Frodo wandered about Amon Hen aimlessly, lost in thought. He had
told no-one of his talk with Galadriel in his mind, not even Sam, but the
decision was weighing heavily on him. He knew the time was near, when he
would have to abandon his friends and go on to Mordor alone. He was
beginning to feel uneasy and looked about him nervously.
The reason for his unease was clear to Frodo when Boromir stepped out from behind a tree with an armload of firewood. He knew Boromir could feel the pull of the ring increasing every day. He unconsciously took a step back.
"None of you should wander alone, you especially," Boromir gave him a funny look. "So much depends on you."
Frodo remained silent. Boromir approached him. "I know why you seek solitude- you suffer. I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly?"
Frodo thought a moment before speaking. "I know what you would say, and it would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart."
Boromir looked taken aback. "Warning? Against what? We're all afraid, Frodo. But to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have, don't you see, that is madness!"
He became angry, throwing down the firewood. "I ask only for the strength to defend my people! If you would but lend me the ring...."
Frodo began to back away.
"Why do you recoil? I am no thief."
"You are not yourself," Frodo told the man before trying to leave.
Boromir snapped. "You fool! It was not yours save by unhappy chance. It could have been mine- it should be mine! Give it to me!" He chased down the Hobbit easily, knocking him over and pinning him.
"No!' Frodo cried, struggling against the huge mass above him. He managed to put the ring on and disappeared. With a quick kick to Boromir, he was away, running as fast as his short legs would carry him.
He ignored Boromir's remorseful cries to come back and ran to the top of Amon Hen, till images of the Eye overcame him. He fell from the stone, landing hard on the ground even as he yanked the ring off.
A heavy foot slammed onto the rock in front of him. "Frodo?" Aragorn asked.
"It has taken Boromir," he breathed.
Aragorn's eyes flashed furiously. "Where is the ring!?" he demanded.
Frodo scrambled away from him, crying "Stay away!"
Aragorn slowed in his pursuit, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace. "I swore to protect you."
"Can you protect me from yourself?" The Hobbit's question stunned Aragorn, forcing all his greatest fears to the surface. "Would you destroy it?"
Aragorn came to Frodo. He reached out a hand to the ring, hearing it's seductive call.
Aragorn..... Aragorn..... Elessar.
He dropped to his knees in front of Frodo. He put his hand over Frodo's and gently squeezed the tiny fingers over the ring. He pushed the hand into Frodo's chest. His grey eyes were deep and sad, glistening with tears. "I would've gone with you to the end. Into the very fires of Mordor," he swore.
"I know."
Aragorn's gaze shifted to Sting, sheathed at Frodo's side. It was glowing blue. "Run, Frodo. Run. Run!"
The Ringbearer took off down the hill as Aragorn turned to face an army the most disgusting creatures he had ever seen: the Uruk-Hai. He silently blessed his sword against his forehead and ploughed into the sea of bodies, slicing and chopping as he went.
Hearing the distinctive cry of "Elendil!" from Aragorn amidst the sounds of battle very close by, Legolas shot Dawn and Gimli a look.
Wordlessly, they sprinted into the fray. Legolas was the first to arrive, bursting from behind a stone pillar and dropping two of the Uruk- Hai with his arrows before they even knew he was there. Gimli came behind, letting one of his throwing axes fly. Dawn was barely beyond, sliding around her companions to meet with the Uruk-Hai.
She was too distracted to take much notice as Legolas, stabbing an enemy through the eye with an arrow before shooting it into another, called out, "Aragorn- go!"
The three provided cover for the Ranger as he took off down the hill, fighting his way through the sea of Uruks to ensure that Frodo escaped safely. Unbeknownst to them, Merry and Pippin had managed to already orchestrate the Hobbit's escape, selflessly drawing their monstrous enemy into chasing them away from Frodo.
They fought hard and caught up with Aragorn, the four of them ploughing through the seemingly endless army together. The males often looked towards Dawn in between slaying Uruks, worried for her safety. They knew she could fight, but they also knew she'd never faced a battle quite like this.
