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The Wise Woman of Eryn Carantaur	By : sjansons Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Het - Male/Female Views: 2406 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Wise Woman of Eryn Carantaur
- 1
This story was originally posted as an ‘advent’ calendar, so it’s in twenty-four short parts.

Part 1

In early Rhîw, when Middle-earth was cold, and morning mist was rising from the soil of Eryn Carantaur, two elven guards stood at the foot of the colony’s main staircase, which—spiralling up the trunk of one of the mighty carantaurs—led from the forest floor to the aerial city above.
Though still as statues, the elves were alert and, hearing a horseman approaching, they calmly readied their weapons, and waited for the unexpected visitor to appear.
Some minutes later, a man thundered into the clearing on the back of a heavy workhorse. “March Warden Haldir,” he cried, bringing his mount to a halt, and rolling from its saddle, “I need to speak to March Warden Haldir!”
One of the elves glanced at his comrade, who gave him the faintest of nods; neither doubted the gravity of the man’s business. “At this hour,” said the first, “the March Warden will be in conference with Lord Legolas. I shall take you to him.”
...
Sighard son of Sigbert followed the elven warrior up the staircase, marvelling—despite his mission—at the size of the trees, at the strangeness of the dwellings peeping through their dense red foliage, and—most of all—at the weird and wonderful creature leading him up into the unknown.
At the top of the stairs, he found himself on a broad walkway, which threaded—to the left and to the right—through a maze of massive boughs, past clusters of elegant buildings that seemed to him both a work of nature and masterpiece of skilled craftsmanship—and Sighard, who had never in his life travelled more than fifty miles from home, and who had never seen anything grander than the tavern at Doro Lanthron, began to feel very out of place.
But the Elf led him to a grand set of doors, and knocked, and—after a whispered conversation with another elf, and a short wait—the pair were ushered to an unexpectedly cosy chamber, where two elves and a beautiful young woman were leaning over a table, consulting a map.
One of the elves, looking disturbingly young and surprisingly friendly, glanced up from his work, asking, “What brings you here in such haste, Master Sighard?”
Sighard flopped forwards in a hasty bow. “I thank you, Lord Legolas,” he said, “for seeing me...” Still bending, he lifted his head and sought out the March Warden, whom he knew, very slightly. “’Tis Mistress Ayleth, sir,” he said, bluntly. “Mistress Ayleth’s been taken.”
*****
Part 2
“Taken,” said the March Warden. “What do you mean, taken?”
Sighard, already uncomfortable amongst the elves, felt his knees tremble. “Well, sir, I... Er...”
“Please sit down, Master Sighard,” said Legolas, taking him by the arm and guiding him to a chair. “Start at the beginning, and tell us everything you know.”
The young elf’s manner, at the same time gentle and commanding, seemed somehow made to restore a man’s confidence.
Sighard took a deep breath.
“I went there at first light, my Lord,” he said, referring to the clearing where the two wise women, Old Mother Cynwise and Young Mistress Ayleth, lived, “because someone’s been taking my chucks, and I wanted to know who. But the door was off its hinges, and the earth in front was all churned up like there’d been a struggle, and the women weren’t there. And I thought, ‘They’s been taken,’ my Lord, and I was about to ride home to get the lad, and follow the tracks, when I thought, ‘Fetch the March Warden,’—him being so friendly with Mistress Ayleth and all...”
Sighard saw the March Warden’s pale eyes harden, and realised what he appeared to be suggesting, and the rest of his words died in his throat.
“You did exactly the right thing,” said Legolas, reassuringly.
Sighard watched him cross to the door, call for a servant, and issue a few quiet orders.
The beautiful woman—Lady Eowyn, Sighard presumed—had meanwhile come closer. “You say that the ground was churned up, Master Sighard,” she said. “Did you see any claw marks, or—forgive me—any spittle, or any dung?”
Sighard felt himself blush. “No, my Lady.”
She turned to the March Warden. “It does not sound like Orcs, Haldir.”
Sighard noted the relief in her voice. “I think it was men, my Lady,” he said. “There was boot marks and hoof prints.”
Lady Eowyn grasped the March Warden’s arm. “Then whoever took her wants her help, Haldir,” she said, forcefully. “And that means he needs her alive and well.”
“I have sent Galathil down to the stables to ready the horses,” said Legolas, rejoining the others. “We will leave within the hour. Is there anything else you can tell us, Master Sighard?”
“Well... The fire was out, but the embers was still warm, my Lord.”
“Then she’s been gone no more than half a day!” said the March Warden, and the emotion in his voice so surprised Sighard, he almost missed Lord Legolas’ next question.
“Will you come with us, Master Sighard?”
“I will, my Lord.”
“Good man.”
...
Two hours later, Sighard was back in the clearing, standing beside the wise women’s crooked little dwelling, which sat, like a gyngerbrede house, at the foot of an ancient carantaur.
“You were right, Master Sighard,” said Legolas, examining the ground, “they were taken by men.” He rose and, hopping lightly over the tree roots, ducked through the hut’s open door.
The others followed.
Inside, the house was unexpectedly cosy—two curtained beds flanked a little table and, beyond the living area, a bench undulated round the tree trunk, loaded with bottles and jars, all carefully labelled; overhead, everywhere, bunches of sweet-smelling herbs and dried flowers hung from the roof beams.
The March Warden sat down heavily on one of the beds and, picking up a piece of crewel work and fingering its delicate stitchery, said, softly, “She was making this as a betrothal gift—”
Legolas suddenly raised his hand, and the other elf fell silent.
Sighard held his breath, closing his eyes and straining his ears until he found it—a faint, rhythmical scratching sound, which seemed to be coming from directly beneath his feet...
*****
Part 3
Silently, Legolas drew his white knives; his wife pulled out her sword. Slowly and deliberately, the pair moved forward, Legolas directing Sighard’s attention to the floorboards beneath him.
Sighard understood.
Dropping quietly to his knees, and using his hands, he quickly found a tiny gap in the boards—a concealed hand-hold—and, curling his fingers into it, he looked up at Legolas, and nodded.
Legolas readied his weapons.
Sighard lifted the trap door—
A wail of terror split the silence, echoing off the walls of the tiny house.
“Oh, Mother Cynwise!” cried Sighard. “No, no, don’t be afraid! We’re here to help you!” He reached down into the little hiding place, and tried to reassure the terrified old woman but, the more he tried, the more she—blind and vulnerable—shrank away from him, huddling into a corner, and howling.
