Liscë halted his horse and tugged on the reigns of Limiriel’s enormous grey stallion. His own rowan mare shrank back as the giant horse came to a restless stop next to her. Chomping on his bit, the horse threw its head back with a snort. His rider was slumped over, tied into her saddle with leather twine. Unbound blonde braids spilled over his neck, tanging with his black mane.
Their interrogation had been short. The Uruk had begun spitting curses at the hooded elf as soon as he awoke. But even he could not help the terrified shriek upon Limiriel’s return. The sodden, softly gleaming figure out of his nightmares had knelt with a dagger at his throat and whispered in his ear a tongue none should know. Liscë’s could not help a shiver of unease, could not shake the feeling of lingering darkness for hours to come. The scream of horror from the Uruk that broke the night haunted him still. Limiriel patiently waited for the gibbering to stop before she neatly lobbed off the creature’s head.
“Some of those Uruks were from Mordor.”
Liscë’s eyes widened, his heart quickened.
“Others from beyond the borders. They scouted ahead for a force moving north.”
To where?
“Orthanc. Perhaps they mount an attack on Curumo…” She frowned as she wiped black blood onto a scrap of linen. “Our journey may lead us into the lands of Men more than I had hoped.”
Liscë could only imagine how much it pained her to have to venture further into Rohan rather than skirt their dwellings and push south.
“We ride for Snowbourne.”
Two days later, and dawn was breaking. Dewdrops shimmered in the first light, and Liscë took a moment to enjoy the smell of damp grass and the cleanliness of the morning. These lands of the Horse Lords were the first he saw on his journey from the South, and they held a special place for him. Never had he encountered green stretching as far as the eye could see; an ocean of grassland that made his heart soar. It was, in some small way, a triumph of his freedom. His dark eyes softened as he stared at Limiriel for a long moment, then reached out and shook her shoulder.
She woke with a start, dagger in hand. Her horse nickered, stomping the ground in displeasure. His rider immediately reached down to stroke his neck, putting her dagger away before pushing her hair out of her face.
Snowbourne on the horizon, my lady.
She grunted as she braided her hair and swept it up on top of her head. Liscë was still not certain how her hair stayed there, but it always did. He suspected weapons were involved.
Limiriel unwound the twine from her waist and took her reigns. With a yawn, she nudged her horse into a trot, Liscë trailing behind. It has been many years since they had come this way together. Limiriel had been more reckless, more hateful, less wise. He remembered waking up to a raging fire where a village had once stood, his saviour grinning manically as she walked back to their camp beyond the woods. He vomited upon the realization that she was a vortex of horror, not the angel who has breathed life into him. Harder still was the conciliation that perhaps she was both…
But that has been a long, long time ago; at least by the reckoning of Men. He watched as she put her hood up, hearing the whisper of a snarled curse in the dwarven language as they stepped through the outer gates of Snowbourne. The sleepy guards hailed them, and Limiriel raised an arm in acknowledgement. They headed to large, well-kept stables, where the keeper snored in a chair outside. Limiriel took her spear and hesitated before prodding the man with the butt of it.
“Ho-Aaaah!”
The man toppled over and scrambled to his feet, sword out. Limiriel slid from her horse, unfazed. She pulled the cover from the lower half of her face and stared down at the man, holding out her reigns.
He stared; slack jawed at the blonde elf. The towering shadow glared down until he gathered himself and coughed.
“Sorry miss, don’ of’en see yer type ‘round here.” He coughed as he put his sword back.
“The fact that you have seen ‘my type’ before is hard to believe, Man.” Limiriel raised an eyebrow as he took their reigns.
“I was stationed ou’ in the Limeligh’. Now an’ again one of yer folk ‘d come out there.” He smiled a crooked grin and nodded to Liscë as he led their horses away.
Limiriel covered her face as they turned to the town.
Why have we come here?
They had passed a dozen villages on their ride here, any one of them a more likely target for travelling Uruk than a city this size. And yet she had not even stopped to gather information on the road, much less approach those dwellings.
She continued in silence, and Liscë had to content himself with a huff of frustration. Blue smoke rose from chimneys and quiet noises began in the homesteads as they made their way. He walked into Limiriel’s back when she abruptly stopped in front of a door at the end of a long, empty laneway. The house was larger than most, with huge stables stretching out behind it. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, unimpressed, then knocked on the door.
There was clattering, loud voices, and the sound of swearing before a huge, bearded man threw back the door.
