Night was falling fast over the camp of Dunharrow. As dusk had fallen, fires had sprung up all over the encampment, bathing it in warm light. Along with the other women who had accompanied the muster to the camp, Hilde was quickly enlisted with helping to distribute food to the hungry soldiers. Really she didn't mind.

Rank was always quickly forgotten around the cookfires of the war camps; here women of Meduseld, Edoras and the rest of the Mark worked side by side to send their men off with comfort. Hilde prized the look that appeared in the men's eyes when they received what could be their last warm meal from a friendly—and often pretty—face, just as she knew the other women did. It made her feel a little better about not riding with them, even though her heart longed for nothing more. It obviously lifted the men's spirits to smile and sometimes flirt with the women as they gathered their meal, and who was she to deny them that. Their cheer helped her fight off the gnawing realization that many of these men would never see home, or a friendly female face, again. Her place sending the men off with smiles and good food was a painful truth of war that Hilde wished she had never had to learn. But she was a woman of Rohan; such was her reality and the reality of nearly every woman of her country and she bore it with grace.

It was growing late, and finally the streams of men collecting their food had thinned. Hilde was finally satisfied that she could disappear. Gathering up a smaller cookpot and a bowl for herself she took her leave, wending her way through the camp in search of Éowyn or Éomer.

She had finally found the King's nephew amid the circle of tents not far from the King's own marquee, where Hilde and Éomer's own tent was located. She was distracted from her approach, though, when she caught sight of Lord Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli sitting quietly before their own shelters, just within sight of her destination. She faintly overheard the dwarf complaining about still being hungry as she approached. She was fond of the dwarf for his congeniality despite his gruffness and was still grateful for his help in the Hall of the besieged Hornburg. And she couldn't help but respect Lord Aragorn, even going so far as to think of him as a friend. She didn't really know the elf well enough to have formed much of an opinion of him, but he was always kind and was easily one of the best warriors Hilde had ever seen.

"Are you ever not hungry, Master Dwarf," she called out, drawing their attention as she stepped into the firelight.

"Being a dwarf is hungry business, lassie," he said seriously, though the skin around his eyes crinkled impishly. She couldn't help but laugh. She had spied a cookpot over the fire where Éomer and Gamling sat, so with little thought, she approached the fire before the trio, setting the now cooling stew over it to warm up again. A look of anticipation on his face, Gimli stood, approaching to stand at Hilde's side as she checked the stew. As soon as the bowl was in his hands, the dwarf was already beginning to dig in, his murmur of thanks nearly lost amid his quiet grumblings of being famished. Hilde nearly laughed again and Legolas' smile was indulgent as they watched the dwarf resume his seat as he all but began inhaling his food. She could have sworn the Elf rolled his eyes at Gimli's antics before politely demurring when Hilde offered him a bowl.

She turned then to Aragorn, offering a steaming bowl to him. While she had seen the dwarf collecting some food earlier in the evening—along with Legolas, Éomer, Gamling, Grimbold, even Théoden, among myriad others—she hadn't seen Aragorn at all. His face had grown serious again, and his eyes kept wandering to the road through the mountain. She had to call his name quietly to catch his attention.

"Do not fear, My Lord," she said quietly, an impish smile of her own coming to her lips, "Éowyn had no hand in making this." In Meduseld Éowyn's poor cooking was well known, and the source of much affectionate teasing. Hilde remembered her friend had tried making a stew for Lord Aragorn on the road to Helm's Deep, and had seen that he had been guilted into eating said stew from the expression on his face back in Edoras as the other women teased Éowyn. She figured amiable mention of it would bring a smile to his face. It relieved her that she had guessed right, a ghost of amusement breaking through the concern that had been darkening his features. He glanced at the bowl in her hand before taking it with hesitation.

"This isn't your meal, is it My Lady?" he asked softly, a knowing light in his eyes. Hilde shook her head.

"Eat hearty, My Lord. I can get more. Do not worry for me." With a smile and brief toast-like lifting of his bowl, he too began eating, though the distracted look soon returned to his face. With a quiet goodnight, she took her leave, making her way over to where her own companions sat.

That Éomer and Gamling had been sitting to their own dinner was obvious; Gamling was still eating at the fire's side, while a half eaten bowl sat where Hilde had seen her husband sitting before she had paused by Aragorn and Gimli's fireside. Just beyond she saw the hobbit Merry bounding off on some errand, arrayed in armour of his own and brandishing a short sword. Éomer and his sister stood just inside the light thrown by the fire, speaking quietly but intently. She was paused in her tracks in the shadows beyond though, when she caught sight of the look on Éowyn's face and heard her husband's words as he spoke, his tone grave but insistent. She had obviously missed what triggered the conversation, but the topic was painfully clear.

