Chapter Three:

Éowyn slung the last sack of grain onto the pile. Wiping an arm across her brow, she turned to survey her work.

Before her, across the green stretches of the Firienfield, tents, pavilions, and makeshift storehouses had been hastily erected. Filling her lungs with crisp mountain air, she walked across the grass and came to a wide, flat rock. Below her the road uncoiled like a serpent; the stone Púkel-men, ever vigilant in their watch, guarding every loop as the road wound down to the valley. Twilight fell as campfires sparked to life like fireflies in the valley below.

Five days prior the king had ridden forth to war. Word came swiftly to Edoras of the battle at Helm's Deep. Like a caged bird, Éowyn paced and fretted over her confinement. She was the daughter of kings, not a warden of the young, infirm and the elderly. Surely, she was born for greater deeds than playing nursemaid to her people. Still, Théoden King's will would prevail.

Three days prior, word came of the king's victory at the Hornburg and for a moment Éowyn's spirits lifted only to be dashed again by the curt missive: "We ride for Isengard. Evacuate all to Dunharrow immediately. Word has gone out across the Mark, all men and boys strong enough to bear arms are to muster in Edoras. Await me at Dunharrow."

All men and boys strong enough to bear arms; was her arm not strong? Was she not trained in the ways of war? Could she not wield a sword—better even than a greenling? Why did Théoden King not call her to arms? Why must she remain to shepherd the flocks of the ancient and infirm?

Over the last three days, she had had much time for thinking despite her toil, and so she bent her thought to her plight. Before leaving Edoras she located mail and armor, shield and helm in the armory. Her gear, stowed away in a trunk in her tent, lay waiting the king's arrival, as did her horse in the picket lines below.

Tuned to a fever pitch, she chafed at the tedium of watching and waiting. Only thoughts of Aragorn kept her sane. The tales of his bravery and prowess in battle played on the lips of many; what she would have given to see him ride forth from the Hornburg at Théoden King's side. What a proud sight!

Her heart was lost and well she knew it; but, unless she was sorely mistaken, the Dúnadan had marked her, and marked her well. His eyes had held hers as he turned at the gate. Something stirred in those grey depths—she was sure of it—she felt it!

Surely he saw her worth. She was Éowyn, daughter of Éomund and Théodwyn, daughter of kings and more than a fit match for Isildur's heir! None in all Gondor could claim finer lineage. They would wed and in so doing the ancient oaths Rohan swore to Gondor would be renewed in flesh and blood. Side by side, they would ride forth to battle. Together they would throw down the Enemy. Together they would unite their kingdoms. Toge—

"My Lady!"

Éowyn blinked. Hastening across the plateau came Dúnhere,

Lord of Harrowdale. "What news, chieftain?"

"Riders approach, from Edoras."

"The King?" Éowyn's heart tripped.

"Nay, a strange company cloaked in grey and riding hard; thirty-four is their count; at their head rides the Lord Aragorn."

"Aragorn!" Éowyn cried. "Send out riders at once. Night falls and the road is treacherous to those unused to it. Bring torches to light the way. Hurry now! I must see to their comfort!"

Swiftly Éowyn headed across the field, issuing orders surer than any field commander. In short order, tents and booths were made ready to receive the travelers. Ale was found and boar turned on the spits, ready to feed the hungry company.

Éowyn returned to her tent and quickly donned a simple gown of purest white, the one fine thing she had taken in her haste. She unbound her hair and hurriedly ran a brush through it until it fell in rippling waves to her waist. Calmly she made her way to the chief pavilion and awaited the company's arrival. She did not have long to wait.

The Grey Company arrived as full darkness fell, and glad she was at their coming; no mightier men had she ever beheld than the Dúnedain and what a wonder were the sons of Elrond! Neither young nor old, yet Elven-fair were they; they were night to Legolas of Mirkwood's day.

Legolas seemed to glow in the dusk with a light all his own as he inclined his head to her and this time she did not shy from his bright eyes; rather, she turned towards his light as a flower leans towards the sun. The Dwarf too, had come and greeted her with a hearty, "Well met, lassie!." But upon Aragorn, her eyes came to rest most often.

She bid them lay aside their gear and come to meat, and so they talked together and she heard of all that had passed since Théoden rode away. Her eyes shone as she heard tell of deeds both brave and fell and she imagined herself in the thick of it all.