Legolas gave a small grin as he watched her out of the corner of her eye. She was doing ok- blood and sweat dripped off her, her cream coloured shirt was blackened with Uruk blood. She was outmatched in size, number and strength, but she was smart. She ducked and dodged and awaited an opening to inflict her blow. She'd lost the element of surprise she'd had at first, where the enemy had assumed she would be easy prey, being a girl. They'd seen too many of their brothers fall before her to make that mistake any longer.
Suddenly, a horn sliced through the sounds of their battle.
Legolas stared in the direction of the sound. "The horn of Gondor!" he stated.
"Boromir!" Aragorn realised, sprinting towards the sound. Dawn, weary but still strong, turned and followed Man, Elf and Dwarf down the slope of Amon Hen.
She soon lost sight of Aragorn. Dawn, Gimli and Legolas had been once again caught in the midst of many of their enemy, but Aragorn had slipped through them, relentlessly pursuing the sounds of Boromir's horn.
By the time they fought their way free and began to make their way in the direction they'd last seen Aragorn heading, the battle was winding down. None of them understood it, they'd slain many, but there were also a great number of them that, as if heeding some unspoken command, had fled from them for no obvious reason.
They spread out on the short run to Aragorn, and Legolas, being the fastest, arrived in the clearing first. He stopped, staring before him with that almost familiar shock and confusion burning through him. Aragorn was laying over the fallen form of Boromir, who was gasping out his last words of regret.
Legolas sensed Dawn enter the clearing behind him. He heard her breath catch, feeling the moment she was stopped dead in her tracks by the sight of Boromir. Legolas held out his hand to her, but she ignored it, instead crashing into his torso, her arms winding around his waist. He brought his hand up to cradle her head, stroking the sweat-drenched hair. Neither of them tore their eyes from the scene before them, watching Boromir's death with a sort of sick fascination. They heard Gimli coming up and leaning on his axe beside them, letting his breath out in a rough sigh as if to say 'not another one'.
Aragorn leaned over the body and kissed Boromir's forehead. Only Legolas heard his whisper. "Be at peace, son of Gondor."
The four of them moved together and began to speak. Dawn, after answering them that yes, she was fine, did not speak for a long while. It amazed her, how easily they could discuss the disgusting things she had just seen. They quickly decided that they should bury Boromir at sea, since they had no time to bury him properly. Aragorn told them that Merry and Pippin had been captured.
"We have to find them!" Dawn cried, breaking her silence.
"What of Frodo, and Sam?" Legolas asked, his indecision clear.
"I let Frodo go," Aragorn announced. None of them questioned this, they all understood.
While they were busy preparing a boat and placing Boromir's body in it, Legolas pulled Dawn aside and handed her a soft bundle. "Here, put this on."
She looked down at herself. She hadn't realised she was so filthy. She looked around her at her companions, they weren't nearly as dirty. Maybe their battle experience had taught them how to avoid splattering blood, she figured. She felt Legolas plant a light kiss on her hot forehead. Dawn gratefully accepted the offering and ducked off into the trees.
Her muscles began to ache, now that the adrenaline had left her body. She was surprised, and secretly very proud to note that her only injury seemed to be a very small scratch just above her right elbow. It had already closed over even. Painfully, Dawn unbuttoned the cotton shirt Galadriel's ladies had given her, feeling the material slip off her screaming muscles to the ground. As she unwrapped Legolas' shirt, she noticed that her bra was also incredibly dirty, some of the Uruk blood having seeped through her clothing to her underwear and her skin. She grimaced. She didn't like it, but she'd just have to stay dirty for the time being. Dawn slipped the shirt Legolas had given her over her head. It was blue-grey and identical to the one that he wore himself under his tunic. The sleeves covered her hands even. It was long, too, coming half way down to her knees. If she had been back in Sunnydale, she'd probably have worn it as a dress.
By the time she made her way back to the river, her companions were finished with Boromir and waiting for her so they could farewell their friend.
Dawn listened, her tears glistening in her eyes but not falling as Aragorn and Legolas each sang a verse or two to honour their fallen comrade. The boat disappeared over the falls of Rauros.
* * * * *
Quickly, the four turned to the task at hand. Taking very few supplies, only what was absolutely necessary, they set off after Merry and Pippin. For Dawn, the next four days seemed to bleed together. She was able enough, but the pace Aragorn and Legolas set was almost torturous. She silently cursed them for their fitness, and then she silently cursed herself for not exercising more when she was back in Sunnydale. She took a perverted comfort in the fact that Gimli was faring worse than her. She often heard him a little ways behind, cursing and grumbling as he stumbled over the uneven ground in his armour. She would've laughed if she wasn't so sick with worry over the Hobbits.
