Wisps of clouds danced across the blue skies over Rohan and cast shadows that seemed to flee before the thundering race of the men on horseback. Their steeds' hooves bit into the earth and sent clumps spraying behind them. The precision with which they rode showed great military discipline. These were not ordinary equestrians, not by a long shot. These were the famous Riders of Rohan.
At their lead was a man longer of limb than most, his long golden locks mingling with the horsetail adorning his helm, and his armor glinting in the sunlight. Eomer, nephew to the king of Rohan, was in exile. With him rode those loyal to Rohan. Those willing to face penalty of death to keep the lands clear of the taint of darkness Sauron and Saruman would infest them with. Men he would trust with his life, and who trusted him with theirs. He would not let them down. For the sake of his heritage, his homeland, he could let none of them down.
The past night they had battled Orcs wearing the white hand of Saruman near Fangorn Forest. In the few hours after a red tinted dawn they had met up with an odd trio of companions on a quest to find little people the Orcs had taken. He held no hope they would be found alive. His Riders had left none to live during the battle. He was proud of his men. Only two had fallen to the enemy.
Saruman was up to no good. He was not certain what the wily wizard wanted with those little people the Man, the Elf and the Dwarf were searching for. He knew only that anything Saruman did was naught but pure evil. As it was he could no longer concern himself with the quest of the trio. His own king and kin had exiled him on penalty of death should he return to Edoras and Orcs freely crossed Rohirrim land with none to bar their way. That is until now. Grima had made a foolish mistake in not killing Eomer, son of Eomund, right away and sending him out. So long as he lived he would see that he did all he could to keep the darkness from overtaking Rohan, and perhaps someday he will be permitted to return to his home and take his rightful place in the Golden Hall.
Eomer lifted a hand and halted his men. It was not that he had seen anything, nor heard anything, to warn him that something or someone was out there. He could not pinpoint what had alerted him, but with a few motions of his hand he set his cavalry into a gallop once more, and they thundered down an incline and suddenly swooped about to surround a huddled form that had taken refuge behind an outcropping of boulders near a small trickling of water that perhaps once before had been a healthy stream.
Many long lances were lowered and aimed at the form that now sat there still beneath a brown cloak. "You trespass on Rohirrim land. Quickly, who are you and why are you here?" Eomer commanded.
The leather of saddles creaked beneath the Riders as the horses shifted and blew hard. Rohan bred the most renowned horseflesh in Middle Earth. The form did not lift its hooded head. "I seek a Man, a Ranger, who travels with several companions. We have followed his trail for many long days…"
"We," Eomer climbed down off his steed and neared the form. "You are not alone? Where are your companions?"
"I am alone. My companion fell to an Orc sword two nights hence, and I am all that is left."
Eomer's keen eyes fell to a bloody piece of cloth that he spied from where the cloak gaped a little at the chest. The form had a sheathed sword by its side that it had not reached for, and a bow with an empty quiver on the other side. "You are injured."
"I fear you caught me tending my wound."
Reaching up Eomer removed his helm, bent on one knee and caught the cloak in his hands to spread it. The feeble attempts of the form to push his hands away he easily batted off, and his eyes narrowed as he parted the woolen material. There was a groan, but not of pain, as he bared a white bosom with the suspicious swell of female breasts barely hidden by a torn and bloody unlaced bodice.
"Avert your gazes," he barked to his men as he shut the cloak. "Your wound needs tending."
A hand covered in drying blood reached up, and pushed back the hood of the cloak. Long tresses the color of sunshine and flames were partly tamed into a thick plait with several strands falling in disarray about a soft and pale face. In that face were two eyes the color of bruised violets that painfully lifted to his face. "I am afraid, Master Rider, that I have become too weakened to do more than I have."
Rising Eomer compressed his lips. "Very well." Turning he ordered his men to rest the horses and keep a watch. He, himself, prepared to tend to her wound. "Who is this Man you seek?"
"He is a Ranger, a Dunedain, set out on a quest of great import by Elrond of the Rivendell Elves. Two of us the Dunedain set out to find him with a message of import. We had lost his trail near the Mines of Moria, and over the mountain we had to travel. The first Orcs we came across were a small band and easily dispatched." She hissed in a breath as he used the herbs she had gathered and the water he had boiled over a small fire to soak a cloth and clean her wound.
