Part 18

There is no rest. There will never be rest. For days we run across the land in pursuit of our friends, taken captive by the Uruk-hai. Their very lives depend on our burning through the plains. I should have given up long ago. Not in this chase, but in trying to exorcise her from my mind. It shall never happen. Despite the words of my most beloved friend, that in battle one must focus on one goal—keeping alive—I still hold her close to my heart. Always she is in my vision, blocking the horror that blazes through my path.

She is my destination. Whichever direction I take, she is my destination.

The ride was long and fast. A very small unimportant part of her wished that she could make the party slow. Theodred was somewhere out there. He was being carried home. The prince of Rohan deserved a mournful, solemn march.

She looked up from her desolate gaze on the horse's bridle, and met Eomer's fierce eyes. Theodred's cousin was firm, yet she could see the sadness in him when he told her, as if guessing what she was about to ask, "Some of the Uruk-hai is still on our tail. Ride hard, princess!"

Her chest tightened at the name he used. Before she could even wonder if she should waste energy protesting, he had ridden to the back of the party to check on the enemies. Did she have some sort of curse? She would have been a princess, then fate took Legolas away. Then, Theodred, who had been in so many battles before, had died after offering for her.

Upon mulling it over, Tolfer, Legolas' cousin, held her and was killed by his own family. All the boys in school who kissed her eventually were killed or placed in institutions. Clark promised to protect her and drowned.

She closed her eyes, banishing the thoughts that would not help at all. Chloe turned around on her horse. It was ill-advised because the animal started dancing on all fours. She tried to steady it over the tears. Finally, her gaze fell on the blanketed figure lying on the back of a wagon pulled by two warhorses.

Eventually, the party rode into a fortress and into a castle. She was assisted by none other than the cousin himself. It was a bleak place. The rushes seemed to be old, unchanged for at least three weeks. The hall was musty and dark. On the throne sat a graying, sickly old man, with a pale, shifty crouched man hanging behind him.

It was gray. Compared to the brilliance of Mirkwood, that was all Chloe could use to describe Theodred's home.

The only color came upon the emergence of a woman who rushed over in tears to Eomer. She wrapped her arms around the warrior and cried. Eomer pulled her away from him and mumbled words of comfort.

"Where is he?" the woman sobbed, frantically looking behind him for the prince.

Eomer shook his head. "Allow the other women to see to our cousin first. He's dead. There is nothing you can do." Eomer held out his hand to direct her attention to Chloe. "Eowyn, sister, this is Theodred's chosen bride." Chloe gasped, but the men behind Eomer murmured agreement. "Lady Chloe."

"Oh!" Eowyn took Chloe's hand and kissed her knuckled. Chloe tried to draw away, but Eowyn grasped it tightly and whispered, "You were with my cousin?"

Chloe could not help but nod, because this woman desperately needed comfort.

"The prince's bride you say," came a cold grating voice from the throne. The three glanced up to see the shifty man, Grima Wormtongue, crooking a twisted finger to beckon her. "Bring her here to the king. The king should see his son's bride."

Chloe pitied the old man. Theodred was his only son. Yet she could not go to him. Not now. Not when she knew that Theodred, her savior with the generous heart, was being taken to a room to be cleaned. As long as she could be there, Chloe wanted to return part of the relief he gave her when he was alive. "Eomer, I have to go."

Eowyn stepped in front of her and glared at Grima. Then, she softened her gaze when she turned to the king. "We shall see to your son, uncle. Time to meet when the time to grieve is done."

To the people in the village, it seemed that time would never be over for the lady who rode with the Rohirrim. Chloe sat, the only dark spot in her gray clothes, upon a boulder surrounded by the white symbeleme that covered the grave of the dead prince.

Chloe closed her eyes. Here she was, alone again. When she passed, people whispered 'queen.' She hated the pitying glances, because she was not real. Even now, as she stayed outside his tomb, she thought of the beautiful man who now was fighting for a land not even his.

Was it so wrong to find shelter in the home of a man she did not love, because she hurt too much because of the one she did?

"I can feel that you want to leave."

Chloe turned to see Eowyn standing behind her. "You're telling me," Chloe replied with a sad smile.

"All right." Eowyn allowed herself a small chuckle, as close to mirth as she could get with her cousin's death still fresh in her heart. "I do want to leave. I want to do so many things in my life and I know I can do them. I have a responsibility here. So I'll stay."

Chloe was silent, and Eowyn respected it. She sat on the flowers and crushed some. Finally, Chloe looked up at the horizon and admitted softly, "I'm leaving soon."

"That's not my cousin's, is it?"

Chloe's hands rested on the swell of her stomach. "He wanted it to be. He said it would be. But no, Theodred is not the baby's father."

Chloe rose to her feet and made her way down the hill, towards Edoras.

"Are you going to look for the man—someone you either left or who left you? The people love you here, Chloe!" Eowyn called out. "Theodred obviously adored you if he was willing to take someone else's babe. You have a home here."

I only came to bury Theodred.

"How are you even getting anywhere?"

By myself. The way I was probably meant to be.

"Where are you going?" came the last question she heard from the White Lady of Rohan.

I have no destination.

She packed nothing of importance. She came with nothing of importance except for the one goal to honor a good man. And so with a pack of food and water for her travel, not too heavy with pregnancy but obviously carrying a child, Chloe set out to the gates of Edoras.

The people watched her leave, the woman who would have been their queen had the prince not died so untimely of a poisoned Uruk-hai arrow. Chloe kept her gaze to the front. She stopped at the gates, and saw Eomer and the Rohirrim in full gear, waiting there.

"You can't make me stay," she told them.

Eomer shook his head. "We are banished men, loyal only to Rohan." He held out his hand to her. "There is nothing for me to stay for. It's the same for you. Ride with us as far as you shall allow us to take you."

Another warrior spoke up, "For the prince."

Chloe took Eomer's proffered hand and sat up atop his horse. "The closest you can get me to Rivendell."

Eomer seemed to think twice. Then, he nodded. "I beg you take one of our horses when we leave you."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"The road to Rivendell is but a day away."

Two days later, the Rohirrim held strangers at the points of their swords. "What business does a Man, an Elf and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!"

Gimli demanded belligerently, "Give me your name, Horsemaster, and I shall give you mine."

The leader of the men handed his staff to another rider, then jumped off his horse. Legolas' senses peaked. The waft was soft, yet piercing.

Was fate so bitter then, to send him even her scent to overwhelm him during such a trying situation?

Yet there was no mistake. He had breathed in her scent as they lay together upon the smooth stone, under the moon. This man had been close to Chloe. Legolas was drawing near.