At last, she said, "Lords, you are weary. Beds we have for you such as could be contrived in haste. Take now your rest and on the morrow fairer housing shall be found for you."

Aragorn turned to her as his men filed past to seek their pallets. "Nay Lady, trouble yourself not on our account for we ride ere dawn's first light on an errand most urgent."

Smiling she said, "Then I must thank you for riding so many miles out of your way to bring me tidings. That was most kind of you."

"Any man would be glad to make such a journey yet I fear I would not have come hither if the road which I must take did not already lead me to Dunharrow."

The smile faded from Éowyn's lips and a frown marred her smooth brow. "Then, Lord, you are astray. No road runs east or south out of Harrowdale. You would be better off setting out from Edoras."

"Nay, Lady," Aragorn replied, "I know well the lay of this land for I walked it 'ere long before you were born. The road from out this valley is the road ordained to me. Tomorrow I shall ride by the Paths of the Dead."

Éowyn stepped back and stared at him stricken. Her throat closed and she felt dizzy as all her carefully laid plans sifted like sand through her fingers.

After a long moment, she spoke in a voice tight with pain. "Is it then your errand to seek death, for that is all you will find on that road. The dead do not suffer the living to pass."

"They will suffer me," answered Aragorn.

"But this is madness, I beg thee, remain and ride with my brother, at least then we may hope."

"It is not madness, Lady, for I go on a path appointed and take with me only those who follow me of their own free will. But I would take the Paths of the Dead alone if need be."

"Then you go to your death." Éowyn replied and in silence led him the rest of the way to the tent prepared for him.

Aragorn bowed to her and turned to enter the tent.

"My Lord—Aragorn wait!" she called, her fair face grim but her eyes glimmering. "Why must you take this deadly road?"

"Because I must. I do not choose such perilous paths willingly, Éowyn. Were I to go where my heart dwells, I would now be wandering in the north in the fair valley of Rivendell." As he spoke, his hand strayed unconsciously to stroke a glittering gem at his throat, one fashioned in the likeness of a star and most out of place about the throat of a warrior.

Tears stung Éowyn's eyes as she realized now, once and for all, that her last hope was truly lost. That gem clearly belonged to a woman and looked fairer than anything wrought by human hands. Had he not just said "valley of Rivendell"; had not Boromir, Steward-son of Gondor not come to Edoras many long months past on a journey to the Elvish-land of the same name? Her heart turned to stone as she realized she was defeated, before she had even dared to hope. Aragorn, lost king of Gondor would never be hers for he had already clearly given his heart to another; to one not even, if she guessed aright, of mortal-kind.

Clearing her throat, she consigned herself to fate and played her last gambit, having nothing to lose. Shakily she said, "Lord, if you must go, then let me ride with you. Weary I am of hiding in the hills. I wish to face the Enemy in battle."

"Your duty is to your people," he answered.

"Do not speak to me of duty!" she cried. "Am I not of the House of Eorl? I am a shieldmaiden not a shepherd of the old and infirm. I have waited long enough and will wait no longer. May I not now spend my life as I will?"

"Few may do that with honor. A time may come soon when there will be need of valor without renown."

"I have heard that argument before, oft on the lips of my brethren. It is but to say—"You are a woman, and your part is in the house." I am a shieldmaiden of the House of Eorl. I can ride and wield blade, and I fear neither pain nor death!

"What do you fear then?" he asked.

"A cage," she spat. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire."

"Yet you council me against perilous paths?"

"I do not council you to flee from peril, but to ride where your sword may best win renown and victory. All I ask is that you allow me to do the same. The others go with you because they would not be parted from thee—because they love thee. You accept that from them; can you not accept it from me?"

Aragorn stared at her abashed. He had no words to soothe her. No words of his could ever console this proud Lady. Here before him was the very heart of Rohan—and it was breaking. Once high, proud, and excellent, the White Lady of Rohan turned in upon herself. He reached out one hand to catch a single tear that fell from her bright eyes but she turned and fled into the night.

x x x x x

Slowly the night wore by and Éowyn marked every minute. Hours ago, she had spent her last tear, and now she sat, huddled by the brazier. Cold whipped the wind about her tent, yet colder still was she within.

