tar·a·did·dle
noun
a small lie; fib

Being in charge of anything was usually a minor inconvenience. It would, of course, consist of minor annoyances as they came, but it was more or less fairly simple to handle. Being a King, however, was drastically different and was sometimes a trying experience. Especially, when one had a brood of wayward children who outright refused to behave themselves.

The current meeting had gone fairly well in his opinion, but it was far too quiet for his comfort. He knew from experience that when times were quiet, chaos was inevitably around the corner.

"Théodred," he whispered into his son's ear, "Where are your cousins?"

The young heir gulped audibly, but kept his expression as serene as possible, his gaze never wavering from the war council meeting going on before him.

"I believe that Éomer is giving some of the village lads a lesson in swordsmanship."

"And Éowyn?"

"She's...uh...watching?"

Not likely, thought an immediately suspicious Théoden and he poked his son with the writing quill he was holding.

"Was that a question or a statement, my son?"

"Er...that is...um, both?"

This doesn't bode well for anyone, he mused while he half listened to Grimbold describe the current state of their armory. Clearing his throat to halt the meeting, he nodded to his fellow countrymen.

"My good men, I feel we have discussed much already, but there are pressing matters that I must see to." He pretended not to notice how rapidly his son was suddenly fascinated with his boots. "So I think it's best if we reconvene after supper?"

._._._._._.

He honestly didn't know what he was expecting when he came down to the training field. Well, that wasn't completely true; he half expected to find his niece and nephew locked together in a vicious spar that would have the village children cheering. He wasn't too far off—Éomer and Éowyn were indeed crossing blades, but not with each other.

Luna was holding her own very well; she bore two swords of unfamiliar make and her eyes stayed locked onto the siblings in front of her. From the looks of them, they had been sparring for quite some time: Éowyn was sporting a nasty bruise on her right cheek and Éomer's face was red with exertion. For just a split-second, Luna's gaze met with Théoden's and her sparring partners' followed her gaze to their Uncle's. Both looked suitably shocked and sheepish to be caught doing what they weren't supposed to and Luna chose that moment to strike. In one fluid movement, she dipped under Éomer's guard and delivered a solid head-butt to his temple. While he spat out a litany of Rohirric curses, Luna shifted her grip on one of her blades and swung the hilt into Éowyn's gut.

"Cheater!" wheezed the younger woman as she used her sword to keep her upright.

Using her sleeve to wipe the sweat from her brow, Luna laughed at her friends. It wasn't often that she got to spar with some of the Big Folk; she tended to spend more of her time among the Hobbits and Dwarrows as of late.

"Oh, don't be angry with me. Not every wielder of a blade will fight as honorably as your brother or cousin!"

"Hey! I can to fight without honor!" A sputtering Théodred charged forward, completely forgetting his father's presence.

Luna eyed him like he was something she'd scrape of the bottom of her boots.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really! Girl or not, I can fight you as well as any man and win! Don't think I've forgotten that frog you left in my bed last spring!"

"Actually cousin, that was me." A sheepish Éomer tried to interject but was shushed by his now irate cousin.

"It matters not who did it! Nevertheless! I, Prince Théodred of Rohan—"

"…how Uncle manages to keep him from running his nonsensical mouth, I'll never know," muttered Éowyn whilst helping her brother get to his feet.

"—have issued a challenge! Do you accept you villainous wench?!"

"The Valar forbid I don't," Luna sighed and held out one of her swords for him to take.

King Théoden rolled his eyes at their antics and sat down on the bench that carried the weight of his niece and nephew. Éowyn was already inspecting her brother's face for any lasting damage.

"I see the two of you are none the worse for wear. She must have gone easy on you this time."

His niece gave an unladylike snort while his nephew winced.

"Uncle, she no longer fights like how she did when we were children!" She took the cold cloth offered by one of the village children. "She fights as though she's seen battle."

"I would not doubt it, my dear. You have all grown up to be fierce warriors." He felt as though it was just the other day that the four of them had burst into his study brandishing wooden swords and demanding he surrender to them. He let out a soft chuckle at the following memory of them scowling at one another in the Healer's hall.

"We're going to be the best warriors of Rohan," Éomer stated and flinched when Luna stomped on his cousin's instep.

Théoden made no reply but instead patted the shoulder of his nephew in a comforting manner. He knew they would do him proud, but for now he would enjoy watching over his children while they could still play the part.