Chapter 28 - "Forth, Eolingas!"

Edoras caused Elanor's heart to thump queerly in her chest.

The city graced a hilltop, encircled by medieval buildings and stables, and at the outskirts a sturdy wall. Many horses were housed therein, and great banners fluttered in the gusty breeze. No sun shone upon the land, however, and the Golden Hall did not gleam in the noon light. All was dark. The city seemed as a young and vigorous man, graced with strength and honour which had been tainted by poison, falling under a grievous shadow. Seeing Rohan overhung by the gloom of Sauron made Elanor's blood sear through her veins; the men who rode about her appeared sombre and discomfited. The entire scene seemed a dreadful loss of valour and joy.

Still, Meduseld was an impressive sight to behold as she followed Théoden's contingent through the gates of the city and up through the sloping streets. Merry still rode in front of her, looking increasingly downcast. Stealing a glance behind, Elanor caught the eye of Éowyn, who had somehow contrived to ride at the rear of the small guard entering Edoras—the rest of the army remained milling on the plains outside.

And at least, if all goes well, these people will know light and happiness once more.

"There are some three-score riders who shall join us," Théoden intoned, drawing Snowmane to a halt in a square near his halls and dismounting. "We have but a short while; refresh yourselves, and then we ride."

As the other officers quickly dispersed on various errands, the king caught sight of Elanor and her halfling companion.

"Lady Elanor," he called. Anxious lest Théoden discover that Éowyn had not remained behind in Dunharrow, she led Fundanár towards the man.

"Yes, King Théoden?"

"I entrust you to those who remain of my household, and I hope that in doing so I have not earned the displeasure of your kin," he intoned, his snowy beard shifting in the breeze. "With you shall remain my esquire, Master Meriadoc; war is no place for a halfling, and I believe that you might find some comfort in one another." He glanced briefly over her shoulder to where Merry stood, half-heartedly stroking Stybba's nose.

"Aye," Elanor nodded, not trusting herself to say anything more lest she be forced to lie or reveal the truth.

The king nodded. "May you fare well, Elanor of Rivendell; I hope that we may meet again."

Elanor felt her chest tighten, her mail-clad body further weighed down by the knowledge that the noble man before her would soon meet his death.

And I don't think I can save you like I did Boromir… not without something going horribly wrong…

"You have been kind to me, my lord. I pray that you and your men shall see great victory."

Théoden smiled sadly at this, before nodding once more. Something in his blue eyes bespoke his hopelessness, as if he knew he rode to his death—and went anyway. Moving with grace which belied his age, the king returned to his nephew's side and the group of men departed for the Golden Hall.

Elanor sighed heavily as she turned Fundanár towards where Merry stood. Death was coming, and a lot of it—yet Théoden's courage in the face of grim circumstances lent Elanor strength. She would seek to match the bravery of the Rohirrim.

The young figure of Dernhelm was loitering not far from Merry, keeping his gaze down and avoiding conversation with the other soldiers. Putting aside the melancholy feelings, Elanor set her mind to practicality—something she was immensely good at. Moving briskly, she approached the hobbit with a gentle smile.

"Merry," she said. "Would you take charge of Fundanár for a moment? I wish to ask a question of one of the soldiers."

The hobbit eyed the enormous gelding slightly askance, but nodded. "Of course, Lady Elanor. He's frightfully big though, isn't he?"

"Very, but as gentle as a lamb. He shall stand quietly for you, I'm sure."

Passing him the reins, Elanor squeezed Merry's shoulder in an understanding way and moved towards where Éowyn stood. Attempting to keep up her pretence, she gave a brief bow to the disguised shieldmaiden.

"What is it you are called, Rider of Rohan?" Elanor asked.

Éowyn's eyes twinkled beneath her helmet—which she still wore—and she bowed deferentially in return.

"Dernhelm, my lady."

Good, all on track so far.

"I wish to ask something of you, Dernhelm."

"Speak, lady," she replied, lowering her voice so it was at least passably masculine.

