Chapter 90: The legend of the mysterious woman
Fourth age.
They said that a woman rode alongside the King, her elvish cloak flowing behind her. It was a strange thing, really, to have a feminine presence within the army. Especially as they rode to their death. But beneath the cowl, her hazel eyes showed no fear.
No one knew of her origins, and speculations ran freely amongst the men. Some thought her a sibling to the King, for they conversed closely and spent much time together. Other wondered if she had come from Valinor to help them. An emissary, to ensure victory when hope dwindled in this endless war. Some even thought her one of the Istar disappeared long ago.
The first time her cowl fell over her shoulders, the rumours amplified. Never before had they seen such colour! Like strands of fire, her hair danced between brown and red. Different from the rusty blond that could be found in Rohan, deeper than the hottest of blazes, more fiery than the darkest shades from Gondor.
Most of her smiles were saved for the King and his closest circle. To the men she barely spoke. Not out of spite, or feigned hauteur, for her eyes were gentle. Yet, she harboured a cool demeanour, not unkind, but icy enough to keep any soldier at bay. But to a few that were lucky to be addressed by her, she showed only kindness. The distance she kept only betrayed her noble ascendancy.
The legendary woman wore elvish clothes, diverted from their original form for they were created for males. But it suited her rather well, the tunics and breeches, embroidered finely, enhancing the glow of her skin. Atop her clothes, a leather armour hugged her body. An armour that the elf Prince shared with her, and armour crafted by the elves. She wore it with pride, and no one dared thinking how inappropriate it was to see a woman clad in a man's garments. It certainly didn't bother the King, nor Prince Imrahil, nor the newly appointed King of Rohan. She rode with them, Princes, Kings and wizard alike, proud and strong.
Her demeanour was gracious, although one could detect a discreet limping in her gait. A wound from the direst of battles where she had saved, according to the legend, the lives of countless knights and the King of Rohan himself! Sometimes, she discarded her cloak, and sparred with the elf, or King Elessar. And much to the soldiers' awe, she handled herself. She moved with the grace of a cat, her feet as light as a breeze. But there was, aside the elvish techniques, something so unknown that the men couldn't help but wonder.
Some sort of surrealistic energy seemed to lead her blade, something they had never come across, soldiers and knights alike. It was, for sure, a testimony of her foreign origins. Her feet were agile, and quick to strike. Her fists held more power than it should have for a young lady.
And yet, she could not measure to the greatest warriors of all. For King Elessar and the Prince of Greenwood were a wonder to watch. And the dwarf, the lady, the hobbit, the wizard and the King or Rohan sat in the grass, and guffawed in amusement while the elven twins sparred. But the rest of the army was struck speechless. Hope renewed in their heart, for how could they lose the battle when they were led by such incredible warriors! The swan knights themselves, admitted that never before they had witnessed such skills.
The lady was forgotten, for a little while. Until the men noticed her closeness with the Prince of Greenwood. The elf stole her one night, and walked away from the army only to return the next morning. In the night, the glow of the elf was a beacon to the sentinels, his light pure and ethereal to counteract the darkness of Mordor.
And every night, the legendary lady took his hand, and he slid his arm around her waist, and held her close, their form disappearing in the darkness. At last, the latest days before the black gate appeared on the horizon, the lady accepted to ride with her beloved. Her eyes sometimes closed, a smile upon her lips, as her body sagged against the eldar. If her burden was a strain, he never showed it. His eyes, of the deepest blue, never shone with anything other than contentment.
She was some legendary lady indeed! Close to Kings and beloved of an elvish Prince! But the matter of her origins and whereabouts was a mystery unsolved. Some remember seeing her on the Pelennor fields, arriving on the boats that saved Minas Tirith from his doom with the Dunedains. Some of the Swan knights testified that she had saved them, working alongside King Elessar, exuding light and strength for him to perform his healing.
But none of it was ever confirmed, nor denied. And it never would, for it said she was slain on the battlefield. And they said that when she fell, and her friends found her on the brink of death, she smiled at the elf, and laid a hand on his cheek. "Until we meet again." That was her last breath, and she disappeared in a great flash of blue energy, like the Istar that she probably was.
And her death brought great sorrow indeed, to the King himself and his close friends who could not bury her body. But most of all, the elf staggered from the grief, and his promise on was the only thing that kept him alive. And perhaps, the unusual friendship of the dwarf beside him. Yet, from this day, his glow faded.
And when King Elessar was crowned, he lifted his eyes to the sky, and prayed for her.
Or so they say.
Weekly Power Status
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