A/N: I actually think Brego is PJ’s, isn’t he?
Anyway, this one’s movie verse.
~` Brego `~
My master and I had been together for a long time. Dear Theodred was always kind-hearted and loyal, never leaving me without care. I feel it safe to say that I was the most well cared for horse in all of Rohan, rivaling even Snowmane, mount of the King. For Theodred not only loved me, he knew that a man must be well-mounted in battle lest his horse falter and fail, thus leaving the rider afoot and easy prey. And what is more, even the bravest of horses would balk and shy when charged by the enemy, unless he knows his master well and trusts him.
My Theodred knew all these things. He knew also that it was his duty as Second Marshal of the Riddermark to fight even if it meant his life in order to save Rohan.
So fight he did and there at the Fords of Isen, his men put forth a valiant defense. But it was not enough. All were killed save Theodred, who lay upon the river bank, his life ebbing with the tide. It was there Éomer found us. I had wandered off a ways when they arrived and they soon left again, Éomer bearing his cousin upon Firefoot, his own mount. I followed at a distance, wishing to return home, but my instincts telling me also to run free as had my ancestors.
Upon our arrival in Edoras, I was discovered and again placed in my usual stall, but it was not the same, for Theodred was not there to administer to me. A boy of the stable unsaddled me and brushed me clean, but he did not sing as had Theodred, nor were his attentions half so loving and personal. Not only that, but when he left he tied two ropes to my halter, effectively reducing the freedom of my head to almost nothing.
I was not moved from my stall for several days. I remained there until I no longer took notice of time. The sunrise and the sunset were the same to me, different only in direction. Was Theodred still living? or had he at last succumb to his wounds?
Often had he spoken to me of his troubles while we were alone; the smooth tone of his voice when saddened always calmed me and I was able to comfort him to a certain extent. Therefore I knew that his father the king was failing; his counselor had overtaken his mind with whispers of ill-wind. I knew also that Saruman’s help was no longer to be fully trusted. But these things were of lesser importance to me, being shoved back by my concern for Theodred and the wear of battle upon me.
I soon grew out of my listless state and became of ill-temperament and fiery spirit. I would suffer none to ride me and few could safely approach me. The weariness of war began to set into my complacent mind as well as my abused muscles. I knew now that my master was dead, for the Princess Éowyn, his cousin, had come weeping to my stall seeking the consolation she could not find in her uncle. It was from her that I learned of Theodred’s death and the banishment of Éomer her brother.
I had lost my war-conditioning and become sluggish in my movements, for there was no one to ride me at breakneck speeds across the plains of Rohan each day. Grief consumed me, for there are few relationships so intimate as that between horse and rider after their first battle together. The fall of one at first brings grieving untold to the other until death would seem a mercy; but I knew that my pain would soon diminish if never wholly leave me. I wished only to be set free for the rest of my days, which would be few if I remained hidden from the sun much longer, unable to graze at will.
Then, soon after the death of my master, strangers came to Edoras, accompanying Gandalf Greyhame who rode upon Lord Shadowfax. It was with their advent that Théoden King was released from the spell of Saruman, for soon after I saw him mount Snowmane and there were none of the signs of weakness that Theodred had spoken of in the bitter days before his death.
One among their company, the only Man among them, seemed regal in his bearing, although his clothing was far from elegant and he showed the wear of travel. An elf there was also, tall and fair; and a dwarf, stunted of growth, whose beard far outmatched that of any Rider I had known. It was as all began bustling about the stable, saddling their steeds and preparing to flee the city, that I was noticed once more. Two men tried to lead me from my stall, but again my grief took hold of me, and the memory of war embittered my heart so that I wished never to again see battle without Theodred to guide me.
I reared and cried out, fighting against their hold; but they held tenaciously to the ropes which bound me, never allowing me opportunity to flee. It was then that Aragorn, the companion of Gandalf, came to me. He took from the grasp of one the rope and stretched out his hand to me, speaking softly in the language of my people. I resisted for a time, the memory of my former master still fresh in my mind; but soon his gentle speech calmed me and I stood, awaiting whatever was to come.
He asked me for my name and the Lady Éowyn answered as she joined us. They spoke for a time before Aragorn handed her my rein with one last soft-spoken command. She then turned me over to one of the stable boys with instructions to set me free. Those words, spoken with authority, soothed my heart and soul. At last, the freedom I had long desired was to be mine.
The boy led me from the stable and began to loosen my halter, but the sight of the wide open plains below us and the knowledge that I was soon to possess them stirred my blood and I broke away from his hold, racing down the streets and out the gates, my halter still in place and the rope dragging. I squealed with joy, my cry ringing out and echoing back again as I fled the confines of war forever and faced the life of freedom in Rohan.
For a time I wandered as I pleased, unmindful of the passing of time and wishing now that I had allowed the boy the chance to remove my halter, but not caring enough to go back. I soon learned to avoid tripping and it did not hinder my grazing at all, for there was no bit. I felt strength enter my sluggish muscles once more and I was at peace. But often the memory of those few moments with Aragorn leapt unbidden to my mind and I wondered how he fared and who he was.
I soon came to the river and lingered there for awhile, quenching my thirst when the need arose and grazing when it did not. It was in this manner that I found Aragorn again, and a bitter moment it was.
