Burn Like Cold Iron

Chapter 23: Cowboy Take Me Away

Quick author's note: I'm sticking more to the book than the movie for this part. For those who might not know or remember the differences, that means Eomer isn't actually banished from Rohan like he was in the movie. In the book, he's imprisoned when he returns to Edoras after helping Aragorn and Co. That's the biggest change to be aware of—just didn't want y'all to be blindsided by it.

The soldiers encircled our little camp in a whirlwind of movement and noise, horses stamping and men calling out to one another in an organized chaos. Several of them cried out in surprise and anguish as they spotted the body of their fallen medic, Paga, lying beside the fire. Soon enough, two more bodies were laid beside Paga's, and I looked away, the image of their blank faces and bloodied limbs making my breath hitch.

Panic was swelling in my chest as more and more riders approached. I saw no sign of Merry or Pippin among them—where could they have gone?

"Alfric, how fares your leg?" One of the men reined his horse close to us and dismounted smoothly. It was the same person who'd whisked me away from the battle, I realized, though the last several hours clearly hadn't been kind to him: black orc blood was splattered across his chest, and his long blond hair was limp with sweat and dirt. Lord Eomer, Alfric had called him.

"I am perfectly well," Alfric grumbled, folding his arms. "I've had far worse injuries, as you well know."

"Is that so?" Eomer removed his helmet to reveal a starkly handsome face and piercing eyes. "Well, to your feet then, if you're in such admirable health. Swiftly now!"

Alfric paled. "Of course." He shot me a pointed look, and I took his hand, bracing myself as he pulled on my arm and struggled to stand upright. His leg buckled. Crying out, he nearly toppled me over, and Eomer leapt forward to ease Alfric back to the ground.

"Come, man, don't be a fool," he snapped, though his eyes were gentle as he examined the bandages wrapped just above Alfric's knee. "How much blood must you have lost since the evening! Why did you not tie a tourniquet?"

"And risk losing my leg entirely?" Alfric snorted. "I staunched the bleeding well enough, thank you."

"You may lose your leg yet," he said blackly, and Alfric went paler than ever. "The projectile does not seem to have shattered bone, but you know I am no healer. You, at least, are still well?" he added, standing and turning to me. I nodded. "Whatever your tribulations have been, my eored and I will see you to safety, I promise you. My name is Eomer, son of Eomund," he added.

"I'm Beatrice—uh, daughter of Karen and Ted." I grabbed his hand and shook it—after an awkward pause, he returned the handshake, looking bemused.

"Where did the Uruk-hai find you?"

"They ambushed us at Amon Hen. About two days ago."

"Us?" he repeated, looking startled.

My heart sank like a stone. "Two hobbits were taken prisoner with me. Did none of your men find them? Hobbits," I repeated desperately at the blank look on his face. "Halflings! Two of them, they're about this tall—"

"Halflings?" another man exclaimed with a snort of laughter, and a murmur swept through the camp. I felt my face burn.

Eomer sighed and shook his head. "Delirious," he muttered to one of the others. "You there, fetch her some water, quick now."

"I'm fine," I insisted. "But my friends are still—"

"You are confused," Eomer said sternly. "Halflings are the stuff of legends, old songs and children's tales out of the North. Tell me clearly, were there no men or women with you, no other captives?"