Chapter 14

The heavy sounds of metal upon metal rang through the open air, echoing in the empty space of sky. The swift slashing noises were occasionally punctuated by a muffled grunt or groan of pain. But all else was quiet.

The plains of Rohan were empty save for the small group of men who stood in a loose circle, their armor a dark stain on the unbroken green and brown of the grass. In the center of the circle were two figures, each holding a pair of daggers, slowly circling each other.

It was Éoden who attacked first, swinging his right arm down at her legs while the left came up at her throat. She ducked the left nimbly and blocked the attack to her legs with the blade in her left hand, spinning in a half-circle so her back was to him.

He clucked his tongue softly, knowing how open to attack she'd just made herself. So, to show her how vulnerable she was, he brought his left arm up, meaning to wrap it around her chest, the dagger against her throat. But, just as his arm closed around her, she dropped to the ground, swung out with her right leg and kicked his legs out from under him. On his back, he stared up at her as he jumped up and placed one knee on his chest, her dagger close to his throat.

"Good, very good," he said, his voice strained with exertion and the pressure of her knee on his chest. "I yield, my lady," he continued, almost whining, but still she did not move, the setting sun bringing a sparkle to her already-laughing eyes. "Please let me up," he near-begged, but she was too happy in her position of power.

"Fair enough," he sighed, "But I did ask you nicely."

With a twist of his upper body, he threw himself to the side, spilling her onto the ground, the dagger pulled from her hand with a steady, sharp pressure to her wrist. Now, their positions were reversed. Éoden smiled down at her, his hands holding her arms to the dirt. Not wanting to crush her, he knelt on the ground behind her head and stared down at her eyes.

The laughter had not left those luminous orbs. Indeed, it seemed to increase until Éoden had no choice but to laugh heartily at this training session gone awry. With laughter still flowing from him, Éoden stood and extended his hand to the woman who still lay, prone, on the ground. Graciously, she took it and stood, brushing the dirt from her already-filthy clothing. Strands of midnight black hair had slipped from the strip of fabric which held them back, framing her face as she looked down at her dusty-self.

Éoden could only watch in dismay as the wind played with her loose hair, his fingers itching at his sides, struggling to suppress the urge to sweep those errant strands back, behind her ears. Violently, he shook his head in an attempt to clear it of such thoughts. True, she was beautiful but would not be with him, them he corrected himself, much longer. And what did he really know about her? Close to nothing. Even her name was unknown to him, and here he was, imagining the softness of her hair under his hands. Foolish was what these thoughts were, he thought bitterly, foolish.

Foolish, but normal, he thought again, reasoning within himself. Yes, there was nothing wrong with appreciating beauty, as long as he kept a level-head about it. Upon their arrival at Meduseld, she would be left in capable hands, and his mind could again be clear.

A frustrated sigh captured his attention as she dropped her hands in defeat, realizing that her clothes would not come clean no matter how much she brushed at them. Éoden could only force mirth into his voice as he said, "Now you know what it means to be a soldier, lady. Dirt and filth become a part of our lives. But, do not worry. Meduseld is a much cleaner place than these plains." He gestured to the wide open space which had begun to go dark with the setting of the sun, and took a deep breath, inhaling the clean scent of damp earth and open sky.

When he turned back to her, her eyes no longer met his for they too had moved to sweep the surrounding landscape. As if mocking him, she inhaled deeply, as he had. But, instead of turning to face him, she sighed, almost sorrowfully. Horrified, he watched as tears began to fall from her eyes, illuminated by the last rays of sunshine. Hands shaking, he reached forward and turned her face toward him, worry in his eyes.

But the tears were not of pain or sadness, he realized as he at last caught her gaze. She was joyful in her tears, though still unsmiling. If only Éoden could see her smile. If only he could make her smile.

"Sir?"

Thengel's voice was an unexpected break in the silence and Éoden jumped, pulling his hand back from the lady's face. Embarassed, she hurriedly wiped away the tears that had begun to dry on her cheeks.

"Yes, Thengel?"

"Sir, you haven't set up night watches yet and I was wondering if you would......." his voice trailed off.

"Yes, Thengel. I will see to it immediately. Escort the lady to her tent, please," he answered tiredly, and walked away as Thengel took the lady's arm in his and led her away.

His own tent had long since been built, and he walked inside, sitting down with paper, ink, and a quill pen. Hastily,he wrote down the order of sentries, marking down the duration of their watch beside their respective names. This done, he exited the tent and handed the paper to a waiting guard with instructions to circulate it among the men.

