Chapter 3: Not So Far Away

Rivers stumbled upon Aragorn and Legolas as the night grew later. Pippin and Gandalf had left, Merry was in a paralytic state of melancholy, and no one seemed to notice how much longer they had until the final hour of battle would arise.

The man and elf were suiting up for a long ride in Edoras' Hall. Théoden was absent at this point, and Eowyn had just come in from the other side of the room. She picked up a sword and slashed through the air, lunging, and finally crossed blades with Aragorn.

Rivers looked around, eyeing the many weapons laid out for the smith's to inspect. A booming voice thundered in her ear, "Want one of your own?"

"No, milord, last I took up a blade I was bled like a stuck pig." She smiled at the king of Rohan. "My place is... is to stay where it's safe." She could bring herself to tell him they had many able-bodied women who would kill more than any twelve-year old.

He chuckled. "Of all the aspects believed to be found in a girl, you are the flip-side."

"Honesty is not flipped, milord."

"Nor are principles. You are the only woman who has rose to fight in war, but yet to cannot achieve personal victories. I question this principle."

"I am not trained in the ways of battle. I'm quite the simpleton."

He rummaged through the piles of scythes and extracted beautiful Elvish sword about the length from her knee to the ground. Runes twined up the sides and flared out at the tip, adding a mystical, timeless effect to the length of the blade. She swallowed and took it up, holding it delicately.

"What is your best feature, milady?"

She shrugged at the randomness of the question, answering nevertheless. "My eyes."

"And what do they remind you of?"

She thought for a bit, casting her thoughts around carelessly. She immediately was reminded of Shadowfax, the swift wind rider of Gandalf Greyhame. "Shadowfax."

He smiled deeply and gripped his own sword. "Fight like Shadowfax. Fight like the endless sea of white that you will one day become. You must become him and take up the right hand of Shadowfax." He swung his sword in a high arc, and then it came slashing down. He flicked her blade up and she brought it to cross with his.

"Fight like the winds of Middle Earth."

She closed her eyes, and allowed her hands to relax, drawing the sword down. She tried to recall the feeling of flight upon a white steed's back, and with sudden sparks, her memory of the rider returned.

His mane danced; so shall her blade. She lunged, jabbed, drew back, parrying, then danced in a rhythmic motion with the steel. The tension was leaving and she dissolved, floating into ecstasy. His tail whipped; her sword cut and sliced, butchering the air around her. Several times she met cold metal, others Théoden jumped back, but sprang to recover.

She felt Shadowfax ripple, and her weapon curled around Théoden King's sword, and she shook the rider's tension away—Théoden was disarmed. He smiled. "Fight for the winds of Middle Earth."

Legolas came over, tipping his head to the King. He smiled exuberantly. "Wait until the armies of Mordor taste the sting of your blow."

She sheathed the sword and asked the King if it was hers to keep. He nodded yes, and shuffled out of the hall. Legolas put a hand on her shoulder. "From last night...you are staying with us? Why?"

"Because Sauron will not come for me. And someone's got to look after you." Her hand curled around a single lock of gold and she released it, blushing furiously.

He was smiling. "I like knowing you're okay. I couldn't imagine... if Kyler hadn't saved you in Helm's Deep..."

She seemed sad. "I depended on others to save me." She looked up, hand reaching out timidly. "This time...if I fail...Legolas, I want you to let me go. It would hurt too much if I had to watch you...fail. I don't want to see it."

Her took her hand and pressed her to his chest. "We will not fail. We will not fall. I have seen it, our fate isn't set to end here." She was crying now, hands curled around his quiver straps. He thought to himself, I want you make you happy. I don't want to see you cry...this is where you belong, next to my heart.

He let her come away, and she wiped her eyes expertly. They still smarted from her weeping, but they didn't turn red. She found the will to smile. "Sorry. I broke down for a second. I don't want to see anyone get hurt. But they will be, for too few will come. And I've changed things...maybe we'll make it, maybe we won't."

She sighed. "I'm becoming irritable and annoying. My apologies."

"Not annoying. Maybe irritable, but the others are afflicted as well. Battle does things to you. I will not deny it. Milady, do not weep for those who have be called."

Taking a deep breath, she let the waves flow over body. The squires were calling, the people were assembling. The oath keepers rose to fulfill the bonds they swore, and the young marched forth with the aged.

Legolas turned to her. "If I loose you in that battle, I will find the strength in me to carry on. You must do so too. I will not stand to see you fall with me."

He found her hand in the green folds of her habit and laced their fingers together. She sighed once more. "And the timid go to the aid of Gondor with the strong. From castle, from wood, we rise to you, Minas Tirith!"

She squeezed his hand and stepped outside into the hazy scuttle of pre-battle organization. Legolas pulled her down the alleys of clanging chain mail, screaming wives, and nickering horses until they found Arod and Ragnorok tied up to a stake with three other horses. After detangling the ropes from the spear, she began to saddle him.

She swung on top, looking like death or a cracker. There was no confidence resonating in the walls of her mind, but she armoured up, and joined the ranks of the march for Pelenor.