His touch was gentle for a warrior, sure, and skilled. "You have tended wounds before?" she queried. "Your touch is skilled."
"Small wounds and what can be tended on the field are a required skill for a warrior. Any others are tended to by the women." He tried to keep her as modestly covered as possible as he cleaned the hole in her shoulder above her left breast. "The first band was easily dispatched?"
"Yes, and we came to Lothlorien where the Elves were gathering and preparing to leave. The Lady and Lord sheltered us for two days and three nights, and we hurried on our way to find our friend. The trail led us many days on a harried journey, and we came across a large band of Orcs who were traveling to meet up with their brethren. That is when my companion fell, and I was wounded. I barely escaped alive, and here you now find me. Though many of the Orcs we felled when we battled them a handful remained and I cannot understand why they did not hunt me. Instead they veered away and hurried off as though on some important mission they should not fail."
He listened as he spread a thick substance over the hole, packed it tight with the clean leaves she gave him and bandaged it with cloth. "Saruman has a new breed of Orcs he has harangued my homeland with. I am not surprised to hear the ones you met did not give chase but were bent on some nefarious deed only they and Saruman could know. We have been hunting them for many days now, cleansing Rohan of their fellness."
His sister, Eowyn, was a woman accomplished with a sword. Though he loved her dearly and would lay his life down to save hers he knew her to be odd at times. She had skills in womanly ways, and yet she persisted in the ways of the warrior. He did not feel ease at having left her without his protection at Edoras, but there was naught he could do to help it. He had been banished. She had not. But if ever he learned that Grima had lay hand upon her he would brave his countrymen to slay the evil worm who dared to do so.
"You scowl as though dark thoughts plague you," she remarked. "Am I the cause?"
"Take a care on Rohan land, fair maiden. Saruman has hold of the land, and his worm Grima controls Edoras and King Theoden. In trying to rid my people of the plague of Saruman's White Hand Orcs I was banished. These men are those loyal to Rohan, and would see her cleansed. While I roam endlessly my sister is beyond my aid in the Golden Hall where a worm seeks to borrow into her breast and darken her heart with a twisted form of affection for his ill person. This worries me greatly. She is skilled with the ways of the warrior, but she is alone."
His face was tight and pale in a grimace, and his eyes dark and stormy. This golden Rider of Rohan had a strange responding tightness enclosing her chest, making breath difficult to take. "Perhaps, if you would trust in me, I could venture near Edoras, and speak a message to your kin. Do you have word you would like me to bring her?"
Only his eyes moved to pin her, and he measured her in that look. Her gaze held his, and in the violet depths he saw a sincerity that gave him hope. "Tell her that Eomer is well and keeps our borders safe. Tell her to guard against the worm and not lose hope."
His name was Eomer. It suited him. By his bearing and dress she knew him to be a nobleman. It stood to reason his sister would not be a chambermaid or cook. "And her name?"
"Eowyn," he replied. "That is the best I can do for your wound," he told her. "Tonight we will camp here, and with the dawn my men and I must be off. You need rest… I do not know your name, maiden."
"Beléniel," she replied.
…
Tired as she was Beléniel could not sleep. The grunts and snores of the men who slept all about her as well as the soft conversations of those yet awake intruded. No, not exactly true. It was the low timber of one voice that kept her from the restorative powers of sleep. As she lay curled beneath her cloak she watched the way the dark of night and amber of the small fire played light chases shadow across his features. Her gaze followed the breadth and width of his shoulders and chest, the strength in his arms even when they rested across his knees. Though his long golden hair was partly tied back some strands escaped with wild abandon, tangling in the trap of his beard and mustache. One strand fascinated her most. It had curled into his mustache, and the end caressed his full bottom lip. He had wonderful lips, and she found herself envying that one strand.
He had a strong face, and his carriage was confident and controlled. He was a leader; of that there was no doubt. Her gaze fell to his hands. Those were hands strong enough to control a steed, wield a sword, and yet gentle and deft enough to tend a wound. She could easily remember the slightly callused heat of them against her skin, making her feel as though he harnessed the power of the sun in him and burned her where he touched.
Lifting her gaze she felt her stomach constrict and drop when her eyes connected with his intense stare. Warmth flooded her and heated her face. Slowly she turned her back to him, and forced her eyes shut.
