Ch. 1 - No
It was late at night when she finished her rounds and made her way back to her own tent, a shaggy brown thing, ineffective against the cold winds blowing from the east. Her fingers were trembling slightly, but she hid her weakness until she was done accounting for her troops. They had all made the ride to the assembly of the army much more quickly than she had expected of them, and all had made it safely. With any luck, it would take just another day to fully assemble the Rohirrim. Just one more day until they rode to Minas Tirith. Only one more day... until they rode to certain death.
Sitting down on the small cot provided for her, she removed her gloves, which had masked her shaking hands. The woman smiled at her hands. They were not the hands of a woman. Calluses decorated them thoroughly; they were riddled with the shadows of old scars and they possessed a well conditioned strength. They were browned from long days under the sun, and they smelled horrendously of horses.
She relaxed her shoulders slightly, and kicked off her boots. Yet she did not remove her helm. A man's voice pricked her delicate ears and from what she could tell he was maybe twenty yards away.
"Where might I find your captain?" the man demanded of someone nearby.
"Our captain Eomer is not available this night…" said a man with voice with a higher pitch than most, one that she identified as coming from a man she knew named Eoghad.
The man of the first voice sighed heavily and the woman noticed that his accent was not that of the people of Rohan. "Who else of higher rank is available?"
Eoghad paused momentarily but offered "Elfhelm, our colonel, should be in his tent- there."
"That is a strange name for one to bear. I do not remember him…by that name. Is there any other name by which this Elfhelm has been called?"
"Not to his face nor behind his back. Elfhelm is all."
"Is he a strange man to be called such a strange name?"
"Well, sir, that would depend on your account of 'strange'. His ears are slightly pointed- elfish in fashion. But he's just a normal man. Never takes his helm off, is all. Just a funny habit. But he's a good man; a good leader."
"Thank you for your assistance. I'll have to be getting on now." The man said and his footsteps crunched audibly towards the tent. The raucous caused by the men in the surrounding camp was not enough to drown out his footsteps.
The woman slipped her boots and her gloves back on and waited patiently for the man to enter. Whoever the man was, he passed inspection from the guards and entered the tent cautiously.
The woman observed the man carefully. He appeared to be in his forties. His frame was lean but strong, and his clothes were worn from travel. Dark hair hung at his shoulders in waves, and dark stubble embraced his face. His eyes were a steel grey, slightly sunken into their frames, but peering out at the world with a calm alertness. He was a man whom some would have considered handsome, but he carried a haunted look about him, and his lips were twisted into a half smile/ half grimace- as though he were half- heartedly flinching away from some minor attack.
He peered back at her curiously. He thought- for a man, what a short stature! His build was strange and irregular, though his armor was made to fit him well. Sharp green eyes inspected him with scrutiny, but most of his face was hidden by a helmet. The person in the tent stood slowly to greet him.
"Hail, are you the one they call Elfhelm?"
"Yes…" the woman replied in a strange voice.
"I am Anourir son of Dain of Gondor."
Elfhelm's eyes flickered momentarily, then she held his gaze. She stiffened slightly. Her hands were trembling, but not from the cold. Anourir son of Dain of Gondor? This was impossible, she told herself. Impossible, improbable, inconceivable….
"Do you bear news from Gondor?" she inquired flatly.
"I have not been of Gondor for a year at least. I happened to be traveling through this area on my way south, in my journey, when I came across this assembling army. I have learned that a great evil assails Minas Tirith, the city of my birth. If now you are riding to their aid, I will offer my services to you, if I would be allowed to join with you."
Elfhelm struggled to keep herself under control. Her chest felt as if to burst and one word tore itself from her throat against her will:
"No."