Sword and Arrow

Chapter 37

It was a long journey to Helm's Deep. Though the King's Riders and most of his advisors and members of court had horses, and the sick and old rode on carts, most of the population struggled over a terrain dotted with sharp rocks and dry, slippery soil. The townspeople were hunched over from the heat of the sun and the weights on their backs.

Éowyn walked beside Gimli, who rode a full-sized horse by himself.

"It's true you don't see many dwarf women," Gimli was telling the princess, who smiled at him, occasionally looking back at Aragorn who rode behind them. "And in fact they are so alike in voice and appearance, that they are often mistaken for dwarf men!"

Éowyn laughed, looking up at Aragorn. The Ranger put his hand to his chin, stroking the stubble that grew there. "It's the beards," he mouthed.

"And this in turn has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf women!" Gimli continued. "And that dwarves spring from holes in the ground!"

Éowyn laughed a genuine laugh - one of the first that Aragorn had seen from her. He was glad that she could still laugh, glad that it had not been so long since she had had hope that she had forgotten joy.

"Which of course is ridiculous." Gimli laughed, shaking his head. "Whoa!" Gimli's horse, a skittish fellow, had taken off, the dwarf bumping along on its back. "It's all right!" Gimli confirmed as he lay on the ground on his back. "It's all right, nobody panic." Éowyn ran to his side, helping him up and check him over for any injuries.

"I have not seen my niece smile in a long time," Théoden King noted, riding up beside Aragorn. He looked ahead at Éowyn, who laughed with Gimli. "She was a girl when they brought her father back dead. Cut down by orcs."

Éowyn looked back at her uncle, and the old king let a ghost of a smile onto his face. "She watched her mother succumb to grief. And she was left alone to tend her king in growing fear." The smile faded from his face. "Doomed to wait upon an old man who should have loved her as a father."

Aragorn nodded, his face cloudy. Tragedy is common now in all the lands, he thought. From a peasant's hut to a king's palace. It is as Galadriel said. Love is now mingled with grief.

Éowyn, having helped Gimli up, looked back again, this time at Aragorn. The two made long eye contact before she looked away, unnerved by the deepness of his grey eyes.

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The long trail of people and soldiers stopped for the night in an open area, free of hills and large rocks. A stream trickled through the corner of the camp, allowing women to fetch water for cooking. Beruthiel sat with Legolas beside their horses, each eating a half of the lembas bread they still had left. Neither had any idea where Aragorn or Gimli were.

"Do you think we can win this?" Beruthiel asked, sitting forward to rest her chin in her hands.

"We have to," Legolas responded, leaning back against a rock with his long legs spread out in front of him. "We don't have a choice."

"I'm scared, Legolas," Beruthiel murmured under the hustle and bustle of the camp. "I'm scared that we won't make it out alive, and if we do, we won't make it out whole." She looked up at him. "I don't want to lose the people I love. Especially since I've kept him - kept them safe for so long."

Legolas didn't miss the slight stumble in her speech that she hastily smoothed over, but he decided not to comment on it. He nodded. "I couldn't bear it if I didn't come home to my wife," he said. "And I don't know how she could explain it to Hûrion if I never came back." The elf's face twisted into a grimace and he looked away. "Let us not dwell on the subject of death," he quickly said. "It is bad luck to speak about death before a battle."