Okay, I think this chapter is a bit more interesting than the last one :) After this will be the Battle of Pelennor Fields, so things are finally gonna get really moving! Spring Break is coming up soon for me, so I'll probably post it when I have a chance around then. Hopefully. I hope you all enjoy this, and if you do - please, let me know with a review!
Take care, cheers!
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.
The clamour of battle roared around her: foul creatures snarling, Men screaming, horses neighing, and swords clashing. She wanted to be part of it, knew she was supposed to be part of it, but something drew her away. Something was pulling her towards the great stone fortress that was Helm's Deep, and into it's dark depths, away from the raging battle outside it. Hesitantly, she followed, rersisting the urge to fight. She lay a foot inside the fortress's walls, and then she knew what called her from battle. "Alandria!" The deep bellow echoed about the stone walls, and she could not discern where it came from. Her feet took her left, through a stone doorway, deeper into the building. The deep, velvet voice shouted her name again, and it echoed around her. She glanced around in desperation, searching for the autumn-haired soldier to whom the voice belonged, knowing he needed her. It would be too late soon. But she couldn't find him, no matter how hard she searched, and now the Deep had become a maze, and all the passages were the same; she was only going around and around in circles, she couldn't find him, it was too late-
The night felt exceptionally cold as Alandria snapped awake. She had to glance around at her surroundings to fully understand she wasn't still in Helm's Deep, trapped and searching for Boromir. The white canvas stretched above her, and the soft stamping of horses outside assured her she was awake. Still, she trembled, unsteadily climbing to her feet. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, and the nightmare had been punishment for it. Hastily, she picked up her sword from where it lay beside the low cot and strapped it in it's sheath to her hip. She ran a hand through her tousled hair and tried to calm herself with a deep breath. It did little to help. She needed company to keep her mind off the nightmare.
The camp was dark as Alandria left the tent, save for a few scattered torches lighting a walker's way through the night. She made her way slowly around lying tack and packs, toward where she saw the bright glow of a lone fire several tents down. Two men sat around it, and as she came nearer she recognized them as Gamling and Éomer. Éowyn appeared then from the tent behind the men, following Merry, who dashed ahead, in child-sized armor and brandishing a short sword. Alandria paused, smiling faintly, as Éowyn nudged the little hobbit onward.
He had almost passed her before he saw her standing there, and pulled up short. "Hello, Alandria!"
"Hello Merry. What're you doin' about so late?"
"The Lady and I were preparing for tomorrow." He answered cheerfully. "She found me some armor! Now I'm off to the smithy, to have my blade sharpened." He observed the steel in his hand scornfully.
Alandria still smiled, but it faded a little as she looked up to see Éomer rising from his seat to turn and face his sister. His expression had been dark. Alandria's gaze fell back down to the blonde hobbit, who was watched her curiously. "Well you'd best get on then." She smiled again. "It's getting late and you'll need your strength for tomorrow."
"Aye, milady. You will too you know!"
She chuckled. "I just had my rest, thank you. Now go on, Meriadoc. No wasting time."
He flushed and grinned under her teasing tone, and dipped his head. "Aye, milady. G'night."
"Goodnight, Merry." The hobbit scurried off happily, and she turned her attention again to the people by the fire, who stood only a short distance away. She could only see Éowyn's face, and it was unnervingly hard and cold. Éomer held her shoulder, and Alandria unconsciously stepped closer in her curiosity, not seeing the warning look Gamling tossed her way.
Éomer's deep, thick voice just barely carried over the quiet crackling of the flames as he murmured softly to his sister, "...the fear takes him, and the blood, and the screams...horror of battle take hold - do you think...stand and fight? He would flee...would be right to do so. War is the province of men, Éowyn." His deep voice made the words threatening, and dark, sending a shiver up Alandria's spine as she knew exactly what horrors he was speaking of. But she could not deny the flare of anger that his last words caused.
Éowyn's cold stare tore away from her brother then, and flitted to Alandria, over his shoulder. Éomer let her go and turned, his own stare falling on Alandria. The hazel of his eyes appeared black in the firelight, and his handsome features were stern as he sat back down. Éowyn turned and promptly stalked away.
Alandria stepped further forward, claiming the two mens' attention. "Where is Lady Éowyn?"
"You just saw her, did you not?" Éomer muttered around a bite of hard bread.
She glared at him in dislike. "Yes, and I would have spoken with her, had you not run her off."
"I ran her off?" He growled. "You didn't hear the conversation, how can you know what I did or didn't do?"
