Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?

Bright sun shone through the clouds, breaking the gloom of the previous night’s storm. Shafts of light streamed down, illuminating swirling bits of cloud and mist, burning them away and creating a brilliant effect. Gleaming in the sun, the Golden Hall of Edoras stood proudly, announcing to all the passing of the rain. A lone figure stood before the hall, clad in pale blue and silver, long golden hair whipping gently in the slight breeze. She stood there long, thinking of things past and present, meditating on the meaning of several things. Beautiful she was, but deadly too, for a dangerous light shone in her deep gray eyes that betrayed her image of peaceful beauty. Her face was fair, and her golden tresses fell down past her waist, though they were mostly kept in braids. Then, a child in the city below cried out in joy as it played in the sun, and her face cleared of its thoughtful look. Smiling at the children, she turned suddenly and strode back into the great hall.

Blinking against the darkness, she walked quickly, bobbing her head slightly to each of the men who bowed to her. As she approached the throne at the end, the man there looked up, smiling as he saw her come forward. “Ah daughter, I see you have come inside from thinking.” Standing slowly, Éomer, King of the Mark, stretched his spine as he rose from the great throne. “I take then that the rain has stopped?”

“Aye father, the rain has indeed stopped, and it will be a beautiful day from the looks of it. Since the storm has passed, does this mean that you will be sending your companies out again?” Sighing quietly to himself, the King shook his head despairingly at his headstrong daughter.

“Éoliel, I’ve told you time and time again, you cannot ride with the companies. The world is too dangerous a place, and you must stay here to continue with your lessons.” Exasperation showing in every inch of expression and stance, Éoliel replied with the tone a tone the one would expect of a parent reprimanding a child.

“Father, you know I can fight as well as any of your men. You’ve watched me when I go to practice in the training yard, I beat your precious riders every time! And, how can the world be so dangerous a place when Sauron had been defeated? There are hardly any orcs left and very few bandit men. All I want to do is escape this wretched place and have some excitement in my life.” Stepping down from the dais on which he stood, Éomer came quickly over to his daughter, a light of concern in his eyes. He looked at her hard and long, meeting her defiant gaze with one of sadness. Turning away, he spoke again, this time quietly, and each word was spoken with deliberation.

“Éoliel, I understand your need to roam and be free, for I felt the same urge when I was young. But you must understand me when I say you are too young and too inexperienced to go; the training yard and actual battle are two very different things. I praise the Valar every day that you were not yet born when the War of the Ring took place, for war is hell. You are right, Sauron is defeated and there are few orcs left, but the world is still dangerous. These orcs that still linger know that they have no more protection, and to survive they must fight men tooth and claw. I loose men every day to desperate orcs or hillmen, all of whom know that the more they kill, the more likely it is that they will live. I cannot let you be slain by such savages, you are my only daughter, and I love you very much.”

“Father, you and I both know that no matter how you try to dress it up, you don’t need me, Rohan doesn’t need me. Elfwine is the heir to the throne, and I am simply an ornament to dress up your house and sell to some prince,” at first as she spoke, Éoliel’s voice could have cracked ice it was so cold. But as she continued to speak, Éomer could see that his daughter, the proud and valiant warrior, was choking up, tears blocking her throat and making it impossible to speak. Rushing over, he grabbed her up in a tight embrace, trying himself to hold back the tears that had sprung into his eyes. He had long feared that she would come to believe such a thing, as his own sister had done, so many years ago.

“Do not speak those words, for they are bitter and untrue.” Pulling back, he looked at her, and his expression softened as he began to recognize the light that shone in her face. “You remind me more and more of your aunt every day. She was not content to be a woman, she insisted on going out and doing as men do. You know, I never really noticed this before, but you bear a striking resemblance to her.” At this, Éoliel straightened proudly, for although she had only met her Aunt Éowyn a few times, she idolized her in every way, and desperately wanted to be like her. Smiling, almost sadly, Éomer bowed his head. “All right, you win. But, only under one condition. I shall train you in the ways of a warrior myself, and you may only ride IF I deem you fit. Then and only then shall you be allowed to go.”

At this, Éoliel let out a whoop of pure joy, and hugged her father tightly around the neck. “Thank you father, oh thank you. I swear, I will work as hard as I possibly can, I won’t let you down!” As she ran off down the hall, skipping on every other step with happiness, the king shook his head and sat down wearily. “What have I done? Her mother will kill me.” Grinning at the thought, he turned back to his advisor, who had been sitting by waiting the entire time.

