Chapter 19 – Gondor Calls for Aid
The day the beacons were lit was a maelstrom of packing and the mustering of men and horses. Arlannis had risen from her chamber and though she remained quiet and somewhat withdrawn, she did her part in the muster.
Eomer had made her a gift of a horse sired by his own massive steed, she was a sleek black mare, even-tempered and true. Not to be outdone in graciousness, Eowyn had thought to provide Arlannis with the proper armour and accoutrements of a Rohan warrior. When Eomer led the exodus, Arlannis rode with the Rohirrim out of Edoras.
Fromas remained in the city and watched the warriors charge away to war, the last war this Age would ever see. When the last of the Rohirrim had cantered out the gate, Fromas hitched his robes and went inside the Golden Hall. The place was empty and echoing with most of the guards posted out to the walls as sentries. Moving slowly, he made his way to the throne. Looking furtively about, he climbed onto the dais and slowly sat upon the golden seat. Swinging his legs back and forth he enjoyed the view.
Arlannis stood by the cleft in the mountain that marked the Paths of the Dead. The wind blew a little colder there and she shuddered helplessly. Eomer gave her an uneasy smile. The mountain plainly tested his courage too.
Aragorn was taking Gandalf's advice. The old wizard had been most insistent that Aragorn come to Minas Tirith by a different road than the others. And though Arlannis loved her brother, there was something waiting inside the mountain her fragile spirit could not yet bear. The Dead still exerted a powerful hold upon her. It was now, in the shadow of the fell mountain that she found the idea of death distasteful, though she had sought it diligently enough once.
'I cannot accompany you, brother,' she said reluctantly. Aragorn had not questioned the choice, the relief of having his sister back to herself allowed Arlannis much leeway in his eyes.
'Look for us on the fields of the Pelennor then, Arlannis,' he replied, with his hand on her shoulder, 'we will meet again though a multitude of Orcs divide us.'
Arlannis nodded, unable to speak, so deep was her distress at this parting.
'I have no doubt but we will,' Eomer had answered, 'farewell Aragorn. Until the final battle.'
Aragorn said 'Once more I leave my sister to your care, Eomer.'
Legolas paused before following Aragorn and Gimli on the path into the mountain. His eyes burned steadily into Arlannis' and she held his gaze unflinchingly. He smiled at this and mounted his steed swiftly. Not one word had he said to her, not one gesture did he make. Soon Arlannis lost sight of him as he hastened to catch the others up.
Night fell quickly and Arlannis busied herself around the campsite of Dunharrow. She undertook any task to prevent herself dwelling on the fate of her brother or worse, her treacherous heart and the way her thoughts now turned to Legolas. She had been unable to banish him from her mind since he had torn her from her grief in Edoras.
Haldir was your first love, he need not be your last.
Merry seemed to pick up on her unease for he kept her company. His heartening presence made the wait for the orders to ride more bearable. Merry too, had benefited from the generosity of the White Lady of Rohan. His armour was perfectly fitted to his small form and the sword he carried was strong and sharp.
After remarkably little pestering, Arlannis consented to spar with the young hobbit in preparation for the coming battle.
'You must thrust with more conviction, Merry,' she urged as the hobbit slashed wildly. Merry frowned in concentration and then lunged forward with a low thrust that would have disembowelled Arlannis had she lacked Ranger reflexes.
'Well done, Merry!' she exclaimed, surreptitiously checking her jerkin for punctures.
'That was a well executed blow,' she continued, 'Eowyn! Merry nearly made an end of me!' Arlannis called as she caught sight of the White Lady of Rohan.
Eowyn smiled but looked distracted and did not stop to admire the hobbit's improving blade work. Instead she headed for the horses' quarters.
Arlannis shrugged and started to show Merry the proper way to parry a downward thrust.
Dawn broke and with it the Riders of Rohan were unleashed on a three-day gallop to Minas Tirith. Arlannis rode with Eomer's contingent. The journey was long and arduous and when at last the great walls of Minas Tirith came into view, Arlannis could feel only gratitude that the endless ride was over despite the overwhelming numbers of Orcs they faced ahead. Victory was unlooked for here. Only death.
'Ride now! Ride now!' came the command from Theoden, Lord of the Mark.
For the first time in twenty long years Arlannis whispered a brief prayer of protection. Not only for Aragorn and Legolas but also for herself, for she knew she did not want to die this day without sight of him again. For they first time in twenty years Arlannis tasted mortal fear.
Nevertheless she cried out with the men of Rohan as the charge was sounded. 'Death!'
The fields of the Pelennor were chaos unimaginable. Bodies in the final agony of death lay scattered before her. With her own eyes she had seen the White Lady of Rohan hew the head from the Nazgul's mount and consign the Witch King himself to oblivion. Arlannis herself had carelessly poured all her strength and skill into her sword arm and had hacked and slain her way half way across the plains. Her horse, a truly gallant animal, carried her still and she charged it with the others towards the Mûmakil in a hopeless attempt at victory. Despair was about to overwhelm her on the field when a shout went up and she wheeled her mount to face the new challenge.
As the charge of the Southrons' seemed about to sweep all before them, the most unbelievable spectacle played itself out. An army of walking ghosts that writhed their way across the plains wielding terror and death as easily as she wielded her sword, swept the Orcs and Southrons both from the field. Within moments the enemy was crushed between the dread spectral army and the riders of Rohan.
And through the mist and smoke, Arlannis at last found what she was looking for. A small squat dwarf carrying an axe, a tall man with a green jewel between his brows and an elf with daggers drawn and arrows spent.
All were wearing weary smiles and beckoned to her joyfully. On the field of battle, the songs of the men of Rohan filled the air as they celebrated victory and mourned their dead King.