Elanor shuffled half a step closer, keeping her own tone quiet so as to avoid eavesdroppers. Truth be told, most of the other Rohirrim were busy tending their horses and rummaging in their packs for food. Several had begun to discard unnecessary items, and one or two were ferrying these things to their quarters in the city.

"Where might one acquire sufficient provisions to last the ride to Minas Tirith?"

For an instant Éowyn stared at her in silent amazement. One gloved hand reached out and squeezed Elanor's, but she spoke no word and quickly released her.

"I—I might provide them—my lady."

"And what of one hobbit?"

"Those—already accounted for."

"That is well." Elanor could not contain her smile as she glanced back at Merry.

Seeming to find her wits, Éowyn shook her head slightly. "You had best discard those belongings of which you no longer have need. You shall need all space for provisions, and ride as light as you may." There was a tone of warning in her words, as if she tested Elanor's resolve.

"I am aware of that," she replied. "Though there are some things I would not wish to have fall into another's hands."

Éowyn nodded, before raising her voice slightly so that Merry might overhear. "Come, Lady Elanor—I shall escort you to the guest quarters."

Leaving Windfola tied to a post, Dernhelm gestured that Elanor should proceed. Seeing Merry's bewildered expression, Elanor paused to speak to him as she grabbed her pack from Fundanár's saddle.

"I am merely going to deposit my belongings and refresh myself—I shan't belong, and I'll come rescue you from Fundanár," she smiled. At this, the chestnut gelding tossed his head as if indignantly—he had been a perfect gentleman.

Éowyn took her pack and led her across the courtyard and up a set of stone stairs to the entrance to Meduseld. As a ranking lady, Elanor would be afforded rooms within the house of Théoden. They entered the anteroom, where two guards stood on the alert. As Elanor and her escort approached, one raised a challenge in the Rohirric tongue. Elanor paused, at a loss to understand it.

Éowyn responded swiftly, and she caught "Elanor", "Théoden" and "Éowyn" amidst the flood of foreign words. The pair spoke for half a minute, before the soldier nodded in satisfaction.

"Forgive me, Lady Elanor," he said, turning to her and bowing slightly. "I did not know that a lady of the North guested with Théoden King. Enter if you so desire."

"My thanks," she replied, putting on her most winning smile as Éowyn pushed open a door and held it whilst she passed through. The Rohirric woman chuckled as they passed down several dark and deserted corridors.

"What did he ask?" Elanor inquired, bemused.

"He thought you were of the Eorlingas, a daughter of a Captain whom he did not recognise, come to the Golden Hall," laughed her companion. "He was far more inclined towards clemency once he discovered you were a guest and friend of the king and his niece, not a presumptuous minor noblewoman."

Elanor laughed at that, shaking her head ruefully. "I see that my appearance once again belies me."

"You are clad in the armour of Rohan."

"Are all women accustomed to dressing in this fashion in your land?"

"Many daughters of noble houses are permitted this liberty," Éowyn replied. "Though few indulge such tastes. Gowns are sewn to cause little inconvenience when one rides astride. Only in war do we clad ourselves so."

I could definitely stay here!

"That's nice," Elanor said, somewhat absentmindedly. "Where are we going, Éowyn?"

"To my quarters."

"Oh. I thought I would stay in the guest wing."

Éowyn slowed and clasped the handle of a dark wooden door. Turning to Elanor, she chuckled. "If I understand your veiled meanings, Elanor of Rivendell, you do not intend to stay anywhere." Pushing the door open, the pair entered and Éowyn bolted the door from the inside.

Elanor surveyed the chamber, noting it's simple furnishings and rather liking the overall decor. Éowyn had a large four-poster bed, made of darkened timber, and graced with furs and a woollen spread of deep crimson. The floor was of stone, covered in many thick rugs, and there was a wardrobe-like object and writing desk in a similar shade to the bed. Weapons decorated the walls, save for one painting which depicted some Rohirric scenery.

