Elfhelm was awakened by a barely discernable moan from Eowyn. He reached over the dew covered grass to her. The horselord heard her gasp and try to sit up and immediately drew her into his embrace, running his hand over her head and murmuring something to calm her down.

Eowyn woke up. It was dark. She had terrible dreams. She had no idea where she was, apart from being somewhere outside. Who was she was also a hazy concept. She gasped and struggled to sit up. Suddenly strong arms embraced her and a low voice she knew well told her that she was safe. Now she knew who and where she was. She was a girl in Aldburg, she had a nightmare and - as mummy could not be roused and Eomer would sneer at her for being "such a girl" - she had gone to her older cousin, Elfhelm. Her body hurt in various places and her arm was ... stiff? Immobile? No matter. HE was there so things must be all right. She relaxed and made herself more comfortable in his arms and whispered "Unca Feefee?". Hearing an affirmative she slipped into a nightmare-free sleep.

Elfhelm guessed that her mind must have drifted back to her childhood. At that time he had been mercilessly ribbed by other unmarried Riders - and some married ones too - of having had acquired a little chaperone protecting his virtue into the next decade. True, his love life was non-existent as her nightmares were so frequent and she came to him at night so often that he dared not risk bringing any woman to his chamber. But knowing that a little blonde waif, in her nightgown, with tear-streaked cheeks, was dashing from one pool of light cast by a torch in the corridor to another to dodge the ankle-snapping elf in the darkness ... that the patter of her bare feet - in her fright and need for comfort, her slippers having been forgotten – was nearing his door ... and finally the girl leaped - as to stay out of reach of the orc under his bed - to get her cold, bony body under his blanket and hug him desperately for safety and comfort - that was worth every ribbing for "Unca Feefee" he ever got. She only had him to go to ... and he was there for her. For his little "Oyoy".

He should not have left her in Mundburg. Alone. This time he had not been there for her. But who could have expected ... what had they done to you, my precious ...

Karl eyed the Horselord warily, pretending to be still asleep. He had come to respect Elfhelm as a leader of men. But this respect did not extend to Elfhelm as far as women were concerned. He was a Lord. No matter that the young woman was supposed to be the Wraithsbane and the princess and his "kin". Everybody knew what they said about lords and their purported nieces. Lords were not to be trusted with women. Simple. Bunch of rabid lusting beasts, the lot of them.

Eighty years ago, his folk dwelled somewhere around here, in the Eastfold, in the foothills of the White Mountains. Farming, raising sheep and horses. Since the time of Eorl some girls from the village had gone to become servants at the lord's hall. Some married and settled down there, some came back with child and husband, and some came back only with child. It was best not to ask about parentage as not to hear any lies, as the answer was almost invariably "the lord's" or "the lord's son". Were their claims of parentage true or no, was the sire in fact the swineherd's helper, this did not matter - such was life, all children were a gift from Bema and cherished… more or less.

But the lord at that time, Bema curse his memory, supposedly following the lead of Fengel King, abused the girls. The girls came back wild-eyed, frightened, or did not come back at all - dead. The stories the girls told of how they had been used made an honest man's hair rise in horror.

With no volunteers, the lord's men tried to take the girls by force—some managing to run, some not.

Instructed by the lord's steward to send four of the prettiest girls to the Hall for the Yuletide feasting season, the village instead packed whatever it could and fled across the frozen Entwash into the steppes of the Eastemnet. There they suffered hardship and barely survived until spring on the edge of the Fens of the Mouths of the Entwash. And there they dwelt to this day, wary of lords and orcs – now the clan's neighbours across the Anduin - alike.

Since they were little, the clan's girls were taught not to stray and that there were worse things in the world than elves or orcs or trolls. These things being the lord's men.

"If the orcs get you, they will hurt and kill and eat you. It will hurt very much, but only a while. But if the lord's men get you they will hurt you and keep on hurting you a long, long time. You will wish to die."

This was the creed every lass knew by heart by the time she was six.

Karl the Fenlander also heard the Princess' moan. He tensed while the horselord slithered up to her and took her into his arms. His hand was on his knife to dissuade the lord from doing whatever debauchery he had in mind. But without the lord doing anything untoward or dragging her off beyond the camp he stood his station and kept watch, guarding the woman from whatever may come. Seeing the man stroking her hair and having wet checks - glistening in the light of an ember flaring up - was an inexplicable and incomprehensible development. So Karl kept his vigil. There was something about her face which made him think of his youngest daughter, Beorngyth. He let his thoughts drift homewards ... was his little treasure safe, when all men fifteen to forty-five had been mustered into eoreds? What if some orc or - even worse! - an uruk had wandered up the lazy flowing branches of the Entwash to the vicinity of their village?

