So tomorrow I start school again - blah! lol and as I said, updates will probably slow down quite a bit. But, as this story seems to start becoming forgotten, it may not be a problem.. Either way, I'll do what I can, and hope those of you still on your summer break enjoy it! :)
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.
They were gathered in the Great Golden Hall - Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, Gandalf, the King, Èowyn, and Alandria. Two children sat at a wooden table, a young boy and an even younger girl. They were dirty, weary, and feasting on hot bowls of soup and fresh bread maids had laid down for them. They had appeared shortly after the funeral, while Thèoden and Gandalf still stood at the burial grounds, and had been spotted by the Wizard. They were fetched, as the boy was unconscious from hunger and weariness, and brought before Thèoden King to the Golden Hall. Èowyn tended to them as the King sat in his throne, features strained and face cradled in his palm. Alandria stood against a great wooden pillar, near Aragorn and Gimli who were seated at their own table, and Legolas, who stood himself a short distance away. The White Wizard sat beside the King, his ancient features tired.
"They had no warning." Èowyn told her uncle gently, rising to her feet after checking on the young girl. "They were unarmed. Now the Wild Men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot, and tree."
"Where is mama?" The little girl pleaded, and Èowyn laid a thick blanket over her shoulders, shushing her softly.
"This is but a taste of the terror Saruman will unleash." Gandalf explained to the gold-haired King, gesturing to the children. "All the more potentry is driven now out of fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head-on, draw him away from your woman and children. You must fight!"
"You have two thousand good men riding North as we speak." The dark-haired Ranger spoke now, pausing the smoking of his pipe. "Èomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."
"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now!" Thèoden argued, rising from his throne to stride about the Hall. "Èomer cannot help us."
"All that must be done is a rider sent forth to find them, and they will return with all haste." Alandria countered.
"And who would do that?" Thèoden questioned. "It would take days to find them, and we have not the time! I know what it is you want of me," He turned to Gandalf now. "But I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."
The Ranger removed his pipe again, blue-green gaze forever gentle but voice strong. "Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not." Alandria glanced at him with a tinge of nervousness, which only further increased as her King turned sharply on the dark-haired man.
"When last I looked," Thèoden started, voice level but gaze hard. "Thèoden, not Aragorn, was King of Rohan." He said nothing more, and he and the heir of Gondor locked stares, as the tension grew thick in the air. Gimli seemed unaware of the glares exchanged, burping and spilling his beer.
Gandalf stepped forward then, keeping the peace. "Then what is the King's decision?"
Thèoden turned back to face the Wizard, and sighed. "We will evacuate to Helm's Deep. It is an unconquerable fortress, and no enemy has ever broken past it's walls. The people will be safe there."
"Helm's Deep?" Alandria burst, to the surprise of her companions. "Beg your pardon, my lord, but Helm's Deep will not save us now, not against Saruman's armies! His Uruk-hai are not mindless Orcs - they have tactics, and intelligence, and are stronger than most men. The refuge of the Deep will not protect from them for long."
"Then what would you have me do, Alandria? Where else would you have me go? Here we are far more vulnerable than the Deep. Perhaps there, we have a chance."
"But my lord, even the road there is not-"
"Helm's Deep is the decision I have made, Alandria. It would do you well to comply." His dark eyes held hers for a moment, and she finally bowed her head to the command of her king.
"Aye, my lord. Pardon my outburst."
He merely nodded, before turning away and striding back to his throne. "We ready the people at dawn, and leave by midday. Be ready."
Darkness had finally fallen, and the city had gone to sleep. Those that dwelt in the Golden Hall had long ago retired to their rooms, left alone to their grief. It was the darkest point of the night, silent and still, and the Lady of the Fellowship sat against the wall of Meduseld, alone. Her darkened eyes stared unseeingly out into the vast lands before her, seeing only the faint glitterings of a few scarce torches in the town, and then nothing but the faintest twinkling of stars. The evil, red glow of Mordor was behind her, and for now, dark things did not plague her thoughts. Instead, she leaned her head back against the stone building, and gazed at the sleeping land before her with half-closed eyes..
"You should be sleeping." He said softly, but a faint smile was on his lips.
"I am not tired."
