Chapter 1

Only when Sifrïda could just make out the vague shapes of her sheep and had fully lost sight of Frár due to his dark coat did she give another sharp whistle to stop for the first night. She knew she would find little rest, if any at all, but she could not deny that it would be folly to continue with such little visibility. When she all but fell from the great height of Drȳgja's back, she admitted to herself that it would also be folly to push herself any farther or she would be of no use to anyone come morning, much less her defenseless animals. So she urged Drȳgja to settle in the surrounding grasses, pulled the blanket from her back and draped it over the two of them as she curled into the horse's warm side. She had no flint nor tinder to start a fire, but even if she had, she would not dare to light one for fear of being caught alone on the plains. She felt Frár's presence as he settled at her feet and she gave him a rub between the ears, reminding him that he was a good dog, knowing he would keep watch this night as she tried to get what little sleep she could. She felt Drȳgja nudge the crown of her head and sniffed out a quiet laugh as she gave her soft, felty nose a rub as well. She sent up a prayer to the Valar Béma and his wife, Vána, to keep them safe through the night and settled in to listen for any sounds out of the ordinary.

She didn't know when during the night she fell asleep, but upon the dawn she woke slowly to the sound of birdsong. So powerful was her relief to find that all had been well while she slumbered that it brought her near to tears. She gave herself a few moments to collect her thoughts before folding her blanket neatly and replacing it on Drȳgja's back. Sifrïda stretched briefly, then hoisted herself back up atop her mount, grateful beyond words that she had her and sweet Frár to keep her company on her journey. She took another deep breath, then gave the command to keep moving, knowing she needed to reach the Golden Hall before long or her strength would wane to the point of failure, as would Frár's as there was nothing for the two of them to eat this far out on the plains. She was glad for the grass; the sheep and Drȳgja both would continue to be well fed, and she was glad for the river as there was fresh water for all.

Onward they went, turning westward from the Entwash toward Edoras, following the Snowbourn as planned. The journey was long, but blessedly uneventful. Though as the sun continued on it's own path across the heavens during the days, she could feel the energy draining from her - her eyes were tired from their constant scanning of the lands before her, she could feel her hunger cramping her stomach and the hours under the sun's rays were burning her skin, though the chill of late autumn had set in and caused her to shiver at times when the wind blew. She did not know how much longer she would be able to go without food and proper rest, but was determined to keep moving - she would not fail. She continued to lead her charges toward safety, leaning against Drȳgja's neck to conserve her strength and when the sun was low in the sky on the fourth day, she looked up to see Meduseld, the Golden Hall of the king, shining in the distance. She took a deep breath in overwhelming relief. She urged Drȳgja forward, hoping to make it into the city walls before true nightfall.

By the time Sifrïda reached the gates, she was near to fainting with fatigue and the sun had fully passed beyond the horizon. The guards stationed there straightened at the sight of her and her animals, their eyes going wide in surprise, but their expressions still somewhat wary.

"Hail, goodwife, from whence do you come?" called the taller of the two on either side of the gate, his voice firm, but not unkind.

Sifrïda tried to fully straighten from her slumped place upon Drȳgja's back, but she had lost much of her strength and was only able to sit up with her hands braced between the horse's shoulders - she could feel her arms shake with the effort. She swallowed what little moisture was left in her mouth, hoping it would allow her speech to be clear.

"I am Sifrïda of the Broadacres, I hail from a small village betwixt Oserley and Stoke," she felt herself sway from her perch - just that small task brought her closer to fainting. She continued on, "My village was razed to the ground by a pack of orcs while I was out tending my herd in the far fields - there is nothing left and I come to the city seeking refuge for myself and my animals."

That was all she could say before her remaining strength fled from her body and she crumpled forward on Drȳgja's neck. She could feel herself sliding to the side, her legs no longer able to hold her aloft and would have fallen had the shorter of the two guards - though still much taller than herself - rushed forward and caught her mid-descent. She watched as the former took hold of Drȳgja's halter, his eyes softer now in light of her story. She knew then that he had heard similar from others in recent days.

"Worry not, my lady Sifrïda, there are homes left empty following the battles of late, ready to be filled with life once more. You will not be left without a roof over your head. We will see to it that you and your animals both will be cared for until you are well enough to do so again," the guard who held her spoke softly, his voice - though filled with sorrow - was a comfort to her tired mind. She knew she was safe and could have sobbed in gratitude. "Your sheep will be lead to the pastures outside of the city - they are well protected, have no fear. Your horse will be led to the stables near the Hall, where you shall reside until you have regained your strength and after, the White Lady shall find you a new home and work to sustain you. These are darkening times, but we protect our own."

"What are your names?" her voice was choked and cracked, but she needed to know who these kind men were, well aware they could have chosen to turn her away.