“Melmenya,” said Legolas.
Eowyn sheathed her sword, but it was Haldir who, moving the man aside, managed to calm the poor woman, gathering her into his arms, and crooning, “Nana; Nana; you are safe now. Shhh. Shhh.”
...
“She does not know anything,” said Haldir.
He had taken off his cloak and wrapped it around the wise woman, and had settled her on one of the beds. “She says that when they heard the horsemen, Ayleth hid her under the floor, and faced them alone.”
Legolas and Eowyn exchanged glances.
“We will get Ayleth back, Haldir,” said Eowyn.
“Yes,” said Legolas. “But we must must first decide what to do with the old lady, and quickly.” He lowered his voice. “She is hardly recognisable as the woman I visited last Yule. We cannot leave her here to fend for herself.”
“My Lord,” said Sighard. “My place is less than a league away, and my wife will take good care of her.”
...
As Legolas and Haldir were lifting the helpless wise woman onto Haldir’s horse, Eowyn—toeing the muddy tracks—spotted a glint of gold against the dull, dark soil.
She stooped, and picked it up—
“Melmenya? We are ready.”
Eowyn slipped it down the front of her corslet, and mounted her horse.
*****
Part 4
They followed the tracks—which were clear enough, where the ground was soft—along the Forest trail, over the little wooden bridge spanning the Willow Brook, and onto the main Doro Lanthron road.
“Nine horses,” said Legolas to Eowyn, as they crouched beside a set of hoof prints, “shod with iron, and clad in armour, like their riders. These are not outlaws, melmenya, hiding in the shadows. These men ride openly, and they do not care who sees them.”
He looked up at Sighard. “Did you say that your farm was beside the road, Master Sighard?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“They will have passed it last night, Lassui,” said Eowyn, quietly, “long before Master Sighard set out.”
Legolas nodded. “I hope so. But we had better hurry, just in—”
“Someone is approaching,” said Haldir, suddenly, “on foot.”
Legolas listened, frowning. “A child...”
Moments later, a short, dark-haired boy came running out of the trees. “Dad!”
“Sig-lad,” cried Sighard, sliding from his horse and gathering his son in a fierce bear-hug. “What’s happened—is your mother—”
“She’s all right, Dad. She’s fine. But Master Elmer,” he said, referring to their neighbour, “someone killed him and burnt his house down. Mistress Alfled got away with the little ’un. She’s with Mum.”
...
Sighard’s farmhouse was, thankfully, still standing.
His wife, Mistress Edyð, who had made her home as secure as she could by barricading the doors and windows, quickly put Mother Cynwise to bed, and insisted that the elves and Eowyn sit down to eat whilst they planned their next move.
“Thank you,” said Legolas, accepting a bowl of stew. “You are very kind.”
“Nonsense, my Lord,” she said, bluntly. “It’s what neighbours are for.”
In the discussions that followed it was decided that Sighard, with his local knowledge, should continue to accompany Legolas and the others, at least as far as Doro Lanthron—his wife giving him her silent permission by bringing his sword, and setting it on the table before him—and that his son should be sent to Eryn Carantaur, to fetch a troop of warriors to protect the settlement from further attack.
“Sig-lad’s a born woodsman,” said the boy’s father, proudly. “There’s no one can catch him once he gets into those trees.”
Legolas wrote a brief note. “Ask to be taken to Lord Caranthir,” he said, handing it to the boy and smiling when the lad gave him a solemn little bow and tucked it safely inside his shirt. “Give him the letter, and answer any questions he may ask you, as best you can.”
Sighard’s wife hurried downstairs from the sleeping platform above. “My neighbour has something to tell you, my Lord,” she said.
Legolas glanced at Eowyn, and the pair rose, and followed her back upstairs.
The haggard woman was sitting up in bed, her young boy curled in her arms. “I seen them before,” she said, urgently, “years ago.”
Legolas knelt down beside her and, taking her hand, patted it gently. “When, mistress?” he asked. “And where?”
“During the war,” she said, hoarsely. “They rode through our village, my Lord, on their black horses, in their black armour, cutting down men, and women, and children, just for sport. They came out of Mordor...”
*****
Part 5
“Can it be true?” asked Eowyn, as they descended the stairs.
“No,” said Legolas. “It is a cruel ruse, melmenya, meant to terrify their victims and discourage them from fighting back, and it must be stopped.” He approached Haldir and Sighard, who were still eating. “Buckle on your sword, Master Sighard. We leave immediately.”
The man leaped to his feet and, filling his mouth with a last spoonful of stew, gathered up his sword and greatcoat, whilst his wife wrapped a loaf of bread and some cheese in a cloth, and stuffed the parcel into his saddle bag.
Eowyn, standing in the shadow of the staircase, remembered the ring she had found outside the wise women’s hut, and brought her hand up to where it lay, inside her corslet. “Lassui...”
Legolas sent Haldir to fill the water skins. “What is it, melmenya?”
“I...” Suddenly fearing that he might take it from her, she changed her mind. “Nothing. It can wait.”
Legolas took her hand. “You know that there is no one I would rather have fighting by my side,” he said, quietly. “But the weather is deteriorating, my darling, and I know you will feel the cold more than we will. If you would rather go home with the boy—”
“Never! You know that I will stay with you,” she said.
He kissed her forehead.
...
As they watched Sig-lad run off into the woods, Sighard reassured his wife that the boy, travelling in the opposite direction, would be safe from the reivers. Then he embraced her, and bade her farewell but, as they drew apart, Mother Cynwise appeared behind them, tottering through the doorway.
“Oh, no, Nana,” said Haldir, taking her gently by the arm. “You must stay here, with Mistress Edyð, until Ayleth returns...”
The old woman refused to budge.
Briefly lucid, she fixed her sightless eyes on Legolas, and cried, “Beware the sword in your heart, Legolas of Eryn Carantaur! Remember! Beware the sword!”
*****
Part 6
“What do you suppose she meant?” asked Eowyn, as they rode out of the farmyard. Her hand rose to her breast.
“I do not think we need take her words seriously, melmenya,” replied Legolas, though his frown suggested otherwise.
...
When they reached the burnt-out farmhouse, Sighard asked permission to bury his neighbour’s remains.
