LOTR: Winter
Title: Winter
Fandom: LOTR
Rating: PG
Pairing: genfic
Length: 1280
Summary: The Great Plague of 1635 swept across the northern plains of Rhovanion, leaving no family untouched.
Author's notes: Fulfilling this request at the mathoms Third Age Ficathon.
"Anything about the Great Plague in 1635. I'd love to read about its effect on the Northmen of Rhovanion (it "wiped out more than half of the population, and most of their horses died in the brutal winter") but something set in Gondor would be fine too." Dedicated to "lj user="_redpanda"> who set up the mathoms community. Written June 2004.
Winter was coming soon. The wind gave whispers of the howling fury it would become; the clouds hinted of the storms that were to come. The land itself had given up its splendid autumn foliage earlier in the month, leaving it bare and devoid of colour. All the elders agreed; Rhovanion would face a harsh winter. This would be the second blow to the Kingdom, the first having arrived two months before.
High above the river valley, in the hills, a small party of riders made their way down to the capital. Mist swirled around the riders as they rode single file down the narrow path. The leader of the group gave a glance back to the smallest member of the party. He should not have permitted her to come, he thought, as he looked at his lady. She huddled in her thick cloak, her face white with exhaustion and grief; she caught his look though and gave a tiny shake of her head to reassure him. He nodded back courteously. If she was not the same laughing girl-bride that he had escorted to his northern lord, two years earlier, she was still his lady, strong and courageous in the face of a ruthless enemy. He had not the heart to refuse the petition she had asked of him.
“There has been no word from the capital for more than a month, how do we know that they do not need our help?” she had asked him as he stood in the courtyard of the great hall. It was the day after the funeral of her husband and he knew she had not slept in over two days. She was swaying on her feet and gently he guided her inside.
“My lady, how do we know they are not already all dead?” he had asked softly. “We cannot yet go for a few days; there are not enough of us yet recovered to make the journey and still be enough to guard the keep, and you, my lady, from any dangers.” He did not add that there would perhaps not be enough men to guard the keep for many years. The plague had been strong and virulent this year and carried many more off to the Dark Lands then it had in ten years past. That the lord of the keep would be taken in his prime and without an heir was just one more tragedy that was common in Rhovanion that autumn.
Word had come in the beginning weeks of autumn that the capital was stricken with the plague and that members of the royal family were among those ill. The lady had worried for her family but all that was forgotten as the illness struck in the north.
The captain carefully delivered her to her serving maids. “See that she gets her rest,” he said gruffly. He turned to go but she grabbed a hold of his sleeve.
“I must go with you, I need to know-,” she gazed into his eyes, her own an almost fever bright. She faltered, “I need to know if I am the last… - Don’t leave without me,” she had pleaded.
“My lady-”
“Swear, captain!”
He could not refuse her.
They were fast approaching the capital and as it came into view he knew that what he had feared had come true. It appeared deserted, doors hung ajar from abandoned huts; the only sound came from the pounding of the horses’ hooves as they made their way down to the village and then up to the great hall.
The group of ten men and one woman stopped in front of the ornately carved doors. Two of the riders dismounted and slowly cracked open the huge doors. The captain slid off his horse, covering his nose as he handed the reins to one of his men. The smell of decay and death hung in the air. He turned to her, “You will stay here, my lady. My men and I will see if there is anyone alive.”
She watched him gravely, her eyes shadowed and nodded. She sat on her horse, looking on as the men donned plague clothes, the full body covering with a mask filled with freshening herbs. After they had gone inside she wheeled her mount around and headed down to village. The men left to guard her looked at each other and decided to let the lady have her moment of grief alone; for surely there was no one left alive in this place.
She galloped down the hill, tears freezing on her face as she fought for control. All dead, they must be… would’ve heard…She slowed down as she came into the village, she did not want the others following. As she passed by the abandoned dwellings a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention; intrigued, she halted. Was it possible that someone besides corpses still inhabited this place? She headed to where she had seen the movement.
