Ch-3 Rating: PG

Chapter 3 – The Calm Before

They had ridden long into the night. The moon was traveling the far side of its arc before the group finally stopped to make camp.

“Who will take the first watch?” Aragorn asked as he dropped his bedroll on the ground.

“I shall,” Dèorwyn offered, tugging on the last strap holding her pack to Aredhel’s saddle.

Aragorn hesitated before straightening from his task. “Lady, I do not think that is necessary. You have need of rest,” he assured her.

“As do you all,” she turned to face him, curious at his reluctance. Aragorn shifted uneasily. A tantalizing idea came to Dèorwyn and she decided to risk it. “Perhaps you think you recognize the usual sights and sounds of Rohan at night better than I?”

His initial surprise quickly turned to annoyance. As he opened his mouth to protest, she pressed one step further. “Or do you think because I am not a man that I suffer diminished hearing and eyesight?”

Aragorn’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her. He waited a few moments before answering. “I meant only that you have had a long ride from Rohan’s eastern boundaries. You should take advantage of the chance for sleep,” his voice was tight, betraying his effort at control.

“And so I shall. That is why I would take the first watch, so I may sleep uninterrupted for the remainder of the night,” she reasoned calmly.

He looked to Legolas and Gimli, but found no support there – both inexplicably avoided eye contact. Giving them a disgusted sigh, Aragorn relented. “You have first watch,” he shrugged.

Turning to lay out her bedroll, she hid the broad smile that came to her.

While the others determined their rounds and tended to their blankets, Dèorwyn walked a short distance from the camp, finding a seat on a large rock from which to set her watch.

“Aragorn meant no offense by his words,” Gimli said from behind her.

She turned to him, a sly curl at the corner of her mouth, “I know.” Her face split into a grin as he gave her a questioning look. “I sought only to have some sport with his discomfort.”

Chuckling, Gimli glanced to where Aragorn was settling himself on the ground. “I am impressed. ‘Tis a prank worthy of a Dwarf.”

Acknowledging his compliment with a nod, Dèorwyn tried to sound repentant, “I shall confess and ask his forgiveness in the morning.”

“Why confess, when you may yet have some fun with the game?” Gimli winked at his new-found kindred spirit.

Her laughter at his encouragement caused the others to look at them suspiciously, wondering what the Dwarf could have said to warrant such gaiety on her part. Lowering her voice, Dèorwyn leaned toward him, “I will see what mood the morning brings me.”

Shaking his head with regret that she would waste such an opportunity, Gimli patted her shoulder before leaving. “Legolas has the second watch.” Darkness hid her grimace of pain.

She squirmed to settle herself more comfortably, and looked to the heavens to admire the blanket of stars. It was a clear night, the moon four nights from full. The dimly lit plains of the Riddermark stretched before her and met the blackness of sky at the horizon.

Dèorwyn always felt a sense of peace out in the open space, especially during the stillness of night. She had tried many times to share this serenity with Èowyn, her sister by emotion if not by blood. But Èowyn held her own strong desires, and never understood Dèorwyn’s longing to ride out of the city and explore the vastness of Rohan. She loved these lands, and the smell of the earth. Giving thought to the events of the times, hearing again the word ‘banishment,’ she felt a sudden sorrow at how much there was to lose – how much had already been lost.

Arching her back to stretch sore muscles, she rotated her bruised shoulder, trying to work out the stiffness. Her arm throbbed. Maybe Legolas had been right. Maybe she should have taken the time to do more than stop the bleeding.

“Is it very painful?” Startled, for she had heard no sound, she turned to find Legolas there beside her. The Elves’ reputation for stealth was second only to that of their beauty. As the faint moonlight gilt one side of his face and cast the other in dim shadow, she realized he was exceptional among his kind – less delicate than most, more masculine.

If she had expected him to be smug about her discomfort, she was wrong. His eyes were soft and held nothing but concern.

“I can bear it, but you may have been right,” she confessed, sounding oddly breathless. It was difficult to draw air around the wings fluttering in her chest. Quickly looking away, she wondered at his sudden appearance, and tried to remember if Elves were capable of reading the thoughts of others. She hoped he believed her reaction to be nothing more than surprise.