He had not expected any other answer, and merely continued to smile softly. "You will be, as the days drag on."
"We shall see." He didn't reply, and she turned from watching the sleeping forms around the camp, to look at him. The night was dark, few stars showing, but the moon was near and full. It shone upon him eagerly, as if it knew she needed to see his face. It shone on his hair, the bronze mixing with the silver light in a dazzling image. His pale eyes flashed silver and white, before returning to the shadows darkness created. But his smile, which he flaunted now, gleamed brilliant and wide as ever, transforming everything into the most beautiful scene she'd yet seen. His smile dissolved the slight cold that crept upon her, and banished any dark thoughts the presence of the Ring pressed in her mind. She felt light, and relaxed, and almost happy.
"Are you alright, my lady?" He asked gently, deep voice breaking her reverie.
"Fine." She replied simply, turning back to watch the still camp. All slept, even the old grey Wizard, and the Elf - or at least, he appeared to sleep. The man beside her was not fooled by her weak answer, and continued to study her, until the feel of his intense gaze on her face became difficult to bear. "I am fine, my lord." She repeated, forcing her dark green eyes to meet his.
"Are you?" He asked, watching intently. She shrugged lightly, glancing around the dark camp again. "You seem uneasy."
Her gaze fell upon the small sleeping form of the Ring Bearer, and held. "Frodo is tiring. The Ring," She winced at the quiet flood of black whispers that plagued her mind, as if the object knew she had focused on it. "It is growing heavier for him. He is weary, and I worry..." She received no answer for a long moment, and turned to look at the now-silent man at her side. His darkened gaze was focused on the little hobbit, and a stern struggle seemed to waver behind his features. His jaw clenched, his strong face lined with distress, and then with a deep sigh, the look vanished and he turned back to her.
"Do not be so troubled. Things will look better in the morning." He smiled again, but it was not the normal proud flash of teeth, and it did not reach his darkened eyes. She shifted, uncomfortable for reasons she did not clearly know, and glanced down from the man's dark and handsome features. "Alandria," He murmured, and she jumped as his warm hand engulfed hers, holding it gently. "Things will turn for the better, I am sure. The Halflings are strong, and Frodo will continue to bear the Ring just as bravely as he has done since he left the Shire. It will take much more than what we have endured so far to defeat the Halfling and this quest." He squeezed her hand gently, and she looked up at him once more, to see only a faint smile still lingered on his lips. "Trust me."
"I do, my lord." She whispered back, the words surprising to even her own ears. "I do trust you."
His strong features relaxed and softened, and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly as he nodded. Silence fell between them for a long moment, and then the soldier sighed softly, carefully raising a hand and brushing his fingertips across her cheek, sending a small shiver across her skin. His calloused touched grazed her hair for but an instant, before he pulled away. "I am sorry." He apologized briskly, but she only smiled gently.
"I do not mind."
He glanced at her uncomfortably, her words unexpected, and then his glimmering eyes roamed over her dark hair and pale features, lightened by the moon. "If it is not out my place, my lady, I would say you look beautiful."
Her brow furrowed as she watched him intently, wondering if he had any ale or other drinks she had not seen. Such a blatant compliment was unnatural. "You, ehm, are the Steward's son, my lord. I don't think you can be out of place while addressing me." Her reply was weak, and foolish, but brought another faint smile to his lips.
"Nevermind, then." He murmured, deep voice rich and warm, soothing. "But you are lovely, your hair nearly the color of the night..and the moonlight a radiant silver hue all about.."
"My lord," She started cautiously. "Have you got a drink on hand I haven't seen?"
His deep chuckle shook her insides, and he turned away sheepishly. "Nay, I am only a fool. Late nights, empty lands, and darkness can easily twist the mind and tounge. Pardon my words, my lady. Please, pardon."
She did not answer, but took his rough hand again in hers, holding it tight. His soft gaze met hers, and he smiled slightly, to have her mirror it. She shifted closer to his warmth, suddenly feeling lonely in the dark of the night. "You are pardoned, my lord." She whispered, and soon found herself laid comfortably against his broad shoulder, his strong arm draped protectively around her waist. She did not wonder or fear the image they made, for comfort seemed-
Alandria started at a soft rustle of cloth to her right, quickly snatched out of her half-dream, and scrambled swiftly to her feet, blade half-drawn.
