Though I've never submitted any fanfic for it before, I'm also a huge Lord of the Rings nut as well as a "Criminal Minds" and "CSI:NY" fan. I found this story I wrote ages ago, and dusted it off and thought I might as well post it. Of course, I don't own Tolkien's brilliant world or characters, just filling in a missing moment that I thought could have happened. Enjoy it if you want to try out something different from me!

Simbelmyne

The long yellow-green grass appeared to roll, rippling in the wind like waves. Ruffling the nutmeg brown curls of the young hobbit, even as the sun warmly lightened them, the wind blew around him, whispering sympathy. They had seemed so wild and beautiful to Merry, when he had first seen the expansive plains of Rohan; so different from the lush, quiet deep greens of the Shire's little hills and valleys. Rohan and its people had stirred something in his blood; thrilled him to his very marrow and become so much a part of him that he did not think he would ever truly leave them all behind. Even now that the War was over and he was going home at last.

Now, instead of wildly dancing, it seemed that the grasses were bowing in respectful farewell, just as he was. Merry knelt at the burial mound of Theoden King, silent and alone. The last rites and ceremonies had been performed the day and evening before, and soon Merry's small caravan would head off again, moving on – going back home at last.

With a heart-heavy sigh, the hobbit realized he did not really know how to grieve for this man so great, and yet so kind. Theoden had taken Merry under his charge while the rest of the Fellowship rode off leaving him behind, and Merry had found one who was like a father to him. He had pledged his sword and his service to the aging monarch – and had not once regretted it. When his own night had grown darkest, with not even Pippin at his side for comfort, this king of men was the one who had been there.

He did not want to cry. He did not think the Rohirrim showed such weakness. And he was now an Esquire of Rohan.

A rustle of footsteps in the long grass and the unmistakable creak of the hard, leather armour alerted Merry of another's approach. Turning, he saw Eomer King and stood up from where he knelt in order to properly honor the fallen hero.

But Eomer bade him stay. "Nay, do not treat me as a better, Master Swordthain. I look to you as a true hero."

Merry's eyes widened as the new leader of Rohan, Theoden's own sister-son, and a hero in his own right , spoke to him so respectfully. He began to shake his head, to protest. He was not worthy of fine words of kings' praises – and certainly he was no hero. Sadly, he realized that he would perhaps even give back the victory to not be kneeling here before this grave. "No, don't consider me a hero. You, and your sister, and your people, and the men of Gondor, and the others in my Fellowship…they are heroes. But I – I…" here he stuttered for a moment, then put the rest of his words together. "I am just a hobbit of the Shire who counts himself lucky to have found favor with so great a king of Men." He had to bow his head again as a tear dripped its escape down his cheek. If Eomer noticed, he did not speak of it aloud.

"You loved him too…" Eomer's deep, resonant voice came to Merry's ears, the realization fresh within its tone. A stunned mixture of surprise, sadness, loss, and acceptance presenting itself in his words.

"Aye," Merry managed to reply, "that I did."

"As well you should," Eomer said, stepping closer and laying his dauntingly large, strong hand upon the hobbit's shoulder. "He was all a Lord of the Riddermark could hope to be, all the father I can ever remember, and wise to see the loyal bravery in someone he did not yet know or understand."

Merry's eyes lifted, coming back to meet Eomer's tawny, powerful ones again. He understood that Eomer meant him, but he could not begin to see why the new king counted befriending a simple hobbit any great credit to character.

"You are more Rohirrim soldier – and hero – than you realize, Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire. Theoden King knew well that you would play a part in the charge we made, and though he knew not what that part would be, his faith was rewarded. Eowyn saw your mettle as well, while I doubted. Glad I am that she took you with her on her fugitive ride; you saved my sister's life."

"And she saved us all perhaps…" Merry whispered, shuddering slightly remembering that final sword thrust and the terrible cold as the Witch King met his destined foe at last.

"But she could not have done that without you," Eomer prodded.

A long moment passed between them; one of silence and rippling grass and the wind caressing two soldiers' battered and careworn faces. Merry looked again at the mound now housing Theoden King's body, and reminded himself, tried to comfort his aching heart, with the knowledge that the spirit of Theoden, son of Thengel was now in the halls of his fathers. He would now be able to stand amongst them proudly; a hero of the greatest battle of his time.

"He rose from the darkness to see a bright new dawn," Eomer spoke almost gently, his voice growing ragged, yet surprisingly soft for such a warrior. "He rode out, led our people once more…and it was enough."

Merry looked up to see the track of one tear that had washed its way down the brash, wild face of Rohan's new King. Astonished, Merry knew then that his own grief would never be out of place in such company.