Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess
Chapter VIII: Xena's Forge in Edoras
Edoras - Rohan, 2940 TA, October 21
Edoras, the capital of Rohan, stood proud atop a hill, its golden hall gleaming against the vast expanse of the Riddermark. Xena had finally reached her destination. As her gaze swept across the breathtaking sight, she couldn't help but be taken aback by the sheer grandeur that lay before her. The ancient city bore the marks of time in its weathered stones, yet its architecture stood as a testament to unparalleled craftsmanship.
The golden hue of Meduseld's hall shimmered like a beacon, commanding attention against the expansive landscape. But as she descended into the heart of Edoras, Xena found herself enchanted not just by its regal halls but by the lively mosaic of its streets and markets.
Venturing through the cobbled pathways, Xena was immediately swept into a vibrant tapestry of sights and sounds that brought Edoras to life. The market square buzzed with activity, a kaleidoscope of colors and scents dancing in the air. The intricate designs of the stalls, adorned with treasures from across Rohan, seemed to narrate tales of a storied past.
As she wandered, Xena found herself amidst a symphony of aromas—a medley of freshly baked bread mingled with the fragrant allure of wildflowers. The laughter of children reverberated, filling the air with joy, while the fountain's playful gush offered a refreshing respite.
Strolling along the streets, she marveled at the city's architecture, where buildings boasted detailed carvings and timeless charm. The Golden Hall of Meduseld stood sentinel-like, its golden roof a testament to Rohan's majestic history.
Through the labyrinth of winding streets, Xena discovered a vibrant spirit in Edoras. Each corner unveiled lush gardens, vibrant colors, and a sense of community, weaving a narrative of Rohan's connection with its land and people.
Edoras wasn't just an ancient city—it was a living, breathing testament to Rohan's legacy, and as Xena wandered its streets, she found herself becoming a part of its intricate tapestry, soaking in the rich history, culture, and essence that defined this remarkable capital.
As Xena traversed the lively streets of Edoras, she couldn't shake off the stark contrast it held against her previous experiences. The memories of charred villages lingered in her mind, yet Edoras stood as a testament to the vitality, seemingly untouched by the encroaching darkness. It was as though time had cloaked the city in a protective shroud, shielding it from the impending shadows.
Her quest for provisions led her through bustling markets and past numerous blacksmiths and merchants, yet none seemed to resonate with what she sought. However, at the far end of an alley, a weathered sign caught her eye, its faded letters spelling out "Blacksmith." The shop nestled there, almost hidden from the thrum of the main thoroughfare, emanated an air of forgotten mystique that beckoned her forth.
Stepping closer, Xena observed the establishment's facade, weather-worn and aged, yet bearing the indelible marks of craftsmanship. The building itself seemed to echo the tales of ages past, its wooden beams weathered but sturdy, as though withstanding the test of time itself. The sign, its once-bold letters now softened by the passage of years, hinted at secrets and treasures hidden within.
As she crossed the threshold, the interior revealed itself in a symphony of metalwork and the faint scent of smoldering embers. The forge crackled in the corner, its flames dancing with an ancient rhythm, casting intricate shadows on the walls adorned with weapons and tools of old.
The blacksmith, a figure weathered by years of toil, looked up from his workbench, eyes holding a glint of wisdom earned through time. The shop, a haven frozen in time, held an array of gear, each piece bearing the marks of meticulous craftsmanship and resilience.
Amongst the rows of weaponry and riding gear, Xena's gaze alighted upon a set of well-crafted leather armor and a sturdy steed saddle. These were not just tools; they seemed to resonate with a history of their own, whispering tales of valor and strength.
The blacksmith, known as Garin, was a figure entrenched in the fading echoes of Rohan's past glories. His shop, once a hub of activity bustling with the repairs and forging for the king's forces, now stood in a quiet corner of Edoras, a testament to the absence of the war that once consumed the land.
As Xena stood in his shop, Garin's weathered hands deftly finished crafting a metal dagger before turning his attention to her. His keen eyes recognized her as the traveler who sought directions days earlier, a recognition that brought a touch of familiarity to her otherwise foreign presence.
"Ah, it's you again," Garin greeted with a knowing smile, reminiscing about their prior encounter. "You've found your way to Edoras."
Xena's response was swift, her words laced with a sharp wit. "You didn't help much," she retorted, though a hint of amusement danced in her eyes.
Garin chuckled, appreciating her candor. "What can I do for you today? Or are you here to complain about my lack of assistance?"
