Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters belong to Paramount; all Lord
of the Rings related characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely
borrowing them.
Author's Note: WOW. That is the most reviews I have gotten for a single chapter EVER. Many profound thanks to everyone who reviewed!
**********************
THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter Two: The Gathering Gloom
Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
***********************
Hoshi awoke to soft voices whispering in the dark, in a language she did not understand. Her eyes refused to fully open; she caught a glimpse of burning candles here and there, a shadow of a woman walking from her bedside to the window; she felt the weight of a heavy, warm blanket over her body.
The memory of the rain and mud, of the heavy booted foot and the sounds of fighting returned to her mind, and she cried out softly before she could stifle the sound. Immediately the whispering ceased and two forms hurried to her bedside, a young woman and a slightly older man, both with long waving golden hair. Their faces were like enough that Hoshi thought they must be related.
She gazed at them both, the woman slender and tall and very fair, like a morning of pale spring, the man long-limbed and even taller, the summer's evening when the sun shines still brightly over the land below. They were very different than the crew of Enterprise, their attitudes stern and regal. Yet there was kindness too, and friendliness, in their eyes.
The woman spoke in a low, calming voice, gently stroking her forehead. Hoshi did not know what she said, exactly, but from the expression on her face, thought that she might be asking Hoshi's name and where she came from. The man looked on, rather grimly, but still concerned.
Hoshi, ducking away from the woman's hand, pulled herself up onto her elbows and looked around the room, taking in a low beamed ceiling and white- plastered walls. Other beds were spaced around the room, with still shapes lying beneath heavy gray or brown blankets. Looking down at herself, she saw that someone had dressed her in a long linen garment rather like a nightgown.
She felt a touch on her arm and looked up to see the man holding out a cup of water. Gratefully she took it and drank slowly. He nodded briefly to her and to the golden-haired woman, lips turning up in a very slight smile, and padded softly out of the room.
The woman sighed and then caught herself as she looked up at Hoshi. The ensign, not sure what she had just inadvertently witnessed, gazed down into the cup. Her head throbbed a little, but not too badly. She'd had worse hits to the head before.
She looked up and met the golden-haired woman's pale eyes. "Hoshi," she said, voice rasping a little, and pointed to herself.
"Hoshi," repeated the woman, and then repeated the gesture. "Éowyn."
"Éowyn," repeated Hoshi, grinning back.
When the golden-haired man returned to the sickroom, a few hours later, Hoshi had a grasp on a good many nouns and verbs and could somewhat make herself understood. Éowyn, who was apparently acting as nurse for the sickroom Hoshi was in, pointed out every object as she moved around the room, so Hoshi knew quite a bit of medical terminology now.
She hadn't been able to make Éowyn understand that she wanted to know where Malcolm was---or else Éowyn simply didn't know where Malcolm was. When Éomer, the tall man who was indeed brother to the young woman, came back in, motioning to his sister, Hoshi caught only a word or two of his rapid speech. Éowyn gave her an apologetic look and rushed out of the room after her brother. They came back in a few minutes later, followed by two men bearing between them a still body on a stretcher. Hoshi saw the shock of black, spiky hair, very different from the long blonde and brown locks favored by these people, and jumped out of bed immediately, pulling the heavy blanket around her. "Malcolm!" she cried, trying to get a better look. Éomer caught her by the arm and held her out of the way until the stretcher-bearers reached the empty bed in the corner.
Malcolm's chest was wrapped in bandages, as was his right thigh. He breathed in and out as if it took a great effort just to pull air through his lungs, and his face was very pale and drawn. Éomer and Éowyn carefully lifted him onto the bed. One of the stretcher-bearers spoke to Éomer in a hushed voice as Éowyn covered Reed with blankets.
"Malcolm?" Hoshi whispered, creeping to the side of his bed. He stirred a little, opening his eyes, but did not answer her. Éowyn gently led the ensign away, murmuring comfortingly, something about healing and sleep. It was a moment before Hoshi realized that the young woman meant her and not Malcolm, but she allowed herself to be led back to bed.
She turned on her side towards Reed and watched the lieutenant's chest rise and fall until she fell asleep, wondering all the while where in the universe they were, and wishing desperately that she were somewhere else.