Across the fire Eomer spent some time with his men discussing their next moves. Had they not found the wounded female they would have continued to ride north. He could not, in good conscience, leave a wounded woman alone for the night with Orcs roaming the land. His mind was not entirely on the discussion. He was distracted knowing she lay only several feet away. Something about her made him anxious. It was not entirely a bad feeling, but it made him restless. He wanted to leap atop his horse and race away, and yet he wanted to remain and watch over her. Indecision had never been a problem with him before now. He was a leader and therefore had to be a quick thinker. Their lives depended on the confidence of his decisions. Why did one female tilt his world so and leave him confused?
His men moved off, each smiling secretly when they saw their leader's eyes return again and again to the wounded woman. Eomer felt her eyes upon him, and found her gaze wandering his form. His stomach tightened, and a pounding resulted in his chest. That anxious feeling swelled within him, and he was about to rise when she turned her back to him. Hands clenching he made himself remain where he was. After what seemed hours he finally got some rest.
…
"Where is the woman?" Eomer demanded once he saw she and her belongings were missing.
One of his men nodded towards Edoras. "Gone. She bid I give you her thanks, and her promise that she will comfort your sister with your words."
While his men mounted he hesitated a moment. How could he have let her leave alone for Edoras? She would find no protection there. He also suspected that the one she was seeking was Aragorn, and that one was gone to Fangorn Forest. He had not told her where to find him. Going to his mount he tightened his jaw, and leapt into the saddle. "Ride north. I will catch up with you momentarily."
"Do you go after the maiden?" one of his men asked.
"I cannot let her blindly go to the king. I do not know if the one she seeks is still at Fangorn, but I can guide her towards that way to find him." He turned his steed's head and set it to a run. Behind him he heard the calls of his men to their horses to set them off.
She had moved faster than he had anticipated, but finally saw her in the distance and urged his mount faster. She halted and faced him as he neared. Eomer noticed she still relied on a thick branch as a walking stick to lean upon. "The one you seek. Be his name Aragorn?"
"Yes." Her heart had begun a painful race within her chest when she saw who bore down upon her. He had expertly reined his horse in inches from her, and now she had to crane her head back to meet his gaze. "You have seen him?"
"He traveled with an Elf and a Dwarf. They followed a band of Orcs, which we had slain two nights hence at Fangorn Forest. I do not know if there they remain, but that is where they were headed."
"Thank you." She turned to continue on her journey.
"You will travel long and far upon foot, and the land is yet unsafe."
She paused, and nodded. "The warnings are appreciated, but nothing can be done of it. I have no horse, and would not ask a Rider of Rohan to relinquish his. Far have I come already, and far yet must I go until my quest is done. Perhaps this mission the Orcs are upon will keep them from my path."
"And perhaps not." He nudged his horse closer and held out a hand to her. "Come. I will take you as far as I dare."
Beléniel paused, lifting her violet gaze from his outstretched hand to his face. "And your men?"
"I have sent them ahead, and will catch up to them when I am certain you are safe."
"And your duty to Rohan and your men? Would you abandon those to aid one lone woman?"
"Not abandon, but simply delay." Waggling his fingers to urge her to take his hand he hefted her up behind him. "Are you ready?"
Adjusting her bow and sword she pulled the walking stick across her lap and wrapped her arms about his waist. "Lead on."
The horse leapt forward and bounded eagerly across the rolling land that was Rohan. He was a confident rider, controlling the animal easily, and knowing when to let it have its head. It answered the slight pressure of his knees in its flanks and of the reins as only a true destrier trained for battle could. She was a firm believer that an animal's form and power were reflective of the owner's treatment. Eomer obviously treated his beast well. Thinking of the horse kept her from thinking of how good it felt to hold him, or how powerful he felt beneath her hands.
"Do you always rescue maidens in distress, Lord Eomer?" If she kept talking perhaps he would not hear that her heart beat louder than the hooves of the horse over the ground.
His eyes hardened as they scanned the passing land. His face felt warmer, and he had not known the juvenile affliction of blushing since he was a boy teased by one of the more aggressive maidens who had cleaned the Golden Hall. "Only heathens would leave a maiden to die."
"Ah, but you did not know I lay wounded. Nor did you know if I was sent to distract you or kill you. 'Twas a chance you took, my lord."
