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Into the Land- A tale of Two Girls
By Eohdwyn ( eowyn of the Mark) and Treyan Andune
Chapter ONE
A Meeting
After stuffing her carry-on into the overhead compartment the girl checked her ticket for her seat number, then sat in her chair with a sigh. At least I got a window seat, She thought, hazily. Still, she could not repress a shudder as she looked out the window, seeing the tarmac so far below . . . and they were still on the ground! Pressing her lips together, she glanced about the cabin, eyeing each face. She wished again she could’ve taken a boat . . .She looked up as a figure blocked the light, apparently attempting to shove her own bag into the already crowded compartment. It was another teenage girl. She sighed a little when the girl sat down next to her, she had been hoping to have an empty seat, just in case she started to cry . . . She glanced over, surreptitiously eyeing her new seatmate-She looked to be about the same age as her, though you can never really tell, anymore. Her face, though was oddly familiar . . . the short black hair and oval face could've been on anyone, but the sea-grey eyes rang a bell, somehow . . . Could she have seen her before? Impossible, not on this plane, going all the way to - she gulped. Going to far away, too far away from everything . . . Pressing her lips together, she repressed her curiosity and returned to her book, or at least to gazing at the page while she attempted to read the words. She looked up when the stewards and stewardess started to go through the emergency escape drills, her eyes wide, her lips pursed. She glanced about the cabin for the escape exits, and felt carefully under her chair for the life vests. With surprise she saw the other girl do the same thing, though she quickly averted her eyes, lest she be caught staring. Then they were rolling down the tarmac, going at an incredible speed. Deidre checked to make sure her seatbelt was fastened, then attempted to read again, but her eyes were constantly drawn to the window. She watched with fascination as the ground went speeding by, and then, with a jolt that sent a corresponding jolt of fear through her, watched the ground drop away and felt the plane rumble as the wheels were drawn back in. Her ears popping like crazy, Deidre glanced over at her companion, then opened her mouth to speak with indignation. That, that girl was reading her book! Her hand automatically went to her lap, where she felt the reassuring presence of The Lord of the Rings, the Fellowship of the Ring in all it’s careworn and dog-eared familiarity. She blushed at what she had almost said and wondered at the coincidence. And the same exact edition, too! She had almost summed up the courage to express her amazement to the other girl when a steward with a cart came around with pretzels and juice. She was momentarily distracted with marking her place in her book and putting down her tray, as well as thinking, as she eyed the pretzels, Okay, I suppose, for coach . . . at least they’re feeding us, sort of. It had been thoughts like that that had kept her from bursting into tears for the last few weeks . . . a dam of meaningless trivialities that kept back the flood of bewildered tears and angry outpourings that lurked there, back where she had shoved the first manifestations when she had found out. Shaking the memories from her head she tried to suppress the tears. I will not make a fool of myself. Not in front of anyone, especially her.I won’t! She vowed, munching her pretzels determinedly. She gripped the plastic cup of juice so hard it spilled onto her tray, dousing her pretzels. “Blast it to bloody Mordor!” She exclaimed, as the juice ran down into her lap, and worse, onto her book. Rescuing her book from the sticky mess, she looked about helplessly for somewhere to stow it as the juice soaked into her skirt, when the other girl reached over and took the book, offering her own napkin as well. Carefully setting down the remains of her juice, Deidre mopped up the mess, mumbling an absentminded thank you as she cleaned up. Stuffing the soggy napkins and now equally soggy pretzels into her cup, she placed it on her tray with a sigh and looked around for her book.
Brenna nodded a little to the girl next to her, and handed her back her book, saying "Here y'go." Brushing a few strands of raven-black hair out of sea-grey eyes, she was about to speak when the In-flight movie began. Alright, Fellowship! She thought with a small smile. At least seeing Aragorn again would take her mind off of recent events. Glancing at her seatmate, she saw the girl straighten up as Galadriel began speaking. Absentmindedly, Brenna mouthed the words along with her. She couldn't repress a slight giggle at the first glimpse of Isildur, or a small exclamation of the Elf-lord's names when Gil-Galad and Elrond came on screen. She leaned forward a little, totally absorbed in the movie that had quickly become one of her favorites. She giggled almost all the way through the Shire scenes, especially the ones with Frodo in them, "Oooh"ing and "Aaah"ing with the hobbits at Gandalf's fireworks. She stiffened in her seat, scrunching down until she could just see the screen over the seat in front, as the Black Rider appeared for the first time. As the Bree scenes began, and Sam pointed out the stranger in the corner, Brenna got a dreamy look in her eye and giggled a little, whispering "Strider....Aragorn...!" She mouthed his lines along with him, stifling giggles here and there, and cheering him on quietly during the fight on Weathertop, She didn't even notice the looks the girl beside her was giving her as she stared, starry-eyed, at Aragorn in Rivendell, all cleaned up and soooo handsome... she thought with a small sigh.
The Lord of the Rings! Deidre exulted, silently. I can’t believe they’re actually showing The Lord of the Rings! She grinned broadly as the credits rolled and Enya’s voice filled her headphones. “May it be an evening star / shines down, upon you . . .” she sang along with the music, softly. “May it be, when darkness falls/ your heart will be true . . ” She choked, and turned to the window, tears filling her eyes. Struggling to keep them back, she thanked heaven for the darkness of the cabin, and hoped the other girl still had her headphones on so she would not hear her stifled sobs. Regaining control of herself in time to choose the ravioli out of the choices of airline dinners, she flipped on her little overhead light and gazed down at it grimly. She poked at her meal, frowning, then nibbled at a bit of the salad, her eyes darting around the cabin once more, searching the faces . . .Having disposed of her barely touched dinner and napkin filled cup, Deidre tried to settle herself down to sleep, but she couldn’t. She jumped at the slightest noise, and watched every figure that walked from the lavatory, her muscles tense. She felt like she couldn’t breathe-flipping up the shade on the window, she tried to catch a glimpse of the silvery sea, as if to convince herself she couldn’t jump up and scream, “Let me off, let me off! Take me home!” As she felt like doing. There was nowhere to get off-she had to go all the way . . . Hopefully they would make it all the way. Deidre clutched at the silver necklace around her neck, her eyes going distant.
“That was disgusting!” She was interrupted from her reverie by this candid exclamation from the girl beside her.
“I don’t know, it wasn’t that bad. I’ve had worse.” Deidre replied, almost automatically. “Cafeteria food, for instance!”
Her seatmate laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t know! I’m homeschooled!” Her face darkened, and her smile fell. “Or, I was . . .” Deidre was surprised to see her own sorrow mirrored in the other girl’s face.
“My name is Deidre,” she said, a little shyly. “Deidre McNevin.”
“Really?” The other girl looked up, surprised. “My name is Brenna MacLeod, and I’m supposed to meet a guy named Curran McNevin - you wouldn’t know him, by any chance?”
“Why yes!” Deidre was startled. “I’m supposed to meet him too-he’s my only living relative . . .” She bit her lip.
“Then we must be related, or something, because he’s mine as well-can this be the same person?” Brenna pulled a wrinkled photo out of her pocket. “Here’s a picture of him.” Dark grey eyes twinkled from under a pair of bushy eyebrows while a nose to large to be roman and a wryly smiling mouth completed his face. Behind him a garden flourished in full bloom, and the edge of a large house was visible.
"That’s him . . .” Deidre said, wonderingly. “Then we must be cousins, or something!”
"Yeah . . .” Brenna smiled wistfully. “That’s nice-it’s not fun to arrive at an airport alone . . .”
Deidre smiled. “I know, even if it is Edinburgh Airport!”
Chapter TWO
Adventures at Fierlan House
"Now arriving in Edinburgh Airport" The typical Airport Announcer voice came through the loudspeaker as Deidre and Brenna went to collect their luggage. Brenna glanced over at her newfound...cousin? She shrugged and grinned as they got their respective pieces of luggage onto their carts and set off. Oh, they call them 'trolleys' here, don't they... Brenna thought idly as they made their way to the exit.
They had just gotten there when a man looking almost identical to the photograph walked up to them, his dark grey eyes sad now, and the smile gone, save for the barest hint in his eyes. His hair was almost the same color as, and shorter than Brenna's, but flecked with grey, reminding her of the description of Aragorn at the Prancing Pony in Bree. "You must be Brenna." He said, his accent all but identical to Billy Boyd's. He ruffled her hair, then playfully tugged on Deidre's blonde braid. "And you must be Deidre." He smiled then, the same smile from the picture. "I'm Curran, your great-uncle. Come on, let's get your things stowed and get home."
Brenna and Deidre followed their Great-uncle Curran to his car, and Brenna hid a grin. He'd obviously thought ahead, as he'd attached a small trailer to his 2000 VW Polo. Within minutes, they'd loaded their luggage into the trailer, gotten in the car, and had started off towards Curran's place.
"I live in a house in the Highlands." he told them as they rode along, in answer to a question from Brenna. "I stayed in a hotel in Edinburgh so I could pick you up today."
Deidre gazed out the window, her mouth open. It was so beautiful . . . wildly beautiful . . . This, she thought, is how I always imagined Middle Earth... She took a deep breath, smelling for the first time the sweet smell of the blooming heather. “So this is why Dad always wanted to come back . . .”
“Hmm?” Brenna looked up from her own absorbed perusal of the passing highlands.
“Oh, nothing.” Deidre blushed, she hadn’t been aware she’d spoken aloud. “This.” She made a sweeping motion with her hand. “Ever since he visited as a little boy, he’s wanted to come back. He tried to describe it-I never knew what it was like, ‘til now . . . He said,” her voice wobbled a little, but she went on, bravely, “He said it was the most real place he’s been too . . .here in the highlands, alone, just you, the land, and God . . . Oh I miss him so!”
Curran broke in, softly. “I remember when Duncan and Liadan visited Scotland . . . Both wee bairns, younger than ye twa. They were so close then.” He sighed. “’Twas why I was so surprised to see ye twa had never met before-and both cousins!”
“Yeah, a funny coincidence we were next to each other on the plane.” Brenna said. Curran looked thoughtful.
“Funny coincidence . . . I dinna ken if ye ken this, but both your parents were on the same plane as well when . . .” He paused, awkwardly.
“Oh!” Both girls exclaimed, in unison. Suddenly Curran exclaimed and turned sharply. He laughed a little sheepishly.
“Almost missed my turn, there . . . they only put in the new connecting road three years ago, I always forget I don’t have to go all the way down the lane now . . . old habits die hard! Well, pretty soon we should have a good view of Fierlan House . . .” the trees lining the lane thinned out. “And there it is.”
A large, aging structure built of stone and covered with vines both dominated the landscape, and seemed a part of it, like it had grown there, or was just another oddly shaped hill.
“This is one of the oldest houses in the Hielan’s.” Curran said quietly. “Whilst the house is Medieval, the foundation dates back to Celtic times . . . it’s said this was the site of a fort of a great Pictish chieftain. I have some fascinating artifacts you might want to see, later. But first, for lunch!”
Brenna stared at Fierlan house. "Wow..." she breathed as she got out of the car. "Fierlan...That means Remote, or Distant, doesn't it?"
"Aye, that it does." Curran smiled at Brenna. "But where did a wee bairn like thyself learn that?"
Brenna smiled a little. "I used to use Olde English and Gaelic in some RPGs that I was in."
Curran chuckled as he led the two girls inside. There were several tapestries on the walls, one depicting what looked like a scene from the War of the Ring.
"Look!" Brenna whispered to Diedre. "Isn't that Aragorn and Éomer?"
Deidre's mouth dropped open.
