The Family Line Part 148 – Theomin’s Promise

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Part 148 – Theomin’s Promise

Three days the two traveled through the Westemnet to the Eastemnet. The days were warm and humid and the skies, at times, broke loose and released rain on the riders as they traveled back toward Theomin’s home. Mostly, the skies were drenched in clouds, large ones that reached great heights and those were the ones that unleashed their rain on them.

The land was flatter than any land Eleswith had ever seen. She had never seen such great expanses of green flat lands before. Off into the horizon the grasslands seemed to stretch, off farther than her eyes could see. Such amazement she had not expected nor did she ever hear of such an expanse of grasslands. Through the entire trek, from Helm’s Deep to Woodhurst to Garsfeld, she could not stop commenting on how wondrous the expanse of the fields of Rohan showed. But, that beauty was tainted as they traveled to each place, Thoemin and Eleswith continued to hear more and more about the war to the east and the Battle of the Pelennor Fields.

What they learned is as follows:

After the Battle of Helm’s Deep, in which the forces of Saruman were repelled by the men of Rohan, a select few traveled to Isengard to confront Saruman. Afterward, what ever information they heard, the forces broke into two. A new group of men called the Grey Company took the leader of the opposition, a man named Aragorn. He and his fellowship traveled through the Dwimaburg, the haunted mountain.

Word was sent out by the riders of Theoden that they were all to travel to Gondor and confront Sauron’s forces in Minus Tirith. Many men volunteered to travel to Gondor and aid in the war against Sauron. Many men never returned. Those who did not return either died on the fields of the Pelennor or at the Black Gate. Many others either stayed to aid the fight as it was brought into the realm of Mordor. Others returned, but a great many had not.

Grief has struck the small villages of Rohan. So many have died, so few have returned. So many good men and soldiers have met their fates in Gondor and at the Black Gate. And Theomin remembered his friend at the beginning of his journey. Kemel, the brother of Kaymel. Kemel was a good man, strong and if he was anything like his brother, he had a good character. What was his fate? Did he last the night in the attack at Helm’s Deep? If he did, did he survive the battle in Gondor or the Black Gate?

So many questions raddled around his brain as they continued through Rohan. He remembered Eashae, the one who aided him and Keymel to find the mother of the family. Was she with Kemel and riders or was she did she stay in Rohan? If so, no hide nor hair was found of either of the friends that helped him. Eomer must have gone to Gondor. And since he is king, he must have survived Gondor and The Black Gate. If there was anyone who may know the fates of those two friends of his, it must be Eomer. Of course, he would not divert his attention to ask the king of Rohan. He was so close to home, he could not find it in him to turn back to Edoras and ask the king. So, they continued.

On the fourth day the two traveled through Rohan, they finally reached the edge of the Wold. A path led from the Norcrofts to the Eastwall and the river Anduin. Along the river, as it flowed south toward Gondor, Theomin remembered the large statues that stood guard over the northern border of Gondor. The Argonath stood there, two statues with their hand held out toward the north, warding off any evil that may want to travel there. He remembered the promise he made to himself that day so long ago when he first saw the statues off in the distance.

He remembered the unspoken promise he gave himself as he traveled to the Elthengles that day. He remembered that, as he traveled back home, he would at last take in the splendor that was the steadfast resilience of the Argonath.

“Eleswith,” he said as he paused Bragga for a moment. “I have wanted to visit the statues to the east of here.”

“I had hoped we would get to the next town before dark,” Eleswith said. It has been a long ride from Garsfeld and I am very hungry.”

“I know and so am I,” Themon admitted. “But these are statues that I promised to visit as I left my home so long ago. Now that I am here, I want to fulfil the promise I gave to myself.”

Eleswith thought for a few moments. Her exhaustion was showing on her face and her bottom was feeling the pain of the saddle that she had been sitting on for a very long journey. Never-the-less, she agreed and they were off in the small path that led eastward.

Not long after their departure from the road north did Eleswith have her first glimpse of the statues. Not at all what she was expecting, she was staggered by the immensity of the two statues. But she tried not to say a word as the made their way closer to the two great statues to the east.

At last, as the daylight began to wane, did they finally reach the two immense towering statues. In awe they were as they dismounted and stood at the base of the two towering figures that stood tall and proud opposing any threat that may come from the north.

“When you wanted to see these statues,” Eleswith started, “I believed you wanted to see some stone figures as tall as men. I had not the idea that you wanted to see such towering figures.”

“For so long this was in my mind to see,” Theomin said. “As I traveled south toward the Elthengles, I saw just a glimpse of them in the distance. They were towering, amazing statues those of which I could not fathom the size. So much larger than that of the Colossus in Evendim. I could not wrap my head around their shier enormity.”

“Nor can I,” Eleswith admitted awestruck. “Such an amazing thing I cannot even believe would exist. I am surprise that more people are not here wondering in amazement at the utter beauty of these statues.”

