I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you,

I approach, hear, behold—the sad mouth, the look out of the eyes, your mute inquiry,

Whither I go from the bed I recline on, come tell me:

Old age, alarm'd, uncertain—A young woman's voice, appealing to me for comfort;

A young man's voice, Shall I not escape?

Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours

Walt Whitman (1819–1892)

Wind, dry and chill, from mountain surrounds, mixing with the smell of forge and fire. Only an occasional faint balsam in the air told of other than a soldiers' void of steel and iron, leather and horse. The night sky hung starless, no dance above to counterpoint the grim below. And Aragorn walked the early morning hours before dawning.

"You're leaving us to our end, eh?" A voice came from the shadows.

"It is not for me to say end or no, son of Eomund." Aragorn turned to face the voice.

"I think it may well be, Wingfoot, with your elves. Gainsay as you will, I know what I see."

"You think that this is a simple choice?"

"What others are there in war? You should not have come. Better none than false promises of aid."

"I have not fought beside you to lend falsity. If you fear failing," Aragorn halted suddenly, taken aback by the fire in Eomer's eyes.

"The Eorlingas do not and will not fail, Dunadan."

"I did not say."

"You did not say, you will not say. Instead you skulk about on cat feet and none know your mind in full." Eomer paced the confines of the small grove, hand grasping reflexively on sword hilt. "Go back to your rangers, and speak mysteries to them."

"I seek other company then that."

"To what end?"

"I have seen you fight, bravely and nobly. Your company is what I perhaps seek."

"Seek my company? There are others among the Eorlingas who would not mind the attention. Their battle prowess is but little less than my own. You've not been unnoticed."

"You misunderstand,"

"I understand well enough. But if it's cow-eyes you seek from the House of Eorl, seek my sister's company. I've my own concerns and no time for unnecessary words or misinformed intentions."

"And if I simply sought company as one warrior to another?"

"Never simple, Wingfoot." Eomer's rough voice rumbled softly. "I am no man's boy. I never have been. This talk of warriors is your politeness, and your fair speech would be welcomed elsewhere, I am sure."

"This is the way of the Rohirrim?"

"Is it not ever thus?"

"How so?"

"Need an unlettered savage write out the matter?" Eomer snapped, pacing as a caged bear. "Find you a young rider seeking your company for tales of battles in the aftermath, that he learns from you. You would have much to tell methinks. And choice aplenty, should your elvish senses appeal for a certain look."

"Aye." Aragorn looked thoughtfully toward the camp. "But I am not for speaking tonight and know not what the morrow would bring that I can tender offer of future tales."

"You wish one to bend to your will then?" Eomer sneered. "You'll find none here. No rider bends, else they'd not ride in my Eoreds."

"The companionship of peers? This occurs not to the Rohirrim?"

"We do as we need in the ways of our people. Go to your own kind if that is your way. It is not ours." Eomer turned away and departed, stride assured, shoulders straight, head high.

The night noise of armories, distant but distinct. A faint wind through the pines. Aragorn watched him depart. Nay, no time for the comfortable comradeship of equals in the late dark years of The Mark, when death was ever present looming. Only time for teaching as well they might, all that they could, in the stark practicality of men constantly on the move.

Comments/compliments to reviewers:

"Hello Anonymous": I cleaned up the spellings. Still getting used to constant electricity and technology after some time away. I think it is easier to tell tales than write them down. As for choppy? It probably seems that way a bit. But I am going for something a little more impressionistic (if you will excuse my conceit) and pure full-sentence narrative just could not express what I was going for. Hope this chapter was tidier and a little less chopped up.

Otto's Goat: Pardon the delay in continuing. R/l matters take me away sometimes and other times it is just piles of work. Hope new (and settled) schedule will permit more frequent writing. Always and unfortunately subject to change with wind direction.

Angoliel: I am quite flattered. I am trying to write slash for the non-slashy and slashified alike in this little first endeavor. (Worshipping at the altar of Mary Renault as I go). I'm trying to draw in some of the classical theories of male warrior relationships into my mission…thing…quest!