The elves helped him recover the body and—whilst Eowyn prepared it as best she could, wrapping it in a rug that had somehow survived the conflagration—the three dug a shallow grave, and Sighard laid his friend to rest, imploring the gods, with a few simple words, to give his spirit shelter.
Eowyn laid a supportive hand on Haldir’s arm.
...
With heavier hearts they pressed on, following the reivers’ trail of destruction.
The carnage took them through the village of Sad Lanthron, where—whilst their wailing women tended the dead—the grim-faced men struggled to shore up their inadequate defences; through Doro Lanthron, where the frantic townsfolk fought three separate fires; into the Forest of Tum, where—in another lonely farmyard—a young family lay butchered in the mud; to the northern bank of the River Poros where, at the Ford of Cîl, a shepherd had fallen, hacked to pieces with his little flock.
In every place, they did whatever they could, burying the family in their own orchard, and the shepherd with his beasts, beneath a cairn of stones gathered from the river’s edge.
“There is no purpose to any of this,” said Legolas, bitterly. “What Mistress Alfled said is true—these men kill for sport.”
...
Night fell early, and with it came frost, and Legolas decided to make camp in the shelter of a rocky outcrop protected from the worst of the weather by a thicket of êgvor.
There, they built a small fire, and shared a simple meal of bread and cheese.
“I shall keep watch,” said Haldir, climbing atop the rocks.
Legolas laid out Eowyn’s bed roll and settled down with her, wrapping her in his arms to keep her warm. He had noticed how often her hand strayed to her bosom, and asked her, smiling, “What have you got hidden in there, melmenya?”
“Nothing, Lassui,” she replied.
*****
Part 7
Eowyn awoke, warm and comfortable but alone, in her bedroll.
On the other side of the rock shelter, Sighard was snoring loudly. Eowyn closed her eyes and, concentrating, searched for Legolas, and immediately heard his voice—quiet but firm—coming from somewhere overhead.
“...perhaps some remnant of Sauron’s army,” he was saying, “still lurking in the Mountains of Mordor.”
“Then why have we not heard of them before?”
“They have been lying low,” Legolas replied. “But now they have a need—a need so pressing, it has forced them to break cover.”
“And take Ayleth,” said Haldir, bitterly.
Eowyn could picture the expression of gentle sympathy on Legolas’ face as he tried to reassure his friend. “Whatever they want from her will keep her safe, Haldir; at least for now. She knows that you will come after her, and she is brave and clever—she will bargain for time.”
“Yrch!”
“No,” said Legolas, sadly, “men. Men corrupted by the promise of power.”
...
Eowyn pulled the golden ring from inside her jerkin and, holding it in her palm, admired the way it glowed, warm and bright, in the cool morning light. It was too large for her, even for her thumb, but it was beautiful, and she was glad that she had found it.
She picked it up in her fingers, and examined the heraldic device engraved in its bezel.
Something about the design looked familiar, and she frowned, trying to remember, but she could not recall where she had seen, or even heard of, the intricately-wrought emblem of a heart pierced by a broadsword.
*****
Part 8
They broke camp, and set off, following the hoof-churned earth along the river bank as the Forest thinned around them, and the ground rose, slowly but steadily, towards the Ethel Dúath, the Mountains of Mordor.
At each step the air seemed to grow colder, and the going harder, for freezing mists swirled up from the water, and hoar frost began to form upon their clothing, and in their hair.
When they stopped at midday, to eat and to give the horses a few minutes’ rest, Legolas drew Eowyn aside. “You are suffering, melmenya,” he said, taking off his cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Let me take you back to Doro Lanthron—”
“No, Lassui,” she said, and he noticed that she touched her breast. “I want to keep going.”
“Valandil will be there by now. I can bring him, and some of the others—”
“I want to keep going!” she shouted.
Legolas stepped back in surprise. “Melmenya!” Then, smiling ruefully, he drew her into his arms, and hugged her tightly. “I am sorry, my darling. I just want to keep you safe—”
“You would not take Sighard back,” she interrupted, “though he is mortal. And, were it not for me, you would never think of abandoning Haldir, nor of leaving Ayleth in danger for one moment longer than necessary. I will not have my weakness make you act dishonourably, Legolas.”
And Legolas could not argue with that.
...
They rode on, climbing upwards, with Haldir at the front, leading them through the mist, picking his way across the treacherous terrain. Suddenly, he drew them to a halt. “More bodies,” he said.
The four dismounted and, working silently, collected up the remains of five men—one little more than a boy—and buried them with a quiet prayer, “Hiro hyn hîdh ab’wanath...”
“What were they doing here, my Lord?”asked Sighard, strapping his spade to his saddle.
“What we are doing, perhaps,” said Legolas.
“You think the reivers have taken more women?”
“We will know when we get there.”
“Lassui!” Eowyn had wandered away from the others, and was standing on the edge of a steep drop, staring down into the mist.
Legolas, alarmed for her safety, rushed to her side.
“The men put up a fight,” she said, pointing at two Orcs, in full armour, lying broken upon the rocks.
Someone—and Legolas doubted it was the men they had just buried—had ripped their helmeted heads from their bodies, and dumped them between their legs. “They dishonour their own dead,” he said.
...
Several hours later, having left the mist behind them at last, they crouched at the summit of the first range of foothills, looking down into the valley beyond. At the centre of the broad, saucer-shaped depression, a column of living rock reared up in splendid isolation and, as they watched, a gaggle of Orcs approached it from the east, and disappeared behind it.
“It is a natural fortress,” said Haldir.
“How are we going to get inside, my Lord?” asked Sighard.
It was Eowyn who, after a long silence, answered, “I think I know how.”
...
Hiro hyn hîdh ab’wanath ... May they find peace after death.
*****
Part 9
They waited until dawn, camping close to the summit, concealed amongst the forest of rocks. Then, at first light, they descended back into the freezing mist and, carefully retracing their steps, returned to where—on the previous day—they had buried the five men.
Legolas climbed down to the Orcs, and performed the distasteful task of removing their armour and cleaning the blood from it with handfuls of snow. Haldir hauled up the pieces on an elven rope, and tied them onto the horses.
Then the four tramped back along the trail, reaching the valley again just before nightfall.
...
“The dark should help us,” said Legolas, fitting a battered breastplate over Eowyn’s leather corslet, and buckling its straps. He picked up the helm. “Ready, melmenya?”
