Honor

Éowyn sat stiffly, suppressing a shiver as the cries of the wounded echoed off the caves walls, just as she struggled to overcome her resentment for the men on the other side of this fastness. Why was it they had the chance to swing their swords at the filthy Orcs but she could not? Was not her skill enough to rival many a man on that field? Did she not abhor those creatures with the same ferocity? Did she not love her land just as keenly?
She wavered for a moment as she bent over a new patient and attempted to ease his suffering. It was all she could do; saving him was beyond her skill. Her anger kindled anew with the thought that she would rather die among a field of Orcs than tend to the dying here. If her life could save others, then it would be an honorable death. Here she could only watch them die. What honor was there in that?
Éowyn vowed then that she would have her honor, whether in life or death she did not know. In her heart, she knew her time was nigh. When it came, she would not falter.