Daughter of Rohan [Lord of the Rings | Eomer]

Chapter 12

As was to be expected, the muster threw Edoras into chaos. Men and horses weaved and charged in every which way. All over the city armour was donned and saddles were adjusted while last minute swords were sharpened and old bowstrings replaced. The Armoury was a headache-inducing beehive of activity and the stables were even worse. Yet it was such a purposed chaos that even despite the apparent disorder everyone moved with efficiency.

For the first time Hilde was helping Éomer with his preparations. It was familiar and reassuring in a way. As the woman of the family, she had periodically helped her father as he readied for battle; tightening straps and holding pieces of armour in place that one pair of hands couldn't quite manage alone, collecting up assorted weapons and supplies, making sure he didn't forget anything important. She had always supposed that she would one day help her husband prepare for battle, and she had always resolved to do so with pride. But she had never dreamed that she would be doing so barely a day into her marriage. The realization weighed like a stone in her gut...so much so that every now and then she caught her hands trembling.

She had taken a moment to gather up some odds of her own for the journey to Dunharrow when she heard Éomer step through the doorway of their room. Most of her belongings were still in her father's old house, so there was little of hers just yet for her to search through; there hadn't been the time yet to do much more than think on their living arrangements, and she hadn't yet been able to bring herself to return to her father's house, the pain was still too near, so she had been staying with Éomer in Meduseld. He just stood there for a moment watching her, his eyes fixing with concern at the anxious shaking she was struggling to tamp down. As soon as she heard him she turned. Without saying a word he stepped forward, catching up her fingers in his.

For a moment she could only stare at the way his hands held hers. Compared to his gloved hands, her long fingers, rough from years drawing a bow and wielding a sword and still marked by a few nearly healed scrapes, seemed almost small and delicate. But then she lifted her eyes to his, her own gaze steady. She was strong, and thus she would not allow herself to waver. Still, he looked down at her with concern for another moment before placing a brief kiss against her brow as he turned to search for the last few odds and ends he needed. Repressing the sudden urge to cry—an impulse for which she was not at all impressed with herself—Hilde turned back to what she had been doing, studiously ignoring the way her new husband's concerned eyes followed her.

Even later, as she saddled Folca with Haleth's help, she swore she could feel Éomer's gaze even across the stableyard. This time, she allowed herself to stare back. Even before, when it had been secret feelings alone that she harboured for the King's nephew, she had been unable to help but stare when he was about to ride out to battle. There was an unconquerable confidence about him when he sat on Firefoot in full mail and armour, a sort of legendary nobility to his bearing that always reminded her of the Warrior Kings of Old from her father's stories. Her heart thrummed with a girlish pleasure that she couldn't control when he shot her a faint smile before turning to survey his gathering men.

Not far away from Hilde, Lord Aragorn was adjusting the last few straps of Brego's tack, his back to the shieldmaiden. He only looked up when he caught sight of Éowyn leading Windfola out of the stables, halting her chestnut between him and Hilde. He paused what he was doing, looking over to see Hilde standing just beyond the King's niece. A questioning frown appeared on his face.

"Do you ride with us?" He finally said, his voice barely making it over the noise of the stableyard. Over her horse's back, Éowyn briefly caught Hilde's eye, sending her friend, now sister, a faint reassuring smile, one that Hilde sent back. They had both done this before; sent the men in their lives off to war. Only this time, instead of farewelling her father, Hilde was about to farewell her husband. The stone of dread in her stomach churned again.