Okay, I promise, no more chapters named after Chicks songs. It's out of my system now, I swear. Also, for anyone who's dying for the actual romance part, we're getting there, I promise. I know it's been pretty sparse on romantic interactions so far, but think of it like an exponential curve, where the story gets progressively more romance-heavy as it goes. Hold onto your hats, folks, and remember to leave a review if you'd like!

Quick reminder that I'm sticking more to the book for a bit rather than the movie. For those who might not know or remember the differences, that means Eomer isn't actually banished from Rohan like he was in the movie. In the book, he's imprisoned when he returns to Edoras after helping Aragorn and Co. That's the biggest change to be aware of—just didn't want y'all to be blindsided by it.

Chapter 23: Cowboy Take Me Away

The soldiers encircled our little camp in a whirlwind of movement and noise, horses stamping and men calling out to one another in an organized chaos. Several of them cried out in surprise and anguish as they spotted the body of their fallen medic, Paga, lying beside the fire. Soon enough, two more bodies were laid beside Paga's, and I looked away, the image of their blank faces and bloodied limbs making my breath hitch.

Panic was swelling in my chest as more and more riders approached. I saw no sign of Merry or Pippin among them—where could they have gone?

"Alfric, how fares your leg?" One of the men reined his horse close to us and dismounted smoothly. It was the same person who'd whisked me away from the battle, I realized, though the last several hours clearly hadn't been kind to him: black orc blood was splattered across his chest, and his long blond hair was limp with sweat and dirt. Lord Eomer, Alfric had called him.

"I am perfectly well," Alfric grumbled, folding his arms. "I've had far worse injuries, as you well know."

"Is that so?" Eomer removed his helmet to reveal a starkly handsome face and piercing eyes. "Well, to your feet then, if you're in such admirable health. Swiftly now!"

Alfric paled. "Of course." He shot me a pointed look, and I took his hand, bracing myself as he pulled on my arm and struggled to stand upright. His leg buckled. Crying out, he nearly toppled me over, and Eomer leapt forward to ease Alfric back to the ground.

"Come, man, don't be a fool," he snapped, though his eyes were gentle as he examined the bandages wrapped just above Alfric's knee. "How much blood must you have lost since the evening! Why did you not tie a tourniquet?"

"And risk losing my leg entirely?" Alfric snorted. "I staunched the bleeding well enough, thank you."

"You may lose your leg yet," he said blackly, and Alfric went paler than ever. "The projectile does not seem to have shattered bone, but you know I am no healer. You, at least, are still well?" he added, standing and turning to me. I nodded. "Whatever your tribulations have been, my eored and I will see you to safety, I promise you. My name is Eomer, son of Eomund," he added.

"I'm Beatrice—uh, daughter of Karen and Ted." I grabbed his hand and shook it—after an awkward pause, he returned the handshake, looking bemused.

"Where did the Uruk-hai find you?"

"They ambushed us at Amon Hen. About two days ago."

"Us?" he repeated, looking startled.

My heart sank like a stone. "Two hobbits were taken prisoner with me. Did none of your men find them? Hobbits," I repeated desperately at the blank look on his face. "Halflings! Two of them, they're about this tall—"

"Halflings?" another man exclaimed with a snort of laughter, and a murmur swept through the camp. I felt my face burn.

Eomer sighed and shook his head. "Delirious," he muttered to one of the others. "You there, fetch her some water, quick now."

"I'm fine," I insisted. "But my friends are still—"

"You are confused," Eomer said sternly. "Halflings are the stuff of legends, old songs and children's tales out of the North. Tell me clearly, were there no men or women with you, no other captives?"

"Yes, there were two hobbits!" I cried, wanting to shake him. Someone tried to press a flask of water into my hands and I shoved it away from me. "Damn it, just ask around, please—maybe someone in your group saw them!"

With a scowl, Eomer turned to raise the matter with one of his men, and I did my best to think. God, what if they had been killed after all, trampled by one of their horses or run through by an errant spear? I twisted my sleeves in my fingers, hardly able to stomach the idea. But I hesitated, remembering how Pippin manipulated that sneaking orc who'd come looking for the Ring. That had taken me by surprise, for sure. I supposed I'd needed reminding that, just because the hobbits were small and naive, they were far from helpless.