“Is there someone here? Reveal yourself!”
From the side of a hut a small head appeared. It was a child, a boy of no more than eight summers. She gasped; despite the layer of dirt covering the boy she recognized him.
“Vinarwin!”
The boy scowled, “Are you the White Lady?”
She looked at him, dizzy with relief. She wondered why he wanted the Lady of Death and why he thought her to be the Lady. Then she realized, in her present condition and her white dress she probably resembled the aforementioned lady. Fighting the urge to giggle, she quickly dismounted. “No, I’m not,” she said simply. “Why are you looking for her?”
“She took the rest of my family; I’m waiting for her to come back to get me. Father said that I had to go away but I snuck back to be with him, and Ma, and Vinfinda.” The boy shook his head, “They closed the door and I couldn’t get back in. Maie told me that the White Lady had taken my family to the Dark lands, so you see,” he looked at her seriously. “I have to wait for her.”
She felt a sob rise in her throat. Her father, mother, older brother gone, but the youngest, he was still here. “What if not all your family went to the Dark lands? Do you-” she paused and then went on tentatively, “Do you remember your sister?”
“My sister?” he asked doubtfully. “She went away, in the north, Father said. I don’t know where to find her.”
She took a deep breath. “You don’t have to find her. I’m right here.”
He stared at her, first in confusion and then in recognition. “Ayra?” His voice rose with hope.
She nodded.
* *
When the captain and his men came down to tell the lady of what they had discovered, they found the two siblings, locked in a tight embrace, tears streaming down both their faces.
As the captain gazed down at his lady and her brother, he allowed a small smile to creep over his face. The news he had to tell was grim but he would not yet interrupt the reunion of sister and brother. The King had passed on to the Dark Lands but it was not the end for Rhovanion. For there were still those of his line alive. It would be years before Vinarwin would be ready to take the throne but during that time his sister would be the one who ruled in his stead.
She will need help, thought the captain of his lady. And I will help her.
Winter will not come yet to Rhovanion.
Fandom: LOTR
Rating: PG
Pairing: genfic
Length: 1280
Summary: The Great Plague of 1635 swept across the northern plains of Rhovanion, leaving no family untouched.
Author's notes: Fulfilling this request at the mathoms Third Age Ficathon.
"Anything about the Great Plague in 1635. I'd love to read about its effect on the Northmen of Rhovanion (it "wiped out more than half of the population, and most of their horses died in the brutal winter") but something set in Gondor would be fine too." Dedicated to "lj user="_redpanda"> who set up the mathoms community. Written June 2004.
Winter was coming soon. The wind gave whispers of the howling fury it would become; the clouds hinted of the storms that were to come. The land itself had given up its splendid autumn foliage earlier in the month, leaving it bare and devoid of colour. All the elders agreed; Rhovanion would face a harsh winter. This would be the second blow to the Kingdom, the first having arrived two months before.
High above the river valley, in the hills, a small party of riders made their way down to the capital. Mist swirled around the riders as they rode single file down the narrow path. The leader of the group gave a glance back to the smallest member of the party. He should not have permitted her to come, he thought, as he looked at his lady. She huddled in her thick cloak, her face white with exhaustion and grief; she caught his look though and gave a tiny shake of her head to reassure him. He nodded back courteously. If she was not the same laughing girl-bride that he had escorted to his northern lord, two years earlier, she was still his lady, strong and courageous in the face of a ruthless enemy. He had not the heart to refuse the petition she had asked of him.
“There has been no word from the capital for more than a month, how do we know that they do not need our help?” she had asked him as he stood in the courtyard of the great hall. It was the day after the funeral of her husband and he knew she had not slept in over two days. She was swaying on her feet and gently he guided her inside.