"I heard enough!" She snapped. "'War is the province of men'?" She mimicked with a snarl. "I can't believe you."
He scowled, jaw clenched and eyes hard. "She is my sister. I refuse to let her get herself killed."
Alandria scoffed. "I don't think you have to let her do anything, my lord. She can act for herself."
"Not if I'm around to stop her, she can't."
Alandria clenched her teeth, trying to calm the obnoxious waves of anger. "Fine." She eventually snapped. "Be as useless as you look." She spat the words, and without a glance in Gamling's direction, stalked off in the direction Éowyn had gone.
It did not take her long to track down the pale lady, for she shone bright and white amongst the darkness. She was found speaking to Aragorn, who stood readying his horse, much to Alandria's confusion. They were close together, the Ranger's rough and dirtied hand cradling the side of the cold Lady's face, and Alandria immediately regretted her approach. But it was too late, they had heard her. Aragorn pulled quickly away, and Éowyn merely stared at her blankly, tears glittering in her round eyes. Confusion and worry pushed away the anger she had felt, and Alandria opened her mouth to speak.
"My lady?" She asked softly, watching her friend carefully. Éowyn merely glanced at Aragorn, bowed her head in dismissal, and slowly turned away. Alandria chose to ignore the dark Ranger for the time, and followed the White Lady worriedly. "My lady? Éowyn?" She called after her retreating friend, and managed to step close enough to grasp her arm, pulling her roughly to a halt. "I- sorry." She quickly apologized for her rashness, and released the woman's arm. "What happened? With your brother, and Lord Aragorn?" Her green eyes roved the pale, beautiful face of her friend. "Éowyn?"
The lady shook her head, brushing away another tear. "It is nothing with Éomer. He is only...over-protective. He always has been." She attempted to smile, but it wavered weakly and fell.
"...and Aragorn?"
Éowyn quickly lost what little nerve she had built up in the past moments, as tears filled her eyes again. She took a shaky breath, her whole frail body trembling with it. "It is stupid, I know, but I can't help it, I always thought..." She paused, taking another shaky breath, and then explained it all: "He does not love me."
Sympathy stronger than any she had felt before washed through Alandria, as she reached out to take Éowyn's hand, and then pulled her into an embrace. "I am sorry, Éowyn. So sorry." She tried to comfort her friend, but was unsure what would be right to say. "He is a great man, it is no fault on your part to love him. But..despite how much we love a person..we may not always be loved back. There will be another, my lady."
Éowyn sniffed back her tears, and then pulled out of Alandria's arms, wiping at her eyes. "You are beyond strong to have endured the Lord Boromir's death, my friend." She smiled weakly.
"It is not the same."
"I know." Éowyn stared earnestly into her eyes. "It's worse."
Alandria gazed back for a moment, and then smiled faintly, before taking a step back. "I should leave you alone. You need rest. There will be plenty to do tomorrow."
Éowyn seemed oddly defeated, and did not argue, only nodded and turned away. She paused then, looking back at Alandria. "Do you not need rest as well? Come, retire with me."
"No, thank you my lady. I have already rested." Against my wishes. "And I have something to first attend to." Éowyn watched her curiously, but Alandria only smiled again. "Goodnight, my lady."
"Goodnight, Alandria." Éowyn murmured quietly, and silently disappeared.
Alandria watched after the retreating form of her friend for only a moment, and then turned back toward where the Ranger had been. She strode back to him, but he was gone. But she heard voices and the movement of horses from the other side of the camp then, and her brow furrowed and she went to search the Ranger out. She found him quickly, and was surprised to see him mounted on his dark horse. Legolas and Gimli were seated double on Legolas' steed. They were surrounded by a group of Rohan Riders, and Alandria saw even Théoden appear out of the group, and walk away. Once he left, the Riders steadily dispersed, but they muttered and whispered and glanced at the Ranger, Elf, and Dwarf in discontent. Aragorn made as to turn Brego and start away, but Alandria managed to leap before him, halting his mount.
"What are you doing?" She asked, gazing up at him.
The Ranger shifted uncomfortably. "We're leaving, Alandria."
"Leaving? Where?" She glanced at Legolas and Gimli; the former stared back at her evenly, while the latter stared hard at the ground. "Why didn't you find me?"
"It is only us leaving."
Her brows pulled together. "What do you mean? You are leaving me behind? Aragorn, I must come with you!"
"Nay, Alandria." He shook his head. "This path is mine alone."
"They are allowed to go!" She gestured wildly at the Elf and Dwarf, frustration building her anger back up.