If that orc had thought they had the Ring, and if the hobbits had played along, what might have happened next? It isn't easy to find, Pippin had told him, so surely the orc had thought to keep them alive, at least for the present, to look for it. And the orc knew he wasn't supposed to be going after the Ring, that he was supposed to leave the hobbits alone…so what if he'd dragged the hobbits out of sight, near the edge of the camp? He would have gone toward the only place shrouded in darkness, where none of the horsemen's campfires were lit—towards the forest!

"Well, Beatrice," Eomer interrupted my thoughts with an impatient frown. "I have raised the call among my men, but thus far none claim to have seen any other captives among the Uruk-hai, least of all halflings."

"They must be in the forest," I exclaimed, ignoring the disdain in his voice. "If none of your men saw them, there's nowhere else they could be!"

"Now your halflings have disappeared into Fangorn? I know you have been through a great deal, but you must be reasonable. I tell you again, none of my men saw any such creatures all through the night!"

"That's because they were wearing elven cloaks—they'd be camouflaged in the dark. I should have known y'all'd've missed them."

Y'all'd've seemed to give Eomer pause for a moment. "So now these halflings have elven camouflage!" he scoffed at last. "That is an enviable ability indeed."

I glared at him. "I don't care if you don't believe me, I have to go after them!" I turned to march toward the tree line, but Eomer grasped my shoulder.

"I cannot allow you to enter Fangorn on some whim!" he cried, looking at me as though I'd suggested waltzing into Mordor itself. "Have you not heard of the evils of such a wood?"

"It's not evil," I said, trying to shrug him off. "I'll be perfectly safe!"

"Enough! Bema, girl, I will not have your death on my hands!"

"Fine," I snapped. "Fine! Then send someone else after them, at least. I can't lose them, not now, not after everything!" Our Fellowship had been fragmented beyond repair: we'd lost Gandalf in Moria, Boromir was injured, possibly dead, Frodo and Sam were heading for Mordor—and now Merry and Pippin? "They're all I have left," I said, pressing a hand to my mouth, my shoulders shaking.

"Hardly will I risk the lives of my men on such an errand, either," he countered, though slightly more gently than before. "If those woods truly are as safe as you claim, then your halflings will have nothing to fear."

Furious as I was with him, he made a good point. I couldn't explain my confidence in Fangorn, and I didn't understand that strange pull to the trees I'd felt last night, but I was certain that if the hobbits could get away from the orcs, they would be safe in the forest.

"It'll be alright, little miss," Alfric told me as Eomer stalked away to issue more orders to his men.

Alfric, at least, hadn't laughed at my mention of hobbits, but I wasn't sure how much of my words he believed. I looked down at him bleakly. "Have you got any more wine?"

"Seems like water would do you better after all," he admitted, passing me the waterskin I'd shunted aside before. I took it listlessly, and we stewed in unhappy silence for a long moment.

At last, Eomer turned back to us. "Alfric, can you manage to mount your horse?"

He snorted. "Bema's sake, don't insult me."

"Good, then. You must make for Edoras with all speed, if you are to save your leg. Beatrice, you will accompany him."

"She will?"

"I will?"

Eomer sighed at us both. "Yes. You both need medical care that we cannot provide in the wilds."

I opened my mouth to protest, then realized that he wasn't wrong. My jaw was swelling where Ugluk had hit me, and there were burning cuts between my shoulder blades and on the back of my calf where the Uruks' whips had bit into my skin. Still, everything in my body protested at his plan. I couldn't leave the hobbits behind, and I had to get into that forest, I just had to—

"Beatrice." Eomer motioned for me to follow him several paces away, out of earshot. "It is unfair to demand such a journey of you so soon after the horrors you have faced, I know," he said wearily. "But you cannot remain with my eored. My men will spend the morning burying our dead and burning the carcasses of those beasts, and I wish to patrol more land before returning to Edoras.

"But more than this," he went on, "I fear for Alfric's safety if he travels alone. That injury to his leg is far more severe than the stubborn old fool will admit, and he is less likely to fall from his horse if he has a companion. I can vouch for Alfric's honor, if that is what worries you," Eomer prompted gently. "He will see you to safety in Edoras; I will stake my life on it."