Her smirk reflected a shared understanding as she explained her needs—armor, a quality sword, and a horse. Garin glanced around the shop, pondering the options available.
"Armor for a lady, eh?" Garin mused. "If you're willing to browse the back, there might be something old, and at no cost. Good swords come with a price, though. Making one would take time I don't have. Horses are plentiful, but it all depends on your coin."
Her admission of lacking funds prompted a hearty laugh from Garin. "No gold, no gear," he stated plainly. "But if you truly need it, the tavern might have odd jobs on their board. That could be your ticket."
Xena took in his words, a sense of determination firming her resolve. With a nod of gratitude, she acknowledged Garin's advice, understanding that in this land of Rohan, one must earn their keep before they could gear up for the challenges ahead.
In the realm she hailed from, challenges often wore familiar faces—there was always a chase, a battle, or a soul in need. Edoras, however, seemed to offer no immediate call for her combat prowess. The tavern exuded an air of skepticism as Xena entered, drawing curious glances from the men who occupied its space. Among them, the tired waitresses were the sole representatives of her own gender.
Silently ignoring the stares, Xena made her way to the board, each odd job advertised feeling more mundane than the last. There was the offer of food in exchange for field labor, the search for a lost goat, and other similarly unexciting tasks.
With a disdainful roll of her eyes, she begrudgingly accepted the reality—these mundane tasks were her ticket to survival in this unfamiliar realm. Resigned to her fate, she chose the search for the missing goat, knowing it would at least earn her a single gold coin.
As she embarked on the task, she found the goat within the hour—a seemingly effortless endeavor that filled her purse but also revealed a harsh truth. The road to acquiring enough gold for a proper sword and armor was longer than anticipated. Each task proved menial, offering a meager sum that barely made a dent in the amount she required.
It dawned on her that the path to gathering the necessary funds would be a slow and laborious journey, unlike the swift exploits she was accustomed to. In this realm, the coin didn't come easy, and each task completed seemed to emphasize the stark contrast between the worlds she had traversed.
In the following days, Xena dedicated herself to assisting anyone in need within Edoras, seeking remuneration for her services. Despite her ability in writing, she hadn't encountered any requests for such services yet. Garin, observing her earnest efforts around the city, began to realize the gravity of her purpose—it wasn't mere playacting; she genuinely required armor and a sword. He admired her diligence, noting her consistent dedication without excuse.
On the third day, he found her inside the tavern, scanning the board for potential tasks. Approaching her, he proposed, "Walk with me, lass."
Curiosity sparking in her eyes, Xena complied, intrigued by Garin's sudden interest. "You seem rather intent on obtaining a sword," he remarked, arching an eyebrow.
"It's precisely why I need one," she replied matter-of-factly.
Garin appeared puzzled. "In these times, weaponry is scarcely wielded, especially by a woman. It's a rare sight, to say the least."
Xena recognized the disparity between her experiences and the knowledge available within the city. "Outskirts of Rohan are being attacked, villages burned, people killed," she informed him, realizing the extent of the information divide.
Garin's demeanor shifted, his gaze intensifying as if studying her. "How do you know of this?"
"I was there when it happened," Xena confessed, her voice tinged with sorrow. "I couldn't arrive in time to save anyone."
Garin paused, absorbing her words. "You were the one who laid the dead to rest, weren't you?" he interjected, his realization altering his perception of her. Xena nodded quietly, her heart heavy with the weight of the tragedy she had witnessed.
Awareness dawned on Garin. "I've heard whispers of these random assaults, but you're the first to care for the fallen. Come with me," he said, a newfound respect coloring his tone.
In this moment of understanding, Garin acknowledged Xena's genuine intentions and the depth of her experiences. His invitation hinted at an offer that might bridge the gap between her need for a weapon and the unfolding threats lurking beyond Edoras' borders.
"I've heard rumors of these attacks circulating for some time," Garin began as they made their way toward his shop. "Speculations range from random gangs to bandits."
Xena sensed an opportunity to gather more information. "Some claim they were orchestrated by a wizard," she added, gauging Garin's reaction. "Have you consulted the king about these issues? Why hasn't he taken action?"
"A wizard?" Garin mused, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "The closest one would be Isegand, but Saruman's involvement doesn't make sense. He was an ally."
Absorbing Garin's insights, Xena's mind raced with new leads. They had reached his shop and stepped inside as they kept talking "Fengel, a caring king until his son's departure, I suppose," she murmured to herself, finding striking resemblances to her own world's dynamics.