By Aragorn's skill, they'd learned that they were on the right track, and slowly gaining on the Uruk-Hai. They'd also learned that it was possible at least one of them had survived thus far: Aragorn had picked up an Elven brooch from a Lothlorien cloak not long ago. But hope was fading. It was impossible for them to track by dark, and Dawn knew that she and Gimli at least would not have the stamina to go on without rest.
But Legolas despaired in the darkness, knowing in his heart that every hour they rested the Uruk-Hai went on, stealing hope from them with every step. Each night, while the others slept, he vigilantly watched over them. When they awoke at various times throughout the night, they would see him pacing across the camp, sometimes silent, sometimes singing soft Elvish songs. Or they'd barely be able to catch a glimpse of him, the sentry concealed in the surrounding trees. Or sometimes he would be sitting, and Dawn would stir to find gentle hands tracing over the features of her face. Dawn liked those times the best. She'd wake up, mumbling something incoherent, and feel a warm kiss on her lips and a gentle voice telling her to sleep. It was like a comforting dream.
On the fourth day, just when the four hunters were their closest to despair, the approach of a great host on horseback became apparent. They had entered the country of Rohan and decided to rest in the cover of a large rock and wait to speak to the riders, who were travelling up the Uruks trail.
"What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?" Aragorn cried, revealing himself as a hundred horses thundered past.
The host turned and encircled them, and the four found themselves staring down the points of a hundred sharp spears. Dawn gulped. 'Not so good,' she thought.
One tall rider came forward from the pack to address them. "Who are you, and what are you doing in this land?" he demanded.
Aragorn spoke. "I am called Strider, I came out of the North. I am hunting Orcs."
The rider dismounted and handed his spear to a nearby rider. He drew his sword, facing up to Aragorn. "You know little of Orcs, if you hunt them in this manner. You'd have been the prey had you ever overtaken them. Yet that is no name for a Man you give, Strider. And strange too is your raiment. Have you sprang out of the grass? How did you escape our sight? Are you elvish folk?"
"No, only one of us is an Elf, Legolas from the Woodland Realm in distant Mirkwood. But we have passed through Lothlorien, and the gifts and favour of the Lady go with us."
The rider's expression changed from wonder to hardness. He had heard stories of the Sorceress of the Golden Wood and was now weary of what strange powers these travellers may possess. "The Elf-witch of the Woods!" he said. He turned to Legolas, Gimli and Dawn. "Why do you not speak, silent ones?" he demanded. Then he took a closer look at Dawn. "You travel with a girl!" he cried, outraged.
Dawn's eyes flashed furiously. But Aragorn's voice, calm and collected, held back the retort that was already forming on her lips.
"We travel with a fellow warrior, brave as any in your host."
The rider was dubious. "That would take some effort to convince me of. What is your name, Lady?"
"I'm Dawn Summers, who the hell are you?" Dawn shot back.
The rider stared down at her a moment before answering. "I am named Eomer son of Eomund, and am called the Third Marshal of Riddermark."
"Isn't that nice," Dawn returned sarcastically. Legolas put a hand on her arm, a silent bid for her to keep herself in check. Unfortunately, he did not convey the same message to Gimli, who spoke next.
"Well, Eomer son of Eomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, let Gimli the Dwarf Gloin's son warn you against foolish words. You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only little wit can excuse you."
Eomer's eyes blazed. "I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground.
"He stands not alone," said Legolas, bending his bow and fitting an arrow with hands that moved quicker than sight. "You would die before your stroke fell."
Dawn watched, bemused as Legolas lost his temper. She worried for a moment as Eomer raised his sword, but once again, Aragorn smoothed the situation over in his own unique manner. He threw back his cloak and drew out the shining blade of Anduril. "Elendil!" he cried. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dunadan, Estel, and the heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor. Here is the Sword that was Broken and is forged again! Will you aid me or thwart me? Choose swiftly!"
"Don't forget King-guy," Dawn was quick to remind him.
"Thank you, Key-girl," he returned.
