Author's Note:
You may have missed three updates before this.
Éowyn
The horses they had captured from Mordor were beautiful black horses with flowing manes. They were wild-spirited and even the Elves had trouble calming them. She watched the Elves herd the horses together. They had experience in dealing with horses, and sprang away when a horse charged at them, but roughly kept their circle around the horses.
One broke apart and fled from between the Elves. A fair-haired Elf ran after it, keeping up long enough to grab its mane. He mounted quickly, matching the horse's stride easily. The horse stopped a short distance away from where she stood and reared but the Elf kept his seat. Finally it stopped and pawed the ground. Its nostrils flared from the exertion. The Elf dismounted and stroked its neck, murmuring softly.
"Can they be tamed?" Éowyn said. The Elf turned his attention to her. He was powerfully built in the lines of a warrior, but his face held a mixture of joy and wisdom. She looked upon him in wonder. It was rare to see such a mix in an Elf's face. Most were too weary of Arda to look so happy and peaceful.
"If they are treated well," the Elf answered. His clothes, although practical for the task, were noble finery. "Their time in Mordor was not kind to them. These horses remember the fear of they carried since they were foals. It will take time."
"They once knew the plains of Riddermark." Éowyn said. The horse reared again, its forelegs aiming for the Elf. But the Lord shifted away and grabbed the horse by the mane and continued to speak calmly in his own tongue.
"I am sure. These horses were stolen from your people."
"You have a gentle hand on them."
"I thank you. It is nothing but a compliment from someone who belongs to the people of horses. I look after horses when I am free from my duties."
"How do you know that I am of Rohan?" She asked him. The Elf Lord gave a small measure of smile.
"No other woman will carry herself so proudly. And you have the fair hair and a thin build of your people. Tell me, how difficult was it to follow your men to the battlefield and await their return in your camps once the battle was done?" The Elf-Lord bent down and ran his hands over the black stallion's legs, murmuring softly. The stallion shifted uneasily, blowing hard through his nostrils. Éowyn squared her shoulders and tilted back her chin.
"Do you think I am someone's wife or lover? I joined the men on the battlefield."
The Elf's hands stopped so suddenly that Éowyn half-feared he turned into a statue made of stone. Then he straightened and looked at her with surprise and renewed interest.
"Did you, now?" The Elf said thoughtfully. He walked around her in a half-circle, like a predator circling his prey. Éowyn followed him carefully. For some reason, she felt no fear or wariness as the Elf watched her. "Tell me, are you the White Lady of Rohan, the one they call Éowyn?"
"Indeed I am."
The Elf smiled so warmly that Éowyn was surprised.
"And who might you be?" Éowyn asked.
"I am the one who prophesised the death of Witch-king will be by the hand of no man or elf." He said simply. He bowed low out of respect and walked away. Éomer came.
"Who is he, brother?"
"Lord Glorfindel, sister. One of the great Elven warriors of history."
Author's Note:
Another take on how Eowyn met Glorfindel.
