Even though only a day had passed since Théodred's funeral, the mood within Meduseld was only subdued, not somber like before. Talk became easy-going again. Life had sprouted again with the reawakening of Rohan's king.

Going outside, she walked to the edge and surveyed Edoras. Having a break for once since her inclusion into the whirlwind of The Lord of the Rings story was nice. Now could Rowan sit back and appreciate the wonder of being in Middle-earth. She had missed ogling the beauty of Arda, on account of running and fighting for her life.

Even as glorious as Rivendell and Lothlórien were, and Dwarrowdelf had just been awe-inspiring, Rowan had always liked Rohan better, in the books and in the movies. The home of the Horse-lords was expansive with its seemingly endless plains and rolling hills. The vastness reminded her of growing up in Kansas.

She sat on the edge with her legs dangling off. It wasn't just the land, though, but the people, too. Life wasn't easy out here on the windy plains, unfertile soil, and ever-burning sun. Wheat was the only crop that flourished; smaller vegetables like potatoes or greens grew inside the walls. They also had to deal with the wild men pillaging and burning their villages. The people were inspiring for their will to survive.

Footsteps headed her way, and she recognized the pattern belonging to the Gondorian captain.

"May I join you?" Boromir asked.

"You don't have to ask."

When he didn't sit, she looked up at him—he looked conflicted about what to do. Rowan remembered where she was. His upbringing probably had asking a woman permission for anything engrained into him. And her responding with neither a yes nor a no confused him.

"Oh, umm, you can sit, Boromir; it's alright."

After receiving a positive answer, the Gondorian sat beside her. His legs dangled further than hers. "Thank you," he said.

She nodded. "No problem."

Silence fell over them for a while. Rowan didn't notice the awkwardness, for she had her eyes on a stallion running around his fence.

"With your first answer, I assume the men from" —he leaned in to whisper— "your worlddo not ask a lady if they wish for a man's presence?"

Her lips pulled up into a smile. The way he words things—how everyone did—and his cautious approach whenever he asked her about the modern world was endearing. "No, they don't really ask much other than when they're trying to..." She floundered for the right word. "Woo, a woman, and to ask for her hand in marriage."

"A lady should be treated with deference whether or not you marry her."

"Way before my time, men did that, but not now."

She saw his head turn to her from the corner of her eye. "Since you sound like you're not used to being treated with respect daily, I can only assume receiving it here came as quite the surprise..."

Rowan laughed. "That's a good way to put it. But it wasn't hard getting used to again."

"Again?" he repeated.

She winced. She hadn't wanted to get on to this topic, but she had thrown that door wide open. No sensible lie came to her, so Rowan had to settle with the truth. "I... used to have a fiancé; his name was Wyatt. We treated each other with respect, and he practically worshipped the ground I walked on." She looked down at her ring finger, still feeling the engagement ring she loved showing off.

"He didn't die—he just fell out of love with me. It took me a while to accept that I had too. I guess we just weren't meant to be together..."

Boromir didn't say anything for a while, probably stunned at her confession.

"I am sorry he hurt you," he finally said. "It is hard to grasp that love in your world does not last."

"It does when it's true love, but that seems to get harder to find with each passing day."

Rowan needed to change subjects—her memories still hurt.

"Trying to match how eloquently you all speak so no one could tell I wasn't from here was a challenge." She looked at him with a cheeky grin. "Something I didn't do so well."

Boromir smiled with her, seeming to understand her wanting to stop talking about Wyatt. "As I said before, you did well. You've grown even better now. If I did not know, I would say that you have lived in Arda all your life."

"That's good to hear. I was worried I couldn't blend—I would look and act like an outsider."

"You do not believe you could belong?"

"If you had asked me that a year ago, I would've said no. But now—after seeing Middle-earth and fighting for life, almost daily—I think can belong here. Especially here in Rohan."

Boromir scoffed. "You have yet to see the true splendor of Middle-earth: Minas Tirith. The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze... Once you set eyes on that city, you will change your mind."