"Only because I cannot force them to stay. If I could, I would."
"Our loyalties lie with you, Aragorn." Legolas interrupted smoothly, recieving a sharp glare from the dark-haired woman.
"And do mine not?!"
"They do, I know, Alandria." Aragorn assured her. "But they also lie here, with your people and your King and your Lady Éowyn. You cannot come."
"But here I am not allowed to fight either!"
The Man's turqoise eyes softened as he gazed at her. "That is not my place to co-"
"Don't-" Alandria snapped, furious tears glittering in her lashes. "-say that! My coming with you is your place to command, so why will you not give me the permission?"
"Because I only travel this path knowing I have no other choice; you have a choice, and I will not commit you to our peril."
"Where do you travel to?" He didn't answer, but glanced nervously towards the black crevice against the dark stone wall. His obvious discomfort worried Alandria, but she knew he would not turn from his path. "The Dimholt?!" She exclaimed. "That is sure death!"
"To all but myself, perhaps if I am lucky enough." Aragorn replied, his steady voice contradicting his nervous glances. "Even good Legolas and Gimli I cannot guarantee life. But they will not remain."
"Yet I must? To stay and watch and wait for all I love to die?"
"Alandria-"
"I love each of you!" She pleaded earnestly. "And you leave me here?"
Aragorn sighed, glancing again towards the dark road. "You must look after Éowyn." Alandria opened her mouth to protest again, but Aragorn silenced her with a shake of his dark head and a hard look. "Do not think this is easy for us, Alandria, but there is no other option. You are to stay here. We must go."
"And what task do you hope to accomplish with your leaving?" She argued.
"I cannot tell. But if it should be accomplished, you will surely know." Alandria wanted to argue that his reply was unfairly vague, but already he had urged his steed to move towards the dark path between the mountain. "Take care, Alandria." He bowed his head to her, and then she faced his back, as he slowly faded into the darkness.
Alandria stared after the trio for a long moment, even after they had disappeared beyond sight, to what perils she could only imagine. Anger and frustraion and rejection coursed heavily through her veins, and the familiar presence of such rage was beginning to weary her. But she could not sleep it away, not after having had another nightmare. Instead she turned away from the evil of the Dimholt Road, and strode back through the camp, making her way to her and Éowyn's tent. Tears still glinted fresh and ready in her eyes as she thought over the outrage of Aragorn's abandonment, and they blinded her enough for her shoulder to collide with a man she walked past.
"Alandria?" Éomer's thick voice came softly through the dark. "Are you alright?"
But she ignored him, pressing her lips firmly together, bowing her head, and continuing on, leaving him with a furrowed brow and concern behind her.
Alandria spent her night pacing about the camp, talking to no one and brooding in her silence. The hours passed quietly, and soon dawn crept over the hills. It's first rays had barely shone across the camps below the cliff-side lookout of the King, and Men began moving about. They ate quickly what meals Éowyn and Alandria and the other cities' women had prepared, then dressed in their freshly polished armor, gathered their weapons, and mounted their eager, equally armored horses. In all, their preparations took less than a couple hours. The sun was not yet fully over the horizon, and Théoden separated his men into their individual éoreds. He spoke to them then, telling them their plan and destination, using his voice to send the hunger for battle coursing through their veins. Alandria found herself drug into a tent by her arm however, and turned in alarm to her Lady Éowyn.
"Éowyn?!" She exclaimed, eyes wide as she took in her lady's appearance. "What are you doing, dressed for battle?"
Éowyn stared back with hard, and unnervingly empty eyes. "I'm riding with them. With my uncle and brother."
"That's madness, my lady."
No emotion showed on the pale woman's face. "It may be. I do not care." She glanced towards the tent flaps, as a rush of hooves passed by. "I brought you aside because I know you do not want to stay behind either. Now hurry, and change. They're leaving soon."
"But Éowyn-" Alandria started nervously, only to be cut off.
"Do you not want to fight then? I thought you had expected to fight. Do you not feel you have a duty to your people and King, even more so now that your friends have left you behind?" The Lady's dark blue eyes were hard, her words oddly stern and clipped. "Do you not feel this is the only option?"
Alandria stared at her friend, taken aback by the ominous seriousness of the woman's words and appearance. But she understood as well: if her King, her friends, and her people were all to go into battle and death, why should she, she who had already fought so much and lost so much, be left behind? "Yes." She answered firmly. "I want to fight."