"We have little time," Éowyn said, pulling her helm off to reveal a dishevelled golden head. "Come—let us deposit your goods ere Théoden King summons his marshals to war."

Elanor nodded, beginning to toss things out of her pack. Her Elvish attire—most of it in need of a wash by this stage—was refolded and placed on the end of Éowyn's bed. Any remaining food stores were replaced. Her bedroll she also retained. After dealing with the mundane items, Elanor reached to the very bottom of the pack and felt her fingers brush that which caused her most concern.

She clenched her jaw, knowing that if she was going to fling herself wholly into her new existence she could not behave like a worrisome child. Feeling as if she were about to cut off her own right arm, Elanor glanced at the unlit fireplace in one wall and then at her friend.

"Might we light the fire for a brief time, Éowyn?"

The shield maiden raised one eyebrow. "Indeed, Elanor—though if you are in need of warmth, there are other things which might serve you better. We cannot linger here."

"No, I—" She faltered. "I need to destroy some paperwork; it is of little import, but I do not wish to leave it behind, nor may I take it with me."

"Of course." Éowyn proceeded to the fireplace and within a very short space of time had a crackling fire going.

Whilst the other woman's back was turned, Elanor gently withdrew The Lord of the Rings from her pack. She had left The Silmarillion and Magician back in Rivendell, trusting that Lord Elrond would see her quarters were left undisturbed. Here in Rohan, however… there was every likelihood she would never come back to retrieve that which she left. Her Elvish clothes were a sad loss, though she could easily get new attire in Minas Tirith.

If you survive the battle…

Shutup.

Her book and the timeline written on the parchment tucked inside, however, were utterly different. Were someone to discover them, she would be undone.

Checking Éowyn's eyes were not upon her, Elanor gently unwrapped her sister's book and stared glumly at the cover. This was one of a handful of mementos from home—her sister's weapons had been lost months ago, and any other relics of her old life were many hundreds of miles away.

And she had to burn it.

The series is almost over, anyway. There's nothing coming up you're not aware of. You don't need it.

But…

Georgia would understand.

Nodding resolutely, Elanor rewrapped the goods and rose. The fire was blazing merrily as she approached and knelt beside Éowyn.

"Is the blaze strong enough for what you have in mind?"

"It should be."

Seeming to read the reluctance on her face, Éowyn graced her with a rare smile. "I shall fetch provisions for you whilst you work."

Nodding gratefully, Elanor waited until the woman had donned her helmet and slipped out of the room before pulling off the book's wrapping and tossing it first into the fire. The flames consumed it frantically. With one lingering look at Georgia's treasure, Elanor opened the cover and grasped a small wad of pages.

Steeling herself, she tore them out.

The sound seemed louder than it should have, transcending the crackling of the fire and the sound of men and horses outside. Seeing the prologue rent from it's cover caused a stab of pain, but the damage had been done. She held it unwaveringly over the flames as they licked at the paper, only dropping it into the fire once it was well and truly caught. Tearing out a second chunk, she checked that all was being destroyed before beginning again. At length she was left with only the Appendices and the cardboard cover. Adding the last pages to the hungry flames, Elanor watched as the cover illustration was eaten up.

Georgia's book was gone.

As unpleasant as it was to see a perfectly good novel destroyed, the experience was somewhat cathartic. She'd chosen Middle Earth, willing herself to begin a life here; "This is my home now" had become her mantra, whispered to the darkness and fog of longing which crept towards her soul. Even in the pleasanter times, in which she'd convinced herself she was happy in Middle Earth, her mind had chanted the words to ward off homesickness—like an echo, scarcely heard and vehemently denied, but always present. As she put her final relic to the torch—the carefully-compiled timeline—her heart squeezed in anguish, lamenting that which was lost. She now possessed nothing which would betray her, no memento of her home world which bespoke her alienness. As deeply as it wounded her, the sensation also carried a sense of finality. She no longer leaned on the book like a crutch. Middle Earth's causes would become her own.