**********************
When she next woke up, the shutters had been thrown open and sunlight streamed through the glass. Carefully, Hoshi sat up and looked around the room. Malcolm's chest still rose and fell, each breath rasping softly in the quiet room. Two of the beds that last night had held injured men were now empty; Hoshi hoped that they had merely recovered enough to be moved and not died. She felt the bruise on the side of her head gingerly, wincing as her fingers brushed across the tender area.
At the foot of the bed, a bowl of water, a brush, and some clothes rested on a chair. Over the back a pale blue kirtle was neatly hung. She washed her face in the lukewarm water and combed the dirt out of her hair as best she could, then put on the long dress.
Malcolm stirred a little, and Hoshi rushed to his side. His eyelids fluttered and he moaned softly. "Can you hear me, Malcolm?" she said softly, taking his hand in hers.
His eyes opened a little wider, and he moved his head, blinking drowsily at her. "Hoshi," he murmured. "Did you...."
She waited for a second, but he didn't finish his sentence. "Did I what?"
"Did you get.... the number of that shuttle?" he whispered, squeezing her hand. "Think it ran me over."
Hoshi choked back a snort. "You're turning into Trip," she laughed. He blinked at her, still smiling sleepily, and shook his head just a little bit.
"Where's Trip now?" he murmured.
"I think the better question is, where are we?" Hoshi said. "Do you remember what happened?"
"Little bits," he said. "Black ball and fiery hands.... I don't know...."
Hoshi could see he was dropping off again, so she bit back her questions and let him drift off to sleep again. When he was breathing slowly and steadily, eyes closed tight, she let go of his hand and slipped out of the room.
The hall was long and low; she tiptoed past other open doors with voices chattering merrily in that strange language. A few words she caught, remembering them from Éowyn's lessons the day before, but she knew she would have to hear a great deal more than that to get a handle on the language. She did not think they were prisoners, but even so, it was best to be careful.
At the end of the hall, a steep stairway led up a narrow, dark passage. Swallowing hard, Hoshi went up the stairs and found herself in the corner of a vast hall. She had read Beowulf in high school, and this place looked the way she had imagined Hrothgar's great hall, Heorot. She stared around in amazement, looking at the colorful and rather threadbare wall hangings, all depicting horses and riders. Hoshi stopped before one, a great woven tapestry with a young man riding a white horse. Alone of all the others sunlight fell upon it, and to Hoshi, the horse seemed to leap out of the woven water and into the hall.
She stood before it for a few moments, but the rest of the hall was fair to behold as well. Hoshi looked up and down at the mighty pillars holding up the roof, and wondered at the rainbow of colored stones beneath her bare feet, carved runes and designs branching away across the floor.
At the opposite end, there was a raised dais, and on it was a great gilded chair. Hoshi started in surprise when she realized that the lump of cloth sitting in it was an old man, bearded in white and hunched deep into his furs. A crown rested on his white hair, a single bright jewel sparking in the middle. His eyes, blue and rheumy, gazed straight at her, but for all their piercing stare Hoshi did not think he saw her at all. She stood there, staring at the old man, until a hand on her shoulder broke the reverie.
Whirling around, she found herself face to face with a pale, greasy wraith of a man. He spoke fiercely, but she did not understand, and could only shake her head in terror. His eyes, shadowed and red-rimmed, creased in fury, and he threw her towards the stair she had come up from. Shaking, Hoshi leapt up from the ground and flew back down the stairs to the long hallway. She crashed right into Éowyn at the bottom. The young woman's eyes widened in surprise.
"Gríma Wormtongue," she said in disgust and shook her head, jaws clenched in anger. Hoshi looked from Éowyn back up the stairs---she did not want to tangle with that particular denizen of this world again.
She followed Éowyn around the city all day, helping the young woman with her duties, Hoshi's sensitive ears picking up on the language quickly. It was far easier when there were more people around for her to listen to, and by early evening she understood nearly all of what was being said, or at the very least could pick up the gist of it if she didn't know all the words.
The city---village, by Earth standards, Hoshi thought---lay under a perpetual gloom. The people spoke quietly and urgently, even in the most mundane of affairs, and many furtive glances were thrown at Meduseld, the golden hall of Théoden king. The thought of the tattered old man on the throne as king made Hoshi shudder, more so when she learned that Gríma Wormtongue was his chief advisor.
