the face of the king. Aragorn, what are you saying? Are we not to draw swords together in battle? Will you turn aside from Gondor at the very hour when we ride to her aid?
I do not turn aside, Éomer! The man's eyes flashed, but his tone was fond. We shall draw swords together, my friend, though all the hosts of Mordor come between us; provided that I can win another battle first. Rohan's aid may decide whether Gondor stands or falls. But such force takes time to gather. I and Timdaur must ride the swiftest road to Minas Tirith, and prepare your way.
That is sense, although your counsel will be missed, the king said doubtfully. But what is this talk of Seers and the dead? With all due respect to Gandalf, I have had my fill of sorcery.
I ride to Dunharrow, answered Aragorn, his face stern and resolute, on a road appointed me long ago.
Murmurs changed to exclamations of dread among the Rohirrim who heard this, and Éomer himself blanched. Merry shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, bewildered and alarmed by the reactions of the warriors around him.
Speak no inauspicious words! Théoden cried. That is not a road for mortal men— or any living folk. He tipped his chin towards the elves.
What madness is on you? Éomer demanded, beseeching his friend. I think Saruman must have bent his will to rob us of you when we need you most!
Gimli sighed loudly at the Ranger's elbow. I don't see why you couldn't put your mad notions on the table during the council, Aragorn, so that we might all bellow at you together and have done. And where's that elf?
The stables of the keep were stout-walled, narrow, and dark, built to one side of the king's hall, and little to an elf's liking. Such were the needs of war. They were all but empty now, apart from a few boys cleaning the stalls, but the stablemaster met Legolas at the entrance and stammered a greeting.
he said haltingly. They are saddled and ready at the far end— (arrow-lord in Old English)
Legolas did not pause in his running, and left the man bemused and still finishing his sentence. The elf moved swiftly along the narrow aisle, sniffing the odd heavy scents of hay and human, sweat and wood and leather. Most of this was alien to him. There were few horses in Mirkwood, and they were canny, wild creatures that ran free with the deer in the northern meadows and beech-groves guarded by his folk.
Brego and Arod had been stabled in a stall together at the back, as the old man had said, kept apart from the bustle that had doubtless filled the place a short time ago. They were not only tacked and ready, but freshly groomed, and their harness had been scrubbed clean of the dirt and stains from travel and the recent battle. The horses were not alone, either. A small figure was perched on the stone wall beside them. Haleth hopped down and unlatched the door as he approached, then caught Brego's bridle and guided him out as Legolas slipped past her into the stall.
he said briefly. There was little time for greeting animal or human, and after a light touch between Arod's eyes, he followed her out with his mount pacing at his shoulder.
Ah, Legolas, I thought you were not coming! A pity. I was just debating which of these beauties to steal.
I am sorry, he said as they moved up the aisle.
She wiped a smudge of sawdust from Brego's halter, shaking her head. Well, perhaps I should have gone back to Lórien after all. There are always trees enough to go around. But I must not grumble. I hear that even the White Lady of Rohan cannot seem to find a horse in the land of the horse-lords. She does not know when it is permitted for a lady of such renown to apply the flat of a sword to someone's backside.
That drew a laugh from the elf. The people of Rohan also need defenders, he reminded her.
I know it. Her voice softened. And they need folk who are not strong but can feign courage. Remember those you leave behind, Legolas! You go off to war and deeds, certain in the strength of your hands and your friends. But many are ignorant of such matters and must wait, fearful and powerless, while their loved ones struggle to defend them. I will suffer stone walls for their sake, since I cannot follow you.
They cleared the stable's entryway, giving the grizzled stablemaster a nod as they passed. In the slanting light of a high window overlooking the garth, Legolas leapt up into the saddle and beckoned to her when she did not do the same. Come. You cannot ride to Gondor, but you may as well help me bring Brego to his master and see us off.
I wasn't sure it was permitted for anyone besides a king's son or a king-to-be to ride him. Her face turned pensive as she unclasped her cloak and threw its hood over the bill of the saddle, scrambling up the cloth as if scaling a rope. They say this animal was Théodred's.
I know, he said, ducking under an arched doorway as they came into the king's hall. There was an unspoken concern in her voice that he had not missed, but he did not answer it. Haleth, that is an odd way of mounting a horse. Is everything a tree to you?
Anything whose nose I can't reach by hopping, she shot back.
