More…I swear. My stupid life just keeps getting in the way…

Haven't spell-checked this so I apologise if the grammar and such are below par.

The horizon blurred and wavered in the well of tears that stung at her eyes. Already mere minutes after they'd left she felt their absence keenly. She felt bare, exposed without their hearty presence, as though some part of her had departed with them. A heavy hand landed on her, startling her and she bit back a yelp.

She turned to see Éomer standing tall behind her. He regarded her with a steely gaze, as though trying to bore into her thoughts with his eyes. She bit her lip nervously, as she regarded him with the same wariness.

"Can you ride?" He asked at length. He squinted at her, appraising her figure and stance.

Nephryn felt naked under his scrutiny, and inwardly squirmed. She tilted her head up at him defiantly and moved closer to him, for no other reason than to break his almost leering stare.

"I can. I have no need for a saddle, and I am a skilled warrior." The indignation that she felt laced her voice and she struggled to keep a level tone. There was no need to worsen an already difficult situation. She saw him smirk sardonically at her claims. They were met but minutes and already she felt like she had to prove her worth and skill to him. But before she had a chance speak, a louder boorish voice sounded behind the horseman and he turned away from Nephryn.

He walked over to his comrade and they spoke in hushed tones for a moment. As he stood away from her, she could see that, judging by scars alone that the man was an experienced, weathered warrior. He wore over a royal blue tunic, a silver corselet and heavily stained mail, but wore no armour from his waist down, only heavy leathered breeches and worn camel-brown boots. Though his hair was long and flowing, it was braided away from his face. He bore a long scar that had cut deep near his right eye and snaked back over his temple. On a long ornate baldric, he carried a broadsword, as it seemed did all the warriors she could see. His horse was heavily saddled and well protected from the elements. A long silver shield was secured to the tall mare's flank, and it was emblazoned with the emblem of a golden sun, set against a rich green tapestry of images.

She did not realise that she was in fact staring until Éomer turned back to her, and she dropped her head immediately, hiding a blush that flourished on her cheeks.

"I'm afraid," the man spoke as he rejoined her, "that the majority of this company will proceed on to our original destination. I, myself and four of my men shall escort you to our city. Is this acceptable?"

Though she did not react outwardly, inwardly she was relieved; for a moment she'd thought perhaps they might renege on their agreement. She merely nodded, not trusting her own voice just yet. Éomer began to walk away and gestured that she should follow. He led her to a tall fawn mare. The great creature stood easily at nineteen hands and was covered like the rest in heavy armour and coarse wool. Éomer began to remove each layer of armour and hand them to Nephryn. As the layers fell away, the steed's magnificent pelt shone in the bright sunlight. Underneath her silken coat of polished sand, sleek tapered sinew rippled like liquid. 

When the horse's back was bare, Éomer stood back and took the armour from Nephryn.

"Her name is Elune. She is a fine, gentle creature and she will bear you well." He smiled at her and for the first time, Nephryn saw not the hardened forced smile, but a genuine gesture. As he gazed at the mare, the elf could see that he clearly had an affinity for animals. He moved to walk away, but much to her chagrin, Nephryn called out to him.

"Éomer!" she called, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He turned to her, his eyebrows raised in question. She held out her hands, and he walked back to her.

"I require assistance. I cannot mount this horse. I can barely reach her mane, and she might break away if I startle her."

Éomer snorted softly at this, surveying her with his keen eyes. "I doubt that you could startle anything, but come!" 

I startled you fairly well with my 'dark arts', she mused but held back the comment as the man strode to stand at her back.

Before she knew what was happening, the horseman stood behind her and grasped her waist firmly. He lifted her easily up and she swung one leg over the creature's broad back. The horse whinnied and tossed its head and Nephryn's hands grabbed for purchase at Elune's long mane. She felt quite discomfited, but truly she'd never been borne by such an enormous creature. A lesser man might have made a belittling comment, but Éomer merely regarded her with an expression of intrigue, before turning on his heel to mount his own white mare.

Minutes later, more than two hundred men had mounted up once more and were ready to depart once more. They moved with such fluidity and unity that was born of discipline and experience. There was no doubt in Nephryn's mind but that the Rohirrim were formidable warriors. Éomer spoke briefly again to the leader of the scouting party, and then gestured with a single nod that the company depart. The five score steeds rode off to the south in pairs, and as they filtered out onto the plains once more, they increased their pace until they were once more just a blur in the far distance.

 Éomer shouted to her over the receding din, "We will depart now, Lady. All you must do is ask, and we will stop and rest."

"That will not be necessary, sir. And I do not carry title: you may call me Nephryn." Without further warning, turned her horse south and she spurred her into a canter. She did not need to look back to know that the men of Rohan followed close behind, because the roar of horse hooves drowned out all the sounds, save the howl of the wind that swept across her face. As she rode, she allowed her mind to drift. The wind was cold and ground rough and uneven but thoughts of Legolas, with his arms wrapped around her, scattering kisses abundantly over her face, warmed her to the core and sustained her until the men called to her to stop.

She was barely aware of how long they'd ridden, but as she looked out dusk was settling over the plains to her right. She was not tired, and she could easily travel through the night, for this was a great deal easier than running on foot. She squeezed Elune's flanks with her legs and tugged lightly on her mane, and the mare ease to a light trot. She drew to a halt, and Éomer and his three companions halted beside her.

"Do you require respite?" Éomer asked, slightly breathless. She could see that they were tired, and perhaps they were in need of rest, but she could continue on, and refused to be the one to halt their progress. ­If they wanted to rest, they would have to call for it themselves.

"Nay, I can continue. Do you wish to stop?" she replied, feigned innocence in her voice. She could see well that at least one wanted badly for water and sleep.

