Chapter 3:  You Heard the Lady

"How far is it to Minas Tirith, Gandalf?"

In the royal stables of Edoras, Gandalf looked down from loading his horse to see Pippin standing beside him, traveling pack at the ready.

"About three days' ride, as the nazgul flies," the wizard answered. "But you are not going with us."

"Of course I am," Pippin responded indignantly. "Lady Debbie said I could."

"Since when does the Lady Debbie make all the decisions governing this Fellowship?" Gandalf bellowed.

"Pretty much as soon as she joined it."

Gandalf sighed. "There is no need for you to go, Peregrin Took.  It will be very dangerous."

"Not if Lady Debbie's with us," Pippin answered confidently.

Just then Lady Debbie the Purple joined them. "I'm ready to leave whenever you are," she announced cheerily.

"You can ride on my pony with me, Lady Debbie," Pippin offered, bowing low.

"Good," Gandalf responded, ignoring Pippin.  "If you would like to mount...er, get up on Shadowfax, we can be off immediately."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Debbie said.  "I've got my own horse."

"You do?" the hobbit and the wizard asked together.

Debbie pursed her lips daintily and gave a tuneful whistle.  Immediately a beautiful chestnut stallion whose coat perfectly matched Debbie's hair came galloping through the stable door.  It stopped neatly, barely a foot away from the little group, and nuzzled Lady Debbie's shoulder.  "This is my horse--Muffin," she explained, reaching up to pet its forehead.  Her companions were stunned.

"That is one of the mearas, like Shadowfax here," Gandalf finally managed to say.  They will only bear those they deem worthy."

"I guess Muffin likes me then," Debbie answered with a smile.  "He followed me from one of the paddocks out there."

"I want to ride with you, Lady Debbie!" Pippin cried excitedly.

"I'm sure your horse could carry both of us," Gandalf said at the same time.

 Debbie giggled. "We can't all ride on my Muffin."

*******

For those remaining in Rohan, the next several days passed in a flurry of activity.  Théoden sent out a summons for all able-bodied men to gather at Dunharrow.  Hundreds of tall, blond, strapping warriors rode into the camp every day on their sweating horses.  Usually one of the Debbies was at the camp entrance to watch them ride in, often with Éowyn beside her.

The shieldmaiden had marched up to her uncle and firmly announced that she was planning on riding to Gondor with the army.  Théoden had not been able to deny her.  After all, if the Ladies Debbie could fight, then why not his most capable niece?  And then Merry had insisted that if the Debbies and Éowyn were going to fight, hef certainly wasn't going to be left behind, and Théoden had thrown up his hands in resignation.

An aura of excitement and anticipation hung over the camp.  At least one person, however, was feeling no small amount of frustration.

Aragorn tossed and turned in his cot, struggling against the visions that filled his brain in his restless slumber.  Arwen was denying him, claiming she had too many others to love, and that he was being childishly selfish in demanding her all to himself.  Then her face changed into Éowyn's, who constantly had to talk to her uncle or her brother or her stablehand or anyone else when the future King of Men approached her.  And then, most heartbreakingly, one Debbie after another told the Ranger that she was busy, that he was "cute, but not her type, thanks," and the agony of the rejection was nearly unbearable!  In the dream, Aragorn turned to go, to hide himself away from the pain, when he nearly stumbled over Gimli, who had crept up behind him like an eager puppy.  "Don't worry, Laddie," the dwarf crooned, "You've always got me."

Aragorn woke up screaming, his knife clenched tightly in his hand.  The nervous face of Rick Cottontree peered through the opening to his tent.

"Ummmmm...." Rick said hesitantly, "the King wants to see you in his tent."

"I'm the King!" Aragorn shouted, still half-asleep.

"The other one," Rick whispered, shaking his head.

For one terrible moment Aragorn wondered whether the summons to Théoden's tent in the middle of the night meant that the King of Rohan had developed Gimli's all-encompassing tastes.  However, given his general attitude toward the Ranger, it seemed unlikely.  Aragorn rolled out of bed, pausing only to pull on his boots, and followed Rick across the camp to Théoden's tent.

He met Théoden, with Debbie the Red on his arm, leaving just as he arrived.  Debbie was looking back over her shoulder and blowing a kiss to someone inside the tent. "I take my leave of you," Théoden said briefly before turning his attention back to Debbie.

Apprehensively, Aragorn pulled aside the tent flap and entered.  A hooded figure sat on a stool near the tent entrance.  What now? thought Aragorn bitterly, in a sour mood after his dreams and abrupt awakening.  The figure stood and removed his hood in one swift motion, and Aragorn was surprised to see Elrond standing before him.

"I have come on behalf of Arwen," Elrond stated. "I thought I had persuaded her to go to the Grey Havens where she belongs, but she circled around and came back to Rivendell.  Since then, I haven't had a moment's peace.  'Daddy, remake the sword of Kings!  Pleeeeease Daddy, remake the sword!' all day and all night!  I can't stand it anymore.  Here!"  Elrond pulled from his side a very long sheath containing what appeared, from the hilt at least, to be a truly magnificent sword.

