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It had been a pleasant day, for all that it had been spent moving as quickly as possible towards Helm’s Deep. The weather was good, the caravan traveled well, and she’d had another conversation with Gimli about his people. He was far friendlier than any of the other dwarves she’d met as they moved through Rohan, but then most of those Dwarves had been traveling smiths. It was a hard life for anyone, even without the legendary unfriendliness of Dwarves. Gimli was more like the Rohirrim. He was certainly no horseman, but he was good-natured, fierce, and steadfast. She would be pleased to fight alongside him, if given the chance. She would be pleased to fight alongside any of the four riders, if given the chance. She had secret hopes for standing alongside Aragorn in other ways as well, though she spoke of it to no one.
Of course pleasant times could not last, not with the Riddermark in danger from all sides, and she started as the sounds of fighting came over the hill where the outriders had gone ahead. The next few moments were a blur as the Rohirrim separated from the caravan and she felt her heart beating faster. Perhaps now she would be permitted to fight. Everyone able to hold a sword would be needed to keep the caravan safe. Surely Theoden King would see that, and she looked up as he whirled Snowmane back towards her.
“You must lead the people to Helm’s Deep and make haste,” Theoden ordered her.
“I can fight,” she argued, feeling the cage close around her again. Once more she was not permitted to serve in the way she had trained.
“No!” he said. “You must do this. For me.”
She could not countermand a direct order from her king, nor from her uncle, and she turned away so he would not see the anger on her face. She would lead her people. She would take them to Helm’s Deep.
“Make for the lower road!” she called to the caravan. “Stay together!”
The caravan started moving even more quickly, urged along by the caravan-guards, and she glanced up to see Aragorn whirling away on Hasufel. Some fear entered her heart, some fear that she could not name, and she stared at him until he was gone over the ridge.
When she turned back to the caravan, it was not there. She was not there. She didn’t recognize the trees or the mountains, nor the sounds of the animals around her. What had happened? What magic was this? What wizardry? Where were her people?
She might have stood there forever, trying to understand what had happened, if she had not heard a terrible sound, a low growling that filled her with dread and then with steel. There was a Warg somewhere near, and she had no sword. She had her boot-knife, though, and she would fight it as a shieldmaiden of Rohan should. She stripped her surcoat off, dropped her hair under her dress, then pulled out her knife. One boot-knife against a Warg would do almost nothing, but she would at least slow the Warg down and give the caravan more of a chance. She would keep her people safe.
Of course pleasant times could not last, not with the Riddermark in danger from all sides, and she started as the sounds of fighting came over the hill where the outriders had gone ahead. The next few moments were a blur as the Rohirrim separated from the caravan and she felt her heart beating faster. Perhaps now she would be permitted to fight. Everyone able to hold a sword would be needed to keep the caravan safe. Surely Theoden King would see that, and she looked up as he whirled Snowmane back towards her.
“You must lead the people to Helm’s Deep and make haste,” Theoden ordered her.
“I can fight,” she argued, feeling the cage close around her again. Once more she was not permitted to serve in the way she had trained.
“No!” he said. “You must do this. For me.”
She could not countermand a direct order from her king, nor from her uncle, and she turned away so he would not see the anger on her face. She would lead her people. She would take them to Helm’s Deep.
“Make for the lower road!” she called to the caravan. “Stay together!”
The caravan started moving even more quickly, urged along by the caravan-guards, and she glanced up to see Aragorn whirling away on Hasufel. Some fear entered her heart, some fear that she could not name, and she stared at him until he was gone over the ridge.
When she turned back to the caravan, it was not there. She was not there. She didn’t recognize the trees or the mountains, nor the sounds of the animals around her. What had happened? What magic was this? What wizardry? Where were her people?
She might have stood there forever, trying to understand what had happened, if she had not heard a terrible sound, a low growling that filled her with dread and then with steel. There was a Warg somewhere near, and she had no sword. She had her boot-knife, though, and she would fight it as a shieldmaiden of Rohan should. She stripped her surcoat off, dropped her hair under her dress, then pulled out her knife. One boot-knife against a Warg would do almost nothing, but she would at least slow the Warg down and give the caravan more of a chance. She would keep her people safe.
