Daughter of Lothlórien (An Èomer love story)

Chapter 3- The Golden Hall

Chapter 3- The Golden Hall

The ride to Edoras was easy the next morning. The sky was still dark when Éomer ordered that camp be packed and riders be ready to move out in a half-hours time. Brendawyn had risen early that morning, wincing at the pain in her lower back. She'd slept atop a small stone which tried to join itself to her flesh in her sleep.

The ground had been cold here; far away from the light of the Eldar and the warmth of her kinsmen. Already she could feel the chill nipping at her exposed ears. It was new to her; for she was not accustomed to pain, nor cold.

It had been three days since she had left the woods of Loríen, and already the homesickness was beginning to gnaw at her heart. She missed her brothers and the warmth of the forest. Brendawyn munched slowly on a chunk of lembas, silently chewing as she wondered to herself.

"My lady," Léodan, the young Rider poked his head into her tent. "We're getting ready to move out."

"Of course," she nodded. "I'll be out in a moment."

Léodan dipped his head in respect before closing the tent flaps and making his way back toward Éomer. The sister-son of the King stood with his hands folded behind his back, overseeing the packing of supplies.

"What news do you have of the Elleth?" he asked lowly. His voice was flecked with curiosity, but something of his pride prohibited his true intentions. His flaxen hair was tangled and dirty from the journey and his unshaven face was dusty from the ride. His hazel eyes were full of anxiety and it was obvious that he was worried for his family.

"She is taking care of her supplies," Léodan answered honestly. "Do you think we can trust her? The Elves-."

"-There was an Alliance between our men and her people- some of us still remember the olden days. She is an emissary and I believe she can be of some help- or I hope so. She is outnumbered and should her intentions prove to be anything but honorable, we can easily subdue her."

"Is that what you think, my Lord?" a feminine voice demanded with edge like that of a knife. The men turned and found Brendawyn standing there, awaiting an answer. She was dressed in her traveling clothes, her lite armor, weather-worn boots, and hooded cloak. She wore a blade at her side, and a quiver and bow over her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and her lips tight in a frown. She had braided her thick, blonde hair over her shoulder and her bangs had been twisted and pinned behind her pointed ears. "Do you think I am incapable of defending myself? For I can assure you that your assumptions have been ill made. My brothers have taught me the art of defending myself."

Éomer looked surprised, "I'm sorry, my lady. I meant no offense; I had no intentions of brusing your honor."

"No, but you succeeded, my lord," she replied venomously.

He studied her for a moment, taken aback by how brash she was. He'd never been spoken to in such a way- he was second in line for the throne of Rohan after all. He was the sister-son of the King, but this maiden was from a different realm. Man's costumes meant nothing to her- she was her own person. "Again," he said slowly. "I offer you my sincerest of apologies."

Her expression softened and she seemed to be holding back a smile; "I accept," and with that said, she turned, carrying her belongings and slinging them over her white mare's saddle.

"I've never seen a woman like that," Léodan said quietly, watching the Elleth tighten the saddle and adust her horse's bit.

"I doubt we ever will again," Éomer grumbled under his breath.

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As noon-day approached, the Riders came upon the top of a hill where the valley below was visible. Atop the ridge, and across the fields was a city. It was surrounded by crude, ancient-looking wooden walls, and atop the gates, a green flag flapped in the wind. It bore the image of a golden stallion and to Brendawyn's eyes, appeared to be the most beautiful thing she had seen in quite some time.