"Indeed, he is the only person my uncle listens to these days," spat Éowyn, carefully unwrapping a packet of herbs and stirring them into a bubbling pot. They had returned to the hall with medicines and supplies for the injured. "He will not speak to Éomer or myself any longer. Sometimes my cousin Theodred is able to gain his father's ear, but he has been away at the northern borders with a company of the Rohirrim."
"Rohirrim?" asked Hoshi, handing Éowyn the packet of herbs she pointed at.
"The army. The riders. Men who fight." There was a curious hint of resentment in her voice when the young woman spoke, but Hoshi couldn't quite figure out how to ask what the cause of that was. She sighed, thinking longingly of the Universal Translator stowed in her pack, somewhere else in the universe, somewhere that was most definitely not here. Poor Malcolm---he was going to have a time of it when he got well enough to get around, not having her linguistic talents.
She didn't want to think about Malcolm, though, because every time she did her stomach tightened and her mind sent shivers of worry down her back. Éowyn's expression when she had asked how badly he was hurt had been enough to tell her how serious his injuries were.
"Orcs have been attacking the villages for a fortnight now," Éowyn was saying. "We had heard rumors that Saruman had turned against us and joined with the Dark Lord in Mordor. Word from Rivendell spoke of it, and yet the king does not listen. And my brother says that he has seen new, terrible orcs---Uruk-Hai, they are called. They attacked your village and we hardly managed to get anyone out alive."
"Not my village," Hoshi said, inwardly cursing her still scant vocabulary. "I came from another place."
Éowyn leaned back from the bubbling medicine and smiled. "I guessed as much, my friend, since your tongue is one I have never before heard. Where is your home?"
Hoshi Grímaced. "I come from Earth," she said slowly.
Éowyn raised an eyebrow. "As do we all. MiddleEarth. Your face is a little like to that of the peoples of the East, far past the country of Rhûn. Is that where you are from?"
How to explain the concept of space travel to a people living in a feudal medieval society? Hoshi thought furiously, and then took Éowyn's hand, drawing her towards the window where a few stars were visible in the twilight sky. "I come from another Earth," she said, pointing up into the heavens. "Another planet" ---leaving the word 'planet' in English, not knowing its equivalent here---"and I.... walked far?"
"Journeyed?" supplied Éowyn. "Traveled?"
"Journeyed across the stars," said Hoshi. Éowyn looked at her, baffled.
"I have never heard of such a thing. Are you sure you are saying the right words?"
Hoshi sighed and shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "I cannot explain it."
"Well, perhaps when you learn more," Éowyn replied, patting her on the shoulder. "I have never seen anyone speak a new tongue so quickly, so it will not be long, I think."
"Perhaps," said Hoshi. "I don't know if I can say the right words to explain, ever." Éowyn smiled sadly, pouring the pot of medicine into a heavy brown pitcher. She handed a tray of cups to Hoshi and they went out into the hallway towards the sickrooms.
"We will help you, until you may regain the words," said Éowyn as she set the pitcher down by the first bed. "You are welcome in this hall as long as I am mistress of it, unless my uncle should say otherwise. But as he has been inclined to say little at all of late, I do not think he will object."
Hoshi nodded her thanks and went to see Malcolm. He was feverish and restless, tossing and turning in his sleep with soft moans. The bandages around his chest were mussed; Hoshi straightened them carefully. She ran her hand along his forehead, and he quieted. "Hoshi," he said clearly in his sleep, and then murmured softly, so softly that she could not make out the words.
"It'll be all right, Malcolm," she said in English. "Once you wake up and get well we'll go back and find out what happened. Éowyn and Éomer are quite nice, though they seem a little formal at first. They'll help us. We'll get back to Enterprise. You'll see." She did not voice any of the unanswered questions in her mind regarding how exactly that would happen; he had enough to worry about at the moment. Dipping a cloth in cool water and wiping his forehead, she murmured to him in a mix of English and the Common Speech of MiddleEarth until Éowyn called out to her. She cast a look back over her shoulder, wishing she were strong enough of heart to stay and sit by him, but the tide of panic that rose in her whenever she thought of their situation only worsened when she saw a familiar face. Keeping busy by helping Éowyn and learning the language let her forget the worry.
And so she went after Éowyn, leaving Malcolm murmuring in his sleep, and hoping that his dreams were more pleasant than what, at the moment, passed for reality.
*************************
Just to warn you now, updates may not be quite so regular because school is getting a little busier. But I've never yet left a story unfinished, and though the road may be long, eventually the journey will reach its destination.
