Protect & Serve LotR-Lord of the Rings Fanfiction - Fan Fiction -WattyAwards2012

Part III: To Honor - Chapter 1: The Story of Who I Am

There was no chance to talk as we rode across the plains. Gandalf and Shadowfax set a demanding pace, and I could only do my best to stay in the saddle and keep urging Lightfoot on.

Through the night and all the next day we rode, Pippin dozing in the saddle and me struggling not to. But as the next night fell, I could see the golden roof of Meduseld coming into sight.

"We shall stop to rest the night here," Gandalf proclaimed. "Shadowfax has yet more to give, but we cannot overtire either of our mounts before we reach our destination."

Lightfoot was a testament to the fine breeding of Rohirric horses. He was flagging a bit compared to Shadowfax, but he'd covered the distance well. Better than I had. My body ached in places I hadn't known could ache. Even my hair seemed to ache.

We both dismounted in the stables, Gandalf having to first rouse Pippin, and turned our mounts over to the eager stable boys surprisingly still awake at this hour.

"I'll take your horse, sir," a young boy offered, skidding to a stop in front of me.

My words came out choked as I fought a laugh and held out Lightfoot's reins. "Sure. Here ya go."

The whites of his eyes enlarged as he gaped at my face, his head upturned in shock as he beheld a woman instead of a man.

"'S'cuse me," he murmured, finding his voice. "I didn't realize you were a lady. Why are you dressed like a man?" The words must have slipped out because he immediately seemed horrified.

I let out a snort as I walked away, tousling the boy's hair as I went. "Don't know what everyone's got against women wearing pants. Helluva lot more comfortable than all those damned skirts."

Gandalf gave me an odd look as I approached him, but seemed to almost visibly shake it off.

"Male children of the Rohirrim take turns staying with their horses through the night to guard them," Gandalf explained to my curious glances at the boys gathering to peer eagerly at us.

I left with one lingering look at the boys now hustling about. The logistics of protecting so precious a commodity couldn't be argued with, so I pushed it from my mind. The young boys of my own world would likely have benefitted from such responsibilities instead of being allowed to waste their youths with TVs and video games.

Even at so late an hour, we were greeted at the steps of Meduseld by the regal visage of Éowyn. Her summer-wheat locks glistening down her back, and her sword gleaming on her hip.

The dichotomy of her image gave me pause as I mounted the stairs. So soft and fair. Yet hard and lethal at need. I could see what would be the appeal in Faramir's eye. The feminine comfort. The warrior strength.

And I wondered again what Legolas saw in me. Ellith were the epitome graceful feminine beauty. Any beauty I might once have had was fading and creasing with age. And what hadn't, I'd fought and beaten down until it was hardened to more useful masculinity.

I stared at my hand, now scarred and calloused. From use and abuse. Telling the story of who I was. And how I'd gotten there.

They weren't the soft hands of an elleth. I doubted even so soft as Éowyn's slender appendages. Hers were soft but capable. Mine were only capable. No softness left in them. No happy balance between the two extremes.

"Lady Elaina? Elaina? Lane? Lane!" As Éowyn repeated my name, I tore my gaze from examining my calloused hand and fingers. "Are you unwell?" she asked stepping closer and lightly touching my arm.

I forced a reassuring smile, tearing my sluggish mind from thoughts I knew I shouldn't dwell on when I was so tired in the first. "Yeah, I'm fine. My mind wanders to strange places when I'm exhausted."