Aragorn felt a hundred and five pairs of eyes on him, one hundred and two riders and his three companions, who had never seen him in such a mood before. Eomer seemed to have shrunk and lost all authority under the dominating figure of Aragorn. He sent the Rohirrim away and indicated for Aragorn to continue.
Aragorn quickly explained how they were tracking friends, and had followed the trail thus far. Eomer swore that the Uruks were destroyed, but no Hobbits had been found when they piled and burned the carcasses. Then Eomer quickly related to them all the latest evils that had befallen his Kingdom. Despair was evident in the young Marshal, only a few years older than Dawn, as he spoke of Saruman's poisoning of King Theoden, his uncle's mind, and the darkness enveloping their land.
Despite his most heartfelt pleas for the aid of Isildur's heir and his worthy companions, Aragorn was insistent that they continue the search for Merry and Pippin whilst even the slightest glimmer of hope remained. Eomer resigned himself to Aragorn's decision and loaned them their three riderless horses, on the condition that they brought them to Edoras to prove to his uncle that his judgement to not demand they appear before the King before being given leave to wander free in Rohan was not an error.
Eomer himself brought a white mare to Dawn. "Can you ride, my Lady?" he asked gently.
"Yeah, I can get by," Dawn replied, remembering Tara taking her riding a few times. She had loved every moment, she adored horses.
"This is Lightfoot," Eomer offered a hand to Dawn and helped her mount. Before turning the reins over to her, Eomer caught her eye. "Lady Dawn, I am sorry if my words offended you earlier. I meant no such slight to your character or abilities. Please accept my humblest apologies, my Lady."
Dawn looked down into Eomer's dark eyes. She saw the years of hardened experience in battle that could not conceal his pain and despair, and she felt an affinity with the young Marshal, though nowhere near as strong as she had felt with Frodo. "I accept your apology, Eomer. Though I have a request to make of you," she said, her eyes dancing.
Eomer held her gaze and realised how much he felt he knew this girl. He realised she had lost family, too. So like himself, and so like his sister. He nodded, indicating her to name her price.
"Call me Dawn. 'Bye, Eomer."
"Farewell, Dawn." He turned and addressed the waiting Rohirrim. "Ride!" he commanded, and then they were gone.
* * * * *
Hope you're enjoying. Don't forget to R&R, ~Anoron
The reason for his unease was clear to Frodo when Boromir stepped out from behind a tree with an armload of firewood. He knew Boromir could feel the pull of the ring increasing every day. He unconsciously took a step back.
"None of you should wander alone, you especially," Boromir gave him a funny look. "So much depends on you."
Frodo remained silent. Boromir approached him. "I know why you seek solitude- you suffer. I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly?"
Frodo thought a moment before speaking. "I know what you would say, and it would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart."
Boromir looked taken aback. "Warning? Against what? We're all afraid, Frodo. But to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have, don't you see, that is madness!"
He became angry, throwing down the firewood. "I ask only for the strength to defend my people! If you would but lend me the ring...."
Frodo began to back away.
"Why do you recoil? I am no thief."
"You are not yourself," Frodo told the man before trying to leave.
Boromir snapped. "You fool! It was not yours save by unhappy chance. It could have been mine- it should be mine! Give it to me!" He chased down the Hobbit easily, knocking him over and pinning him.
"No!' Frodo cried, struggling against the huge mass above him. He managed to put the ring on and disappeared. With a quick kick to Boromir, he was away, running as fast as his short legs would carry him.
He ignored Boromir's remorseful cries to come back and ran to the top of Amon Hen, till images of the Eye overcame him. He fell from the stone, landing hard on the ground even as he yanked the ring off.
A heavy foot slammed onto the rock in front of him. "Frodo?" Aragorn asked.
"It has taken Boromir," he breathed.
Aragorn's eyes flashed furiously. "Where is the ring!?" he demanded.
Frodo scrambled away from him, crying "Stay away!"
Aragorn slowed in his pursuit, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace. "I swore to protect you."
"Can you protect me from yourself?" The Hobbit's question stunned Aragorn, forcing all his greatest fears to the surface. "Would you destroy it?"
Aragorn came to Frodo. He reached out a hand to the ring, hearing it's seductive call.
Aragorn..... Aragorn..... Elessar.