For once, she felt peaceful. There was loss, certainly, but quietude which transcended that. She could not live with the unspoken hope that one day she might be offered the chance to return home. She had reassured herself she would go back if the opportunity arose, protected by the impossibility of such an event.

The denial… No. She needed to commit wholeheartedly, not just to the coming war, but to a life in Arda. Had she not disrupted events, the people of Middle Earth would undoubtedly see victory. As it was, she hoped that one fairly inept sword amongst the Rohirrim might be the straw that broke Sauron's back. If she could help safeguard that which was wholesome and good, perhaps things might not go awry.

"I'm going to battle," she whispered to the flames, gently reaching out to grasp a fragment of paper which had escaped destruction, "because, like it or not, I live here now." Dropping the scrap into the fire, she sighed.

Then in her mind she saw a passage from the book she had just committed to flames:

"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

"What will that be for you, Elanor Ravenscroft?" she asked quietly, losing herself in the entrancing flickers of the hearth.

First, war.

And then?

She smiled, beset by a conflicting mass of emotions as her thoughts dwelt on her family, friends, and her beloved Tim. All of that was lost to her, and she would not attempt to deny it any longer.

A home, she thought, finally. And, perhaps if I am very fortunate indeed—a family.

Elanor watched as Merry stood before the king, his hobbit-face twisted with despair and grief.

"This is no journey for such steeds as Stybba, as I have told you," said Théoden. "And in such a battle as we think to make on the fields of Gondor what would you do, Master Meriadoc, swordthain though you be, and greater of heart than of stature?"

"As for that, who can tell?" answered Merry. "But why, lord, did you receive me as swordthain, if not to stay by your side? And I would not have it said of me in song only that I was always left behind!"

"I received you for your safe-keeping," answered Théoden; "and also to do as I might bid. None of my Riders can bear you as burden. If the battle were before my gates, maybe your deeds would be remembered by the minstrels; but it is a hundred leagues and two to Mundburg where Denethor is

lord. I will say no more."

Merry bowed and went away unhappily, and stared at the lines of horsemen. Already the companies were preparing to start: men were tightening girths, looking to saddles, caressing their horses; some gazed uneasily at the lowering sky. Unnoticed, Éowyn approached him from behind. Elanor watched with lowered brows as the woman whispered to his ear. After a moment, the hobbit's face was lit with hope, and he dropped to the back of the column with the newly-discovered Dernhelm, a blithe expression upon his countenance.

Elanor directed her gaze downwards as the pair approached. She had donned a helm much like Éowyn's, and—with much hesitancy—swapped her Elvish cloak for the dark green of the Rohirrim. It was fastened with a golden clasp, and trimmed with red and gold thread. Elanor strongly suspected it of being Éowyn's in years past, but was glad for the method of disguise nonetheless. Merry had not seemed to recognise Éowyn, but he studied Elanor with narrowed eyes as he neared the two horses, chestnut and grey.

Trying to avoid his scrutiny, she passed Éowyn Windfola's reins which she held, and leaned down as if to check Fundanár's saddle. The other woman hefted Merry onto her stallion's back with a grunt—and no mean amount of strength. Elanor saw Éowyn swing up behind him easily despite her heavy mail. She was lithe and well-knit, and made the new arrival in Middle Earth feel weak and pitiful in comparison.

Éowyn's grey eyes met her for a moment as she pulled her cloak forward to hide Merry from the eyes of other soldiers. Several had noticed the hobbit in passing, but none appeared to make the connection between the King's esquire and the concealed figure on the great grey horse.

Merry, for his part, was watching Elanor shrewdly.

He saw a soldier even slighter than Dernhelm, though scarcely shorter. The young man—for so he must be—sat his chestnut gelding with ease, but seemed weighed down by the hauberk and shield which he bore. He had light eyes, though they were devoid of a glint in the gathering gloom. His helm hid all of his features. Craning his head slightly, Merry observed the peculiar make of the sword on the soldier's left hip. Catching sight of a flash of golden hair, his quick mind took in the familiar chestnut gelding with the long white blaze and he cried out.