Éomer's smooth brow furrowed at this, for this was not the answer he was expecting. But while Éomer was a proud man, he was not foolhardy, and he could see that regardless of whether she needed rest, his men did and they would be the better for a few hours of sleep.

"We will stop," he muttered, refusing to meet her gaze. He led them to a small mound of stones. That would be as much protection as they were likely to find in the plains. As soon as they stopped, two of the group gathered some dry kindling for a fire, and Éomer pulled a large satchel from his saddle. Nephryn dismounted easily enough, but the drop to the ground was forceful enough that she felt no small twinge from her sore ankle. Before going to sit, she detached her longknife from her belt and secured it in her pack.

When she settled down next to the small, smouldering fire, she saw that Éomer and his companions were munching silently of crisp apples and nuts. The food was scattered on the ground in front of them and they picked idly at it. Éomer picked up a ripened apple and held it out to her, but she held up her hand in polite refusal.

"You must eat something!" He stated firmly, pushing the fruit toward her.

Nephryn smiled at his insistence. She was beginning to think that, like many she'd encountered before, this warrior was a gentle soul buried beneath armour and years of war.

"Thank you, but I have brought some of my own food. I would not trouble you for your supplies are limited." She rummaged in her pack and pulled out the elven whey-bread, which was wrapped in parchment. She unfolded it and held it out for Éomer to see. He leaned in and studied the small stack of wafers incredulously.

"That would not feed a bird!" he muttered in disbelief.

Nephryn shook her head, the haughty assuming nature of men never ceasing to amaze. She did not make to correct Éomer. He would see the error of his judgement soon enough. She sat in silence, and to herself she admitted that she was glad to sit in the warmth of the fire. She broke of pieces of the lembas and chewed slowly on them. One by one, each of the men dropped off to sleep.

Éomer remained seated at her side. He watched as the slight elf-girl swallowed that last crumb of her strange bread and folded away the rest in her sack.

"Surely that paltry amount cannot have satisfied your appetite. You are small, but I have seen smaller beings eat three times as much and still not be satisfied." Nephryn smiled at his protests.

"Why do you presume that the food I have eaten is the ordinary nourishment of your people?" 

The horseman seemed caught for words then and merely shrugged his shoulders, a mild grin on his face.

"You have made many assumptions about my kind, my companions and me. On what do you base these assumptions? I find it quite intriguing." Nephryn leaned forward as she spoke, and the man was caught by the glitter of emerald green is the elf-maid's eyes that was flecked with gold in the light of the glowing embers.

Éomer was speechless once more: he could not answer because he did not know. He'd always thought of elves as slight, weak beings, pacifists who passed a literal eternity in song or mellifluous speech. True enough, he'd assumed that elves were no different from his own kind in their basic ways: did they not eat the same food, require rest and sustenance, and fall in and out of love? Were they not immortal, peace-loving versions of mortal man? The way the captivating elf-maid looked at him now, it was as though she read these silent question from the open book that was his face.

"We are not all we appear to be, we elves. How much do you know of us in truth, and how much of that is based of the tall tales of small-minded people?"

The horseman's eyes widened at the elf's brazen accusations, and he might have been angered but for the fact that her accusations were well founded. He knew nothing of those immortal creatures save that told to him by fellow warriors around a campfire, having consumed copious amounts of ale. But he refused to be baited into receiving a lecture from one who seemed so much younger and more innocent than he. So they sat in silence.

He expected that she might sleep, but she did not. She began to sift through the leathern quiver she carried, inspecting each feathered arrow for defect, mending what she could and discarding what she could not. It was the warrior in him that admired the longbow she carried. It was beautifully crafted. Wordlessly he picked it up. It was lighter than he expected, but still quite sturdy.

"It is beautiful!" He murmured, holding it up to the light to better view it: the pale blond ash of the bow was embossed with gilded gold-leaf runes that snaked elegantly from the fretted silver nock along the frame to the filigreed-tipped points.

"Indeed," Nephryn replied, not looking up from her task. "It has served me well for a long time, though on many occasions, I thought it lost or broken." It was true, he saw. The ornamentation had faded at the point directly below the nock, where she would grip it during use, and there were clear indentations on the nock itself where arrows had been set repeatedly.

"How long have you had this?" He held the bow out to her. She took it from him, and stared at it, mesmerised by the way the dancing firelight caught the designs and reflected it on Éomer's face.

"Almost a century," she whispered.

She was awash in memories; she'd been out tracking with this very piece when Sauron's foul party had first captured her. She'd thrown it into the grasses as a clue to her whereabouts. She felt sure that it was lost, until Galadriél returned it to her, three weeks after she'd returned to Lothlorién. So lost in thought was she, that she almost missed the gruff horseman sputter and choke at her answer.

"A hundred years!!" Éomer replied, awe-struck. "Just how old are you?"

At this, Nephryn's brow furrowed and she tilted her head defiantly.

"We elves may be quite different, but among my people, it is still considered quite rude to ask a lady her age!!"

It was very difficult to hold back a smile when she saw the man's face redden in embarrassment and humiliation. He bowed his head, and mumbled his apologies. For a moment, he did not look up and for that second, in her eyes he was but a child, eager and brash. So she could not but offer her pardon, though she too felt quite foolish for even needing to impart it.

"You are forgiven," she murmured solemnly. She turned then to her pack and pulled out her spare cloak, which she spread on the ground. She lay down with her back to Éomer, smiling in anticipation of dreaming of her beloved, who was so far away from her. Just before she let her mind slip into to dreams, she muttered drowsily to the man behind her.

"Three thousand."

"What was that?" The elf smiled at the bewilderment in the man's voice.

"My age. I am three and one quarter thousand years old." She replied, before she slipped away to peaceful dreams, where she was warmed and comforted by the fair Legolas.