Disclaimer: Still don't own them.
Author's note: I'm back! Sorry for not updating for a very long while. It's seems that a writer's block had a very strong hold of me. Damn those writer's blocks.
I haven't forgotten that they all rode to Isengard after the battle at Helm's Deep, but in the movie there is no real scene from Isengard, and to write it based on the book will just bee too long. So I won't write it in this chapter, but maybe it will be a flashback or something later. And to write the entire thing is not relevant for the story either. Well, I'm gonna shut up now and give you guys a chance to read the story.
Things Worth Fighting For
Chapter 10
He had missed his cousin's funeral. Théodred never should have died. He was the heir to the throne. Théodred's place had been next to Théoden. It was not Éomer's place, nor was it his wish to stand there now. His uncle had told him what was to be done. He would officially be named heir to the throne of Rohan. It was a position he had never wanted; one he never thought would be his. Not in his wildest imaginations had he ever believed he would be named heir.
He was standing next to his uncle, watching the people that were inside the Golden Hall. He saw Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn standing next to Gamling. He saw Éothain and Liriel on the other side of the hall, with the rest of the éored. He did not know why, but he was comforted by the fact that she was there. His uncle's voice brought him back to reality.
"Tonight we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead!" Théoden raised his cup, and the others did also. "Hail!" they cried in one voice. Théoden continued. "Théodred my son is slain. I name Éomer my sister-son to be my heir."
Éomer had thought himself prepared for those words, but it turned out he was not prepared at all. His heart skipped a beat and he did not look at the people in the Golden Hall. He stared passed them, his eyes fixed on a suddenly very interesting spot on the wall. He had not been prepared of the loud cry that came from the people, as they hailed him as the heir to the throne. His eyes met Liriel's, and she smiled to him, but it was sadness in her eyes. He had told her that he had no desire to be king. She knew he did not want the power or responsibility.
Éomer needed air. He made his way through the crowd, but that was easier said than done. People wanted a word with him, to congratulate him and offer their support. When he finally made his way out of the Golden Hall, he was out of breath only by speaking to all the people. He leaned against the wall and gazed upon the plains of Rohan. He would do his duty to his land and people, but that did not mean he had to like the idea of being the future king. He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand upon his arm, and he reached for his sword, only to remember that he did not have it on him.
"At ease, soldier, it is only I," Lothíriel said softly.
Éomer took a deep breath. "You should know better than to sneak up on a warrior."
"But you were not armed," Lothíriel replied. "There was nothing to fear. And I am not totally defenceless," she reminded him.
"That you certainly are not," Éomer said. She came to stand next to him, slipping her hand into his. Neither said anything, they simply enjoyed each other's company. There was no need for words.
At last Lothíriel turned at Éomer. "Perhaps we should return to the feast. As the king's nephew I am sure many want a word with you."
"I would rather spend my time with you, Liriel," Éomer said softly against her ear.
She smiled. "As much as we both would want that, I am sure someone will soon be suspicious about our whereabouts," she frowned. "The éored would not want their Marshal to be distracted while we are still at war."
Éomer kissed her lips. "This is a distraction I would not mind."
Lothíriel smiled. "I am serious, Éomer! What would the men say if they suddenly came and saw us like this?"
"I would not mind," Éomer muttered against her lips, running his hand through her hair.
She did not push him away, though she continued to argument for why they should return to the feast. At last he nodded, and they returned inside.
The two Hobbits, Merry and Pippin, had come with them from Isengard, as they were companions of Gandalf and Aragorn. Now they were dancing on a table, singing.
"Oh, you can search far and wide
You can drink the whole town dry
But you'll never find a beer so brown
But you'll never find a beer so brown
As the one we drink in our hometown
As the one we drink in our hometown
You can drink your fancy ales
You can drink 'em by the flagon
But the only brew for the brave and true
Comes from the Green Dragon"
The Hobbits toasted and drank. Lothíriel smiled and looked at Éomer, who only gave her a small smile in return. She wished they could stay this happy forever, for never before had she been as happy as she was now.
Many hours later the Princess of Dol Amroth was half sitting half laying on a bench, a mug of ale in her hand. Damn those Hobbits! She thought. Pippin had found her over at the barrels to get some ale to herself and Éomer. Pippin had been surprised to find a woman with dark hair amongst the Rohirrim, one who was dressed in shirt, trousers and a blue cloak, and not a gown as the other women. She had presented herself, as had he, but she had not mentioned that she was indeed a member of the éored of the Third Marshal of the Mark. But Pippin had found her very beautiful, and was puzzled by her appearance. He asked if she wanted to have some ale with him, and of course she said yes. Before long time had gone, she had somehow found herself in the middle of a drinking contest with the two Hobbits.