With the coming of Aragorn had gone her last and only hope for salvation. Now, but one path lay before her. If Aragorn would take the Paths of the Dead, then she too would take her own path to death. When the king arrived, she would disguise herself and ride in the éored. If she could not win renown in life, then she would do so in death.

She had spent the long hours of the night reflecting back on her life, and she found it bitter with little to lift the heart. From an early age, she had known grief and loss. When had she ever been happy? When had she last been unafraid? When had she ever felt truly cared for and loved? Éomer, perhaps, was the only one who knew her, who understood her; but he was her brother and his views oft mirrored Aragorn's—any man's for that matter. She was resolved in her course. She had long planned for it and now she was ready to meet her end—and such an end she would make!

Yet, if she did have any regrets, it was but one. Before she died, she wished she had known the love a good man. To know what it was to be touched and held and treasured. To feel what other women perhaps took for granted who were blessed with the love of a husband who cherished them above all else, as her father had cherished her mother.

She was one score and four years, well past the age most Rohirrim women wed and she had yet to be kissed. Even this simple, common thing had been denied her. Just once, before she died…

Shivering, she rose. Outside the sky was lightening to deep indigo. She could stand the sight of her tent no longer. Wrapping herself in her cloak and dark thoughts, she sought the open air.

The night was still and the camp yet slumbered. Quietly Éowyn picked her way between the tents and booths, careful not to stumble across tent pegs. She sought the open meadow and desired to see the stars before the cares of the coming day drove such foolishness from her thoughts.

Now that her mind was set upon her course, she felt somehow lighter. A fey mood took her as she gazed at the firmament above. Spreading her arms wide she turned slowly until the heavens wheeled and she collapsed to the grass in a dizzy heap.

Long she lay there watching the stars, something she had not taken the time to do since she was a child. Her eyes drifted shut and she caught on the night breeze the strains of music. Someone was strumming a stringed instrument—not a harp, but rather something foreign to her ear. The music was unlike anything she had ever heard before.

A voice joined the silver chords and it seemed to Éowyn as if the stars themselves sang—so liquid and full of light was the sound. Although she did not understand the language, the meaning of the words came clearly to her and she wondered at the spell in which she found herself ensnared. Calming her mind, she focused on the beauty of the lilting voice:

"Feeling you shake, feel your heart break

Thinking if only, if only, if only, if only…

And the salt water runs, through your veins and your bones

Telling you no not this way, not this way, not this way.

And you would give anything, give up everything.

Offer your life blood away, for yesterday.

No one leaves you, when they live in your heart and mind.

No one dies, they just move to the other side.

When we're gone, watch the world simply carry on.

We'll live on, laughing and in no pain.

We'll stay and be happy, with those who have loved us today.

Finding the answer, it's a Human obsession.

But you might as well talk to the stones, and the trees, and the sea.

For nobody knows, and so few can see.

There's only beauty and caring and truth beyond the darkness.

And we won't understand your grief, for time is illusion.

As this watery world spins around,

This timeless sun, will dry your eyes

And calm your mind.

No one leaves you, when they live in your heart and mind.

No one dies, they just move to the other side.

When we're gone, watch the world simply carry on.

We'll live on, laughing and in no pain,

We'll stay and be happy, with those who have loved us today."

Unaware of her actions, Éowyn rose, following the music's pull. Never had she heard anything so joyful yet, at the same time, sorrowful. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, however she could not honestly say they were tears of sorrow alone for her heart had filled with a curious peace.

She came to a halt almost at the brink of the Firienfield. Below, lay the valley wrapped in slumber; before her, perched on a large rock, sat Legolas, a beautifully carved stringed instrument in his arms. He no longer sang, but the last notes still hung pure and crystalline in the air.

"You, you sing a prayer for the dead, Master Elf?"

"Nay, Lady, I sing for the living." Oddly, Legolas did not seem surprised to see her there, abroad alone in the night. Instead, he beckoned her to join him on the rock.

"But, it seems to me you sing of those departed."

The Elf smiled gently, laying the instrument aside. "To my people, the veil between life and death is thin. Those of us who depart from life by grief or mischance, go to dwell for a time in the Halls of Mandos, to one day be reborn to the flesh if it be Eru's will. But, while the dead may be parted from us for a time, they live on in our hearts and minds; therefore we live on happy to carry their memory throughout eternity."

The ghost of a smile crossed Éowyn's face. "Then I suppose death is not such an ill thing, although the fate of men's souls is less certain."

