*AUTHOR'S NOTE* Sorry I've taken so long to update.  I've been grounded and really busy all at the same time.  Not a good combination when you're writing a story.  But, here it is…Chapter 12!

Also, I've reread some of what I wrote earlier and realized it's a bit more contradictory to Tolkien than what I wanted so I've changed a few things in previous chapters.

~*~flor~*~

March 9, 3019

I rode out to Dunharrow today, not in pursuit of Aragorn, but to meet my uncle.  With me rode a small army of men from Edoras.  My uncle intends to muster his troops here and ride out and fight against the armies from Isengard attacking us in the East.

I reached Dunharrow before my uncle.  Most of my time was spent helping set up tents for the men meeting here.  My uncle hopes to gather thousands meet here to ride to the East.  I hope to go with them.

When the time seemed right, I rode out from Dunharrow in the direction I knew my uncle would be coming from to meet him and to talk with him.

"Hail, lord of the Mark!" I cried as I reached him, "My heart is glad at your returning."

"And you, Eowyn," he replied, "is all well with you?"

"All is well," I answered. "All is well.  Your lodgings have been prepared for you: for I have had full tidings of your coming."

"So Aragorn has come them," my brother said, "Is he still here?"

"No, he is gone," I replied quietly.  I found myself looking south towards the mountains as I said this.

"Whither did he go?" Eomer asked.

"I do not know," I lied.  "He came at night, and rode away yestermorn ere the sun had climbed over the mountaintops.  He is gone."

My voice must have told more how I felt than I intended for it to, for my uncle's next words were: "You are grieved, daughter.  What has happened?  Tell me, did he speak of that road?  Of the Paths of the Dead?"

"Yes, lord," I said, "And he has passed in to the shadow from which none have returned.  I could not dissuade him.  He is gone."

"Then our paths are sundered," said Eomer, "He is lost.  We must ride without him, and out hope dwindles."

We slowly and quietly rode to Dunharrow in the falling dusk.  When we reached our destination, I showed my uncle and his host to their lodgings.  I noticed that among them was a child.  I wondered at the reason and went to approach him.  But when I neared him I realized that he was not a child for his face appeared older, though not much more aged then mine.*  I decided to ask my brother about him. Eomer told me that he was a holbytla, a halfling by the name of Meriadoc, often called Merry for short.  I had thought halflings were only creatures of ancient myths and legends.  I never thought they existed.  I realized now how wrong I had been.

I met in my uncle's tent with my uncle, brother, Dunhere, lord of Harrowdale, and the halfling.  I answered the questions they asked me of Aragorn's visit.  I listened to them tell the halfling of the Paths and why we fear them so greatly.  Their conversation then turned to the war.  I talked little, but listened intently.  After a while the captain of the Guard entered the tent.

"A man is here, lord," he said to my uncle. "An errand-rider of Gondor.  He wishes to come before you at once."

"Let him come," my uncle replied.

A man entered, wearing the pride and armor of one from Gondor.  With him he carried a black arrow with the point painted red.  He sank on one knee and presented the arrow to my uncle.

"Hail, Lord of the Rohirrim, friend of Gondor!" he said, "Hirgon I am, errand-rider of Denethor, who bring you the token of war.  Gondor is in great need.  Often the Rohirrim have aided us, but now the Lord Denethor asks for all your strength and all you speed, lest Gondor fall at last."

They spoke of the war, of the despair of Gondor and the time it would take to gather Rohan's scattered army.  My uncle estimated it would take near a week.  The messenger did not look satisfied.  They spoke longer, the rest of us quiet, listening with open ears.

At last my uncle arose, the rest of us did the same.  "Go now each to your rest," he said, "and sleep well."  And with those words, he dismissed us.

We ride to Gondor as soon as possible, with as many men as we can gather.  Messengers have been sent bearing word to haste in the gathering of the army.

I will ride with them.  I will ride whether they want me to or not.  I am destined for more then they will allow me.  I will go through any extremes to gain higher honor and respect.  I will ride.

Eowyn.

* Eowyn was 24, Merry was 37, remember, hobbits age slower than humans do.