“I wonder that myself,” Theomin said. “I remembered reading about these statues when I was just a young child in Langhold, the nearby town by the farm I grew up in. I remembered hearing of such statues and thought nothing of it. I believed the statues to be no larger than those you imagined. Stone statues no larger than the size of man. But how could I discount the size of them when they were built by the Numenorians. They always seemed to build structures and statues to be so grand as to be revered by all.”

The two stood in awe for a while longer as the stared up at the two great towering statues. Soon, the sun fell behind the western wall of mountains. The two mounted their horses and took the road back to the main path that led from the Elthengles to Floodwend.

As they approached the path that led toward Floodwend, for just a moment, Theomin wondered what the harm was if they were to travel all the way to his farm. They would reach the farm in the middle of the night, but at least he would be home. He looked at Eleswith who looked, without a doubt, exhausted. He stayed his suggestion and decided to continue on to the village of Floodwend.

The mood there in Floodwend was much different than the first night he spent. The people were much more cordial, offering them food and a place to stay. That night, they had a good meal and the place they stayed in was quaint but nice. He harkened back to his first stay in the grass outback from the tavern on the southern end of the village. He told his story to Eleswith, who seemed surprised because of how different their reception was this time.

That night, sleep came fast to Eleswith with a full stomach and a resting body. But rest was not easy for Theomin. He had trouble sleeping. He knew he was on the last night of his adventure and could not get himself to sleep with the amount of anticipation he felt. He stood from his bed and looked at Eleswith who was fast asleep and drooling. Quietly he left the small cottage they had on the northern part of town to travel down the path in the quiet street of Floodwend and looked at the wooden structures of the village. They were in typical design of Rohan. Light-reddish-brown wood with horse designs that flanked the front door. The thatched rooftops occupied all the rooftops except for the meadhall and the nearby watch towers. The lamps that ran along the stone fences along the edges of the paths had also the designs of horses with a chain hanging from their mouths and a pan at the bottom and a pan of fire at the top. All of it reminded of the little town of Langhold. The town’s destruction of which began his entire journey.

At last, his wandering brought him to the very spot he stayed the night he came through Floodwend the first time. He remembered the sight where he laid and stared at it as he remembered all that he went through throughout the year. Helm’s Deep, Dunland, Gerald in Bree, the two drakes, the battles in Annuminas, all were amazing feats that he could not even fathom that night that he stayed in the grass there in Floodwend.

He knelt and laid in the bushy weeds that occupied the ground. He stared up at the stars in the sky. He remembered the anticipation he held in his chest that night he left home. The only thought in his mind back then was the thought of the Gondorian tower in the Norcrofts. He had not a thought of what was going to come on his long journey. How could he? All he went through, all he did in Eriador changed him. He hoped it changed him for the better. He knew not back then he was such a resilient man. He knew not back then how ambitious he was. He knew not back then the adventures he would be on or the lives he would change.

His thoughts drifted to Sergee and Estonethiel. He wondered how their marriage was and the lives they were living in Annuminas. He thought of them roaming the streets of the great white city, talking to the wardens of Annuminas and visiting Ost Forod. He thought of the dwarf, Krovrin, who happily took up the job of Marshall of Annuminas. He thought of his good nature and the gladness he had helping Theomin in his battles.

He remembered Magla and the mantle he took up as mayor of Bree. He thought of the great responsibilities he had as mayor, coming from such humble beginnings in the Lone Lands fighting alongside Helesdir. He remembered when Magla said he would have rather been a writer than a fighter. He wondered if Magla would ever think about writing stories about their adventures. If so, he would like to read it someday.

His thoughts went to Sylderan and what he would be doing at that point. He left him in Eregion as he wanted to find his friend in Moria. He only hoped that Sylderan would not continue through Moria as he remembered the friends he lost in those mines. He hoped that his elf friend was okay. He would always remember his elf friend as the one who saved him twice and who helped him on his last fight to retake Annuminas. He was his first friend on his long journey yet the only one who he barely knew. A funny twist of fate that was, yet not entirely surprising. Sylderan was an elf with a great task ahead of him. As the leader of the Twilight Host, his loyalty was only to the Lady of the Golden Wood. Once he knew the torch of leader was passed on to his kin, he then stayed and helped his friends. Such a loyal elf friend Sylderan was. He was glad to know him.

After another hour of laying in the grass and staring up at the stars, Theomin stood up and made his way over to the small cottage that was set up for him and Eleswith. He walked slowly down the street as he tried to remember the last time he stayed there. His memory was becoming clouded as sleepiness began to set in. He reached his cottage and as he came in, he saw his friend still sleeping heavily in her bed. He smiled and was glad for her company. Soon he too laid down in his bed. He closed his eyes and found it easier to fall to sleep. It would not be until the next day that he would finally reach the farm, his home.

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