ErinRua asked for a meeting, at any point, between a Dúnadan and one of the Rohirrim.
"I cannot!" the young man gasped, and staggered. Clad in someone else's ill-fitting tabard, he trembled in mail no doubt got from the funeral carts, face pale as the White Tree he wore.
His neighbor in the ranks hurriedly caught him; the white-eyed look the Gondorian turned on him was only too familiar. Learned it at Isen, he thought.
"Come now, friend, a few more steps. Lean on me," Céorl coaxed. And his voice must have held some trusty note, for the lad obeyed. "Good man. Now a few more..."
Arm in arm, step by step, they followed Hope east.