"It can't be!" Running forward, she reached to touch the tapestry, her fingers gentle. "It's real . . " She breathed. "Look, there's Frodo and Sam . . .and Gandalf! And there's Eowyn . ." she let out a excited squeal. "Oh! And Faramir! And Aragorn is wearing the crown of Gondor! It's just like I imagined it!" She turned to look at Curran. "Where did you get this? It must've taken years to accomplish, and cost a fortune!" She touched it again, feeling the intricate interweavings of thread. "It's genuine, too, done on a handloom, with colors I didn't even know existed . . ."
Curran laughed, a deep sound that rumbled pleasantly. "Ah, yes, 'tis the pride of my collection . . . let's just say I have some connections, and a very good weaver for a friend . . ."
Dragging their bags down the hall, the girls followed Curran as he led them to their room, casting a regretful glance behind them at the tapestry, but soon absorbed in exclaiming over the other antiquities and wonders that filled Fierlan House.
After two flights of stairs, Curran stopped in front of a set of old oaken doors and set the girls bags down with a sigh.
"Well, here we are! And here's the keys tae the rooms--" He handed them a pair of old metal keys with confusing twists of knotwork ornamenting them and a ribbon with which to hang them.
Deidre exclaimed, "Why, they're pretty enough for jewelry!" and promptly hung one about her neck.
Curran grinned indulgently at them and continued. "Ye twa can fight ov'r wha gets which room -- they both look out over the Loch, which I thought ye might like. This is an older section of the house, and it can get a wee bit chilly here at night, but there's hot water bottles if ye need them. After ye get settled, gang tae the kitchen and I'll fix ye bairns a good Scottish meal, and ye can meet the rest of the household." After giving them complex instructions on how to find the kitchen, he left them standing in front of the two doors.
Deidre grinned. "Well? Let's 'gang' then, shall we?" Placing the key in the lock, she turned it and felt the door swing open.
Brenna looked over Deidre's shoulder and grinned. The room was round, with a stained glass window, a picture of a white horse on a green background, looking out over the loch. The walls were covered with horse and unicorn tapestries, and near the window was a huge 4-poster bed, with steps on one side to get into it with and sheets with a running-horse pattern on the edges in green and white.
"Wow..." she breathed, then tried the room next door. She bit back an exclamation at the sight that met her eyes. Instead of a horse, the window in her room had a black wolf on a blue background, with a silver star above. It too looked out over the loch. The walls had several different tapestries, some with wolves, some with stars, one with what looked suspiciously like the Last Alliance, surmounted by the White Tree and Seven Stars of Gondor, with the winged crown of the Heirs of Elendil. The bed was the same as the one in Deidre's room, but the sheets were black and silver, the colors of Minas Tirith, instead of green and white like Deidre's. "Too cool." She was settled and ready in a surprisingly short time and went to check on Deidre. "You ready?" she asked.
Deidre nodded. "Yeah....Do you remember how he told us to get to the kitchen?" she grinned a little embarrassedly. "'cause I don't."
Brenna giggled. "Yah. C'mon!" The two set off down the hall for the kitchens. Deidre began humming a familiar tune under her breath, and soon Brenna was singing along. "The leaves were long, the grass was green/the hemlock-umbels tall and fair/ and in the glade a light was seen/ of stars in shadow shimmering..."
Deidre joined in, singing harmony. "Tinúviel was dancing there/ to music of a pipe unseen/ and light of stars was in her hair/ and in her raiment glimmering..." They entered the kitchen, about 3/4 of the way through the song. Curran, who was busy finishing making lunch, stopped what he was doing and turned slightly, listening as they sang the last verse. "Long was the way that fate them bore/ O'er stony mountains tall and grey/ Through hall of iron and darkling door/ And woods of nightshade morrowless/ The Sundering Seas between them lay/ And yet at last they met once more/ And long ago, they passed away/ in the forest singing sorrowless..." The two girls' voices faded away as the song ended and they traded grins.
Curran looked at them, and an incredible loneliness shone in his face. “That was beautiful, girls,” he said, his deep voice soft. “It’s been many a year since I ha’ heard that sung . . .” He shook himself and smiled, and the lonely look vanished. “But here, come and see what I have for ye.”
After the hot meal, much of which Curran had to name and explain, the two girls helped wash up. Putting a cup back in the strange stone pantry, Deidre almost tripped over a large sleeping dog, who whiffed and muttered a little, opening his eyes drowsily to eye the clumsy intruder. Sniffing her shoe he gave a little woof and thumped his tail. Carefully setting the cup in the cupboard Deidre knelt to pat him, grinning.
“Brenna, come see, a dog!” Smoothing back the grizzled fur on the old hound’s head, she asked him absently, “And what is your name, ole boy?” Checking his tag, she laughed as she read ‘Cucurran’ on the worn metal disk. “Hound of Curran?” She said, merrily. “I love the legend of Cuchulainn, and how he got his name!” She looked up to grin at Brenna and Curran, who had come to see what the commotion was about.
“Aye! So you know the old tales too!” Curran replied, smiling.
“Know and love!” answered Deidre and Brenna in unison, then laughed.
"I think the legend of Cúchulainn is my favorite..." Brenna said, petting Cúcurran. "You don' mind if I call ya Cú, do you?" she asked. another small woof and a thump of his tail indicated his assent. Brenna grinned. "I've always wanted a dog. Or a wolf." she said, half-wistfully. "A jet-black one. I'd name him Fuinëroitar."
"What's that mean?" Deidre asked.
"Shadowchaser." Curran told her.
Brenna nodded. "Yeah. In Quenya. In..well i guess you could call it Quendarin," she giggled "It'd be Daeroitar." Suddenly her brain caught up with her ears and she looked at Curran. "You know Quenya?!"
Curran looked at them both thoughtfully, like he was about to say something important, then smiled and stated, simply, "I've learned a wee bit, reading Tolkien . . . haven't got much tae do, back here in the hielans. And he did a very good job of getting down the rudiments of the language--" Here he coughed, suddenly, and swiftly changed the subject. "Some of the horses here even ha'e names in Quenya..."
Deidre stared at him. "You have horses?"
Curran chuckled and nodded. "Aye, lass, that I have."
"Where?" Deidre jumped up, eager to go see.
Curran grinned. "I'll show ye, lass." He said, starting out the door. Deidre followed just behind him, but Brenna hung back a little, a slightly suspicious glint in her eyes. He's hiding something . . . I know it . . . She thought as they made their way to the stables. They were in good shape, but had obviously been there for a long time. Several horses were in the stalls, a bay with no markings, a palomino, a black with no markings, a paint, and finally a beautiful red-gold chestnut with white stockings and a white star.
"They're beautiful . . . " Brenna said.
Deidre nodded her agreement. "What are their names?" she asked.
"Well, the bay here is Fëaressë." Curran said.
"Lonely Spirit?" Brenna asked.
Curran nodded with a smile. "Aye. This little one," he said, stopping at the palomino's stall. "is Dóran. That means Wanderer in the Gaelic." He patted Dóran's nose, then went on to the black. "This one is Morion. his name means--"
"Dark one." Brenna cut in.
Curran glanced at her and nodded. "Aye. Or 'Son of the dark'. The young laddie here," he said, indicating the paint. "is Rórdán. Little Poet King in the Gaelic." He smiled as they came to the chestnut. "And this little lass is Lhachlalaith. Bright leaping laughter is the translation, and she lives up to it."
Deidre rubbed Lhachlalaith’s head, murmuring something and feeding her a sugar cube from their tea. Curran gave her a startled look. “What did ye tell her?”
Deirdre blushed. “Oh, just some nonsense . . . that she was a beautiful horse, and stuff like that . . .” She patted her velvety nose, crooning, and the filly whickered and blew a horsey snort, making Deidre’s bangs fly up. She giggled, but Curran broke in.
“Aye, but ‘twas na English, not modern English.” His gaze was strangely intent.
“No, it was a version of old English, or ‘middle English’. My father taught me . . . Why?”
“Nothing, for a minute it sounded like Rohirric . . .” He shook his head. “Well, Lhachlalaith took tae it, didn’t she?” He laughed and patted the filly’s neck.
Deidre would’ve thought more about it, but her thought was focused on one thing. “Please, Uncle Curran, when can we ride?”
He laughed. “Right now, if ye want!”
Deidre almost danced with excitement. “Definitely now!” She went starry eyed. “Oooo, may I ride bareback?”
“Bareback?” He gave her a doubtful look. “Are ye sure a young lass like yoursel’ could handle it? Ye’ll get awful sore.”
She nodded. “Oh yes! I’ve had a lot of practice!”
He laughed, and gave her another odd look. “Full of surprises, the twa of ye are! Well sure then, let’s mount up!”
Brenna gave Curran a sharp look at the mention of Rohirric. First he knows Quenya, and now with Rohirric? A small smile appeared on her face. Hmm...there's more to Uncle Curran than meets the eye . . . "I'll take Fëaressë, if that's ok?" Brenna said, her question not directed towards Curran, but to the horse. The mare tossed her head and whinnied and Brenna smiled.
A few hours later, they arrived back at the stables, Brenna and Deidre racing. Curran cantered up on Morion, chuckling. They bantered back and forth as they put the horses back in the stalls and headed back to the kitchen for dinner.
"You rode as well as one of the Rohirrim, Deidre." Brenna said with a grin.
Curran nodded in agreement.
"Aye, that ye did. I never sae such a rider in my life . . . " He stopped short, and turned to Brenna, who concealed another sharp glance. "Ye didn't do sae bad yoursel', lassie." He said, ruffling her hair.
Brenna giggled. He almost said "but", I'm sure of it! She thought. They said goodnight soon after and the two girls found their way back to their rooms. Brenna lay in bed, staring at the tapestry across from her. It was the one depicting the Last Alliance. One hand went absent-mindedly to her pendant, and she picked it up, looking at it. A small crystal ball, held by a nickle pendant in the shape of a dragons-claw on a black silk thread, it had seen a lot of wear, but she'd never taken it off. Her mother had given it to her. Brenna closed her eyes, thinking of Líadan, and was soon asleep. The next morning came with Deidre knocking at her door.
"Brenna, get up! It's time for breakfast!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming..." Brenna mumbled, getting out of bed and putting on what she liked to call her "Ranger outfit", a pair of forest green jeans and a tan shirt. Opening the door, she grinned at Deidre. "Someone mention breakfast?"
Breakfast was a cheery affair, with Curran telling them of the house and its history. “If ye twa wish, ye can explore the house today." he said when he'd finished.
Brenna grinned. "Yippee!" she shouted. Curran and Deidre laughed.
Brenna wandered for about an hour after she'd left the table, and found herself facing the tapestry she and Deidre had seen when they'd entered. The one with the Fellowship on it, as well as a few others from Middle-earth. She looked at it for a while, then stifled a yell as it moved!
Chapter THREE
Discovering a Secret
Slowly, glancing up and down the hall to see if anyone was watching, she approached the tapestry and lifed an edge. Her eyes widened as she uncovered a door, partially open. The glint of metal could be seen in the room beyond. Dropping the tapestry, she ran to go find Deidre, having some idea of where she'd be. Her guess proved correct as she ran into the stables to find Deidre sitting in Lhachlalaith's stall. "Deidre! You're not gonna believe what I found!" She said, panting a little.
"What is it?" Deidre asked, getting up.
"Come on! you've got to see this!" Brenna said. "I'll show you!" The two raced out of the stables, and Brenna led her cousin to the tapestry. "Look!" she said, pulling the tapestry back, revealing the door and the room.
"Whoa..." Deidre stared at it. "What's inside?"
"Dunno." Brenna grinned mischeivously. "Let's find out!" Cautiously, the two girls entered the room. It was plain, save for two small tables, one with a green and white cloth on it, the other with a black and silver one.