"At ease, my lady." A soft voice murmured from the darkness about her. "I merely came when I noticed you were not resting with the rest of us in the Hall."
She relaxed slightly, recognizing the soft words of the Ranger, and re-sheathed her sword tiredly. "I am sorry. I didn't hear you approach."
He was closer now, and she saw the lines of a slight smile on his rugged face. "I am a Ranger. We tend to be quiet."
She nodded, uncaring, and leaned back against the wall. The dark man said nothing, and she made to ignore him, but for an odd smell that came to her. She turned back towards the quiet, dark figure and studied him carefully. "What have you got on you?" She finally demanded, the smell slightly stronger.
He chuckled softly, and she jumped as a nearby torch was lit to life. The red-orange light illuminated the Ranger better now, and the walls and ground about the nearby building. "Here." He held out a small wooden mug, and after a nod of encouragement, she carefully took it. "It is only a tea. I assumed you were out here, in the dark and chill, and being restless myself.." He shrugged, an odd gesture on such a normally formal man, but his soft smile was reassuring.
Alandria glanced at the mug, and the steaming liquid inside of it. "Thank you." She murmured, and he nodded as she raised the sharp-smelling drink to her lips. It tasted much sweeter than it smelt, and was pleasantly warm and soothing. Her head seemed clearer, and her thoughts lightened. She nodded in approval and glanced up at the tall man. "Thank you very much, I feel better."
He smiled gently again, and bowed his head. "I had hoped it would help. The herbs will help you to sleep, and I-"
"I do not want to sleep!" Alandria interrupted with a snarl, and abruptly dropped the warm drink.
Aragorn's features did not show surprise or alarm, he only sighed softly. "You haven't slept properly since we began our chase, do not think I haven't noticed." She didn't answer, just crossed her arms and stared back out at the dark landscape. The Ranger said nothing, watching her carefully. The angle of her jaw was firm, her lips a thin line, her dark brows furrowed, and her dark green gaze simmered. Eventually, slowly, the anger in her strong features gentled, filling with a worry and sadness in turn. She sighed softly, and her emerald gaze swept restlessly across the plains, as her lips moved slightly, silently. "Are you alright my lady?" He asked gently, still studying her.
"I do not know." She surprised him by answering. "I should be. King Théoden is well, Lady Éowyn is well and safe, the snake Gríma is gone, Lord Théodred at peace..."
"What troubles you then?"
Alandria shifted, uncomfortable, before sighing softly as her gaze - which avoided him - grew all the more pained. "Lord Éomer. I do not know him as well as the Lady or perhaps even the King, but knowing he is out there in the midst of all these troubles....I feel I will not see him again..."
Aragorn, Ranger of the North, stepped closer, resting his warm hand gently on her shoulder. "Éomer is strong. His men brave. They will have victories."
"What do you know?" She snapped, suddenly harsh, and pulled away from his touch. "Many a-strong and brave man die in battle every day!"
He gazed at her with sympathy, knowing what she was thinking of. "True, but I do not believe they will. You must have hope, Alandria."
"Do not speak to me of hope! I have seen what good it serves!" Her voice was sharp and final, and with a quick glare at the dark man, she brushed past him harshly, fleeing down the steps of Meduseld, into the dark town.
The Ranger sighed softly as her dark form dashed away in the dark, headed towards the stables. She had hardly slept or eaten in days, she never laughed or even smiled anymore, and always there seemed to be a dark haunt behind her eyes. It was no mystery what tormented her so, but he was beginning to fear it would never let her go. With a shake of his head, the dark man knelt to pick up the dropped mug and turned back to the Golden Hall.
She burst into the stables, her skin flush with anger. Not at Aragorn, specifically, but at everything. Anger at everything that had gone wrong in less than a week; anger at everything that was still happening; anger at the Uruks that had killed her Prince; anger at the Uruks that would likely kill Èomer soon; anger at her King for not heeding the warnings of both her and the Ranger; anger at herself for ever giving so much to the soldier who fell. Anger at everything. Quickly and sharply, she stomped into the tack room and found the saddle she had not sat upon in months. Not bothering to clean it at the time, she lifted it and it's blanket easily over her arms, snatching her nearby bridle as well. She made her way along the stalls, where tired horses raised their heads and gazed at her in curiosity, until she came to a special one.