"I am Alden, my lady. May you find what peace you can here," the taller spoke from his place at Drȳgja's head. He gave her a small smile and began to lead her horse and sheep away, though Frár remained steadfast by her side, sitting at the feet of the soldier still holding her in his arms. He walked through the city gates, her great grey wolfhound trailing at his heels as they began the ascent to the Hall.

"And I am Garrick, my lady. I shall bear you to Meduseld, from whence you can find rest," Garrick's face was drawn and solemn, but his eyes were kind and compassionate and she trusted him immediately. She knew he had seen much in days passed, knew he had seen grief as she had. These were dark days, those who had come and gone from her village had brought ill news of growing strength from the south, whispers of the Dark Lord Sauron's power returning in the depths of Mordor. She looked upon him in shared sorrow, though it was tempered with renewed faith in light of the aid she was receiving.

"Thank you, Sir Garrick," she whispered, her head falling to rest on his shoulder and her eyes beginning to fall shut. She was exhausted, but her feelings would be made known. "Take heart. There is hope yet. We must not lose faith."

"I can only hope you are right," came his faint reply. But it had fallen on deaf ears, for Sifrïda was already asleep. He could not help but smile at her slack features, pressed against his cuirass.

Garrick continued to carry the girl up the winding pathway to the hall, hardly winded for she was small and lighter than she should have been, even for her height. As he walked, he looked upon her, finding that she was quite pretty. As near to all of the people of Rohan, she had long waves of blonde hair, but there was a tint of red underneath that made it glow in the dim light of the torches they passed by. Her face was sweet and shaped like a heart, though he could tell that the bones of her cheeks were pressing too sharply against her skin from loss of weight and her eyes were slightly sunken in their sockets from lack of proper rest. Before she had fallen asleep, he had noticed that she was one of few on the Mark that possessed eyes of bright green rather than the usual blue. Though he had yet to see her stand upright, he could tell that she would not quite breach the top of his shoulder at her full height. It was a wonder to him that she was able to control the great black beast she had ridden in on - the mare was at least eighteen hands high and the girl was no more than sixteen hands at the most.

The tone Sifrïda had spoken with was kind and compassionate, though her voice held an underlying thread of steel - a strength of will that he knew kept her going on her journey. He was glad of it for she reminded him of his daughter, Denegyth. She and his sweet wife, Mildred, had been taken by a deadly fever a few years previous and Garrick felt a deep seated urge arise in him to provide Sifrïda the same protection and comfort as he would his own kin, had they still lived. And so, he continued on toward Meduseld, knowing the White Lady would be her best chance at a new life.

The doors of the Hall were still open when he reached the top of the staircase, he could see the maidservants cleaning up the remnants of the evening meal and a few riders still milling about. There had been more mouths to feed than in previous days; Prince Théodred, Lord Éomer, the commander Elfhelm and a few men from their respective Éoreds had gathered this night with the intention of entering into council with Théoden King to discuss the growing unease throughout the Riddermark. Garrick was unsure if there would be much progress in that regard. Though he loved and respected his king, Théoden was changed of late, relying more and more heavily on the advice of his councilor, Gríma. Garrick did not trust the man in the slightest - an opinion not abated by the moniker the Hall's staff had placed upon him: Wormtongue. The maids knew everything, and he trusted their judgment.

It was this line of thinking that stopped him briefly in his tracks - he did not want to leave Sifrïda there at the mercy of the Worm. He knew Éowyn would take care of her, had proved herself to be a kind and competent leader in the absence of a queen, but she could not be everywhere at once and he could not expect her to keep the girl in her sight at all times. Nor, he thought, would Sifrïda accept that level of supervision, if that strong will he had witnessed was anything to go by. So, he sighed to himself and shook his head ruefully, then continued on toward the warmth of the Hall.

"Garrick! It is good to see you, my friend! What do you have there?" came the deep, carrying voice of the Third Marshall of the Mark, and the king's nephew, Éomer. Garrick stopped once again in his tracks, unable to help the slight smile that came to his face at the sight of the man. He was as much a prince to him as Prince Théodred himself, and an equally fit leader, despite his slight temper. He had a good heart and loved his country and people with a deep passion. As he neared, Garrick turned slightly toward him, allowing the firelight spilling from the Hall and the torches placed on either side of the doors to illuminate Sifrïda's face. Éomer's eyes widened at the sight of her and his smile dropped. "Who is this?"

"Her name is Sifrïda, m'lord, she has come to Edoras seeking refuge," Garrick's face was once more solemn as he delivered the information. He spoke softly, so as not to wake his charge and Éomer made his way closer in order to hear him properly. Though his eyes were focused on Garrick as he spoke, they flickered to the girl's face often. "Her village, to the north, was pillaged and burned by a pack of orcs, and all that is left to her is the animals of her family's farm. She lead them here in the hopes of rebuilding her life. Alden has taken the flock and her horse to the pastures, though this beast will not leave her side."