On the green-and-white table was an old torc, made of wires of silver and gold twisted together. The caps were carved with complex knotwork, with a few runes worked into the design, and were designed to fit together. Deidre gasped, and her hand reached out automatically. She drew a careful finger down one side, and shivered. Oddly, the metal was not as cold as she expected it to be. Casting a glance about guiltily, she picked it up gingerly. Drawing it closer to her face, her eyes went wide with surprise. "There's writing on it! Some very old runes!"
"What do they say?" Brenna asked, looking over.
"I don't know, I can't read them..." Deidre replied. "But they seem familiar, somehow..."
Brenna nodded a little. "Cool..."
Drawing apart the two caps, Deidre twisted it slightly, then hesitated. But something seemed to compel her, and with a deft motion, she put it on, flicking her braid out of the way. It was extremely heavy, but settled onto her neck like it was made for her.
Brenna grinned. "Suits you."
"Thank you," Deidre said, distantly. On her face was a far away look, as if her mind were a million miles away.
Brenna giggled, then her attention was draw to the black-and-silver table. On it was an old sword, laying beside it's belt and scabbard. The hilt was plain, save for some scrollwork on the cross-bar. On the blade, just above the hilt, were runes, that looked almost like the Fëanorian script, the Tengwar. Brenna glanced at Deidre, then ran a hand along the scabbard. The leather felt almost new, to her surprise. She slowly picked up the belt, and looked at it for a moment, then put it on, on impulse. It fit almost as if it were made for her. She grinned. "Hey, Deidre, look! I'm a Guard of Minas Tirith!" She tried a few slashes and parries with the blade. The balance was excellent, the blade flashing in the light from the high windows.
Deidre fastened the torc carefully, but didn't let go of the knobs. Her eyes refocused on the blade in Brenna's hand and she looked at her face questioningly.
Brenna grinned at her, then looked at the sword, closer. "Hey, there's writing on here!" she exclaimed. "Looks like Tengwar!"
"Really?" excitedly, Deidre peered closer at the blade. "It does! But it's a different script from the runes on the torc..." She shivered, suddenly.
"Yeah, like I said, it looks more like Tengwar." Brenna looked at her, curiously. "What? you cold?"
Deidre shook her head. "No, not really . . . just a feeling."
"A feeling?" Brenna asked. "Like what?"
"A feeling like when someone walks over the place you're to be buried, and you get goosebumps . . " Deidre laughed, sheepishly. "Silly, I know."
Brenna giggled. "Not really. Now let's see....I think I can read this!"
"What does it say?" Deidre asked, wide-eyed.
In their excitement, neither girl noticed Curran looking in the door.
"It says..." Brenna held the sword up to the light, trying to read the writing. "Hautan mar..."
Curran's eyes widened as he saw an almost imperceptable change come over them. “Brenna! Wait! Ye dinna ken what ye are doin'!" Reaching them, he grabbed onto the girl's arm, just as the two faded from sight, taking Curran with them.
Chapter FOUR
Arrival and Return
Deidre didn’t even have time to take a breath as the small stone room faded to nothingness, replaced by a blinding light. It felt like she was being pulled, drug through-and to- who knows where . . .
Then the light dimmed and turned a dappled green, and she heard the warbling chirp of a nearby bird. Gasping, she looked around her, blinking, to see Curran and Brenna not too far away, looking just as bewildered as she felt. Running over to them she exclaimed, “Brenna, what did you say? ‘Beam me up Scotty’ in Quendarin!? And where on unmarred Arda are we?”
Curran laughed, shakily. “Deidre, we are on Arda . . . not unmarred, though, unfortunately.” Both girls turned to stare at him.
“Are you saying,” Brenna said slowly, “That we are on Middle Earth?”
“The Middle Earth?” Deidre’s voice was pitched an octave higher than usual. “Tolkien’s Middle Earth?”
Curran laughed. “The same.” He looked about, and his voice went husky. “My home…”
Brenna looked down at the tengwar on the blade. “Take me home...” she read, sheathed the blade, then looked up. “You carved this.”
“Aye, that I did . . . Scotland is lovely,” a smile flitted across his face. “But there’s no place like home.” He looked around. “I never thought I’d get back.”
“How did you end up on Earth?” Deidre questioned. “I mean, what happened?”
He settled down against a tree, the girls following his suit. “It’s a lang story . . . but worth the telling. I was a man of Gondor, a soldier for the steward, during the War of the Ring, and a Numenorian by blood . . .” Both the girls gasped and stared at him, new respect in their eyes. “Aye. I was young then, and watched many of my comrades fall in battle . . . but I survived. I don’t know why, if I was somehow incredibly lucky, or if Bema had his hand upon me . . . But I was there when they crowned the King, and attended the marriage of Faramir and Eowyn . . .” Both of the girls sighed. “It was at their wedding I met Steorra, and a bonnier Rohirrim maiden ye could never find. Within a few months we were married, and joined Prince Faramir and Lady Eowyn in Ithilien, I in the service of a soldier. We had a beautiful son, and named him Conaire. We lived for many years in peace, and Conaire grew to manhood, and joined the soldiers.” He smiled. “He was put under my command, and we had great times together . . .” His smile disappeared. “But it was when we were both gone that they came . . .” He pressed his lips together. “Evil things still lurked in Mordor, and Minas Morgul. The shadow of evil had passed, but it had left its foul taint on the land.” His face grew haggard with sorrow, his voice thick with unshed tears. “It was in a raid on Ithilien my bright Star-maiden was killed-by a remaining band of orcs, who had somehow gotten past our guard . . . we pursued them into Mordor, to wreak our vengeance, Conaire and I, and all those I could summon. A posse, as it is called on Earth. And so we were lead to the Tower...” When the girls gasped, he laughed grimly and said, “Not that one. The one at Minas Morgul-what remained of it. The orcs, we thought, had taken refuge there. I was the first man across the threshold, my son close behind, and we were caught in the remains of a spell, laid, most likely, by the Witchking. In his cunning vileness and hatred of the Numenorian and their line, he had laid a trap-fueled by his hatred and triggered by any with the blood of Numenor in their veins. We were caught in the last remains of this, and the sorcery, coupled with a coincidence that staggers the mind, was enough to bring us to Earth.”
“What coincidence?” the girls asked, simultaneously.
“I have made a habit of studying the heavens, and that night there was to be a new moon rising just as the sun set . . . and as I laid myself to rest, bewildered, eons from home, the last thing I saw before I fell asleep from exhaustion was the sliver of the earth’s new moon rising as the sun set . . .”
"Whoa..." Brenna breathed when Curran had finished. She grinned. "So I was right!"
"About what?" Deidre asked her.
Brenna grinned. "Ever since that short discussion we had about Quenya, I'd had my suspicions that Curran wasn't from Scotland."
Curran chuckled. "Aye, ye are a bright lass, Brenna. Take after your mother, ye do."
"There's one thing I don't understand, though..." Deidre said. "If you're our great-uncle, then you must've had a brother or a sister go with you who had a kid or two."
"No he didn't." Brenn said, slowly. "You said that you and Steorra had a child, Conaire. And he was close enough to be pulled along with you to our earth...then married and had my mom and Deidre's dad...Which would make you our great-grandfather. Not our great-uncle."
Curran smiled slightly. "Aye, as I said afore, ye are a bright lass, Brenna."
"But why say you're our great-uncle if you're not?" Deidre asked.
"Think about it." Brenna said. "He's of Numenorean descent, right?"
Deidre nodded.
"And that means he's going to live a lot longer than normal people. I mean, Aragorn was 88 at the time of the War." Brenna continued. "So if he's known as our great-grandfather, yet he's doing stuff a much younger man could do, people are going to get suspicious." she grinned. "Plus any Tolkien nut is going to start putting two and two together and maybe get four. So he calls himself our great-uncle to avoid that."
Curran chuckled a little. "Aye, that's right, Brenna."
"So...we're both part Rohirrim, part Numenorean?" Deidre asked.
Curran nodded. "Aye."
"Deidre got more of the Rohirrim blood than I did, then." Brenna said, grinning. "And I think I got most of the Numenorean..."
A sound nearby made them all jump.
It was followed by a man's voice. "The sounds came from this way, Leran."
Another voice followed the first, this one speaking to Curran, Deidre, and Brenna. "Don't move! Archers are covering you from all directions." a man dressed in the garb of a Ranger of Ithilien stepped out from the trees, sword in hand. "Who are you, and what are you doing in this place?"
Curran stood up, hastily. "My name is Curran." He said. "These are my...granddaughters."
"And your names?" the man in green said, turning to the girls.
Taking a breath and remembering Frodo and Faramir, Brenna stepped forward. "My name is Brenna, and this is my cousin, Deidre."
The man was silent for a moment, then whistled, imitating a bird-call. another Ranger came out of the forest, obviously a superior. "What shall we do, Leran?" the first asked.
Leran looked the three over. "We have our orders, Dervar." he said. "Take them to the Prince."
Dervar nodded. "Yes, Leran." Several other Rangers joined Dervar as Leran disappeared back into the forest. "Come." said Dervar. "The Prince will decide what is best to do with you." The Rangers surrounded the three and they started off.
Brenna muttered, just within hearing of Deidre, "We get to see Faramir? I'm likin' this!"
Deidre laughed softly, and grinned. “You can say that again . . .”
One of the other rangers cast an doubtful glance back at the two whispering girls, but Dervar just smiled and said in an undertone, “Let them talk. They look harmless enough. I doubt very much they’re orc scouts, very cleverly disguised if they are.”
“Yeah . . .” he conceded. “But still, they look different-like their not from around here.” He eyed the denim riding skirt of the one and green pants of the other. “Not to mention, their accents make their speech almost unintelligible.”
Deidre was oblivious to their guards’ conversation-she was staring about her, drinking in the beauty that surrounded them. She tugged on Brenna’s sleeve, her voice tight with excitement. “Brenna, we’re in Ithilien! Ithilien! I don’t believe it!”
Brenna laughed. “Believe it, coz. We’re here, it’s real . . .” They were passing down a well worn road now, neatly lined with green clipped hedges and stone fences. The fields sported pastoral scenes of waving corn and grazing cows, and they passed over a new stone bridge, the river chatering and gurgling below.
“We are heading that way.” Dervar stopped the group and pointed upstream, where the river disappeared round a bend. “To Henneth Annun. That’s where Faramir is residing, presently. There’s been some rumors of trouble in Minas Morgul, so he’s set up camp there. Come along, now, we have a ways to go yet.”
They were getting farther from habitation and closer to the walls of Mordor when they turned off the road down an overgrown path through the forest. Somehow, it was strangely quiet . . . their feet rustled too loudly through the undergrowth, and every twig they stepped on sounded like a shot. Abruptly, Deidre realized what was wrong. The birds had stopped singing. But almost immediately the thought was driven from her head by something much more significant.
Chapter FIVE
Encounter with Faramir
Brenna looked around, suddenly uneasy at the silence. Dervar had noticed it as well, as had the other Rangers. A few nocked arrows to their bows, while others drew their swords. Brenna's hand went to the sword at her side, but she did not draw it. The company halted, and Brenna heard a slight rustling in the bushes, that sounded like the wind....She glanced over and saw the sunlight reflecting off something. "Ambush!" She shouted, drawing her blade as the orcs leaped out of the forest. Dervar and the Rangers swiftly met the assault, swords flashing and bows singing. Brenna was reminded strongly of the assault at Parth Galen, then realized something. Deidre and Curran didn't have weapons! Luckily, several orcs had fallen. She chose two of the better swords and passed them to the others before attacking alongside the Rangers.