It was starting to look like I didn't have a choice, and the thought made me feel sick. Desperate, I cast my mind around, finally landing on the three flares I'd collected in my pockets. I'd also snatched up the flare gun after Ugluk had dropped it; with the battle erupting around me, I hadn't even noticed I'd done it. I paused, withdrawing the gun thoughtfully, a plan forming in my mind. Why not? It was better than nothing, at least.

"What is that?" Eomer said sharply, studying the flare gun.

I ignored his question. "I'll go with Alfric," I told him at last. "But not without letting Merry and Pippin know where I am." Before he could stop me, I loaded the flare into the plastic gun, pointed it toward the sky, and fired.

The camp erupted into shouts, men pointing and crying out at the streak of red fire bursting over our heads. "I should've given y'all a warning," I apologized. "But if the hobbits are anywhere nearby, they'll see that flare and they'll know it's me, they'll know I'm—hey!"

Eomer wrenched the flare gun from my hands, looking livid. "How did you come to have this? The Uruk-hai used such weapons against our own men just hours ago. Explain yourself!"

I tried and failed to snatch the flare gun back. "I stole it."

"But you knew perfectly well how to operate it!" he added.

"Well, I've used it before. The Uruk-hai stole it from me first. Although I took it from Saruman in the first place, so—"

"Saruman?" he hissed, throwing the flare gun onto the ground as though it was a live snake. "Now you are familiar with his magic! If you are allied with the White Wizard, girl—"

"How dare you!" I spat, my exhaustion finally boiling over. "Allied with him? Saruman stole me from my home, from everyone and everything I've ever known!" My voice broke, and I took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to rein in my temper. "The Uruk-hai were bringing me and the hobbits to him. He thinks I have magic, that I can help him wage his war on Middle Earth."

"Magic?" he repeated incredulously. "Is it true, then? You are a witch, a sorceress?"

"I'm a violinist," I said through gritted teeth. Boromir had taken to calling me a sorceress, and the word felt cold and bitter now. "I'm not a sorceress, alright? Saruman is wrong."

"So you say, but what of that?" Eomer gestured up at the smoke trail, still lingering in the sky. "Such magic will be visible for a dozen leagues!"

"Not any more than that will!" I snapped back, jabbing a finger at the fire his men were setting at the Uruk-hai's camp nearby, smoke roiling upwards in a black column as the bodies of my captors were set alight.

His glare was murderous. "Already I have promised to bring you to safety," he snarled, "and the Men of the Riddermark are true to their word. Come, Alfric," he barked, rounding on his men. "We must saddle your horse and send you both on your way at all speed. For your own sake, try to reach Edoras before nightfall."

He continued to speak to Alfric in hushed tones, and while he was distracted I grabbed the flare gun from where he'd thrown it on the ground and pocketed it again. I wasn't sure I'd need it anymore, but there were still two flares left—you never knew.

At last Alfric mounted his horse, swaying unsteadily in the saddle. I moved to climb on behind him, but Eomer pulled me aside one last time, his gaze fierce. "Perhaps I was too hasty in assuring you that you would be safe with Alfric," he hissed. "But hear me now, if anything happens to him, if any sorcery prevents him from reaching Edoras safely, you will answer to me."

"So, Lord Eomer believes you to be some kind of witch, eh?"

"Looks like it," I muttered. I was perched on the back of Alfric's dappled gray mare, Rohese, and was clinging to the injured rider as awkwardly as I had to Radagast all those months ago. "But if he'd just let me go after the hobbits, I wouldn't've had to use that flare gun in the first place!"

"Come now, little miss, surely you see why he couldn't let you do that, not in the state you were in."

I huffed, exhaustion making me irritated beyond belief. How many days had it been since I'd had a full night's sleep or a decent meal? "No, I don't," I grumbled. "Who does he think he is, anyway?"

"The nephew of Theoden King," Alfric said mildly.

"Oh." I paused, taken aback, before soldiering on. "Well, that's still no excuse for being a sack of—"

"Go easy on the poor man. The king lost his son not three days ago. Like a brother Prince Theodred was to Lord Eomer, as I understand. And now Lord Eomer is to inherit the throne in his stead. 'Tis enough to make a lesser man behave far worse."

