Title: “The Free Spirit of Rohan”

Author: elfluvr (a/k/a leeluvr2)

Summary: A/U After leaving Fangorn Forest, the Three Hunters meet a warrior who embodies the strength and hopes of Rohan. But in the growing darkness, is there still time to win personal battles and fulfill individual desires? Action/Adventure/Romance.

Setting: Based mainly on the movies, the story begins in The Two Towers and runs through the book The Return of the King (contains spoilers). I’ve taken some liberties with character locations, and please forgive my attempts at adding some Elvish language to the story.

Disclaimer: All of the LOTR characters and place names belong to JRR Tolkien. Any original characters are my own.

Archive: fanfiction.net and The Council of Elrond – anywhere else, please ask

Feedback: Please! It’s always welcome

E-mail: [email protected]

Acknowledge: Thank-you, Nienna! Your input, feedback and encouragement are what got this story written.

Ch-1 Rating: PG

Chapter 1 – A Rohan Warrior

Rohan. A vast, rolling sea of grassy waves crested with rock. Crossing this land of their birth, two horses easily bore the three riders. Occasionally they passed a small home or corral; desolate, lonely outposts even before the dark times. All were now deserted, their tragedies recent. There existed no other evidence of life along the trail. The patches of woods offered no birdsong. Absent were the herds of horses that should have roamed freely in the fertile lands.

The Man’s thoughts returned to the events of that morning – the miracle that could determine the fate of Middle Earth. Gandalf was alive. Or rather, reborn. The tale was told of his fall through the depths of Khazâd-dûm, and his fatal battle with the heat and flames of the Balrog. His enemy was struck down, but Gandalf too had succumbed to an end of life, only to resurrect with a presence and aura hinting of ominous power. His return gave Aragorn new hope.

Upon setting out from Fangorn Forest, the wizard had bid the three hunters to ride in haste to Edoras. Saruman’s evil was strong in the heart of Rohan, and Gandalf feared it may already be too late. Offering a vague and mysterious explanation, he rode off on Shadowfax, with the promise of meeting them on the last day before entering Edoras – two days hence.

Riding toward a stream, they came upon the remains of yet another abandoned house. The Elf was first to see the group: a youth with his back to a remaining wall of the ruined home, sword held before him staving off a small band of Orcs. Snarling and taunting, the beasts judged his skill with the blade, and sought their best point of attack. So intent were they in their game, the riders’ approach went unnoticed.

Suspecting a weakness, one of the Orcs moved in for the kill. Legolas’ sure arrow flew perilously close to the youth’s head, finding its mark in the Orc’s neck. The beast’s death-fall to the ground provided a moment of surprise the young swordsman needed, and he seized upon the opportunity.

Hilt gripped in both hands, he swung his sword at the nearest enemy, severing its weapon-arm above the elbow. Screaming in pain and rage, the Orc struck out at its assailant, but the youth was too quick. Ready for the attack, he lunged forward, piercing the beast’s chest, and then pulled up on the blade to inflict further damage. He yanked back on his sword and the dead body fell beside the other.

Realizing their prey was no longer alone in his defense, the Orcs scattered toward the nearby woods. Aragorn rode into them, beheading one with a fluid swing of Anduril. The brief flight-song of Legolas’ arrows heralded the deaths of two more. Gripping the rear of the saddle with one hand, Gimli leaned and swung his axe, finding solid connection in the back of an Orc.

The remaining beasts had reached cover in the thick undergrowth, and Aragorn did not pursue. No time could be wasted in a search. They needed to check on the youth and keep moving.

He turned Hasufel back toward the ruined home. Legolas and Gimli had already dismounted, but stood rooted in their position next to Arod. The swordsman was battle-ready, blade held in a position of challenge against them, awaiting its next enemy. Aragorn pulled up on the reins and swung off his horse.

“Young master, we mean you no ha-” freezing mid-stride, he realized that surprise more than fear of the sword had paralyzed his companions. This was no youth, and at close range, the breeches and tunic of a Rohirrim rider offered no disguise.