Aragorn's heart caught in his throat.  "This...this is...?"

"Yes, yes.  Andúril, the Sword of Kings.  Just take the blasted thing already!"

Aragorn stretched out his hand and gingerly took the sword.  He held the sheath firmly and drew out the impressively long blade, holding it up before him.  "It's...huge..." he whispered in awe.

"Whatever," Elrond answered. "It's yours."

As his foster-father turned to go, Aragorn called out, "Um...Ada...you don't think...maybe it's...too big, do you?  That maybe people will see it less as a sign of kingliness and more as a sign of...compensating for something?"

"N-nonsense, Aragorn," Elrond stammered, spittle flying, "Sometimes a sword is just a sword!  Now go get that undead army everyone's talking about so we can end this war!"

The future King of Men nodded as he tested the blade--and failed to see his foster-father's faint, wicked smile as the Elf-lord left the tent.

*******

An hour later, Aragorn finished tightening the last straps on his saddlebag; all was now in readiness for his journey on the Paths of the Dead.  However, one small piece of unfinished business remained before the Ranger could begin his long and dangerous quest.  He strode confidently to Éowyn's tent, where she, Merry, and Debbie the White were engaged in what looked at first glance to be sword practice, but upon closer inspection...was apparently something altogether different.

Aragorn cleared his throat.  "Erm...Éowyn, can I speak with you for a moment?"

Éowyn gave him an unfriendly sigh.  "I am a little busy now, Lord Aragorn," she replied coldly.

"Well, it can't wait, you know," the Ranger insisted.  "I have to leave for the Paths of the Dead soon and all."

The shieldmaiden got to her feet and straightened her gown.  "Very well."  She then turned to Merry and Debbie.  "This will not take more than a moment--I promise."

"We'll stay busy in the meantime," said Merry with a wink.

Aragorn followed Éowyn a few feet to the left, and the two stood under a nearby tree.

"Well?" she demanded.

"I just thought that maybe you'd like to come with me," Aragorn offered, trying his hardest to be his most charming and kingly.

"No thanks," she said quickly, turning to go.

"Wait a minute--why not?" he asked, a little hurt.

"I do not think things are going to work between us, my Lord," she said evenly.

"They were working fairly well up until just a little while ago, I thought," he responded.  "It's as if you've been avoiding me ever since the battle at Helm's Deep."

"You are not the same man you were before that battle," Éowyn insisted.

"No, now I'm the King!" Aragorn said proudly, drawing his new and lengthy sword.

"Will you stop waving that sword around?!" she spat.  "It looks as if you are compensating for something!"

The smile on Aragorn's face drooped like the sword he slowly lowered to the ground.  "But...but you know I'm not."

"I know not what I believe any more," she said sadly.  "Ever since I saw you rolling on the ground with Gimli, I am no longer sure what kind of man you really are."

"I'm the King," he answered weakly.

"I am sorry, Aragorn, but that just is not enough for me."  Éowyn walked slowly back to her tent, turning only to add momentarily, "Good luck on your trip."

Embarrassed, Aragorn slunk back to his horse and prepared to ride off.

Just as he headed for the pass, he felt a hand on his shoulder.  "I'm sorry about the whole Éowyn thing,"  Debbie the White said sympathetically.  "I'll accompany you, if you'd like."

Aragorn smiled.  Things were looking up, suddenly.  "Yes, I'd like--"

"I'll be coming too, Laddie."  Gimli suddenly appeared at Debbie's side.  "I wouldn't want to see harm come to you."

Aragorn thought the Dwarf had winked at him, and he shuddered.  "I think Lady Debbie and I can--"

"You're not getting a Debbie to yourself, you know," said Legolas, standing to Debbie's other side, opposite the Dwarf.

Aragorn's shoulders slumped in defeat.  "Fine.  Let's just get out of here before anyone notices--"

"Why is Lord Aragorn leaving us?!" Rick Cottontree screamed from the camp, awakening anyone who was still left asleep.  The Rohirrim mustered about the exiting party as they led their horses slowly past.

"I will tell you why he leaves," Théoden muttered--though not so quietly that Aragorn couldn't hear him.  "He leaves because he is not a man."

"Because he is afraid to face the battle?" Éomer asked Debbie the Red anxiously.  "Because he thinks we have no hope?"

Debbie, engaged in stroking the horse-lord's long, wavy, golden hair, did not answer.  Gamling responded for her:  "No, he leaves because he must.  He must be dying of embarrassment.  I mean, look at the sword he carries now--it's obvious he's compensating for something."

Aragorn quickened his pace, urging the others along, glad that the shadow of the mountain hid the scarlet in his cheeks.

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