DEFINING MOMENT

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

TA 3019

Dunharrow

All roads ran together to the East to meet the coming of war and the onset of the Shadow.

The King of Rohan came down out of the hills. Day was fading. The Rohirrim traveled till twilight until they reached Harrowdale.

"Our journey is almost at an end," Éomer sighed. For a moment he closed his eyes and let the gentle night breeze blow and cool his heated face. He knew the last great battle against Saruman was upon them.

"No longer will I hide in the hills. Tomorrow I ride to Edoras," Théoden smiled at him. "One evening of peace is left us. Let us ride on. The last muster of the Rohirrim."

And he set his face toward Harrowdale. It was there the remaining strength of his people were assembled. "Théoden King! The King of the Mark returns!"

Éomer had barely spoken any words to the small hobbit Meriadoc, who had joined them after the Battle for Helm's Deep. The hobbit had become friends with Théoden, and had offered himself as squire to him. Théoden had warmly accepted, but he told Meriadoc that he would only be so for a short time. Théoden did not expect to live through the great battle.

He smiled wryly as the hobbit looked around him in wonder. Éomer himself proudly watched as many Riders joined them in the gathering gloom. Thousands of his people were joining in this last Muster. Aye. They'd be great and glorious and golden in this last great battle.

Above them, towards the brink of the cliff where Harrowdale was, were clusters of tents and booths on either side of the stony way, away from the trees.

He heard a horse galloping towards them. Éomer squinted, and then he realized the rider was a woman. As she got even closer, he realized it was Éowyn. Her long, braided hair gleamed in the twilight, and she wore a helm and had a sword around her hip.

"Hail, Lord of the Mark!" she cried, her voice breathless.

"And you, Éowyn," Théoden answered. "Is all well with you?"

"All is well."

But her voice sounded thick, as if she'd been doing some ugly weeping. That explained why she'd covered her face with the helm. Éomer's fist tightened about the bridle. Who had made her cry like that?

"All is ordered, as you can see," she looked up at the cliffs. Éomer saw a tall pavilion in the midst. "Your lodging is prepared for you."

"Is Aragorn still here?" Éomer asked. Aragorn had left them shortly after the battle, taking with him the Elf and Dwarf and some of his own rangers. The sons of Elrond had given Aragorn a standard their sister had made and reminded him of the hopeless Paths of the Dead: Aragorn's last option.

Éowyn dipped her head. "He is gone," she said, her voice low and sad as she looked towards the mountains.

"You are grieved, daughter," Théoden said softly. "What happened?"

Éowyn looked up and saw the long lines of Rohirrim waiting behind her king. She sniffed. "He passed over the Paths of the Dead. I couldn't stop him. He is gone."

She turned her horse around and rode to the upland grass, speaking no more. Éomer and Théoden and all the Rohirrim followed her. Had his sister fallen in love with Aragorn? It was in these moments when Éomer felt as if he didn't truly know his sister.