They had been riding for two days before Stearcwyn asked something that had been bothering her since she had first met Eomér.

"Beorn?" she asked timidly, turning her head to look up at him.

"Hm?" he murmured, looking down at her. His gaze flustered her, and she assembled her thoughts with difficulty.

"Why...why are you," she gestured to Beorn and the rest of the cavalry, "out here?" She swept her arm to indicate the rolling, grass covered hills.

"Well..." he said slowly, looking out at the plains. He seemed to choose his words carefully before speaking. "We are from Edoras, the capital. The king...he has not...been well." He seemed to be struggling for the right words to say. "He does not know what is going on around him, and his assistant, Grima," he said the name with obvious distaste, "has been in charge of running things, since the king cannot. He is...manipulative. Eomér is loyal to the king, and we are loyal to Eomér, so when Eomér was banished by Grima, we went with him."

"Ah," she said. The word was not satisfactory to how she took this information, but she could think of nothing else to say. "I am sorry."

"Do not worry." Eomér's voice came from behind them, startling Stearcwyn. She blushed and looked out at the plain. "How are you healing?" Eomér asked her kindly.

"Very well, thank you." The blush was fading slowly from her cheeks, but she dared not look at him.

"That is good," he said quietly, resting a hand on her arm before spurring his horse to the head of the column. Stearcwyn stared after him wistfully.

"You like him, do you not?" Beorn's soft, deep voice asked quietly in her ear.

"He has been very kind to me," she mumbled.

"That is not what I mean." He sounded amused. "Do not set your heart after him." The amusement was gone, to be replaced by a more serious tone.

"What?" she asked, partly from embarrassment and partly from genuine confusion.

"It would not be wise." He did not get to elaborate further, however, as Eomér had stopped the column with a single command.

"What is it?" Stearcwyn asked, struggling to see around the many riders in front of her.

"I do not know," Beorn replied, also trying to see Eomér. He urged his horse forward, but was only able to go a few feet before being stopped by the mass of horses and riders.

"You are needed, Eomér." The voice traveled down the column, carried through the still air to reach Stearcwyn's ear. She did not know who the speaker was, but the voice, she could tell, belonged to someone who demanded respect. "Your uncle is well again, and he needs you to fight with him."

The whole column seemed to wait with baited breath for Eomér's reply. "We will fight," he said finally, and a relieved sigh went through the men.

"I am going to fight," Stearcwyn said quietly.

"No!" Beorn's voice was sharp. "You cannot. Not with your wound."

"You cannot stop me," she replied serenely. "I am going to fight." Beorn looked like he wished to argue, but he did not, instead lapsing into silence, a dark look on his face.

oOoOo

They rode for three days without stopping. During this time, Stearcwyn would twist in the saddle to test her wound. Each time she did this it would send her spiraling towards darkness, but Beorn's soothing voice brought her back every time. On the fourth day, they came within sight of Helm's Deep, and the black blanket of orcs on the field in front of it told them that the war had already started.

"There are a lot of orcs," Stearcwyn whispered, staring at the horror before them. Though they were not close enough to hear distinctly, the faint sounds of screams reached their ears. "I am going to fight," she said quietly, turning to Beorn, looking him right in the eye. He stared at her in disbelief for a moment, but his expression grew grim when he realized that she was determined.

"I cannot let you." Stearcwyn looked like she was about to argue, but he cut her off. "With your wound, it would not be more than half a minute before you were overpowered." Stearcwyn sought for an argument. When she found none, she simply scowled darkly, nodding once, curtly, before resolutely averting her eyes. "Good." Beorn slid from his horse, easing her down gently after him. "You will take Leoht, and ride to Edoras." Stearcwyn nodded again, tears of anger and frustration threatening to spill over her cheeks. Eomér had, by this time, given the signal, and the Eored, minus Beorn, had begun to ride over the hill, and into battle. Beorn gave Stearcwyn one last, stern look before mounting his horse, then he too rode to fight. As he was turning his horse, however, Stearcwyn grabbed the extra sword that was belted at his waist. He shouted after her as she ran as fast as she could, with her wound, to where Leoht stood waiting for her. She swung herself into the saddle, not an easy task when she was wincing, grimacing, and nearly doubled over in pain. But she spurred Leoht forward nonetheless, ignoring, as best she could, the agonizing pain that shot through her chest. As Leoht gained speed, and they crested the hill, Stearcwyn saw, for the first time, the full extent of the battle.