Legolas wrapped his long arms about his knees and studied the woman next to him. While the Elf peeled back the layers of her soul she stared boldly back at him.

Truly, he was a remarkable being and never had she seen one fairer. Quicksilver he shone in the night and her head spun with thoughts fey and wild. If Aragorn's Lady of Rivendell was even the slightest bit as fair as the Elf before her, then she could well understand why he had given her his heart.

"Why do you seek death, Lady?"

"Éowyn gasped, shaken from her reverie. "What—what do you mean?"

"You are so young, with all your life before you, yet you run headlong into death. Is there nothing you value enough to hold on to?"

"I value renown. I value a life spent accomplishing great deeds."

"Are you not renowned, have you not done great deeds, Lady of Rohan?"

"Nay, I have been naught but a nursemaid to a failing king, and a shepherd to a flock of helpless sheep. I am a woman, which means little more than house-thrall. What do you see when you look upon me, Master Elf?"

Legolas gazed sadly upon her, but without pity. "I see a beautiful flower touched by frost, withering 'ere the sun can bring it to full bloom. You are like the white flowers on the barrow mounds outside Edoras. Fair, yet blooming only where there is death. I see a woman torn between her love for her king and people and the demands of duty her station require of her. I see a young maid who equates valor with death, yet the two are not the same."

"Maybe not to an Elf. So tell me, Legolas of the Great Wood, why are you here? Why do you follow a mortal man down a path which leads to certain death?"

"No path is certain. There are many answers to your questions. I am here for the love of my king and my people. I am here because I was chosen from among many wiser and perhaps mightier. I am here out of friendship for a mortal man whom I have known since he was a child. Where Aragorn son of Arathorn walks, so shall Legolas of Lasgalen."

Éowyn sighed, who was she to question one rumored to be immortal, if the tales of her fathers held any truth. "Do you have any regrets?"

Legolas looked at her curiously. "Regrets?"

"The Enemy pauses for the final strike and we are come perhaps to the ending of all days. If there was one thing, right now, that you would do, what would it be?"

Now it was the Elf's turn to sigh as he drew his knees up closer to his chest, resting his chin upon them. "I would speak with my father. I would ask him how it goes with the Greenwood. I would hold him close one last time and tell him I love him. I never got a chance to say goodbye and that I deeply regret. I was sent to Imladris bearing tidings of grave import. No one could foresee I would be chosen to embark on a quest that would take me into the very teeth of the Enemy."

Éowyn nodded, moved by his words. For a long while, they sat in silence.

"What of you, my Lady, what regrets have you?" Legolas asked finally.

Éowyn hung her head. She knew he would eventually ask her, but she knew not in truth, how she would reply. He had given her an honest answer, and he deserved nothing less in return.

She felt she stood on the brink of some great abyss, before her stretched death and darkness into infinity, beside her sat the essence of all that was light and life.

"My Lady?"

In a broken whisper, she replied, "I regret never having known love. Never knowing what it is to be held in strong arms and cherished." She raised eyes shining with tears. The beauty of the Elf before her broke whatever was left of her heart and the words poured forth before she could pull them back.

"Show me, Legolas, grant me this one wish and show me what it is to love and be loved—just this once. Just once before I die, I would know what it is to be loved by a man."

Legolas neither drew back nor shied away from the shieldmaiden's bold words, he but regarded her in stunned silence.

"Please, Legolas!" Éowyn cried. "Do not make me beg, this is difficult enough for me."

At last, Legolas ducked his head. "Forgive me, my Lady, but I cannot."

"Why? I ask but a small thing in sooth. You are male, are you not?"

Legolas let loose a heavy sigh. "Aye, that I am."

"Then why not? Why—oh!" she drew back. "I see. Coarse, harsh, and ugly I must seem to one of your kind. Forgive me, I should have realized."

"Nay Lady, I find you most fair," came his soft reply.

Éowyn looked at him curiously now. "I do not understand—then why can you not?"

Legolas at last looked uncomfortable, and he studied the strings of his instrument with great interest. "It would seem our people are very different. Elf-kind do not love as easily or freely as mortal-kind. We give our hearts but once, but it is for all eternity. When we consummate our love, it is the ultimate of all bondings—the two fëa—life-spirits—become one, never to be sundered, not even by death."

