How did it come to this?
Loyal to her family, her lands and her people, Théadain, the illegitimate daughter of Théoden, King of Rohan, has little concern for the world that lies beyond her familiar grasslands. When all that she loves is threatened...
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Chapter 31
Théodred, Boromir, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf.
Carefully, meticulously, Théadain took her grief for each of her losses and locked them away. As if at the back her mind there lay a wooden chest, into which she could pour the heart-wrenching agony that threatened to overwhelm her. Methodically, she packed them away, as if they were winter cloaks at the beginning of a long summer, settling them with care, promising to return her thoughts to them when she could bear it, when she could afford to let herself break.
Now was not that time.
Now she needed every ounce of strength she could muster if she was to face what she dreaded most. Éomer had confirmed her fears that her father's condition had indeed worsened, and brought forth a terror that she could not have summoned from her worst nightmares.
She would lose Théodred.
But that hurt could not be unpacked yet, first she needed to reach him, to reach Edoras.
Beneath her, Wyndrun strove to live up to her name. The agile mare had sprung to life beneath Theádain and an instinctive wave of security and comfort had washed over her. The saddle was where she belonged, and whilst the mare was not her Folca, she was beautifully trained, responding to the prompts of her body and voice as if they were one. This was the gift of the Rohirrim, to know their horses like no other race could.
Théadain called upon that gift now, giving the mare the freedom to lengthen her strides. Edoras lay two day's ride to the South of where they had met Éomer's company that morning. Two day's ride at a controlled canter and making camp for the night between – Théa would allow herself no such luxury. They rode hard at a frantic gallop, the wind stinging her eyes as she bent low over Wyndrun's neck. As long as her mount could keep moving, she would.
The grasslands of Rohan whipped past her in a blur as she kept her mind focused on reaching their end goal. A few times they slowed, stopping at the occasional stream for both horse and rider to drink and catch their breath, but she dared not linger long. Théodred was waiting; if she could not prevent him leaving her, she would not allow him to do so without her by his side.
She felt a strange sense of disconnection as she tried to keep thoughts of her brother free of emotion, those feelings still tightly locked away. It was as if part of her truly didn't believe it, instead believing that she would arrive at the Golden Hall to find her sibling well, laughing off her worry in his easy manner and proclaiming that Éomer was mistaken. It was all just a terrible mistake.
The sun climbed to its apex above her, and fell again as the hours drew on, uncounted by her as Wyndrun's hooves pounded on, eager to please her rider. She knew, as the sun sank behind the distant hills, that she should slow her pace, but she knew they were growing close now. They had put over a day's worth of ground behind them in a fraction of that time, and still her mount was willing, champing at her bit and tugging at the reins demandingly when Théa slowed her. It was as if she sensed their urgency, as if she knew time was running out.
