The tears have scarcely dried from her face when she reaches her village. Or what's left of it. Burned to cinders. She turns from the stable where she worked, now merely a shadowy scrawl in the grass. Estella snorts at the foul stench of rotting corpses. Her mind wanders. Trying to discern between the litany of emotions afflicting her. Fear? Nostalgia? Rage? But as each second passes in the stinking destruction - she feels only Elsa's deep blue eyes calling out to her to fulfil her duty.
And she rides on to Edoras.
Dread strikes her dead in the chest when she comes across Lord Theorl's corpse in the Westfold. Slumped against Bethiel's unmoving bulk. His throat had been slit. Dried bloodstains scrawl his armor. Bethiel has long heaved her last breath. And a part of her ponders whether Bethiel's death may also mean the death of her kinship with Elsa. The thought ferments in her brain like ill-brewed mead as she takes Theorl's banner for her own. Planting Simbelmynë buds around Bethiel's body and continuing her ride south amidst the torn corpses of wargs and their dead riders.
When she reaches Edoras, Anna never remembers the city feeling this alive. Ranks and ranks of horsemen pour from the gates like a gushing stream. And the bell's toll chimes through the air like a sword. Her mother's hunched-over in the thick of the mustering Éoreds. Still cloaked in black. She embraces her daughter and kisses Anna's fingers as her last kin on earth.
"Heavens! I thought you lost. But how? I saw you pierced by many arrows, so numerous those foul beasts loosed on thee-"
"The Elves - they looked after me-" Anna clutches her close.
"I knew it was wise to send you over the river-"
"Mother, I bear news for King Théoden, might you know where he is?"
Her finger trembles towards Meduseld, the glittering point of gold aloft to the morning sky. Not unlike the lone spear her father held aloft to the sky. Anna remounts and rides upstream against the mustering riders. The King's already borne his armour. And Anna couldn't look more out of place in her white dress amidst iron-plated men scurrying around her. Her mouth hesitates, before she lets out a shout.
"King Théoden!" Anna dismounts and bows once, offering up a banner, "Grave news I bring, Lord Theorl's body was found in the Westfold, not a day's ride from Edoras. Both man and Mare were set upon by Wargs."
Théoden shakes his head. Gamling bears Theorl's banner way from her.
"Twas' folly expecting him to answer our letters then," Théoden laments.
Anna keeps her head bowed, not knowing what to say. Only feeling the weight of another duty drawing near when the unfurling of a dozen forest-green horse-flags flutter in her ears. Her heart grows heavy when his gauntleted hand touches upon her shoulder.
"You've come a long way, have you not?" Théoden tips his head at Estella, "What is your name, young maiden?"
"From the Wold m'lord," Anna rises, keeping her eyes dipped, "Anna, of Feldburg - daughter of Aldan."
"Aldan! Your father raised the best horses in the Riddermark. Strongfooted and swift. It's such a pity that-"
His voice trails off at Éomer's voice barking orders at the riders: Ride now! Ride to Gondor! The king's grey, wrinkled eyes lift to the curious sight of an Elven bow poking from Estella's saddle. Accompanied by a curved Elven blade tucked beside a straight Rohan sword. Like the marriage of two souls - civilisations apart yet bound by duty.
"I'd assume you'd served him well, then-"
Anna dares look him in the eyes. Expecting to find pride but only feeling the warmth of her father's gaze from months past. The thought puts a splitting ache behind her face.
"Twas' only a stablemaiden's duty," Anna answers.
"Would you follow the baggage train?" Théoden asks, "there are few of us riding to Gondor. And fewer hands to tend the horses yet, none as skilled as yours."
Her face warms. It's not the sun for sure. She knows that. She also knows she should stay in Edoras and comfort her mother. Tend to whats left in their stables. Put together the remnants of her shattered life. And yet, Elsa's words throb behind her ears. You were meant for more than this. That thin, frail word with four letters that shaped her every waking moment. Roughened her hands. Found her a love. And tore it away from her. Now stands before her in the form of a gleaming iron-clad king. Manifesting not as a compulsory chore, but as a mere choice a single breath from her lips can make.
"Forgive me," Théoden pats her shoulder again, "too much to ask for-"
That iron chain yanks at her soul again, this time pulling the words from her lips.
"M'lord, it'll be my honour to serve the Rohirrim until my dying breath," Anna gasps, before she can reel in her oath, "thus is the duty I swear unto Rohan, as recompense for the lives and lands swept from my family."
"The honour is all mine," Théoden dons his golden helm, and mounts Snowmane right on the Meduseld steps, "To Gondor!"
Gamling brushes past the Maiden, muttering in her ear, "You best start hitching up the carts, lass-"
And as she leads Estella to the rear of the convoy, Anna finds her eyes turning towards the North. Where the love of her life lay. And a duty beyond any earthly bond to her Kingdom and its horses. A smile flutters to her lips as the memory of that moment spreads its roots. She hopes that the wind will carry her words across the Riddermark. And into Elsa's ears.
