Averell awoke to the sound of shuffling feet and clanking metal. Blinking into the sun, she saw the shapes of armoured men pass, wraith-like, across her half-closed eyes. Guttural shouts and orders filled the air along with kicked-up clouds of dust, further obscuring the chaos that surrounded Eadwulf and herself.
"Move out! Move out!" "To the muster stations!" "Every man with armour and a horse is to report!"
Taking to her feet as Eadwulf growled cantankerously, Averell made her way to the front door of the longhouse where dinner had been served the night before. The men of the family shuttled to and fro through the doors, bearing weapons and bridle-gear.
"Aelfling?" She called out. "Aelfling, are you here?"
"Aelfling went on ahead, child," a man she recognised as her great-uncle replied, hefting a bearded axe over his shoulder. "They called the Riders of the Mark first. Now it's anyone who's left," he groaned as he continued on his way to the small mass of horsemen at their gate.
"Anyone who's left…what?" Averell asked, quickly becoming engulfed by a stream of people passing through the doors. "Went on ahead where?"
"East Emnet," came another man's voice from beyond the door. Fighting her way past the tide, Averell entered the house to find Aelfling's father hurriedly repairing a worn, old saddle. "All the Rohirrim in Edoras have been mustered. Wildlings," he muttered darkly, putting his eyes back to his work.
"Wildlings? East Emnet? I don't understand," Averell said, beginning to be unnerved by the activity surrounding her.
"Word is they attacked one of our villages in full force yesterday," another random male relative piped up, squeezing himself into a long-unworn cuirasse. "Rohirrim were sent out before dawn, but a second fire began to rise not long after they'd left. Eomer's ordered Edoras' garrison emptied."
Averell shook her head worriedly as the chaos around her only seemed to grow. "Aelfling," she mumbled, "I want Aelfling!"
"He'll not be back for some days, love," Aelfling's mother Betha took her aside from the crush, ensconcing them both in a cubby-hole. "Being a Rider of the Mark's a great honour, but…" she sighed. "Your life's not your own. Aelfling's pledged himself to his King, and the King wants my son fighting Wildlings," she said, sucking in a sharp breath.
"I want to go with them, then," Averell said, her eyes straining to where she knew Eadwulf would be chained outside, no doubt distressed by the number of horses and men fussing all around him. Betha laughed mirthlessly.
"Joining the family is one thing," she said, "but joining the Rohirrim is another. I don't think Edoras' kindness will stretch that far just yet." Averell stared at her feet and pouted. "You look so like her, you know," Betha said, running a hand through Averell's matted dreadlocks. "You have his eyes, though," she mumbled, almost sadly.
"What did you know of my father?" Averell asked, her skin feeling uncomfortably prickly with the proximity of her aunt's hand. Almost immediately, Betha's fingers retracted, as if on instinct.
"Your father was…" Betha said. "Well, Bram was…he…" She gave up, sighing. "It's difficult, sweetheart. I understand that all you've ever wanted was answers, but it's…hard for me to talk about. Do you understand?"
Averell's mind cast back to her mother's last days, and how she cradled the dying woman in her arms. "Yes, I understand," she said softly.
"Another time, when Aelfling's not halfway across the country, fighting for his life…another time, I promise I'll tell you all you want to know," she said, gripping Averell's arms tightly. Averell unconsciously twisted out of her aunt's grasp, blushing deeply as she registered it. "You don't like being touched, do you?" Betha asked with a nervous smile.
"Not much," Averell replied, grateful to leave the cubby-hole as Betha stepped backward. "If it takes Aelfling being back to get some answers, then I'll get him back. How do I join the Rohirrim?"
Betha's jaw flapped open wordlessly before erupting into a shocked laugh. "Well, you don't just ride up alongside them and ask if you can join them!" Averell flinched as if physically wounded, much to her aunt's shame. "I'm sorry, pet," she continued with a conciliatory tone, "but you need to be a man, freeborn of Rohan, and you're not even the first. The only other way would be…no," she sighed. "It'd never happen."
