Chapter 1

Things had been changing for a long time, but Hilde knew things had truly changed the day that Théodred was brought back to Edoras barely clinging to life. Hilde had been working in the Great Hall, but the bridle she had been cleaning fell from her hands when the Prince was carried into the Golden Hall. She felt all the colour leave her face when she caught sight of the blood staining his tunic. There was so much of it. Her breath caught in her throat, the threat of panic choking her. Lord Éomer and his second, Éothain, were the ones carrying the King's son, the Marshal calling out for a healer even as he bore his cousin deeper into the Hall. One of his éored separated from the group surrounding the Prince, running from the Hall, likely in search of the healer Fréamund.

Without hesitation, she followed the group, grabbing up cloths and hastily splashing water into a basin as she went. She caught up to the men as Théodred was being gently lowered onto the bed in his chambers. He wore only his tunic and jerkin, the armour he had ridden out in already stripped before he had even passed the walls of the city. Once again Hilde was nearly overwhelmed at the amount of blood the Prince was losing. A piteous moan escaped him with every movement and jostle, and no sooner was he settled onto the sheets than they were soaked red. Swallowing her panic and fear, she set the basin aside, rushing forward with the bundle of cloths. The ragged cloak that Éomer had been using to try and stem his cousin's blood loss was soaked through.

With hands that were surer than she felt, Hilde pulled Éomer's hands and the useless cloak aside, nearly tearing the tattered jerkin away before pressing a new bundle of cloth against the wound instead. She then grabbed the Marshal's hand again and pressed it back against the wound. In seconds it was beginning to bleed through. On impulse, she took Théodred's hand; it was already so cold. He only moaned weakly with pain, completely unaware that he was safe in his home, surrounded by those who cared about him. He looked so young, like the boy from her memories again, not the man he had grown into. She met Éomer's eyes for a moment, his dark green gaze sick with worry.

"Find Éowyn, and tell her what has happened," he said after a moment, his voice filled with the same pain as his eyes. Nodding in understanding, she stood. She paused, though, when the King's nephew reached up to grab her hand, turning her back to face him. Théodred's blood leeched onto her sleeve, but Hilde barely noticed.

"Do not tell the King just yet," he murmured. At the end of the Prince's bed, Éothain looked up in bewilderment, but Hilde only nodded again.

Something was wrong with the King. He was not as Hilde remembered him from her childhood; he was not as he was in years past. Everyone could see it. It began with the arrival of Grima Wormtongue. The unsettling man had schemed and talked his way into the King's good graces...and everyone whispered that Grima was the White Wizard Saruman's servant. Now the King rarely stirred from his throne, looking decades older than the years he possessed. Now it was only Grima he would speak with. Even his son rarely got a word out of Théoden. Éowyn got the closest, with her gentle voice, but that was truly saying very little. It was something that deeply troubled those closest to the King; Hilde's father, Háma, grumbled and worried about it constantly.

It did not take Hilde long to locate Éowyn. She had known the King's niece since she and her brother had come to live in Meduseld, and considered her a good friend. In fact, Hilde rather considered herself the friend of all three of the King's young kin. Théodred she had known longer than she had memory. He had been her friend since they were children, even though she could still whip him with a sword, something he claimed he never liked. Her father had even joked that the King's son was sweet on her. Hilde, of course, laughed off the suggestion, as she truly only saw the Prince as a friend. But she knew better than to think he felt the same. She had known for a while, first noticing it many years ago; the way Théodred would watch her, the way he would sometimes move to touch her hand. She even indulged it for a time, wondering if she did love him, or could love him, someday. But now, as she knew the truth of her feelings better, she did not know how to tell him that her interests lay elsewhere. Now though...well, things had most certainly changed.

Éowyn, of course, was in the stables, as Hilde predicted, with her horse, Windfola. The instant she saw the blood on Hilde's hands and sleeve, the fair-haired woman paled. Hilde nearly couldn't speak at the fearful look on Éowyn's face. She only managed one word.

"Théodred." Hilde had barely spoken when Éowyn pushed past her, racing to the Golden Hall. Hilde could only stare after her, clutching Windfola's lead where Éowyn had pressed it into her hands.