Author's Note: WOW. That is the most reviews I have gotten for a single chapter EVER. Many profound thanks to everyone who reviewed!
**********************
THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter Two: The Gathering Gloom
Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
***********************
Hoshi awoke to soft voices whispering in the dark, in a language she did not understand. Her eyes refused to fully open; she caught a glimpse of burning candles here and there, a shadow of a woman walking from her bedside to the window; she felt the weight of a heavy, warm blanket over her body.
The memory of the rain and mud, of the heavy booted foot and the sounds of fighting returned to her mind, and she cried out softly before she could stifle the sound. Immediately the whispering ceased and two forms hurried to her bedside, a young woman and a slightly older man, both with long waving golden hair. Their faces were like enough that Hoshi thought they must be related.
She gazed at them both, the woman slender and tall and very fair, like a morning of pale spring, the man long-limbed and even taller, the summer's evening when the sun shines still brightly over the land below. They were very different than the crew of Enterprise, their attitudes stern and regal. Yet there was kindness too, and friendliness, in their eyes.
The woman spoke in a low, calming voice, gently stroking her forehead. Hoshi did not know what she said, exactly, but from the expression on her face, thought that she might be asking Hoshi's name and where she came from. The man looked on, rather grimly, but still concerned.
Hoshi, ducking away from the woman's hand, pulled herself up onto her elbows and looked around the room, taking in a low beamed ceiling and white- plastered walls. Other beds were spaced around the room, with still shapes lying beneath heavy gray or brown blankets. Looking down at herself, she saw that someone had dressed her in a long linen garment rather like a nightgown.
She felt a touch on her arm and looked up to see the man holding out a cup of water. Gratefully she took it and drank slowly. He nodded briefly to her and to the golden-haired woman, lips turning up in a very slight smile, and padded softly out of the room.
The woman sighed and then caught herself as she looked up at Hoshi. The ensign, not sure what she had just inadvertently witnessed, gazed down into the cup. Her head throbbed a little, but not too badly. She'd had worse hits to the head before.
She looked up and met the golden-haired woman's pale eyes. "Hoshi," she said, voice rasping a little, and pointed to herself.
"Hoshi," repeated the woman, and then repeated the gesture. "Éowyn."
"Éowyn," repeated Hoshi, grinning back.
When the golden-haired man returned to the sickroom, a few hours later, Hoshi had a grasp on a good many nouns and verbs and could somewhat make herself understood. Éowyn, who was apparently acting as nurse for the sickroom Hoshi was in, pointed out every object as she moved around the room, so Hoshi knew quite a bit of medical terminology now.
She hadn't been able to make Éowyn understand that she wanted to know where Malcolm was---or else Éowyn simply didn't know where Malcolm was. When Éomer, the tall man who was indeed brother to the young woman, came back in, motioning to his sister, Hoshi caught only a word or two of his rapid speech. Éowyn gave her an apologetic look and rushed out of the room after her brother. They came back in a few minutes later, followed by two men bearing between them a still body on a stretcher. Hoshi saw the shock of black, spiky hair, very different from the long blonde and brown locks favored by these people, and jumped out of bed immediately, pulling the heavy blanket around her. "Malcolm!" she cried, trying to get a better look. Éomer caught her by the arm and held her out of the way until the stretcher-bearers reached the empty bed in the corner.
Malcolm's chest was wrapped in bandages, as was his right thigh. He breathed in and out as if it took a great effort just to pull air through his lungs, and his face was very pale and drawn. Éomer and Éowyn carefully lifted him onto the bed. One of the stretcher-bearers spoke to Éomer in a hushed voice as Éowyn covered Reed with blankets.
"Malcolm?" Hoshi whispered, creeping to the side of his bed. He stirred a little, opening his eyes, but did not answer her. Éowyn gently led the ensign away, murmuring comfortingly, something about healing and sleep. It was a moment before Hoshi realized that the young woman meant her and not Malcolm, but she allowed herself to be led back to bed.
She turned on her side towards Reed and watched the lieutenant's chest rise and fall until she fell asleep, wondering all the while where in the universe they were, and wishing desperately that she were somewhere else.