She smiled. "Maybe. I'll have to see."

"Our path leads us there?" he asked.

Rowan only nodded, not able to give details without mentioning the battle on Pelennor Fields.

"Good. I will see the wonder in your eyes as you look upon the White City, and I'll be proud to guide you through my home."

"I look forward to you sh—"

The metallic ring of a bell as it was struck with a hammer cut off her reply. She turned toward the sound to see what the cause for alarm was. Past the watchtower with the ringing bell, a gigantic dust cloud had formed behind the black specks of an army headed their way. It looked to be a much smaller group than the Uruk-hai that attacks Helm's Deep, but still sizeable and worrisome. They were spread out too much to be refugees.

Rowan hopped up to her feet, hearing cries and seeing the townspeople running for safety, and the Rohirrim mustering. There was no wondering now what was happening.

"I presume you held no knowledge of this," Boromir said as they hurried down the stone steps.

"No. Edoras isn't attacked in the book or the movie."

Most of the action took place at the stables with rider after mounted rider streaming out and heading downhill. Weaving around scared townspeople running for their homes, Rowan and Boromir went that way for orders. A mounted Éomer just rode out—barking orders—as Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli reached them.

"Lass?" Gimli asked.

Rowan shook her head. "This isn't supposed to happen."

"Éomer, what are your plans?" Aragorn asked.

He looked at them. "My éored ride out to them. You five mount the walls. Defend the city if we are breached." Éomer's eyes lingered on her before he turned his horse around and joined the other horsemen riding for the gate.

Surprising her, Rowan's gaze followed him as he rode away.

She mentally shook her head to focus on the problem at hand. Edoras was under attack, and her wondering about her attraction to the Third Marshal of the Riddermark would put even more lives in danger.

Rowan ran with the others down to the gate and ascended the winding stairs to the ramparts. Guards hurried back and forth, handing more weapons to others, or finding a spot to throw spears or fire arrows from.

Patiently waiting, Legolas had a notched arrow in his bowstring; even Aragorn had pulled out his small bow. Someone had put Gimli on a box so he could see over the pointed walls, and even though unhappy, he held a crossbow. To her right, Boromir held a spear—more waited at his feet. Weaponless, she felt useless.

"Is there a spare bow?" Rowan asked a passing guard.

After disappearing for a second, the guard returned, handing her one and a quiver of arrows before staking his spot and readying his bow. She did the same: propping the quiver against the wall, pulled out an arrow, and notched it. With her missile at the ready, Rowan looked out over the plain where the Rohirrim rode out to meet the approaching army.

The air thundered with the hooves of all those horses. Only as dark figures, the front line on the opposing side stopped and raised something. Recognizing the movement as those that archers do in battle scenes in movies, arrows rained down on the horsemen. Horses dropped—felled by the shafts—tripping up other horses where they collapsed, and riders were knocked off their steeds, but the horses kept running even though riderless. Rowan hoped Éomer hadn't been hit.

Movement rippled in the enemy line again: the archers stayed still while others moved before them and knelt with something long and reflective in their hands. Pikes. War cries sounded on both sides before the Rohirrim plowed into the army.

Horses whinnied as more large forms collapsed from running into the sharp pikes. Men screamed in agony and rage. Metal reflected the sun as swords swung through the air and spears flew. Dust from behind both sides finally met over them, obscuring the battle.

Rowan almost dropped her bow from her hands shaking and breathing hard. In a fight, adrenaline took over, forcing one to focus on surviving. Seeing and hearing people die was terrifying.

"It is harder witnessing a battle than fighting in one," Boromir said.

I can do this. I've been through battles already. I can do this, she kept telling herself.

Individual figures gradually grew into groups, slipping past the charging Rohirrim and running toward Edoras' walls. Some of the runs Rowan recognized as that of an Uruk—and they were much taller than the others, too—but the shorter, stockier ones had long hair blowing behind them and ran in a loping manner. They had to get closer for her to identify the ragged, dirty clothes. Dunlendings from Dunland.