All of Edoras was quiet and worried. It was only a matter of time for the Prince, it was whispered. Hilde knew the truth of that better than most. She had seen the wound with her own eyes. The boy she had known since childhood, now a man, was dying. She had sat with him through the night, Éowyn by her side, sometimes with Éomer standing nearby or sitting with them. But as the day turned she couldn't bear it any longer, and needed to get away from the scent of death that hung in the air, even if only for a short time. So she sought refuge where most people of Rohan found peace; with their horses.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Lord Éomer came storming into the stables, his face black as thunder, demanding his horse be readied. None dared argue or question him and one of the boys dashed off to retrieve Firefoot from his stall, Éomer collecting his saddle and the like for himself. Hilde was stunned where she stood brushing Brytta, her father's horse. Ducking under the chestnut's neck, ignoring the petulant headbutt at being so quickly forgotten, she hesitantly edged over to where the King's nephew was hurriedly saddling his horse. He looked so angry, she almost didn't want to approach him

"Éomer?" When he didn't even glance in her direction, she wondered if he hadn't heard her, or was just ignoring her. After a moment, she was about to speak up again when he turned to her. She nearly took a step back, such was the anger in his eyes.

"What's going on, Éomer? Where are you going?"

"I am leaving Edoras," he all but snarled. She was taken aback completely. He must have seen it in her face, because his expression softened.

Much as she had hoped things would but wouldn't change after her first kiss in the shadows of Meduseld, Éomer and Hilde had stayed friends only. Shortly after that day their paths had separated. He had gone on to ride with the one of the King's éored, eventually becoming the King's Third Marshal. Hilde had stayed at Meduseld as Éowyn's companion, eventually taking on her mother's duties when she had died bringing Hilde's little brother Haleth into the world. She was not nearly so close to the King's nephew as with Éowyn or Théodred. As much as she hated to think it, they were nothing more than childhood friends, maybe even sweethearts, but that friendship had not quite made it into their adult lives. They were friendly to each other, yes, but they were not close the way she was with Éowyn or Théodred.

"What about Théodred. You can't possibly leave him now," she said softly after a long moment. Éomer took a step toward her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Nor do I want to. But the King has decreed I am to be banished, on pain of death." Hilde's mouth dropped open in shock and horror.

"What? No! That's not possible!" Somehow she managed to speak, but Éomer hushed her, looking surreptitiously around. There were few people in the stables, most too far away to overhear much of anything.

"It is Grima's doing. That is certain. But I have no choice. I ride out with whomever among the Rohirrim are loyal to Rohan, any who are ready and willing to help me stem the plague of Orcs ravaging our lands. Most of my éored is to ride with me." A grim resolution came over Hilde, and she gripped his wrist where it rested on her shoulder.

"Take me with; I can fight."

"Hilde—"

"No. You know I can. You know I'm as good a fighter as Éowyn, as Théodred, maybe better than both of them," her voice nearly broke on the name of the Prince, but she pressed on, "and I can throw a spear and use a bow as well as any man. Please, let me do something other than sit here and wait. I don't know how much longer I can watch the King do nothing but waste away." A near-smile came to Éomer's face as she spoke, and his hand moved to cup her face, his fingers entangling themselves in her red-gold hair.

"I do know it, Hilde. But you are needed here. My sister needs you now. I need you to look out for her." Her brow furrowed at the way he spoke of Éowyn. She didn't have a chance to ask, though, as he continued before she could even open her mouth.

"She grows just as discontent as you do, but there is more. Grima haunts her footsteps, wanting her, scheming to get her. I cannot watch for her if I am not here. I need you to be my eyes." A flash of anger toward the wretched snake grew in Hilde's chest as Éomer spoke.

"Do not fear for Éowyn, Éomer. Be assured, I will watch out for her. Should Grima even try to lay a hand on her—he will lose it," she whispered vehemently, completely serious in her threat. This time he did smile, but it faltered.

"Be careful, Hilde. To not underestimate Grima. He all but rules in Saruman's name now. Cross him, and you may face worse than banishment." She froze at his tone; the worry in it, and the affection. She hadn't heard any such feeling from him since that day years before. Lifting her hand from where it had gripped his sleeve, she raised her fingertips to graze his own cheek.

"You must be careful too, Éomer. With Théodred—I could not bear to lose you too." It was completely impulsive, but she immediately realized she didn't regret the words and that she meant them with everything she was. His eyes softened as they looked down on her. Then he was leaning toward her. She was a tall woman, but he still needed to lean down to bring his face to hers. Her heart began racing in anticipation. Then his eyes flicked up, and he jumped back as though burned. Hilde tensed, a flush rising to her cheeks. Clearing his throat, Éomer bowed his head sharply to Hilde after mounting Firefoot.

"Farewell, Hilde. Tell Éowyn why I go, and that I'm sorry." He said brusquely. Hilde nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Reining the dappled horse around, he charged out of the stables, nearly mowing down the man lurking in the shadow of the lintel. Hilde's expression hardened at the sight of one of Grima Wormtongue's thugs, Unferth, lingering, watching, to make sure Éomer left. Outside there were shouts and calls to ride; it was a relief to her to know that the horselord would not be riding alone.

Now to tell Éowyn.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

Don't forget to review! I'd love to hear what you think!