"Oh," I said again, the fight begrudgingly leaving my voice. I was quiet for a long moment. "I'm sorry. If—if you don't mind me asking, how did the prince die?"

"Orcs. Sent by Saruman they were, too, according to Lord Eomer. Some in the Mark doubt his words, you understand, even the king himself, but those of us who ride under Lord Eomer's banner know better. Orc attacks have been growing all the more frequent in the Eastfold this past year, and their helms have borne the mark of the White Hand, not the Red Eye."

The White Hand, huh? So Saruman was working on his branding, clearly—and he had been staging attacks on Rohan for even longer than I'd been in Middle Earth. The thought made me shudder. "But why doesn't your king believe Eomer, if they were responsible for his son's death?"

Alfric was quiet for a long moment. "Theoden King," he said carefully, "is not well."

"You mean, because he lost his son?"

Alfric shook his head. "He has been ill for some time—at least a year, I should guess. I cannot say, in truth, when it began." He sighed. "Lord Eomer believes that it is Saruman's influence."

My blood went cold, and I looked around wildly, half-expecting to see his flocks of black birds bearing down on us that very minute. "Does King Theoden live in Edoras?" I asked hesitantly.

"Theoden King," he corrected me. "But yes, of course. His seat is in the Golden Hall of Meduseld."

"Oh." Then if Eomer was right, I hadn't managed to escape from Saruman's grasp at all. We seemed to be heading straight for him.

"I take it you have some knowledge of Saruman," Alfric prompted after a while. "You need not say anything at present, of course, but it might be of help."

I nodded, but before I knew it, I was telling him everything—my kidnapping, Saruman's stockpiling of weapons, my meeting with Gandalf and my subsequent escape. Alfric interrupted often, sounding more and more baffled, and my story wound up taking all morning. Unlike Radagast, Alfric was proving to be an extremely talkative traveling partner.

"So you are trying to reach Minas Tirith," he said at last. "Why, then, were you near the Falls of Rauros? Would it not have been faster to travel through the Riddermark? And why did your halflings accompany you?"

I hesitated. "We—we had other business, besides getting to Minas Tirith. But I'm not sure I'm at liberty to say."

"Full of mystery you are, little miss," Alfric said faintly. Suddenly he let out a hiss of pain and doubled over.

"Alfric!"

Rohese, sensing her rider's distress, came to a halt, tossing her head anxiously. I dismounted in an ungraceful pile of limbs and tried to steady him.

"One moment," he muttered, his face pale. He whispered something to Rohese in a foreign language and she sank onto her knees, allowing him to hobble off her back.

I helped him into a sitting position in the grass. "What can I do?" I asked.

"New bandages. Tied more tightly." His voice was hoarse. "And perhaps a bite to eat will help—I am a bit faint, that is all. Come, do not look so dour, it will pass." Under his instructions, I unwrapped his old bandages, which had been steadily soaking through with blood all morning. "Well, how does it look?" he asked bracingly as I poured water over the wound, washing away some of the dried blood. "Will it leave a fetching scar, do you think?"

I forced myself to examine the injury more closely, my stomach heaving at the sight of blood and torn flesh. "I don't know," I said. "It doesn't seem worse than last night." I dug some clean bandages out of his saddlebags and rewrapped his leg as best as I could. "I'm sorry," I stammered as he flinched in pain at my movements. "Sorry, sorry, I—"

"Pity's sake, stop that, will you?"

I jumped. "Sorry. Uh, I mean—"

Alfric snorted. "You have no medical training, as you told me, but you must keep your head, eh?" I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm myself. "There now," he said. "Ah, I fear I'm getting too old for all this soldiering about. My dear Inna often tells me so, but I doubt she will be pleased to have been proven right."

"Inna is your wife?" I asked, hoping to distract Alfric from his leg as I tied the bandages as tightly as I dared.

"Aye, and a lovelier woman I have never seen."

"Do y'all have any kids?"

"Two. Our daughter Alfrith is a midwife, and recently married. And our youngest, Cenric, is not thirteen. He'll be the most skilled rider in his eored one day, though I say it myself." He puffed out his chest, beaming.