She nodded.
He lowered the beaked helmet over her head. “Can you see?”
“Not really.”
“Well, whatever happens, do not raise the visor.”
“What if they ask questions?” asked Haldir, adjusting Sighard’s pauldrons.
“I have heard Orcs speak,” said the man. “I will do my best to sound like one.”
...
After dark, they filed down into the valley, the elves bound at the wrists (with elven rope), the ‘Orcs’ shoving them forwards with their filthy swords.
No one challenged them, and they seemed to approach the stronghold unnoticed, skirting the deep natural moat at its foot, and climbing the ramp up to its eastern face, where a flight of roughly-cut steps led to a cavernous entrance, black and forbidding.
“Stay close to me, melmenya,” said Legolas, softly.
He raised his hands in surrender, and slowly climbed the stairs and, with Eowyn lumbering up behind him, he stepped into the reivers’ fortress.
*****
Part 10
“Elves,” growled a small, ferocious-looking Orc, glaring up at Legolas.
Without any obvious movement, Legolas quickly scanned the chamber, trying to assess the stronghold’s defences. There were three more Orcs lurking in the shadows, bigger than their leader, and armed with bill hooks and maces, though looking bored and sullen. There must be more elsewhere, he thought, but it will take them time to get here...
He felt Eowyn move closer, as Haldir and Sighard crowded in behind her.
“Where’d’ye find ’em?” asked the Orc.
“Climbing up the fore hill,” replied Sighard, in a high-pitched, nasal whine.
“What was ye doin’ over there?”
Legolas held his breath, willing the man to think of a convincing excuse.
“We was bored,” said Sighard.
The Orc sniffed. “Well, ’is Lordship’ll want to deal with ’em ’imself, but not tonight. Take ’em down to the dungeons for now.”
Legolas could almost hear Sighard’s panic—What dungeons?— but, fortunately, he saw the Orc jerk its head, and—trying to make it look as though Eowyn were pushing him—he stumbled in the right direction, and—Thank the Valar—the others followed his lead, through an arch, to a flight of steps.
If we survive this, he thought, as he descended the stairs, freeing his hands from the elven rope, I will ask Lord Fingolfin to devise a medal for exceptional bravery, and we will award it to Master Sighard.
...
At the bottom of the stairs, a heavy wooden door stood ajar. Legolas ducked through into a large, octagonal chamber lined with eight vaulted cells, each sealed with a door of iron bars.
“What’s this?” growled one of the guards.
“Two prisoners,” said Sighard.
The Orc sighed and, picking up a ring of keys, shuffled over to one of the empty cells and, mumbling obscenities, noisily unlocked the door.
Behind its back, Legolas glanced at Haldir, and both elves imperceptibly moved into position, Legolas behind the gaoler, Haldir beside its comrade—
In one of the cells, a bundle of rags stirred, raising its head and tossing back its matted red hair—
Haldir’s hand twitched in silent warning and, Sweet Eru, thought Legolas, that is Ayleth!
He reached inside his cloak.
Behind him, Eowyn quietly closed the wooden door.
*****
Part 11
“Now, Lassui!” cried Eowyn.
Legolas and Haldir simultaneously drew their knives from beneath their cloaks, and dispatched the two Orc guards. Legolas took the keys from his victim’s hand, and tossed them to Haldir; Haldir unlocked the door to Ayleth’s cell.
“I knew you would come,” she croaked, lifting her trembling arms to him.
“What have they done to you?” he whispered, gathering her close; he kissed her forehead, and buried his face in her filthy hair.
Eowyn, having raised her visor, searched the central chamber until she found a pail of clean water and a drinking ladle, and carried them into Ayleth’s cell. “She needs some of this,” she said.
Legolas and Sighard, meanwhile, had dragged the corpses of the Orcs aside. “What do we do now, my Lord?” asked Sighard.
Legolas looked across at Haldir, feeding Ayleth the water. Beside him, Eowyn was standing, still holding the pail, her other hand resting upon her breast.
“We must get out of here,” he said, decisively. “The three Orcs on the door should give us no trouble. We must get the women to safety, Master Sighard. And then the March Warden and I will come back and deal with the reivers.”
...
Whilst Haldir was helping Ayleth to her feet, Legolas pulled Eowyn aside.
“What are you hiding from me, melmenya?” he asked, quietly.
“Nothing, Lassui.”
“Melmenya...” He let all his disappointment, his sense of betrayal, show upon his face and in his voice, and saw an answering guilt in her lovely eyes—but indecision in the way she bit her lip—and he willed her to tell him the truth.
“Outside Ayleth’s cottage, Lassui,” she began, at last, “I found—”
“My Lord,” hissed Sighard urgently, from beside the door, “they’re coming!”
Every other consideration flew from Legolas’ mind. “Melmenya,” he said, “your visor; Master Sighard, get ready to carry Mistress Ayleth; Haldir, with me!”
*****
Part 12
Legolas and Haldir drew their knives and waited, still but intensely alert.
Eowyn adjusted her helmet—trying to move the slits to somewhere near her eyes—and, positioning herself between the two elves, silently drew her orcan sword. It was shaped like a farm implement, and badly balanced, But fine, she thought, for hacking...
She was preternaturally aware of everything around her—of the door, and of the Orcs beyond it; of the elves, ready to unleash their fury; of her sword, heavy in her hand; of the man behind her, waiting to rush Mistress Ayleth to safety...
And of the ring at her breast.
But she tried to ignore that.
...
The door opened. “’Is Lordship wantssss—”
The Orc’s sentence ended in a voiceless hiss. Legolas freed his knife and, spinning it into position as he advanced, dispatched the Orc’s companion.
Haldir moved ahead, and the two elves ran silently up the stairs, with Eowyn following two paces ahead of Master Sighard and intent on clearing his path to the outside.
But when she reached the top, everything changed.
The elves were battling four beings—once men, no doubt, but now no longer, for when the knives passed through their bodies, though blood flowed, their wounds immediately knitted back together, and their attack continued unabated.
Eowyn skirted the melee, and approached the warrior’s leader, who hung back, shielded by his men.
He was clad in outlandish black armour, its rerebraces and vambraces embellished with strange spikes and cruel hooked blades, its breastplate enamelled with an heraldic device that seemed very familiar...
