Chapter 25: The Remnant

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Hasufel's hooves pounded across the lands of Rohan without stop. Estelwen rode with her eyes fixed forward, never looking back. Not once did she doubt that her mission was imaginary. Not once did she doubt that she would need her swords and her skill. She did not know these lands, but urgency filled her mind. Trusting Hasufel, she let him lead for hours over the plains. She prayed to the Valar. Please, take lead me where I must go. Take me where the cries arise from.

Estelwen noticed a dwindling river running downstream to her left. "'A stream always finds a welcome end,'" she recalled. People needed water. She knew that more than anyone else. There was a village nearby. She prodded Hasufel to go faster. The sun beat down upon the backs of both earthborn and horse, but they paid no heed. The river was now a stream only a few feet wide. It was nearing its end.

Once on top of a low hill, Estelwen gasped. There were dozens of homes near the end of the stream. A large pack of orcs swarmed through them. Many of the monsters threw makeshift torches into doorways as they ran past.

A woman burst through a curtain of flames with a baby, but no blanket. An old man with a bloody stump of an arm shoved away the boy that clung to him, shouting at him to run. There had been no warning. There was no line of defense.

*****

The wind tore the worn threads of the flag of Rohan. The flag snapped from the pole and rode the wind until it fluttered onto the ground outside the walls of Meduseld. Upon it fell the shadows of two horses carrying four riders.

Legolas' face was hardened. He hadn't spoken a word since telling Gandalf that Estelwen had left. He was ready to go after her, but Gandalf warned him against it. "You need to let her go," the wizard had said.

Legolas was stupefied. "You do not find this a grave matter?"

"Far from it! She is far beyond our control. And something tells me that there are too many things I cannot teach her, that I do not know. We need to trust her. She would not go anywhere mindlessly."

Though Legolas knew better than to disagree with a white wizard, especially one that had just returned from the dead, he doubted his judgement. Following Gandalf and the others to Meduseld, home to the King of Rohan, did not make it any easier or his heart less heavy. He knew that, if he had chosen to sleep, his nights would have been plagued by nightmares.

As they passed through the gates of Meduseld, Aragorn noticed the flag. The threaded white stallion reared up proudly against the rich green background. He looked around at the homes and the people staring at them. Grey clothes hung loosely on their backs. Something was missing from their eyes.

"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli remarked from behind Legolas.

Legolas and Gimli slid off Arod while Gandalf and Aragorn dismounted Shadowfax, Gandalf's horse. They started up the stone steps to the great Hall of Kings. The doors opened and a man walked out with a frown. Several guards flanked his sides. "I cannot allow you before King Théoden so armed, Gandalf Greyhame," the man said. "By order of Gríma Wormtongue," he added firmly, though a bit distastefully.

"Gríma is the king's advisor," Gandalf murmured to the others as he nodded for them to do what was ordered.

Legolas noticed the man was watching Gandalf's every move. The nerve of him to speak that way to a wizard! Gandalf is no common thief! And as far as grey... he realized that Gandalf had his old grey cloak over his clothes. He sighed. Well then, no reason to spoil the ruse. He handed over his longbow and twin daggers to the man. "I don't suppose you have had any visitors in a while."

"We haven't," the man said. "And that does not matter to you."

"Especially not any elves or female warriors?"

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