Éowyn tightened her grip on the reins, her chest heaving, and stood a moment beside the horse, stroking its neck as she caught her breath. She didn't dare to dawdle for too long, though, however much she hated being so cowed, and soon forced herself to move, leading the horse with her a little way - not quite out of sight, but close. The temptation was strong to take the brief chance, to mount back up while there was space between them and make all haste back to Edoras. Vanessa might be powerful, but Éowyn's horse was fast and she as fine a rider as any in this nation of horse-lords. She thought, if she did manage to get to a gallop, she could easily keep ahead, keep out of reach.

But then what? She couldn't leave Edoras - her uncle still needed her, and her people too - and once they were back there, she had no doubt Vanessa would make her regret it. The only way she could be free was to get rid of Vanessa, and that would be to betray Rohan, who benefited so from the other woman's presence.

There was no choice. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. I am the sacrifice, then, she thought blackly, biting down hard on her lip. Not to death, as befits Éomund's child, but to this.

It was a vile thought, and yet it brought some small measure of comfort - though not so much as that which followed it: Some day, Rohan will need her no more. Again, Éowyn thought wistfully of the knife in the saddlebag. Again, she turned away, and with fists clenched, returned to Vanessa's side.

Wordlessly, she bent to pick up the shackles, her skin crawling at the cold touch of iron. She hated the thought of being chained, feared being trapped more than anything else. But she was trapped, whether or not by chains.

Her chest tightening, her stomach turning, Éowyn of Rohan slipped a slave's shackles onto her own wrists.