'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...
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Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? Where is the helm and the hauberk, And the bright hair flowing? Where is the hand on the harpstring, And the bright fire glowing? Where is the Spring and the harvest, And the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow; The days have gone down in the West, behind the hills into shadow. Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning, Or behold the flowing years from the sea returning?
- Lament for the Rohirrim, J.R.R. Tolkien.
"Théadain?"
A large hand and a gentle rumble permeated her blissful fog of sleep. The sound of her father's voice.
"Théa?"
Now the heavy hand on her shoulder shook her gently, drawing a quiet groan of protest as she sought to cling to her rapidly fleeing dream, the fingers of her mind closing futilely around the already forgotten images as they slipped away like smoke.
"Théa, it is time."
Now she released the dream, flung it away from her as her eyes opened at her father's words, frowning into the darkness of her bedchamber before remembering what she had waited for. What it was that had made it so very difficult to fall asleep as her stomach had fluttered and twisted in anxious anticipation.
"Come child, or we will miss it." Her father's hand took her arm, guiding her out of the warm tangle of woollen blankets and furs that furnished her bed and leaving her to be wrapped in the cool air that waited beyond. Even in the darkness, she could hear the fond smile in his voice as she scrambled to tug her boots onto her feet, grimacing as the stiffened leather pinched her toes. Not for the first time, she absently hoped that her feet had finally stopped growing, the chore of breaking in new boots having lost its shine years ago.
As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she reached for the heavy cloak her father held in offering to her, tugging it around her shoulders to cover her nightdress and tucking her unruly copper curls back under the hood.
"Can we go now?" She breathed eagerly, too wakeful now for sleep to hold any slur over her words. Looking up into the eyes of the King, she smiled at the same restlessness and anticipation she saw reflected there.
His gentle, guiding hand on her back urged her through the echoing Golden Hall, the scent of peat still smouldering in the central hearth hanging thickly in the air as they passed through the doors.
The city of Edoras was soundless. Blanketed with that heavy silence that can only be brought by those peaceful hours that chase the darkest watches of the night. Only the eyes of the stars were open in the glimmering heavens above, keeping vigil over those that had closed theirs below.