He dropped to his knees in front of Frodo. He put his hand over Frodo's and gently squeezed the tiny fingers over the ring. He pushed the hand into Frodo's chest. His grey eyes were deep and sad, glistening with tears. "I would've gone with you to the end. Into the very fires of Mordor," he swore.
"I know."
Aragorn's gaze shifted to Sting, sheathed at Frodo's side. It was glowing blue. "Run, Frodo. Run. Run!"
The Ringbearer took off down the hill as Aragorn turned to face an army the most disgusting creatures he had ever seen: the Uruk-Hai. He silently blessed his sword against his forehead and ploughed into the sea of bodies, slicing and chopping as he went.
Hearing the distinctive cry of "Elendil!" from Aragorn amidst the sounds of battle very close by, Legolas shot Dawn and Gimli a look.
Wordlessly, they sprinted into the fray. Legolas was the first to arrive, bursting from behind a stone pillar and dropping two of the Uruk- Hai with his arrows before they even knew he was there. Gimli came behind, letting one of his throwing axes fly. Dawn was barely beyond, sliding around her companions to meet with the Uruk-Hai.
She was too distracted to take much notice as Legolas, stabbing an enemy through the eye with an arrow before shooting it into another, called out, "Aragorn- go!"
The three provided cover for the Ranger as he took off down the hill, fighting his way through the sea of Uruks to ensure that Frodo escaped safely. Unbeknownst to them, Merry and Pippin had managed to already orchestrate the Hobbit's escape, selflessly drawing their monstrous enemy into chasing them away from Frodo.
They fought hard and caught up with Aragorn, the four of them ploughing through the seemingly endless army together. The males often looked towards Dawn in between slaying Uruks, worried for her safety. They knew she could fight, but they also knew she'd never faced a battle quite like this.
Legolas gave a small grin as he watched her out of the corner of her eye. She was doing ok- blood and sweat dripped off her, her cream coloured shirt was blackened with Uruk blood. She was outmatched in size, number and strength, but she was smart. She ducked and dodged and awaited an opening to inflict her blow. She'd lost the element of surprise she'd had at first, where the enemy had assumed she would be easy prey, being a girl. They'd seen too many of their brothers fall before her to make that mistake any longer.
Suddenly, a horn sliced through the sounds of their battle.
Legolas stared in the direction of the sound. "The horn of Gondor!" he stated.
"Boromir!" Aragorn realised, sprinting towards the sound. Dawn, weary but still strong, turned and followed Man, Elf and Dwarf down the slope of Amon Hen.
She soon lost sight of Aragorn. Dawn, Gimli and Legolas had been once again caught in the midst of many of their enemy, but Aragorn had slipped through them, relentlessly pursuing the sounds of Boromir's horn.
By the time they fought their way free and began to make their way in the direction they'd last seen Aragorn heading, the battle was winding down. None of them understood it, they'd slain many, but there were also a great number of them that, as if heeding some unspoken command, had fled from them for no obvious reason.
They spread out on the short run to Aragorn, and Legolas, being the fastest, arrived in the clearing first. He stopped, staring before him with that almost familiar shock and confusion burning through him. Aragorn was laying over the fallen form of Boromir, who was gasping out his last words of regret.
Legolas sensed Dawn enter the clearing behind him. He heard her breath catch, feeling the moment she was stopped dead in her tracks by the sight of Boromir. Legolas held out his hand to her, but she ignored it, instead crashing into his torso, her arms winding around his waist. He brought his hand up to cradle her head, stroking the sweat-drenched hair. Neither of them tore their eyes from the scene before them, watching Boromir's death with a sort of sick fascination. They heard Gimli coming up and leaning on his axe beside them, letting his breath out in a rough sigh as if to say 'not another one'.
Aragorn leaned over the body and kissed Boromir's forehead. Only Legolas heard his whisper. "Be at peace, son of Gondor."
The four of them moved together and began to speak. Dawn, after answering them that yes, she was fine, did not speak for a long while. It amazed her, how easily they could discuss the disgusting things she had just seen. They quickly decided that they should bury Boromir at sea, since they had no time to bury him properly. Aragorn told them that Merry and Pippin had been captured.
"We have to find them!" Dawn cried, breaking her silence.
"What of Frodo, and Sam?" Legolas asked, his indecision clear.
