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 5
If she had not been there before, Théadain did not think she would ever have found the Hidden Valley. Where the foothills of the Misty Mountains grew more densely forested, all roads seemed to vanish, protecting the Last Homely House where it lay nestled in the narrow gorge. She had known to follow the Bruinen River upstream for as long as she could, but after passing the shallow ford where the river tumbled and whispered over jagged stones she could follow it no further. The gorge rose up ahead of her, grey and imposing as she drew out her map from her saddlebag, a 'tsk' of frustration passing her lips as she once again reassured herself that she had gone as far as the parchment could guide her. Stowing the map away once more, she dismounted to fill her waterskin in the icy flow of the river, letting Folca drink his fill beside her. It was difficult to subdue the anxious energy bubbling up inside her, trying to shake off the feeling that she was running out of time. It felt to her like the world had been working to prevent her reaching Rivendell, the thought angering her as she remembered that with each passing day, her father would be growing worse.
Splashing her face with the water where she knelt and sighing deeply, she watched the droplets fall from her cheeks and shivering as they ran down her neck. It was enough to reenergise her for now, she had no plans to stop again until she had entered the House of Elrond.
"Time to keep moving." She cooed to Folca, catching his reins and mounting with a stiff grunt, "We can rest soon, just think of those beautiful stables, the sweet hay..." She murmured, turning to look to the thick forest to her right, "And try to think of the path."
Something tugged at the edges of her memory, her father's voice warning her against wandering far from the party as they had urged their mounts into those trees over ten years ago. Perhaps either she or Folca would remember the first foreign path they had trodden together when he was a fresh and newly broken-in colt, and she was still healing from the broken collar bone he had gifted her with when she had begun his training. It was a rite of passage for children of the King, to claim your horse at birth and train it yourself, and she remembered well first laying her eyes on the spindly, lanky foal as he took his wobbly first steps beside his mother. Their bond was worth every bruise and break she had endured in the months it had taken to break him in, and she had never been more glad of her loyal companion than she had on these last few long weeks.
As they rode beneath the trees, the cool autumnal breeze that had blown down the gorge seemed to still, and the sounds of the forest were amplified as they left the clamour of the rushing river behind them. Vibrant birdsong filled Théa's ears as she let her shoulders drop, in spite of the tension she carried. The faintest of memories drew them on as she scanned the forest floor for a path, or even tracks, leaving Folca's reins loose in case he took a notion to guide them in the right direction. Suddenly, she felt him turn purposefully, watching his dark ears prick at something unseen ahead of them, "Go on." She cooed encouragingly, giving him a nudge and allowing him to move forward, his strides suddenly more confident. Even as he paced on, the forest floor beneath them became more even, gradually smoothing into a track, "Good boy." She praised, rubbing his neck hearteningly as the horse picked up his pace, surprising her with his lively trot as she knew he was just as tired as she was.
