Author's Note:

Heeeyyyy... hi, uhh... Been a while. Sorry about that. I've been pretty busy lately, namely because of the holiday season, my job, and going on vacation. Oh yeah and you can blame my sister for not playing enough Skyrim. Watching her play inspires me to write this fic. I'm watching her right now, actually.

A few things. I brought in some doggies. I noticed during the Return of the King, they have large Wolf Hounds (I think) in the background, and from what I know of my art history, royal houses always have their loyal pets. hehe. I don't remember why I named them those names though. I wrote the first half quite a while ago now. Also, I gave the little town of Entwash a name. It's called "Wickburne." I looked up some old english town names and it made sense. "Wick" means "Dwelling/Farm" and "Burne" means "stream/spring". Sooo.. it's a farming town near a stream. Makes sense. Yup.

Now back to the story,
-In Amber Clad

A flower.

It was small, and yellow. It had sprung from the snow on the hilltop and peeked out like a little girl behind a curtain. It was the first daisy of Spring. Éomer had noticed it from atop Firefoot as he waited for the rest of his Éored to mount up. A small desire to pick it up played with Éomer's lips, a fleeting smile from the thought of giving it to Éowyn. He had often given his sister flowers when he was small, and she would weave them into her hair. She had long grown too old for such things. She considered it childish now. He wondered if the Réodwyn would think differently.

A whinny from the horses awoke him to the world again. A few men had still not joined them, but he knew they waited near the city gate. He put on his helmet and adjusted his weight. Departure was soon. There was only one last thing. He looked to the terrace of Meduseld, and there she was. Éowyn raised her hand, white sleeve blowing in the wind, and waved farewell. Réodwyn joined her there and waved as well. Éomer waved his own farewell. At that, Éomer gave the order and Éothain blew his horn. The Éored rode down the hill, spears pointing to the sky.

The two Ladies of Meduseld watched them go. Réodwyn clutched her cloak closely to her. The morning air woke her body from early morning somnolence.

"Glad I woke you?" Éowyn asked her.

Réodwyn blinked and made a lazy smile. "Yeah."

"Want some breakfast?" Eowyn asked her.

"Yeah."

They went inside and found some food. They ate wheat buns and honey butter, Réodwyn quietly so because of her sleepiness, but Éowyn ate quietly for another reason. Her head pounded and her stomach did not sit well. A maidservant brought her a small pot and a clean cup. It was filled with a hot brew and the scent wafted across the table. Réodwyn gasped. "What is that?" she asked, but merely so Éowyn would confirm her suspicion.

Éowyn touched the cup to test the heat before the question registered in her mind. "Oh," she said, "it's tea. A remedy blend for headaches."

"You have a hangover? How much did you drink after I left?" Réodwyn teased. "But you have tea?" she asked with genuine interest. "I haven't had tea in weeks. I used to drink it almost every day! Can I have some too?" Éowyn filled Réodwyn's newly emptied cup and they shared the pot. The warmth filled their insides, banishing Réodwyn's morning chills and Éowyn's head pains. Réodwyn let the flavor wash over her tongue, and she gazed through the walls, thinking. "It sort of reminds me of an inglish brekfusti, but not as fruity," she mused, half switching to Westron. "It's a black tea though. The ka feen should help with your headache."

"It is not oft I drink more than I can fill," Éowyn said. She massaged her forehead with her soft fingers. "Perhaps I did not eat enough?"

"Possible," Réodwyn agreed. "Or maybe you didn't drink enough water."

Éowyn nodded, then shook her head. "I wonder if Théodred suffers worse than I?"

Réodwyn laughed. "Oh, he was far gone when I left. Haha. How late did you guys stay up?"

"Too late," Éowyn answered.

"Mm."

"I think I fancy a good long ride." Éowyn poured the last of the tea into the cups. She suggested, " You should come with me."

Réodwyn shrugged. "Sure. As long as we don't ride for too long. I was bruised for a week after I got here. I've never ridden side saddle before."

"Side saddle? Yes, of course. Your dress…" Éowyn remembered then that the golden gown the red head had worn, although not a riding dress it was wide skirted enough to allow her to have ridden astride. "No, now that I think of it, you do not have a riding dress. We shall have to arrange one be made for you."

"Another dress?" She asked. Réodwyn counted on her fingers. "Oh... I guess I don't have very many, do I?" She shook her head. "I keep thinking I have more clothes, but I don't."

There was a low bellow. It came from a large dog, one of two, that excitedly danced around a man emerging from the inner hallways. The man shushed the dog, only to receive another bellow in answer. The man pinched the bridge of his nose and steadied himself. The two women gave each other a knowing glance. The Prince was rough from the night before. Éowyn beckoned him over and called for another pot of tea. Théodred slumped into a seat beside Éowyn. The two dogs poked their long scruffy noses over his shoulders and panted in his ears.

"Egar, Rued, down!" he moaned, pushing them away. They whined and obeyed. He took a bun in hand and munched. The dogs of course stared at him with dopey eyes, drooling.

The wind was quiet. Strong, but quiet. There was whistling in the tall grasses, and singing of a single lark that had arrived early for spring. Éomer tried to locate the lark. The chirping seemed to be coming from beyond a garden fence, where the long grass began. The village near Entwash, Wickburn was the name he had remembered at last, was bustling with new vigor. The ice had melted from the earth, and so many were at work digging graves at last for those who had fallen on that dreadful night passed weeks before. The townspeople greeted the Éored warmly, preparing food for them despite the winter stores nearing depletion. Spring had come, they reasoned, and food would soon be growing in the fields and game returning from the southern plains.

A young boy approached the Marshal, who sat on a lone bench near the new building. It was Earthang, the boy who had led them to the spring. He stood there, watching the man carve into a small block of wood. The knife was small but sharp, and Éomer took his time whittling away at the wood. The block became thinner, and ovular. Éomer stopped to brush off the dust from his trousers and then continued carving. He traced out the form of two horse heads caressing a central flower, a symbelmune. Below them, was a band of interwoven vines. Leisurely he carved into it, creating a low relief. This was not done quickly, as over a few minutes. At last, the boy spoke.

"Will it be a comb?"

"Yes," replied the Marshal.

"I think it will be a nice comb."

"I hope so," the Marshal said. He thumbed away the sawdust, revealing his little piece of art. He looked up at the boy. "Your stance has a patience you did not possess the first we met."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And your family," Éomer said, remembering the dark news that Réodwyn had shared with him, "Are they fairing well?"

"Yes, my Lord," the boy said, but a small quiver came to his voice.

"But you are not," Éomer surmised. The boy did not answer. Éomer decided to change the subject to something he knew would lift the boy's spirits. "The young maiden we found at Ent Spring has been made Ward to the King." The boy's eyes brightened. He opened his mouth to speak, but Éomer's name was called. Éomer stood and patted the boy's shoulder. His break was a bit too long, he admitted. It was time to return to helping the others.