**********************
When she next woke up, the shutters had been thrown open and sunlight streamed through the glass. Carefully, Hoshi sat up and looked around the room. Malcolm's chest still rose and fell, each breath rasping softly in the quiet room. Two of the beds that last night had held injured men were now empty; Hoshi hoped that they had merely recovered enough to be moved and not died. She felt the bruise on the side of her head gingerly, wincing as her fingers brushed across the tender area.
At the foot of the bed, a bowl of water, a brush, and some clothes rested on a chair. Over the back a pale blue kirtle was neatly hung. She washed her face in the lukewarm water and combed the dirt out of her hair as best she could, then put on the long dress.
Malcolm stirred a little, and Hoshi rushed to his side. His eyelids fluttered and he moaned softly. "Can you hear me, Malcolm?" she said softly, taking his hand in hers.
His eyes opened a little wider, and he moved his head, blinking drowsily at her. "Hoshi," he murmured. "Did you...."
She waited for a second, but he didn't finish his sentence. "Did I what?"
"Did you get.... the number of that shuttle?" he whispered, squeezing her hand. "Think it ran me over."
Hoshi choked back a snort. "You're turning into Trip," she laughed. He blinked at her, still smiling sleepily, and shook his head just a little bit.
"Where's Trip now?" he murmured.
"I think the better question is, where are we?" Hoshi said. "Do you remember what happened?"
"Little bits," he said. "Black ball and fiery hands.... I don't know...."
Hoshi could see he was dropping off again, so she bit back her questions and let him drift off to sleep again. When he was breathing slowly and steadily, eyes closed tight, she let go of his hand and slipped out of the room.
The hall was long and low; she tiptoed past other open doors with voices chattering merrily in that strange language. A few words she caught, remembering them from Éowyn's lessons the day before, but she knew she would have to hear a great deal more than that to get a handle on the language. She did not think they were prisoners, but even so, it was best to be careful.
At the end of the hall, a steep stairway led up a narrow, dark passage. Swallowing hard, Hoshi went up the stairs and found herself in the corner of a vast hall. She had read Beowulf in high school, and this place looked the way she had imagined Hrothgar's great hall, Heorot. She stared around in amazement, looking at the colorful and rather threadbare wall hangings, all depicting horses and riders. Hoshi stopped before one, a great woven tapestry with a young man riding a white horse. Alone of all the others sunlight fell upon it, and to Hoshi, the horse seemed to leap out of the woven water and into the hall.
She stood before it for a few moments, but the rest of the hall was fair to behold as well. Hoshi looked up and down at the mighty pillars holding up the roof, and wondered at the rainbow of colored stones beneath her bare feet, carved runes and designs branching away across the floor.
At the opposite end, there was a raised dais, and on it was a great gilded chair. Hoshi started in surprise when she realized that the lump of cloth sitting in it was an old man, bearded in white and hunched deep into his furs. A crown rested on his white hair, a single bright jewel sparking in the middle. His eyes, blue and rheumy, gazed straight at her, but for all their piercing stare Hoshi did not think he saw her at all. She stood there, staring at the old man, until a hand on her shoulder broke the reverie.
Whirling around, she found herself face to face with a pale, greasy wraith of a man. He spoke fiercely, but she did not understand, and could only shake her head in terror. His eyes, shadowed and red-rimmed, creased in fury, and he threw her towards the stair she had come up from. Shaking, Hoshi leapt up from the ground and flew back down the stairs to the long hallway. She crashed right into Éowyn at the bottom. The young woman's eyes widened in surprise.
"Gríma Wormtongue," she said in disgust and shook her head, jaws clenched in anger. Hoshi looked from Éowyn back up the stairs---she did not want to tangle with that particular denizen of this world again.
She followed Éowyn around the city all day, helping the young woman with her duties, Hoshi's sensitive ears picking up on the language quickly. It was far easier when there were more people around for her to listen to, and by early evening she understood nearly all of what was being said, or at the very least could pick up the gist of it if she didn't know all the words.
The city---village, by Earth standards, Hoshi thought---lay under a perpetual gloom. The people spoke quietly and urgently, even in the most mundane of affairs, and many furtive glances were thrown at Meduseld, the golden hall of Théoden king. The thought of the tattered old man on the throne as king made Hoshi shudder, more so when she learned that Gríma Wormtongue was his chief advisor.
"Indeed, he is the only person my uncle listens to these days," spat Éowyn, carefully unwrapping a packet of herbs and stirring them into a bubbling pot. They had returned to the hall with medicines and supplies for the injured. "He will not speak to Éomer or myself any longer. Sometimes my cousin Theodred is able to gain his father's ear, but he has been away at the northern borders with a company of the Rohirrim."