Eowyn’s hand rose to her chest.
*****
Part 13
“I believe you have something of mine,” said the Warrior King.
His demeanour had suddenly changed—he was standing tall now, confident, grotesque in his bristling armour—and his voice was like the whistle of the wind across the plains of Rohan.
Eowyn tried to put both hands to her sword—tried to lift it, tried to strike—but the desire, the need, to feel the ring, and to be sure that it was safe, was far too strong.
She stood before the creature that had once been a man, and she was powerless.
...
“Run, Master Sighard,” cried Legolas.
The elves had hemmed in their opponents like pieces on a gaming board, briefly opening a safe path through the gatehouse. Sighard, carrying Ayleth over his shoulder, charged out into the moonlit night. Haldir, at a signal from Legolas, followed.
Legolas, holding off all four warriors, retreated towards the doorway. “Come, melmenya,” he shouted. “Come now!”
...
Eowyn heard his words and, in her mind’s eye, she saw herself moving—running to him, and grasping his hand, and leaping through the archway at his side.
And in her vision the ring fell from her bosom, and rolled across the stone floor—rolled far, far away—and her heart broke at the thought of never seeing it again.
...
Legolas, standing in the doorway, shouted, “Go, Haldir!”
Then he plunged back into the gatehouse.
*****
Part 14
Legolas whirled through the gatehouse, white knives slashing.
He knew he could not kill the unnatural warriors—not with weapons alone—but he had learned that, with a serious wound to the hands or the throat, he could slow them down for a few precious seconds.
And those seconds might allow him to get to Eowyn and, if need be, drag her to safety.
He briefly crippled his closest opponent, slicing deep and twisting the blade, and the man fell back—only to be replaced by one of his comrades.
“Melmenya,” Legolas shouted, desperately. “Melmenya, listen to me!”
He wounded another warrior, and turned to face the next and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eowyn take off her helmet to watch him, all wide-eyed and confused and, behind her, he saw the Warrior King, closing in on her...
“No,” he cried, driving forwards, “NOOO!”
And, in his haste, he did not see the warrior behind him raise his axe but, at that moment, the Valar smiled upon him for, as the man struck, he lunged, and the blow he received was not fatal.
...
“Stop!”
The accursed men froze, and stood completely still, their weapons still raised.
The Warrior King pulled Eowyn into the circle of living statues, to where Legolas lay, dazed and bleeding, and kicked the elf with his armour-clad foot.
Legolas groaned.
“Take him down to the dungeons,” said the King. “Then fetch me the wise woman!”
He shoved Eowyn against the wall. “Now you give me what is mine.”
Eowyn pushed herself upright, and faced him, defiantly.
“Give it to me, woman,” he growled, “or,”—he reached out, and scraped his iron fingertips down her breastplate—“I will take it from you.”
*****
Part 15
Haldir flew down the steps, whistling for the horses and, gaining on Sighard, who was encumbered as much by his armour as by carrying Ayleth, took his beloved into his own arms.
“We don’t stand a chance,” said Sighard, throwing away his helmet and turning back towards the reivers’ stronghold, his feet firmly planted, his sword ready.
“No, Master Sighard,” cried Haldir, “this is not the place to make a stand!” The horses had broken the crest of the hill, and were galloping down the slope to meet their masters. “Legolas will hold them back for as long as he can; we must get away!” He lifted Ayleth onto his horse, and leaped up behind her. “We must go back into the mist. At least, in there, we have a chance!”
Sighard sheathed his sword and, clumsy in his haste, climbed up onto his mount, and the trio fled, leaving Arod and Brightstar to conceal themselves as best they could, and wait for their own master and mistress to escape.
...
For almost half an hour, they made steady progress.
Then Haldir heard the distant pounding of hooves and, as he listened, the sound grew louder, and he knew that the reivers were closing in. “They are coming,” he said. “We must get off the road. Quickly.”
They released the horses—Haldir telling them to run swiftly on—and the elf and the man carried Ayleth between them, lifting her over the cliff edge and passing her down into a shallow alcove, well-hidden from the trail above.
There they waited, listening anxiously, until Haldir, sensing the reivers’ approach, raised a warning hand, and the humans virtually stopped breathing.
They heard the warriors pass overhead, halt, and exchange a few growls, and then heard one of them pad back. They heard his horse, stamping and pawing the ground, but the man himself made no sound and, after a few long, heart-pounding moments, they heard him ride on.
“We will stay down here,” said Haldir, quietly. “We will keep to this ledge, for as long as we can.”
“It will be difficult,” said Sighard, quickly shrugging off his cumbersome armour.
“But safer,” said Haldir. He lifted Ayleth into his arms. “Follow me, Master Sighard. I shall move slowly. Keep me in sight.”
...
“This is all my fault,” said Ayleth, sadly.
Haldir, still a novice at reading volatile human emotions, did not know how seriously he should take her confession. “Why do you say that?”
“I would not give him what he wanted.”
The elf felt a surge of possessive anger. “What did he want?”
“To be more like you.”
“I do not understand.”
“He cannot die, Haldir, and nor can any of his men. But they don’t live. They’re cursed to exist forever, never eating, never sleeping, never feeling warmth, nor comfort and, though they have desires, never,”—she lowered her voice still further—“enjoying a woman.”
“Could you give them what they want?”
“I don’t know—I don’t think so. But there may be a way for them to win it for themselves. And I refused to look.”
“Why?” asked Haldir, imagining the courage that must have taken.
“Because they’re wicked men, Haldir,” said Ayleth. “Their misery is a kind of prison. And if I free them, there’s no telling what they might do.”
*****
Part 16
“It does not want you,” said Eowyn, shrinking back against the wall. “It chose me.”
“You little fool!” The Warrior King plunged his iron fingers down her breastplate, and tried to wrench it off. The sharp metal scratched her skin, but her armour stayed in place.
“You cannot take it,” she cried. “It will not let you!”
“Aghhh!” He raised his hand, threatening to claw open her face. “Give it to me!”
“No!”
He seized her by the scruff of the neck, and half-pushed, half-dragged her across the gatehouse, shoving her down the staircase and into the dungeon, and throwing her onto the stone floor. “Give it to me,” he shouted, “or I will kill the elf!”
...
Lying in his cell, his wound already starting to heal, Legolas prepared to defend himself—and Eowyn.
“Give it to me,” said the Warrior King.
