Eomer’s brow furrowed in confusion, and he approached cautiously. While she spoke the truth, he was loathe to trust strangers. Not while his uncle was in the state he was in. He dismounted and offered a bow, then rose and gestured for her to do the same, spreading his hand out.
“A traveler from Mirkwood with no name?” he asked, and he smirked at her. “An elven traveler, no less. I am Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Mark, sister-son to the king. What is your name, then, my lady?”
She didn’t look dangerous, he began to notice. At least, not in the way he had been expecting. Old men with wizard staffs were not elven women from Mirkwood. He offered his hand in greeting.
The Ellyth nodded in agreement with Eomers words, acknowledging his name to his face and giving a subtle brow lift at his title. He was so quick to deliver his rank – perhaps she had grown to stale in her years of life, but delivering such a title marked her as a target.
A sense of comfort settled within her at the mans introduction.
With apprehension in the forefront of her mind, a habit of old, she disengaged from her mount. Without bending a blade of grass, she walked towards Eomer, her horse following behind with unspoken loyalty. Tauriel clasped Eomer’s forearm in greeting. Looking eye level with him, she smiled.
“Eomer, Son of Eomund,” Tauriel inclined her head, giving voice to his name, releasing his forearm from her grip, “I am Tauriel, Captain of the woodland guards.”