EDIT: Managed to misspell my own protagonist's name. This is why you don't write past midnight, kids. - Philip.
"I think you're telling tall tales again," the young soldier mumbled through a mouthful of apple.
"No lie! Eagles, the size of a barn! Half a dozen of them!"
"Come on, Grandad," Aelfling addressed the older man. "Everyone knows the Eagles haven't stirred from their Eyries since the King returned to Gondor."
"Only 'cause they weren't looking," the old man replied stubbornly, stuffing a bread roll into his mouth.
The patrol – a small guard of a dozen horsemen – had stopped in the shelter of a natural quarry to water their horses and eat. Eothed, the most senior amongst them, was regaling them with yet more of his war stories. As soon as the words When I served under King Theoden had left his lips, half of the troop had found essential jobs that needed doing elsewhere.
"'Tis true," Eothed said at length, stirring the pot as it bubbled over the fire. "That was the day Frodo Baggins left Middle-Earth. The Eagles had come to bid farewell to the greatest Hobbit there ever was. Many will tell you King Eomer shed tears that day," he muttered, testing the broth for flavour and licking his lips as it dribbled down his long, bushy beard.
"He's making it all up," came a voice from behind a crag. "He only tells you because his wife knows he likes to wind her up."
"And you'd know all about making up stories, wouldn't you, Wulfstan?" Eothed called out as a lean, grizzled veteran emerge from behind the rocks adjusting his belt. "How many orcs is it you say you killed at Pellenor? Two, three hundred?"
"Something like that," Wulfstan replied, filling a bowl with broth. "I was busy, I lost count."
Voices rose in laughter and protest around the fire, casting shadows like a puppet-show against the sheer cliff-face. Night was drawing in, and the patrol would have to move on before sunset to be back at Edoras by dawn.
A nervous whinny passed around the horses, raising the hackles on the older men. Aelfling rushed to his horse's side.
"Easy, boy," he cooed, grabbing the reins and focusing the animal's attention on himself. "What's out there?"
"No good," Wulfstan muttered darkly, drawing his sword. "Only one smell scares a steed of the Rohirrim," he announced. "WARG!"
The younger soldiers leapt to arms, drawing swords and taking to the saddle. "Form a line, backs to the fire!" Eothed ordered. "We know you're there, Orc!" he barked into the darkness. "Slink back to your filth-hole now and I'll not hang your head from my saddle!"
A voice floated across the air, too weak and distant to be understood. "Was that Orcish?" one of the young men asked.
"We said, leave these lands and your miserable life will be spared!" Wulstan shouted as their horses began to stamp and snort.
I'm not an Orc!
Surprised silence fell over the horsemen, who shared confused looks.
"What?!" Eothed roared.
"I said, I'm not an Orc!" A few swords lowered, hesitating. The voice was human enough.
"Prove it!" One of the novice horsemen called out, his voice tremulous with stress. The veterans gave him dark looks from the corners of their eyes.
The air cracked like a whip and an arrow slammed into the ground before Wulfstan, sending a couple of the inexperienced horsemen flinching in surprise. Ten bows were strung and aimed within the blink of an eye.
"Hold!" Wulfstan cried, extending his fist. Slowly, he slid from his saddle and stooped to pull the arrow from the ground. He scowled as he inspected the head. "Wildling," he spat.
"These are Rohan lands," Eothed called out to their visitor. "Turn back the way you came."
"I'm looking for shelter," the voice replied, "I've goods to trade."
"Well you won't find it here!" Wulfstan shouted. "Turn around and sleep in a ditch for all I care, Wildling!"
"I'm not a Wildling!" the voice shot back. "My mother was Hild of Edoras, daughter of Aelfwine!"
"Hild of Edoras?" Aelfling muttered to himself.
"And what of your father, hm?" Wulfstan replied. "Some Wildling savage who captured her and forced her into marriage, I suppose?"
"What know you of Hild of Edoras?" Aelfling shouted out, spurring his horse onward beyond the line.
"Aelfling! Gods above, get back!" Eothed growled at him.
"She raised me best she could," the voice replied after some time. "She passed five years back."
Aelfling hung his head, and turned his horse to face his commanders. "It's a woman," he told them, "of one-and-twenty years. We have to let her through."
"How do you know-" Eothed spluttered, before realisation washed over him like a wave. He stared into the forbidding darkness, imagining the untold horrors it might bear. "You swear," he whispered, "on your honour?"
"On my life," Aelfling hissed. Eothed nodded grimly.
"Step forward! Into the light, where we can see you! Hands above your head, sword sheathed!"
Heavy footsteps brought the hairs on the horsemen's necks standing up, and ragged growls seemed to pierce their very hearts. Closer and closer they came, until the deep bass of the beast's breathing echoed within their chests. The younger men gasped when the Warg's face broke into the light – stunted and ugly, with teeth so gruesome they seemed to pierce the flesh of its own muzzle. It stood almost as high as a horse and as wide as two or even three stood abreast, and upon him sat – just as Aelfling had predicted – a young woman of one-and-twenty years.
She was tall – six feet, at least – with a long queue of blonde hair which seemed to have been fashioned into an attempt at a traditional Rohirric braid, albeit knotted and matted with years of dirt and grime. Every inch of her body was swaddled in thick furs but for her hands and face, which, though young, bore eyes of iridescent blue that stared straight through whatever they rested upon, like the gaze of a battle-hardened warrior.
"Who…" Wulfstan snarled, "who are you?"
"I am Avarell," she called out, hands above her head, "daughter of Hild of Edoras. I've come home."