Compos Mentis [Rávamë's Bane: Book 2]

Part I : Chapter 7 ~ Monsters & Men

We rode hard, which really does sound a lot more epic — and dirtier — that it actually is.

When most people think of riding a horse at top speed over rolling grasslands, they usually imagine lot of gorgeous panoramic shots, amazing views, combined with an uplifting soundtrack, and even a bit of dramatic hair billowing for added effect.

What it actually involves is a lot of hanging on for dear life to an uncomfortably hard saddle — or in my case, the man sitting in front of me in the saddle — and trying to ignore the cramp forming in your legs as you try to stay upright on a creature three times stronger than you as it thunders across uneven ground at break-neck speed. I'm pretty sure I'd never been less epic or sexy in my life; with my arms locked around Aragorn's waist tighter than a corset, hair in my face, and my legs and butt so sore from bouncing around on a saddle for hours I was likely going to be walking funny for days after.

When at last we began to slow down, I would have moaned aloud in relief if my mouth hadn't been full of my own windswept hair. I turned and indelicately spat it out as best I could, blushing in embarrassment when I heard Gandalf chuckling heartily. I was made to feel only a bit better when I heard Gimli grunting in equal frustration, having to suffer both the pain of riding as a passenger, and the indecency of clinging to an Elf for over four hours to avoid being thrown off.

Resisting the urge to groan and grumble along with him, I sat up on Hasufel's back and caned my neck to see over Aragorn's shoulder. He noticed, and shifted subtly to allow me to see past him more easily.

Less than a mile away in the distance sat what I could only describe as a tall rocky hill in the shape of a cresting wave, rising out of the surrounding grassy plains like a lone dwarf mountain. On its slopes sat carved wooden houses and buildings, most of which were raised on stilts to give the appearance that they were half-floating up the side of the hill. A single road snaked up around the incline, coiling between the houses, shops, and stables, until it finally came to a stop at a far grander looking wood and stone building at the peak — its thatched roof and carved walls glinting dark gold in the morning sunshine. The seat of the king of Rohan, I presumed.

It was a strangely roguish looking city to behold considering the last traces of civilisation I'd seen had been the towering tree spires of Lothlórien, but it was a welcome sight nonetheless after going so long in the wild. It might have even been a happy one, were I not able to clearly see even from half a mile away that the entire city was encircled by an off-putting wooden wall, complete with watch towers, sharped wooden spikes atop the fences, and an easily closable gate gawking open to us like the mouth of a trap.

Bizarrely, very few guards though, I noted.

"Edoras, and the Golden Hall of Meduseld," Gandalf confirmed what I'd already been thinking, coming to a stop beside me along with Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli on their horses. "There dwells Theoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Theoden is strong. Be careful what you say. We are unlikely to find any kind of welcome here."

He gave me a pointed look in particular, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Instead I just mimed locking my lips closed, and tossing the key over my shoulder as we took off down the hill again towards the gates.

It took barely any time at all to ride down the slope and make our way up to the entrance of Edoras, but my poor backside felt every bounce and bump as we went. No one stopped us as we slowed to a trot through the gates with Gandalf and Shadowfax leading the way. No guards manned the towers, and only a few rather bedraggled looking ones eyed us with suspicious curiosity from the walls and streets as we passed beneath the gates.