Chapter 8. Many things become clearer in the morning light

~ S.R. 1419, 15 January, morning ~ 

When I am once more aware of my surroundings, light has overtaken the darkness. The reek of blood lingers in the air, and one of the first things my eyes perceive as I raise my lowered head is a scattering of grey-furred bodies over the ground not far from where I stand.

So these were not the same as those others, I think to myself. All unknowing, it seems, I have spoken my thought aloud.

Those others? At the quiet query, I turn my head, to see the voice from the night take shape and form in the daylight.

My companion is no longer invisible, neither one with the twilight nor cloaked in darkness, but his coat shines silvery-grey in the pale sunlight. He reminds me of the white one, an Elf-horse whose Rider is an Elf-lord, tall and graceful in his movements. But the bones of his legs are thicker than those of an Elf-horse, and thick ropes of muscles ripple under his shining hide; this horse was made to run far and fast and fight fiercely when foes make themselves known.

I bow my head before him. My Lord.

He paws the ground with a restless forefoot and then plants his feet and shakes his head at me, tossing his silvery mane into the air. It settles on his neck, and he lowers his head to see eye-to-eye.

Those others? he asks again. What others did you speak of just now? I would know...

Wolves, or so they appeared in the night when they attacked our Company, I say. And their howls were certainly indistinguishable from those of the wolves that lie here now.

Appeared wolfish, my new Companion prompts.

When the dawn came, and the Sun cast her light upon their bodies, they... I stop, unsure of how to describe what I saw.

They... what? Jumped up and ran away?

No. I shake my head. One minute they were there, and in the next, they were gone. Vanished. Leaving no trace that they were ever there, except for the Fair One's arrows, left behind to lie upon the ground where the bodies had fallen when the arrows brought them down.

I don't like the sound of that, my Companion says with a shake of his own head. Quite unnatural. It sounds... wizardish, at best.

They were defeated by wizardry at that, I say.

What was that? How so? he demands.

We were hard-pressed, and the battle was going against us, and the wizard seemed to grow, to rise up until he became a great menacing shape on the hilltop. Then he stooped to seize a burning branch from the fire and strode towards our attackers. And then...

And then what? my Companion prods impatiently.

And then he tossed the brand high in the air and roared in a voice like thunder! ...and his words crowned the entire hilltop with blinding flames that dazzled the eyes with light!

I am astonished to hear a low chuckle from my companion in response. He raises his head and seems to look into a far-off distance. So it was when we faced down the Nazgûl on Weathertop, he whispers.

I stand stunned, and then I bow my head. My Lord, I whisper.

I may be a lord amongst my own, he says, looking back to me and lowering his head once more, but you need not bow to me, little one. I trow you are both clever and courageous, or I would never have reached you in time.

Your own? I ask. Are there more like you? I have never seen your sort, not even in that marvellous Valley where the old pet dwells amongst the Elves.

We are the Mearas, he answers. At my blank look, he adds, Some call us "the wild horses of the North". He arches his neck proudly. No Man can tame one of us, save the Lord of the Mark himself, since the time of Eorl! And at that, any Man who would ride me must first win my respect and earn my heart. In other words, he must be worthy.

Not proud at all, I think to myself wryly.

But he hears the unspoken thought. Not pride, he says, reaching forward to nudge me, as if suggesting I should pay closer attention, but the way of things since the days of Eorl. For my people were proud, upon a time, wild and proud, and we suffered no Man to rule over us. Léod, the father of Eorl, captured my ancestor as a foal, and paid with his life when the foal grew up and the Man tried to ride him as he might have any other horse. For the Mearas are not like any other horses!

Undoubtedly, I murmur.

Even today, no Man may rule over us, he says. My Rider befriended me, rather.

You belong to the Lord of the Mark? I ask, though I have not the slightest idea of who or what the name portends.

He snorts softly. Hardly, he says. I belong to no Man. 

You have a Rider... I say, confused.

My Rider is not a Man though he has the appearance of one – somewhat bent with age, wearing grey robes that cover his hidden Fire and Lightnings...

Tall Hat! I interrupt in my excitement, lifting my head higher.

My companion whickers low in his throat and nods. As a matter of fact, he was wearing a tall hat when last I saw him.

Again, he lowers his head to meet my gaze at my level. Three days ago, I was running on the plains, listening for his call – and he called to me! And he laid words of guiding upon me that brought me, in the end, to you.

To me? I ask, stunned. If I am remembering right, three days ago, the snows were falling around us and growing ever deeper. I think I have counted correctly. I can count as high as four before the numbers grow so large as to have no meaning to my mind. 

He said that all of Middle-earth owes you a great debt, my Companion says, bowing down to me for a brief moment. He told me that I should aid you in your journey... back... He shakes his head, allowing his lower lip to droop humorously. Though I do not know where "back" might be. You shall have to be the one to tell me that part.

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Author notes: Some turns of phrase undoubtedly came from The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, especially the chapters 'The Council of Elrond' and 'A Journey in the Dark'. (And thank you, Larner, for reminding me of that useful term, "trow", which was the exact word I was looking for.)

"The white one" is Bill's name for Glorfindel's horse, as seen in The Tenth Walker.

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