"What business does a lone woman have travelling through Rohan? From where have you come?"
Marian stared up at the man, mouth agape. When she had seen the riders emerge over the horizon, Marian was beyond relieved to find others at last. But now, as they surrounded her, horses pawing at the ground and spears held at the ready, she found she didn't have the slightest idea where to begin. Who were these people?
"I, uh- From the woods," she said hoarsely, clearing her throat and realizing she had not spoken aloud in several days.
The man looked at her with an inscrutable expression. "The woods? Do you mean Emyn Muil, or Fangorn?"
"There was a waterfall," she said, embarrassed to know so little concerning her whereabouts. "A river, and a waterfall. I almost fell off."
"So you are speaking of Emyn Muil," he frowned, either not hearing or choosing to ignore the bit about her almost falling off the waterfall. "But that forest is days away, and you have no supplies. What have you eaten? How have you travelled this far on foot?"
Marian opened her mouth to answer, then felt a wave of nausea sweep over her. In answer to his question, she turned away and dry heaved, clutching her stomach. Straightening up, she wiped her mouth and tried to focus on the man's face as her vision warped and blurred.
"I haven't eaten. I've been walking for days, trying to find someone."
He made a noise of surprise. "You are wounded!"
Looking down at the dried bloodstain from her old wound, Marian poked a finger through the rip in the fabric.
"It's healed now." Wondering if they would believe her or not, she decided to tell the truth. "A monster attacked me in the woods."
The man studied her more intently. "Monster? What did this monster look like?"
Marian stared past his head, remembering the moment with a chill.
"Yellow eyes. And," she added, "A white handprint on its face."
At her words, the man smiled grimly. "The monster is dead now; we slew it and its company not two days ago."
"That's good," Marian said vaguely, fighting even harder now to stay alert as the wall of horses surrounding her swam in and out of focus. "Do you have any water?"
And with that, she promptly collapsed.
Éomer enlisted the help of two other men to lift the woman onto his horse. Her head lolled backward, resting on his shoulder. This must look strange, he thought, but even so, he felt personally responsible for her condition. He should have noticed how she swayed slightly on her feet, and the fatigue written on her face. And he had even forgotten to ask her name.
Éowyn would tell him off if she were here. He could see her reproving look in his mind's eye- although lately, she hadn't possessed much of a spirit for telling-off. Their uncle's state seemed to almost physically weigh her down, not to mention Grima lurking about, eyeing her constantly.
Not wanting to leave his sister alone for too long, and knowing the woman on his horse should not go much longer without the attention of a healer, Éomer ordered his men forward.
He wondered if the man he had met, Aragorn son of Arathorn, would make good on his promise to return to Edoras with the horses. They may need more men like Aragorn, and perhaps like that fiery dwarf and elf he travelled with, to stop Saruman's poisonous spread.
'Open war', Aragorn had said. Open war lay before them. But even if he told his uncle of the war to come, would he have the strength of spirit to rise up and meet their enemy?