Chapter Three ~ The Golden Hall, Meduseld
Lossiel was woken up by the sensation of having her arm gently shaken. Opening her eyes, she noticed that the Moon was still high up in the sky. She looked beside her, turning her head to the side, only to find Aragorn crouching next to her. As she sat up straight, she realized that he was handing her a piece of bread wrapped in — wait, was that lembas bread? She smiled as her thoughts shifted towards memories of back home, only to end with her thanking the Ranger in Sindarin.
Thinking that he wouldn't understand her, she immediately related her verbal appreciation in the Common Speech. Her eyes widened as he replied in Elvish.
"You can speak Sindarin?" she slowly asked, not knowing how else to verbalize it.
She stood up as he did, and then she passed the strap of her dark leather messenger bag over her head. She had nuts and dried fruits in it, but it could wait for another time; the bread would fill her faster, and they needed to be quick.
"Yes, I do," he simply replied with a smile. "I was raised by Elves, and I have to admit, I have never heard of one that slept with their eyes closed."
She gave him a smile as she fastened her cloak back on, still gently holding onto the Elvish bread. "I was curious about that, and I gave it a try," she admitted. "I simply grew to like it, truth be told," she added with a shrug.
He nodded, and he probably thought that they should leave soon for he half smiled goodbye before he headed towards Hasufel. The She-Elf hastily took a few bites from the bread, storing it in her bag as she headed towards Arod. Legolas had just settled on his horse when she reached him, and he extended his arm to help her up. She took it with a grateful smile and mounted the noble horse, and the company was off yet again.
Lossiel was dressed in a dark leather armour, one she had been taking great care of even in her home in Fangorn Forest, and she had one hardy leather bracer on her left arm, while she wore a simple, long leather gauntlet on the other. There was a thin, but strong and resistant chainmail concealed in between the two layers of leather. There were colourless vines and leaves engraved in parts of the leather. She also fashioned an Elven cloak, a green Mirkwood's maple leaf-shaped brooch fastening it.
To her belt hung two odd-looking black daggers; their hilt was about three centimetres in diameter, tube-like, rather long — maybe twice the length of her hand — and had navy blue leather strips haphazardly wrapped around it to most likely help her keep her grip during a heated battle. Sheathed, you couldn't tell, but their blades were shaped like two juxtaposed curvy diamonds, hollow in the middle: it followed the blades's outside line so it was about two centimetres wide.
Anyways, Gandalf had told them that they would reach the capital during the day, which was a comforting thought. Even with the few hours' rest, it was plain to see that it hadn't been enough for anyone, even the Elves. Yeah, you read me, Lossiel had grown tired as well. She wasn't used to this kind of lifestyle anymore. The two Rohirric horses were obviously exhausted, but pride and determination helped them keep up with the Mearas. Talking about exhaustion, Gimli would have plummeted to the earth if the Wizard hadn't pulled him back properly on Shadowfax. The poor Dwarf was nodding off so much it had become practically dangerous.
"Look!" the Wizard exclaimed, as his white steed suddenly halted.
The tired riders lifted their gazes to what laid before them, their weariness seemingly fading as they took everything in. Hills and valleys rose and dug below the tender green grass, which had by now greatly diminished in length, while mountains painted the slowly waking sky. In the distance, Lossiel could see the familiar Golden Hall beaming upon a cliff-like hill deep within the capital city of Edoras. To be honest, she never quite understood why gold was so valuable. Wasn't silver a much more attractive colour than shiny yellow?
It was Gandalf that broke the awe-filled silence as he asked, "Legolas, Lossiel, what do you see?"
That's when she remembered only her and her co-rider could actually distinguish Rohan's capital from that distance. The male Elf started describing the city and the great hall before them, without forgetting to point out the sleepy appearance of the city. The female then took over with a thoughtful frown. She admitted that there were many more guards on duty in the wee hours of morning than the last time she had visited. Even if it had been about half a century ago, such drastic changes were rarely seen if nothing had gone amiss recently.
"War is abroad. Draw no weapon, speak no haughty words, I counsel you all, until we are come before Théoden's seat." the White Wizard told them all, and they all nodded.