Later that afternoon, Éoliel was seen in her favorite place; the training grounds for the Riders of the Mark. She went there often, at least once a day and was welcomed there by all of the men. When she first started to venture down there, the training master had shooed her out, saying that it was no place for a little girl. However, as she continued to come, the master saw the great skill she had for both blade and bow, and let her stay. From that point on, she learned from the greatest warriors of her father’s house. They taught her gladly for she was very eager to learn, and did so quite quickly. Now as she walked down the rows of practicing men, she greeted them by name, smiling to some, waving to others. Had she paid closer attention, she might have noticed that some of the men’s stares lingered, for they felt a great fondness for her, and admired her great strength and beauty. But, she cared not for the feelings of men, only for her one purpose, which was to train until her father thought she was good enough to ride. As she lifted up her training sword, she immediately felt her tense muscles relax. To her, having a sword in her hand was as natural as breathing and her weapon felt almost like another limb. As she fell into her practice routine, the worries and cares of the day melted away and her entire being was focused her flashing blade. Faster and faster it twirled, weaving patterns so complicated that soon it was naught but a bright humming blur. Soon her feet began to move too, forming an intricate dance like movement that sent her spinning and turning, all the time her blade hum and sang. With a final flourish, she came to a sudden halt, panting for breath, but feeling more exhilarated than some would believe possible. Amid her gasps for breath, she heard slow clapping. Looking up she saw that her father was standing there decked out in full battle gear, a long sword at his side and a smile on his lips.

“You did very well daughter, much better than I thought you could do. I am greatly impressed, although there is definitely room for improvement.”

“Thank you, I guess, for I’m not quite sure that was a compliment.” Sheathing her blade, she slowly walked over to where her father was standing. Once there, she took the waterskin full of water he had brought, drank half, and promptly poured the rest over her head. “What do you think I could improve on?”

“Well, simply judging from the practice routine you just did, I would say that your weakest points are your thrusting and your blocking of your left side.” Drawing his sword, Éomer dropped into a warrior’s crouch and instructed his daughter to do the same. After she did so, he lunged in, lightly tapping her on the chest. She tried to parry the strike, but she was too unprepared and failed miserably. “See? You must always be prepared to block. Remember, orcs and bandits do not fight in the honorable way; they come at you hacking and slashing, doing anything they can to kill you. Now, come and try to touch me.” Lunging forward, Éoliel tried her very hardest to touch her father, but he batted her sword away with almost no effort. Frustrated, she tried again, this time feinting to the left and then thrusting to the right. Again her father parried her thrust without so much as batting an eyelash. This happened several times, each attack ending with him blocking her attack and eventually he started to touch her in return. Each time she was blocked, Éoliel’s temper rose, until it finally broke. Throwing down her sword, she screamed in frustration, “Stop doing that!” Raising one eyebrow, Éomer calmly replied,

“The first thing a warrior in training must learn is that no one is unbeatable. I have had years and years more fighting experience than you; I was practically born with a sword in my hands because of the turbulent times I lived in. You are young and have never experienced the meaning of war and have no idea what it is like to have to sleep with a hand on your sword and one eye open. Do not let your pride rule your actions, my daughter, for that has been the downfall of some of the greatest fighters I have ever known. You have great talent, but everyone has weaknesses. Before I can even consider letting you go out in the world, you must be as good as possible.”

All the while he was speaking, Éoliel felt her face get redder and redder. Why was her father telling her this? He said himself that she was a good fighter, and she could beat any of the men in the training yard. She knew she was ready, but he was giving her a lecture like a small child who has done something wrong. Fighting to keep her voice level, she said through clenched teeth, “Father, I know I am not perfect, but I am as good or better as half of your men, and you let them go out. Why do you target me? Is it because I am a woman?” She spat out the last word as though it were poison. Sighing wearily and sitting down as though it hurt them, the king covered his face in his hands.

“Éoliel, you are young and headstrong, but you do not know of what you speak. Yes, I am treating you differently from the men, but that is with good reason. When you are out there, don’t think for a minute that the orcs and men you are fighting will not single you out. They will see you as an easy target and attack you in great numbers, thinking you are a weak maiden. You will also have to withstand the abuse of the men, for they are greatly against any woman joining their ranks. They will jeer you, call you a weak girl, and give you the hardest and dirtiest of the work.” Looking up into her eyes, he held her gaze for several moments until she looked away. Sighing, he rose wearily as if it pained him to do so, and as Éoliel looked at her father, she noticed for the first time that he was not the young man he seemed to portray. There were lines on his face that she had not noticed before, and there were patches of gray sneaking into his blonde hair. Taking her face in his hands, he looked steadily at her and said, “As I said before, do not let pride rule your actions. Yes, you may be better than my men here, but out on patrol you will be tired, hungry, and sometimes injured.” Releasing her, he turned away and began the long walk back to the Hall. “Maybe tomorrow you will be cooled down enough to really begin learning.”

Late that evening, Éomer sat in his chambers, thinking and pondering over many things. Turning to the woman beside him, his beloved wife Lothiriel, he asked, “Where did I go wrong?” Startled by this sudden question, she looked back at him in confusion. Sighing, the king explained, “When Éoliel was young, she idolized me. She was such a sweet little girl, always wanting to sit on daddy’s lap. Now? She’s bitter and angry, and so full of pride that she cannot see something that is right in front of her face. She hates me now.” Grasping her husband’s hand, Lothiriel looked at him with concern.

