A/N Another chapter released! I hope you're all as excited as I am. Please continue to review. I sincerely appreciate (and need) the feedback.
CHAPTER 5 - Digress
It wasn't long before the stables were a hive of chaotic activity. Rohirrim, some still obviously nursing the after effects from the evening's revelry, flooded in, surrounding the newfound lovers as they readied themselves for departure. Sensing haste, the pair departed to ready themselves also.
As they bounded up the stairs to the main hall still holding hands, they were met by the King and his entourage. There was a measure of finality in the heavy steps of the monarch as he barrelled through the throne room doors and out on the landing. Clad in heavy chain mail, sword sheathed and at the ready, the atmosphere around them was charged with what Isobel could only surmise as grim determination. For certainly there was no level of cheer evident on the pale faces that met them.
The monarch barked orders at Eomer as their heavy feet slapped the flagstones of the landing.
"Assemble the army at Dunnharrow. As many men as can be found. You have two days. On the third we ride for Gondor. And war."
The marshal nodded once in affirmation. Turning suddenly, he nearly ran headfirst into the elf and the witch, who had paused on the topmost step. Eomer made to weave around them but something about the pair caused him to halt. Eyeing the young woman he noted her hand, still entwined with the elf's. An understanding passed over the handsome marshal's face accompanied by a small smile. But before she could respond, the king's voice forcefully punctuated the air once more.
"Gamling! Make haste across the Riddermark. Summon every able bodied man to Dunnharrow."
"But my lord," the aforementioned beseeched, scrambling after his liege. "There is not enough time!"
But it was Isobel who spoke next. Breaking away from Legolas she ascended the final stair to address the king.
"Send me," she implored. "I can make it to the far reaches of your border in a matter of hours."
Instantly the atmosphere changed tangibly as her words seemed to freeze in the air, hanging as heavily between them as stalactites ready for the fall. All turned to scrutinise the woman who did not yet fully hold their trust. Pensive, Isobel resisted the urge to squirm as her heart thundered in her chest. Instead she stood steadfast, swallowing her trepidation and staring resolvedly at the king as she awaited judgement. But it was Eomer who spoke first. After their afternoon together the marshal keenly felt the need to redirect some of the prejudice he felt was unfairly bearing down on the young woman. His hand touched Isobel's arm gently as he addressed her.
"How?" he questioned, fixing her a his piercing brown stare.
Unseen, Legolas' mouth thinned with displeasure for both the contact and the direction of the conversation. His eyes narrowed further as he noted how the tension in Isobel seemed to ease ever so slightly under the warmth of the marshal's touch.
"I am able to transform into a bird, a falcon, more specifically." Turning now to address the king she continued, "Please, I am your best chance for reaching as many as possible in time."
"No!" Legolas' melodic voice broke through as he pushed past Eomer to address his lover.
A hardness as fierce and unyielding as diamond graced his handsome features as he stared the young woman down.
"I will not stand by as you martyr yourself once more!" he stated firmly. "Going out there alone is madness. You cannot keep putting yourself at such risk!"
Surprised, Isobel's next words fell from her lips in a jumble. She blinked rapidly as she replied, trying to clear some of the confusion from her head as the furious conviction of his glare imprisoned her.
"I . . What choice do we have? Are we not already at risk? " she urged softy.
Finding strength once more she stated, "We won't stand a chance at Minas Tirith without further reinforcements. You know this."
Displeased but his argument ultimately trumped, the elf remained stonily silent.
"Then it is decided," the King said with a finality before moving on to the next task.
oOOOo
It was with grievous acceptance on his face that Legolas accompanied Isobel to her chambers. They had not spoken since the Theoden had dismissed them. To say he was enraged would be an understatement. Fury radiated in heated waves from the ethereal being as they walked together in silence. As he stomped with uncharacteristically heavy footsteps beside her, he wondered for the umpteenth time how she could be so foolish; how she could be so unheedingly selfless. What of their love? Did she not care for him at all? How was he supposed to stand idly by while the woman he loved willingly threw herself into the fire in front of him. What would happen to him if she died? As they traipsed through the long corridors guilted moments of self-doubt began to plague the elf. But what if the cause of all this was that the depth of her true feelings for him didn't mirror the depth of his own? Before long torment began to mix with fury, harrowingly muddying the weight in his heart.
Isobel knew Legolas was upset with her. Pangs of guilt washed through her but she would not be dissuaded from her course. She simply didn't see any other way. And as much as she knew Legolas' displeasure was out of concern for her, he had failed to recognise that similar thoughts formulated her own motivation too.
The door pounded loudly as it closed, piercing the heaviness that had settled between them once more. Legolas felt the fight leave him as he turned to face the sedate demeanour of his companion. It was with instant regret that he recognised that the anguish, that the penitent sense of obligation, hung over her head like a poised executioner once more. Valar, how he wished he could free her from her burden for it was only around strangers that she was tormented this way. When they were alone she shone with warmth and radiance. She was beautiful, strong, brave and kind to a fault. Moreover, her powers flowed freely through her as a natural extension of her being and not something to be feared. When she was free, she almost glowed with a luminescence the elf had never seen in another. Legolas loved her, indescribably so.