Legolas knelt down in the grass near her. Sitting back on his heels, he picked up a loose stone and rubbed his thumb along the smooth surface. “I am sorry for the news of Èomer,” he said tentatively, as if testing her reaction.

“I fear for Èowyn,” she said, purposely setting aside any concern for herself. “Grima is ever too near her. I do not trust his intentions.”

“She is not wholly alone,” Legolas reassured her. “Your confidence is well-placed in Theodred.”

Looking away to the horizon, Dèorwyn said nothing further, hoping to dismiss the subject.

At her sudden withdrawal, Legolas cautiously tried a different topic. “You said you are niece to Theoden, yet cousin to Èomer. I thought the King had but one sister.”

She closed her eyes and quietly gave a sigh of relief. “In truth it was my father and Theoden who were cousins,” she replied, once again meeting his eye. “I am descended from another line, but the King has never treated me differently from Èomer or Èowyn.”

“You speak of him with affection. He must be a great man,” he said with a soft smile.

“He isÂ…was,” Dèorwyn’s reply was wistful. She remembered the strong man of just a short time ago. “I can only hope that one day chance will allow you to meet him as he was.”

Legolas hefted the stone he was holding then tossed it toward the horizon. “And what of your father?”

“My father was also a great man. He fought long and hard against the illness that claimed him three months ago.” It bothered her that her voice still trembled when she spoke of him. She had cried bitterly the day of his death. Thereafter, determined to be strong as he taught her, she had shed no more tears.

“Nai nuvalye aderthadath aduial,” he said solemnly. At the question in her eyes, he tried to explain. “An Elvish lament, ‘though I am afraid it does not translate well: ‘May you be reunited at your twilight.'”

Dèorwyn smiled at the sweet but sad sentiment. “It sounds beautiful in both languages,” she assured him, surprised that her compliment seemed to please him. “I miss him still. He gave me much, and tolerated more than I care to confess.”

“So, the ‘spoiled child’ you mentioned, the one Gandalf indulgedÂ…that was you,” Legolas stated with certainty.

“Yes, of course.” Dèorwyn felt embarrassed, but also relieved to turn to a different topic.

“What happened?” Legolas asked while settling himself into a more comfortable position on the grass, awaiting her story.

“It was my twelfth summer and I had decided to ride from Edoras to our southern boundary. Rumor had spreadÂ…” she paused as the memory came to her and she looked to Legolas, “that a company of Elves was traveling across Rohan and I greatly desired to see them,” her voice trailed off.

She had not really thought about that day in many years. The memories and emotions now flooded back to her, filling her with the same longing she felt that day.

Dèorwyn remembered how important it had been to her to see the Elves, and her reasons why. As children, the girls of Rohan sang songs and chanted rhymes about the Elf-lords’ strength, bravery and handsome features. Dèorwyn’s dreams had been forged by those childhood games. But in the years since, she had come to believe that their words, and her desires, were nothing more than fantasy and myth. Now, looking at Legolas sitting so near, a voice inside whispered that maybe her dreams were real.

Clearing her throat, Dèorwyn looked to the sky as if searching for the memories. What she really sought was to quell the fluttering that had once again settled inside her. “My father refused me so I went to the King, believing he would give permission. Instead, he denied me, and as punishment for my defiance, he forbade me to ride any of the horses of Rohan until such time as my father granted me leave.”

“What did you do?”

“Determined to go, I stole my father’s sword, went to the stable to steal the King’s horse, and rode south from Edoras,” Dèorwyn explained matter-of-factly.

Legolas gave her a crooked smile. “And did you see the Elves?”

“No,” she shook her head regretfully. “I came across Gandalf instead. As was his way in those times, he was riding from land to land and happened to be heading to Edoras. He convinced me to return with him, which was not hard to do since I had begun to question the wisdom of my choice.”

She sighed. Telling the story now, she realized how careless she had been. “I never knew how he did it, but he was able to return the King’s horse to the stable, and spirited my father’s sword and me back into our home with no one suspecting anything amiss.”

“So, your gift for finding trouble is not new?” Legolas’ serious, scolding tone quickly gave way to a teasing smile.

Feeling a warm flush of color rise to her cheeks, she gave him a sheepish grin and replied, “NoÂ…not new.” Dèorwyn felt giddy. Her childhood stories had not prepared her to be teased by an Elf.

~ ^ ~

ContinuedÂ…