Deidre grasped the sword in her hand, thinking, Huh, heft is awfully nice for orc-make-But was distracted from her thoughts by a scimitar, which was in the process of swinging at her head. She automatically reached up with the sword to parry, glancing down at the blade as she did. She was astounded to see runes scribed down the side of the blade, but the clash of the orc's sword against hers jolted her back to reality, and she quickly jumped back, away from the orc, to pick up a piece of broken shield. The orc bore down on her, leering, and she flung the piece in his face, then grimaced as she ran him through.
Orcs were coming out of the forest in droves, and they were already outnumbered. Ducking behind a tree, she evaded a decapitating blow, then swung as the orc came around the trunk. It fell, it’s skull split open. Brenna didn’t have time to think of what had happened, as another orc had thrown its shield at her. It was of the same kind that Lurtz had used in the movie, and pinned her to the trunk. Oh, great…She thought as she pushed against the shield, wondering if Aragorn had thought the same. Just when she thought she’d never get out of it, the shield came loose, and Brenna used the momentum from pushing off the tree to throw herself at the orc, running it through. The orc howled in pain, then Brenna took a page from Aragorn’s book and pulled the sword out, bringing it around swiftly and beheading the thing. Picking up a knife from the orcs body, Brenna glanced around, seeing Deidre and Curran back to back with several dead orcs at their feet. A closer look found the Rangers slowly driving the orcs back. She saw one fall from a lightning sword-thrust, and reacted without thinking, throwing the knife at the orc who had done the deed. Just as she remembered she had not a clue how to throw a blade accurately, the knife hit the orc in the side of the neck, embedding itself up to the hilt. Brenna stared, open-mouthed before a yell and the thud of a sword hitting flesh caught her attention.
Curran had just about cut an orc in half. The orc still had its sword in it’s hand. “Might be best to concentrate on the battle at hand, lassie.” He said, half-jokingly.
Deidre grinned. "Good shot, Brenna! You're going to have to teach me to do that!"
"If I can figure out how I did that myself, you'll be the first to know . . ." Brenna muttered, nodding at Curran.
The Rangers returned, Dervar helping the man who’d been stabbed along. “We got them all.” He said. “None escaped. We need to get Bergil here to Henneth Annûn, though, he’s wounded.”
Bergil looked at Brenna and smiled a little. “That was a good throw, little one.” He said, though Brenna was almost as tall as he was. “Where did you learn to do that?”
Brenna shrugged and shook her head. “I never did. I just threw it…”
Bergil chuckled. “It was a good throw all the same. You saved my life.”
Curran smiled, then was distracted by something moving behind Dervar. It was another orc, one that must have hidden and followed them back. “Dervar, duck!” He shouted, quickly lunging. The Ranger jumped to the side, eyes wide, not heeding Bergil’s yelp. Then he heard the yell of the orc as Curran’s blade passed through its throat. He pulled it out as the orc fell. “it must have hidden, followed you back.” He said, cleaning his blade on the grass. He hunted a bit before he found the scabbard and belt, then sheathed the sword and put the belt around his waist.
“The sun is setting.” Dervar said as Deidre also found the scabbard and belt for her sword. “Come.” They started down the path once more. After a while Dervar stopped. “Here, we must blindfold you. It is a law that none shall see the path we go on…”
Brenna and Deidre nodded. “We understand.” They said, together. The Rangers chuckled, and the two girls’ eyes were covered by green scarves. Curran and Dervar stood looking at each other for a moment before Curran nodded a little and his eyes were covered as well. They were led down the path, and Brenna and Deidre both remembered the passage from Book 4 of The Two Towers. “Always the sound of running water was on their right hand.” Deidre quoted, earning a giggle from Brenna. After what seemed like half an hour, they were slowly led down a staircase with many steps, then brought to a halt.
“Let them see.” Dervar said. Their eyes were uncovered and all three gasped.
“The Window of the Sunset…” Brenna breathed.
"Wow..." Deirdre gaped, running her hand through her bangs. "It's amazing..." Before them the great waterfall fell, glimmering in the setting sun, a cacophony of sight and sound that filled the ears and awed the eyes.
Curran merely gazed silently upon the falls, his cheeks wet with more than what the spray from the waterfall could account for.
Dervar smiled, then turned serious. “Come. The Prince is within.” With an effort, all three tore their eyes from the fall and entered the cavern just behind Dervar.
The company found themselves in a large cavern that showed signs of recent workmanship: the rough stone had been hewn smooth, and tapestries depicting scenes from the War of the Ring hung about the room, giving it a pleasant look, though the furniture was scanty and mostly un-carven. Much of the space was taken up by a great store of arms and supplies. Deidre stared at the tapestries, absentmindedly stumbling over a sack of potatoes to get a closer look. The weaving style and outlay was familiar looking - in fact, it reminded her of the tapestry in Fierlan House, behind which had been hidden that fateful room. She jumped as a quiet voice behind her wryly inquired, “Do you like them? They were woven by my wife. She thought the place needed a little something.” She stared at the questioner, a tall, lordly man with long hair and a short beard touched with silver, his grey eyes crinkled with merriment. He wore the plain garb of a soldier of Ithilien, but in his raven hair was a silver circlet.
Deidre gawked at him and stammered. “Faramir? Prince Faramir?” she added hastily, and cast a quick glance at Brenna, who was looking incredibly smug and totally awed. Suddenly the meaning of what he said translated itself in her head, and she cast a quick look at Curran, then back at Faramir. She almost stuck out her hand but caught herself and curtsied instead, murmuring, “Deidre, daughter of Duncan, sir, erm, at your service,” she fumbled, recalling haphazardly the fashion in which people introduced themselves in Middle Earth. Brenna, grinning at Deidre, bowed and introduced herself in a more glib fashion. They were both quickly adjusting to the Westron language and pronunciation.
Faramir turned to Curran, and his eyes widened. “It can’t be!” He exclaimed. “Cu --” but the sound of voices from outside the cavern interrupted him --the guard’s, and another, higher voice speaking quickly. Faramir’s face brightened and he took a step toward the low arch that served as the doorway as a tall woman in a green riding skirt and tunic entered. Her long hair was bound in a shining gold crown about her head and a sword was girt about her waist. Wisdom and a quiet happiness shone in her grey eyes as she looked at Faramir, but a small furrow of worry wrinkled her forehead. “Éowyn!” Faramir reached out to take her hands, and she smiled up at him. Deidre and Brenna exchanged wide-eyed looks, each noting that the other’s mouth had dropped open. “I didn’t expect a visit from you today! What brings you to Henneth Annûn so precipitously? And without a guard or escort, either,” He said reproachfully.
Eowyn laughed at him. “Your worry about my person is charming, my lord.” She said merrily. “But you know I am well able to take care of myself.”
He smiled fondly at her. “Aye, that I do know, my wild shieldmaiden. You’re not tamed yet!” He added with a smile, “And never will be, as Bema is my witness.”
She laughed again. “And would you have me tamed, a falcon in a song bird’s cage, never to leave home?”
“Never in all the ages, my lady, would I e’er clip your wings!” He said, smiling. “Where could I find such a witty or beautiful messenger than thee?”
Her smile vanished, as serious as it once was merry. “Ah, my message . . .” she sighed.
“What is it?” Faramir asked, concerned.
“Ill news, I fear.”
Faramir looked worried. “Is there something wrong with Mairowyn and the baby?”
“No, no.” Éowyn laughed, lightly. “Mairowyn and little Cùwyn are fine, grandfather!” She said teasingly. Brenna and Deidre glanced at each other again. “It’s another matter . . .” she turned and began to pace. “Several days ago a messenger arrived at our home in Emyn Arnen from the King Elessar. He brought disturbing news . . .” Suddenly aware of the other people in the room, she stopped. “It is best we discuss this in private, my lord. Not that I do not trust our men, but I perceive there are strangers here.” She eyed the three oddly dressed people with curiosity.
Faramir, reminded of their presence, turned to look at Curran. “Ah yes! The newcomers! I have a few questions for them . . .” He looked over to Éowyn. “I trust your message is not so urgent it cannot wait?”
“Nay,” she replied. “Not yet. And I too would like to see what these folk have to say of themselves, for I can see they are not from around here.”
Deidre almost laughed. Definitely not from this neck o’ the woods, She thought, wryly. Not even from this blooming planet... She surprised herself with a sharp burst of homesickness at the thought. But I am from this place, in a manner of speaking...My great-grandfather is, doesn’t that make me a part of this place as well? She glanced at Curran as if to reassure herself of his existance.
Dervar spoke, breaking Deidre out of her reverie. “I know very little about them, my lord, but I do know they fought as bravely as any of my men in the orc ambush - even the young ladies.” Éowyn grinned appreciatively when he said that.
Bergil cut in, smiling. “Why, that one,” He gestured at Brenna, “saved my life with a pretty nifty knife throw, if I might say so.”
Brenna grinned. “It was nothing, really. I’m not sure how I did it, anyway . . .” she made a throwing gesture with her right hand, experimentally, then shrugged. She blinked, and put out her right hand again to steady herself.
Deidre noticed that her cousin’s face was awfully white just in time to see her faint. Running forward with an exclamation she caught her, and lowered her onto a nearby sack of meal.
“Oof! She’s heavy!” Deidre watched Brenna’s pale face anxiously. She looked down at her hand absently and was horrified to find it covered with blood. She glanced back up at her cousin to find the top of Brenna’s sleeve as red as her hand.
Chapter SIX
Questions and News
Eowyn snapped out something about boiling water and bandages as she knelt by Brenna. Biting her lip, she took out a small knife and began to cut away at the blood-soaked cloth, letting out an exclamation of consternation at the sight of the makeshift bandage wrapped clumsily about Brenna’s upper arm. “Why did no one tell me she was wounded?” She demanded, looking over at Dervar.
He jumped, and stammered, “I did not know! She did not tell us!” He looked down at the girl anxiously. “Will she be all right?”
“I don’t know. She’s lost a lot of blood . . .” Eowyn said, grimly, then looked up as a soldier brought a ewer of steaming water and a basin full of bandages, along with a full compliment of other medical items. She thanked him and set to soaking the blood-encrusted bandage so she could remove it from Brenna’s arm easier. Deidre watched, her grey-green eyes crinkled with worry.
The bandage was finally removed, to reveal a deep red gash bleeding profusely. Applying pressure to a point above the wound Eowyn directed Deidre in applying certain plants to the wound, then wrapping the bandage around it. The teenage girl distantly recognized what looked like athelas and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Suppressing both urges she tied off the bandage neatly, then looked at dismay at her cousins bloody and one-sleeved shirt.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find her some more clothes.” Eowyn laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You did well: it’s good to have another girl here to help, most men are absolutely helpless in these situations.” She gestured, smiling a little, to the soldiers and Curran, who had been watching the whole ordeal gathered in a little apprehensive circle around them.
Suddenly Brenna stirred and groaned. “Uugh. I feel horrible . . .” She sat up and looked down at the bandage. “What’s this? And why am I lying on a sack of cornmeal?” She attempted to struggle to her feet, but Eowyn got a chair and made her sit on it, her hand firm.
“Now, tell me, young lady, why you didn’t tell that man over there,” she pointed to Dervar, “you were wounded?”
Brenna attempted to shrug, then winced. “It wasn’t poisoned...I’ll be fine.” She tried to rise to her feet again, but a look from Eowyn made her settle back in the chair.
Eowyn gave her a wry look, then laughed. “You remind me too much of myself for me to stay mad at you, young stranger. But remember, asking for help is not a weakness - no one is self-sufficient. Now, I never want this to happen again, you understand?” When Brenna nodded she smiled. “Good. Then let’s get cleaned up. I have some questions I want to ask, and the recent circumstances merely added to them.”
Soon, Brenna had a new outfit, one like the Rangers of Ithilien. She grinned as she rejoined the others in an alcove off to one side, running a hand through her close-cropped hair.