“My lady, how do we know they are not already all dead?” he had asked softly. “We cannot yet go for a few days; there are not enough of us yet recovered to make the journey and still be enough to guard the keep, and you, my lady, from any dangers.” He did not add that there would perhaps not be enough men to guard the keep for many years. The plague had been strong and virulent this year and carried many more off to the Dark Lands then it had in ten years past. That the lord of the keep would be taken in his prime and without an heir was just one more tragedy that was common in Rhovanion that autumn.
Word had come in the beginning weeks of autumn that the capital was stricken with the plague and that members of the royal family were among those ill. The lady had worried for her family but all that was forgotten as the illness struck in the north.
The captain carefully delivered her to her serving maids. “See that she gets her rest,” he said gruffly. He turned to go but she grabbed a hold of his sleeve.
“I must go with you, I need to know-,” she gazed into his eyes, her own an almost fever bright. She faltered, “I need to know if I am the last… - Don’t leave without me,” she had pleaded.
“My lady-”
“Swear, captain!”
He could not refuse her.
They were fast approaching the capital and as it came into view he knew that what he had feared had come true. It appeared deserted, doors hung ajar from abandoned huts; the only sound came from the pounding of the horses’ hooves as they made their way down to the village and then up to the great hall.
The group of ten men and one woman stopped in front of the ornately carved doors. Two of the riders dismounted and slowly cracked open the huge doors. The captain slid off his horse, covering his nose as he handed the reins to one of his men. The smell of decay and death hung in the air. He turned to her, “You will stay here, my lady. My men and I will see if there is anyone alive.”
She watched him gravely, her eyes shadowed and nodded. She sat on her horse, looking on as the men donned plague clothes, the full body covering with a mask filled with freshening herbs. After they had gone inside she wheeled her mount around and headed down to village. The men left to guard her looked at each other and decided to let the lady have her moment of grief alone; for surely there was no one left alive in this place.
She galloped down the hill, tears freezing on her face as she fought for control. All dead, they must be… would’ve heard…She slowed down as she came into the village, she did not want the others following. As she passed by the abandoned dwellings a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention; intrigued, she halted. Was it possible that someone besides corpses still inhabited this place? She headed to where she had seen the movement.
“Is there someone here? Reveal yourself!”
From the side of a hut a small head appeared. It was a child, a boy of no more than eight summers. She gasped; despite the layer of dirt covering the boy she recognized him.
“Vinarwin!”
The boy scowled, “Are you the White Lady?”
She looked at him, dizzy with relief. She wondered why he wanted the Lady of Death and why he thought her to be the Lady. Then she realized, in her present condition and her white dress she probably resembled the aforementioned lady. Fighting the urge to giggle, she quickly dismounted. “No, I’m not,” she said simply. “Why are you looking for her?”
“She took the rest of my family; I’m waiting for her to come back to get me. Father said that I had to go away but I snuck back to be with him, and Ma, and Vinfinda.” The boy shook his head, “They closed the door and I couldn’t get back in. Maie told me that the White Lady had taken my family to the Dark lands, so you see,” he looked at her seriously. “I have to wait for her.”
She felt a sob rise in her throat. Her father, mother, older brother gone, but the youngest, he was still here. “What if not all your family went to the Dark lands? Do you-” she paused and then went on tentatively, “Do you remember your sister?”
“My sister?” he asked doubtfully. “She went away, in the north, Father said. I don’t know where to find her.”
She took a deep breath. “You don’t have to find her. I’m right here.”
He stared at her, first in confusion and then in recognition. “Ayra?” His voice rose with hope.
She nodded.
* *
When the captain and his men came down to tell the lady of what they had discovered, they found the two siblings, locked in a tight embrace, tears streaming down both their faces.
As the captain gazed down at his lady and her brother, he allowed a small smile to creep over his face. The news he had to tell was grim but he would not yet interrupt the reunion of sister and brother. The King had passed on to the Dark Lands but it was not the end for Rhovanion. For there were still those of his line alive. It would be years before Vinarwin would be ready to take the throne but during that time his sister would be the one who ruled in his stead.
She will need help, thought the captain of his lady. And I will help her.
Winter will not come yet to Rhovanion.