I did it! Are you proud of me?
The further she rides from Lórien, the sharper Elsa's eyes glimmer in her soul. The noise of thundering hooves still rumbles in Anna's ears long after she stops at Drúadan. Immediately she's beset on all sides by chores. Tending minor wounds. Feeding the famished horses. Fetching water and forking out stacks of hay from the baggage train. Within every pair of eyes she sees the same weariness and fear. And yet courage rises in their voices. Such that when a feeble one reaches her, she nearly misses it amidst the rampant neighing.
"Maiden! Maiden! I beseech thee!" the cry comes. Urgent. His voice is light, as if shouting in a whisper. And a helm remains fastened to his head, despite the heavy air. A boy, perhaps. He scarcely stands taller than herself. And yet his eyes glimmer the same hopeful fury she sees in her own eyes.
"It's my horse, Windfola - I knew not he'd be this tired, or some ailment perhaps. We - I mean, I - did not come thus far to fall back on a sick horse. Not if my life depends on it-"
He takes her to Windfola. Slumped against a tree and wheezing like the life's been drained from his very lungs.
"Oh dear-"
Anna kneels close. A shudder courses through her hands when she feels the same darkness that ran rife in Bethiel. She fetches hay. And reaches into her satchel for those clinking bottles of Athelas potion Elsa gifted her. Windfola eats readily from the medicine-soaked hay in Anna's hands. And she calls out to his ears, in a whisper.
"Menno o nin na hon i eliad annen annin hon leitho o môr"
May the blessing that was given to me be sent from me to him, may he be released from darkness
The boy looks at the Elven weapons on Estella and hears the Sindarin words leaving Anna's lips. Those grey eyes light up beneath his helm when Windfola rises. Its spirit soars. And so does its rider's.
"There you go!" Anna exclaims, nuzzling his snout, "All better now!"
"T-that was magic," he ventures a question, "you're not an Elf, are you?"
"I'm a daughter of Rohan," Anna answers, before locking onto his gaze and seeing beyond the veil of his helmet, "much like you."
His helmet dips low.
"Dernhelm is my name, but - you see me as I am?"
Anna places a hand on his shoulder, "I do. And I see courage."
Dernhelm looks about, before undoing his helmet. The tumble of fair hair upon her shoulders parts Anna's lips. Before she sees her eyes. Grey as the seas. Standing tall beneath the weight of a man's armour.
"Lady Éowyn," Anna fumbles a curtsey, nearly losing her balance.
"What courage do you speak of?" Éowyn laments, "When one longs for the crushing death of darkness more than the glory of battle?"
The words stick in Anna's chest like arrows. She remembers who pulled them out. How Elsa nursed her back from the depths of her despair. And yet this Lady of the Court has nothing to deliver her from this affliction. None but herself.
"You could have lain still and given into despair," Anna answers, "and yet you wear the mantle of a man. To fulfil a duty many shirk from. Willing to die against the walls of Gondor for…for-"
"-For love lost."
The arrows dig deeper.
"-If that is not courage, m'lady. My name is not Anna of Feldburg, and my father hath died in vain to save me."
Éowyn steps closer. Searching deep within the maiden's eyes held low away from her.
"Y-you've lost a love too, haven't you?"
Anna presses the heel of her palm into her eyes. Gritting her teeth and forcing away the tears.
"For the sake of my duty," she breathes hard at each word, "I can consider it lost."
"Oh, Anna," Éowyn pulls her in a loose hug, mail and mantle digging into her soft cotton dress, "I wish I'd known you some time else, and not on the eve of my death."
"It is a folly to think so, but I do hope that my words mean more than petty comfort to ease your passing. That you may live a long and fruitful life. That you find the love that you once thought lost."
"-We"
"Yes, we. You are very kind, m'lady."
Elfhelm's horn sounds in the distance, and his voice hollers at the riders to muster. Éowyn fumbles her helmet back on.
"And you have brought me more than a horse's medicine, Anna," she mounts Windfola - stout and strong for the battle that awaits them, "I will not forget your name. Even at my dying breath."
Anna watches as she takes off to join the others. That brimming wave of longing rises within Anna again, and she shuts her eyes lest it spills from them like a pot left to boil over. In that moment of darkness, she sees the distant shores of another life waiting for her. Its incoming tide calls her name. And the melodic voice flutters open her eyes with the hope that Elsa never did forget her either.
With each river she fords and each hill Estella climbs, Anna finds herself one step closer towards seeing Elsa again. The baggage train reaches Rammas Echo an hour after the first horns had sounded in the dawn sky. Yet - nothing could've prepared Anna for the dense chaos that blanketed the Pelennor fields. Its foul breath that had a life of its own and gave speed to the dark hosts' vengeance. Safe as she corralls herself behind the wagons with the others - Anna knows her back falls against the river. The temptation to ride forth and allay her fears of the inevitable proves too much.