The orcs covered the field, so many of them that Stearcwyn could not see the ground. There were bodies everywhere, she could tell, but she did not have time to register more before she plunged into the battle head-on. She felt a surge of very powerful emotion run through her body; a terrible mixture of fear, agony, and overpowering anger. I will kill them all, she thought bitterly as she lunged Leoht into the fray. They are not the wildmen, but they will die. With this horrible thought in mind, Stearcwyn lashed out with the sword, ignoring the pain that pierced her chest.

Leoht lunged forward, urged on by Stearcwyn, when her hoof slipped on the helmet of a fallen orc. The horse stumbled, her legs flailing as she tried to gain her footing. Seeing that she was at a disadvantage, an orc wielding an ugly, hooked sword lunged at the horse, seeming to ignore Stearcwyn as he slashed at Leoht's chest. The hook of the sword connected with Leoht's skin, and the horse screamed once before falling, lifeless, to the ground. Stearcwyn tumbled off, rolling quickly to her feet. She knew she was in severe danger on the ground, but there was nothing she could do but keep fighting. She swung her sword viciously, hacking through each orc that came within her reach. Feeling a touch on her shoulder, she whipped around sharply, sword raised, but it was Eomér, holding out his hand to her. She grabbed the offered hand gratefully, and he swung her up to sit behind him on his saddle.

She swung her sword from her perch behind Eomér, clinging to his waist with her left hand. Had she not been so preoccupied, she would have marveled at this new, wonderful situation.

The battle seemed to be over as quickly as it had begun. The orcs, who had, before, seemed so terrifying, were running for their lives, dashing over the hill that the Rohirim, plus Stearcwyn, had just come over. The Eored chased them, yelling their victory, but stopped at the sight before them.

Where there had once been gently rolling hills of grass, there was now a dense forest of tall trees, stretching on as far as Stearcwyn could see. The orcs did not seem to notice this, for they ran, without pausing, straight into the trees.

"Stay back!" Eomér called urgently, holding his hand out to halt the men that rode behind them. "Stay away from the trees!" Stearcwyn gripped Eomér's waist tightly as an arrow of pain lanced through her chest. "Are you alright?" he asked in concern, twisting in his saddle to look at her face.

"No," she gasped, now almost doubled over from the agony. Looking down at where the gash was, her mind was too muddled in a fog of pain to be startled to see a thick line of blood spreading through the fabric of her borrowed tunic.

"Come," he said briskly, turning his horse to face Helm's Deep. "We will get you some help." He rode his horse back to the fortress, glancing frequently and anxiously back over his shoulder at Stearcwyn, whose face was rapidly losing all of its already pale colour. When they rode through the great stone gates, a tall, blonde woman ran towards them.

"Eomér!" she cried in relief. Then a look of confusion passed over her face when she spotted Stearcwyn. "But who is this?"

"This, Éowyn," he said, sliding down from his horse, "is Stearcwyn. She needs your assistance." He reached up to take Stearcwyn from his saddle, cradling her in his arms like a child. Éowyn nodded and led him to where a makeshift medical station had been set up. Eomér laid Stearcwyn down on the ground, then stepped back so that Éowyn could work on her. Éowyn pulled down the top of Stearcwyn's bloodstained tunic, her solemn expression sobering further when she saw the cut.

"We cannot treat this here," she said, standing up again. "There is not enough medication or bandages. She must be taken back to Edoras." Eomér nodded and picked Stearcwyn back up. "We must leave immediately." Eomér carried Stearcwyn back to his horse, and Éowyn mounted her horse as well, who had happened to be near the medical station. Eomér manages to get both himself and Stearcwyn up onto his horse with minimal damage to either, and he spurred his horse into motion.