He reined the horse in so hard that it reared. Only by tightening her hold on him did she remain precariously perched behind him. Turning in the saddle to meet her gaze he glowered at her. "Was it a ruse to separate me from my men? Are you here to do mischief for Saruman or Sauron? Tell me quick."
"Do you believe your judgment to be false or deceiving? I felt in you an honorable man who knew the measure of a man." She shook her head. "Had I been sent to kill you, my lord, you would be dead now. If you mistrust me leave me here. I will continue on alone."
She did not flinch as he deeply searched her eyes for any sign of deception, and found none. With a grunt of satisfaction he turned, and set his horse into motion once more. "Who are you?"
"I have given you my name…"
"Nay, maiden. Your name does not tell me who you are." He guided the steed over terrain that to many others would seem endlessly similar. Rohan was his home. He guarded and protected it, and had spent many days exploring it as a boy. He knew it as he knew his own heart.
"I am Beléniel, daughter of Elrohir. I am a ranger of the north, and seek my brethren."
"You are Dunedain?" he demanded, once more startled by her words.
"I am daughter to a Dunedain, his blood flows in my veins." She thought of her father, one of Elrond's twin sons. Elrond, her grandfather, was half Elf. Her own mother was of the race of Man. She knew the Dunedain would soon depart to meet up with Aragorn, and she and her companion had been sent to warn him of this fact.
Eomer felt the heavy silence she fell into, and he did not pry. He knew the weight of troubling thoughts. There were things you could not control, and the worries often bore you down to leave you struggling to carry them. After a while he felt her lean into him, and he knew she rested. She was still weak from her wound. He was loath to wake her, and did not want to admit that it was partly due to the fact that having her trustingly lean into him made him feel protective and tender towards her. Not unwanted sensations, and yet foreign to him. He had never lacked for female attention when he wanted it, but never had he felt any kind of tenderness towards one. It was somewhat disorienting, though pleasantly so.
…
The sudden halting of the horse woke Beléniel. Disoriented a moment she tilted her head, and found her gaze resting on Eomer's rugged features. His gaze was hard and intent, and not focused upon her. A frown knitted her brows together, and she realized he had her before him. She recalled being lifted behind him so how she ended up in the warm comfort of his arms she could only guess that he had shifted her before him when she slept.
He felt her eyes upon his face, and he took his time before looking down at her. "They are not here."
Startled from admiring him she focused upon their surroundings. A forest loomed before them, and tiny tendrils of smoke still rose from a pile of burnt remains. She figured those had been the Orcs he and his men had slain. Reluctantly she moved from the solid wall of his chest and swung a leg over the head of the horse to dismount.
He let her slide down to the ground; despite an insane urge to tighten his hold upon her and keep her still a while longer. He watched her carefully pick her way about the site of the battle, her plait falling to her breast as she bent low to the ground in spots. Finally she rose and faced the trees. "None dare enter Fangorn Forest. Many who have never returned," he told her.
"And yet Aragorn and his companions ventured inside." She returned to the horse, and reached up for her sword and bow.
Eomer caught her hand. "Would you also enter the forest and never be seen again, maiden?"
"If I must," she replied.
"Then a dark day indeed this is." He let her take her things. "I cannot follow you. This is where we part ways, Beléniel, daughter of Elrohir. I wish you luck in your quest, and pray the forest will not hold you with its evil."
Violet eyes met dark ones. "You have been more than kind and patient with me, Eomer, master Rider of the Rohirrim. I will find my way to Edoras, and to the Golden Hall. I will deliver your words to your sister." Twirling she marched into the forest.
Eomer sat upon his horse, both still and silent for long moments. Long after she entered the forest and disappeared from sight. Heaviness weighed upon his breast, and he spun the steed about and raced away as though trying to outrun the sensations she had engendered within him.
…
The forest seemed to shift and speak to itself as she carefully picked her way beneath its bows. Uneasiness steadily crept into her being, making her feel cold and very much alone. Alert to all sounds and movement she felt almost skittish. There was a darkness hanging over the forest, one that felt ancient and full of rage. It was not easy to find the trail left behind by a Man, an Elf, and a dwarf. It seemed to overlap another trail of smaller prints. She had heard that the fellowship, which had left Rivendell, had contained several Hobbits, of Halflings. Why the fellowship would come to Fangorn Forest she could not figure out. After a while she paused, noticing the lone Elvish arrow that lay upon the bed of leaves and pine needles.
