The Rohirrim brave the threat that rises from Isengard and sing as they charge into battle, spears and shields bright, iron and steel, hair like flaxen gold. They ride through danger, under the threat of shadow looming from the East. Now a young woman of the Mark watches as the beauty of land and ancient forests darken and decay, and her people grow wary and scared in their fear of the world’s ending.
Orcs have gathered and roam the lands. The border of Rohan is at risk and with fierce dedication the Rohirrim, tasks themselves to protect their way of life. Their banners flutter in the high wind in Edoras, in Aldburg, in Snowbourn and all across the land- the White Horse upon a field of green. A reminder for Mearhe of who she is - together with her people she will stand, facing the darkness of an ancient evil that has taken away her dreams - united by sacrifice, love, and duty.
ALDBURG, ROHAN February T.A. 3011
Mearhe checked on her travel pouch, making sure that she had all that was required for the hunt. She made a count of the arrows in her quiver and secured her bow across her shoulders. She was beginning to train in combat, though she favoured a light one-handed sword best, as a woman, a bow made for quick and quiet assault was still the best choice for her in a time when silence and secrecy matters the most. She secured the scabbard of her sword to her horse's saddle, and then checked over the two daggers to make sure they were sharp and clean and slotted them into the sides of her belt.
Holding the reins with a gloved hand, she rode beneath the trees when something made her halt her horse. The sound of creaking leather melted into the sounds of the forest, the hoofs of her mount muffled and muted by the snow that blanketed the earth. With a glance behind her, Mearhe slowly took off her gloves and reached behind her back to grasp one arrow from the quiver, slowly fitting it to the bow that hung from her saddle.
Upwind and just a few paces from her, illuminated by the light of the first sun cascading through the bare trees, a white deer was grazing for food undisturbed. She was young, and not very big beneath her white pelt, unaware she was being watched. Mearhe took a silent breath as she raised her bow, drawing back the tense string in a silent motion, her eyes fixed on the peaceful animal.
The deer looked up in her direction. She released her breath and the arrow at the same time, watching it flying through the air and missing the mark, embedding itself on the trunk of the tree next to the deer. Startled, the animal turned quickly and with a few jumps, she disappeared from view. Mearhe smiled " It was not meant to be." she whispered.
She came from the trees onto the plains of Rohan at a good canter, her horse happy to be free from the forest and branches, and she made her way to the hills of the Eastfold and home. Memories of Léofwine riding next to her came flooding back. Her lord with his blond hair blowing out behind him in the wind as he and his wife rode together side by side.
Moments of their life would come to her sometime, bringing back memories of happier times, and bringing comfort to her grief. She rode towards Aldburg, the ground sloping upwards below her horse's hooves, drawing her home. The lights of the halls glowed warmly in the twilight as she rode to the stables and dismounted, turning her attention to the horse, carefully removing the saddle and bridle.
"We did well today, Freolofe...did we not ? No kill, but a good ride and nice memories." she hummed to the stallion. She smiled as she ran a brush over the horse's flank. "We must go out again soon for a ride...I am sure you’ll like that." The horse lowered his head in a sign of approval. "Then we shall Freo, then we shall…" she whispered while taking a red apple out of her bag and feeding it to him.
It was past midnight when Mearhe was finally back in her room. Here she had known what happiness and love meant, and here she would still feel safe, even though the room and the bed now appeared much larger than before. Something, or rather someone was missing. Still its walls were strong and decorated with rich tapestries she had weaved herself depicting Rohan’s history of her people and her family.
She reached out and carefully drew her sword out, the blade sang a clear pure note as it left its sheath, as though relieved to be set free and it glimmered in the light of the candles.
Mearhe, daughter of Éodain , stood strong and straight again, bright sword in hand, head held high "This is the way!"
