Dear King Théoden:
I am Éomer Éadig, and I am the Third Marshal of the East Mark (aka the Eastmarches), and I'm writing to you on some of your old pink stationary that I found in an old box in the attic, and I'm writing to tell you that it's mine now, just for your information.
-Éomer.
Dear Marshal Éadig:
That stuff is not yours! It is mine from your mother! She gave it to me on her dying day! It is mine, not thine! Do you understand? You had better, or you will be sorry, young man.
And just so's you know, I KNOW that the East Mark is also called the Eastmarches.
Btw, who is the girl you love?
~Théoden, King of All Rohan (including the Eastmarches).
PS. What does "aka" mean?
Dear King Théoden:
I was hoping you knew that. It is good to jog a young man's memory from time to time.
In answer to your silly, highly personal, and inappropriate question, Lothíriel is the girl I love.
Why?
And no, it is not yours. (We are talking about the stationary now, correct?) It is mine, because I found it, so just for your information... you had better understand.
Shall I call for my sword?
-Éomer.
Dear Marshal Éadig:
How dare you! If you weren't my nephew, you would not like to think of what would be happening to you, so you should be glad you are saved. No, I do not understand, because it isn't. (Yes, *inserts Orcish swear word* we are speaking of MY stationary now.)
~Théoden.
Dear Unc:
I dare easily. Yes, it is mine. And I am not glad that you are my uncle. I do not deign to say what I truly think of you, young man.
I remain ever yours,
-Éomer.
Dear Marshal Éadig:
HA. If you aren't careful, I shall die laughing.
I remain ever yours,
~Théoden.
PS. That was a mistake. Ignore.
Dear King Théoden:
This is my last letter to you on this subject, and I shall end with this proclamation publicly from the rooftops and with great gusto and fervour and zeal I shall yell it in your ear.
This stationary stuff that I am writing on right now is MINE and MINE ONLY. I am not very pleased with you.
Yours ever, (*laugh cough cough*)
-Éomer Éadig, King of Rohan. And the East Mark. (aka the Eastmarches.)
Dear Marshal Éadig:
I am glad you are not going to write me anymore. You have hurt me despicably.
Plaka! What did you say?!
~Théoden, WHO IS KING OF THE MARK NOT YOU
Dear Marshal Théoden:
*gentle sigh*
-Éomer, King of the Mark.
Dear Marshal Éadig:
STOP WRITING ON THE BLASTED PAPER THAT IS MY LIFE
AND STOP CALLING ME MARSHAL
~Théoden, King of Rohan.
Dear Marshal Théoden:
You know, that was a waste of your dwindling supply of paper. I'm writing on the pink stationary that belongs to me from my mother and not you from my mother, from my mother to me and not my sister from her mother, and not to you from my sister, or to me from my sister, but to me from my mother, not to you from my mother or even her mother.
Me.
From my mother.
Ha.
-Éomer.
Dear Marshal Éadig:
GIVE THAT STUFF BACK.
~Théoden.
Dear Sergeant Théoden:
No.
-Éomer.
Marshal Éadig:
Théoden, by the Grade of Eru, King of Rohan, of Edoras, of Dunharrow, of the Eastfold, of the Great West Road, of the Dwimoberg, of Isengard, of Orthanc, of the Gap of Rohan, of the Fords of Isen, of Aglarond, of the Westfold, and of Helm's Deep, sends cordial (for now) greetings to his humble servant and slave, Éomer of the Eastmarches.
For as much of you, Éomer son of Éomund, are going against Our official Commands, we demand your immediate and complete Compliance in Our Wishes.
Reply instanter.
~Théoden.
Dear Théoden:
No, I shan't reply, and no, I shan't comply, and no, you shan't reply either, because you have just enough paper to reply to anymore of my highly-informative letters, and you won't have any paper until we go to Gondor, and that won't be till there is a war between Gondor and Mordor and we are ordered to sprint to their spindly Steward's rescue, and there isn't a war with Gondor yet. Of course, Sauron declared war on Gondor at least two thousand ages ago, but Gondor never declared war on Mordor. (That would make it so much more romantic.)
-Éomer.
PS. Sorry for the history lesson.
Dear Marshal Éomer:
Do not call me by my first name.
I write very wearily upon this last precious piece of paper, and now I ask you: why, why, WHY are you doing this to me? You do not know what trouble you are causing me. Do you know what your racist words will do to our alliance with Gondor?!
~Théoden, the stressed King of Rohan.
Théoden:
I barely deign to reply, and scarcely see why I SHOULD. Anyhow, they never came. See. My argument stands.
And this is the last piece of MY pink stationary paper, so this argument may-as-well end.
Yours ever,
-Éomer.
A/N: Did anyone catch the quote from the 1959 Journey to the Center of the Earth?