After a whisper from Eowyn and some contortions Elfhelm stood up, holding her bridal style. He turned to move with her away from the fire when the Eastemnet fellow shot up and half-snarled:

"Where da ya fink yer going?"

"Lord?" came as an evident afterthought.

Now, that was pushing the Fenlander from amusing into annoying territory. Especially as Elfhelm had felt Karl's glare drilling holes into him while he comforted his little girl. He sighed and half said, half mouthed:

"She needs to pee."

In the light of the pre-dawn Elfhelm could see several emotions on the man's face. He identified incredulity. The others he could not. Finally the Rider hissed defiantly:

"I'm coming with ye."

The horselord sighed again, especially as he felt Eowyn twitch - be it from embarrassment or full bladder he did not know. But a shouting match would be even more embarrassing, he decided. He nodded and carried Eowyn to an opportune place.

"Get useful, man, hold some of the blankets," Elfhelm hissed at the rustic.

"And give us some privacy, for Bema's sake!"

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Eowyn slowly recovered during the long ride to Aldburg. They arrived at the burgh with the last light of the day. A little colour had come back to her cheeks as if the air of the Mark itself had healing properties. Most of her mind was back - she was no longer "Oyoy" and the Horselord "Feefee," but Eowyn and Elfhelm. The two cousins enjoyed their time together, recalling old times in Aldburg or the Ride to Mundburg when she had hid in his eored. Her time at Meduseld was best left unmentioned. Elfhelm discovered that she had lost most of her memory between the killing of the Ringwraith and this morning. Some memories came back when he described events in Minas Tirith they had been party to, but from the drinking of the draughts administered by Ioreth onwards she did not remember a thing. Eowyn was aghast at the Wimple Casting and her extraordinary marriage to one of the Denethorssons.

Suddenly he went red. He had to ask her something, something which in the normal course of affairs would never had been his errand to ask.

"Had he ... uhm ... erm ... touched you? Meaning ... hoom baroom ... like a husband?"

Now she went a bit pink. And pensive.

"I ... I don't know. But I don't feel any different..."

"Maybe ... a midwife could have a look at you?"

She shook her head.

"I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"But ..."

"No means no!" - she snarled.

He patted her head.

"I just care for you and ..."

"I know," she patted his hand in return.

"This is my business and mine alone. And between Eomer and I."

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At Aldburg they were greeted with cries of joy and wails of:

"Why so few?"

"Where is ... ?"

"Were the rest cut down?"

It dawned on Elfhelm that they the Mark had few or very little news yet. He bellowed over the commotion that there was a great victory, that the rest of the eored was in Anorien, that they had brought back the wounded daughter of Eomund. And he called for the leech to be summoned. He carried Eowyn inside the Hall to the best room available.

After the physician's examination and with the Princess in good care, the weary horselord went with the leech to check on the Gondorian. The leech's apprentice was cleaning up the Denethorsson and replacing his dressings. According to the poison-concocting hag, the man's wounds had reopened following a night in a prison cell and after the exertion of being marched to the executioner's block. In effect he had been slipping in and out - mostly out - of consciousness for the last few days.

"Who is this man? Why have his wounds been so neglected?" the leech pressed him.

"Some Gondorian. It might be better for him to die." Elfhelm shrugged. He preferred not to reveal the Steward-Prince's identity.

"He may yet swing, or worse, should such be Eomer King's will."

The leech and apprentice both cast sharp looks at him.

"A dangerous criminal then? Wounded when captured? A man his size must have had put up quite a fight ..."

"No, the wounds are honourable, from the Battle of Mundburg. It is... complicated. Tend to him but there's no need to treat him like a mearas mare about to foal." – the Horselord explained.

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"Remember, Captain of Gondor, that Umbar is never to rise as a threat again. The Corsairs are to be left headless and the slavers punished. All nobles and those trading in slaves are to be put to the sword. All sea-captains and shipwrights are to be killed too. All boys from such families over five feet are to be slain. Their manner of death is up to your discretion. Distribute their wives and nubile daughters among the soldiery. See to that in person."

Looking at the younger man's expressionless face the Steward added.

"This is your chance to win my favour. If you fail, there may be others waiting to take your place."

Denethor decided to share a piece of information from intercepted letters with his grey eyed and raven haired son.

"The Rohirrim have your brother. They executed the rest of the party and are awaiting their King to decide his fate."