I nodded encouragingly, but there was no need to prompt him further: the floodgates were opened, and he talked about his children and wife continuously as we ate his meager traveling rations, barely pausing to chew, and he didn't let up as we mounted Rohese and set off again. Food and conversation certainly seemed to revive him, for which I was grateful—I had no idea what to do if his condition worsened, out in the middle of nowhere.

The day wore on, and we rode at a brisk canter, occasionally slowing to a trot when Rohese needed rest. We stopped two more times during the day to change Alfric's bandages and let him rest a bit, but luckily he didn't seem to be suffering from anything beyond blood loss. Although he must have been in terrible pain, he hid it well.

He also barely stopped talking, which I took as a good sign. His rapid-fire chattering was proving an excellent distraction, too. I couldn't bear being alone with my thoughts, not after the horrors of the last several days. If I allowed my mind to wander, I might start thinking about Merry and Pippin again, lost in that strange forest, or about Boromir, pierced by an arrow and left to die in the wilderness, or about Sam and Frodo, off on their way to Mordor, all alone—

"And Alfrith's first mount was a beautiful brown gelding, a gift from her first suitor. Leafwine, his name was. The horse, that is, not the suitor—wait, are you alright, little miss?"

I sniffed. "Huh?"

"Forgive me," Alfric said, coughing hastily. "Thought I heard the sound of crying. I must have been mistaken."

"No worries." I wiped at my eyes. "Go on, it's okay."

"Ah, I don't wish to bore you, now."

"That didn't stop you before! Come on, tell me more about Leafwine."

Alfric nodded and obliged, and as he continued to talk, the sun sank steadily below the horizon.

"There it is, Beatrice! See how the Golden Hall catches fire in the evening sun!"

"Wow," I breathed. From how he'd described it, I had imagined Edoras to be much larger, but it was still every bit as beautiful as he'd said: a gathering of wood-and-thatch buildings climbing the sides of a steep hill, with an enormous hall at its crown. With the setting sun behind it, its roof seemed to be made of spun gold. The whole city was surrounded by immense plains, wild snow-topped mountains silhouetted in the distance. "Will we make it before dark?"

"Perhaps, if we make haste," Alfric said, shaking the reins. Rohese tossed her head and sped into a gallop.

"Don't ride too fast," I exclaimed, my voice barely audible over the clattering of hooves and the biting wind. "You're hurt!"

Even riding at a gallop, he seemed to be wrong. The shadows lengthened over the plains, and Edoras was still sitting on the horizon, unwilling to come closer. At last, Alfric was forced to slow to a canter, then to a trot, as we descended into night.

"Should we stop and make camp, or keep going?" I asked, but he didn't respond. "Alfric?"

"Forgive me, little miss," he said at last, his voice wavering. "My head is...spinning a bit." Without warning he pitched forward in the saddle, slumping over Rohese's mane.

"Alfric!" I grabbed at his shoulders and leaned forward, trying to make out his face in the dark. "Are you alright? You've got to stay awake—we're almost there."

"Aye—almost there," he rasped, tightening his grip on the reins. "Almost there."

"No more galloping, alright?" I couldn't imagine how much that must have hurt his leg.

Alfric gave a begrudging nod, and we went on at a trot. His shoulders slumped more and more as we went, and he no longer spoke much, despite my prompting.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Edoras came closer. Little orange lights flickered in the windows dotting the hillside. In their dim light, a low wall came into view at the base of the hill, and we approached a wooden gate at its center.

Suddenly a shout rang out in the darkness, and Alfric gave a start, nearly toppling from the saddle again.

The call came again, in a foreign language. It took Alfric a long moment to react, but at last he pulled weakly on the reins, drawing Rohese to a stop as two riders approached us. Border guards of some kind, I supposed, though I couldn't make out more than their silhouettes in the dark, tall helmets on their heads and spears in their hands. Alfric rattled off more of their language, sounding exhausted. "I know you have orders to speak only our own tongue to visitors," he added wearily in Westron, "but perhaps you might make an exception this night for my companion, who speaks no Rohirric—our worm need not know."