Merry was now soundly asleep, and Pippin had been carried out of the hall by Gandalf some time ago. Lothíriel did not see Éomer coming towards her.
"It seems, my lady, that you forgot my ale," he said as he took a seat next to her. The Hall was nearly emptied.
She frowned at him. "Your ale, my lord? Since when did I become naught but a servant, Heir of Go… ohan?" her speech was slurred and her eyes dazed. Éomer could do no other thing than to grin at her.
"You are no servant of mine, but if you recall you were getting us some more ale when you suddenly vanished," he answered her.
She frowned again. "Oh, yes, of course…"
"So how much ale have you been drinking?" he asked her.
"Oh, not too many, I think… only…" she tried to count on her fingers, but she found herself with too few. She took up the other hand and smiled as it had more fingers, but again she did not have enough. Éomer chuckled. "I see. And how did you end up drinking so much?"
"It was those Hobbits!" Lothíriel spat. "Those ras… ras... rascg… rasgal…."
"Rascals?" Éomer asked.
"Yes! That was exact… exact… It was that!" she raised her mug to her lips, but it was taken from her before she was able to drink anything. She shot Éomer a glare. He only laughed of her.
"I think someone have had more than enough," he put the mug down and helped her stand. "Come. I will take you to a room where you can sleep."
Lothíriel frowned. "Your room? I will not sleep in your room." As her feet became heavier and she simply started dragging them after her, Éomer took her in his arms and carried her down the corridor. He opened a door.
"I told you I will not sleep in your room," She said. She spoke slowly; some of her words were unclear. "Valar knows what you would do to me then." Her eyes suddenly closed.
Éomer put her on the bed, removed her cloak and put the covers over her. He smiled as he gazed upon her sleeping form. She looked so peaceful, like no cold had ever touched her. She looked so innocent and Éomer suddenly realized how young she really was. He did not know how long he was looking at her, but at last he decided to retire and went to his rooms. But not before he gave her a goodnight kiss on her lips. Although she was still asleep he would have sworn she smiled.
Sometime during the night, Pippin had looked into the palantír Gandalf had taken with him from Isengard. The Hobbit had apparently not told the enemy anything he should not, and he had seen a glimpse of the enemy's plan. Théoden had been talking to Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and the two Hobbits about that, but when Gandalf had said that Rohan had to be ready, if the beacons of Gondor were lit, Théoden had responded by asking why the Rohirrim should ride to the aid of those who did not come to Rohan. He had asked what they owed Gondor.
Éomer had not been present at the time, but he was now standing next to Gamling in Théoden's study, with the other councillors. Éomer had been present on a meeting with the king's councillors before, but he was not used to it. But if he was to be the next king of Rohan, he supposed he had to get used to it some time.
Right now he was looking at his uncle. He had just been told what had been said during the meeting with the White Wizard and his companions.
"We owe nothing to Gondor," one of the councillors said, a man in his sixties whose name was Léthed, as far as Éomer knew.
"The Steward could not know we needed help," Hadreod said. He was a man close to fifty, and he was the youngest of Théoden's councillors.
"Our relationship with Gondor goes both ways," Léthed protested. "It is not always Rohan that shall come to the aid of Gondor."
Of the seven councillors, it seemed as most held with Léthed. Only Aodred, an old man in his eighties held with Hadreod.
Councillors and long meetings made Éomer tired and weary, for not to mention he was still suffering of the effects of the ale the night before. Gamling and he were the only soldiers there. The councillors had never been to battle, and they thought words held more power than swords. Perhaps it was so, for Éomer felt as if he could just suddenly fall to sleep. He was tired of listening to the councillors. "May I speak, my lord?" Théoden nodded and Éomer continued. "If Minas Tirith falls, Rohan will be next. Then it will not matter who aided whom and who did not, for then it will be too late. Our land will be taken by the enemy. Our people and horses will be dead or taken as slaves. In the end it does not matter if we choose not to aid Gondor. But if we ride to their aid, we will defend our country as well."
It did not occur to Éomer until later how unbelievable selfish reasons he had to want to aid Gondor, in addition of saving his people and country. However his words had given Théoden something to think about.