Estella trots to a mound and shudders. The breath seizes in Anna's throat and her heart freezes at the destruction. Dead litter the plains like seeds on a wheat farm. Vast hosts still unfought. The King's banner has long been lost to the swathe of darkness. Foul beasts hurl themselves against the horsemen - and all around the fields the dark host gives into panic when set upon by the undead ranks.
Anna chokes on her fear. Feeling the same shuddering panic overcome her senses. That thin rearguard Théoden placed between Pelennor and their baggage train appears but a frail thread. And the fleeing dark hosts now resemble that same avalanche of hatred which ended her father's life.
"Oh, no-" dread settles in Anna's stomach like ice. Courage. She turns and calls to the baggage servants.
"Make haste! They are coming!" Anna's cry raises a flutter of panic, "Gather the wagons!"
Horses neigh. The boys hitch the wagons and she sends them off towards the river. Thunder rumbles in the distance and she freezes when the noise doesn't let up. They're coming. A sprinkle at first, before a horde rushes over the mound like a dark wave closing on her. The loneliness strikes her in the chest. Gripping and twisting her insides worse than her impending doom. Estella leaps in her horseshoes. A great crack splits in the darkened heavens. That ray of pure, white sunlight drapes the fields and illuminates her soul. That chain which had been tightening throughout her entire ride from Meduseld now reaches its breaking point. The tension directs her straight towards the awaiting violence. She looks beyond the orcs' ugly, delirious faces and realises she isn't alone. Elsa - the one point of light in the night sky. That diamond stitched into the tapestry of her life now at its very last furl, now appears right before her. Merely a short ride away in the distance through the dark swarm. What fear within her melts into the ash-soaked air.
"Are you ready?" Anna whispers through the ring of her drawn sword, "I'm coming for you."
She charges into the horde. Hewing and hacking and trampling. The panicking orc-cries erupt around her. None make her a target and she flanks around them - but the wagons are still slowly fording back over the river. "Go!" Anna yanks on her reins. Her sword shatters on the helm of an orc. She draws another. The Elven-blade cleaves through orc-flesh like butter, but the tidal wave of darkness overwhelms her quickly.
Estella tips over neighing when a fleeing troll brushes her aside. A sword enters Anna's gut. Followed by a spear. Blood soaks her dress and she slumps into the grass. Dragging her hewn body against Estella's bulk just to hear her mare breathe one last time. No pain. She feels nothing. Only calmness.
The cold tip of an orc scimitar gashes across her throat. And she descends into darkness.
At the end of her fall. Anna sees light.
Are not both horrible fates to suffer?
And yet - one brings her here.
A lifetime riding on solid ground makes her legs wobbly long after she steps off the ship. Her dress is white. Purer than the freshest of fallen snows. It flows like the mighty Anduin river.
None greet her at the shore - save for Estella. Beckoning her former mistress with a snort.
"You're here!" Anna gleefully brushes her mane, "Did you miss me?"
No saddle adorns Estella's back - but Anna mounts her anyway. For once allowing the mare to lead her thundering down the plains and up the mountain path. After years spent in the windswept Rohan steppes - the valley that awaits Anna appears so lush and unnaturally green. The mild, spring breeze puts a flutter in her hair. And then her chest leaps as she squints at the cluster of huts down below.
"Go, go!" Anna urges her on. She recognises Bethiel, drinking from a stream. The sight nearly makes her faint with joy.
Another fear brews in her soul when she reaches for the door. The same fear which afflicted her each night she spent in Lórien - that each magical moment like this would merely be a dream she'd be forced to wake from. But she looks behind her shoulder at the sunrise over the valley - and imagines this being a new beginning. One the sun would never set on.
A pot of tea greets her, still steaming on the embers. Two small cups. A leather-bound book lies on the table, already open to its first page. There's a half-written paragraph calligraphed neatly in Tengwar script.
Sindarin.
She's ready to fall apart once more when Elsa's standing right there. In that same delicate Elven silk dress she's dreamt about. Her face shines with a brilliance beyond the brightest of stars. In an instant all the pieces of her life fall into place. I was meant for you. How they could never be together separated by the Limlight. How Anna had to tear herself away from Edoras only to die on the Pelennor. How she felt like she was getting closer to her despite riding as far away as Gondor. She shudders to think of Elsa's own path to wind up here.
"I-I saw all this," Anna gasps, covering her mouth, "in my dreams, for months on end after we first met."
"So did I."
Elsa steps forth. So close Anna could feel the Elf's breath on her cheek. A hand grazes her fingers, as if wanting to know this is real. She feels the fingers curling into hers. Those lips pressing back. The heat blooming in her chest. It's real.
"I hope you didn't wait too long for me."
"I've already waited lifetimes just to know you," Elsa answers, brushing her fingers against the tears on Anna's cheek, "I wouldn't have minded waiting just one more."