Legolas waited.
“Very well,” said the man. “Open the door.”
Legolas heard the key turn in the lock and the iron hinges squeak, and his elven senses told him that three people had entered his cell—first, the orc gaoler; then Eowyn...
And he longed to reach out to her through their mental bond, longed to help her resist whatever it was that was holding her captive, but he knew that he would need every ounce of his strength to disarm and kill the Orc and then—Valar willing—to tackle the man.
He focussed his mind upon his own body, readying himself to spring.
“Cut off his head!”
...
“Noooooo,” screamed Eowyn, frantically unbuckling her breastplate, “no, no, noooooo!” She thrust her hand down her corslet, and pulled out the ring, and for a split-second—tears running down her face—she held it up to the light.
Golden sparks seemed to fly from its glowing metal.
With a shriek, she threw it across the cell, and collapsed, sobbing.
...
The Orc skittered forwards, scooped up the ring, and—
The Warrior King ripped it from his hand, and swept out of the dungeon.
The Orc waited until he was sure that his master had gone. Then he closed and locked the cell door, leaving Legolas and Eowyn alone together.
*****
Part 17
Legolas gathered Eowyn into his arms.
She was sobbing, but she did not cling to him as she normally would—she held back and, when he gently lifted her head and tried to meet her gaze, she averted her eyes.
Legolas touched his forehead to hers, trying to reach her through their mental bond, but his gentle searching was met by an impenetrable wall of misery...
And unbearable guilt.
“Oh, Melmenya,” he whispered.
He had seen the ring when she had held it up, and had immediately understood.
He had remembered how, in the course of the journey, she had grown more and more secretive, touching her breast as though to reassure herself that something was safe there, and had parried his questions with evasions and lies.
But he understood.
The ring, he thought, was Sauron’s ‘gift’ to his minion.
Eowyn had found it, and had heard Sauron’s empty promises.
Of what?
It did not matter.
All that mattered was that, when faced with a choice between the ring and him, she had thrown the ring away—she had resisted its temptation, and had chosen him!
“It is over now, melmenya,” he said, rocking her gently. “Just let it go. Let everything go, my darling.”
...
Much later, when she had cried herself to the point of exhaustion, he heard her murmur, “Will you ever forgive me, Lassui?”
“Oh, Eowyn nín.” He hugged her tightly. “There is nothing to forgive.”
“It was... It was like a child, Lassui—my child. When I touched it, I felt so happy.”
...
Legolas leaned back against the wall. Eowyn was asleep now, and he needed to think.
The Warrior King had kept them alive. And, given the circumstances, he thought, that might have been a simple oversight. But suppose it was not? Suppose he has a use for us?
He frowned, carefully piecing together everything he knew about the Warrior King and his reivers.
They had appeared out of nowhere, five years after the end of the war, to kidnap Ayleth. Why? What had they wanted from her? They had been followers of Sauron and, as far as he could see, they were immortal, but they were nothing like the elves...
No, he thought, Sauron’s gift to them was a poisoned chalice.
And the ring...
The ring had pretended to give Eowyn her heart’s desire.
What is it pretending to give the Warrior King?
He did not know, but his mind was made up.
He had no plan, so he would have to improvise.
He shook Eowyn gently. “We must get out of here, melmenya,” he said. “And the first thing we will need is a weapon. Let me look at your armour.”
*****
Part 18
Haldir broke off a piece of Lembas bread, and handed it to Ayleth.
They had settled beneath a rocky overhang, for a few moments’ rest. Master Sighard had promptly fallen asleep, and Haldir had decided not to wake him, but was ready to muffle the man’s snoring, should he hear the reivers approaching.
“They are not coming,” said Ayleth, softly.
Haldir turned to her, frowning. She often knew what he was thinking, and would simply join in, as though his private thoughts were part of a conversation.
But that was not the case this time.
“Lord Legolas and Lady Eowyn,” she said. “They’re prisoners.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“How can you know?”
She shrugged. “How can I know anything?” She contemplated the Lembas. “What are you going to do, Haldir?” She took a bite.
The elf sighed. There was no time to devise an elaborate plan. “I will carry you farther down the cliff,” he said. “We will find a ledge or—better still—a cave, where you will be safe, and I will ask Master Sighard to stay behind, to protect you, should—”
“No,” she said. “Take me with you.”
“I cannot.” He took hold of her hand, and brought it to his chest. “I want to keep you safe, Faeren,” he said, raising her hand to his lips, “but, more than that, I need to keep you away from him. You have something he wants, Ayleth, and keeping you apart will buy me time.”
“But suppose I can do something? To help you defeat him, I mean.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, thinking aloud. “He believes that I can find a way to lift the curse and leave him with his immortality. But I’ve been wondering—suppose I can lift the curse and just leave him dead?”
...
Faeren ... My spirit.
*****
Part 19
Legolas drew the tip of Eowyn’s neck-guard across the jagged cornerstone one last time, then tested it with his thumb. The metal had not been forged to take an edge but, with elven strength behind it, he knew his primitive blade would do enough damage. “It is ready.”
Eowyn nodded. She was subdued, but there was an air of quiet determination about her.
Legolas hoped it was a good sign.
He slipped the sharpened armour into his belt, handed Eowyn another piece, and picked up a third himself. “Make as much noise as you can, melmenya.”
They slammed the metal into the cell’s iron bars, Legolas shouting, Eowyn screaming, until the dungeon door flew open and the Orc guard came running in.
Legolas grabbed Eowyn by the shoulders and pulled her across the cell, pinning her against farthest wall.
“Oi,” yelled the little Orc, “’is Lordship wants ’er!” He reached for his keys. “Oi! OI!” He unlocked the door. “Stoppit! Stoppit! Don’t mess ’er up! ’Is Lordship wants to do that ’imsel—”
Legolas drove the point of his makeshift knife into the Orc’s throat, and ripped.
He felt a brief stab of guilt when he saw the creature’s eyes widen in terror, but he forced himself to remember that there was no such thing as an innocent Orc.
...
Legolas unbuckled the Orc’s sword and gave it to Eowyn, then took its axe himself and, as they left the cell, also pocketed its keys.
“Remember, melmenya,” he whispered, as they cautiously climbed the stairs, “wounds to the throat and hands will slow the warriors down.”
