After this chapter, I'll probably be able to make one more update, and then things might slow down for a bit. I'm just about to start at a new job, and come next Monday, a new school and school year. So things might be a little hectic, but I'll do what I can. Again, I'm sorry for the slow-start on this story but please, I encourage you all, help me out by reviewing! Reviews certainly fuel my desire to keep going with the story, and make it better!
Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.
Legolas did his duty quickly, carefully escorting Alandria into the Golden Hall and immediately calling the attention of one of many whispering maids from the side. She looked to be around her late forties, heavy-set, with a weathered face, and she spoke briskly.
"Yes, Master Elf?"
"The lady here needs a bath drawn and to be changed into clean clothes, if that is possible. She has been traveling for manys days without rest and is weary."
"No problem there, sir. I can get all that done real quick like, easy. She not talkin' for herself, sir?"
Legolas glanced at Alandria and her frozen features, before sighing softly as he turned back to the servant-lady. "No ma'am, not quite. She just found out about the Lord Theodred's death, and..." His sky-blue eyes glanced at the woman beside him again, and the maid nodded.
"Aye, understood milord." She stepped forward then, and gently took Alandria's hand. "I got 'er now, thank you. I'll gets her a bath and change a'clothes no problem, and 'ave her returned to you within the hour."
The gentle Elf nodded and bowed slightly, glancing at Alandria once more, before backing away. "Thank you."
The maid nodded to the Elf's retreating form, and then quickly led Alandria down a dark hall, and into a small, tidy room. "Here, milady, sit on down." She encouraged, and pulled out a chair, before gently pushing Alandria into it. "Milady? Milady, it'll be alright. The Lord Theodred's passin' surely ain't easy, but we've all been used to death by now, right? Come on miss, it'll be alright." She patted Alandria's still shoulder, and then leaned out the doorway. "Ay! I need some hot water in 'ere, if one a'ya is done gossipin'! Hot water!"
There were mumbled replies of "Yes ma'am" before she turned back to Alandria.
The Lady-Rider of Rohan had heard the maid's talking, but could not bring herself to bother with an answer. She just couldn't find the strength right then, or the reason. Instead she watched blankly as the bent woman fluttered about the small room, moving a large copper tub to the corner, and then sliding a wooden curtain in front of it. She left the room for but an instant, then returned with a large towel, bar of soap, and bottle of hair-wash. Once all had been set, as if on cue, three young maids entered, each carrying two buckets of water. They carefully poured their buckets into the large tub, and steam rose slowly from it. The maid ushered them out, and then turned back to Alandria.
"Now, milady, let's rid you of that flith!" She helped Alandria to her feet, and led her closer to the tub. She started to un-do the ties on Alandria's tunic, but Alandria stopped her.
"I can do that." She whispered, and untied the strings easily.
The maid nodded, and then stepped away, pulling the curtain to hide the tub from view of the door. "Aye then, milady, I'll wait 'till you're settled."
Alandria didn't reply, but quickly slipped off the thick leather tunic, and then long-sleeved undershirt. She settled carefully on the edge of the tub, and pulled off her boots and long socks, before standing and unlacing her trousers as well. Soon those dropped to the floor with her other pieces of clothing, and she sighed before removing the cloth band around her chest and nether-regions. Her eyes trailed over the fading scars that shone on her arms and ribs, then to the fresher red scratches from Amon Hen. She touched one lightly, her mind reeling a hundred different directions, before pulling away and removing the last of her clothing. She then slipped carefully into the hot water, and couldn't supress the groan that pushed past her lips, revelling in the shockingly perfect warmth.
"Comfortable, milady?" The maid appeared back around the wooden curtain, smiling warmly. Alandria merely nodded, her eyes half-closed. "Here then, let's get you clean!" The maid reached for the bar of soap, but Alandria snatched it quickly first, her green eyes now wide and alert.
"What's your name?" She demanded.
"Lynwen, milady."
"Lynwen, I thank you, but I can wash myself."
"But milady, the Master Elf-"
"He asked you to get me a wash and fresh clothes." Alandria interrupted. "He never said you had to do the washing. I am perfectly capable of that. Thank you."