Rowan waited with the others for the Enemy to get in range before raising her bow, aimed at one in particular as she pulled the string back, and released. Multiple speeding arrows whistled before thuds and dying cries sounded. Bodies dropped, but they kept coming, scattering to make themselves a harder target.

She shot over and over again, hitting each time and killing some with one arrow. Beside her, Boromir threw spears at the enemy archers before they could shoot. Even though they defended the wall well, the sheer number of the Uruk-hai and Dunlendings broke through the gate and streamed into the city.

"Time for axe-work!" Gimli announced. He hopped off the box and tossed down the crossbow as he headed for the stairs while pulling out his double-headed axe.

"Blades as well!" Rowan added as she put down the bow and joined him going down. She wasn't nearly as efficient at range-fighting like Legolas, so leaving sniping to the elf, the stuntwoman would do what she was good at: melee.

Reaching the ground, the dwarf chunked a throwing axe and Rowan threw one of her throwing knives. Both felled the targets aimed at. Neither stopped to retrieve their thrown weapons before jumping into the fray.

The Dunlendings weren't as resilient as the Uruk-hai but were hardier than the frail Moria goblins. They were wilder in their attacks, though—relying mainly on a slashing technique—so Rowan dodged them easily and sliced through them.

Screams reverberated out of Edoras as flames roared and thick smoke choked Rowan. After killing the Uruk she fought, she turned to see not one, but two houses going up in flames. The wooden foundation, siding and walls, and the hay-thatched roofs were just kindling, so once a torch got too close, the house was fully engulfed.

Because the fighting wound down, men headed for the on-fire homes. King Théoden and his Royal Guard cut down stragglers in the distance before they could light any more buildings. A human chain had been formed to get buckets of water to the house quicker; the Ranger stood in the middle, helping.

She and Boromir headed to join Aragorn in the bucket brigade when the call for help pulled them toward the second house engulfed.

He didn't stop before lowering his shoulder to burst through the front door, and disappeared into the dense smoke. Claustrophobia made Rowan hesitate in following.

It only took seconds for figures to dart out of the engulfed-house—a teenage girl holding a young boy, an older woman, and the Gondorian captain with another young boy in his arms. They ran a safe distance away from the building; men threw water on the flames in hopes of preventing it from catching other houses on fire, for there was no saving it. Rowan hurried over to check on them.

The boy the girl held and the one Boromir had both had dark hair, and when put down, they hugged the other; each had identical features. Twins. The older woman—obviously the mother—looked on as her house burned while holding her kids, devastated.

"Is anyone hurt?" Rowan asked, even though her eyes roamed over their bodies for injuries.

The mother shook her head.

"Fáethara!" a man shouted.

They all turned to see a man of the Rohirrim ride up, dismount, and run to the huddled group. The children cried out, 'Papa!' and the wife whimpered his name as they all embraced. He asked them if they were hurt; the mother answered the same.

"But, our home..." Fáethara's voice broke.

Boromir caught Rowan's attention, unclasping the golden belt from around his waist that Lady Galadriel had gifted him with and giving it to the woman.

"Sell this. It will be enough to provide your family a new home."

With tears in her eyes, she hugged him.

Relief shined in Kól's eyes as he nodded. "Thank you, Gondorian."

After the children thanked him as well and all fires were extinguished, they headed up the road to Meduseld. She knew Boromir had a heart with the way he was playful with Merry and Pippin, but what he just did meant it was so much bigger, and made the Gondorian captain more attractive.

Rowan bumped her shoulder into his arm.

"That was awfully sweet," she whispered.

He looked at her, confused. "How can something be awful but sweet?" Understanding lit his eyes. "Oh, another of 'your phrases'. Well, they will find more use in it than I. Perhaps this is why Lady Galadriel gave me that belt, just as she bestowed you the Bangle..."

"Maybe so."