"So, we are all here, and all conscious, I hope." Faramir smiled. "Good. Now --" He strode over to Curran, and stood looking at him. Curran looked back, his face struggling with an overpowering emotion. "Curran, son of Cadogán.”
“My Lord.” Curran said, his voice rough with emotion. “It is my utmost pleasure to be back and in your service, and at thy family's." He knelt, unbuckling his sword, and held it out to Faramir. It was the orc sword he had taken during their skirmish in the woods.
Faramir reached down and took it, looking at it wryly. "You and your-- " he looked over at two girls questioningly.
"Great-granddaughters." Curran stated, beaming with pride.
"Great-granddaughters must tell me the tale of how you got this sword, and soon. But first, you must tell me why you vanished so abruptly so many years ago…"
Curran quickly went through how he and his son had been carried to Earth, how they had been sheltered by a friendly sheep farmer, and worked on his farm, learning the language and customs of that new world. How Conaire had fallen in love with the farmer's daughter, and so gained a place in that world, as well as a prospering sheep business when the farmer retired.
Faramir nodded when Curran finished. “That answers many questions, but brings up a new one. How did you return? And bring your great-granddaughters with you?”
“With this, sir.” Brenna said, drawing her sword and offering the hilt to Faramir. “There is an inscription in Tengwar on the blade, near the hilt. It reads ‘Take me home’ in Quenya.”
Deidre came up. "And this, as well." she touched the torc around her neck gently. "They are both from this world, and are so much a part of it, when the moons fell into place and the words were said," she nodded at Brenna, "they took us back . . . as far as I can figure it."
Eowyn came up to her. "May I see that?" She asked, her eyes on the torc. Unclasping the ends, Deidre pulled the ends apart gently and removed the torc, passing it to Eowyn. The lady of Rohan looked at it, sorrow on her face. "I remember the one who bore this . . . she was a dear friend to me, and I rejoiced at her marriage, and gave her this as a gift. When she died, I remember that Curran took to wearing it about his neck, under his tunic, in remembrance of Steorra." she sighed, looking down at the torc, then continued, “It is from the hoard of Scatha the Worm, and is very ancient. Treasure it well, young maiden, as your great-grandmother did." She laughed, and shook her head. "Strange it is to think a maiden of your age is the great-granddaughter of Steorra! She was but one season older than myself. Times move differently in our worlds, I'm guessing."
Brenna chuckled. “They must. For it is only when the moons are the same that the words will work, and that was not for at least two generations in our world,” here she paused, as if doubting those words, then continued. “But only ten years here.”
"And so you are sisters?" Eowyn asked, eyeing the two girls.
"No, we are cousins," Deidre explained.
“Which explains why we look so different.” Brenna said with a grin.
Eowyn agreed. "You look much like Steorra, --" she gave Deidre a quizzical look. "And here now! I don't even know your names, either of you!"
Brenna giggled. “My name is Brenna. It means ‘Raven’ in a language called Gaelic.”
"My name is Deidre, Lady Eowyn." Deidre said, suddenly shy. "It means 'Sorrow' in the same language."
Eowyn laughed. "Well, I welcome you to Ithilien, Raven and Sorrow. Sad names for such bright maidens! But raven fits you, Brenna. Your hair is as black as the wing of that bird."
Brenna grinned. “So I’ve been told, milady. It seems I inherited more of the Numenorean blood than my cousin, from all the stories I’ve ever heard and read.”
Eowyn looked thoughtful. "Stories? Of Middle Earth in your world?"
"Oh, yeah!" Brenna said, sea-grey eyes dancing. "There’re a lot of books about this place. My…” she glanced at Deidre and chuckled a bit. “Our favorites are The Lord of the Rings trilogy and The Hobbit.”
Eowyn's face darkened. "The Lord of the Rings?" she said softly. "You have a book named in the honour of Sauron?"
Deidre was suddenly aware that Sauron was real, here. Her eyes widened in shock as she absorbed this information, and she hastily replied, "Not in his honour, but of his downfall and destruction."
Brenna nodded. "Aye." she said. "It tells of Frodo the Ringbearer and the Fellowship that aided him, and the War of the Ring, and..." Here she smiled, and her eyes shone. "The Return of the King."
"And the Battle of the Pellenor Fields!" Deidre said, eagerly. "And your part in it, too." Her eyes shone. "You have no idea how the girls in my world look up to you, Eowyn."
"Especially you, coz." Brenna said, playfully pulling one of Deidre's braids.
Deidre grinned, blushing. "Well, I have good reason!" She retorted.
Brenna chuckled. "I figured." she said. "For my part..." She looked down, thoughtfully, then at Faramir. "It was you that I admired most, my lord."
"And why is that?" Faramir asked, raising an eyebrow in curiousity.
Brenna shrugged. "Many reasons, my lord." she said. "You resisted the power of the Ring, not an easy thing to do. You always tried to do what was right,no matter what. The glory of battle did not appeal to you, nor did the power you might have had." She trailed off, and looked down, a little embarrassed.
Faramir reached over and lifted her chin, smiling softly. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Brenna.” He said. “I am honored by your statement.” He turned to Eowyn then. “You said you had news from the King. May we hear it now?” Seeing his wife’s doubtful look, he smiled slightly. “You and I both know we can trust Curran, and I believe his great-granddaughters are no enemy spies, and worthy of our trust.”
Eowyn began to pace. "Well, then." She began. "As I stated before, a messenger arrived from the King Elessar, bearing disturbing news. It seems that the Lord of the Haradrim arrived at the Court of the Fountain with something that may or may not be important . . . An Yfeldryhten has come from the deep wilderness, claiming to be of the line of kings and apparently sent an emissary to the Haradrim in an attempt to garner they're support in his putative revolt against the King.” Eowyn turned to the two girls and said, "Ever since the end of the War of the Ring we have been treating with the Haradrim, now that Sauron's hold on them had been broken--" she sighed. "Negotiations have been difficult, with prejudices and stereotypes on both sides--but we have gotten very far in the last few decades, which is evidenced by the lord of the Haradrim coming to the King with news of this Yfeldryhten's offer."
“Yfeldryhten?” Deidre asked, looking at Eowyn suddenly. “You mean a Black Numenorean?”
“Yes, that is our word for it-in Rohirric.” Eowyn smiled. “Still, sometimes, I fall into my native tongue.”
Faramir looked at Eowyn, concern and worry in his eyes. “Did the messenger say what the King Elessar’s reply was?” he asked, tersely
"Lord Kayode was unable to give the King much information, as the emissary from Azraion was very cryptic. There has been no reports of any massing of orcs or men from the rangers." she said, the hope in her voice belied by the worried look on her face, “Azraion may merely be bluffing, or perhaps he thought to find his great army in the Haradrim."
“Azraion?” Brenna said, half to herself. “Son of the Sea?” she shook her head then looked at Eowyn. “Does anyone know anything else about this guy?”
Eowyn shook her head. "Not in all the years I have been a part of the affairs of kings have I heard the name before."
Faramir broke in. "But a man may change his name. . ."
Brenna looked at Faramir, curiously. “But why in the name of Eru would he change it to “Son of the Sea”?” She shook her head. "The name reminds me of a serial killer we had before i was born back on our earth called "Son of Sam"..."
Deidre said wryly, "Maybe he has delusions of being a boat... "
Brenna giggled at her cousin’s statement.
"Or maybe he wishes to show that his ancestors came from over the sea." Curran replied.
"Whatever his reason," Faramir said. "We need to find out more about him." He looked at Eowyn. "Did the messenger give a reason why the King sent him to us?"
"To ask for our judgement in the matter, as well as to keep our eyes open and our scouts alert for any suspicious activity."
Deidre blinked and wondered if their unexpected arrival in the middle of Ithilien would be classified as "suspicious activity"
Faramir nodded, then smiled at Deidre. As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I doubt that the return of a trusted soldier, and the arrival of his great-granddaughters would count as ‘suspicious activity’.”
Brenna chuckled, then looked thoughtful. "If it were me, I don't think i could pass judgment on something as important as this with so little information." she said, slowly. "Are you sure that's all that Lord Kayode knows? You said yourself that you were still on shaky ground with the Haradrim. Maybe he's keeping some back as a future bargaining tool."
Eowyn cocked her head and replied, “I am hoping we can get some more information when we visit the King . . .” She grinned mischievously at Faramir. “I’ve already packed all our bags and brought extra horses . . . they’re all in the new lower chamber. You need a break, and a nice leisurely visit to Minas Tirith and a chat with old friends is just what you need.”
Faramir smiled wistfully. “That does sound nice . . . it has been many years since I last had time to visit my old home. I’ll inform--” He broke off at Eowyn’s smug look, then laughed. “You’ve already taken care of it! What would I do without you?”
“A lot of work,” She replied, pertly.
He laughed again. “So, I’m guessing we’re to leave right away?”
Deidre suppressed a squeak and exchanged looks with Brenna, not surprised to see the same suppressed excitement and longing on her cousin’s face as she felt on her own. “Wouldn’t it be fantastic?!” She whispered to her cousin. Brenna didn’t even have to ask what she meant.
Going to see Aragorn…she thought, grinning in response to Deidre’s question. And Minas Tirith… It was a dream come true. Suddenly a thought struck her. What if they weren’t going along? she looked at Faramir. “Would we be accompanying you, m’lord Faramir?” she asked, a little nervous.
Faramir looked at the two girls, seeing the hope in their eyes and smiled slightly. Turning to Eowyn, he said "In light of the news from Lord Kayode, I believe that any and all strangers to this land should be brought before the King. What say you?"
"I think it is most proper, as Aragorn is bound to want to hear of their strange arrival here." Eowyn answered, matching his tone exactly. "Besides which, I'm sure the girls wish to see Minas Tirith, and Curran would not be unwilling to see his old home either, I am sure." She smiled at them. Curran bowed, his face shining with gratitude while the two girls grinned exuberantly at each other and expressed their thanks to the Prince.
Chapter SEVEN
The Hidden Enemy
The man stared into the flames moodily. The season was not nearly far enough along to call for a fire, but the evening was exceptionally cool, and he liked the fire for other reasons . . .
“Fire is powerful. It devours, it engulfs.” His father had told him. “It feeds on those it destroys, growing stronger while its enemies grow weaker. It is resourceful - it draws power from everything -- from the very air itself.” Always moving, always hiding, they would sit shivering in dark caves lit by a single guttering torch and he would listen while his father would instruct him. “Fire is not proud - it will stay hid, when necessary - a glowing ember, sheltered deep in ashes. One cannot see it, but still it is there, and will burst into new flame when called forth.” He taught him patience, how to bide your time, build your strength in secret. “Fire can lurk, deep in the underbrush . . . devouring the dead wood and small plants, it builds, far from human sight, ‘til when its strength is enough it leaps up to ignite the tall trees, a roaring conflagration that not even water can quench.”
The reflection of the flames flicked redly in his dark eyes as he brooded. He could not have been more than 30 years, but already the deep lines of bitterness were carved into his sharp-boned face. He looked up as the entrance of a man robed in blue interrupted his reverie. He jumped up, before the man could speak, and demanded eagerly, “Have you got it? Is it here?”
The old man walked over to him slowly, his ebony staff clicking deliberately on the bare stone floor . Azraion eyed him patiently, knowing he would not be hurried. He had time. For twenty-six years he had been preparing for this - had been prepared for this. It would not do to provoke the old man now, when he was so close.
Pallando looked at the man before him and smiled inwardly. Yes, he had the ability to do this task, and the intelligence. "I do have it, Son of Turazra." he said, holding up an object wrapped close in red and silver cloth, the colors of Azraion's house. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he handed Azraion the object. The man quickly removed the cloth to reveal a black orb, as of glass, but much harder.