"Aye, very well. But what are you doing here, Alfric?" one of the men said in Westron, drawing his horse close to us.

"Ah, well met, Leofric," Alfric replied faintly. "And you, Hamon. Poor man, they've given you the night shift again."

"Did you not ride out with Lord Eomer's men?" Leofric went on. "Furious, Lord Grima is. He won't be happy to see you back. What are you doing back, away from your eored and with a foreign companion? Has some injury befallen Lord Eomer?"

Alfric brushed away their words with a limp hand. "Fear not on that count. Though I had a bit of an injury myself," he admitted at last, gesturing to his leg.

"A bit?" I exclaimed. "He's about to collapse!"

At that, the two men leapt into action, dismounting and running to Rohese's side.

"Bema's blood, what happened to you?" Leofric hissed, peering at Alfric's bandaged leg in the darkness. He murmured something else in Rohirric.

"He was shot," I said, not trusting Alfric to speak—he had gone white as a sheet, and was swaying in the saddle again. "He's lost a lot of blood, and we've been riding all day."

I dismounted clumsily, and the two guards eased Alfric off Rohese's back. "Stop your fussing, will you, I can handle myself," he snapped, flailing at them weakly. The guards exchanged a glance and ignored his orders, sitting him down in the grass.

"We can bear you in a wagon the rest of the way to Meduseld. I'll bring one now," Hamon said, leaping back onto his horse and disappearing through the gate.

"No," Alfric rasped suddenly, grasping at Leofric's sleeve. "Not Meduseld."

"Don't be stubborn, man," he snapped. "You won't find better care anywhere else, and time is of the essence."

But Alfric folded his arms. "Lord Eomer warned me against the Golden Hall. For the present, at least." He looked around with wild eyes, as though listening for eavesdroppers in the night. "You know we went after those orcs against the king's wishes," he said in an undertone. "When Wormtongue hears of my return—and with her, no less—"

"Her?" Leofric turned to me. "What has this girl to do with Lord Grima?"

I stepped forward to introduce myself. "I'm Beatr—" Alfric kicked at my boot with his good leg, cutting me off.

"You are duty-bound to report all visitors to him, I know," Alfric said, sounding winded. He sent Leofric a meaningful look. "But he cannot fault you for not learning her name. She is exhausted after her journey and not prone to speech. Is that not so, little miss?" he prompted, nudging me again. I nodded quickly, feeling a bit lost.

"But why should he be concerned with this girl?" Leofric said.

"I hardly understand it myself. But she will not be safe in Meduseld." Alfric's last words were so quiet I barely heard them: "She has the attention of the White Wizard."

The guard raised his eyebrows. "Nor will she be safe anywhere in the Mark, if what you say is true. But we may at least delay his notice of her. We will bring you both into the hall through the servants' entrance. Will that do?"

Alfric nodded weakly, his head slumping forward over his chest.

We waited for what seemed like hours before Hamon returned, a wagon hitched to his horse. He helped Alfric inside and I followed, sitting beside him as the guard led us through the gates and into Edoras.

Torches flickered along the unpaved road, but I couldn't make out much of the city in the looming shadows. "You alright?" I whispered to Alfric.

"Of course, of course," he said, offering me a small smile. "Only a bit light-headed. But you must be careful when you are in the Golden Hall, little miss."

"What were y'all talking about back there? Who's Wormtongue?"

Alfric's face darkened. "The advisor to Theoden King. Always he whispers cunning words into the king's ear, and speaks for him in most matters, these days. I do not wish to speak ill of any man of the Mark, but…" he laughed bitterly. "Well, I shall not do so, in any case. He has ears everywhere, it seems. Only take care to stay away from him. Remain in the servants' quarters, if you can, for you shall be of little notice there."

At last, our little wagon reached the top of the hill, where Hamon led us around an enormous wooden building, bleak and imposing in the darkness, and rang a little bell by a side door. After a moment, a manservant opened the door to us, raising a torch to better see our faces. He exchanged a hushed conversation with Hamon in Rohirric, and soon Alfric and I were ushered inside.

"Thank you for everything," I called to Alfric in a whisper as a group of servants led him away.

"Worry not, little miss," he replied. "All will be well, you will see."