The sky had long since grown dark, but torches had been lit and a great fire blazed in the center of the camp. Around it sat his men, hungrily taking in the night's rations. Among them was the lady, quiet as always, hands clasped around a mug of what was probably ale. In that moon-glowing darkness, her skin gave off its own gentle radiance, making the men around her look positively dull. With a heavy-hearted sigh, Éoden realized he had no stomach for food or association that night. He turned back to his tent to seek a much-needed rest.

He threw his armor and weapons to the floor, knowing that such lack of etiquette and esteem for his gear would have gotten him a sound tongue-lashing had he still been in training. But for once, he cared not for such trivialities. The furs of his bed were much too inviting and accomodating for him to spend time worrying about anything else save their softness.

But, even as he pulled the heavy blanket up across his chest, he knew that he would only chase sleep that night, and never attain it. His thoughts raced with images of a pair of dancing gray eyes and a smileless, yet still radiant, face.

"Éoden, you are a fool," he whispered to himself, pressing his fists into his eyes.

Three weeks, three weeks was all the time that lady had accompanied them. Two weeks ago, they had left the forest, her home.

In the dark of his tent, Éoden smiled, remembering her reaction to leaving the woods.

It had been midday, the sun beating down, unobscured by clouds. For a few moments, she'd paused under the trees, her face uncertain, but Éoden had laid a gentle hand on her elbow and nodded reassuringly. She'd taken a deep cleansing breath, and stepped into that soul-searching light. Her gasp was audible as the hot sunlight bathed her face, making her squint uncomfortably in the sudden illumination.

But, after she'd adjusted, she'd tipped her face up toward the sky and taken deep breaths, almost gulps, of the sweet, open air. SIlently, for she did all things silently, she raised her arms high as if in supplication and simply stood that way, unaware of the dozens of eyes on her.

Every man in the camp who could see her had turned to stare at the living statue the lady had created. Her pale skin shone in the brilliant afternoon, her entire body seeming to revel in that warm glow.

How long she'd stood that way, Éoden could not remember, but the image of her joyful thanks to the skies haunted him for hours afterward.

That first ecstatic outpouring soon gave way to quiet trepidation. As the heavy lush green of the forest became empty space, the lady grew jittery, easily frightened. Though there was no doubt in Éoden's mind that she was happy to be free, he caught her looking back often in the direction from which they'd come, searching for a reassuring glimpse of her woodland home.

This pained him greatly, this unvoiced sadness, so he strived to be a source of strength and, at times, a distraction.

As in earlier that very morning. Éoden reflected as he lay on his makeshift bed, on the events of that day. It had started simply enough, with the breaking of camp and hours of walking. But as late afternoon had approached and the camp was built, Éoden had found the lady standing next to him, her countenance forlorn. He'd racked his brain for a suitable distraction, his fingers playing nervously at his sides. It was then that they'd encountered his sword belt and he'd chanced upon his answer.

"My lady," he'd said quietly, "Would you care for a little training session while we have the time?"

She'd been instantly enthusiastic, pulling the pair of daggers he'd given her from her belt. She looked at them almost nervously; she was adept at archery and the art of spear-throwing, but had little practice in sword-play. But her nervousness gave way to exuberance as Éoden proved to her that he would be careful and yet still try to challenge her.

And the rest was history, Éoden thought ruefully as he lay in the dark.

Exasperated, he tossed and turned on the thick furs, willing himself to fall asleep. It was all to no avail, though, as the hours passed and sleep eluded him.

Éoden was on the point of getting up and pacing the short distance from one side of the tent to the other when a sound at the entrance to his tent grabbed his attention. Slowly and soundlessly, he reached for his sword as the tent flap was pulled open.

He'd just brought the sword to bear when the unknown visitor entered the tent.

He could only sigh in relief and happiness when the shadowed entity proved to have the distinct shape of a woman. And there was only one person in the camp who could possibly satisfy that requirement.

The soft whisper of the fabric of the shift she rested in was the only indication of her gliding movement. He watched in wonderment as she knelt down beside him, looking into his eyes. Somehow, he knew that she'd come to him to help him fall asleep. The idea seemed impossible, for how could she have possibly known that he'd been chasing sleep for hours?

He knew he would find no answer from her, so lay still, asking no questions as she took his hand in both of hers, and laid their hands in her lap. She looked down at him, deep into his eyes, and nodded, as if ordering him to fall asleep.