"How?" Averell asked, gripping Betha's hands with strong, callused fingers. "Tell me!"
"The only other way," Betha continued, somewhat intimidated, "would be if the King ordered it so – his word is as good as law."
"Then I'll see the King," Averell said simply. "If he's sending out all his riders, he must be desperate."
Betha tried to protest, but nothing came out. There was no harm in her trying – even in the million-to-one chance that Eomer agreed, the spark that came to her eyes when she spoke of riding to the aid of her cousin gave Betha hope that Averell truly was one of the family – ready to lay her sword down for her kin.
"Alright," she said. "We'll try. But the King's a terribly busy man – he may not have time to speak with you."
"He'll make time for me," Averell replied, turning on her heels and striding outside, where a line of horsemen shuffled past on their way out of the city.
"Someone, take me to the King!" She shouted above the noise of hooves and whinnies. "I want to speak with him!"
Laughs rose up from the group as they passed. "Get to the front and you can catch him, if you run!" someone shouted, to yet more laughter. Averell shrugged.
"Alright then."
With a running jump Averell leapt up onto the nearest horseman and stepped across his beast and the horse beside him like stepping-stones as the soldiers cried out in irritation, throwing herself off the horse's back and onto the roof of the hut beside them. With her feet as light and nimble as a fox's, she dashed across thatched roofs, jumping from building to building as she raced to reach the head of the line. Edoras sprawled open beneath her, around her, just another hunting-ground as she searched for her quarry. Shouts and calls sprung up around her as she passed overhead; some cheers, some jeers, some threats. As the gates of Edoras came in sight she slid down the roof of the last house like a skater on a frozen pond and made a dead sprint for the king's horse – a mighty white steed draped in green and gold, with the King's plumed helmet unmistakable on top.
"Stop!" she cried out. "Stop, please!" The line snickered and kept moving, ignoring her calls. "Eomer King, please, I need to speak with you!"
Averell saw the King turn his head to his aide, who stopped the line with a single wave of his hand. She skidded on the dusty ground as she came to a halt beside the King's horse. Eomer sighed gruffly. "You have twenty seconds."
"Let me come with you," she panted. "Eadwulf can run longer and faster than any horse."
"And none of my horses will come within ten feet of your beast," Eomer replied, turning in his saddle to face Averell. "How am I to lead an effective cavalry force when half of them won't sit still?"
"We'll scout ahead," Averell suggested as Eomer tutted and shook his head. "We'll be nowhere near you."
"I'm sorry," Eomer replied, "but the answer is no. You have found your family; I suggest you get to know them while we're gone."
"My family left before dawn!" Averell shouted. Horsemen reached for bows and swords as the young woman's aggression to their King became more and more apparent. "My family rode into an ambush! Will you not let me ride to his aid? Will you let him be forever lost?"
"What would you know," Eomer spat, turning his horse on a pin and advancing on Averell, "of family? Of loss?" His handsome face seemed suddenly much older, twisted with rage. "You speak to me, who fought alongside Theoden on Pellenor Fields, who saw his kinsmen slaughtered, of the loss of a family you didn't know existed until yesterday? Do not make me regret ever giving you shelter in my halls, Wildling!"
Averell's hands screamed to fly to her waist and pull out her knives, to remove the tongue that had so slandered her, but the sheer mass of brooding horsemen that surrounded her, hands gripped firmly around bows and spears, froze her into place.
"My patience with you wears thin," Eomer sighed angrily, turning his horse around and trotting out of the gates, taking the whole line with him. "Be content with the family you have left!" he called back, barely audible over the sound of hooves.
One by one the horsemen filed past her, some pouring spiteful words upon her, but most ignoring her – just another civilian untouched by the majesty of the Rohan war machine. As the last filed out of the door, she began the longer, lonelier, walk home.