Lynwen looked ready to argue again, but the dark glint in the traveler's eyes kept her in check. "Aye, milady. As you wish. I'll get you clothes out for wear.." She muttered, and walked slowly away.
Alandria sighed once the older woman had disappeared behind the curtain. She'd never had a maid wash her before - her father was merely a Rider for Thèoden King, she merely a help to kitchen staff and stable boys - and the prospect of it seemed rather unnerving to her. The hot water had cleared her head a bit, and she quickly banished the sorrow for Théodred to deep within her, keeping it far away. Instead she focused on the task at hand, and briskly scrubbed the slightly scented soap over her grimy skin, washing away the blood and dirt that had collected since her last battle. She loosed her hair from it's long braid, and ran a fresh bucket of water that sat by the tub through it, washing it with the hair-soap thoroughly, and then rinsing it out. She tried to clean quickly, although the hot water was a beyond-welcome relief and very tempting, and found herself done in a matter of minutes. Spotting the towel lying only a couple of feet away, she quickly - and nervously - rose, stepped onto the cold, dry floor, and wrapped the soft towel quickly around her.
She rubbed the warm cloth quickly about her, ridding herself of the water, and then stood awkwardly waiting. "Um, Lynwen?" She called softly.
"Yes, milady?" The maid answered almost immediately, and Alandria heard her shuffling towards the curtain.
"I am done."
"Are you?" The maid peeked around the barrier, and then nodded. "Indeed you are. Well then, come 'ere and get yer clothes on." Alandria stepped cautiously around the curtain, towel wrapped firmly about her, and saw a dress lying on the near bed. "Here now, I gots you a fresh breast-band and loin-cloth, and then we'll get you into the shift and then the dress...oh! But I bets you're a tad chilly now, eh? I'll start up the fire, and you get those underclothes on!" The elderly maid chattered kindly as she turned away to light the small fire in the hearth across the tight room, and Alandria quickly picked up the under-garments and slipped them on, pleased to find they fit well.
She was just sliding on the thin dress-shift as Lynwen turned around, a fair blaze started, and then the maid held out the dress. "Here now, let's get you into this!"
"Oh, no no." Alandria took a step back, eyeing the rich brown and red colors, valuable colors she wasn't used to. "I should wear something else."
"Nonsense!" Lynwen chuckled. "Tis just a dress, milady!"
"But the colors.." Alandria mumbled, spotting gold-colored patterns on the shoulders and down the chest. "I don't think you understand - I'm only a Rider's daughter! I help in the stables and-"
"But you are friend of the Lady Èowyn, yes?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"It is she who picked out this dress for you, milady! This is one of her own. She insisted you wear it - for the funeral."
"I don't know..."
"Just put it on, milady, all is well. You have traveled with great company, after all. You deserve a good dress." The maid smiled, and Alandria ceased her resistance, accepting the darkly beautiful dress with a sigh. Lynwen helped her into, and laced it firmly, before gently pushing Alandria into a chair before a small looking-glass. "Now for your hair." Alandria opened her mouth to protest again, but was silenced as the woman immediately covered her head with the already damp towel, and proceeded to rub Alandria's head dizzy, in hopes to dry to her dark mane faster. Once close to done, she removed the towel, and began to draw a fine-toothed comb through the long locks. "Such dark hair milady! How comes you by the color?"
Alandria shrugged a shoulder slightly. "My family and I hail from the North, years ago. Both my parents had dark hair, it would make sense for I to have it as well."
"Aye, it would then. Nearly the color of the night, eh?"
A soft, sad smile shimmered in Alandria's eyes, but could not grace her lips. "Aye. Nearly."
"Well my lady, I think you's done." Lynwen finally announced, stepping away from the now thoroughly uncomfortable young woman before her. Alandria fidgeted, watching herself warily in the mirror, and smoothed out the dark dress that was still sheathed about her form. Her dark hair was done into several different long braids, and they hung loosely, slung together across her shoulders, woven with strands of red cloth. Alandria thought she looked far too much like an imitation of royalty, and was uncomfortable in the simple splendor. Still, she turned to face the hard-working maid, features relaxed.
"Thank you, Lynwen. You are wonderful."
"Ah, no milady, you just look beautiful is all!" The elderly woman chuckled as Alandria flushed slightly, then shook her head.