Azraion grasped the palantir, his eyes alight. Looking deep into the sphere, the first thing he saw was a great flaming eye . . . Pulling his gaze away from it, he clutched it to his chest. “So this is it!” He gasped. “This is the Ithil stone, consecrated by Sauron’s hand . . .”
Pallando smiled slyly. “That is the Ithil stone, supposedly lost in the downfall -by great arts have I located it, and with much weary labor have I regained it. Lost forever, it was thought to be, in the ruins of Barad-dur. But there are many ways to find something, and many ways to get it, when the need is great.”
Azraion began to pace. “Should I use it now, or bide my time? Curse the Orthanc stone and the one who holds it! I know not that I yet have the power to face him . . . barely, now, can I cloak our presence here, obscure his sight to our maneuvers . . . Ever I can feel his sight, gazing out upon the land . . . the land that should be mine!” He whirled to gaze out the window angrily at the barren desert that met his eyes. “Not always shall I be in hiding, here! Not forever will I lurk, but soon I shall take what is mine: my land, and my vengeance.”
Pallando watched the boy, hiding his contempt. To think that he had been tricked...How he hated that...He, Pallando the Blue, tricked into helping this impetuous youth. But it would not be for long. Only until he took the Tree. He nodded in agreement with Azraion, playing along. "Aye, son of Turazra. Soon."
Chapter EIGHT
The Return to Minas Tirith
Brenna looked up at the gate before them, imagining how it must have looked when Gandalf kept the Witchking from entering. By the look on her cousin’s face, the same thought was going through her mind. The gate slowly opened, and the two girls got their first look at Minas Tirith that wasn’t on the movie screen. Brenna stared at the tall, graceful buildings, working her way up to the very top of the city and the Tower of Ecthelion. Boromir was right, she thought. It does gleam like a spike of pearl and silver…They rode through the circles of the city, each gate opening before them almost like magic. Deidre’s riding skirt was getting a lot of looks from passers-by, as was Brenna’s short hair. The buildings rose on either side of them as they went further and higher into the city.
Suddenly, Deidre nudged Brenna and pointed at a few buildings set a little apart from the others around them, with a walled garden behind them. “Look, it’s the Houses of Healing!” she whispered. Brenna looked over and nodded with a small smile. As they went on, the girls continued to ooh and aah over the magnificent architecture.
Here and there, they could see small gardens, or windowboxes. Brenna grinned. “Looks like Legolas made good on his word.” She said to her cousin.
Deidre nodded, and indicated a particularly beautiful arch. “So did Gimli!” Soon they were in the 6th circle of the city. At the same time, Deidre and Brenna saw a small door leading away from the main city.
“Rath Dínen…the Silent Street…” Brenna breathed. The company passed on, and soon came to the 7th circle of the city. Ahead, they could hear the sound of falling water, and the two girls looked at each other, excitement in both their eyes.
“The Court of the Fountain!” they said, together. Curran and Faramir chuckled as they entered the Court. It was paved with white stone, with a fountain playing, the water glittering like diamonds in the sunlight. A greensward lay about it, and in its midst, its branches hanging over the pool like its predecessor, stood the White Tree of Gondor.
They had been standing in the court for a while when Brenna poked Deidre, who woke from her daydream with a start. “What do you say to a game of riddles, to pass the time?” She queried.
“Sure!” Deidre agreed enthusiastically. “You start!”
Brenna cast her gaze about, looking for inspiration, when it was drawn to the Tower of Ecthelion, which she had noticed earlier. “Okay, here goes!” she said, and started, “Silver and white/A banner floats on high/A spike of pearl and silver/Almost piercing the sky...”
The game went on, Curran listening with amusement, sometimes cutting in with a suggestion or a riddle of his own. “I am cut to be made whole/My presence makes tall ships go/I begin as white as snow/But as I am covered my beauty grows.” His eyes twinkled. “There’s a new one ye might try chewing on.”
Deidre tugged on her long blonde braid thoughtfully. “Well,” she said slowly, “It could be wood? Oars make ships go...but they’re not white, and not especially pretty...Oh! Is it canvas?”
At his nod she grinned. “Oh, goody, it’s my turn now! ‘A bold eye in strong face saw/Red eye in black face who/Bent stern eye in guard tower and/Cowed bright eye in white garb.’ This one has four answers.”
“Well, the red eye would be Sauron...and he bent Denethor to his will,” Brenna glanced about almost by reflex as she said his name, half-expecting to see his shade. “And the bright eye in white would be Saruman... and the bold eye would be Aragorn, as he is the only other in that time frame using a palantir...”
“Yup! Your turn now!”
Brenna grinned and a challenging light danced in her eyes. "Try this one." She said. "Lived in a cave/By many called Lord/Gave an oath and a ring/To a man fighting a war."
"Finrod Felagund, the Lord of Nargothrond." Deidre said after a minute's thought. They played on, Faramir and Eowyn both amused and amazed at how much the girls knew of Middle-earth and it's history. None in the Court noticed the arrival of a tall man, dressed in a simple outfit of black and silver. His cloak was fastened with a simple brooch wrought in the shape of a leaf, and his hair was dark, though shot through with grey. He stood silently, listening to the girls and their riddles.
“So little remains/A song? A brook?/Of one lost--/Ne’er to be found/Again on Arda’s earth.” Deidre said. “How’s that one?”
“Easy.” Brenna laughed. “Nimrodel of Lorien.” At Deidre’s nod, She told another. “Dark as night/Made a name/Had a bite/Won him fame.”
“Hmm…Could it be Turin’s sword, Gurthang?” Deidre asked. “Or as it was first known, Anglachel.”
“Yup. Your go.” Brenna replied, slipping into a mock West-Texas drawl which made her cousin laugh.
“Ok…Here’s one that might get you.” Deidre said. “From the south came I/Fair Lossarnach/Great kings bore I/Steel’s gleam--/~Angaglin~/’twas my name.”
“Oh geez..” Brenna shot Deidre a mock glare. “Well, let’s see…Steel’s gleam…Steel she…Steelsheen! Of course! Morwen, Theoden’s mother!”
“That’s it!” Deidre grinned. “your turn!”
“Right.” Brenna returned her grin, mischeivously. “Tall and fair/Called ‘Elf-friend’/Sailed to the east/There met his end.”
Deidre thought for a moment and shook her head, about to ask for a hint, when the man who had been watching them spoke for the first time.
“Elendil the Tall, of Numenor.” He said, a quiet power in his voice.
Brenna turned to him, then did a double-take. Though he bore no device proclaiming him to be, she knew who he was and immediately straightened up. “King Elessar…” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
“I am sorry I was so long in coming,” He said, to them all. “I was -preoccupied, and told the servants not to bother me...” a look of great weariness settled over his face. “There is something out there, Faramir, something I cannot see, a great peril...” He passed a hand across his eyes, as if to clear the trouble from his vision, and looked up to smile at them. “But I forget my courtesy. Prince Faramir, Lady Eowyn, it is a joy to greet you again. I pray all goes well for you and your home. But I have yet to be introduced to your companions.”
Curran bowed deeply. “Curran son of Cadogán at your service, my King.” Both of the girls followed his example, and he nodded courteously.
“I perceive by your dress and speech that you are not from this place, and yet you have a great knowledge of our history, as I may guess from your riddles.” Aragorn said, inspecting them with a shrewd glance softened by a small smile.
“Aye, that is why we have brought them here to you, my lord.” Said Faramir. “A little more than a week ago they appeared quite suddenly in Ithilien, near to Henneth Annun. Their story is most extraordinary, and I will allow Curran to tell it in all it’s length, as it is well worth the hearing.”
Here Curran recounted again the tale of how he had left Arda so precipitously, and of their unexpected return. Aragorn listened closely, his face showing neither disbelief nor credulity. When Curran finished, a little out of breath, Aragorn said thoughtfully, “A most unbelievable tale, ‘tis true, but I see no lie in your face, nor any reason for you to lie to me.” He looked at Faramir. “You trust this man, and believe what he has told me.”
“Yes, m’lord, I do, and he matches exactly the Curran son of Cadogán I knew --though much older --” he smiled ruefully, “as we all are.”
The king smiled as well and returned, “That is well, for I think I can trust this man utterly, and to know you trust him as well brings reassurance to doubt. It may well be that their appearance here is but a coincidence and has naught to do with the forebodings that rise ahead - but I am inclined to believe otherwise. The workings of fate are hard to see and difficult to work out, but ever do they end in good. In many things have I seen this.” He turned to smile at Curran and the girls. “In the words of the elves that have passed, a star shines on the hour of our meeting.”
"Verily, asar mára mellyn omenta, eleni calar alcarë." Brenna replied. "When good friends meet, the stars shine brightly."
Aragorn looked at her, the only sign of surprise a small flicker in his eyes. "Well said." he said. "But where did you learn the Elvish tongue?"
Brenna blushed a little as she replied. "There were books where I came from. some told of the languages of the elves, and using those books, I taught myself." There was no earthly way she could explain the Internet to anyone from Middle-earth.
The king nodded a little, then indicated the Citadel with a small wave of his hand. "Come. It is nearly midday, and I suspect that you are weary from the ride, and hungry as well."
Brenna grinned, and couldn't repress a slightly smart-aleck response as they walked to the Citadel. "I'm as hungry as a hobbit that's missed her tea." This got a laugh from everyone in the company as they entered.
Lunch was a cordial affair, with plain food. Beef, ham, turkey, and even some venison were the main course, along with many vegetables, and bread and cheese. There was wine for the adults, and, what surprised Brenna, orange juice for her and Deidre. She idly wondered if the o.j. had been made for Kayode, and if the Haradrim had the same beliefs as the Muslims of Terra, as she was beginning to call the other earth. After the meal, the talk turned to the recent news brought by the Haradrim lord. Brenna kept her views to herself, though she had several theories, one of which had been brought on by Aragorn's remark to Faramir in the Court. She listened attentively, trying to get every bit of information she could, half from curiousity, half to prove at least one of her theories correct.
Deidre chewed on a carrot, noting how the food here tasted different, somehow, from food from back home... Maybe it was the soil, she thought absently. Or perhaps the lack of pesticides...She was inspecting her carrot for bug bites, laughing a little at her foolishness when Brenna poked her, making her drop it. “Ow!” Picking the carrot back up she stuck the rest of it in her mouth, giving her cousin an inquiring look. “Yes? I do have a name, you know...” she teased, then stopped when she saw the serious look on her face.
“Did you ever get the feeling like someone was watching you?” Brenna said, in a half-whisper. She looked startled, as if she had heard something upsetting.
Deidre looked about the room, her gaze passing over the pleasant tapestries and assembled company to come to rest back on Brenna. “What’s wrong? I haven’t felt anything...” she gave her cousin a worried look. “Is your wound alright? It’s not bothering you, is it?”
Deidre looked pensive. “I don’t know...” she glanced up at the ceiling and laughed a little. “I don’t think they have surveillance systems in Arda...”
Brenna gave her cousin an exasperated look, “Must you always jest?” then her mouth fell open as she exclaimed, “That’s just it, Deidre! Middle Earth does have a surveillance system! The palantiri!” She gestured with her fork excitedly. “No one knows what happened to all of them! That must be it! I’m telling you, this is more than a hunch...I'll bet anything Azraion has a palantir. I dunno how they work, or if they can do what I'm thinking, but what if that's what Aragorn can't see? What if Azraion's blocking the Orthanc stone with another one?"
Deidre gave Brenna an odd look. "That gash of yours must be getting to you." she said. "You know that's impossible. The only other one that's even a remote possibility is the Ithil-stone, and that was destroyed when the Dark Tower fell..."