She need not have ordered him, for already his eyes felt heavy and the warm blackness of sleep seemed terribly inviting. Her presence was as a soothing balm and all too soon he felt sleep beckon to him.

It was as if only minutes later he woke to the bright light of morning streaking into his tent. He was not surprised to find that the lady had gone. Smiling to himself, he dressed and replaced the armor he'd so casually tossed aside the night before. With that done, he packed up his sleeping gear and assorted other items, exiting the tent with these in his arms.

A sea of ready faces awaited him which he quickly searched, wanting to see one face in particular. Her's was not to be found at first glance, though, so he sighed and began disassembling his tent. His practiced hands made short work of it, and soon he was ready to depart, all his things packed and placed on his back. In obvious discomfort, he shifted, wishing for the thousandth time that they'd been allowed horses. No matter, for soon they would reach Edoras.

Probably today, he thought, again readjusting the heavy pack.

"Today we will make haste," Éoden shouted to his men, "And if luck is with us, we will reach Edoras before nightfall."

A hearty cheer sounded from the men, filling Éoden with a sense of content. Yes, they were all long overdue for a rest. The lady, especially.

The day was barely begun and already his thoughts were with her. She was in good hands, of that he was certain. He'd made sure to surround her with trustworthy men, men who would be blinded to her beauty by their loyalty to their captain.

So, when hours passed without sight of her, Éoden was not worried. But, as they sky began to darken, his thoughts again searched for her. The smell of damp earth drifted to his nose on a thick, moist breeze as fat droplets of rain began to pour from the darkened heavens.

"Éomen," he said, turning to the soldier next to him, "Lead them on."

Éomen nodded in assurance as Éoden turned to run toward the center of the line. The lady nearly always walked at the center of the line.

But, when he found her, he realized his concern was pointless. Her face was shining, even though her heavy clothes were sodden and her thick hair was plastered to her face with the rain. Her eyes were dancing with amusement, if not necessarily happiness, and her hands reached out to catch the elusive drops.

He could only smile at her slightly bemused playfulness.

"I came to see if you were alright, my lady, but my fears were unfounded, it seems," he said, wiping errant raindrops from his eyes.

The look in her eyes made him wince. She hated being coddled, he knew that. But he cared only for her comfort and well-being. This, he hoped, she knew, for often she seemed almost pleased at his attention. Now, though…..

"Forgive me. I do not mean to patronize you," he said, genuinely apologetic. "This reminds me. Thank you for your assistance last night."

She laid her hand on his arm and nodded gently.

"I am sorry if I deprived you of your sleep," he continued, but stopped as she shook her head swiftly. "But surely you need sleep," he said, after a pause, baffled as to her response. Again, she shook her head.

He stopped to think about this until realization dawned on him. "Ah! It is your Elven heritage!" he said, and again stopped as her eyes dropped from his.

Curses! he mentally shouted at himself. 'Why did I overstep the bounds?!' he thought.

He was spared having to fumble for an apology as a cry sounded throughout the line of "Edoras!"

'The Golden Hall' he thought, the name ringing in his head.

"My lady," he said, turning to the excited woman beside him, "Soon you will at last be treated as you deserve, and sleep in a real bed. I must admit that I myself am looking forward to that. But I must leave you and take my place at the front." He turned from her, to run forward, but stopped to examine her face for any signs of her recent embarrassment. There were none, so he smiled and then ran to join Éomen.

"Meduseld," he whispered to himself.

The lady would meet the King inside and finally be treated like the lady she really was. Éoden could only hope she would be happy there, even when he left her side.

The thought of leaving her plagued him, even as he ascended the steps of the Golden Hall, hours later. The lady had long since left their group, escorted by servants who clucked their tongues over her bedraggled appearance. They'd appeared to take her away as soon as they'd entered the city's limits. Even then, Éoden missed her.

'Yes, the lady will be fine without me,' he thought as he reached the open doorway of the Hall, 'But I will not fare well without her.'

The heavy wind gusted about him as he entered the hall, peering into the dark room. The throne of the King was directly in front of him, the King's wife resplendent beside him. But his eyes dismissed both of them at the sight of his Lady standing next to the King.

A part of him knew that he would never see such incredible beauty again.

*****************************

As always, please review. I'd like to know what you think. I'm trying to prolong any romance, so it doesn't seem rushed.

Thank you for the wonderful reviews. I hope to see new reviews from old reviewers. : )