At the top, he flattened himself against the wall and, inching forwards, peered through the arch, scanning the main chamber of the gatehouse. There were no reivers there—just two more Orcs, guarding an open door.
Legolas turned back to Eowyn, raised two fingers—she nodded—pointed to her and indicated ‘right’, pointed to himself and indicated ‘left’.
Eowyn moved silently to his side; the Orcs were still oblivious to their presence.
Legolas signalled; the pair attacked.
Legolas removed his Orc’s head with a single swing of the axe.
Eowyn’s first attempt merely stunned her Orc but, as he fell to his knees, she struck off his head with her second blow, her sword clanging against the stone floor.
Legolas heard muffled shouts, and the sound of running feet.
“Quickly, melmenya!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her outside, whistling for Arod and Brightstar, and within moments the pair were mounted and galloping up the slope, and out of the valley.
*****
Part 20
“How will we find them, Lassui?” asked Eowyn, softly.
They had escaped the valley, and were travelling through the freezing mist, following the trail back to the River Poros as quickly as Legolas’ elven eyes would allow.
“They will not have gone far, melmenya,” he answered. “As soon as Haldir realised that the reivers were hunting them, he will have left the road. And, once he was sure that we were not following, he will have taken shelter somewhere, and waited—” He raised his hand. “Someone is coming.”
Eowyn reached for her sword. “Reivers?”
“No. Two horses, three riders.”
Eowyn let out a quiet sigh, and released her sword. “How can we let them know it is us?”
“Haldir will already know, melmenya. And so, if I am not mistaken, will Mistress Ayleth.”
...
They met up less than a quarter mile further down the trail.
“We must talk,” said Legolas, urgently.
They released the horses and left the road, climbing down the steep slope until they found another shelter. Haldir shared out his Lembas, and Sighard handed round his waterskin.
“You know why I came to find you,” said Legolas to Ayleth.
She nodded. “You don’t know how to kill him.”
“Do you?”
“I think I may. But I need to get close to him—to touch him—to be absolutely sure.”
“I cannot order you to go back there—”
“Try stopping her,” said Haldir.
Legolas saw Eowyn smile at that, and—foolishly—his heart lifted. “Master Sighard, are you with us?”
“I’m ready to do my duty, my Lord.”
“Good man.” Legolas rose to his feet. “How long have his hounds been loose?”
Haldir looked up through the mist. The sky was lightening. “Eight hours,” he said. “Perhaps a little more.”
“Then we must hurry. They are overdue.”
“Maybe they’ve found themselves a village full of women and children to play with,” muttered Sighard, bitterly.
*****
Part 21
“He is complacent,” said Legolas, as they rode back into the valley. “His stronghold has no proper defences; his warriors are off hunting men for sport; and his guards lack leadership.”
“He knows he cannot be killed,” said Haldir, “and enjoys taunting his enemies.”
“No,” said Ayleth, quietly. “He is in despair.”
...
They reached the tower and climbed swiftly up the steps to the gatehouse.
Legolas, shooting through the open door, killed two Orc guards as they rushed to attack, and a third as it fled to raise the alarm. Eowyn, guarding his back, beheaded a fourth Orc as it scurried towards him.
Once the way had been cleared, Haldir entered carrying Ayleth, and Sighard followed him, wielding two axes.
Within moments the five had breached the tower’s meagre defences, and were standing in the great circular chamber at its very heart.
Before them, sprawling upon a great, gilded throne, sat the Warrior King, contemplating the ring, which shone on his gloved finger like a full moon in the midnight sky. He had taken off his helmet, and his pale, haggard face was that of a living corpse.
Legolas glanced at Eowyn, but her face betrayed no emotion. He signalled to Sighard, and the man set to work barricading the door.
At that, the Warrior King raised his head, and regarded the intruders with utter contempt.
“I am here to strike a bargain with you,” said Legolas, boldly. “You are deathless, and I am not. I cannot stop you terrorising my people. But I have brought back the woman you seek and, in return, I ask you to spare the rest of us.”
The Warrior King spat on the floor. “Kneel to me, elf,” he said. “And beg.”
Legolas hesitated for several long moments. Then he nodded to the others, and they got down on their hands and knees.
“I beg you, sire,” said Legolas, humbly, “take this woman and leave me in peace.”
The Warrior King rose and, stepping down from his throne, seized Ayleth by the hair, dragging her to her feet. “I take what I want, elf,” he snarled, “whenever I want it. And it will give me great pleasure to feed you, and the rest of your kind, to the Orcs.” He threw Ayleth to the floor; she hit the stones with a sickening thud.
But, as Haldir crawled towards her, out of the corner of his eye Legolas saw her smile.
*****
Part 22
“My Lord,” gasped Ayleth, “spare me.”
The Warrior King sat down heavily, and sank back into his throne, his gaze sweeping scornfully over the wise woman, the two elves, the man...
It came to rest on Eowyn.
Legolas glanced his wife.
She was no longer wearing the orcan helmet, and her long, golden hair, which had escaped her armour, was falling loose about her shoulders, framing her pale, delicate face; her grey eyes still shone with battle fury, yet her full lips looked petal-soft.
She was ravishing.
“You know what I want,” said the Warrior King, almost wistfully.
“There is a way, my Lord,” said Ayleth. “I know a way.”
The creature who had once been a man turned reluctantly from Eowyn, his sunken eyes suddenly burning with hope. “Tell me.”
“Lord Sauron made you and your followers into—into what you are, my Lord,” said Ayleth, “when you swore allegiance to him. To become men again, you must break your oath to him.”
All hope died. “Do you think I am a fool?” he spat.
“I... No, my Lord.”
“Do you think,”—he rose again from his throne—“that I can be tricked so easily?” Ayleth shrank back. “Do you think I do not realise that to break my oath would mean instant death?” He shoved Ayleth aside, and stalked towards Eowyn. “Do you really think that the promise of this,”—he grasped Eowyn’s arm and lifted her to her feet—“could make me forget,”—he dragged her to his throne and threw her down upon it—“even for one moment,”—he pulled off his glove and, fingers trembling, slipped his white, withered hand inside her corslet—“and betray myself?”
Eowyn’s eyes sought out Legolas.
This had not been part of their plan but, trying to reassure her through their mental bond—I will not let him hurt you, melmenya—he nodded.
Eowyn closed her eyes and, letting her head fall back, sighed with pleasure.