"No-one knows!" Brenna interrupted, fingering her pendant unconsciously. She’d had that habit for years. "Do you honestly think anyone's going to search through the rubble of Barad-dur just to find out if the palantir had been destroyed? I'm telling you, that's what happened..." Seeing the blank look on her cousin's face, she sighed. "I felt someone watching me...I don't know how to describe it...Sort of like when Frodo felt that Sauron was looking for him, is the closest I can come. If you want it in a nutshell: I think it was Azraion, and I think he's got a palantir."
Deidre shook her head. “Well, either you’ve been sipping from one of the grown-up’s cup, or you’ve got a very good point...” She made a face. “Azraion with a palantir?” She shivered. “Horrid thought...” She grinned at her cousin and made a big show of checking Brenna’s cup. Brenna laughed and the worried look vanished from her face.
Chapter NINE
Complications and Preparations
Azraion shuddered. He had been so close...He hadn’t expected Aragorn to be on, and it had nearly been his undoing. Stupidly he had let down his shields for an instant as he looked into the palantir: almost immediately he could feel the king’s presence, and he had thrown the blocks in a desperate rout, barely escaping Aragorn’s glance. Setting down the palantir, he had vowed never to use it again unless the need was great - the risk was too much. But the palantir drew him with the promise of knowledge, of a look at what should be his. And so he had seen the girl - dressed in the garb of a soldier of Ithilien, short dark hair swinging loose around her face, she was sitting at a table, eating, with some other people. She had gone pale and looked around sharply when his gaze fell on her, and in a flurry of panic he had dropped the palantir. He sat, now, gazing at it, a glimmering black sphere in a small depression where it had rolled. The girl haunted his mind, teased at his memory. She had looked different... in a way he could not fathom. Shaking his head he drove all thoughts of strange people from his mind to focus on the task ahead. After a minute, Azraion sighed. He couldn't get the strange girl out of his mind. She was...he didn't know how to describe her. Different, yes, but there was something else...beautiful? He looked at the palantir, fighting against the impulse to try and use it again. What if Aragorn were on again? it might ruin everything...Azraion shut his eyes, trying in vain to clear his mind. If he was to succeed, he couldn't afford to think of the girl.
Pallando watched him from a shadow. He wondered what it was the boy had seen that made him drop the stone. Silently, the Istari considered looking in the stone himself, but immediately decided against it. It could give everything away, should he do so. He remained in the shadows, watching Azraion.
The young man looked up at him sharply, as if he felt his gaze. “Well? Have you got the troops rallied? Have the shipwrights started?” He got to his feet, walking over to where the palantir lay.
Pallando’s eyes glinted as he watched Azraion pick it up. He saw him hesitate as he held the stone, then his grip tighten and Azraion shoved it into a cloth bag that was fastened to his belt with a decisive gesture. He answered smoothly, “All is going well, son of Turazra. The ships will be ready soon, and the designs for the siege weapons are here for your approval.”
Azraion gave him a displeased look. “My name is Lord Azraion, and I’ll trust you to remember it. I am more than my father’s son - I shall be greater than he, and soon you shall call me king.”
Pallando’s lips compressed, and malice flickered is his hooded eyes, but he bowed, keeping his face in shadow. “Yes, my lord Azraion.” The boy gets more arrogant every day. He thought to himself with disgust. Not forever will I serve you, son of the sea. He said silently to the man behind him as he walked away. I was a fool to vow my service to your father, but I will not be a fool twice. Not always will you be my master, and never shall I call you king.
Chapter TEN
Exploring Minas Tirith
The next morning, Brenna got up earlier than was usual for her. Sneaking past Deidre’s bed, she quietly exited the room the two shared. She skipped breakfast, not used to eating this early, and exited the small house that they had been given with hardly a sound. The sun was just rising over the river, giving the city an almost dreamlike look. Brenna smiled a little, slightly sad, remembering the times she and her mother would watch the sunrise when she was a little girl. She walked for a little, passing the occasional early riser or guardsman, until she heard the sound of arrows hitting targets. Curious, she followed the sound to a round arena-like structure. Many men in the clothing of soldiers of Gondor, were working in the arena. A few were practicing archery, while others were working with their blades. Still others were sparring, hand-to-hand fighting. Brenna stood near the corner of what looked like a storage building for what seemed like several hours, just watching.
Deidre yawned and rolled out of bed, her feet hitting the cold stone floor with a jolt. Shivering a little in the cool morning air she dressed rapidly into the extra clothing Eowyn had lent her by the sunlight slanting through the cracks in the wooden shutters. The tunic was a little big, but Deidre loved the deep green color and hand-stitching on the hem and neckline. Splashing some water on her face from the handy basin, she quickly rebraided her hair, noting to herself to ask someone where to find the baths. Looking over at Brenna’s bed, she was surprised to see a body-shaped lump under the covers. Lifting one eyebrow, she shrugged and went out the door, closing it quietly behind her.
She looked down the left corridor, trying to remember how to get down to the kitchens. Shaking her head she picked a direction and went off. “I’ll go where my feet take me, and follow where my head leads!” she told herself cheerfully, but deep inside she worried about getting lost in the Citadel. “Still, what a place to get lost in!” she said aloud, looking about her.
“Aye, but it’s better to be here and not lost at all!” A voice replied. An errand boy grinned at her, a breakfast roll in his hand. “How can I help you become un-lost?”
“Well, you could start by telling me where you got that roll . . .” She replied, smiling back. After a snacking on some fruit the friendly kitchen-maids had supplied her with, she stuffed a few rolls wrapped in a napkin with some fruit into her pocket to bring back to Brenna and wandered off in search of her cousin. She was distracted, however, by a familiar smell, and soon found herself in the stable yard, grinning foolishly. Slipping up to a dapple grey thoroughbred she offered it the rest of the apple she was eating. After sniffing it suspiciously he lipped it up, blowing at the girl in gratitude. Deidre laughed as his whiskery muzzle tickled her palm, and rubbed his head, digging in her pocket for a roll.
Suddenly a shout rang out, causing the stallion to snort and roll a large brown eye at the noise. “Hey, you girl! What do you think you’re doing?!”
After about half an hour, Brenna slowly made her way over to the corner where a few men were still working on hand-to-hand fighting. She studied the various kicks, punches and holds they were using, amazed at how much they resembled the martial arts back on Terra. Idly rubbing her arm where the orc-wound was healing, she sighed inwardly. With that arm, she wouldn’t be any good in the ring. Suddenly a voice behind her made her jump.
“And what is a soldier of Ithilien doing in the White City?” Brenna turned to see a man, maybe 6 years older than her, dressed in the black and silver of the Tower. His bearing was slightly different than a guard or soldier of the City’s, though. He blinked as she turned, surprised, then laughed a little. “You must be one of the girls who arrived with Prince Faramir.” He said.
“Yeah, that’s right.” Brenna replied. “I’m Brenna.”
“My name is…Eldandil” The man told her, a slight hesitation in his voice as he spoke his name. “What brings you to the training grounds?”
Brenna shrugged. “I was taking a walk and heard the archers practicing, so I decided to go and see.”
Eldandil grinned. “Are you any good?”
“At archery?” Brenna laughed a little. “I tried it when I was a kid. I could at least hit the target, but that’s all you could say.” She looked at the men in the ring. “that’s what I was good at.”
Eldandil followed her gaze. “Unarmed combat?” he looked at her in amazement. With her slender build, she didn’t look like she had the strength to defend herself against a man, or orc.
Brenna nodded slightly. “Yeah. They had martial art schools where I come from, that taught that kind of stuff.”
“Forgive me if I offend you…” Eldandil said, slightly embarrassed. “but…”
“I don’t look like I would be able to do much?” Brenna finished for him. He nodded a little, and she smiled slightly. “Would you like to see what I can do?”
“Are you offering to challenge me in the ring?” Eldandil asked, laughing a little.
“That I am, friend.” Brenna said.
Deidre whirled around, her eyes wide. Oops! She thought guiltily. Keeping one hand on the horse’s neck to sooth him she faced her accuser with an apologetic smile. He was an older man in a neat brown tunic and high boots, a pitchfork in one hand. He was obviously a stable hand . . . from his age, she was guessing the stable master. She cringed and eye the pitchfork uneasily.
“Do you know how dangerous that horse can be?” he thundered in an undertone, so as not to spook the horses. “If he hurts you I’ll be the one brought to charge!” Deidre was surprised to hear real concern in his voice, and she flushed.
“I-I’m sorry, sir . . .” she stammered. “I didn’t meal any harm . . . and he seems friendly enough . . .” she patted the stallion’s neck, and he whickered at her, nudging her arm as if to say, I know you have some more treats in there . . . C’mon, give ‘em up!
The Stable master stared a little, then continued, some of the conviction lost from his voice. “Well, yes, he must’ve taken a liking to you . . . I’ll have you know that is no ordinary horse, but a mearas.” Ruefully, “He wouldn’t let one of my boys go near him this morning to groom him - I always knew horses had good judgment, and this one has the temper to go with it!” Deidre laughed with him, and he bowed, saying with a smile, “My name is Selas, but most call me Sel, and I would be pleased if you would too.”
Deidre curtsied back. “My name is Deidre, Sel, it’s nice to meet you!”
He gave her an odd look. “Deidre, eh? Not a usual name for the people of the Mark…”
“Oh, I’m not from the Mark!” she exclaimed. “Though I would like to be…” she grinned. “I came with Prince Faramir and lady Eowyn yesterday.”
“Ah! I had thought you were part of King Eomer’s retinue…”
“Eomer is here?” Deidre said in surprise.
“Aye, that’s his horse you see there.” He gestured to the grey, who’s fetlock Deidre was scratching absently. “Why else would a mearas be in the Citadel stables?”
“Won’t Eowyn be pleased!” She said, then laughed. “Then again, she probably already knows!”
After the current fight was over, Brenna and Eldandil entered the ring. She nodded to him, smiling slightly. A change seemed to come over her as she watched him prepare for the fight. All humor seemed to have left her, and she became serious, more serious than any had seen her so far.
Eldandil looked at her from across the ring and nodded in return, signalling that he was ready to begin. The two circled each other, each searching for an opening in the other’s defense. Suddenly, Brenna feinted a kick at Eldandil’s head. He leaned out of the way, bringing his hands up to block and stepping to the right, right into a second kick that hit him squarely in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He looked at Brenna and smiled slightly. “A lucky blow, Brenna.” He said. “But can you do it again?”
Without answering, Brenna feinted a lunge, making Eldandil take an involuntary step back. They circled again, then Eldandil threw a straight jab at her stomach. Brenna nimbly slid to one side, turning her evasion into a kick that hit Eldandil’s other side. The man stared at her, a new respect in his eyes. This was no mere girl, she was a good fighter. Seeing his look, Brenna smiled, slightly ferally, and threw a kick to his head. He blocked it, grabbing her ankle and sending her to the ground. She got to her feet, shaking her head as if to clear it, and began circling once more. The fight went on for what seemed both eternity and just a moment. The two had gathered a small audience, as well as a few bruises. Eldandil took his time, seeing that his opponent was tiring. He’d noticed that she favored her right arm, and took advantage of it, driving in on her right side.
Brenna danced out of the way, but blocked with that arm, ad took a kick above the elbow. She yelped in pain, the first sound she’d made during the fight, and held a spot about halfway between her elbow and shoulder. When she restored eye contact with Eldandil, he saw a fire smouldering in her eyes, and was about to say something when her rush took him by surprise. She knocked him into the ropes marking the ring, then backed away and turned for a back-kick. Just before she threw it, he quickly stepped in, putting her in a headlock. Brenna froze for a moment, then growled and grabbed the sleeve of his tunic, and his arm, twisting suddenly to put her throat in the crook of his elbow. Taking a deep breath, she twisted again, this time pulling his arm as she went, and dropping.
