In time's desert I feel your presence.

In the rock's silence I hear your footstep.

Emotion overcomes me.

Then, like a sudden downpour

Fear of death startles me

Salah of Umbar.

Late February, 3020

"Keep your arms straight!"

"How long do I have to keep this up for?"

Arwa bit back a grin. "As long as it takes. Now clap your hands above your head. Good. Again."

Osgar shot her an exasperated look but he followed her instructions, his arms held out from his body horizontally. He brought them together above his head and brought them back down again.

Suddenly, they heard a call pierce through the air as the falcon spotted the movement from where it had been soaring so high that their eyes could not follow it. The bird dove down towards them, majestically slicing through the air as it headed for Osgar.

"Keep still," Arwa ordered, though she was smiling; no one could watch such a beautiful sight and stay unmoved. "Hold your right arm out – yes, that's it. Do not be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," the Rider shot back, though his jaw was clenched as the large, powerful bird came ever closer.

At the last minute, the bird slowed and spread its wings, landing easily on the thick, embroidered leather pad that Arwa had slid onto Osgar's arm after she'd launched the bird herself earlier. The falcon's claws were thick, but they curled gently against his arm, the bird folding its wings and bowing its head.

"Beautiful," Arwa cooed to the bird, touching her index finger to its head. "You are his master now," she turned to Osgar. "He needs to hunt. Shall we take him?"

Osgar nodded eagerly and called out to Éothain, who was sitting with Arwa's grandfather in the open reception tent. They were a strange pair – her grandfather was a tall, thin man, though still broad shouldered even at the age of eighty. The years had not dimmed his sharp eyes, but he now walked slowly, his back bent with the sorrow that had come with losing his son. His hair and beard were as white as snow, shining against his tanned skin.

Éothain, on the other hand, towered over the man. Where her grandfather was bent, Éothain was straight; where the older man was thin, the younger had a wide, sturdy form, even after two months in the desert. A thought came to her, unbidden, and she wondered how Éomer himself would look, sitting in the same tent with the same man. She brushed the thought aside.

Arwa watched with approval when Éothain patted her grandfather's shoulder and took his leave of the man, striding out to meet them where they were waiting, already mounted.

The older Rider's long, blonde hair and beard had lightened under the sun, for even though it was technically winter, the sun always shone fiercely upon the sands of Harad. But Arwa noticed now that Éothain's once pale skin had changed, from white to golden brown. Humorously, though, it was only on his face, hands and feet – when he pushed up his sleeves to grab the reigns, Arwa had to hold back a hoot of laughter as she noticed that the rest of his arm was his usual, pasty colour.

"Something the matter?" Éothain asked, daring her to comment.

Arwa pressed her lips together and shook her head, not trusting her mouth to speak without laughing.

"Right then," he grunted when Osgar shook with laughter, also having noticed the imbalance of colour. The falcon on his outstretched arm squawked indignantly and Osgar bowed his head with a grin and stilled his body.

When they had all wrapped their scarves around their hair and mouths, Arwa urged Sekhmet forward. They had been camping in a small valley between two larger dunes, alongside a small oasis. Husam had left earlier in the morning to travel to one of the villages to hear grievances and her two cousins had gone to inspect the borders again. Arwa, Éothain and Osgar had returned the evening before from their own patrols, and now she was of a mind to take them on a more pleasurable pursuit.

"I'd like to take you to watch some of the soldiers train," she announced and the men exchanged hesitant looks.

"Is that something we are able to see?" Osgar questioned.

"Why not?" Arwa shrugged. "I have learned from the Mark, and I would like our soldiers to do so as well. Perhaps you can also acquire some new skills. Launch the falcon and he will follow us."

Soon all three were flying across the dunes. Arwa's leaner horse easily led the others, but the Rohirric horses were quickly adapting to their new, often changing, surroundings and soon Éothain and Osgar rode beside her.

"Wait," Arwa pulled down her scarf and jumped out of the saddle, landing easily onto the sand.

"Look here," she pointed at tracks in the dunes when both Riders dismounted and stood beside her. "Here are jemel tracks. You see, there are five of them, two are females."

"How can you tell?" Osgar asked, fishing out his book from his saddlebags to write the knowledge down.

"These prints are heavier, that means they are females, because they carry heavier loads. They are stronger than the males."

"Oh are they?" Éothain grinned and Arwa stood with her arms crossed at her chest.

"They are indeed," she laughed and gestured for them to mount again.

The trio rode on and on through the sands, until at last they came upon a large group of soldiers that were clustered around an oasis.

"How many?" Éothain asked curiously, scanning the group.

Arwa thought for a moment. "There should be one hundred and fifty, give or take a few. Like an éored, we travel together. Not usually in groups of this size, but we are battle ready. We must be battle ready."