He lay on the banks of the river, his clothing wet and blood-stained, his body torn with wounds. My first thought was to flee any human companionship, but his position in the water pulled at my heart, for he lay exactly as had Theodred when he had fallen at Isen. Had my actions there condemned my master to death? If I had only allowed him access to his saddle and born him home once more, would he have lived? Was I now leaving Aragorn to meet the same fate as my master? or was he already dead?
My heart leading me, I walked slowly up to him, snuffling loudly for I was nervous. Gently, I nudged him, rolling him onto his back and sniffing him. Was he dead? "Brego," a soft voice whispered, more breath than voice.
He was alive!
Gently, carefully and slowly I dropped to the ground beside him, snorting and grunting. Would he have the strength to mount? He did; and as he slid slowly onto my back I could feel water and blood run from his clothing onto my skin, but I headed it not.
I started back for Edoras, but Aragorn spoke softly in Rohirric as he lay against my neck, telling me to make for Helm’s Deep. Therefore, I redirected our path and began the wearisome task of keeping him mounted, for he often passed into states of exhaustion and could not balance himself without a saddle.
After a time, he dismounted and attached the loose end of the rope to my halter and slipped the loop over my head. This gave him a better hold and he found it a simpler task to remain seated.
A loud rumble, as of marching thunder, caught our attention and we swerved slightly from our line of travel to investigate. Topping out on a rise, we encountered the frightening sight of ten thousand Uruk-hai stomping in our direction. I snorted and shied slightly, my ears erect as I watched in fascination; but Aragorn urged me to resume our journey, and I backed slowly away from the awful spectacle.
Now at a quicker pace we continued on, slowing every now and again to allow him a brief rest before once more trotting or even cantering in the direction of the great fortress. He often seemed near onto collapse, but seemed to gain strength as we went, and soon he no longer needed to slow our pace and we were able to travel more swiftly.
When at last we caught sight of Helm’s Deep in the distance, it was as sighting home after a long campaign; but with it came bitterness, for it was a symbol of war. I knew my years in battle would soon begin to tell on me in more ways than stiff muscles, and longed for the free life which I had known for so short a time.
But Aragorn spoke softly "Mae carnen, Brego, mellon nîn," slapping my shoulder gently. His grateful tone and the musical sound of the Elvish he was using soothed my soul once more and it was with a resigned heart that I bore him down to the fortress and up the causeway.
A great commotion arose around us as people crowded nearer to where we stopped. They seemed amazed to see Aragorn still among the living, the dwarf more than any of them, for he shoved his way rudely through the crowd, swearing he would kill Aragorn on sight. But rather, he embraced him tightly, blessing him as he may and near to tears.
Aragorn seemed slightly amused, but he felt an urgency, I am sure, to inform Théoden King of the approaching army. Therefore he left me in the care of others who brushed me carefully and gave me plenty to eat and drink, as well as a warm place to lie down.
Again stiffness entered my weary muscles and noticing this a Rohir led me around for a bit before leaving me in my stall. I was grateful simply to be once more fed and brushed. I had forgotten how much the gentle care of men meant to me, for long had I refused any care but Theodred’s.
I remained there, my stall sharing a wall with Arod’s. We had rarely met before, but knew one another by sight and were able to keep a pleasant conversation alive between us for a time. We had both lost our masters and found new ones. He had come under the care of Legolas, the elven companion of Aragorn; but he complained of having to carry the dwarf as well. I was certain that between the two of them, they made for an amazing load, and I complemented Arod on his strength, for he was a light horse.
He gave a soft nicker, almost as in humor, and said that, indeed, Legolas weighed far less than any rider he had ever born, save a child, but Gimli the Dwarf weighed nearly so much as saddle and rider alone. Yet it was no trouble, so long as Legolas kept Gimli from digging his metal boots into poor Arod’s flanks.
Night soon closed in around us, the sun’s last rays shooting streams of light into the stable where we stood before setting and leaving us in near darkness. The night’s noises were unnatural: the sounds of a large army approaching, but sounding more ominous than any army I had heard before.
Arod asked me what was happening, and the most I could tell him was that Aragorn and I had sighted ten thousand of the Enemy’s orcs marching on Rohan. Arod snorted and stomped, his silver mane leaping spiritedly. "Legolas will aid our Men and together they shall outlast them," he said defiantly.
I sighed slightly, but said nothing. Arod is far younger than I and he has come to love his new master almost to a fault. I pray he is right, but Béma help us if he is not. . .
~*~*~*~
Mae carnen, Brego, mellon nîn ~ Well done, Brego, my friend.
Sorry this took so long, but Arod has been plugging up the works with his long chapter and he’s still not done. Therefore, consider this your last chapter for awhile, and I’ll post again as soon as possible.
Also, if you didn’t like the ending, believe me, I agonized over it myself, but I felt that leaving off there was better than having an incorrect ending as my memory and ingenuity fail me. In future, I may change it, and if you have any suggestions or comments, please . . . please leave them. If you wish to bring me down a few notches, please do so. If you wish to praise me, even if just a little, please do so. But most of all, if you wish to point out a mistake or two or three, please do so! Feedback is the most precious thing any author could receive!