Éomer hurried down the corridor. He found the right door and knocked on it. The only thing he heard was a groan. He smiled slightly and opened the door. Lothíriel was still in bed, the covers pulled over her face.
"My lady, it is time to stand up," Éomer said.
"No, it's not," Lothíriel replied.
"No man in my éored has ever been beaten by something as simple as a hangover. And nor will you, only because you are a woman," Éomer said.
Lothíriel removed the covers from her face. "Fine. I shall do as my marshal commands. Have anyone ever told you that you are cruel?"
"Yes, my sister tells me so all the time," Éomer replied.
She looked around. "Where am I?"
"In one of the few guestrooms in the Golden Hall," Éomer answered. "I took you here last night. You passed out before you could put yourself to bed."
"I did?" Lothíriel asked. "I don't remember."
"That does not surprise me," Éomer said. "I have never seen a woman so drunk before as you was last night."
"Remember, Éomer, that I am not a common woman," Lothíriel said.
"That you certainly are not," Éomer said and kissed her.
"Where is Éomer?" Théoden asked as he came out of his study.
"With the lady, I believe, my lord," the head of his household, Lady Geolice, said.
"What lady?" Théoden asked.
"One of the maids readied a room for her yesterday, my lord," Geolice answered. "I do not know who she is, but I know which room was prepared for her. Shall I find your nephew, my lord?"
"No, I will find Éomer myself," Théoden answered. "Now, which room?"
Théoden found the room and saw that the door was half open. He looked inside and saw Éomer sitting on the edge of the bed. In the bed was a woman. She was a beautiful lady, but Théoden could see at once she was not of the Rohirrim. Her hair was as black as the night, not golden.
Lothíriel laughed at something Éomer said. "Please don't do that again. My head feels like it is going to break."
Éomer laughed. "That was your own fault, not mine."
"Somehow I believe I will prove it was your fault and not mine," Lothíriel said.
"Are you sure?" Éomer asked softly and kissed her. Théoden could hardly believe his eyes. He had never seen his nephew give such attention to a woman before. He debated whether to leave them alone or break up the moment. At last the thought of what could occur between them after he left made him enter the room.
Lothíriel's hands had travelled to Éomer's back and were now trying to pull him closer to her, when she suddenly heard footsteps. With much effort she broke the kiss. "Éomer…"
Éomer looked at her and then turned to see what she was looking at. "My lord…" he was on his feet quickly, while Lothíriel simply stayed where she was. Her face was as red as the colour of King Théoden's tunic. Look at me! She thought. Here I am in the presence of the king of Rohan, and what do I do? I'm in bed with the worst hangover I have ever experienced. A good thing he does not know I am of the royal house of Dol Amroth! What would he think of my father then?
"Éomer," Théoden looked at his nephew, "I need a word with you."
"Of course, my lord," Éomer replied, but they did not move.
"Perhaps you should introduce your lady?" Théoden suggested. He was rather amused by the whole situation, but he did not let it show.
"My lord, this is Liriel of Gondor. Liriel, this is my uncle, Théoden King," Éomer said.
"A pleasure to meet you, my lord," Lothíriel said, trying to be a polite princess without actually being a princess. She was lucky that she was a princess, for if not she probably would have difficulties to answer the king.
"You as well, Liriel of Gondor," Théoden said. "Éomer," the king motioned for Éomer to follow him. Éomer gave Lothíriel a small smiled before following his uncle out in the corridor.
"A lady from Gondor? How did she end up in Edoras?" The king asked.
"She came with my éored from Helm's Deep," Éomer said. Théoden gave him a questioning look. Éomer sighed. "She is a member of my éored, uncle. First she…"
"A woman in your éored?" Théoden asked. "And you treat her just as you treat you men?"
"I do not expect you to understand what events have lead to this, but I ask you to trust my judgement on this. She is a good warrior. But if I could keep her from fighting, I would, but then I fear I would be a head shorter," Éomer said.
"You do as you see fit with your men, of course, but a woman… a Gondorian woman…"
Éomer cut him off, "Liriel is a capable fighter. And if she is a member of my own éored or not is my decision."
Théoden studied his nephew. "She is a good friend then?"
Éomer looked at him. "Well… yes, she…"
"And these days good friends kiss?" Théoden asked with a smile. "Take care of your guest, nephew. Come to my study tonight. I want to know how a woman has managed to get the power over you to have a woman in your éored." With that he left.