"I let Frodo go," Aragorn announced. None of them questioned this, they all understood.
While they were busy preparing a boat and placing Boromir's body in it, Legolas pulled Dawn aside and handed her a soft bundle. "Here, put this on."
She looked down at herself. She hadn't realised she was so filthy. She looked around her at her companions, they weren't nearly as dirty. Maybe their battle experience had taught them how to avoid splattering blood, she figured. She felt Legolas plant a light kiss on her hot forehead. Dawn gratefully accepted the offering and ducked off into the trees.
Her muscles began to ache, now that the adrenaline had left her body. She was surprised, and secretly very proud to note that her only injury seemed to be a very small scratch just above her right elbow. It had already closed over even. Painfully, Dawn unbuttoned the cotton shirt Galadriel's ladies had given her, feeling the material slip off her screaming muscles to the ground. As she unwrapped Legolas' shirt, she noticed that her bra was also incredibly dirty, some of the Uruk blood having seeped through her clothing to her underwear and her skin. She grimaced. She didn't like it, but she'd just have to stay dirty for the time being. Dawn slipped the shirt Legolas had given her over her head. It was blue-grey and identical to the one that he wore himself under his tunic. The sleeves covered her hands even. It was long, too, coming half way down to her knees. If she had been back in Sunnydale, she'd probably have worn it as a dress.
By the time she made her way back to the river, her companions were finished with Boromir and waiting for her so they could farewell their friend.
Dawn listened, her tears glistening in her eyes but not falling as Aragorn and Legolas each sang a verse or two to honour their fallen comrade. The boat disappeared over the falls of Rauros.
* * * * *
Quickly, the four turned to the task at hand. Taking very few supplies, only what was absolutely necessary, they set off after Merry and Pippin. For Dawn, the next four days seemed to bleed together. She was able enough, but the pace Aragorn and Legolas set was almost torturous. She silently cursed them for their fitness, and then she silently cursed herself for not exercising more when she was back in Sunnydale. She took a perverted comfort in the fact that Gimli was faring worse than her. She often heard him a little ways behind, cursing and grumbling as he stumbled over the uneven ground in his armour. She would've laughed if she wasn't so sick with worry over the Hobbits.
By Aragorn's skill, they'd learned that they were on the right track, and slowly gaining on the Uruk-Hai. They'd also learned that it was possible at least one of them had survived thus far: Aragorn had picked up an Elven brooch from a Lothlorien cloak not long ago. But hope was fading. It was impossible for them to track by dark, and Dawn knew that she and Gimli at least would not have the stamina to go on without rest.
But Legolas despaired in the darkness, knowing in his heart that every hour they rested the Uruk-Hai went on, stealing hope from them with every step. Each night, while the others slept, he vigilantly watched over them. When they awoke at various times throughout the night, they would see him pacing across the camp, sometimes silent, sometimes singing soft Elvish songs. Or they'd barely be able to catch a glimpse of him, the sentry concealed in the surrounding trees. Or sometimes he would be sitting, and Dawn would stir to find gentle hands tracing over the features of her face. Dawn liked those times the best. She'd wake up, mumbling something incoherent, and feel a warm kiss on her lips and a gentle voice telling her to sleep. It was like a comforting dream.
On the fourth day, just when the four hunters were their closest to despair, the approach of a great host on horseback became apparent. They had entered the country of Rohan and decided to rest in the cover of a large rock and wait to speak to the riders, who were travelling up the Uruks trail.
"What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?" Aragorn cried, revealing himself as a hundred horses thundered past.
The host turned and encircled them, and the four found themselves staring down the points of a hundred sharp spears. Dawn gulped. 'Not so good,' she thought.
One tall rider came forward from the pack to address them. "Who are you, and what are you doing in this land?" he demanded.
Aragorn spoke. "I am called Strider, I came out of the North. I am hunting Orcs."
The rider dismounted and handed his spear to a nearby rider. He drew his sword, facing up to Aragorn. "You know little of Orcs, if you hunt them in this manner. You'd have been the prey had you ever overtaken them. Yet that is no name for a Man you give, Strider. And strange too is your raiment. Have you sprang out of the grass? How did you escape our sight? Are you elvish folk?"