But despite recognising her pain now, the apprehension Legolas felt over Isobel's feelings for him continued to weigh him down, forming an immobile lump in his chest. But now was not the time to encumber her further; not when she was about to charge heedlessly into danger. Pushing aside his own misgivings for the sake of her own, Legolas captured the young woman in his embrace, pressing his forehead to hers.
Through closed eyes and a pained words he whispered, "Please be careful. I cannot lose you," before sliding his nose over hers to join their lips once more.
oOOOo
Isobel knew she was trembling as she walked through the main hall. The clangs of swords being collated in vast piles splintered around her as men and women bustled past, their arms over-burdened with food reserves and armour.
Despite the hive of activity around her, the young woman felt entirely alone. Although she'd volunteered for this task, Isobel was afraid. Though she would never have admitted this to Legolas. For the first time in a long time she was to travel without the steadfast support of her friends. Moreover, she was to travel to remote villages, the people of whom in her experience, had a grave propensity for bigotry towards anything out of the norm. If Isobel felt like an aberration now, this would be immeasurable compared to how small-minded villagers could make her feel.
Chewing her lip anxiously, she continued the seemingly endless path to the main doors as dread settled itself further in the pit of her stomach with every step.
As she broke through to the outside she was met by Eomer. The young marshal was seated on a nearby parapet, his golden hair shining in the bright sun, as he stared out across the plains of his home. He had been waiting for her.
Rising when she exited the hall, he noted with some confusion, how lightly Isobel was dressed. She was clad only in brown leggings, a fitted tunic and soft leather boots that encompassed her calves. Her long dark hair had been plaited and pinned to her head. But seemingly she carried no weapons. The marshal felt worry crease his face.
"You're unarmed?" he questioned as she approached.
A darkness clouded Isobel's rich blue eyes momentarily.
"I am never unarmed," she replied sardonically.
Not understanding the cryptic words, the handsome blonde man ignored her comment and continued.
"I . . I must apologise for my actions yesterday. I did not know of you and the elf," he said, suddenly uncharacteristically shy.
Isobel was silent for a moment as she appraised him.
"You do not need to apologise. You did nothing wrong. I was flattered, really."
A small edge of sadness crept in to her voice as she uttered her next words.
"However, I would be eternally grateful for your friendship?"
"Aye," Eomer confirmed with ease. "That I can do."
Relieved, Isobel felt the weight of awkwardness lift from her shoulders, though the vulnerability remained.
"Eomer?" she asked, testing the weight of the newfound friendship on her tongue. "What will it be like in the villages? More specifically, how well will they receive someone like me?"
"Ah," the marshall replied as they finally reached the conversation topic he'd sought her out for in the first place. "The villagers are a reserved bunch. They can be obliging when they choose to be but they have been burned in the past and thus largely remain suspicious of outsiders."
"But this why I got you this - " he continued, handing the her a piece of parchment.
Isobel's brow creased in confusion as she took it, noting the royal seal and foreign words.
"It's an official summons from King Theoden, bearing his seal, commanding every able bodied man travel to Dunharrow immediately. I thought you might need it."
"Thank-you," she murmured, her face reflecting her sincerity as she met his gaze. She could only hope that it would be enough.
Understanding her apprehension, the marshal placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as he said, "Please be careful. I will meet you on the plains of Dunharrow, friend."
With an assurity she didn't have before, Isobel tucked the parchment in her tunic before turning to face the ledge. With a quick step she leapt off in a dive, arms spread-eagled, before her body swiftly shifted into the form of a peregrine falcon. With a powerful flap of feathered wings she was off, speeding faster than an arrow into the fading dusk.
oOOOo
It felt good to be flying again. The cool wind blew past her, just like the landscape as she flew fast, high and free. She'd always loved flying. Not just the headiness of the speed and height, but she loved that it afforded her an escape from her own reality. When she was airborne she felt unburdened in a way that she rarely was these days.
Isobel had been flying in a vague northerly direction underneath the soft light of the stars. Though she was unaware of the specific location of each village of the region it did not faze her. That was the advantage of being a falcon. Her sharp yellow eyes, enhanced with the vision of a bird of prey, would easily identify clusters of homes far in the distance even through the darkened night sky.
Emerging from a particularly dense cloud, Isobel smelled the smoke before she saw it. Ahead, shielded by the mountains, a thick plume of pungent black rose in the sky ominously.
Not good, the young woman thought, speeding ahead with a powerful flap of her wings.
Screams pierced the air as her sharp gaze took in flames and fleeing refugees. The haze of the smoke thickened the closer she got, making it hard for Isobel to discern the source of the chaos. But fortuitously, a strong wind cleared the plume momentarily to reveal burning shacks and a pair of orcs mounted on wargs. She watched as the leader of the group held a flaming torch, laughing maniacally as he ignited yet another timber structure.
