Chapter 3.

The sky was the same as it had been the day they set out for Edoras. Storm clouds slowly moved overhead, a seemingly dark omen of their arrival. The gates were open, and Éomer started from his reverie as they entered the city. Peasants hurried to the side of the dirt road as their party rode forward. Some stopped to stare at the new arrivals, about whom much curiosity had been stirred. Murmurs made their way to the children's ears.

An old lady with a basket of vegetables watched with squinted eyes, "Oh, pity on the poor darlings."

A maid on the arm of a muscular farmer commented, "Look just like their parents no doubt."

A sneering man with a head of grey hair turned and corrected the maid, "No, the girl looks like Morwen, the king's own mother. The puffed-up, high and mighty lady of Lossarnach…"

Éomer did not look at the people. His head sagged, and he longed for home, or just for a place to lay his aching body. Éowyn lay against him limply half-asleep. The horses were also weary from the journey, and their legs worked slowly up the road. As they reached the Golden Hall, Éowyn woke and stared up at the overwhelming structure. They had been to this place only once before, but the memory of it had long ago been forgotten.

The building stood upon a green terrace. The roof and the posts of the doors seemed to shine a rich, warm gold despite the dreary, dark weather. The guards at the door were mighty men of Rohan, and reminded the children agonizingly of their father. They rose from their seats before the returning king of the Golden Hall. "Westu Théoden hàl!" the soldiers cried, standing proudly. Théoden smiled wearily, happy to be home. He watched Théodred helped the children dismount, and servants hurried to take the horses away.

The king had been very grieved to here of his sister's death, it had been so unexpected that she would die so early, and so suddenly after her husband's death. The lack of closure, of seeing his sister die, of seeing her last breath was also hard, he wanted to tell her everything he felt for her and thought of her. He watched the children follow their cousin up the stairs and smiled. Both of them showed so much of their mother's courage and strength, he resolved to encourage that in them. He would raise them as she would and make his sister glad to have entrusted them to his care.

Inside it was dark. Éomer looked around in wonder. Great pillars held the roof up. A few bright sunbeams entered through windows, and shone on the floor paved with many-hued stones, shaped into branching runes. Woven cloths hung on every wall. In the middle of the hall, lay a long hearth and beyond that, a dais on which sat a great throne. The children were hurried past the Great Hall to quarters of their own. The rooms were furnished richly, with wooden furniture and golden decorative designs. Both rooms connected to a warm sitting area with shelves and a small hearth. Éomer felt drowsiness wash over him, and he collapsed into his bed, immediately falling to sleep.

In the stables of the mighty hall the overseer of horses, watched the royal party make their way to Meduseld. His pale face showed no emotion as his beady eyes followed their progress.

"Damn the king for returning so early." He muttered through clenched teeth.

It would still take place, no mistakes would be allowed. His master demanded perfection. His mind raced like a thorough bred as he turned back into the darkness and the musty smell of hay. The plan must continue, he must set it in motion himself, but still be unattached to any guilt. If they succeeded, there was another in the stables able to take his place as the mole. He would be more highly prized as an informant in the castle anyway. His father Gálmóld's good name would help him once he achieved that higher status.

Yes, yes, it was working well, according to plan. As long as the others were not caught, all would run smoothly.

That night, Éomer was woken by the shrill neighing of horses, men's shouts, and steel upon steel. He sat up as horses hoof beats sounded down the path and away until they could no longer be heard. Silence ensued, and cautiously Éomer lay his head down upon the pillows. His room seemed much bigger now than it had formerly and it took a great while until he could close his eyes. The door joining his room with the sitting room opened. His sister peeked her head in and her hair seemed worse for a night tossing upon the pillows of her bed. She crept towards his bed like a mouse and climbed in next to him. She had been slight since she was born but the strength of her character made up for any smallness of stature.

She did not say anything to him as she sat but looked at her feet and legs folded beneath her, "Do you think," she started in a small voice, "do you think momma did not want to stay with us. Do you ever think that it's your own fault she died?"