"No, only one of us is an Elf, Legolas from the Woodland Realm in distant Mirkwood. But we have passed through Lothlorien, and the gifts and favour of the Lady go with us."
The rider's expression changed from wonder to hardness. He had heard stories of the Sorceress of the Golden Wood and was now weary of what strange powers these travellers may possess. "The Elf-witch of the Woods!" he said. He turned to Legolas, Gimli and Dawn. "Why do you not speak, silent ones?" he demanded. Then he took a closer look at Dawn. "You travel with a girl!" he cried, outraged.
Dawn's eyes flashed furiously. But Aragorn's voice, calm and collected, held back the retort that was already forming on her lips.
"We travel with a fellow warrior, brave as any in your host."
The rider was dubious. "That would take some effort to convince me of. What is your name, Lady?"
"I'm Dawn Summers, who the hell are you?" Dawn shot back.
The rider stared down at her a moment before answering. "I am named Eomer son of Eomund, and am called the Third Marshal of Riddermark."
"Isn't that nice," Dawn returned sarcastically. Legolas put a hand on her arm, a silent bid for her to keep herself in check. Unfortunately, he did not convey the same message to Gimli, who spoke next.
"Well, Eomer son of Eomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, let Gimli the Dwarf Gloin's son warn you against foolish words. You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only little wit can excuse you."
Eomer's eyes blazed. "I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground.
"He stands not alone," said Legolas, bending his bow and fitting an arrow with hands that moved quicker than sight. "You would die before your stroke fell."
Dawn watched, bemused as Legolas lost his temper. She worried for a moment as Eomer raised his sword, but once again, Aragorn smoothed the situation over in his own unique manner. He threw back his cloak and drew out the shining blade of Anduril. "Elendil!" he cried. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dunadan, Estel, and the heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor. Here is the Sword that was Broken and is forged again! Will you aid me or thwart me? Choose swiftly!"
"Don't forget King-guy," Dawn was quick to remind him.
"Thank you, Key-girl," he returned.
Aragorn felt a hundred and five pairs of eyes on him, one hundred and two riders and his three companions, who had never seen him in such a mood before. Eomer seemed to have shrunk and lost all authority under the dominating figure of Aragorn. He sent the Rohirrim away and indicated for Aragorn to continue.
Aragorn quickly explained how they were tracking friends, and had followed the trail thus far. Eomer swore that the Uruks were destroyed, but no Hobbits had been found when they piled and burned the carcasses. Then Eomer quickly related to them all the latest evils that had befallen his Kingdom. Despair was evident in the young Marshal, only a few years older than Dawn, as he spoke of Saruman's poisoning of King Theoden, his uncle's mind, and the darkness enveloping their land.
Despite his most heartfelt pleas for the aid of Isildur's heir and his worthy companions, Aragorn was insistent that they continue the search for Merry and Pippin whilst even the slightest glimmer of hope remained. Eomer resigned himself to Aragorn's decision and loaned them their three riderless horses, on the condition that they brought them to Edoras to prove to his uncle that his judgement to not demand they appear before the King before being given leave to wander free in Rohan was not an error.
Eomer himself brought a white mare to Dawn. "Can you ride, my Lady?" he asked gently.
"Yeah, I can get by," Dawn replied, remembering Tara taking her riding a few times. She had loved every moment, she adored horses.
"This is Lightfoot," Eomer offered a hand to Dawn and helped her mount. Before turning the reins over to her, Eomer caught her eye. "Lady Dawn, I am sorry if my words offended you earlier. I meant no such slight to your character or abilities. Please accept my humblest apologies, my Lady."
Dawn looked down into Eomer's dark eyes. She saw the years of hardened experience in battle that could not conceal his pain and despair, and she felt an affinity with the young Marshal, though nowhere near as strong as she had felt with Frodo. "I accept your apology, Eomer. Though I have a request to make of you," she said, her eyes dancing.
Eomer held her gaze and realised how much he felt he knew this girl. He realised she had lost family, too. So like himself, and so like his sister. He nodded, indicating her to name her price.
"Call me Dawn. 'Bye, Eomer."
"Farewell, Dawn." He turned and addressed the waiting Rohirrim. "Ride!" he commanded, and then they were gone.
* * * * *
Hope you're enjoying. Don't forget to R&R, ~Anoron