"A battle?" she spoke softly, searching for clues. Faster she walked, following the steps over roots and finally out to sunlight. She had left the forest, and here she found the tracks of three horses. Glancing up she estimated the hour by the sun in the sky, and began to walk.
The sun had long set when she came to the village atop the outcropping that jutted up before the backdrop of the snowy peaked mountains. "Edoras," she breathed, wincing at the pain from her wound. Reaching a hand inside her cloak she felt the warm stickiness of fresh blood. Pushing forward she climbed and saw no one.
The Golden Hall's doors opened beneath her hands, and she suddenly faced several armed men. "I have come seeking the Lady Eowyn."
Eowyn frowned, her chin lifting as she regarded the cloaked figure. "I am she. Speak," she ordered.
Pushing her hood back Beléniel nodded. "I am Beléniel, daughter of Elrohir. May we sit to speak, Lady?"
Eowyn's eyes widened to find the stranger a woman. A woman who carried a sword and a bow, and who she now noticed looked pale and worn. "Let her pass," she ordered, and taking the woman's arm led her to the long table.
Beléniel caught her arm before she could move away. "I bear a message from your brother, Eomer," she whispered softly.
Eowyn's heart pounded. "You have seen him? He is well?" She had worried for him after learning of his exile. He may be a warrior, a Rider of Rohan, but he was still her brother.
Beléniel did not hear her. Her face broke into a tired smile, and she rose slowly and stiffly. "Aragorn…"
Eowyn scowled, and stepped aside so the woman could rise and move towards the men who had just entered the Hall. The men halted, and Aragorn hurried forward when she called his name. "Beléniel! What do you here? Is it your father? Elrond? Is it…?" The thought that anything could have happened to Arwen choked him, and the words caught in his throat.
"My father and his kin are well," she replied. "The Dunedain sent two of us to find you. They will soon ride south. The time is short, and they will come when you need them."
"Two?" Gandalf arched one bushy white brow. "Two you said, and yet one only do I see."
"My companion fell," she replied. "We crossed paths with a band of Orcs. Like none we have seen before, these traveled in daylight, and seemed intent on some nefarious mission. Barely did I escape with my life, and they did not pursue." She touched Aragorn's arm with sympathy. "Take comfort in the fact that Anathan fell swiftly, and suffered none."
"You are hurt," the blond Elf noted, seeing the bloodstained shirt her now open cloak revealed.
Aragorn scowled. "How long have you traveled with such a wound?" he demanded.
"'Twas tended to," she assured him. "A merry trail you led me on, and I began to fear the Dunedain would find you long before I could." She let him lead her to a seat, but when he tried to part her shirt to examine her wound she flamed. "Though healer I know you to be I will not permit you to undress me before a Hall of people."
"I will tend to her," Eowyn neared.
"I will be near should you need me," Aragorn swore. "Be easy with my kinwoman," he told Eowyn. "Stubborn and hard she may be, and loathe to admit when she is in deep pain."
Eowyn's breath came more easily, and she nodded. His kinwoman? She led Beléniel out a side hallway to a room. "You are kinwoman to Aragorn?"
Beléniel nodded as she slowly and painfully removed her cloak and shirt. "My father, Elrohir, is son to Elrond who took in Aragorn when he was but a child and called him his own son. Always has he been an uncle to me." She noticed the blond woman's pale face warm as she bent to examine the wound.
"You said you had word from my brother, Eomer?"
"He warns you to take care of the worm, and guard well against it. He also sends word that he is well, and thinks of you." She let the other woman make her recline upon the bed and begin to clean the wound. "He tended my wound when he found me."
Her eyes flicked upwards to the violet ones watching her. "Eomer? He could not tend a prick upon his finger."
"And yet gentle was his touch when he cleaned and bandaged my wound," Beléniel stated. "He worried for you, Lady, and to repay his kindness I swore to bring you word of him, and to be certain giving you this word would not endanger you nor him."
"The danger is gone," Eowyn replied. Her brother had done a good job tending the wound, but it should have been sewn or cauterized. "We will need to sew the wound shut, or cauterize it."
"Sew it," Beléniel told her. "I will not have anyone branding me with a hot poker."
"Very well." Sitting back Eowyn prepared the needle and thread. "He looks well, and is not simply telling me he is to ease my fears?"
