Sword Maiden of Rohan | Of Every Race Saga Book IV

Chapter 9: A Brief Rest

Déorhild saw the stream, the mountains in the distance, and suddenly it all came back to her like a dream nearly forgotten; Éomer's arm across her shoulders, his lips touching her own for a brief second. She looked at Éomer and found his eyes locked on her face, which then looked at the ground. His face wore a ashamed look. But Déorhild gaze was drawn to Éomer's arm, the one where he had been hit by the orc. Blood soaked his sleeve and some of it had dried, but even now he moved his arm stiffly.

Déorhild acted quickly. She loosened the saddle and pack from Éomer's horse, Inganiad, and threw them down onto the ground. She let the horse loose to graze on the grass. Then she made Éomer sit down while she ripped open his sleeve and pushed his chain mail up his arm so that is was out of the way. She looked at the wound. Nothing serious, at least, that's what it looked like. But Déorhild didn't know if the wound was poisoned or not. She looked up at Éomer. His eyes were fixed onto her own, trustingly. "Éomer, do you know if the blade was poisoned or not? Was the blade darkened more than usual?"

"No, it was a blade of your village. The same color of steel as your own, Déorhild."

Déorhild started at the unexpected and, she thought, unnecessary use of her name. She looked away and grabbed some white cloth that she had brought for the journey in case of an accident. She tore them into long strips and then wet them in the water the stream provided. She started to wash the blood off of Éomer's arm. She spoke again, more than half to herself. "Strange that an orc would use one of our blades. I thought they only used their own, due to the skill and ease of using them."

"I think he might have done so because either they ran out of blades themselves, or his was knocked out of his hand and he grabbed one that had been thrown down several months ago."

Déorhild had washed off the blood, and looked up at Éomer. "No, I do not think so. Remember when we walked through the village? There were no blades. And," she added, "Orcs most always burn the blades, making them unfit for use." Then she looked away as if a horrible thought had entered her brain.

Éomer looked puzzled and said, "Didn't you lose your sword during the fight?"

Déorhild looked up, "Aye, so I did. I do not know where it went, so I drew my dagger, which I still have. I think that that orc picked it up, losing his own weapon, as you mentioned, and used it against you. "

Éomer smiled grimly. "You needn't worry, Déorhild. I do not think the orc knew that there could possibly be a connection with using your blade against me." He paused, looking down. "I know I shouldn't have acted the way I did last time we were here."

Déorhild grabbed a clean bandage and proceeded to bind up Éomer's wound. "Some people can't help their feelings." She spoke so quietly that Éomer could barely hear what she said. He wondered what she meant.

She finished, put the rest of the cloth away in the saddle bag, and stood up. "You must sleep now. I will keep watch. Don't protest," she said by way of a warning. "Eomer, I lost my blade after you had been hurt, so I know that it wasn't my sword that was brought down on your arm."

Éomer soon fell fast asleep whilst Déorhild kept watch. Her eyes kept straying to Éomer. Then, she had an idea. She stood up, made sure the horse was nearby, and walked towards Éomer. She knelt next to him. A sudden surge of warmth crept across her shoulder as she remember when he had place his arm across her shoulders. Déorhild felt a warmth faintly stir in her heart and she softly kissed Éomer's forehead. Then she stepped back, lept upon the horse bareback and rode with all haste to Rohandras.