"Do you think he would stand and fight? He would flee. And he would be right to do so." His voice had dropped so that Hilde almost couldn't hear it over the crackling of the fire and the low hum of voices from the surrounding camp. His hand lay heavily on Éowyn's shoulder, and Hilde could see from the way her friend tensed that she was on the verge of shrugging it away. "War is the province of men, Éowyn." Hilde's breath caught in her throat at the words as they left his mouth. That Éomer—the only boy when they were children not to resent her skill with a sword, who said he loved her warrior's heart—would say such a thing made her skin go cold. With a final stern look at his sister, Éomer turned away.

"I can't believe you said that," Hilde said quietly as her husband resumed his seat by the fire, his gaze not leaving his sister as Éowyn followed after Merry. Éomer spun, his expression of unhappy satisfaction melting to one of disheartened shame as he realized she had overheard, his forehead falling to his hand with a heavy sigh. At his side Gamling flushed, not saying a word as he quietly stood and disappeared beyond the grouping of tents.

Éomer drew in a breath to speak, but Hilde had spun on her heel before he could give her some excuse and retreated to the tent they were sharing. She needed to regain control of herself before she said something she'd regret. A moment later he too ducked inside the tent, having chased after her almost immediately.

"Hilde, I didn't—" He sounded so tired, his voice faintly pleading.

"Why did you say it then?" He'd barely begun speaking as the words escaped her lips. She was fighting back a sudden rush of hurt and anger, though her voice sounded only sad as she turned back to face him. Taking a tentative step forward, his hands reached toward her in entreaty.

"Because she isn't like you, Hilde." He was trying to be calm, but his temper was warring with his anxiety. She froze, not quite sure what to make of his words. He took it as a sign to continue, his tone calming. "You have seen battle, you know of its horrors. She does not; she sees only the opportunities for renown and great deeds. Even before the Hornburg you had some idea what true battle means; I heard you ask Théodred about it, I remember you asking me, and we told you and you heeded what we said. Éowyn has never considered such questions. She thinks only of the Great Tales and the Kings of Old.

"She does not fully understand how every battle shatters even the most seasoned warriors anew." As he spoke Hilde soon found she was trembling. Every word he said was true. Though she still craved battle, she hated the idea of ever seeing it again. And she knew he was right about Éowyn; Hilde was nearly as close to her new sister as Éomer was. She knew how Éowyn craved battle but had always privately wondered if her friend truly understood what battle meant. Yes, Éowyn had had a taste of battle in the Glittering Caves and had seen the outcome of the bloody fight over Helm's Deep, but still Hilde wondered how much of that horror had truly sunk in with her friend and how much of it had only whetted her appetite. Even before the Battle of the Hornburg Hilde had understood there was a darker side of war that was lost amid the songs of glory and honour.

"But did you have to say it thus?" His expression hardened a little at how disappointed she sounded as she spoke. But she already knew why. His sister was his only family beyond his uncle and now Hilde; he couldn't bear the thought of something happening to her. Hilde, though, knew that Éowyn would not be so easily swayed; Hilde feared that her friend would see Éomer's fear as doubt and resolve to prove him wrong. She sighed, stepping toward him in concession. His expression softened.

"She is stronger than you think, Éomer. You forget what she did in the Glittering Caves," was all she could say as she stepped into the circle of his embrace. As his arms closed around her she could feel some of the tension seep from his body.

"You are probably right, but that does not halt the panic that grows in my heart when I think of her riding into battle. I have seen how strong you are, I know of your skill, but that does not stop the same fear from overtaking me when I think of you riding too." He sounded so vulnerable as he spoke. Hilde could only tighten her arms around his waist, nestling her face against his collarbone, his heart beating steadily beneath her cheek.

"And you think I don't feel the same fear for you?" she finally asked, her voice little more than a whisper. As he drew back, his hand came up to cradle her cheek, tilting her head to meet his gaze. A faint smile had come to his lips, though his eyes were distinctly wretched.

"I know, and that pains me, Hilde. Would that I could give you no reason to fear." She leaned forward, kissing him softly as her fingers reached up to cup his cheek in return.

"Would that there were no more reason to fear," she said softly before he began kissing her back.

***

It was still dark when Hilde was woken by a soft hand on her shoulder. Suddenly wide-awake she shifted, careful not to jostle Éomer, who was still sleeping soundly with an arm draped over her hip. The face looking anxiously down on her was familiar.

"Éowyn, what—" she started, but before she could whisper much more, Éowyn clamped a pale hand over Hilde's mouth, gesturing for Hilde to follow her outside. The shieldmaiden was stunned; what could she possibly want at this hour? Fighting back her annoyance at being woken so early, especially this night, Hilde somehow managed to extract herself from her husband's embrace, leaving him snoring softly as she followed her friend outside, pausing only to wrap a blanket around herself to ward off the early morning chill.