“You know that is not true, my love. Just this afternoon, she came running up to me, singing your praises, ecstatic that you finally agreed to let her ride. She was practically dancing in circles she was so happy. Do not think she hates you, she is just going through a rough time now.”

“I wish I could believe that, but I can’t. Again, just this afternoon, I went down to see her practice in the training yards. After she finished her warm up routine, I began to teach her. All I was trying to do was teach her how to properly thrust, for that is her weak spot. When she did it wrong, I blocked her, thinking that she would realize her mistake and correct it. But that was not so; every time I blocked her, I could see in her eyes that she was getting more and more angry. She kept doing it the same way over and over again, until she finally grew so frustrated at me that she threw down her blade and screamed.” Éomer sighed and put his head in his hands. “I was simply trying to show her how to keep herself alive and she thought I was taunting her. If she keeps acting like this I can never let her out of these walls for she will get herself killed, but if I don’t let her go she will hate me forever. What am I to do?”

“Darling, you have much experience with men, but almost none at all with women. I have no advice to give you on how to train our daughter, but I can help you deal with her. Will you let me give you that help?” Seeing the slight nod of a approval, she continued, “There are two things you must do to start off. First, you cannot be afraid of your own daughter. I know it seems like she hates you now, but that won’t last. You are her father, and I know deep down she loves you very very much. Don’t be afraid to punish her, she is not a fragile vase. If she goes without reprimand, there is no way for her to learn that she is doing something wrong, very much like the horses our people train. Second, you have to burst her bubble of pride. She is a very headstrong girl who thinks simply because she can beat the men in the training yard, therefor she is the best. You MUST show her this isn’t true. If she continues to believe it she will get herself killed, and there is no denying that.” Lifting his head from his hands, Éomer looked at his wife with a glance filled with love and gratitude.

“My dear, you do not know how much your words have helped me. I shall start on what you said tomorrow. But, I do have one question: how shall I burst her pride without making her even more angry?” His wife thought long and hard, and when she did answer it was slowly, thinking out each word.

“As I have said before, I do not understand the ways of fighting nor do I want to. But tomorrow, tell her that you wish to evaluate her, and you must fight her to do so. It will be a friendly fight, but show her that you are a much more skilled fighter. I hate to say this, but you must knock her flat on her back. This will imprint in her that you truly do know much more than she does. Then and only then I believe she will listen to you.”
The next day shone bright and clear, with hardly a cloud to cover the joyful sun. As Éomer walked through the training grounds, he paused here and there to watch his riders practice. His heart was gladdened at the sight of the young men, so willingly throwing themselves into the service for their king. But at the same time it sobered him, remembering friends so long ago who had done the same and died at the cruel hands of Sauron’s minions. As he walked farther along, he sighted his daughter doing the same battle dance that she had been doing the day before, and he nearly sighed in exasperation. Yes the dance was a good one, but there were flaws in it, and they were being imbedded into her mind. She finished as he approached, and she greeted him with stony silence. She sat, breathing hard from her exercise. Sitting beside her, Éomer looked long and hard at his daughter, and she met his gaze with one of defiance. Speaking quietly, he said,

“I see you are practicing again today. That is good. You must always be fit and able to fight.” She began to rise as if to move away, but he pulled her back down and made her look at him. “I realize that yesterday did not go well and you are angry with me. I cannot see the reason why, because I was only trying to help you learn. But I understand. You think I was being unfair and taunting you. So today we shall try a different approach. Instead of leaping in headfirst, I know now that I must better understand how you fight. So, today we shall do an evaluation battle.” Seeing her look of confusion, Éomer stood and drew his sword. “To see how good you are, we shall fight. Be warned though, I will not give you any slack. I shall fight you as hard as possible to judge you. Oh, and don’t try to kill me, no matter how hard you want to.” Grinning, Éoliel leaped to her feet and drew her sword. As they both went into the fighter’s crouch, Éomer looked his daughter up and down. He was proud of her, so strong and willing to fight, but at the same time he wished she could listen more to her elders when they were trying to teach her.

And so the fight began. They both circled eachother, looking for any opening, any unguarded spot that would allow for a quick victory. Éoliel was nervous and jumpy, wanting to show her father that she was not a little girl but a warrior. Then, faster than she could see, Éomer lunged in. He was headed for her left side, the part he said was her weak spot. She managed to parry it off, but she felt slow and clumsy, hacking at his blade to keep it away. He kept coming onwards, never allowing her to catch her breath or make an attack of her own. She had to keep taking steps backwards to avoid his flashing blade, and before she knew it, she was on the ground. She sat up with her head spinning and her father reached down to help her up. “So, what did you think of your first actual fight daughter?” It took her a few moments to clear her head, but when she had, she replied.

“Father, I’m sorry I thought I could fight better than you. I will trust your judgement from now on.” Smiling, Éomer reached over and ruffled his daughter’s hair. “That’s my girl. So, more lessons tomorrow?”