"What can you share about this wizard?" Xena inquired, observing Garin rummaging through chests for something.
"Not much, really," he admitted. "We've never crossed paths with Saruman. He's known as the white wizard, one of the most powerful. But why he would suddenly target remote villages after so long remains a mystery."
Xena regarded Garin with a hint of suspicion. "Your knowledge about Rohan and its king seems extensive."
"I used to be a trusted advisor to the king," Garin confessed. "But that was before Thengel departed due to a disagreement with his father. Now in Gondor, preparing to wed. I've pleaded with him to return, as the king grows older, and Rohan will soon need a ruler."
Xena pondered his words. "Rohan requires more than just a king. Its defenses need attention. Continual attacks threaten its safety, regardless of who rules."
"That, I'm aware of," Garin replied calmly, setting a sword upon the weathered table between them. The blade, though worn by time, bore a certain grace in its craftsmanship—a tempered steel blade with etchings reminiscent of Rohan's heritage along the hilt, though showing signs of wear and age. "And I know you'll delve into these rumors."
Perplexed, Xena raised an eyebrow. "How can you be so sure? You know little about me."
"I know what matters. Rohan's safety concerns me deeply, and I'll be looking into these matters, bringing them to the king's attention," Garin declared. "This sword may not be the finest, but it will serve you well. Outside awaits my old horse, Swiftwind. She's aged, but she'll carry you."
Taking the sword in her grasp, Xena felt its weight—solid and sturdy, though different from her own blade. Grateful for the gesture, she pondered Garin's motivations. "Why offer me this?" she inquired earnestly.
"It's in recognition of what you did for that village, and what I believe you're capable of," Garin stated with conviction. "Now, change in the room behind; there are clothes and sturdy leather boots. I hope it's a step up from what you had."
"More than enough, thank you," Xena acknowledged with a nod, grateful for the unexpected generosity. She made her way to the room, feeling a sense of appreciation for Garin's unwavering commitment to Rohan's well-being.
Inside the room, the promised leather boots awaited her. Crafted from supple hide, they bore intricate stitching along the sides, designed to endure the harsh terrain. Their sturdy soles promised resilience against the rugged paths she might tread.
Next to them lay a pair of sleek black leggings, snug and flexible, offering both comfort and maneuverability. The accompanying black sweater, though simple, exuded an air of practicality. Its fabric, soft against her skin, promised warmth amid the chill. An old leather coat hung beside the garments, its weathered exterior bearing faint traces of past adventures.
Upon entering the room, Xena's first task was cleansing herself. The clean water in the large bowl and the towels offered a chance to shed the tattered blue gown and cleanse the grime, feeling the liberation as the water rid her of the traces of her journey thus far.
Dressed in the attire provided, she felt a sense of transformation. The boots encased her feet snugly, providing stability and familiarity. Swathed in the black leggings and sweater, she felt a renewed sense of purpose, as though shedding the old attire was akin to shedding an old skin.
Buckling on a belt and securing the case for her sword and chakram, she emerged from the room, the subtle click of her boots against the floor announcing her arrival.
Garin's gaze met her, registering the swift alteration in her appearance. The woman before him now exuded an air of readiness, an aura that hinted at her capabilities. She stood there, not someone to trifle with, her demeanor signaling a quiet strength and determination.
"I won't be needing the old dress any longer," Xena remarked, indicating she'd left her previous belongings behind.
"I'll take care of those," Garin assured her. "Rest up before you head out on your tasks."
Xena retrieved a small pouch containing the silver and gold coins she'd earned and placed it on the table. "It's not much, but a token of gratitude for your help," she offered.
"Keep it," Garin insisted, sliding the pouch back. "You'll need it for your journey." He then fetched two leather bags, suitable for attaching to the saddle. "Take these along, for your gear and essentials. Swiftwind always appreciated these on her saddle. And do keep us informed if you uncover the truth. If it turns out there's no real threat, safe travels, my friend."
Grateful for his assistance, Xena promised to return with information, expressing her appreciation before taking her leave. This exchange cemented their shared understanding of the task ahead and the necessity of staying vigilant in a realm veiled in uncertainty.
Xena approached Swiftwind, the aging mare that Garin had generously provided. Swiftwind was a weathered beauty, her coat a tapestry of greys and whites, evidence of the years she'd spent traversing lands. As Xena settled into the saddle, she sensed the horse's initial apprehension at the unfamiliar rider. With gentle murmurs and soothing strokes along the horse's neck, she established a bond, her innate connection with horses swiftly calming Swiftwind's unease.
