Grey sky stretched unending above her, but ahead rays of sunlight pierced through the clouds. Wind swept across the green and gold grass on the road to Edoras.
On the road between ALDBURG and EDORAS, ROHAN June T.A. 3011
Mearhe had been lost in thought, and peering back she could no longer make out Aldburg or the Eastfold hills she had earlier climbed. The river was a glowing line of silver far away. Mud sloshed beneath her when she spurred her horse forward. Pushing wet strands of hair from her face before voicing a question to her horse. "Do we continue throughout the night or do we rest?" The rain was slowly easing. She looked forward to clean clothes and a warm bed, but neither was she in such a hurry as to push Freolofe unnecessarily through the night. "We camp at dusk."
Mearhe nodded, glad at the thought of a warm fire and to rid herself of the drenched cloak that clung uncomfortably to her body. She continued on in silence only broken by the sound of soft neighs and hooves in the mud, and the whistling of the wind on the grassland. The clouds soon drifted away on the wind, leaving a thin strips of blue clear sky. Only a few hours left before the sun would sink towards the horizon. She would continue on until then.
Her heels digged into the horse's side and Freolofe, accustomed to such prodding, shoots across the fields as an arrow from a bow towards the sun, wind blowing cold against her face. As day's light spilt over the Mark, her heart was aching at the thought of her son asleep in the arms of his nurse. Still, Mearhe did not look back, hoping this would be only a temporary separation.
When finally the late afternoon hours were about her and the landscape began to fall gently into the dusk, Mearhe sought a place to camp for the night between ondulated hills and solitary outcrops of trees, and some abandoned ruins. The horse was tied to a nearby bush, while she ventured out to collect some firewood. A small campfire was lit as the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Mearhe fed her horse a old and bruised apple and patted Freolofe down.
"I apologize for this old wrinkled apple, o great lord of the horses," she laughed, receiving a soft nuzzle against her cheek. The wood on the fire was damp, letting out small crackles. Mearhe skewered some deer meat and let it roast over the flames. The wind was sighing in the branches, and green leaves were whispering, but she knew this peaceful calm did not mean safety, not even on the road to Edoras. Her ears trained for sounds, a sword always by her side, and yet after a time, as the stars grew brighter in the dark blue sky, her unease lessened.
The air, earthy and fresh from the earlier rain, hung heavy around the camp. Mearhe fingers worked a way through her braided hair, tugging insistently and loosening it until it fell down to her shoulders, tangled and wet. Sitting by the warm fire, Mearhe began to smooth her hair with a wooden comb until it was soft and dry again. Then she stretched, and she crossed her legs, as the warmth slowly crept over her skin, prickling but welcome as the numbness of the long ride slowly melted away.
Finally, the meat was ready, and a hungry stomach pulled Mearhe from her thoughts. The roasted meat was tender but filling, and she could ask for nothing more so far from a homely hearth. A silver moon loomed huge among the stars, climbing as darkness settled. After her meal, Mearhe sat by the fire lost in her thoughts again.
The breeze made the trees around her murmur, a soft and deep singing voice in the ancient language of Rohan, and the fire danced across her eyelids. Despite her weariness, she struggled to fall asleep at first. But with the warmth of the fire and the soft rustles of her horse nearby, Mearhe finally gave in to sleep, and the world turned dark. And as the delicate veil of her consciousness is breached, in dreams he comes back to her.
Art by me