Once his counselling had been voiced, Gandalf sprang Shadowfax to swiftly continue and the other two horses followed suit. Lossiel was taken aback by such a swift motion and tightly clung onto Legolas for a few, short seconds, just enough for the shock to subdue.
It didn't take too long to reach the stream leaking down from the snowy mountains in the distance. They followed a trail, which had most likely been traced by horses' hooves, and they came across mounds of earth. White flowers bloomed upon them, and she listened as Gandalf explained that they were called everminds and only grew where dead men rested, buried under black dirt. Aragorn started signing in a language she didn't understand, but she could easily tell that it was in the Rohirric language. Shortly after, he told them what the lyrics meant in the Common Speech. Lossiel wondered just how many languages he could speak!
The five travellers then continued up the trail, which led to the capital city's front gates, where they were greeted in the least friendliest way possible; in a language none but the Ranger understood and a harsh, cutting tone. The She-Elf leaned to the side so she could take a look at the guards. She simply watched as the Ranger and some of the guards exchanged words. She could pick up a few trivial words, but that was it. Well, up until the conversation switched to the Common Speech.
"Wormtongue?" Gandalf suddenly interrupted once one of the guards mentioned such a figure. "My errand is to the Lord of the Mark himself. Will you not go or send to say that we have come?" It was clear in his voice that his patience was wearing thin, if you couldn't see his eyes for some reason.
"Yes, I will go," one of the guards replied, slowly. "But what names shall I report?"
"I am Gandalf. I have returned," he replied. "Here beside me is Aragorn son of Arathorn, the heir of kings. Here also are Legolas the Elf, Lossiel the She-Elf and Gimli the Dwarf, our comrades. Go now and say to your master that we are here to converse with him."
Lossiel couldn't help but smile.
"I will report you as you bid, and learn my master's will," he replied, before he left them in the company of the other guards, who watched them with wary eyes. It didn't take too long before he came back and said, "Follow me! Théoden gives you leave to enter, but any weapons that you bear must be left on the threshold. The doorwardens will keep them."
The city's gates were swung open and let the five travellers enter. They then walked in line with their guide, and some of the woken citizen watched them as they passed by. Lossiel felt a little nervous since she wasn't used to such attention. Last time she came, it had been more like 'get in, walk around a bit, swipe this, swipe that, get out'. Yes, she had slight kleptomaniac tendencies and truth be told, it's somewhat of a complicated matter. She had never been in Meduseld, though.
They walked for a while until they reached some stairs, stairs that led up to the Golden Hall. They climbed up and when they reached the top, the doors' guards stood up, tall and proud.
"There are the doors before you," the guard, who had served them as a guide, told the travellers. He then bid them goodbye and wished them the grace of his Lord, only to turn around and head back to his post at the gates.
The watchmen courteously greeted them in their own language as they pointed the hilt of their blades as a sign of respect and peace. One of the guards took a step forward and spoke up in the Common Speech so they could all understand, "I am the Doorward of Théoden. Háma is my name. I must bid you lay aside your weapons before you enter."
Legolas gave him his silver knives, his quiver and his bow, telling him to be careful with them, since Galadriel had given them to him. The man seemed to be afraid to hold them, laid them next to the wall and then promised him that no man would touch them. Lossiel didn't know if it was whether because the Elf was her prince or because she had faith in him, — relying on someone else for two days straight tends to do that to someone — she begrudgingly unsheathed her beloved blades and handed them to Háma as well.
Aragorn didn't want to part from his sword, Andúril.
"Aragorn?" Lossiel broke in before the argument got heated. He looked back at her — actually, everyone did, but she paid them no mind. "My own weapons may not be worthy of comparison to yours but they hold much value to me, for they were crafted by my own father as a parting gift. Yet, I trust them to the Doorward." She wasn't going to mention the blade hidden in her bracer, though. There's a reason as to why it was called 'a hidden blade'.
Aragorn thought about her words as Gandalf handed the man Glamdering. Then, he unbuckled his belt and set Andúril himself against the wall, warning the others that only him should touch that sword, unless they had a death wish. Then Gimli laid his axe on the floor, saying that if Aragorn's sword was there, so would be his own weapon, shameless. Gandalf, though, refused to part with his ashen staff, claiming it was a mere walking stick.
