The Life of a Stable Hand

Memories

"Alana?" Aragorn called as he entered the seemingly empty stables. "I know you are here."

"Over here," Alana answered, knowing he would find her anyway.

Aragorn made his way over to the stall holding Alana's chestnut mare. The girl sat huddled in the corner on a square bale of hay.

"Mind if I join you?" Aragorn asked.

"The hay is scratchy," Alana said, trying to hide her recent tears.

"I have braved worse," Aragorn replied, smiling warily.

Alana sighed and nodded, knowing she couldn't drive him away. He sat down next to her.

"Sorry I ran off," Alana apologized.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Aragorn reassured. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" Alana asked.

"It would be hard to say no," he said. He could tell she had been holding in something for a long time. It was destroying her, from the inside. She needed to talk before she did something drastic. She was only thirteen, after all.

"Fine," she said. "It happened four years ago."

...

"I'm going to spend the night at Mae's house. Do you want to come?" Alena asked her sister.

"No. Mae's mean," Alana answered. "Besides, Father is taking me riding on Myra tomorrow morning."

"Ok. Your loss," Alena replied. Alana rolled her eyes at her sister's antics.

Alena left soon after, and dinner that night was very quiet. The girls' father looked very grim.

"Father, what is wrong?" asked Micah, Alana's older brother by eight years.

"Wormtongue accused me of working against the king, this morn," their father answered.

"King Thèoden must know he is lying!" Micah exclaimed. "You would never work against him! You have always been faithful to the king!" The boy had recently become very distressed over the lies of Grima Wormtongue. Especially when they were about his family.

"King Thèoden is not the same man he used to be," their father said calmly. "He has changed, and for the worse, I fear. You children need to be careful now when you leave the house. Be watchful what you say. Try to stay unnoticed. Understand?"

"Yes, father," Micah and Alana answered in unision.

"Ok, now go to bed. You will need your rest," he commanded the children.

Yes father," they answered again.

Micah picked up Alana, who protested, saying, "Micah, I'm nine years old!"

"You're still small, just like a baby," Micah answered, laughing as he dropped her on her bed. "And I still have to protect my baby sisters."

"I'm not a baby, anymore!" Alana said, trying to hide her laughter.

"You are to me," Micah wispered, putting his forehead against hers. "Goodnight, Lan." He kissed her cheek.

"Goodnight, Mymy," she wispered back, using the nickname she gave him before she could say his full name.

Micah then left her room and headed for his own. Little did he know, he would not be there long.

Alana awoke in the middle of the night, barely able to breathe. Looking around, she saw fire and thick black smoke near the door of her room. She ran out into the hall, stumbling as she gasped for clean air. She leaned against a door for support, but fell to the ground as it swung open, not having been closed all the way. The air was knocked out of her lungs when she landed on her back, and she fought for breath. She screamed as fire licked at her left leg, catching on the hem of her nightgown.

"Father!" she cried. "Micah! Help!"

Tears streamed down her face as she found herself unable to get up. The burning on her leg was unbearable. In that moment, she wanted to die. To join her mother, who had died at her birth, where there was no pain; no suffering.

She heard her brother's voice suddenly, calling her name. She tried to call back to him, but her lungs filled with smoke, and all she could do was cough.

"Alana," Micah wispered, now kneeling beside her. He stomped out the fire on the bottom of the nightgown. He then picked her up bridal style, and ran for the exit. She continued to cough into his chest. "Alana, stay with me," he begged.

He ran out into their front yard, and behind him the old house collapsed, sealing their father in a firey tomb. Micah looked up from Alana with tear-filled eyes and into the face of Grima Wormtongue, whom they had only ever seen from a distance.

"This is the price your father pays for treason," Wormtongue snarled. "Let it be a lesson to all."

Micah fell to his knees, laying Alana down gently on the grass, neither of them finding the strenth to stand. "My father was innocent," he wispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke.

Their neighbors took Alana to the Houses of Healing, but Wormtongue insisted Micah, who had only a few minor burns, be taken to the palace and treated there. By Grima himself.

A few nights later, Alana, who could barely stand on her own, snuck out of the Houses of Healing after her sister had fallen asleep, using anything she could find as a support system. It was the middle of the night. She quietly entered the palace, slipping past unconcious gaurds, and to the room her brother was being held in.

She sat down gratefully on the side of Micah's bed, looking down at him. He looked worse than ever. He had cuts and bruises all over his arms and legs, as if he had been tortured. It occurred to her then, that Grima Wormtongue had done this. Instead of treating Micah's wounds, he was killing the boy. Tears filled her eyes once more. No one deserved what was happening to Micah, him least of all those she knew.

She bent down over her brother and kissed his cheek. "I love you, Mymy. Thank you for always protecting me," she wispered. He didn't stir. Not wanting to wake him, she shakily stood up.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps could be heard coming towards the door. Not wanting to be found, she hid in the cabinets across the room and sat there as still and quiet as she could, barely even breathing as the door to the room opened.

"Wake up," said Wormtongue's gruff voice, in a tone she had never heard before.

Alana heard Micah's breathing quicken. He was awake. "Where are my sisters?" he asked hoarsely.

"In the Houses of Healing." Grima answered. "Watching over each other day and night, since they no longer have you to do that for them."

"I will always protect them," Micah replied stubbornly.

"How?" Wormtongue questioned. "You cannot even protect yourself." Alana could hear the smirk in his voice. "I am through with you, anyhow. People are beginning to ask questions, and that is something I cannot have."

Staring through a crack in the wood of the cabinet door, Alana saw Grima take out a knife and stab it into her brother's chest and leave the room without another word.

"Micah," Alana wispered, leaving her hiding place to rush to her brother's side. But she was too late. He was gone before she reached him. Not long after, Able, the master of the stables, came in to take away the body. He looked sadly at the girl, but didn't say a word. She again felt a longing to join her mother. She could. Easily. But then Alena would be all alone. She vowed then to do everything in her power to protect her sister, like Micah had protected them.

...

"I am very sorry, Alana," Aragorn said quietly when the girl had finished speaking. He was shocked she had opened up to him, but knew now that she had desperately needed someone to talk to. She had lost everything that night. Including her easy, child-like trust of others. She was still only a child, after all.