Note:

Eowyn becomes a POV character!

My original intention was for the whole story to just follow Nelwen and Annamir's points of view. But Nelwen and Annmir are both in Ithilien (and later Mordor) and so I needed to add another POV character so the reader wouldn't miss out on all the Minas Tirith shenanigans.

I found this section very daunting – I wanted to do the lovely Eowyn justice.

Five days after Gandalf's departure from Edoras, Eowyn was astounded at how normal everything seemed. Children laughed as they tore through the streets, mothers groused at the cost of bread, old men loitered on street corners to discuss their assorted ailments. And Eowyn returned to drifting around the Meduseld, making inane chatter with nobles and doing the occasional cross-stich. The memory of Helm's Deep, of fighting honourably to defend the Hornburg, seemed like an age ago.

Eowyn tread carefully across the grass from the Meduseld to a lush knoll next to the King's stables, two very full cups of piping tea in hand. Nearing the knoll, she saw Aragorn sitting pensively where she'd left him a moment before, surrounded with assorted items of his equipment. Sensing her arrival, he raised his head, nodded his thanks and took the cup of tea that she offered him. She sat down next to him, crossing her legs beneath her body and arranging her chestnut-coloured skirts around her before blowing gently across the top of her mug. Next to her, Aragorn too blew at the surface of his tea, watching transfixed as the spindles of steam rose and curled. The pair sat like that for a while, the sound of gentle sipping the only thing to punctuate the silence.

The knoll next to the stables had always been a favourite spot for Eowyn. The air smelt like home here, of straw and leather polish. And the view north, across the Snowbourn River to West Emnet, stretched out enticingly before her. She'd taken it as an excellent sign of character that Aragorn had become similarly fond of the spot during his short stay.

Her drink finished, she put down her mug and picked up the sewing she'd left before she'd ventured inside in search of refreshment. She frowned when she noticed that Aragorn's mug seemed almost full. Staring far into the distance, he seemed too distracted with his own thoughts to concern himself with something as mundane as swiftly cooling tea.

"So when do you intend on leaving?" she asked, picking up on the conversation they'd been having before she'd gone to fetch the tea.

"As soon as possible," was his answer. "I have tarried too long already."

"Well I'm glad you did tarry. There has been much to do since our return from Helm's Deep. I know the King has found your assistance invaluable."

Aragorn gave a thoughtful hum.

"And you're sure you cannot stay," she continued, gently prodding his resolve to leave.

"If the riders of Rohan do not ride for Gondor then I must ride on alone. Battle is coming to Minas Tirith and I must lend my assistance if victory is to be achieved. I will travel south of the White Mountains, gather what forces I can along the coast."

He looked up at her for the first time since she'd handed him his tea, as if hoping for some confirmation from her that he was doing the right thing. For a fleeting moment Eowyn considered objecting, pleading with him to stay and help rebuild the still fragile kingdom of Rohan. But she understood that he needed to go and her pride would not permit her to plead with him when she knew there was no hope of changing his mind. So instead she simply nodded.

They continued on then in mundane conversation, all discussion of Sauron and imminent battle seemingly off limits. Eowyn shared anecdotes about her family: her mother's tuneless singing, her brother's secret fear of spiders, her father's insistence that Eowyn learn to wield a sword. In return, Aragorn told her stories of the elven kingdoms, of the waterfalls of Rivendell and the golden Mallorn trees of Lorien. Eowyn had never seen the kingdoms of the elves, never even seen an elf before meeting Nelwen, and her curiosity was insatiable.

Aragorn took occasional, tentative sips of his tea as they spoke, and Eowyn busied her hands repairing his leathers with confident stitches. While Aragorn was of course capable of repairing his own leathers, she'd watched with agony as he'd repaired his belt to a questionable standard and couldn't bear watching him make a similar botch of his leather cuirass.

Eyes crinkled with laughter following one of Aragorn's more sensational stories, Eowyn looked up from her work to briefly drink in the beautiful view. In the corner of her eye, she spotted a small, winking light. At first she thought she was imagining it, that it was just the sun playing atop the snow-peaked mountains. But as she continued to look it became more clear that, yes, there was definitely a burning light atop a nearby mount.

"The beacon!" she said to Aragorn with urgent intensity.

Aragorn's head jerked up and there was a momentary pause as the enormity of the situation settled upon the two observers. Suddenly, Aragorn was on his feet, his mug carelessly tossed to the ground in his haste, and he tore across the grass to the Meduseld. Eowyn hurried behind, great fistfuls of skirt in each hand so she wouldn't trip on her hem.

Bursting through the wooden doors, Aragorn announced to the great hall, "the beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!"

All activity in the hall stopped, all attention drawn first to Aragorn and then to Theoden to see how he would react. Silence fell thick around the assembled nobles of the court and the King's advisors, interrupted only by the wheezing breaths of Aragorn and Eowyn following their mad dash up the stairs to the Meduseld. At last Theoden smiled, nodded his head once. "And Rohan will answer," he said, voice laced with determination and pride.

His inaction had almost led to the destruction of Rohan at the hands of Saruman; he would not be prisoner to inaction again. "Muster the Rohirrim," he ordered his lieutenants, turning from the hall to make preparations for the upcoming journey to Minas Tirith. Eowyn felt a rush of excitement, pleased that the men of Rohan would answer Gondor's call for help; there was honour to be had in helping those in need.

Bells rang out across Edoras and the streets were chaotic with the coming and going of horses and men alike. The order had been given and the Rohirrim were to ride out to Gondor, lend their support to the garrisons of Minas Tirith.

Eowyn led her horse from the stables, paused to check that all the straps were properly buckled before attempting to mount.

"You ride with us?" asked Aragorn, leading his own horse from the stable behind her.

"Just to the encampment," she replied. "It's tradition for the women of the court to farewell the men."

Aragorn eyed her suspiciously. He'd seen her at Helm's Deep, seen the determination with which she'd fought. He couldn't imagine she'd be content with merely saying farewell to the men, watching them ride off to battle while she remained behind. On a hunch, he leant forward and lifted the rug draped across her saddle. When he saw her spatha hidden underneath, the engraved hilt flashing in the sun, he shot her a meaningful look. Embarrassed at having been caught, Eowyn's cheeks flushed as she hurriedly pulled the rug back into place.

She was grateful when he made no comment, grateful that he did not reveal her deception. She had got a taste for battle at Helm's Deep: the pulse of blood surging through wearied limbs, the rhythmic clattering of steel on steel, the sense of satisfaction that came from seeing death at your side and stabbing it before it stabbed you. She could not, now, ignore the call to battle when Minas Tirith was in need and she had skill to help. Riding to the encampment of Dunharrow, Aragorn at her side and the riders of Rohan in her wake, Eowyn felt that unique joy that comes from feeling oneself useful. Nothing would make her relinquish that feeling.