Éomer looked after him. "That's not true. She doesn't have any power over me," he muttered; although even now he started to question if that was true.
Théoden was in his study, looking out of the window after his nephew had been there, talking to him and telling him about that woman. He now understood what reasons Éomer had for going to Gondor. Was it right of him to refuse to help Gondor? Was it not also true that if Gondor fell, his country would be next? Gandalf had taken the Hobbit with him to Gondor. He would fight against the Dark Lord. Was Rohan supposed to watch the outcome and not fight themselves? The Rohirrim was a nation of warriors. Would they not fight, but instead wait? It was his responsibility as their king to decide. What he decided would be important for his people. They would fight or wait.
Éomer was standing next to his sister in the Golden Hall. Lothíriel had gone to check on her horse.
"Not yet at ease at being the heir, are you?" Éowyn asked.
"Should I be?" Éomer asked. "Our cousin was heir. This was never my task."
"I know, brother. But you love our people just like Théodred did, and as things have turned out, I would not see anyone else as the future king," Éowyn said.
Before Éomer was able to reply, the doors to the Golden Hall were opened, and Aragorn came running in.
"The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid," Aragorn stood in front of Théoden. Éomer and Éowyn looked at each other, wondering what their uncle would decide.
Théoden thought at the conversation he had had with his nephew about Liriel, the woman from Gondor. She was the only Gondorian who had come to Rohan and fought with his people. If we don't come to the aid of Gondor, Rohan will fall next. I cannot let my people fall if there can be done anything to prevent it. Théoden looked at his men and Aragorn. "And Rohan will answer," he turned at Éomer. "Muster the Rohirrim."
Éomer nodded, touching his sister's shoulder, before leaving the hall.
Théoden and Éomer left the Golden Hall together.
"Assemble the army at Dunharrow. As many men as can be found. You have two days. On the third, we ride for Gondor and war," Théoden ordered and Éomer nodded.
"Éothain, assemble the éored," Éomer ordered.
Éothain nodded and left to carry out the orders.
Éomer went to where Firefoot had been readied. Lothíriel was standing next to him, making sure she had remembered everything as she readied Thalion. Éomer looked at her.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"What? Did you think I would wait in Edoras?" Lothíriel asked. "I am coming with you."
"No, you are not," he protested.
"Please, Éomer. This discussion is starting to become old," Lothíriel said. "I will tell you what will happen if we start this. You will say that I can't come, and I will again point out that I am a member of your éored. You will give up and I will be happy and give you a smile you cannot resist and you will kiss me until we are both out of breath," she smiled sweetly at him.
Éomer shook his head. "A smile I cannot resist you say?" she nodded, still smiling. "And I'll kiss you until we are out of breath?" Again she nodded. Éomer did not waste his time with any more words, but brought his lips to hers and as promised kissed her out of breath.
They did not see the Dwarf staring at them with his mouth open. The Marshal is kissing a man? Are there not any women for him to kiss? Gimli could not see the face of the man Éomer was kissing because of the cloak the other was wearing. I must ask Aragorn about this! It cannot be common for men to kiss men. It surely cannot be healthy!
Éomer broke off the kiss. "Fine, it seems as if I have no other choice than to allow you to come to Dunharrow." Lothíriel grinned and mounted Thalion. Éomer mounted Firefoot. He looked at the men around him. "Now is the hour. Riders of Rohan, oaths you have taken. Now fulfill them all. To lord and land!"
With that they rode out of Edoras.
Thank you guys for your patience. You've been great encouragement and a reminder that I can't give up. I'm gonna finish this story, one way or another.
lady scribe of avandell: What Déorl asked Halmod to do will be known later. Keep reading. Your reviews have always been of great help to me.
Haldir's Heart and Soul: It's not too long now. I can't wait to write that chapter! It'll be fun! (for me as the writer at least.)
Lady Anck-su-namun: I had to spare Haldir! He was never meant to die, and I can't believe Peter Jackson killed him in the movies. I mean he didn't die in the books, and that's how it should be. So I couldn't keep to the book for then it would be too few defenders at Helm's Deep since I banished Éomer, but I could spare his life.
Kristine: Hi, girl, don't start crying yet! I haven't gotten to all the depressing stuff yet. But I'm glad you reviewed, although you've only gotten to chapter 3. Reviews are great, no matter what! I'll see you later, I hope. Snakkes!