Incensed, Isobel tucked her wings against her body and descended in a fierce dive. Transforming and rolling quickly as she hit the ground, she landed crouched before the offenders. Rising to her feet, she flicked her wrists hard to make swords appear seemingly from nowhere in either hand. When she'd left Edoras she'd not intended on using her powers for fear of off-putting the villagers. But reason had fled to make way for ire.
If the orcs were surprised at the sudden appearance of the young woman, their demeanour did not reflect it. Instead, they turned their mounts to face her with a relished glint in their malevolent eyes.
"Dinner time, boys!" the leader taunted to the cackles of his companion.
Calculatingly the first warg approached the young warrior in a crouch, drool hanging in long streamers repulsively from it's canines as it appraised the new threat.
Regret flickered through Isobel's mind momentarily. Between the smoke burning her eyes and airways and the darkened night, this was not going to be easy. But the young woman remained steadfast. Whether the consequence of her vile past or an inherent product of her character, she was made for this; made for the defence of others at expense of her own safety. Her resolve was strong. Nothing could make her flee now.
Dodging to the side as the first foul beast charged her, Isobel quickly raised her swords to block the concurrent attack that came from it's rider. Spinning around she positioned herself between the two offenders as they circled around her. She could feel the heat of the flames behind her as fire hungrily consumed it's prey. With a snarl the first warg charged her again. Rolling to the side, Isobel deftly took a swipe at the snapping jaws of the second as they attempted to ensnare her. With a satisfactory yelp, her blade hit the mark as the young woman stood to face her opponents once more.
Enraged now, the group charged her together in a frenzy of gnashing teeth and clanging scimitars. She turned and sprinted towards the nearest building. Leaping high, her foot made contact with the timber between the lighted boards, allowing her to flip backwards just in time, over her attackers, to land with a heavy thud on the rump of a repugnant mount. Without a moment of hesitation Isobel plunged her sword through the torso of the orc before her, tossing him to the side like the discarded waste he was.
Isobel's mount, registering of her weight now, began bucking wildly in a desperate attempt to throw the young woman off. In it's panic, the dimwitted beast, no longer aware of the flames engulfing the structure before them, shattered through the alighted building with a splintering of wood, Isobel still in tow.
The heat was unbearable as it licked the ceiling above. Smoke engulfed them like a thick blanket, stinging their eyes and burning their lungs as they tried to breathe. Shocked by the turn of events, Isobel momentarily lost her grip on the wiry fur as the beast gave a particularly panicked jolt. She crashed hard into the wall of the structure, crying out as she registered a searing pain on her flank.
Injured and struggling to breathe, she fell painfully to her hands and knees.
But the fight was not over. Nor was she dead yet, she reminded herself.
Raising shaky a hand at the nearby wall, she gasped "bombarda," through the hoarse remnants of her voice.
The fiery wall burst outward, splintered wood flying everywhere. The sudden influx of fresh, cool air was a breath of life to Isobel's starved lungs, allowing her to stumble out into the night once more. The warg was not so lucky. The sudden loss of stability, coupled with the savagely fire-ravaged roof, meant that the structure was no longer able to support itself. With an ear-splitting crash the home caved in on itself, engulfing the trapped warg in flame.
Panting with exertion and pain, the young woman turned to face her remaining opponents. Enraged, she surveyed them through narrowed eyes.
The warg charged, snarling with renewed hatred for the woman who killed it's mate. Done playing around, Isobel cast a spell at her attackers, causing the pair to flip overhead and land with a crash nearby. With a yowl of displeasure, the warg struggled to it's feet, revealing the crushed body of it's rider.
It charged once more. Adrenalin surged through Isobel as she raced towards, raising her swords in readiness as she leapt towards the beast. With one blade she deflected the it's snapping jaws, while the other simultaneously plunged into it's neck. Landing lightly on her feet nearby, Isobel spun quickly around, weapons raised once more. But there was no longer a need for the beast lay tangled in a heap, now devoid of life.
Exhausted, the young woman lowered her weapons to survey the damage to her back. Her tunic had singed away revealing large circular welt to her lower flank. Fortunately it was fairly superficial, though it throbbed fiercely.
The air was silent now, save for the spitting of the fires that still raged nearby. With a casual flick of her wrist, an icy breeze seemed engulf the village momentarily, extinguishing the flames with a hiss.
Soon, Isobel was surrounded by shocked and bloodless faces as they emerged from their hiding places. Speechlessness clung to them all as though they had witnessed the young woman's actions, none seemed to know what to make of them.
Entirely shattered with pain, fatigue and a desperate need for an escape Isobel thrust the king's letter at the nearest villager wordlessly. In the haze of his confusion he had to read it a few times.
"Dunharrow?" he asked, disbelief still firmly written on his face.
"Yes," Isobel said firmly before taking the letter from his grasp and tucking it in to her tunic once more.
Fresh out of patience, she transformed before flying off into the cool night air in search of solace.