How did it come to this?
Loyal to her family, her lands and her people, Théadain, the illegitimate daughter of Théoden, King of Rohan, has little concern for the world that lies beyond her familiar grasslands. When all that she loves is threatened...
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Chapter 1
"Théadain!"
The breathless call of her name was lost to the thundering of hooves against the earth, the relentless, pounding sound matching the elated thrumming of her heart as she sat tall in her saddle. Loosening her reins to allow the bay stallion beneath her to race in a full gallop across the open plain, the young Queen of Gondor did not even try to hold back the carefree laugh that was pulled from her lips as the wind whipped her hair around her head like a cloud of fire. The air itself seemed sweet this afternoon, still clinging to the lingering chill of winter even as the breeze rolling down from the mountains carried a little of the warmth of spring.
Cresting a small hill, Théadain smiled as she heard her name called once more, at last relenting and gathering up Folca's reins to slow him to a gentle trot. Turning him in a wide circle, she cast her eye over the wide expanse of the Pelennor Fields that stretched before her. It had only been half a year since she and her mount had first galloped across the plain, the horns of war at their backs and a sword in her hand. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the clamour of battle, the sound of thousands of horses charging towards the city under siege. Even with her eyes open, the evidence of battle was still visible to the trained eye - the grass still yellowed in some places after being trampled by countless feet and months spent trying to grow beneath the shadow of Mordor, fading scorch-marks where the pyres of their enemies had burned. There had not been time for new growth to take root before the winter closed in, but perhaps now as the milder weather returned, the plains that had once been used as farmland could be restored. In the distance, her tawny gaze could easily pick out the position of a small patch of determined green. The grass there had been swift to grow anew, atop the mound where her father's horse had been buried, marking the spot where the late King of the Riddermark had breathed his last as his daughter and niece had looked on. Perhaps in time it would blend into its surroundings, but for now, Snowmane's Howe stood out as starkly against the yellowed fields as the events surrounding it did in her memories.
Shaking her head to dispel the haunting image, her attention was drawn once more by the sound of approaching hooves, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched the horse and rider that had been pursuing her slow to match her pace.
"Théadain are you trying to get me in trouble?"
The winded question of her companion prompted another laugh as Théadain turned to look to her young captain.
"You worry too much, Folhelm." She scolded fondly as he drew up his dappled grey mare beside her; "And you ride too slowly."
"I think you'll find I ride at an appropriate pace." The man of Rohan huffed, pushing his fair hair back from his eyes as he caught his breath, casting a wary glance over her shoulder; "The pace the King insisted we keep to."
"The King also worries too much." Théadain snorted, even as she followed his gaze to the looming shape of the white city that rose up before them. "And unless one of us tells him, he doesn't need to know how far or how fast I have been riding." She cast a pointed look back to her friend as he pursed his lips in disapproval; "Folhelm it is bad enough my husband has you shadowing my every move, I don't need you to fuss over me like a mother hen."