By the time they reached the gate, Théoden and his guard had advanced to to the front of the host and were gathering in formation under the king's banner. Legolas turned aside at the foot of the causeway and rode along the wall behind the assembled éords, having spotted Gimli and Aragorn walking back to the Galadrim with their captain.
There you are at last! Gimli growled as the elf dismounted to hoist him. It was an indignity the dwarf had been forced to accept during the trek from Edoras; in exchange, Legolas had yielded to his demands for a saddle. I thought perhaps you had decided to weave little elf-braids into their hair.
Haleth hopped down and passed the reins to Aragorn with a shy bow, then stepped into the shadow of the wall to watch them depart. Legolas glanced down at her, just in time to see her yearning expression melt into raw astonishment as a young voice called out behind them.
Legolas turned and spotted the small rider cantering their way. Éothain was slipping forward and hanging onto the tall horse's neck in his haste to reach them before the horns sounded. Evidently he had been waiting under the upper span of the causeway.
I think you have your horse, Legolas observed, feeling Gimli's less than patient glowering at his back. The elf and dwarf moved off, taking up their usual position at Aragorn's side.
I think you are right, she said to empty air, then ran to meet the boy.
Fíriel!" Éothan cried again, causing a few heads in the hindmost ranks of the Rohirrim to turn. He slipped awkwardly from the high saddle, and was lucky someone was there save him from a tumble.
Hai, Éothain, you've found me, she said, gripping his shoulders tightly and bending a knee to come down to his eye level. She spoke slowly, dismissing the bustle and hubbub of the muster and the repair-work being done almost overhead. But that is Garold. I can tell by the way he is looking at you. I cannot take one of your own family! If something were to happen—
Lord Éomer has commanded every horse fit for travel to be given to a warrior. Garold rides to battle. There was a glitter of tears in the boy's eyes, although he spoke earnestly and soberly. I am the man of my household, and I say who will ride him. It is Fíriel.
The shouts of several thousand men rolled across the Coomb and back, booming like thunder: it was a rallying-cry for Théoden and the Mark. But Haleth searched his eyes for a long moment before brushing his cheek with her thumb. Then I will do all I can to make sure he rides back, she said finally. Thank you, Éothain. And give your mother my thanks also.
He nodded and gulped, watching as she stepped to the horse's side and reached up to place her hand against its mane and neck. She whispered a few words in Elvish that caused the boy's face to brighten, and the horse to lower its head curiously, lipping the shoulder of her cloak. Haleth grinned and clapped Garold's withers with the flat of her hand. Then she ducked under him, searched for a good-sized notch in the stonework, jammed her heel against it as a mounting block, and hauled herself up in a somewhat more dignified manner than she had shown the elf. The horns of Rohan began to ring from every slab of the Hornburg.
Be careful, Garold, the boy whispered, inaudible in the uproar. Westu Hál, Fíriel. With that, he turned away and strode off, shoulders set so that he could not turn his head. Haleth pressed heels lightly against the horse's sides and reached the company of Gray-elves just as its leaders were taking their places.
Timdaur turned in the saddle and raised a hand towards her in a dismissive gesture. We ride the Paths of the Dead. That is no road for a mortal.
The young woman stared at the captain incredulously, and shifted her gaze towards Aragorn and Gimli with a meaningful lift of her eyebrows. But Timdaur's face remained closed.
Hîr nín, Haleth said firmly, Camen fíreb; gûren e-dawaredhel.
Legolas started, a peculiar expression flickering briefly across his face.
Timdaur's face grew stern. Stay with your own kind, fíriel, he snapped. That is an order.
The woman's jaw tightened, but she made no further protest. Silently, she turned her horse's head and moved to one side. Théoden at the forefront of the vast host raised his arm, and the horns fell silent.
Forth Eorlingas! he commanded. The cry was taken up by the riders and the watchers of the garrison as the éords began to move. The Gray Company started too, since their course lay together with the Rohirrim for some leagues before they turned off south towards Dunharrow. The Deeping Coomb trembled with the beat of countless hooves.
What was all that about? Gimli shouted in Legolas' ear as the dust rose around them. What did she say?
Legolas seemed to hesitate for a moment before calling over his shoulder. My hand is mortal, but my heart is elven.
The dwarf snorted. And evidently her brain is addled.
(She actually said: "My hand is mortal, but my heart is the wood-elf's.")