Háma hesitated, but he trusted his wisdom for he trusted the Wizard and saw no harm in letting him keep it. "You may go in," he said, motioning them to step inside the slowly opening heavy doors.
The insides of the Golden Hall truly was a sight to see. There were many wooden pillars reaching the high ceiling, where light nearly reached it. Stones paved the floors of many shades, runes and many odd trinkets depicted between them. Sunlight pierced through high windows and shone on some of the many tapestries which hung upon the walls, while others dwelled in half-light.
The five companions continued on through the hall, only to halt in front of an upswept dais. It was at the hall's end and constituted of three steps. In its middle, there was a great throne, on which one could only guess King Théoden sat. He looked rugged, old and weak, but his eyes shone so brightly it was practically frightening. His white beard reached his knees and his snow white hair was disheveled and really thin. Behind his chair, there stood a tall, fair lady clad in a beautiful white dress, her long, wavy blonde locks cascading down her back. Hunched by his side, there was a greasy-haired pale man who was all dressed in black. Lossiel had to admit, the colour of his turquoise irises were a bit nice, but that was it.
Nobody spoke. The silence was heavy.
"Hail, Théoden son of Thengel!" Gandalf broke. "I have returned. The storm comes, and now all friends should gather together, lest each singly be destroyed."
The old man slowly rose to his feet, painfully slowly that is, as he leaned on a short black stick — a bone was attached to it and served as a handle. Years seemed to be heavy on him, for his shoulders were dangerously slumped.
"You have ever been a herald of woe. Troubles follow you like crows, and ever the oftener the worse," the king's voice echoed through the hall. Even if it sounded weak, it still held regal power. "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" That's when he sat back down.
Lossiel could feel anger bubble in her veins, but she remembered what Gandalf had told them when she and Legolas could see the Golden Hall from afar. She could sense such a feeling in the others as well, but only the two Elves didn't show it, even in the slightest, upon their features.
"You speak justly, lord," the pale man said. "Why indeed should we welcome you, Master Stormcrow? Láthspell I name you. Ill news is an ill guest."
"Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth," he replied, his patience already quite thinned. "I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a serving-man till the lightning falls."
The thunder rolled as he raised his staff, sunlight no longer beating down unto Medusled. The whole hall was left in darkness, for even the fires were dimmed down. Only Gandalf was visible in this darkness, his grey cloak thrown to the ground, and he shone tall in his white garb.
"Did I not counsel you, lord, to forbid his staff?" Wormtongue grimly said, looking behind him, only for a bright flash of light, as if lightning had struck near the hall in which they were standing, to interrupt anything else he might have wanted to say as he fell to the floor.
Silence once again had fallen upon the king's hall.
Gandalf asked Théoden if he would heed his counsel, telling him that there is light even in darkness. Light in darkness: that made Lossiel stare at the ground in deep thoughts. He also asked the king to stand — to look at his lands with his own eyes for he had relied on others' for far too long.
Rising with hesitant steps, the king left his chair. The woman that had been silently standing behind him all that time came to support him, helping him in his unsteady walk. They softly paced across the hall, towards the heavy doors. The She-Elf hadn't moved, so Legolas, who had happened to have been standing next to her, kindly tugged at her arm to pull her out of her thoughts. She flinched and glanced at him, only to look behind and see Gandalf and the king standing outside the hall. They then followed them close behind.
"That may be. I will do as you ask," she heard the king say, but she had no idea what they were talking about. She noticed the Rohirim lady was gone.
Gandalf and Théoden exchanged a few words about what they should do for the days to come. Not knowing exactly what to do, the female glanced around until she noticed that the other Elf was straining his eyes westward. She, too, strained to looked in that direction out of curiosity, but all she could see was nature. Wait, was that a wisp of floating fire, in the faraway distance…? W-Was that the…?
A.N. You gotta admit, Skyrim's Whiterun practically is Edoras. You gotta admit! Even their emblem's a horse! XD Anyways, yeah, that part came quickly; I stayed at home sick today. I apologize for how short this is (it's lacking two hundred words for it to reach my quota) but... I didn't want to make it too boring. I just stared at the screen, thinking, and simply decided to end it there. Objections and/or constructive criticism are always welcomed! Have a nice day~ :3