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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chapter 6
Elrond tented his fingers in front of his face as he watched the young woman sitting across from him in his study, his gaze fixed and intense as he listened to her recount her reasons for seeking his council.
She had changed since he had last laid eyes on the daughter of Rohan, once youthful and naïve she now seemed weary with the burdens she carried. Indeed, as he let her speak freely, allowing her to piece together the patchwork blanket of events that troubled her – not necessarily in order – he began to appreciate the number of those burdens, even if she did not voice them directly.
The fear for her father, her duty-bound loyalty to her land and riders, the desire to support her brother, her conflict at leaving when she felt she was most needed to protect their weakening borders. All that and still beneath, a sense of loneliness and one of ferocity, as if with every breath she felt the need to prove herself.
It had not been difficult to detect the air of loss that followed her as a teen, and even now he felt it, though it had been carefully controlled as she had matured. The loss of a mother she had never known, and that of the figure she had come to love as a mother now mingled with the fear that she would also lose her father.
Whilst it seemed like too much weight to carry for one so young, it was a cruel reality for so many mortals. He remembered years ago, soothing the worries of a young man he cared for as a son, tormented by the loss of his mother and the weight of his fate and lineage.
Elrond's eyes followed Théadain's hand as she ran it through her soft, strawberry-blonde locks, indicating that she could not find any more to say. Her tawny eyes met his and he saw that they were misted with unshed tears, pleading and desperate. He drew in a breath and stood, walking a few paces to look out at the late-afternoon sky, before returning to sit before her, processing all that she had said in the few silent moments.
"From what you have told me, Théadain, I believe your suspicions are correct." He murmured, seeing her eyes widen with a look of surprise – had she not expected to be right? "Your father's sudden failing, the weakness of his body and mind... The symptoms you describe do not bring to mind any mortal illness I know of." Her expression flickered, and he noted the warring emotions that came with his words, a combination of relief and dread. "I cannot be certain without examining him myself, but I would be inclined to agree with you – the causes do not seem natural."
"What do you think it could be?" She breathed, her eyes searching his in the hope he would have an answer.
"My best estimation would be that it is the work of magic, but we do not know the source. It is not commonly seen in Rohan." He explained gently, leaning forward to lay a hand on hers as they knotted anxiously in her lap, "It may come from beyond your boarders, but that would require a powerful practitioner."
"I... Do you think it could be the work of Saruman the White?" She whispered cautiously, fearing suddenly that the elf would be insulted by his question. She knew that wizards and the high elves were often in each other's company. She worried that the hard look his expression set in confirmed her fears, and he rose again from his seat.
