Like a Blade Forged in Fire

Chapter 1

Dol Amroth, 3020 Third Age – eight years later

The ocean stretched below him, vast and empty except for a few fishing boats bringing home the day's catch. Éomer paused on the ramparts of the castle, contemplating the blue immensity of the Bay of Belfalas, its colour slowly changing to gold in the light of the setting sun.

Seeing it for the first time that morning had taken his breath away, like a bodily shock running through him. Gulls swooped past him with raucous cries, and as he watched them dive off the cliff something tugged at his soul. At last he understood his friend Legolas's sea-longing.

But he wanted to see the sea up close. Where was that gate Amrothos had mentioned? A moment later he spotted it at the foot of one of the sentry towers. Recognising him, two guards saluted as he approached. A third man sitting in one of the embrasures giving a view of the ocean looked up. He had been polishing his sword, but now lowered it to his lap, where rested another blade, and regarded him piercingly.

Éomer nearly stumbled. Not a man but a woman. And one who handled the long, curved scimitar as if she knew how to use it. A shieldmaiden here in Gondor? He had never heard of any, and this one, all dressed in black, had the look of a veteran, tough and sinewy. Her eyes assessed him, no friendliness in them at all. Instinctively he sought the hilt of his own sword. However, after a moment she bent back to her task, ignoring him.

"You'll be wanting to go down to the beach, my lord?" one of the men asked, swinging the gate open. "Just be careful, the path is steep."

Éomer thanked him, half his attention still on the woman. Not until he was on the steps leading down to the seashore did he relax again. Which was ridiculous. To be allowed to bear weapons inside the castle of Dol Amroth, she had to be one of Imrahil's guards, an ally. And yet he knew a threat when he encountered it.

Shaking his head at such wild fancies, he concentrated on the stairs instead. They were steep indeed, but a rope had been strung to serve as a handrail, anchored to the rock every few steps. Below, a strip of sand beckoned, sheltered by a breakwater stretching out into the sea. Amrothos had told him the beach was fairly private, overlooked by the sentries above, but accessible only from the castle or by boat.

Soon he stepped out onto the beach, the unfamiliar tang of salt in the air even stronger here, while sand stretched out before him, washed clean by the sea. The water lapped the shore gently, each wave receding with a soft sigh, but seeing the way the ocean had gnawed at the rock on which the castle stood, he could well believe it wasn't always so.

He didn't have the beach completely to himself though. Out on the breakwater stood a woman, watching the setting sun. To Éomer she was nothing but a slim, graceful silhouette against the darkening sky, the wind teasing her long black hair. She hadn't noticed him, and he enjoyed the sight for a moment, but then strolled along the seashore the other way to give her privacy.

Clumps of seaweed dotted the beach, and crabs scuttled away at his approach. After a few steps Éomer took off his boots and wriggled his toes in the sand, still warm from the sun. Back home in the Riddermark winter still ruled, but in this southern land spring had already arrived. The water was cold though he found when he waded through the surf.

From up ahead he suddenly heard voices. Passing a rocky outcropping, he came upon another crescent shaped beach with a small stream trickling down the steep cliff face and into the sea. Two young boys were busy piling up stones to dam the water and redirect it into the moat of their sandcastle.

At his approach they looked up. Éomer recognised Alphros, Prince Elphir's son. He had met the whole family the year before at the celebrations on the Fields of Cormallen. There the boy had been impeccably turned out, but now he looked like an urchin, his clothes full of sand and hair in a wild tangle. As for his companion, who seemed to be about the same age, he was wet and muddy all over, as if he had fallen in a puddle.