Pushing wind-tangled hair from his eyes, Aragorn studied the woman standing before him, trying to reconcile her with the youth he expected. She had the fair features typical of the women of Rohan. Her straight hair, the color of dark honey, was bound by a series of leather laces and hung like a thick rope down her back. Cheeks flushed from the effort of battle, the spark of suspicion glowed in her green eyes.

“What errand has such an odd group of companions crossing Rohan?” she demanded. At the sound of her voice, Arod’s ears perked up and he walked over to give a slight nudge to her shoulder. “And riding our own horses,” she glared at Legolas accusingly and shrugged off the horse.

“Lady, we…travel to Edoras – the horses were a gift from Èomer,” Aragorn faltered. Slim explanation, even to his own ears; he knew it fell short of satisfying her.

“You know Èomer?” she asked, her stance easing only slightly at the mention of their benefactor.

“We met Èomer as we traveled on foot toward Fangorn Forest,” Legolas spoke with the confidence and sincerity of an Elf with nothing to hide. “We trailed a band of Uruk-hai which had captured two of our friends. Èomer’s troop had already encountered the Uruks and slaughtered them. He made a gift of these horses so we might seek our friends.”

Gimli impatiently joined in to plead their case, “Lady, I am Gimli, son of Gloin. *This* is Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and *he* is Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” he gestured pointedly to the Elf and the Man. “We mean you no harm. You need lower your sword and share your name.” Aragorn’s eyes slanted to the Dwarf. With Gimli’s abrupt skills as a diplomat, the Man sometimes wondered that he still lived.

She eyed the Dwarf, considering his words. Making her decision, she sheathed her sword at her side before speaking. “I am Dèorwyn, niece to Theoden King. Èomer is my cousin,” she explained, meeting the eye of each in turn. “You must forgive me; my suspicions extend to all strangers. I owe a debt of gratitude for your timely arrival.”

“You owe nothing, my Lady,” Aragorn gave a gracious nod. “But, how is it you came to be lost from your party and out here alone?” he looked about, wondering if he was right to assume she was unaccompanied.

“I am not lost from a party,” her chin came up defiantly. “I am a scout for Rohan. I traveled to the Eastfold and return to Edoras to report.”

“A lady of the court of Theoden as a scout?” Legolas questioned skeptically. “I would not think the King would allow that.”

“Theoden no longer knows nor cares what happens around him,” Dèorwyn answered softly and looked away. A shadow crossed her features, too quick to be hidden by her lowered lashes. But as suddenly as the darkness had touched her expression, it was gone. “Theodred and Èomer know my skill and understand my desire. They prevent me from joining them in battle, but they allow me this.”

Aragorn suspected she would be out here with or without their allowance.

As he considered her words of Èomer, a disturbing thought came to him. “When did you ride out from Edoras?” he asked, knowing that if she had been to the Eastfold, it may well be as long as a week.

“It has been five days now,” Dèorwyn replied, a hint of question in her eyes.

His jaw clenched as dread began to settle in him. It should not be his place to tell her, and yet she could not ride into Edoras blindly. “Have you had no word of events in the days since?” he posed the question with little hope.

Suspicion crept back into her voice, “No…why do you ask?”

Aragorn hesitated for just a heartbeat before continuing. “Then you have not heard of Èomer’s banishment,” he softened his husky voice, seeking to also soften the blow.

“What do you mean, banishment?” Dèorwyn responded defensively, instinctively reaching to her sword.

“Èomer and several hundred soldiers loyal to Rohan ride north – banished under threat of death,” Aragorn explained. He looked at her hard, awaiting her reaction. He did not think she would easily accept the news.

“Banished by whom? Theoden would never -” her breath caught and her eyes widened as realization hit her. “Grima,” she whispered. Her gaze became unfocused, no longer seeing the three standing before her, but some distant vision. Absently she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked to her hand now resting casually on her sword. She rubbed her palm back and forth over the hilt as she gave thought to Aragorn’s words.

Within moments, her head came up, her jaw set with pride and self-assurance. She met the Man’s gaze. “Theodred will set this right,” Dèorwyn spoke with confidence. “It is likely Èomer will have already returned by the time I reach Edoras.”

Aragorn hoped she was right. If Gandalf’s suspicions were correct, it was certain Èomer and his riders would be needed.

~ ^^ ~

Continued…