When the soldiers caught sight of them, all stood and offered deep bows to Arwa, before they crowded around Éothain and Osgar, offering their hands to be shaken or arms to be clasped.

A young soldier strode forward through the crowd and stopped before the pair of Rohirs, who eyed the small figure hesitantly until Arwa let out a hoot of laughter.

"Yusra!" she cried and pulled the woman into a fierce embrace. The Riders watched, bemused, as both women pulled down their scarves and laughed, both of them wiping back tears as they held onto each other. Soon, they pulled back and held each other at arm's length.

"Taller," Arwa said.

"Fatter," Yusra shot back, and soon both were laughing again.

Arwa was elated, joyful beyond description as she led one of her closest friends over to the Riders. Yusra was the woman she had trained beside, and now that Husam was the Chief, Arwa was her superior but only in matters of duty. Her heart, still, was firmly joined with the woman who had been as a sister to her in the harsh training camps of Near Harad.

"Éothain, Osgar," she beamed. "My friend: Yusra."

Yusra pushed her scarf off completely and stuck her hand out with a wide grin. She was believed to be one of the most beautiful women in Arwa's tribe, with creamy skin and almond eyes. Her hair was beloved by all, as it was not black like the night, but a deep, chestnut brown – an exotic colour amongst those in the South.

"Well met," she beamed and the Riders stammered their own return greetings, slipping into Rohirric in their daze.

Yusra clapped and laughed again, turning back to Arwa. "Aren't they beautiful!" she whispered; speaking instead in the dialect of Khand so her words could not be deciphered by the two men. "This is the first time I have regretted that men of our tribe have stopped taking more than one wife!"

Arwa snorted and linked their arms together. "Do not lose hope, my friend. I know of a man with no wife, he is kind and good. With red hair!"

Yusra gasped and soon both women were speaking as if they were fresh into their training again, as Arwa described the men of Rohan and Yusra spoke of the gossip and new marriages that Arwa had missed.

Éothain and Osgar looked on with amusement, letting the rest of the men and women guide them into a rough circle where they were served tea and warm, fresh bread.

"Mark my words," Éothain pronounced as they watched Arwa miming how Wigmund danced, "this new one is trouble."

"Oh aye," Osgar agreed vehemently, his face morphing into a grin. "But I predict her trouble will be most welcome."

The Riders were welcomed enthusiastically by the rest of the soldiers. There was an equal division of genders, though the dynamics worked well. It appeared to the men of Rohan that the female soldiers were like the shieldmaidens of old – able to live amongst the men easily, but also able to adjust their mannerisms so they would fit well around their own gender when it was appropriate. It certainly gave Éothain food for thought, as he wondered whether the Riddermark had been right to slowly morph into a mostly male fighting force.

The sparring began soon after the light meal. The Rohirs were sought after, and by the time another hour had passed, both were near exhausted as soldier after soldier presented themselves, hoping to spar with them. Both men and women wished to try their skills against the westerners, and neither Éothain nor Osgar could tell the gender of a fighter. It was only when the round had finished and the soldier would push down their face covering, revealing the face of a young, beautiful woman, or a sharp eyed man that they would shake their heads in amazement and Osgar would hurry back to his writing materials, quickly scrawling down the movements used by their many opponents.

But for all of the excitement of the Southern troops, Arwa could sense that they were uneasy. Their voices were lower than usual, much too quiet for such a large group. When the sparring had finished and everyone was seated, she raised her voice and stood, speaking clearly so Éothain and Osgar would have the best chance of understanding her.

"Tell me what news you have, for I can see it in your faces that you are all wary of the coming days."

Yusra, who was one of the higher-ranking soldiers, stood also, slipping into polite speech in front of the crowd. "We have found strange tracks, sayidati. Tracks of the troll men, walking to and fro near our borders, but always they disappear before we can find them."

Arwa narrowed her eyes, not missing how the two Rohirs instinctively put their hands on the hilts of their swords. "How many days has this been happening?"

"Only for the last three days." An older man that she remembered was called Yazan stood. "We believe they are watching us, in case we make any movements against those further South."

Arwa paced the flat sand, deep in thought. If the troll men were watching, then they were in league with those who wished to harm the North. This did not surprise Arwa, as the nasnas had never been friends to the moderate tribes, but it spoke volumes of the organisation of their foes.

"If the troll men are watching us," she began, linking her hands together at her back, "then we can assume they have orders to do so. They are too dim witted to decide on such actions for themselves."

The soldiers all nodded in agreement.

"They began three days ago?" Arwa confirmed and Yazan bowed his head. "Why have I not heard of this?"

Yusra strode forward and laid a hand on her arm. "You know we do not wish to begin the war. None of us want to fight, not unless we need to."

"Regardless," Arwa shook her head. "This information says that they are planning against us. Not just to slip through the borders. No… they know that we will find their tracks, they know now that we will turn anyone back. They were testing us… they have changed their decision…" she trailed off, turning automatically to Éothain and Osgar. She was sure their expressions were a mirror of hers: of horror and dread.

