Burn Like Cold Iron

Chapter 27: Do I Contradict Myself?

"Merry?" I called desperately. "Pippin!" I was racing through a forest, tripping over roots in the darkness, branches clawing at my face and limbs. "Hold on, I'm coming!" My voice broke, panic stinging behind my eyes. I could almost see them—the hobbits were being spirited away by some faceless creatures, just out of sight—if only I could run faster! Then a horn sounded behind me like a crack of thunder, and I whirled and reached for the sword at my side. But there was no one there, and nothing in my scabbard but my violin bow, the horsehair sticky with rosin.

I dropped the bow in confusion, eyes darting around uselessly in the dark, then stumbled over something much larger than a tree root. It was a person, lying face down in the dirt, the Horn of Gondor cracked in half at his side. Trepidation curling in my throat, I heaved the figure onto his back. "No, no—Boromir?"

But it wasn't Boromir, it was Alfric, his eyes wide and glassy, head lolling to the side, black poison dribbling from slackened lips. I cried out and scrabbled back, but when I looked away all the trees had disappeared, and in their place was a towering obelisk of black stone. At its foot was Saruman, looming over me, his face like Gandalf's and yet unlike it, and the wizard's shadow wasn't a shadow at all, but Wormtongue, a cloaked figure in the dark slinking closer, closer—

"Miss?"

I woke with a gasp, my heart racing. For a blurred moment I expected to see my bedroom in Dallas, peeling paint on the walls, concert playbills tacked onto a crooked bulletin board, but then I remembered—Edoras. I was in Edoras, in the new quarters Eowyn had provided for me. It was pitch-black outside my window.

"Miss, I've brought breakfast. And some riding clothes, courtesy of the lady Eowyn." A maid was poking her head through the door as though peering into a dragon's den. "We're to leave at dawn, Miss, the whole household—barely an hour hence."

I took the breakfast tray from the maid's shaking hands, a candle flickering on a saucer next to my plate. Beyond its wavering light, I could see torches being lit at the far end of the hall—Meduseld was waking up. "Thank you," I said, setting the tray down and using the candle to light the others on my nightstand. "What's your name? I recognize you from the servants' quarters, but I don't think we were introd—"

I turned around to an empty doorway; the maid had already fled. My shoulders slumping, I forced down my breakfast and turned to my new clothes; it looked like I'd have to dress myself. What I wouldn't give for Amarien's help.

Another knock sounded at my door soon after. "Are you ready to depart?"

It was Eowyn's voice; her uncle must still want her keeping an eye on me. "Almost," I managed, my arm twisted violently behind my back as I clawed at my stays. "Come in."

Eowyn sighed sharply as she eyed my predicament, and without being asked she took up the laces to my stays, tying them with deft hands. "Oriana was meant to help you dress. Why did you dismiss her?"

"I don't know," I muttered; I didn't want the maid to get into trouble. "I thought I could do it myself."

Eowyn sighed again, this time in understanding. "She was frightened of you, wasn't she?" she prompted, and I gave a noncommittal shrug, hoping she wouldn't see how much it had hurt. Clearly deciding that a change of topic was in order, Eowyn looked around the room and lit on the elven scabbard and belt on my nightstand. "You have a sword!" she cried, her eyes brightening. "May I?" I nodded, noticing for the first time that she wore a sword at her own hip. She examined my blade in the candlelight. "I take it, then, that the women of your homeland fight as well as the men?"

"Yes, but not with swords. I've only been practicing with that for a few months."

"We shall have to spar, then, when we have the time," she replied, with more enthusiasm than I'd ever heard from her. "And you must tell me more about these fierce women of Texas, who go to battle without swords."