“Arggggh!” The creature backed away, his body doubled over, his fists pounding his own temples. “I curse the day I took that oath!” he screamed. “I curse Sauron, and his puppet-master, Melkor! I curse—”
*****
Part 23
“...and his puppet-master, MELKOR!”
As the Dark Lord’s name left the Warrior King’s lips, a stream of dust, like the sand that flows through an hourglass, began falling from the vault above him.
Legolas, still kneeling on the floor, turned to Sighard, “We must get out of here,” he whispered.
“I curse the men who goaded me to ruin,” shouted the Warrior King, shaking his fists skyward. “I curse this place,”—dust began trickling down the walls and pooling on the floor—“that has held me prisoner for so long!”
Unnoticed, Legolas and Sighard pulled back the heavy chairs that Sighard had used to barricade the door, and dragged it open. The Orc guards had disappeared, chased away by the rivers of dust that were running down the stonework, and filling the archways, and threatening to bury everyone alive.
“I curse—”
Eowyn screamed.
Legolas whirled round.
The Warrior King had pinned her to the throne, but her cry had been one of horror, not of fear, for dust was dropping from his hands, and pouring from his contorted features.
Legolas ran to her side.
The Warrior King’s knees had folded under him, and his curse had been abruptly silenced by dust, issuing in gasps from his mouth.
“Come melmenya,” Legolas cried, dragging her clear of the dying man.
He wrapped an arm about her shoulders and, protecting her with his own body, guided her to the door, leading Haldir—carrying Ayleth—and Sighard behind him, over and around the drifts and the sudden avalanches of dust.
As they ran across the gatehouse, the stone floor started to fall away beneath their feet. Just in time, they plunged through a curtain of dust that had once been a portcullis, and tumbled down a heap of dirt that had once been a flight of steps.
Legolas whistled for the horses. “Hurry,” he said, “we must get clear of this valley!”
*****
Part 24
They raced out of the valley ahead of the wave of destruction, the dirt streaming beneath their hooves and pouring into the abyss that had opened behind them. Half-way up the slope, Sighard’s heavy workhorse stumbled when the ground fell away under its hind feet, but the doughty beast kept its head, and ploughed on.
At the crest of the hill Legolas looked back over his shoulder.
The tower, now a mound of crumbling stone, was sinking into the pit. Orcs, entombed within the rubble, were wailing in terror.
“Ride on,” cried the elf.
They plunged into the freezing mist. And, at that moment, the sun rose behind them and, burning through the pale vapour, transformed the frosty air into a veil of silvery gold.
It was beautiful.
A sign from the Valar, thought Legolas. He checked Arod and, raising his hand, signalled the others to slow down. “Will the curse have affected the rest of the reivers, Mistress Ayleth?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“Then we must proceed with caution,” he said.
...
They pressed on, weapons ready. At nightfall, they found again the shallow cave, screened by the tangle of êgvor bushes, where they had sheltered safely on the outward journey.
Haldir settled Ayleth in his own bedroll, and climbed onto the rocks to keep watch, tactfully declining Sighard’s assistance, since the man, though stout-hearted, was clearly exhausted.
Legolas sat down beside Eowyn.
...
“I am sorry,” she whispered.
Legolas’ heart threatened to break. “You tried to tell me, melmenya,” he replied, softly, “I realise that now. But I did not listen to you.” He took her in his arms.
For a while, she was silent. Then she said, “It chose me, Lassui. It knew that I was the weakest of the four of us, and it chose me as its dupe, using me to carry it to its owner—”
“It exploited your pain, melmenya.”
“I thank the gods I have learned,” she said, so quietly he could barely hear her, “that there are far worse things than childlessness.” She said no more, and Legolas did not ask her what she meant, but he sensed—though he would not use their mental bond to be sure of it—that she was thinking of the ring’s temptation, and of how close she had come to betraying him. He hugged her tightly.
“I wonder what it promised the Warrior King?” she said, suddenly.
“I have wondered that myself, melmenya.”
“A woman, perhaps.”
“Perhaps...” Legolas raised his head and, leaning back against the rocks, looked up through the cage of thorny êgvor branches to the stars above. “But I doubt that it was anything so... wholesome, melmenya. Your heart is true, my darling, so it tempted you with love; his heart was corrupt. I imagine it promised him power.”
...
At dawn, having eaten the last of the Lembas, they continued on their way.
Throughout the previous day the mist had been thinning, and now only a few fine wisps remained, lurking in the deepest of hollows. “It’s as though,” said Sighard, thoughtfully, “the Warrior King himself had conjured it, and now he’s gone, it’s disappeared...”
They rode warily, and it was not until late in the day, as they approached the outskirts of Doro Lanthron, that they discovered the first of the reivers—in three strange, ragged depressions, where the ground seemed suddenly to have fallen away, lay heaps of ash-grey dust that, here and there, still suggested the forms of a horse and a rider...
In the town, a troop of Elven warriors, alerted by Sig-lad, were helping the townsfolk tend the injured, and shore up the fire-damaged buildings, and bury the dead—and Legolas noticed that several of the men were shovelling earth into holes identical to those that he and the others had seen on the road.
Valandil greeted him with obvious relief, and introduced him to the town’s head man.
“Thank you, my Lord,” said the man, “for sending us aid.”
“I fear it was too little, sir,” said Legolas, sadly, “and too late.”
“Without Master Valandil and his warriors,” the man insisted, “many more would have died.”
Legolas placed his hand upon his heart and bowed his head in acknowledgement. “They will help you rebuild your defences, sir,” he said, “and I will send our craftsman-builders, to help you restore the town.”
...
Mother Night
Two weeks later, at the start of the Yuletide celebrations, a special ceremony was held in the clearing beneath the city of Eryn Carantaur.
Before a crowd that included many of the townsfolk of Doro Lanthron, Legolas bestowed the newly-created Order of Caranlass, the Red Leaf, upon Master Sighard and young Sig-lad, and upon two of the townsmen, who had shown exceptional courage, saving several of their fellows from the reivers.
At the festive banquet afterwards, Eowyn touched Legolas’ hand. “You are troubled, my love.”
Legolas smiled. “No, melmenya. Not really. But I am finding it hard to shake off a niggling sense of foreboding. I fear we have not yet seen the last of Sauron’s ring.”
THE END
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The Wise Woman of Eryn Carantaur