(Sorry I haven't posted any new chapters in so long. Life has become busy and I have had to shift with it or break. But I have this to continue this story. Originally chapter 3 was going to be longer than this, but I've run kinda drie on ideas lately so... I'll keep fishing around in my mind for what to put next, but any ideas for what should happen are more than welcome.)

Chapter 3

Eowyn paced the battlements of Meduseld uneasily. It was still early morning, the fingers of a grey dawn just beginning to reach westward. She knew it was only a matter of hours until her brother rode heedlessly to certain death. And he would die, she had no doubt… unless somehow he was intercepted. But how? The beacons had only been lit the night before and Aragorn was still several days' ride away from the golden hall.

Eowyn brushed a lock of pale gold hair away from her face and closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the newly rising sun flood over her and calm her nerves. Don't let yourself get overly troubled, she told herself quietly, or your mind will remain unclear and no answers will come. She breathed in deep, allowing her lungs to fill with the chilled dawn air, and then exhaled all the way. You must not let your heart make all your decisions, or you will find them faulty. Remember how Eomer must feel. He is a true warrior, but what is a warrior that cannot protect his people? He must feel he is shamed to watch his people die as he stands by helpless — not a king, not a warrior… not even a man.

Eowyn looked back towards the great oak door behind her, leading into the ancient halls of Meduseld, still chilled from the shades of evening. Behind her there lay a deep foreboding, a sense of dread that longed to reach out and clutch her heart within its vice grip… already the tips of its fingers were searching for her soul…. She shivered. Why must all be war and death? But would she have it any other way, she wondered? She thought of the sword lying locked in its trunk in her room, and the shield baring the white horse racing over green fields, of the armor carefully arrayed on its stand in the corner opposite her bed. Now it seemed an age already since she had used them. She'd promised herself then that she would never use them again, but always it seemed they called out to her with phantom voices, telling her of the grandeur waiting, of the adventures that could be hers if she would just reach out to it… Sometimes the voices were so hard to resist…

Soft footsteps sounded behind her. She turned quickly, but not before a gentle arm wrapped itself warmly about her waist. Faramir. Her thoughts had been so clouded lately that she'd hardly thought of her husband. That brought on a sharp pang of guilt… for more than just her absentmindedness. She'd promised him too…

Faramir turned her towards himself and swiped back a lock of her hair. The smile on his face was a sad one. She knew what it meant, could read it before he'd even said a word.

"You're going too, aren't you?" Now his touch seemed cold to her. Why was it that war stole the warmth of everything away? His fingers were soft against her skin, but they were not as gentle as she remembered… of course, her mind had been very distracted lately. Perhaps her memory of his touch was overly exaggerated in her head…

Faramir nodded. His smile was cold too, a wintry sort of thing devoid of the sun that once seemed to pour from it. "Aye," he murmured. "As Eomer's friend and sister-husband I am bound by duty and honor to accompany him. We're to ride as soon as the sun is fully risen. I just came up to say good-bye."

Eowyn felt like she was going to cry, but she held the tears back stubbornly. A daughter of Kings, she reminded herself to help stem the flow, A daughter of Kings. Do not allow tears to fall and stain your dignity… her dignity seemed all she had left now.

She allowed Faramir to pull her close in a farewell embrace. The sun was nearly risen now; they had only minutes left. She wanted to feel warmth, pulled against him as she was - not necessarily physical warmth as much as emotional warmth - but the truth was all she felt was betrayed in every sense of the word. Her Uncle had died, whom she had loved like a father, her brother was leaving her to go fight some fool's war, and now even her husband was riding away and she was left alone, a lonely shadow to mark the battlements of Rohan 'til the day no one would returned, just as they hadn't in the days previous. Such a thought of her future made her cringe. Betrayed.

A horn sounded down below and Eowyn felt Faramir's embrace loosen. She let it; it wouldn't matter whether she clung to him or not, he'd go anyway. She saw the hurt in his eyes when she allowed his hand to fall away, but she didn't let it reach her. After all, he must know how much his leaving hurt her, yet he wasn't even trying to stay; he wanted to go. So let him!

"I will see you soon."

She nodded. She didn't trust her voice; she feared if she spoke, her carefully guarded countenance would crumble and she'd break down in sobs. He hesitated… (she noticed that. Maybe he'd stay after all)… and then turned and walked down the stairs. The horn sounded again. By the time it faded away, he was lost to view.

Turning, she looked back at the darkened doorway. Memories clung to the shadows like fire clings to wood. But like shadows, they were all dim; distorted, happy remnants nearly forgotten in the shades of time. Beyond that doorway laid a very real life, with very real sorrows, and very real pain. But, also beyond that same door, deep within the crisscrossing maze of passages and halls, there was a room. In that room there was a sword, a shield, and armor. What now had she to lose? Once before she'd stood on the edge of the same decision. Once before she'd nothing left to loose but her life. Now she stood there again.

Straightening her back, she entered through the dark door. A sword would feel good in her hands again.