"Rohirrim?" asked Hoshi, handing Éowyn the packet of herbs she pointed at.
"The army. The riders. Men who fight." There was a curious hint of resentment in her voice when the young woman spoke, but Hoshi couldn't quite figure out how to ask what the cause of that was. She sighed, thinking longingly of the Universal Translator stowed in her pack, somewhere else in the universe, somewhere that was most definitely not here. Poor Malcolm---he was going to have a time of it when he got well enough to get around, not having her linguistic talents.
She didn't want to think about Malcolm, though, because every time she did her stomach tightened and her mind sent shivers of worry down her back. Éowyn's expression when she had asked how badly he was hurt had been enough to tell her how serious his injuries were.
"Orcs have been attacking the villages for a fortnight now," Éowyn was saying. "We had heard rumors that Saruman had turned against us and joined with the Dark Lord in Mordor. Word from Rivendell spoke of it, and yet the king does not listen. And my brother says that he has seen new, terrible orcs---Uruk-Hai, they are called. They attacked your village and we hardly managed to get anyone out alive."
"Not my village," Hoshi said, inwardly cursing her still scant vocabulary. "I came from another place."
Éowyn leaned back from the bubbling medicine and smiled. "I guessed as much, my friend, since your tongue is one I have never before heard. Where is your home?"
Hoshi Grímaced. "I come from Earth," she said slowly.
Éowyn raised an eyebrow. "As do we all. MiddleEarth. Your face is a little like to that of the peoples of the East, far past the country of Rhûn. Is that where you are from?"
How to explain the concept of space travel to a people living in a feudal medieval society? Hoshi thought furiously, and then took Éowyn's hand, drawing her towards the window where a few stars were visible in the twilight sky. "I come from another Earth," she said, pointing up into the heavens. "Another planet" ---leaving the word 'planet' in English, not knowing its equivalent here---"and I.... walked far?"
"Journeyed?" supplied Éowyn. "Traveled?"
"Journeyed across the stars," said Hoshi. Éowyn looked at her, baffled.
"I have never heard of such a thing. Are you sure you are saying the right words?"
Hoshi sighed and shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "I cannot explain it."
"Well, perhaps when you learn more," Éowyn replied, patting her on the shoulder. "I have never seen anyone speak a new tongue so quickly, so it will not be long, I think."
"Perhaps," said Hoshi. "I don't know if I can say the right words to explain, ever." Éowyn smiled sadly, pouring the pot of medicine into a heavy brown pitcher. She handed a tray of cups to Hoshi and they went out into the hallway towards the sickrooms.
"We will help you, until you may regain the words," said Éowyn as she set the pitcher down by the first bed. "You are welcome in this hall as long as I am mistress of it, unless my uncle should say otherwise. But as he has been inclined to say little at all of late, I do not think he will object."
Hoshi nodded her thanks and went to see Malcolm. He was feverish and restless, tossing and turning in his sleep with soft moans. The bandages around his chest were mussed; Hoshi straightened them carefully. She ran her hand along his forehead, and he quieted. "Hoshi," he said clearly in his sleep, and then murmured softly, so softly that she could not make out the words.
"It'll be all right, Malcolm," she said in English. "Once you wake up and get well we'll go back and find out what happened. Éowyn and Éomer are quite nice, though they seem a little formal at first. They'll help us. We'll get back to Enterprise. You'll see." She did not voice any of the unanswered questions in her mind regarding how exactly that would happen; he had enough to worry about at the moment. Dipping a cloth in cool water and wiping his forehead, she murmured to him in a mix of English and the Common Speech of MiddleEarth until Éowyn called out to her. She cast a look back over her shoulder, wishing she were strong enough of heart to stay and sit by him, but the tide of panic that rose in her whenever she thought of their situation only worsened when she saw a familiar face. Keeping busy by helping Éowyn and learning the language let her forget the worry.
And so she went after Éowyn, leaving Malcolm murmuring in his sleep, and hoping that his dreams were more pleasant than what, at the moment, passed for reality.
*************************
Just to warn you now, updates may not be quite so regular because school is getting a little busier. But I've never yet left a story unfinished, and though the road may be long, eventually the journey will reach its destination.