As if knowing that Garrick spoke of him, the wolfhound stepped forward, more fully into the light and sat again at Garrick's feet. He was so large that his head - even while sitting - was level with the bottom of Garrick's ribs, between nine and ten hands high at the least from his shoulder to the ground. Should he choose to rise onto his back legs, Garrick suspected that the dog may clear even Éomer's great height by some inches. His eyes held a level of intelligence that would spook even the most stalwart of hearts should he decide them a threat to his mistress. Though it seemed that he had deemed both Garrick and Éomer worthy to be in her presence, for his tongue lolled from his mouth in a pant and he looked to be smiling at them.

"She must care much for her animals to inspire such loyalty," Éomer's gaze drifted from the hound, back to the girl and stayed there for a long moment, before lifting back up to Garrick's face. "Am I correct in assuming you bring her to Meduseld with the intent of placing her care in the hands of my sister?"

"Yes, m'lord. The lady Éowyn has instructed those of us stationed at the gates to bring any such refugees to her," Garrick reported, knowing much had changed in the time Éomer had been absent from Edoras. Though he knew the siblings sent correspondence as often as possible, only so much information could be penned safely - there was always a chance the letters could fall into the wrong hands. Éomer's smile returned at the mention of his sister's kindness. Everyone who lived in Edoras knew how proud he was of her and the responsibility she undertook once she came of age. He had been near to heartbroken when she had traveled from their home at Aldburg to Meduseld in order to assist their uncle in running the household - the siblings were nye on inseparable previously. But there was work to be done and neither of the two would shy away from the expectations placed upon them. Garrick was once again reminded of how much respect he held for the two. "Does m'lord happen to know where the lady can be found at this hour?"

"Yes, she'll be in with our uncle, it's near time for him to retire for the night. I would be remiss to interrupt their time together, so rare is it the Worm leaves my uncle's side of late," Éomer's smile turned downward in a concerned frown, his eyebrows drawn together in worry for his loved ones. "If it pleases you, I will bear her to one of guest rooms I know to be vacant and inform my sister of her presence upon her return to the hall."

Though he trusted the lord explicitly, Garrick hesitated to release the girl from his custody. He looked down at her sleeping face, then back to Éomer, who had neither reached for her nor let his gaze stray again, his face open and honest. He decided that though he wished to personally see her safely inside, Éomer was just as capable - if not not more so - and would undoubtedly see to her comfort as Éowyn would.

"Aye, m'lord, that's just as well. I should return to my post at any rate," he conceded. Carefully, he began to shift her away from himself, trying his best not to jostle her too much. Éomer, seeing this, came closer and held his arms underneath Garrick's own, bracing for the transfer of weight. As she passed from one set of arms to the other, her head landed somewhat awkwardly on Éomer's shoulder. Sifrïda stirred at the movement, her eyes bleary as they cracked open.

"You are not Sir Garrick..." her voice was barely a whisper, her green eyes latched on Éomer's face, trying to make sense of the change. "I know your face... you passed through my village not long ago... with an Éored. You are Lord Éomer, are you not?"

"I am, little one, have no fear. Garrick has transferred you to my care in order to return to his post at the gate, but he has not departed as yet," the lord spoke quietly and far more gently than Garrick had ever heard. He knew then he would not be the only one keeping an eye on the girl. Sifrïda turned her head, searching for him, and when her tired eyes found him, she smiled.

"Thank you, Sir Garrick for carrying me all this way and for not barring me entrance to the city," she said, reaching out a small hand to him. He caught it in his own and kissed the back with a small bow, making her giggle. He could not help but grin at her. "You're kindness will not be forgotten."

"There is no thanks necessary, my lady Sifrïda, I am sure my lord Éomer would agree that you are welcome here. Did I not say we protect our own?" Garrick straightened and looked back to the Third Marshall. "By your leave, m'lord."

Garrick bowed once more, gave Sifrïda another smile and made his way back down the path toward the gate, thinking all the while that he would return on the morrow to see how she was faring.

Sifrïda turned her head back toward the man who now held her, knowing it was not necessarily proper as he was of noble birth and she a commoner, but too tired to protest. He was quite handsome and his face was kind, just as it'd been when he rode through her village to assess the welfare of his people. He looked down to find her watching him and smiled as she struggled against the call of sleep.

"Rest, little one, you are safe," said he, as he turned and made his way along the outer wall of the Hall toward the guest rooms, rather than through the main doors. Frár followed faithfully behind them and she found she could not fight rest any longer, the lord's gait was smooth and he emitted a comforting warmth.

"Thank you, Lord Éomer," she whispered before nodding off once more. And while he knew she would not hear, he was compelled to answer her, though he didn't know why.

"You're welcome, Sifrïda."