"They are coming. They are all coming," Arwa whispered, suddenly feeling as if all of the sand around her was swallowing her whole, drowning her, filling her mouth and tossing her into its depths.

"Arwa," Éothain appeared at her side and squeezed her shoulder. "Chin up, lass, chin up," he whispered into her ear.

Arwa nodded slowly, closing her eyes and leaning into the Rider for a quick moment. She regained her breath and turned, facing the rest of the soldiers again.

"Ready yourselves!" Arwa cried. "Send word to all of the soldiers and all of the border guards. If they mean to attack, we have discovered their plan with enough time to make a stand. The Lords of Khand will take weeks to muster their full strength, more if some of the Easterlings come. But make haste! I want no member of our tribe to be anywhere but Tārūt. Do not fail me in your task," she raised her voice further. "Do not leave one woman, one child, one man on the sands. Bring everyone – the herders, the falconers, the travelers. You have five days. By sunset on the last day, all must be in Tārūt. Tārūt, Tārūt, do you hear me?" She yelled, nodding when the soldiers stood and raised their fists.

"Now ride," Arwa commanded. "Ride, ride with the wind. Ready yourselves."

Yusra nodded grimly at her side and barked out an order, and soon the soldiers had disappeared, some riding, some running, blending into the sands. Arwa stayed stock still, a rock in the sea of soldiers, her hand raised in farewell until the last scarlet clad warrior had disappeared.

With a great sigh, she dropped her arm and kneeled down into the sand. Arwa could not hear the concerned voices of Éothain and Osgar as they spoke together, could not hear the piercing cries of the falcons as they were sent off throughout the different lands that her people were scattered on.

She dug her fingers into the sand and cupped the tiny granules in her palm, before throwing them over her face. With her eyes closed, she felt the sand hit her skin as if it were rain. She whispered her prayers, her palms outstretched to the sun, and wiped her hands over her face, clawing with her fingers to scratch off the remaining sand.

When not one grain was left on her face, she turned to the men.

"We must return," she muttered, walking to where the horses had been grazing in the grass that surrounded the water.

"And what will you do?" Osgar gently stopped her, his hand on her elbow.

Arwa whirled around to face him, and threw her hands up in frustration. "They are coming! What can we do, but fight them? Oh…" she ran a hand over her face. "This is not what we want."

"No one wants a war," Éothain said softly. "But you are not alone."

Arwa shook her head. "No, no. I will not ask you both to serve with us. This is a family war, a cousin's war. Do you know why we do not want to fight?"

The two Riders shook their heads, feeling helpless and powerless in the face of an enemy they did not understand.

"Tribal wars are easy. One tribe against another, we fight in a skirmish, and then we make peace, and then fight, and then make peace. It is often our way, we are used to it. But we have never united against each other, do you understand? Because in the South, we are all kin, we are all related. Do you know what we say? We say: 'me against my brother, my brothers and I against my cousins, then my cousins and I against strangers'. We are all linked, changing sides in that order when it serves our purposes to do so. You know who my own immediate kin are, you have met them. But I tell you now that everyone we will be fighting against, save the cursed troll men, are related to us somehow. And we will kill them all, we have no other choice."

Arwa shook her head again and leaned against the tall form of Sekhmet, laying her palms on the side of the horse.

"Perhaps you are wrong," Éothain said, though his uncertainty was clear to all of their ears. "Aban would have sent word, Nimr would have said something."

"No," she stared at him, her eyes hard. "We have not heard from them, because they are coming. Aban is on his way. As sure as the sun rises and sets, Aban will come. Nimr will be in Tārūt when we arrive. They have always been with us; they are targets as we are, their lands will be being watched the same as ours. We are family; we read the signs in the same way."

And Arwa knew they would come. They were her father's men – good men, who would move the earth if they could come and fight by her side.

"Kin-strife," Osgar said when he mounted and Éothain nodded his agreement.

"What?" Arwa repeated the word, not understanding. "Kin-strife?"

"Aye," Osgar nodded. "It is not unknown to us. It is the fiercest kind of war, the bloodiest. Because it is within the family, and extends to every man, woman and child in the land. It only ends with death."

"Death," Arwa replied. "Death." She nodded. "Yes, death. You are right, my two friends - no, my two brothers. They shall have death. But I tell you now: you, both of you, will not fight. Never will I agree for you to fight."

Éothain growled in anger, tossing his head back as they galloped over the sands. "That is not your decision!"

"It is," Arwa shouted back. "What do you want? To die for us? No, we are accursed; we were on the wrong side. We deserve our fate. You will do what I say and forgive me later for it."

Osgar shot her a pained look from her other side. His answering words carried over the winds, over the lands that their horses sped over.