Luckily, before the night had fallen, Thèoden had ordered Alandria's horse to be caught and brought in from the paddock, where he had run freely since his return from the empty lands that Alandria had released him to. He was a smart horse, and loyal, as were all Rohan's steeds. Once Alandria had set him loose, before Caradhras, he had steadily made his way back to familiar lands. Once discovered, Riders brought him in, and Èowyn recognized him. Now he had been re-stabled, for Thèoden was sure Alandria would soon put him back to use. Dustling raised his head and peered from his stall at his Rider with wide brown eyes, and snorted as if in greeting.
All the irrational anger that had plagued Alandria slowly dissolved, and she stepped forward, softly crooning, "Hey my boy, my Dustling. I did not expect to see you again so soon! How have you been? Hm? Have you missed me?" He snorted again, hot breath blowing back the waves of dark hair that fell down her shoulders. "I shall take that as a yes." With a faint smile, she set down her tack, and picked up instead a brush she saw lying nearby. She slipped easily into the wooden stall, and the gelding nudged her shoulder with his large head. Still smiling softly, she ran the stiff brush smoothly across his hide. He was well taken care of, as was expected, and did not need much of a brushing - it was more just to ease her mind.
Alandria murmured soft words of nonsense to the strong creature, and then after several long minutes, set the brush away with a sigh. Dustling watched her mildly, curious as to what his lady was now up to. She stepped out from the stall, and then hesitated, her eyes on the sturdy saddle. A saddle seemed unnecessary and bothersome at such an hour in the night - or morning, she was not sure - and she didn't have the strength to bother with it. Instead, she merely picked up the bridle, and eased it around her steed's head. His long face slipped through the headstall easily, and she latched the buckle under his jaw before persuading him to take the metal bit. He did so surprisingly readily, eager to be on a ride, no matter the hour. Alandria smiled at his assertiveness, and opened the stall door to lead him out, before quickly tying off his reins to a side bar. It was perhaps unnecessary, as Dustling would never dare leave, but Alandria had grown too accustomed to caution. And so she ran the brush on his glistening coat once more, before pausing and gazing at her proud steed.
Hewas full and healthy, dark, red-brown coat shining neatly. His ebony mane and tail glistened in the low light of the stable's torches, and the white blaze that ran from high on his forehead, to under his eyes, where it then fanned out to engulf the his entire muzzle, was hued gold.
"You are too handsome, sir." She murmured sweetly, and he breathed heavily on her shoulder in reply. Then he stamped his right foreleg, and pulled gently away from the restraining reins. "Aye, you're right. I woke you for a ride, and a ride you shall get." She gently rubbed his velvet-like nose, before untying the reins, moving to his side, grasping his mane, and with a gentle jump, springing onto his bare back.
Alandria winced for a moment, the ridge of his spine a new discomfort as she had not ridden bareback in ages, but soon adjusted and nudged him slightly with her heels, to where he picked up a brisk trot. She led him find his way out of the stables, and to the gate, where she easily smooth-talked her way past the guards - who knew her well - and then was outside the city of Rohan. Here she reined her steed in, and he stamped, then snorted, impatiently. Alandria patted his warm neck reassuringly, and glanced at the darkened city for but a moment. Again she saw the pale corpse of Thèodred, and the pain of her King and Lady, and the concern deep in the Ranger's pale eyes. Again her mind wandered to the two hobbits that were beyond any sight, surely in deeper danger than any in Rohan, and she wondered briefly if the Ring even still had a Bearer. Again she wondered about the other hobbits that had disappeared into the forest, and wondered when - if - she would see them again. And briefly, her gaze falling to the night-dark, empty lands surrounding her, she wondered where the banished Riders were, and if their gallant Marshal still rode. But then Dustling pulled on his reins, calling her attention back, and she nodded, understanding.
"Aye. We ride till dark thoughts have left us." And then she dug her heels firmly into the steed's tough sides, freeing him to gallop about the dark walls of Edoras.