Éowyn gaped in amazement. Suddenly she was thankful for the starlight for she felt herself blush to her very toes. "Forgive me, Legolas," she stammered. "You must think me crude and unseemly."

"Nay, Lady, you but dare to be honest."

"Still, I pray forgiveness for my forward words."

"Forgiveness is not necessary for I understand your need, all too well. I too, wish I had been fortunate enough to have known love—before the end."

Éowyn drew back and studied the Elf. He seemed young but his eyes told a different tale. "Have you then—you mean to say—you have never—not—ever?"

"Nay," Legolas sighed, gazing up at the fading stars. "I have not yet heard the song of my one love's fëa; not in my own land, not in Imladris and not in Lorien. I have traveled to all the Elven realms of Middle Earth many times and have never heard her song. Unless she dwells in Mithlond, with Cirdan's folk, then she either exists not on these hither shores or else she has not yet been born.

"I fear the worst if it is the latter for my people are leaving these lands and will bear no more children here. If it is the former, then I fear the worst as well for unless death take me in the coming battle I will not depart these shores for a long while yet. If we defeat the Enemy, then I still will not sail for Valinor for a countless span of years for my heart lies still in the woodlands of my home and loath am I to leave them."

Éowyn smiled, "Fear not Legolas of the Greenwood, I believe your lady is out there somewhere, waiting for you to come home to her."

Legolas lifted a quizzical brow. "This lady then must possess great patience, for I have kept her waiting a long while. Not very gallant of me, I fear. Ah well, I suppose another few centuries will matter not."

Éowyn laughed, a surprisingly light and bell-like sound in one usually so stern. "A few centuries, sir? Just how old are you?"

Now it was the Elf's turn to laugh. "Do you mortals not know it is rude to ask an Elf his age? You are no better than Aragorn when he was young." He chided, although he was not offended in sooth. The Lady's laugher heartened him, and he believed for the first time that she might yet be turned from her dark path.

"Truly, is it rude to ask such a thing?" Éowyn sighed, catching her breath.

"Aye, it is deemed most impolite, but I will allow you to claim ignorance this one time. I will say but this, I remember well the folk of Eorl. Long they dwelt by the fringes of Lasgalen until the wood darkened as the might of Dol Guldur grew.

"When your people resettled in the north at the source of Anduin they proved to be good friends and helped guard the northern edge of the wood near our realm and aided us in holding the orcs at bay."

"You remember?" Éowyn gasped.

"As if it were but a few brief seasons ago. I served at that time on the Northern Watch, and dealt often with the folk of Léod. Grievous was his death but Eorl proved to be a good friend of the Greenwood as was his father before him. Loath was my king to see Eorl ride south to battle at the Celebrant. We all thought for a surety he would meet his end but fortunately, it was not to be. A proud day it was when Eorl returned to lead his people to their new home here in the Calenardhon. Yet it was a sad day in Lasgalen."

"Legolas, truly I am amazed to hear you speak of events that are only the dimmest memory to we Eorlingas, and yet you speak as if they were but yesterday."

"To me all the past is but as yesterday. It is the way of my kind, we are blessed or cursed, as you will with long memories that never dim. We—" the Elf froze, his eyes fixing on the encampment.

Éowyn laid a hand upon the Elf's arm, "Legolas?"

With a fluid movement, he leapt down from his perch. "It is time, Aragorn awaits." Reaching up he lifted her down as if she weighed less than a feather.

Quickly she reached up forestalling him a moment, color ran high in her cheeks as she said, "Truly Legolas, I beg thee to forgive my forward speech. A fey mood took me and I know not what came over me. I would not have you think the sister-daughter of the king of Rohan to be of loose manner. I but—"

Gently Legolas silenced her with a slender finger against her lips. "I never thought such a thing, not even for a moment and since I deem your heart desires it, I vow to you to never speak of our conversation to another."

Éowyn's eyes brightened with tears. "I thank thee, Master Elf. May your arrows speed true. Go in safety and with the love of a friend—mortal though she may be."

Legolas leaned down, brushing his lips first against her brow, then lightly against her lips. Stepping back, he raised his hand to his heart then extended it to her palm outwards. "I name thee Elf-friend, Éowyn daughter of kings, White Lady of Rohan. May Eärendil shine upon thee always and be a light to thee in the dark places. May your blade be keen and your shield-arm never fail you. Have hope, child of Eorl. We will meet again 'ere the ending of all days."