Éowyn nodded, satisfied, and stepped out to let Alandria change into the armor the Lady had laid out on the bed. She wore her travel-like clothes already, and then a heavy shirt of chain mail over her tunic. Another leather tunic over the chain mail, and then thick vanbraces along her wrists. Rather than bother with the unfamiliar weight of the leaf-mail skirt, she made a mental note to grab a large shield with her weapons. Then she pulled on thick shin-guards to protect below her knees, and finished with the boots and gloves given to her by Lady Galadriel. Nothing could cause her to wear anything in place of those. She longed to wear the dark cloak of Boromir, but feared it would distinguish her too well. Still, she could not bear being parted with it, knowing she likely would not return to see it. So she draped it across her shoulders, but heavily covered it with a dark green cloak of Rohan. She felt unnaturally bulky and heavy once done, but was filled with a sense of pride, and anxiety as well, and stepped out of the tent.
The Lady Éowyn studied her for a moment, before nodding. "Good. You will need a helmet though, and make sure it covers your neck. Your hair is too obvious." She pointed to a tent several paces away. "Grab that one. If it is not taken now, it will not be used."
Alandria obeyed, walking over and picking up the helmet, then folding her hair loosely into her hand, and forcing the helmet over top. Leaf-mail hung from the back of the helmet, and draped over her neck and to her shoulders, hiding her dark hair well. The front of the helm had a band that protected over the nose, and the sides stretched in to protect her cheeks, also effectively shadowing her features. Éowyn nodded again in approval, and Alandria glanced around. "My sword, it's still in our tent. I will get it-"
"Here." Éowyn held out a scabbard different from Alandria's own, and it held a different sword. "This is yours now."
Alandria gingerly took the sword and scabbard, staring at it in awe. The sheath was a dark, red-brown leather, lined with silver; the hilt of the sword was smooth black wood, traced with silver and gold designed into leaves and suns, with a horse's head pointing nose-down the blade, locking into fit in the space at the top of the sheath. She couldn't believe the beauty she held in her hand. Ealdorhelm. "This was my father's..." She whispered. "I thought it had been lost in the battle."
"Éomer found it."Éowyn explained, voice softer than Alandria had yet heard. "I wanted to give it to you immediately, but he said he wasn't sure you were yet ready." She paused, then slowly added. "He kept it with him, until last night. He gave it to me then. I think he knew what I would do with it."
Alandria finally glanced up, eyebrows raised in surprise. "He knows we're riding with them?"
"I'm not sure. He assumes you will be riding, at least."
"Won't he try to stop us?"
"He would have by now if he was going to. But come, I have readied Dustling for you. We must mount now, or else they will have left."
Alandria nodded, strapping the sheath and beautiful sword to her hip as they walked. "I will need a shield, Éowyn, to protect my legs instead of the mail-skirt. And should I have a bow, for if the need comes?"
"Taken care of, both of them. They are on Dustling as well."
Alandria smiled slightly. "You certainly have thought this through." Éowyn didn't answer, and they came to two armored and waiting horses. They each mounted, and Alandria adjusted her helmet uncomfortably, then moved the shield to a more comfortable position on her thigh. Still, she felt odd, but hoped it would pass. Her lady didn't say anything, but cantered her steed forward, making her way swiftly to the throng of Riders gathered and ready. Alandria closely followed, her heart beating quickly. It seemed they hadn't arrived a moment too soon, as Théoden was assigning éoreds routes. Alandria and Éowyn were in a large group assigned to ride with Elfhelm, and Alandria had to check herself to keep from quietly moving to the group Éomer led. He did not need her around. She did not need him around. Her duty was to Éowyn. So she stayed at her friend's side, even as the sea of horses and men finally surged forward, forming a great wave of sound and motion. Alandria dug her heels into Dustling's hide, and he leapt forward eagerly. She cantered beside Éowyn, just a little behind, and then noticed in the midst of the stampeding horses, stood a little lone, curly-headed, blonde man. Merry. She understood immediately why he was standing in the middle of their departure, and acted before thinking. She turned slightly to the left, towards him, and then, once close enough, reached down, grasped his shirt, and lifted with all her strength. The hobbit was swept easily off his feet, and landed roughly in front of her on the saddle. He struggled in surprise for a moment, but Alandria kept her arms around him to hold the reins, and leaned down to talk quietly in his ear.
"I won't leave you behind, Merry."
He turned as best he could to see her, and then smiled. "Thank you, Alandria."
She only smiled briefly, and turned her attention back to the movement of her horse and the horses around her, her heart swelling anxiously. The sound of hoofbeats thundered around, and Alandria didn't think she'd seen or heard or felt anything more ominous, more glorious.