They worked on into the night and Nimoë strained to pass as much of her healing song through to her charges as she was able. There was no rationing this time, only the driving will of one woman determined to strengthen the army of Rohan before the morning. A few hours before dawn, Nimoë sternly told Halanna to get more sleep and, though she was reluctant, the girl did as she was told, finding a comfortable corner to lie in.
        Once Nimoë was certain that Halanna slept, she began to rummage through the room, delving through the small piles of the personal belongings of her patients. After only a few minutes she stood up from a pile, a large bundle clutched tight in her hands. Glancing about to make certain that she was not observed, Nimoë stealthily made her way out the door of the infirmary. She had done all that she could. The time had come to move on.

        The faint light of returning dawn filtered through an open window and fell onto Halanna’s sleeping countenance. The gentle warmth it brought with it awoke her and she sat up, looking about for Nimoë. It took only a moment to ascertain that the Elf was not in the building.
        Halanna rose quickly and went about the beds of the men, many of whom were growing impatient with their confinement. Nimoë had told Halanna the night before which of the men would be able to leave with the army of Rohan in the morning, so the girl went to those men and made the final changes of bandages and checked for any regression in their healing. As soon as each one had been looked over, she sent them on their way with a smile and wish for success in their venture.
        By the time Halanna had completed that task, Nimoë had not yet returned. She was growing concerned. It was unlike the Elf to disappear for so long when there was work to be done. She tugged impatiently on her hair, which she had pulled back into a long braid upon waking.
        A man who was resting on a cot behind her spoke, “If you are looking for the Elf, I am afraid that you will not find her. I watched her when she left, some hours ago. Took my gear, she did. Burrowed around in my things until she found what she was looking for. She took my leather armor, and my cloak and helm. I did not ask her what she was about, for I could guess it well enough. She has gone to follow the Rohirrim to Gondor. I wish her well, for I know that she will bring her healing to others.”
        Halanna was rocked by the revelation. She had given her word to the Lord Eomer to keep Nimoë from doing anything reckless. And what had she done? Fallen asleep. Dismay overran her and she began thinking frantically how she could right her mistake.
        Henodred called to her from across the room. “Halanna, is it time for me now to join my brethren in arms?”
        Quickly she crossed to his side, and laid her hands against his chest, gently forcing him back into the bed, from which he was struggling to rise. “No, Henodred. You are not strong enough to go. You must remain here and heal, so that if the war finds its way here, you can aid the defense of Dunharrow.”
        He continued to struggle against her, and finally she was forced to sit down upon him, to make him cease his efforts. “Get off, Halanna. I wish to ride forth to battle. You cannot command me in this.”
        Not budging from her seat, she pressed his shoulders back down onto the bed, pinning him there. “Brother, even though you are my elder, if only by a year, and a man, right now I can pin you to your sheets. I am stronger than you. Does that bode well for a long hard march to battle? You must remain here. I will not leave this spot until you promise me that you will not do anything so foolish.”
        Henodred finally yielded, somewhat struck by his sister’s uncharacteristic boldness. “Fine. You win, Halanna. I will stay.”
        “Good,” she nodded, and stood up, releasing him from her weight. “Let me take your things and I will have them laundered. Soon you will be up and about, and you will want clean clothes to wear.” She bent and picked up the pile of gear off of the floor, then walked purposefully out of the door.
        Once on the outside, she fell back against the wall of the building, her heart pounding madly, as her decision was finally made. She pushed herself off the wall, and went behind the building, where she quickly changed out of her brown dress and soiled white apron and pulled on her brother’s clothes. The trousers felt odd to her, and the coarse fabric between her legs made them chafe, but she knew with resignation that in order to follow Nimoë, she must be as a man. Next came the shirt and vest, which she covered with Henodred’s leather hauberk. His earth-toned cloak she tossed about her shoulders, and tucked her braid down inside of it, then pulled up the hood. Finally, she bent and hefted her brother’s long sword, which was sheathed in its belt. It felt heavy and awkward, but she slung it about her slight waist, tightening the belt to keep the too large pants from sliding off, then dropped the hem of the cloak down over it.
        With a final glance at the infirmary, she nodded resolutely. She had made a promise, and she meant to see it through. Walking as nonchalantly as she could manage, she went to the stables and commandeered a horse, saying that she was to follow the riders to the muster at Edoras. The mount which was brought to her was tall and spirited, and shone like the sun.
        All the Rohirrim learned to ride from their birth, so Halanna felt no trepidation as she vaulted to the horse’s back. His name, she was told, was Goliant, and she stroked his neck, then urged him to a brisk trot, following the trail made by the larger passing of the gathered strength of Dunharrow.

        Nimoë kept her face low, shrouded within her hood, but she glanced up the line of horses to Eomer, who rode at the fore with Theoden and Merry. The horse she rode was unusually docile for a horse of Rohan, but she had been assured by the stable master that he was well able to match pace with the others. The poor stallion had been saddled with the name of Bluebell because of his quiet nature.
        Although she was happy to have a calmer beast beneath her, Nimoë found that she missed Finduél. Of course, there had been no question of bringing that noble beast. Eomer would have recognized her immediately. Secrecy was her ally, and any small thing she could do to make herself less conspicuous was of vital importance. So as she rode she kept up a quiet song, urging those about her to look past her and through her. They did indeed see her, for she was there, but to them her presence was as unnoticed as the sight of their nose upon their face. Always it was there, but the mind simply chooses not to see it, because it is of no import.
        The company rode hard, intent on reaching Edoras and joining with the rest of the gathered strength of Rohan before the final run for Gondor. Nimoë turned her head to the side and saw something which piqued her interest. The hands which rested lightly on the reins of the horse traveling beside her were long and shapely, almost delicate. Aware of her own hands’ femininity, Nimoë had stolen a pair of leather gauntlets to hide them. The rider beside her had taken no such precaution, apparently unaware of the danger a few bared inches of flesh invited.
        Nimoë raised her glance to the rider’s head and found deep blue eyes staring over at her, seemingly aware of her interest. Dismayed, she realized that in her shock she had forgotten to keep singing. The eyes which regarded her were deep in shadow, but Nimoë recognized their owner immediately.
        Cautiously, so that no others would see, the Elf pushed her hood back, just a little. A flash of recognition flew across the fair face of the Lady Eowyn. The Lady moved her finger across her pursed lips, silently asking Nimoë not to reveal her presence.
        The Elf nodded, respect for Eowyn’s decision hard upon her. Then she kneed Bluebell to a quicker pace, putting some distance between herself and Eomer’s sister. A rueful smile flashed across her face. Eomer would certainly throw a fit when he discovered what they had done. Ah, well. By that time hopefully they would have won the war. Either that or they would all be dead. In the face of that thinking, Eomer’s reactions seemed to matter very little.