“Aye, Dillhead, I’ll have your horses- Oh!”
He paused before laughing heartily and rushing forward. Limiriel rolled her eyes and clasped his arm in greeting.
“Hail, Earoth.”
“It’s been some time since I last saw you, shieldmaiden.”
Bright blue eyes turned to Liscë. “You bring a guest?”
“My companion and friend – Liscë.”
The small elf waved his hands, and Earoth looked at Limiriel in confusion. She flashed him a half-smile.
“He is a mute. He says he is honoured to meet a Man I do not wish to kill on sight.”
Earoth snorted with laughter as Liscë’s hands flew in protest, and she laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“He is pleased to meet you.”
He had actually said a great many other things to Limiriel, none of them polite.
The Man laughed and ushered them into his home.
“Who are you bringing into my house at this hour, you beast?” A woman brandishing a frying pan filled with eggs and meat met them inside. Her eyes widened and her face immediately broke out into a huge smile.
“Lady Limiriel!”
Liscë stared as the woman handed her husband the frying pan and came over to hug the elf.
Limiriel stood immobile, looking scandalized and horrified. When the woman stepped back, she coughed and nodded a greeting.
“Did you need another horse? It’s only been five years since we saw you, but we were very lucky and Heml had some very big foals a few years ago.”
She took her pan and led them all into the cozy kitchen, where she and her husband busied themselves with plates for their guests.
To Liscë, Limiriel, still a head and some taller than Earoth, looked out of place sitting at the low table. He watched in wonder as she stretched out her legs, and like a cat claiming its space, inexplicably relaxed into the setting.
“I’m here to talk to your husband, Meleth.” Her tone changed at Earoth sat down, shoving a plate of food in front of his guests. “There were Uruks above the Falls of Rauros. They were scouts for a larger force moving from Mordor to the Fords of Isen. They skirted the lands of Men, hoping to pass through unnoticed. They were not the first party to have come through. I fear for Isengard.”
Earoth’s eyes narrowed.
“I have heard rumours of small bands of orcs moving in the night across the Eastfold. But people do not wish to believe evil is on their doorstep. ‘Nothing more than a shadow in the night’.”
“It appears that these bands now fear detection. They are skirting the river and following Fangorn’s edge to the Ford. Is there no one who could be sent to watch the Ford – if only to allay my fears.”
Pensively scratching at his beard, Earoth looked at his wife. “Not many garrisons in the Gap. And we only send horses to one, eh, Meleth?”
“We’re about due for a delivery up there. Could send a dozen horses with one of the trustworthy boys. Have him ask a few questions, suggest a double watch?”
Limiriel looked between the two of them expressionlessly before nodding.
“Very well. I will be back in a month’s time.”
She pushed her empty plate away and stood.
“And I would like a new horse for the road home. It appears that I may need a new warsteed.”
Meleth stood and grinned cheerfully. “Aye, my lady.”
Limiriel wrinkled her nose and turned to walk out, but Liscë caught Meleth’s eye and she winked at him. Her smile was positively wicked.
It pleased him that there were others who deemed it their responsibility to make sure that Limiriel felt deeply annoyed by life itself. He could not help a broad smile and a deep bow to the waving couple before they made their way back to the stables.
If I may as-
“I will kill you with my own hands if you breathe a word of them to anyone.”
They walked in uncomfortable silence for a few moments.
How do you know these Men?
She closed her eyes and exhaled.
“Meleth’s sires fought in Dagorlad. They proved loyalty and trust. I… owe their family a debt.”
Liscë looked up at her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. He had not been at her side in the War of the Ring; he was not a soldier.
“They also… have a special stock of horses that are big enough for the likes of me and Sereon. It is… a necessary evil.”
Limiriel growled and pulled her hood around her face.
Silence blanketed them as they retrieved their horses and turned south.
Liscë had learned something of his companion. He scrutinized Limiriel as she hummed softly, occasionally muttering a word or two in Quenya as she absently led her horse off the road and into the grassland. It angered and frustrated him that there were no easy answers, no white and black, no right and wrong. Limiriel had taught him from their first meeting that there was only grey. And he had long ago become grey himself; cloaked in grey inside and out. It was his color now, of his own doing.
As the sun shook itself from the horizon, illuminating the world with startling brightness, Liscë stared at his darkened shadow. Perhaps, it was only in the light that greyness turned to black… With a blink looked to Limiriel’s back.
Perhaps, it was why he chose to live in the dark.