"We will not abandon you. The North and West are their targets, they will not stop with you."

"No, you will not abandon us," Arwa felt a warmth spread through her stomach as she realized just how much she had begun to value the two men. "You will lead those who cannot fight to safety, and you will remember that as you do not wish to abandon us, neither do we wish to see your blood on our sands. This is my decision, this is the order you will follow. Now ride faster, let us reach the tents. We must notify Husam."

0000000000000

March, 3020

Éomer raised his face to the sun, feeling the warmth slowly heat his freezing fingers. It was not long after dawn, and he was near the head of a singing, cheering line of six éoreds. He could not feel even an inch of sadness, could not even feel one strain of longing for Arwa when he led such a merry group of Rohirrim.

Éowyn rode beside him, the picture of beauty, golden hair loose in the sun. Éomer felt as if his heart would burst at the sight of her, his sister, his milk and honey sister. Such beauty could not be found anywhere else in the Mark. It was a strange feeling… five years ago, he would have thought himself a whey-faced prat for giving his sister away so easily. But now, he felt ashamed that he had ever thought of her as anything but a warrior of the finest order, a woman with her own mind, her own control over her future.

The Riddermark had not been kind to Éowyn, nor Éomer if he allowed himself to be honest. First their parents, then Wormtongue, then Théodred, then Théoden… It was a constant assault, on all sides. The Worm preyed on Éowyn's steps, haunting her, following her in the shadows where even Éomer could not reach her.

Even now, the memories twisted his stomach, veiling his vision with a red haze that only dimmed when he forced himself to breathe, breathe, breathe.

"What are you thinking of, brother?" Éowyn asked, having noticed how his knuckles were white and his jaw clenched.

Éomer relaxed instantly at the sound of her voice, turning to meet her gaze.

"I was thinking," he admitted, "of how I failed you. I should have been there at every step you made, should have protected you better. And," he raised his voice to cut off her objection. "I underestimated you. For years."

"Oh?" Éowyn's cheeks coloured and he grinned.

"I did. I treated you like an object, something I could wrap up in a cloak and protect. I wasn't completely wrong, I was right to protect you, even though I should have done better. But I was wrong to deny you, to take away your choice to fight."

Éowyn let out a deep sigh and turned back to face the front of the line. "You were a good brother. You are a good brother."

"Glad to hear it," he let out a deep guffaw, feeling lighter when she laughed in response. In truth, he wanted to go further; wanted to speak of how angry he had been when Aragorn had congratulated him upon Éowyn's engagement, saying that he had given away the finest thing in his realm. Even now, it set his teeth on edge; that Aragorn would speak of her as a commodity, a thing, to be traded or given. Aragorn was his brother in arms, a good man, but his words had left a shadow over Éomer's heart as he realized that he himself had thought of Éowyn in that way.

"Faramir's a good man," Éomer said into the air instead, knowing that Éowyn would hear it.

"Aye, he is," she replied. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Now what of you, my sister? Are you not heart broken to leave your brother behind? For even I have heard you nagging Elfhelm to push us faster."

Éowyn snorted with laugher and he grinned wolfishly in response.

"I think we are both impatient," his sister smiled slyly. "We'll have one month in Minas Tirith before the wedding. Are you still carrying Arwa's letter?"

Éomer coughed, spluttering out jumbled words.

"I thought so," Éowyn grinned. "Well, my point is that you'll have a good chance of having it translated. Surely one of the merchants will be old enough to forget the contents after he's penned the meaning in the common tongue."

The thought had occurred to him and Éomer gave his sister a short nod and ignored her silent laughter, spurring on Firefoot to ride beside Elfhelm as they came closer to the Mering Stream.

Would he ever see Arwa again? Perhaps he would, if he knew what she'd written in the letter. He couldn't help but think that there was something that had pushed her away from him; something that had changed her tune completely from sharing kisses with him, to leaving him high and dry. He had let her go, he knew that now, but he was not a man of the Mark for nothing. If he knew she had left for other reasons, and not because she didn't love him, he'd find her again. He would.

.

.

.

A/N

Excerpt above from "Fragments of a Common Time" - Salah `Abd Al-Sabour.

Nasnas: Arabic for half men, used to refer to Tolkien's troll like characters of Far Harad.

Jemel – camel.

The camel tracking information is correct, though I have exaggerated the skills of falcons in terms of taking messages to the tribes. But I feel it isn't a farfetched idea, if we consider Tolkien's ravens and eagles.

Also; I've spent time going through all the other chapters, fixing grammar, etc, hence why there's been a bit of a lengthy gap between posts. I've added new scenes in the first 5 chapters, and changed the ending to chapter 10 completely. So, if you are looking for something to do while waiting for the next chapter, feel free to have a re-read through the story.

As always, thank you to those who have reviewed, read, followed and favourited the story.