Disclaimer: I don't own the Lord of the Rings, sadly. I'm only borrowing the mentioned character so that I can write this story...fanfiction...thing.

Red Dawns

The dark clouds in the east grew ever closer; the sense of dread looming over each warrior as they rode through the day, resting only when the greatest need arose. Dusk was coming fast, the hours of the day slipping away. They were resting now, thousands upon thousands of men and horses needing to regain their strength for the battle ahead.

Restless eyes searched the encampment; they were far behind; lost too much time. He wanted them to keep moving, but abided his lord's wishes, forcing himself to settle instead for another restless night of watching the surrounding land.

He'd heard somewhere, long ago, that red dawns were a sign of spilt blood, shed throughout the night, red sunsets a sign of blood shed throughout the day. If this was true, he noted, then much blood had to have been spilt on the earth for the sky to bleed so impossibly. He shuddered at the thought.

He was experience in battle, there was no doubt about that, but some scars ran to deep. He had seen his friends fall beside him, lost family, unable to get his proper revenge. So instead, that was all he thought about, when he fought, the pure, untamed rage that swept through his veins; yielding to the power of his anger, his grief, all those nights as a boy he had sat awake because he had been afraid to close his eyes. He didn't think about people dying, crying for mercy, didn't think that in battle he had become a ruthless murderer. He only thought about how this was the only way to get his revenge on life that had been so cruel to him.

He also fought for his sister. He fought for her, gaining his revenge slowly, mercilessly as he killed thousands. He fought for her, for what she lost. She had become so distant, no emotion showing in her fair face, the smiles that no longer lit up the halls of his home like the daylight that had faded into dark, cold night. He fought for her; he fought for all of them, because he needed something to fight for.

He was sitting in front of the campfire, gazing into the flames as though they might bear the deliverance of all his troubles. Beside him, as quiet and pensive as he, was Gamling. He was aware, vaguely, of voices coming from behind him. Pulling himself roughly out of his reverie, he began to half listen once he heard his sister's voice, full of laughter and delight that he had not heard in such a very long time.
"To the smithy, go!" He looked up slightly as the hobbit, Merry, he thought, rushed past him.
"You should not encourage him."
The light joy in her face was instantly covered as she replaced her mask.
"You should not doubt him." Staring into the fire once more, he replied,
"I do not doubt his heart, only the reach of his arm." Beside him, Gamling snickered, looking away.
"Why should Merry be left behind? He has as much cause to go to war as you. Why can he not fight for those he loves?" He closed his eyes, but a brief moment, hundreds of thoughts rushing through his mind. She didn't know. She didn't know of the pain, the fear, the cold-hearted rage that one fighting for revenge, for hope, for loved-ones would possess. She didn't know what it was like to kill someone without an ounce of remorse, only to have their ghosts come back and haunt you on such lonely nights. Even if they were the enemy. Rising, his voice filled with a sudden anger that he did not understand, he spoke in a hushed whisper, crowding her against the tent.
"You know as little of war as that Hobbit. When the fear takes him and the blood and the screams and the horror of battle take hold, do you think he would stand and fight? He would flee. And he would be right to do so. War is the province of Men, Eowyn."

He sat much the same as he had that night, only this time he was decked in his armor, ready for the battle he was sure that they wouldn't win. He couldn't even see the hope any more. It had been a long time since he could. He let the memory wash over him, before pushing it at last to the back of his mind, forgetting about it for the moment, and many more after that. Turning his gaze once more to the bodies that littered the ground, trying to get as peaceful a rest they could before the horror that would follow. It was still night, although it felt as if it had been forever. A part of him wanted it to stay that way. He wanted it to remain night forever so that the battle might never come; maybe he would die before dawn finally came.

He didn't know how he had lived with himself for so long. He realized that he had become as cold, if not more, as Eowyn. He wondered where it had all gone wrong.

Sighing, he heaved himself to his feet, extinguishing the fire. His gaze wandered again towards the east, seeing still only darkness. He gathered up his belongings, knowing that soon the night would end and they would have to face a long, hard day of riding ceaselessly. He stood there for an eternity before moving, unaware of eyes that watched him, unaware of anything, and nothing, and everything. He wondered what it would be like, this battle. He wondered if it would be his last. He already knew the answer to that, everyone here did. Keeping his eyes on the horizon, he waited for a glimmer of light, waiting to see if it was to be a red dawn once again.

As Eomer stood there, he thought that he could faintly perceive the far off sounds of battle, the screams of dying men and innocents as they rushed to escape the weapons if the enemy.

Tomorrow, they would ride to ruin.