"Lady Elanor!"

This was rewarded by Éowyn's firm arm clasping him about the shoulders, a gloved hand covering his mouth.

"Stay your tongue, halfling, or all shall be undone!" hissed the shieldmaiden, whilst Elanor glanced about anxiously to see if anyone had heard. Over the sounds of milling horses and talk, the hobbit's exclamation had gone unnoticed.

"Lady Éowyn?" he mumbled, attempting to turn in the saddle despite her restraining arm. She released him. "I believed you to be in Dunharrow, my lady!"

Urging Fundanár closer to Windfola, Elanor leaned towards the hobbit. "We ride to war, just as you Merry. But do as Éowyn says; speak softly, or else King Théoden will discover our ruse and we shall come to grief."

"Of course," responded Merry, in amazement, "though I do not know how you came to be here! I am glad, though," he added, smiling at Elanor. "I had thought we were to be parted, and when La—Dernhelm came and spoke to me, I was exceedingly relieved."

Elanor turned her gaze skyward, as the shadow crept nearer. "Aye, Merry, we ride to war—together. Let us pray that nothing goes wrong."

Thus it came to pass that when the king set out, before Dernhelm sat Meriadoc the hobbit, and the great grey steed Windfola made little of the burden; for Dernhelm was less in weight than many men, though lithe and well-knit in frame. And to the pair's left sped a great chestnut, slighter of build than the horses of the Rohirrim, but proud in bearing. Upon his back rode Aelfnod, his peculiar blade upon his hip engraved with alien runes.

On into the shadow they rode. In the willow-thickets where Snowbourn flowed into Entwash, twelve leagues east of Edoras, they camped that night. And then on again through the Folde; and through the Fenmarch, where to their right great oakwoods climbed on the skirts of the hills under the shades of dark Halifirien by the borders of Gondor; but away to their left the mists lay on the marshes fed by the mouths of Entwash. And as they rode rumour came of war in the North. Lone men, riding wild, brought word of foes assailing their east-borders, of orc-hosts marching in the Wold of Rohan.

"Ride on! Ride on!" cried Éomer. "Too late now to turn aside. The fens of Entwash must guard our flank. Haste now we need. Ride on!"

And so King Théoden departed from his own realm, and mile by mile the long road wound away, and the beacon hills marched past: Calenhad, Min-Rimmon, Erelas, Nardol. But their fires were quenched. All the lands were grey and still; and ever the shadow deepened before them, and hope waned in every heart.

Elanor fed the fires of her determination as she glanced at the despairing faces about her, willing herself to stand at their side and face the coming storm with the grace and composure expected of a daughter of Elrond. And yet, the hopelessness did not pass her by. With each day, the black cloud continued to weigh heavy on her spirit. She prayed frequently and with deep fervour, willing Eru to make things well.

And on they rode.

TRANSLATIONS

Aelfnod - supposed to be "Ælfnod". Derived from the old English elements meaning "elf" combined with "nod", which means "boldness, daring". I fancied that this name would be given to Elanor to disguise her upon the rode, as she is considered akin to the Elves and chose to be bold/daring. Based on the fact that Éowyn chooses to be called "Dernhelm", which means "helmet of secrecy". Seemed likely that Elanor might also don a name that kind of hinted at her background.

As I promised, the gap between 27 and 28 was less than between their predecessor's. I set my mind to writing and composed this today. It is slightly shorter, but that is because I wanted to finish at this particular point and get on with the battle in the next chapter. :D

Biggest gripe about all these Rohirrim-based chapters is all of the accents I have to put on the names haha. I have a Mac so the keyboard shortcuts aren't terribly hard, but it's definitely more irksome than some.

Hope you enjoyed it! Exciting stuff is coming, though I do tend to make things more dialogue-based and less actiony. Still, I'll try my hand at both.

Stay classy :P

Finwe.