Despite her prowess with equines, Xena found herself pondering the subtleties of this realm. There was a familiarity that teased at the edges of her consciousness, yet certain aspects felt distinctly foreign.
Once Swiftwind and she were ready, Xena sat cozier on the horse, feeling a surge of readiness and anticipation for the journey ahead. As she guided Swiftwind through the cobbled streets of Edoras, the city's golden hall stood proudly in the backdrop, a sentinel against the vast expanse of the Riddermark. The bustling activity of the city gradually faded into the serene embrace of the countryside, the transition evoking a sense of poignant transition—a departure from the known into the unknown.
They journeyed onward, the landscape unfolding before them like a canvas painted by the hand of time itself. Rolling hills adorned with lush greenery danced alongside the winding path, their undulating beauty a testament to nature's artistry. The skies above shifted, a medley of hues—amber, crimson, and indigo—as the sun embarked on its slow descent, casting a warm glow upon the horizon.
Eventually, Xena urged Swiftwind to a halt, the old map unfurling in her hands. Her eyes traced the intricate markings, seeking the path toward Isengard. The parchment, weathered and aged much like the horse beneath her, held the promise of guidance amid the uncertainty of the unknown terrain ahead.
With determined resolve, she charted her course, guiding Swiftwind toward Isengard. As the wind whispered secrets of distant lands and the earth cradled their journey, Xena rode forth, an embodiment of resilience and purpose, the weight of her mission guiding her towards the enigmatic Isengard.
Throughout the eight-day journey, Xena and Swiftwind forged a bond akin to the days spent traveling with Argo. They traversed the varied landscapes, navigating verdant valleys and ascending rugged hillsides, pausing only when Swiftwind showed signs of weariness or when hunger beckoned. Each stop brought a semblance of comfort as Xena kindled a fire, the crackling flames invoking a sense of familiarity that often led her down the corridors of old memories.
As the days melded into one another, the passing of time felt peculiar in this realm, its cadence out of sync with her expectations. Yet, the passage seemed swifter than anticipated, hastened by the rhythm of the road and the shared moments of solitude and camaraderie with Swiftwind.
Finally, the towering silhouette of Isengard emerged on the horizon, an imposing structure that loomed against the sky. Xena guided Swiftwind closer, her heart heavy with a mixture of awe and apprehension at the sight of the enigmatic building. Isengard, with its colossal walls and haunting presence, stirred a sense of foreboding within her, a sensation reminiscent of confronting the unknown in her own world.
As she rode toward the edifice, the air seemed to thicken with anticipation. The weight of history and secrets hung palpably in the atmosphere, causing a shiver to trail down her spine. It was an encounter with a relic of power and mystery, and Xena couldn't shake the feeling of both curiosity and caution that stirred within her. The journey, though arduous, had led her to the heart of an enigma, and the intensity of emotions surged as she braced herself for the revelations and challenges that lay ahead within the shadows of Isengard's formidable walls.
For a day or two, Xena diligently scoured the vicinity around Isengard, probing for any signs of entry or activity within the fortress. Her efforts, however, yielded little success. There was no trace of Saruman, and the absence of any noticeable presence made her suspicions grow. If the wizard existed in this realm, perhaps he was preoccupied elsewhere, embroiled in the clashes with the Necromancer alongside Gandalf, Galadriel, and Elrond—a narrative unknown to Xena.
As time passed, it became evident that Isengard held no immediate answers. The silence within the tower resonated louder than any clue she sought. If Saruman had intentions of mounting an attack, the fortress should have buzzed with activity or at least exhibited signs of preparation. Yet, the emptiness persisted, contradicting her expectations. Xena realized the fallacy in her assumptions; the might of a wizard often didn't require visible forces to orchestrate his plans.
Saruman's machinations were underway, a subtle transformation in motion, aimed at overtaking Rohan in due time. However, the immediacy of his threat remained veiled, a storm brewing on the horizon.
Back on Swiftwind, uncertainty loomed in Xena's path. She resumed her journey, the direction uncertain, a conundrum she hadn't encountered in her travels before. The road beckoned, whispering tales of distant lands and unexplored territories. Her desire to uncover more about the attacks still burned within her, intertwining with her innate wanderlust, compelling her to seek new horizons. The wheels of fate turned once more as she rode forth, the future an enigmatic tapestry waiting to unfold.
((Upcoming Chapter Nine))
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