"He looked well to me," came the reply.
"Good." She faced the female ranger. "You carry weapons. Can you use them?"
"There is no point in carrying a weapon you cannot use," Beléniel replied.
"So you are a warrior?"
"I am a Ranger, like my father before me, and several of my kin. My mother was of the race of Man, and passed into death when I was but a small child. I barely remember her. My father took me to Lothlorien to be raised with his sister, and she and I would walk into the woods and use sticks as swords. Long hours we would battle, and my grandmother would chastise us for the welts we carried and the cuts we suffered. The Lady of the Forest would smile and bid her leave us in peace. My grandfather would not suffer us learning the ways of the warrior, but we did. My aunt and I went down separate paths. She remained in Rivendell, and became the Lady there. I took to the road and became a Ranger."
Eowyn envied her that freedom. Her uncle, the king, had let her learn the skills of swordsmanship, but ever treated her as the fragile lady of the Hall. She wanted the freedom to do as this remarkable female ranger did. "I envy you," she admitted. "You are not tethered by the chains of your womanhood. You travel, and fight. None would gainsay you raising your sword to protect your people. You are not expected to remain in a prison of a Hall to cook and sew and hopefully one day bear children."
Beléniel shook her head. "We all carry chains of one sort or another, Lady Eowyn. You see this Hall as yours. I did have to learn the womanly arts. My grandmother would not let me know only the skills of weapons. There is nothing to envy of having to kill."
"And what is your chain?" Eowyn asked, not wanting to admit she felt chastised as though she were a child being reprimanded by a parent.
Beléniel shut her eyes. "I am ready for you to ply that needle, Lady."
…
The raised voices and the barely veiled anger caught her attention. Beléniel entered the hall as King Theoden made the decision that everyone would take only what is necessary and depart for Helm's Deep. One look at Aragorn told her that he was not particularly pleased with the decision. The King left the Hall to prepare, and Eowyn hurried after him.
Gandalf headed for the doors. "We must hurry." The men rose and followed him out to the stables. Beléniel followed quietly, not wanting to intrude. She knew that when the wily wizard got onto something he was like a charging beast that would not give up.
They were discussing what to do as Gandalf put the bridle onto the most glorious white steed she had ever seen, and sped out of the stables telling them to look towards the East on the morning of the fifth day. He was going to find Eomer! Her heart sped up at the prospect of seeing the golden Rider once more.
"You are miles away," Aragorn reprimanded her when she started at his touch on her arm. "A dead Ranger is one who is not aware of his surroundings. You were never careless, Beléniel. What has your attention?"
Flushing she waved a dismissive hand. "You have never asked me if I carry a message from the Lady of Rivendell."
Tilting his head to one side he regarded her curiously. "Do you?"
She nodded. "Her choice was made, and will not be unmade. She will wait as long as need be."
Turning to his horse he began to saddle it. He said nothing, and she sighed as she turned for the Hall. She needed to gather her things. They began the long trek to the fortified stronghold within the hour. Beléniel walked with many others, remaining near the front.
"You are kin to Aragorn?" Legolas, the Mirkwood Elf walked by her side.
"My grandfather, Elrond, adopted him as his own son. My father is Elrohir," she replied. "Always did I consider Aragorn an uncle, and love him as thus."
"I have never met a female ranger before now," he stated. "Are there others?"
"Nay," she replied. A small smile played about her lips. "My kin was not pleased that I would choose this life. They would have preferred I wed an Elf and raise a family. My father let me decide, and though not entirely happy with the choice he supported me. My mother was of the race of Man, and strong was her blood. She loved adventuring, and I have inherited that trait as well as her coloring."
Legolas hurried to the nearest hill, and drew his bow, letting fly an arrow. Twirling he shouted, "Scout!"
Beléniel sprinted up beside him, and drew her own bow. The two of them began to ply the enemy warg riders with arrows. She heard the rumble of many horses coming up behind them, and turned in time to catch the arm Aragorn held out to her. From her position behind him she plied her bow again until the enemy and her allies met with a clash of steel and the chances of hitting Men became too great. Thus her sword was unsheathed, and when Aragorn was taken from the horse's back she guided the destrier with her knees. She had to trust that her kin would be safe as she helped to protect the unarmed that Eowyn led away to the safety of Helm's Deep.
…