rohanson: (Default)
Ah, Christ, that hurts!

Everything hurts.

Easing myself up a little, my body screams at me to be still, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I breathe through the pain. I take a look around, at the trees and the rocks and ... okay, so this isn't Craig's garden.

Then it comes flooding back; the bird bath, the walking tree, slamming into Theodred, the orcs, and being thrown down ... down here. Wherever here is.

Sighing, I’m beginning to wish I was a fan of the books, maybe then I would have a clue as to where I am, because I know without a doubt I’m somewhere in Middle Earth. I knew Theodred died at the Ford of Isen, but felt like if I had wanted to know more, I would just be buying into this possible delusion. Only now I know it’s real, I’m sort of wishing I’d read more.

I manage to sit up a little more, and ease closer to the tree behind me so I can rest against it. Resting for a while, one thing strikes me. I smell really bad. There’s a smell of wet horse which I can live with, but there’s an overwhelming stench of what I’m assuming is orc. I smell like the bastards that did this to him. I desperately want a shower, want to wash away the smell, and slip into clean clothes. Or maybe into a nice hospital gown, given the way my body’s feeling.

I take it slow, finding out what’s wrong with him ... me, it hurts so much when I move. Bruises and lacerations cover my whole body, partly from the fall, but I know a lot of them came from the fight at the Ford. I’m sorta glad I don’t have a mirror on me, cause I’ve got an idea my face isn’t exactly gonna be pretty. Right arm is broken in two places, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a handful of broken ribs, and no way to know if they punctured anything vital. A couple of serious cuts, one showing through a matching tear in the arm of the tunic I’m wearing and a deeper one slicing down my calf. I’m a mess, and I have no idea where to go for help.

It takes a while to make my way to the stream that I can hear running down the middle of the gully, but it’s worth it, the water tastes so good, and after I’ve drunk my fill, I use it to wash away some of the smell and clean the wounds I can reach, paying particular attention to the deeper cuts. As I’m trying to tear off the arms of the tunic I’m wearing to help bind the wound on my leg, it occurs to me that I’m not wearing any armour, and Theodred wasn’t when I dreamt of the Ford. When my dream started, he was the only one left standing, and I shudder to think they had stripped him of it and were trying to kill him for sport. The sleeves come away easily, almost ripped through already, and it hurts like hell using my injured arm to help tie up my leg, but finally it’s done, and I can drag myself off to lie in the shade.

I need to rest a while, then try and figure out where the hell I go from here. I rest my head back against the tree. I think if I hadn’t met Faramir, I would have freaked out hours ago, but knowing he exists makes this easier to handle. But how do I get home? And even if I can get back, is Wellington really my home? I’m feeling drowsy, and let myself drift into a doze. ‘s funny, when I think of home, all I can see is a pair of blue eyes ...
rohanson: (Default)
Taking it easy on the way back to Dave's, I'm hoping he's there when I get back. If Faramir is right, and he can give me answers, help me understand what's happening ... as I pull into the street, the world flips over, and for a second, I'm dreaming, I’m back at the ford, being dragged into the trees, then I'm back, bike swerving against the curb, and I just catch it in time. This is happening too fast, and I'm beginning to feel trapped. I can't stay on the bike if I keep blacking out. As I slip the side stand down, I realise I'm outside of Craig's place. I know there's a path through from Craig and Hugo's gardens into the woods that Faramir uses, it'll be quicker that way than on the road, can come back and get Leelu later ... the walk will clear my head, don’t think it'll stop the shaking though ...

I stumble a couple of times as I make my way over Craig's lawn towards the woods and just hope no-one's home to watch my erratic progress. Reaching a shaded area, my stomach cramps, and I double over, clutching my stomach, reaching out to grab whatever support I can find to stop myself hitting the ground. When I can see straight again, I realise I'm clinging onto a bird bath on a pedestal and ... holy crap! That tree just moved! That tree just ... walked three feet to the left ... and now it's coming towards me! My fingers grasp the edge of the bowl way to tight, and my eyes, which I feel should be riveted on the approaching tree, are slowly drawn downwards, and I'm staring through clear water at the stone of the bowl. But the stone itself ... it's moving, like liquid, stirring, shifting ... I'm in the middle of a waking dream, the quiet garden overlapping with the grunting of orcs, and I can see through Theodred's eyes, but I'm wide awake ... a strange sensation starts at the back of my neck, moves through me, and with a jolt, I'm pulled out of myself, and slammed into him.

I can feel hands on my arms, and there's a stench that makes me gag. I can't lift my head to see where I am as I sag between them, and hear an unintelligible grunt as they drag me forward ... then I'm being thrown over a ledge, and my body crumples as I hit something large and solid and ...
rohanson: (Default)
...meanwhile, somewhere in Scotland, a would be writer with a Rohirrim fixation posts the first chapter of what she knows is a brilliant piece of work to a fanfiction site. Then she gets to work on chapter two, dreaming of the glowing feedback, and award nominations she just knows will follow, unaware of how her actions have changed the course of history in another world ...

The Tales of Bregdan Part One - The Spell is Cast

The scrying bowl never lies, that is what my mentor Glorfindel taught me. I, Bregdan, the only sheildmaiden of Rohan ever to be considered worthy enough to be taught by the elves. The scrying bowl tells me he will die, Theodred, the flaxen-haired warrior I give my protection to, but he will not! I will use all my power to save him, but it will bind him to me, make me irresistable to him, draw him to me.

Eowyn, my cousin, will not understand, but if it is to save his life, I will do it willingly. No sacrifice is too great for him.

The bowl shows him in the midst of battle, and I turn all my power outwards, weaving my spell, using the bowl to concentrate it. The orc spear that was meant for him from the dawn of time flies past, the spell is cast. I fall to the gound in a faint, and my last thought as darkness takes me is that I have done my part and now the rest is up to him.

I spend my time tending my herb garden, and braiding Shadowfair’s mane, thankful for the company of the Mearas that graces my life, as I wait for him. I know it may be days, but he will find me. He will be drawn to me, and I will tend his wounds when he arrives, and keep him from harm as he heals,

All I have to do is wait.

Archived here.
rohanson: (Theodred)
Theodred pushed his way into the Golden Hall, heart heavy, needing the comfort good company and good ale would bring. For once, he had left Brego in the care of Widfara, too weary to take care of the stallion himself, and for once, he knew Brego understood why.

The village had burned. They had got there too late, and he could still taste the ash that had filled the air. He had become hardened to the sight of death; warriors died in defence of their people, their lands, it was inevitable, especially in these dark times, but the children …

When the fighting had turned in their favour, and the last attackers were running, he had sent half of his men after them, and taken the rest back to the village to survey the damage, check for survivors. And that’s when he found them. Two children, no more than 5 years old, and a woman, probably their mother, lying in the dirt, hacked to death, their blood staining the ground. His hadn’t been the only pale face at the sight. The very things they were fighting for lay dead at their feet, and he had felt a feeling of futility wash over him. The attacks were growing in frequency and ferocity and his father wouldn’t listen to anyone but Wormtongue. Even his own son was ignored. Theodred had sighed, and had gone to help with the survivors, leaving Brego to rest for a while by a drinking trough that had survived the carnage.

Dragging his thoughts back to the present, Theodred spotted Eomer sitting in his usual place, and pushed his way through the people filling the hall to join him. He was in great need of his cousin’s company tonight.

December 2007

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