'Where now the horse and the rider?'
Prequel to 'Rain on the Mountain'.
Before the storm clouds of war gathered.
Before the growing shadow in the East took form.
Before the Riddermark knew the choking hold of a wizard's malice.
Before the illegitim...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chapter 2
"Théa, do not stray far here."
The low voice of the King carried softly over to his daughter as she absently let her mount wander from the party of riders, the sound almost lost to the tripping mumbles of the shallow river that flowed against their path. The sound of the Bruinen River seemed amplified the further upstream they had travelled, the musical whispers of the rushing water echoing off the high sides of the rocky valley that rose around them.
Théadain nodded to confirm she had heard her father's words, still allowing Folca to amble across the shallow ford, picking his way over the loose stones carried by the river, down from its source high in the Misty Mountains. He seemed eager to cool his hooves in the babbling flow, undoubtably feeling the strain of their long journey of many weeks. For a creature raised upon soft, rolling grasslands, this world of jagged mountains and hard stone was as much of a shock to him as it had been to his rider.
Their pace had been slow, these past few days, picking their way along awkward paths as they followed the river Northwards. Even with the few experienced herdsmen they had brought, it had been no easy feat to guide the twenty fine young horses they had brought this far. Still, Théadain was not anxious to rush on. Each step that carried her further from her home brought with it something new; dense forests of pine whose sharp scent could clear her mind with a single breath, peaks of stone that climbed to heights beyond the comprehension of her young mind, shining white in the morning sun and glowing an ethereal blue as evening crept in. Suddenly, the lands beyond the Riddermark that she had only seen scrawled upon maps or heard of in stories and song became real before her eyes.
Amidst these new experiences, her voice was called upon in ways it had not been before. In the evenings when they made their camp, her father would summon her to where he and Gamling – the redheaded captain of his guard – looked over weatherworn maps of the land they traversed. If a choice between paths was to be made, the King would ask his daughter's opinion, his keen blue eyes watching her carefully as she traced routes with her fingertips, smiling as she voiced her thoughts aloud, justifying her reasoning as she had oft seen him do before.
She had a quick mind, his daughter. Théoden had always known it, but here in lands that were unfamiliar to her, he could see her making use of her sense and instincts in ways she had never needed to within the safe borders of Rohan.
Here though, on the path to the Hidden Valley, experience would serve better than instinct. Théoden remembered well, riding this path with his father many years ago. The tribute of horses was a tradition upheld since the elder days. Whilst the people of Rohan rarely bothered with those beyond the boundaries of their land, his father, Thengel, had ensured that his son had understood the importance of acknowledging the old alliances between men and elves. In darker times, their races had stood shoulder to shoulder, and whilst generations had come and gone in the World of Men, the elves that had seen such times pass before their own eyes remembered the alliances only too well.