"What is it?" she hissed as the tent-flap fluttered shut behind her. Éowyn nearly flinched back at the intensity of Hilde's look, but straightened after a moment, squaring her shoulders as determination lit her pale features. Hilde's frown deepened as she realized what was going on. Éowyn stood before her, a familiar but faded green cloak in her arms hastily wrapped around what looked to be mail and perhaps some greaves or a tasset. Hilde began shaking her head.

"No, Éowyn, no. You cannot be serious. You cannot do this." Éowyn's jaw clenched at Hilde's words, her determination hardening into fierce resolve.

"Why not. Why can I not join the men; you did. You fought on the walls of the Hornburg."

"That was different," Hilde tried to interject, but Éowyn didn't allow her to continue.

"No, it's not," she stopped herself, clutching her bundle closer as she sucked in a deep breath. Hilde sighed, grasping the blanket around her shoulders tighter, faintly wishing she had taken a moment to pull on a dress over her thin shift as a shiver ran through her. "I need to do this, Hilde. Something in my heart urges me forward, pushing me along a path that I cannot deny I have longed to tread from the first time a sword was placed in my hand." Hilde didn't have words, or at least, no words that wouldn't make this worse.

"Come with me." Hilde looked up as Éowyn began speaking again, her voice soft and plaintive, "Ride at my side. You have gone to battle before. You cannot tell me that you do not desire to ride to Gondor." She did desire it...she desired it a great deal.

"You know I can't, you know you can't. Your uncle is counting on us to care for Edoras in his stead while he is gone, to care for Rohan."

"But you do wish it nonetheless," Hilde closed her eyes, fighting back a heavy sigh. She couldn't say no, but neither could she allow herself to say yes. She didn't need to though. When she opened her eyes again, Éowyn was looking at her with a faint expression of satisfaction.

"Can you really shy away from this fight? You couldn't at Helm's Deep. You dressed as a man and you fought at their side. I cannot believe that it sits easy with you that you must stand aside now through a battle that will decide all our futures. I know I cannot. I will not stand apart." Off in the east the horizon was beginning to lighten; dawn wasn't far off.

"Éowyn, think, please. You are needed in Edoras. I need you in Edoras." As Hilde spoke, Éowyn's steady gaze faltered, dropping to the bundle in her arms. Hilde pressed on. "The pursuit of valour is a noble thing, and I know you crave it, but at what cost? Your uncle and your brother are already riding. Should they fall—" Hilde nearly choked at the thought, but she needed to get through to Éowyn, "—should they fall it will be only you left of your line. More than that, what if you fall? What will that do to your brother, Éowyn? It would destroy him. It would destroy your uncle. There is far more at stake here than renown."

"It is more than a desire for renown," she whispered, her voice wavering. But despite her uncertainty, her pale eyes hardened, the steel of her resolve showing through. In that moment Hilde realized there was nothing more she could say. The decision, though not yet quite wholly made, lay with Éowyn alone, though Hilde feared she knew which way her friend's thoughts were turning. This time she did sigh, turning back toward her tent.

"You cannot tell him. He will try to stop me," Éowyn said softly behind her. Hilde paused. She knew exactly what she meant.

"You know I should. You know you are likely riding to your death?"

"And my brother isn't?" Her soft words, only the naked truth, still cut Hilde deeper than anything else she could have said. Hilde didn't have a response, and Éowyn knew it. Soft steps sounded behind her, and after a brief, hesitant moment, Éowyn's gentle hand lighted on Hilde's arm.

"It is my decision, my choice," she murmured, a thread of apology for her earlier bluntness in her tone.

"I know," Hilde said softly, continuing forward to the entrance of her tent. Hilde pulled the blanket tighter still around her shoulders. She knew she shouldn't keep this from her husband, but something in Éowyn's voice told her she couldn't tell either. As she reached for the flap, though, she turned. Behind Éowyn, dawn was on the verge of breaking.

"Though I pray your mind is not so made up as I fear, if you do choose to ride, take Folca," Éowyn's eyes snapped to Hilde in bewilderment. Hilde nearly couldn't continue, her voice had begun shaking so, "He is stronger, bolder, and more suited to battle than Windfola. He will protect you, sister." Choking back the final plea to reconsider that struggled to surge up past her lips, Hilde turned and ducked back inside the tent.

Through the thick fabric the faint noise of the camp waking with the growing light could be heard. On the cot Éomer was beginning to stir, looking around with confusion when he realized Hilde was not beside him. Holding back the tears that suddenly threatened, Hilde was at his side in an instant, burrowing into his arms before he could rise from the cot or even say a word. He hesitated for a moment before relaxing again, his hand tracing idle circles on her back.

"You know Éothain will appear any minute to rouse me," he murmured half-heartedly against her hair, his lips placing fleeting kisses against her hairline. She nestled herself closer, wishing with everything she had that he was wrong, even when she knew he was not.

"Iknow," she finally whispered, "I just need you to hold me untilthen."  

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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