"Anyone looks fair enough with the right cloth and pretty things, I think."
"And I think you belong in a good house with a husband, rather than travelin', lookin' like that!" She chuckled again, not noticing the way Alandria stiffened, and patted the girl's hand. "Anyway, on you go. Out on into the Hall - I heard your friends would be waitin' for ya there."
Alandria bowed her head formally. "Thank you again, Lynwen."
"Not a problem, milady. You'll get your old clothes fresh and clean later, I assure you. Now on with you. Say goodbye to the Lord Théodred for me, please."
"Aye, that I will." Allandria nodded, bowed again, and quickly slipped out the door.
She stood against the wooden barrier for a moment, taking slow, deep breaths. You belong in a good house with a husband... She could've had a house with a husband. Could've had something to smile for. Could've had something to keep her head high. But that something was dead, just like everything else was becoming. Alandria shook her head, wincing as the forgotten braids moved dangerously, and sighed shakily. She would not think like that, not right now. Right now there was still death, but also there should be some semblance of joy - she was home, and her King, and Lady, were alive. That at least had to mean something. So she straightened, smoothed the awkward dress, and strode carefully into the wide Hall.
It was nearly empty, save for the low fire burning in the pit at it's center, struggling to keep some warmth in the room. It took a moment for her eyes to pull the figures of Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn from the deep shadows, but they stepped into better light once they saw her approaching. Gimli and Legolas had not changed, merely cleaned up a bit, but Aragorn was dressed in a clean, red shirt, and dark brown vest, with fresh brown trousers. The three males waited patiently, each taken aback by the new woman before them. Her skin was cleaner than it had been since Lòrien, her hair clean too and fixed intricately; the dress held her form snugly, the colors dark for the mourning, fitting hauntingly well with her dark hair and light eyes. Still her face held no smile, but rather was weary, and lined faintly with sadness.
"Well I'll be.." Gimli mumured, the first to speak. "You clean up nicely, lass."
Alandria flushed again, and ducked her head in embarrassement, but Legolas smiled softly, bowing slightly. "I trust the maid took good care of you?"
"That she did. Thank you, my lord, and I am sorry for my...previous state. I was-"
"No apologies, my lady." His soft smile was warm as the rising sun, his pale eyes shimmering. "I understand." She nodded again, and then Aragorn stepped forwad, his arm extended.
"Our Dwarf friend does not lie, my lady. You are lovely as the moon-lit night. Please, accept my escort to the funeral grounds?"
Alandria stepped forward and accepted the gesture, her hand resting lightly and nervously on his arm. Her keen ears had not missed his comparison of her to a pale night with moonlight, but she had not the time to contemplate it, as they were already starting out of Meduseld, and down it's steps. "They are already ready? For the funeral?" She asked instead.
The handsome Ranger at her side nodded. "Just, yes." Alandria took a breath then, and followed her small group down to the crowd at the burials.
They were soon there, and Alandria remained beside Aragorn, also next to the Lady Èowyn. Many guards stood around, more for formality than any sort of protection, and after Gandalf said a few deep words, Théodred's body made its way down the aisle created by peoples. Alandria stood straighter once the pale body came into view, images of a different body flashing in her mind; a body with red-brown hair and short beard, blue-grey eyes like a frozen storm. But the punctures in the chest and stomachs were similar, the drained color the same. Both were just bodies. She shook slightly as she restrained tears, and Èowyn clasped her hand tightly, almost painfully.
Alandria glanced over at the cold beauty that was her friend, and her heart ached. Such pain was in the fair Lady's features, who obviously fought to control it. But the sorrow of losing her cousin was too much, and tears made their way down the Lady's pale face. Her breathing shook, and she grasped Alandria's hand tighter as the body of Prince Théodred passed by them. Then she took a deep breath, and her mouth opened in a melancholy song for the fallen man. The Lady-Rider of Rohan flinched, which the Ranger took note of, but the words Èowyn sang were nothing like the ones Alandria had heard only days before. They were in the sharp, beautiful Rohirric Alandria had not heard in ages, and they broke into the mind of every person present. A lone tear finally broke free of her hold, and it's path down her cheek blazed like fire.