Chapter Thirty-One

Not Again

Around noon, I became aware that someone was following me. I had looked back and glimpsed a toss of mane in the cloud of dust that hung in the air steadily about a mile behind us. A warm knot of fear pooled in the pit of my stomach, and the tightening in my back made it hard to keep my seat.

Possibilities flashed through my head. Nazgul? Mithrandir had said they now rode winged steeds. Was this true of all, or had one made an exception for me? I could hardly see why. Could it be some errand rider, for our side or the Enemy's? I hefted my spear, gnawing curiosity replacing fear. There was only one way to find out.

Slowing Simbelmynë to a canter, then to a walk, I veered off into a sparse stand of scrubby trees, the only cover the plains offered. We did not have to wait long. Rider and mount crested a low hill, letting me see brown mane and blond hair. I relaxed a little; someone from Rohan.

Someone from Rohan indeed. Éolas son of Folcwine reined his mount to a halt in front of us, quite a feat considering he rode bareback. "I'm coming with you," he declared.

"You are not." I took in the rigid grip his poker-straight legs had on its poor horse, which had been given a run, pun aside, for his money, and shook my head. "Your mount will never keep pace with mine, and your leg cannot stand riding in that fashion for much longer."

"It will," he said, grimace betraying his bravado.

"Will not."

"It will!"

"Will-" I stopped myself, breathing hard through my nose to keep my temper. "No, Éolas. Go home."

His face twisted into something far scarier than a glare. "Home is a pile of ashes in the Eastfold, next to the graves of my mother and my father and my two sisters. Do you not ride to battle to avenge your lord? Why then will you not allow me to ride with you, to my own vengeance?"

I stared at him. "I do not seek vengeance. Lord Éomer and his men slaughtered the Orcs that slew Boromir and wounded me. I ride because I vowed to a dying man that I would go to his city."

He narrowed his eyes. "Boromir? You were wed to the Captain-General?"

"Yes." How had his fact managed to escape him? "I go to Gondor because I have no other home."

This took him aback for a minute, but he rallied as only an adolescent that thinks himself in love can. "Then I will go with you, to protect you."

I focused on the brooch of Lorien at his throat, squelching the urge to strangle him. Had Boromir felt this way when I first asked to accompany him? Well, I had gone, hadn't I? What would work on Éolas that Boromir had not tried? My mind raced, hitting upon a possible solution. Rising in the stirrups, I addressed him, "I, Firiel, Lady of the White Tower, do lay on you, Éolas, Folcwine's son, a task. Do you accept such?"

It worked. He thought I'd changed my mind, and mustered up the most courteous language in his vocabulary. "Binding myself to your will, I accept your task, and offer my body as surety."

There were many ways of interpreting that phrasing, but I let it stand, since I was running out of courtly ways to phrase such things. "Others there are in greater need of your protection than I, s go you back to Edoras and safeguard them as they journey to Dunharrow: women and old men and children, in memory of your remembered dead."

His face fell. I had expected this, and was not quite finished. Unsure how to swear an oath on a spear, I held it out between us. "And in memory of your service, I swear that all who fall under my blade shall be blood payment for the lives of your family, in the stead of their murderers." I kissed Celetirmar's blade.

The expression on his face vacillated between outrage and relief. Watching him, I slid the spear back into the cup Éowyn had helped me fix to the saddle, so as to have both hands free to hold the reins. I still might have to outride his mount.

Éolas' mouth finally settled, and he nodded. He seemed to remember something that caused him to begin rummaging about in his pocket. He finally produced the running-horse brooch, which he held out to me.

I took it for closer examination. The jewelry was even more intricate than I had noticed before. Gold outlined the white horses on the green enamel background and sparkled in the details of their manes and tails. The magnificent piece had obviously been in Éolas' family for generations. It was a marvel that it had escaped the marauding Orcs.

Éolas had drawn up his own reins, steeling himself for the return journey. I offered the brooch back to him. "You can't give me this."

He set his jaw, shaking his head. "I can, and I have. I'll not be in your debt. You've given me a bride-price; there's a dowry."

I opened my mouth to argue, and then shut it abruptly. "I will keep it, then, as a gift, an exchange between friends." I held out my hand to him, praying he would not attempt to kiss it.

He had the good grace not to, and let go after a firm shake. Saluting me, he turned his mount northwest. I was almost sad to see his back. Leaning down, I whispered Simbelmynë into a gallop, and she obliged me.

The sun sank into afternoon, and afternoon darkened into evening. The sun, sinking behind me, illumined Firien Wood as it loomed before me. The stars had just emerged into full glory as I reached its shelter.

Dismounting near a likely copse of trees, I led Simbelmynë well off the road and removed her halter and bridle to let her graze while I unbuckled her saddle and made camp. Tinder and flint I found in the saddlebags, along with provisions. 'Thank goodness for Éowyn,' I thought as I searched for dry twigs and branches. Fortunately, there were many to hand, and I set to work kindling a fire, a skill Boromir had drilled into my head by making me practice until I could light even wet wood, blindfolded.

When Simbelmynë had had her fill, she settled beside me, watching me roast potatoes and boil water for tea and washing. I kept the fire small, for safety, but it served my purposes. Sated, I settled back against the saddle, munching a honey cake I'd also found in my pack, listening to the night around me.

This night represented the first time I'd been completely on my own since I'd come to Middle earth. It was freeing, and also a little scary. For a moment, I wished for Éowyn's brisk presence or Aragorn's pipe smoke. Most of all, though, I wished for the warmth of Boromir's embrace and for his voice in my ear.

It occurred to me that, if I cried, no one would see my tears. So I cried. Alone in the woods of Firien, I cried.