Lheuwen's story continues from here.
♦
Time passed.
It was now many moons since Lheuwen had been dwelling among the Ox-clan of Dunland again, her mother’s kin. From time to time she still returned to Bree-land, but her visits grew shorter and further between. More and more, she found that she missed her lost-and-found kin, her blood-family, even more than she missed her friends and comrades among The Black Steel when she was away.
Her relationship with Cadvan, a young Ox-clan man she had remembered from time spent here when she was young, fluctuated. In the first heat of their reunion, Cadvan had swiftly become devoted to her; but for reasons neither of them could quite place, she had found herself unable to mirror his desire to settle down. Once or twice she had used an overdue trip to Bree to avoid him. After she had returned the second time, they had fought. No, Lheuwen had not seen her old beau while she in the North. Yes, maybe she and Cadvan should agree to some time officially apart.
It had all come as something of a relief to her - and, she rather suspected, to Cadvan too. She still very much liked him, and enjoyed his company, but in fact he had only ever made up a small part of her time in Dunland.
For at last the ice had thawed with her own family. Her grandfather, she assumed, had fiercely crushed any misgivings that had been voiced. Although getting on in years, his authority remained considerable. Everyone made an effort. They accepted her as she was. There was always work to do - work of one’s hands: the kind of thing she was good at and enjoyed; and much of it communal and good-natured. She wanted this, she told herself - the routine, the belonging. She was busy, and often happy. Perhaps mostly happy.
But Lheuwen had first been cut off from these people when she was still only very young. Most of the time she managed to forget it; and when she did, they did too - with the possible exception of her grandfather, Cunvawr, who she knew still in large part blamed himself. No matter that she had fully forgiven him long ago. She knew that was true - she could feel it in her heart.
So this - this hardness, like a pebble within her chest - what was it? That thing inside her that made her want to get up and run. Like she couldn’t really be here. Couldn’t stay.
“Lheu?”
Lheuwen jumped, and looked up. Essult drew back her hand, uncertainly.
“Are you alright?”
They were indoors, beside one of the hearths in her grandfather’s warm, expansive roundhouse. Outside, the sun was setting. Lheu had been sat alone beside the dying embers of the fire.
“Oh - Ess! Yes… yes, I’m fine.”
“Sorry if I startled you.”
Ess plonked down beside her, cracking a hazelnut. She offered Lheu one. Lheu declined. Ess shrugged.
“You’re doing that thing again,” she observed confidently.
“What-”
“You know. Going deep inside yourself. Groping around as if you - I don’t know, like you'd dropped a gold chain in the river.”
Ess cronched down on her nut, as if to emphasise her point.
“It’s weird.”
Lheuwen smiled. Ess could be forthright, but she wasn’t judgemental - and was fundamentally looking out for her. It didn’t feel like an attack.
“You got me.”
Ess swivelled around to look at her face-on.
“Lheu. You belong here. I can feel it.”
Ess took Lheu’s hand, and laid it on her own breastbone.
“Right here. We all feel it. You know that, right?”
Lheuwen felt a surge of warmth for her friend. She wrapped her in a tight hug.
“Ess. You’re the best. I know. Thank you.”
Ess hugged her back… but nevertheless felt a little foolish.
“Oh. So it’s… not that?”
Lheu gave her a final squeeze before letting go.
“No. No, I don’t think so. Not any more, at least… maybe never.”
Ess didn’t interrupt. She could feel Lheu was still figuring it out… even as she spoke.
“I think… I think maybe… it’s older. That’s how it feels - just, old. And… angry?”
Ess watched her. Her eyes were closed. She didn’t sound angry at all. More like… detached. Almost like she was dreaming. But she could see flickers of it in her face: a snarl pulling at her lip, at the corners of her eyes.
“... why are you angry, Lheu. What is it?”
Ess knew that Lheuwen had sometimes had a fraught relationship with her feelings. She knew that during her exile, many years, Lheuwen had for a time lost the ability to feel emotions at all. It had been a slow process to rediscover them. So Ess now regretted teasing her about it when she had come over.
For a second longer Lheuwen's brow worked. Then she sighed and her face relaxed.
“I don’t know.”
She leant over, resting her head on Ess’s shoulder. Ess put her arm around her, letting her know she was there. She didn’t say anything for a moment. Ess wasn’t certain, but she had a feeling Lheuwen actually did know exactly what she was angry about.
She didn’t push it. Lheuwen would tell her when she was ready.
After a while, Lheu sat up again, briefly brushing at one cheek. Ess waited. When Lheuwen spoke, her voice was lower and quieter than usual, and she didn’t make eye contact.
“There… there’s something I think I need to do. I don’t... want to do it alone. But it’s too much to ask anyone to come with me.”
Ess nodded slowly. Cautiously, she asked:
“What is it?”
Now Lheuwen looked up at her.
“I need to break into Isengard.”
♦
Since the War of the Ring, a dread legend had come over the Wizard’s Vale: word had reached Dunland from Rohan that the new King of Gondor had given over the valley to the Ents, a race of giants who dwelt in Fangorn Forest.
Lheuwen had grown up in the Stonedeans, a region of West Rohan that lay close by the borders of Fangorn Forest. Although the Ents were in a sense the stuff of tales, their existence had never really been in doubt: Lheuwen didn’t personally know anyone who had ever seen one; but everyone had heard of someone who had.
While the Men of Rohan traditionally tended to fear the Ents, the very oldest tales of the Old Calenard Deansfolk took a more complex view: they were terrifying, yes; but if you respected the forest, carried no axe, and stayed away from the most dark and twisted groves, folk tended to make it out alive. More recently, a number of Dunlendings - mostly those who had been in the service of Saruman - had actually witnessed the sacking of Isengard by these mythic creatures.
Lheuwen had never seen one. But she had certain reasons for believing they might not be as fearful as some folk had related. Firstly: they had brought down the liar Saruman, who had filled Dunland with orcs and wrought devastation upon Rohan. Secondly: if rumour was true that the King had granted them the valley, this suggested that they might be reasonable - might even be capable of speech.
So this was the pitch Lheuwen made to Ess - and Cadvan, who insisted on hearing the whole thing over again from Lheuwen after Ess let it slip later on. For if those two things were true - that they were enemies of Saruman, and could be communicated with - then they might not only not hinder Lheuwen’s quest; they might even help.
Cadvan was unconvinced. He was also indignant. His instinct was protective - if a little patronising.
“But why in Middle-earth do you even want to get into Isengard? The whole place is flooded! What could there be that is worth is the risk?”
And so Lheuwen told them. She told them of how, many years after her home, the hamlet of Huvir, had been destroyed in a mysterious fire, she had returned there with her then-partner, Arved; and how, with his help, she had finally learned what had actually happened: it had been destroyed by a fire-drake. None had seen it flying over Rohan; and Huvir lay so close to Isengard, there seemed little doubt that it must have come from there. In fact, they had even stumbled upon a goblin deserter in the mountains who confirmed it.
Cadvan objected again.
“But Saruman never fielded fire-drakes during the war…”
Essult, who was not predisposed to doubt everything Lheuwen said, answered his thought.
“... which begs the question: what happened to it?”
Lheuwen beamed at her.
“Exactly.”
Slowly, the two of them turned to look at Cadvan.
Cadvan looked from one to the other of them and back.
Then he sighed, and dropped his gaze.
“Fine. I’m coming. But I’m bringing weapons. And you had better do the same.”
Essult shouted with joyous laughter. Lheuwen smiled at him, gratefully.
“Just… one thing to remember,” she said.
“Don’t bring your axe.”