With that, the Elf was gone, melting into the fading night. For a moment Éowyn stood gazing after his fleet form, her fingers pressed against her still tingling lips. Slowly she followed through grass wet with dew.

x x x x x

Gimli glanced over his shoulder and jogged Aragorn's elbow. He had to do so more than once to get the man's attention, so lost was he in thought as he tightened the saddle girth on Roheryn. At last, Aragorn glanced down and spied the reason for Gimli's agitation. Éowyn came striding towards them clad in full Rohirrim battle gear and bearing a parting cup.

She drank to their health and they to hers. When at last Aragorn had passed back the cup, she raised her head proudly but it seemed to those standing near, that she wept within. Hard was the sight to bear in one so high and proud.

"Aragorn, wilt thou go?" She said at last.

"I will."

"Then I ask again, wilt thou not let me ride with your company?"

"I will not, Lady. I cannot."

Something within her snapped and Éowyn fell to her knees at Aragorn's feet. Legolas started, and it took all his resolve not to reach out to her.

"I beg thee!" She cried.

Aragorn's eyes filled with tears as he gently raised her to her feet. It wrenched his heart that he was the cause of so much pain to one already overburdened by grief. "Nay, Lady," was all he could say as he kissed her hand and leapt into the saddle.

The rest of the company followed suit and passed down the road that led to the black Dwimorberg. Not a one looked back but if they had, they would have seen the White Lady of Rohan standing straight and proud, still as a statue. It was not until the last horse disappeared from view that she allowed herself to turn and stumble back to her tent.

x x x x x

For a time the road was wide enough to allow several men to ride abreast, and so Aragorn rode flanked by Elladan to his left and Legolas with Gimli to his right. Upon Legolas' right rode Elrohir.

"What a remarkable woman." Elladan said at last. "Come Aragorn, what was all that about?"

"You heard her words," he replied tightly. "The Lady wished to ride with us."

"But why?" Elrohir echoed. "You must admit it a strange desire for one gentle born."

"Not for Éowyn, daughter of Éomund," was all Aragorn would say.

For a while, they rode in silence. Softly, Legolas said, "I worry for her. She will not stay idle. Fey she is and reckless. I would not be surprised to cross her path in the coming battle."

"What know you of the Lady?" asked Elladan, quirking a brow at the blonde Elf.

Legolas shrugged. "She arose early and came upon me watching the stars. We spoke but briefly."

"So that is where my lute got to." Elrohir laughed.

"What did the lass have to say for herself then." Gimli grunted.

"Little enough," Legolas replied. "It was rather what she did not say that causes me to fear. What do you know of her, Aragorn? She is too young to bear the weight of sorrow I see upon her heart. She has given up on life 'ere she has lived it."

Aragorn sighed, "I know little more than you, but I do know she and Éomer lost both father and mother when they were still children. Difficult it must have been to be so bereft while so young, nor could it have been easy coming of age in those halls, watching an uncle who loved you as a daughter fail before your eyes."

"Hmmph, no thanks to that snake of a Wormtongue," Gimli growled.

"Aye," answered Aragorn. "It is unlikely Wormtongue's poison was only for Théoden's ears. With no one to confide her fears to, who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone in the bitter watches of the night."

"Your words do little to hearten me, Aragorn." Legolas said. "Did you not see her eyes? The fire within her has all but died. She seemed to me a broken thing. Mark my words, when Théoden rides forth, Éowyn will contrive a way to ride with him."

Aragorn paused, drawing back on Roheryn's reins glancing back the way they had come.

Elladan laid a hand upon his shoulder. "Be that as it may, you can do naught to prevent it, gwador. Your path is ordained as is hers. I sense destiny at work here, do you not feel it as well, Legolas?"

"Aye," the Elf agreed sadly, "Her doom is indeed upon her, whether she recognizes it or no; that she tries not to escape it, is what grieves me."

"None of us may escape fate," said Elladan. "We can only meet it head on. I for one will meet it, sword in hand."

"As will I!" agreed Aragorn, clucking to Roheryn. Swiftly they continued down the path to the Dwimorberg.

End of Part One

From "The Two Towers", J.R.R Tolkien

"Estonia" lyrics by Steve Hogarth

gwador: brother (not born of blood)