Eldandil hit the ground with a thud, the impact knocking the breath out of him once again. Brenna stood back, breathing hard, watching him. He slowly got up and looked at her, amazement in his eyes. “You are indeed more than you seem, Brenna.” He said, offering his hand.
She smiled slightly and shook it. “Thank you.”
“Perhaps we might do this again sometime.” He said. “Or I could help you with your archery.”
Brenna nodded. “Perhaps.” She grinned, her old self once more.
“Have you ever been here before?” Eldandil asked, changing the subject.
Brenna shook her head. “Only in my imagination.”
Eldandil chuckled. “Come then.” He said. “I’ll show you around. I was born here.” He led her out of the training arena, and they began walking, Eldandil pointing out a few lesser-known sights of the city here and there. They stopped and got some apples, cheese, and water from a small shop and continued, eating as they went.
Brenna was thoroughly enjoying herself when an errand boy ran up. “Prince Eldarion, there you are! King Eomer has arrived, and they’re waiting for you.”
Eldandil started as the boy spoke, and turned to Brenna with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Brenna. I have to go. Maybe I’ll see you again.” With that, he started back for the Citadel.
Brenna stood where she was, staring after him. She’d sparred, and then had as a personal tour guide, Prince Eldarion? Aragorn’s son? Deidre’s going to go nuts when I tell her…She thought, slowly heading back for the house the two girls shared with Curran.
Deidre gave Wingfoot a final pat and went off in search of her cousin. Humming Where now the horse and the rider? to herself she bumped into a harried-looking messenger, who muttered to himself about clumsy visitors who didn’t watch where they were going. She flushed and apologized, bowing and murmuring her regrets sincerely.
The messenger peered at her, then asked sharply, “Are you that Deidre girl?”
Deidre blinked. “Well, yes, I think . . .”
He snorted. “You think? Come, girl, you must know your own name! Really, children these days . . .”
She was beginning to get annoyed and retorted, “Yes, yes, my name is Deidre, and I’m not a child . . . Why do you want to know?”
“No need to be impertinent, now! You’re wanted by some Curran fellow, some important business about a sword or summat. Really, I haven’t the time to be out finding other people’s lost waifs . . . If I weren’t such a nice person . . .” He went off, grumbling, Deidre gazing after him bemusedly.
Shaking her head, she headed back in the direction of their guesthouse, hoping to herself she could get a bath before the important business, whatever it was. A sword? She thought. What sort of sword? And why on Arda would it concern me?
Getting back to her room, she discovered it was empty, as seemed the whole house, so she got her gear and set off in search of a bath, not without feeling a twinge of guilt. What if I’m taking a bath and something important happens? That would be so typical… But she shook off the uneasy feeling and concentrated on how nice her first real bath in several days would feel like.
She arrived back at her room, whistling cheerily. Dressing into her fresh clothes she frowned at her baggy tunic and wondered aloud where she had put her belt. “Oh yes, I left it connected to my sword, didn’t I?” shaking her head at her thoughtlessness she went over to the chest where she had stowed her sword among her other belongings and rummaged inside. Pulling the sword in its worn leather scabbard off the belt, she set it on the edge of the bed, then buckled the belt about her waist. Feeling the water from her wet hair trickling down her neck, she sat on the bed to braid her hair, causing the sword to unbalance, then slide off the covers onto the hard floor with a loud clank of metal on stone. Emitting a squeak she hastily bent to pick it up, her hair fanning in wet strands around her face. Kneeling on the ground she carefully inspected the hilt and pommel, simply yet elegantly wrought of a silver-toned metal carved with fanciful beasts, and also, she noted with relief, unharmed by its fall. Standing back up she drew the sword on a whim, feeling its solidity in her hand. A little on the heavy side, but its balance was perfect, she thought. The blade glinted in the sunlight, catching her eye, and drawing her attention to something she had almost forgotten: there were strange runes scribed down the blade, in a script that was oddly familiar . . . she had first noticed them during her fight with the orc, but events since then had drove it from her mind. She stared at the runes now, as if looking at them hard enough would cause them to morph into English letters. Like a neat pic of the ring verse I saw on a website…she thought, absently, then laughed. She doubted very much the runes on this sword were about to change. But she could still find someone to translate them…Resheathing the sword she unbuckled and slide the sheath back onto her belt, and just in time, it seemed, for she could hear voices outside her door.
Brenna entered the small guesthouse whistling "There is an inn". Wondering idly if anyone had discovered she was gone yet, she ambled down the hallway to her bedroom. Just as she reached the door, She heard Curran’s voice behind her.
“Finally up, are you?” He smiled as he caught up with her. “Good. There’s something important I want to tell you and Deidre both.”
“What is it?” Brenna asked, curious.
“It’s about your blades.” He answered, cryptically. “I’ll say no more just yet. See if you can find her, I’ll meet you in the front room.”
“ok…” Brenna said, half to herself, as he headed off and she opened the door. Waving at Deidre, she giggled to see that her bed still looked like someone was sleeping in it. “G’mornin’ cousin.”
Raising an eyebrow, Deidre gave first her cousin then the lumpy bed a look, then shook her head.
Brenna giggled again and started removing pillows from under the covers. “So when did you get up?”
Deidre shrugged. "I don't know . . . some hours ago." She grinned. "They have a mearas! The stablemaster said his name was Wingfoot . . ." She giggled. "Sound familiar? He really likes potato rolls, too . . ." she looked at her empty pocket abashedly. "I saved you some breakfast, but I'm afraid Wingfoot got most of it . . ."
“Oh, that’s ok.” Brenna said, all too innocently. “I had breakfast with Eldarion.”
"Oh, that's good," returned Deidre, then did a double-take. "Say what? With Eldarion? The Eldarion?" She gaped in disbelief. "That is so not right . . ."
Brenna grinned, and managed to stifle a snicker. "Oh, that's not the half of it. I met him at the training grounds, and we sparred, then he showed me around the city.”
Deidre grinned. "So, what's Minas Tirith like? I saw only the stables . . ." at the word stables her eyes gleamed again and she sighed.
Brenna smiled a little. “It’s amazing…I always imagined how it would look, but everything’s…larger than life, I guess is how I’d put it, I dunno…” she chuckled a little. “the company wasn’t bad either. Anyway, you ready? Curran wants to talk about the swords.”
Deidre suppressed a smile. Curran wants to talk about the swords . . . as nonchalant as ''we need to talk about your report card" . . . I love Middle Earth! she thought to herself. "Sure!" she said aloud. "I have mine right here." She patted the sword that hung on her right side with a familiar pat.
Brenna gave her an odd look. "It's on the wrong side," she said, critically.
Deidre sniffed. "Is not. I'll have you know I favor my left hand." She grinned cheekily at her cousin.
Brenna shrugged, eyes dancing mischeivously as her left hand dropped to Curran’s old blade. “then let’s go!” She said, heading for the front room.
Chapter ELEVEN
Council of Elessar
Eldarion entered the council chamber a moment after the meeting had begun. Aragorn looked at his son. "Eldarion, where have you been?" he asked. "You knew Eomer was to arrive today to speak of the new threat in the south. Why did you wander so far from the Citadel?"
"I am sorry, Father." Eldarion said, looking down. "I was watching the men at their training."
Aragorn nodded slightly as the young prince took his seat on his father's right. Turning back to the others at the table, Aragorn began to speak. "It is a joy to me to see you all back here in Minas Tirith," he began. "it seems too long since last some of you have graced our white walls with your presence, and I find it sad that only the shadow of danger can draw us together. However I do understand that each of us have our tasks and duties we must perform, and even now there are those that fill those spots where we should be -- and so I did not call you idly, but being in need of your council and wisdom…the tidings Lord Kayode brought cannot be ignored. If there is truly a new enemy rising in the south, then we must learn all we can about him. Eomer, some of your Riders have recently returned from an errand in Harad. What news did they bring?"
Eomer shook his head. "Little that can be of any help to our meeting, my lord Aragorn. There was no suspicious news that my men heard of, though the people were surprisingly open in their talk. A new generation has sprung up that has never been under the dominion of the dark lord. I think you have found good allies in the Haradrim, and your efforts in establishing a treaty will not be fruitless. We have got several fine mares from them, too weak and delicate for battle, but with elegant lines and remarkable speed…" He trailed off as his eyes refocused from their previous dreamy contemplation and he smiled sheepishly. "But here, I am boring you with horse-talk and digressing from the purpose at hand." He looked about discerningly. "Where is Lord Kayode, by the way? I wished to talk with him about the bridles used to guide those remarkable Oliphaunts of such fame, and I did expect he would be here in this council."
Aragorn smiled a little and replied, "I'm afraid Lord Kayode had to leave suddenly: one of his principal cities on the coast had been raided -- by pirates, it seems. The news came rather unexpectedly, and he had to beg our leave. He truly cares for the wellbeing of his people. He has been of irreplaceable help in our treaties."
Faramir nodded in agreement. "Indeed he has. But that is strange, that the people of Harad know nothing of the trouble that Lord Kayode told us of." He frowned slightly. "Yet, if the Haradrim were as open in their speech as I gather from your news, my lord Eomer, I cannot see why Lord Kayode was so anxious about this Azraion. Unless the Haradrim leaders have done a remarkable job in hiding the danger from their people, it may be nowhere near as bad as Lord Kayode made it seem."
Aragorn hesitated. "Lord Kayode did not say the ambassador from Azraion made any threats: merely an offer, an invitation to league with him."
Faramir frowned. "Yes, my lord. But men such as I think this Azraion is never merely suggest: they always have a threat backing them if their 'offer' is refused…"
"But how do we know what type of man this Azraion is?" Eowyn broke in. "Do we know his true claim to the throne? Is it legitimate? What is his power? All we know is his name, and that he sent an ambassador to the Lord Kayode to ask for backing in his plans. And we do not even know if his very name is his true name, or merely an alias." She sighed. "I am sorry if I seem to be asking questions for which yet there is no conceivable answer - but how can we make judgments on a situation where we do not know all the odds?”
Eldarion nodded. "I agree." He said, slowly. "All we know about this man is that he calls himself Azraion, that he says he has a claim to the throne, and that he has sent someone to Lord Kayode asking for backing or allegiance. We do not know where he is, what he is doing, what his plans are. Until we know at least one of these, I do not believe we can decide the best course to take."
Eomer looked at Aragorn. "What of the stone, my friend?" he asked. "Could you not discover his location, or his intent, with the stone of Orthanc?"
Sadly, Aragorn shook his head. "Alas, I cannot." He said, with a sigh. "I have tried, but something is blocking me from seeing his location, let alone deciphering his intent. I do not know what it could be, or how it could have been done, all I know is that it has been done, and I know no way around it."
Eldarion looked at his father in amazement. "But how can this be?" He interjected. "This Azraion must be a great wizard that he can block the sight of a palantir - can he be human?"
Aragorn laughed and smiled at Eldarion fondly. "My son, I am not all-powerful, nor all-seeing. There are many ways to limit a man's sight, or to redirect it. A man of strong will and great strength of mind can do so. And I am afraid that is the man we must face."
Azraion looked out over the shipyards. 4 ships, the most the facility could hold, were already taking shape, much to his satisfaction. The recent raid on the nearby city of Houjan had been most helpful in gathering supplies, both for the ships and the men who would be sailing on them. Soon, he would take revenge on those responsible for the Dark Lord's downfall, and take his rightful place on the throne. He smiled to himself as he watched the shipwrights work. Yes, soon they would feel the wrath of a lord of forgotten Numenor returning to take was was rightfully his…one hand fell to the bag at his belt, the bag that held the Ithil-stone. It took a force of will to fight the urge to use it, to see what his enemies were planning. Maybe he could not face the one in the tower yet…but he would. And then they would see that he was noone to be trifled with.
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