Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back safely when I’m done!

Author’s Note: I have been challenged by several of my friends to write a story about Arwen and Eowyn, and how they came to have the friendship that they do in my story “Miscreants and Rapscallions.” It will be interspersed with scenes involving the hobbits. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

     “I’ll bet you anything you like that half an hour after they have met, they will be calling each other sister.”

     “Women only do that when they have called each other a lot of other things first.”

                                                 From “The Importance of Being Earnest”, by Oscar Wilde.

Sworn Sisters

By Elendiari

Prologue: Crickhollow

   Merry Brandybuck stared at the letter in his hand in consternation. It was from Lady Eowyn, now of Ithilien, and bore the seal of Gondor, a strange device for the little house at Crickhollow.

   “What are you so confuzzled about, Mer?” asked Pippin, from where he was lounging in a comfortable armchair in front of the fire. “It’s not bad news, is it?”

    “No,” replied Merry slowly. “At least, I don’t think so. I haven’t opened it yet.”

    Pippin rolled his eyes with a great show of weariness. “Well, open it and see what it’s about. Who is it from?”

     Merry broke the seal and opened the letter. “Eowyn. What the-”

   ‘Master Holdwine of the Mark,

       It has not been long since my last letter, but this is urgent, and could not wait. When we were in Rohan before your company left for the Shire, you told me that there was an old gaffer in Hobbiton, who made the loveliest ale. You said that it is only rivaled by the ale made by the dwarves. I have the desire to sample this ale.  Ask my messenger for the gold he has brought with him, from me: it ought to be enough to pay for several barrels full. Please get it to me as soon as possible. I trust that all is well with you!

                                                                                                                   Eowyn

    Merry, please do not ask any questions. Thank you, friend.”

    “Well, of all the strange things in Middle Earth…” Merry muttered, and handed the letter over to Pippin, who read it eagerly and laughed.

     “You told Eowyn about the Gaffer’s Home Brew? What will Sam say?”

     Merry shrugged and folded his arms. “Order a few barrels, I suppose. The messenger did give me those gold coins. I wonder how long it’ll take them to get to her. I’ll go write to Sam.”

    As Merry left the room, Pippin grinned and glanced back at the letter. Merry, please do not ask any questions. Merry. Pippin was not Merry. He had every right to ask questions, and then some. He ran to his room, grabbed a quill and a sheet of paper, and began to write.

     Dear Eowyn,

         You told Merry that he couldn’t ask questions, but you said nothing of me. What are you up to, and how can I be off help? I am enclosing some hobbit drinking songs for you…

    Two weeks later, three barrels of the Gaffer’s Home Brew left the Shire, heading south to Gondor. Eowyn’s messenger had left soon after the order had been placed, and a team of men from Bree were taking the ale to Rivendell, from which it would be shipped. All told, the journey would likely take a little over a month.

     “What can she possibly want it for?” muttered Merry, as he and Pippin watched the barrel-filled cart rumble away.

      Pippin shrugged. “Maybe she’ll tell us, someday.”

      Merry nodded and grinned suddenly. “Whatever she wants it for, I do know one thing.”

     “What’s that?”

     “Gondor will never be the same.”

TBC