"No Éowyn," he faltered wondering how his father would answer such a question, "Mother was sick, in her heart. Sometimes when a person leaves or dies you're so sad that your heart becomes sick," he said reassuring her.

She looked at him, "Éomer promise you will not leave also. Promise you will not get sick like momma," she said blue eyes piercing his own.

"I promise sister. You should go to bed now."

Éowyn nodded and climbed off the bed and went to her own room. The door shut with a creak and thud and then a moment later it opened again. "Éomer, can I sleep in here tonight?"

He nodded with a groan and moved to the foot of the bed with a pillow, "You can sleep on the bed, I will sleep here." Éowyn smiled for the first time in weeks and climbed into the bed. They both fell asleep in a few moments.

Morning seemed to come seconds there after. Both children were brought to the Golden Hall after eating the morning meal. There, Théoden sat with Théodred beside him, and his advisor Gálmód sat on the steps of the dais. Gálmód was an elderly man and had light brown hair, he had wise eyes that seemed to observe everything and a wide forehead. He had been the king's advisor for many years. The hall was dark in the faint light of silver sunbeams and the hearth, which warmed the whole room. Théodred beckoned to them discreetly as his father listened carefully to the testimony of a weary, wounded man, almost the age of thirty.

"And you say they only took the black horses?"

"Yes, my lord."

"How many men were there?"

"Five assaulted me, wild men. I would wager there were twenty in all though."

Théoden stroked his beard thoughtfully as Éomer examined the man. He had received two wounds, one on his arm, and another to his right leg. His clothes were in disarray, but more of a roll in the dirt, than of combat. His eyes were those of a cunning man, heavy-lidded, beady and calculating. Théoden again spoke,

"Your father, my advisor, says you are an honorable man."

"He is gracious my lord."

"I find it not; your father only speaks what is true. Therefore I trust his word, go now, have your wounds tended to. Then return to the stables and find a worthy replacement as overseer, you will join my guard."

"My lord, you honor me." The man said bowing low and then leaving. Éomer watched him leave curiously, even for his tender years he saw no good in this man, the men of the Mark were honest and did not tell falsehoods, and even the very young were excellent judges of character. But, perhaps it was simply the obvious Dunlendish blood in the man that caused Éomer's discomfort. He had very dark hair, unlike that of his father, his mother had obviously been not of Rohirrim descent. Éomer wondered if the king saw the same thing in this man, but was sure the king relied heavily on his advisor's opinion for this judgment.

"Théodred, I heard noises from the stables last night, what happened?" Éomer whispered to his cousin.

"Men came and stole ten of our finest horses, all black." Théodred replied returning his gaze forward. For two hours, men came before the king with news, accounts, theories, anything and everything related to the thefts. In the end the king dispatched a party of riders to scout the surrounding areas for any trace of the horses. In the land of the Riddermark, stealing horses was punishable by death. Nevertheless, no one in the court expected to see the horses that were stolen, ever again.

There were many rumors of a plot against Rohan from their neighbor Saruman. During the reign of Théoden's father, Thengel, the wizard had proclaimed himself the lord of Isengard and many said he aided several of their enemies. The whispers might have been true or false, but ever since his self-proclaimed lordship the orc attacks had been increased, and attacks from the fierce Haradrim had begun once again, on the borders of Gondor.

The noon meal came quickly, and Éomer was glad to sit for a time. They ate alone with Théodred, the king still sat in court. Afterwards the children explored the great hall, ran through corridors, opened doors and smelled the sweet flowers of the garden. It was indeed the prime place to get lost, find your way, and get lost again. Much later, they ran into Théodred who took both firmly by the hand and showed each of them to the study where two people sat. A man with an oddly shaped face (much resembling a pear) and a woman whose rolls of fat, created more chins than ever thought humanly possible.

"These, children, are your new tutors. They will care for your education from this moment on. Lord Thode, Lady Elfdine these are your new students Éomer and Éowyn."

Lord Thode stepped forward, his deep voice startling both children. "Indeed. Children I will be teaching you of law, history and proper riding skills. Lady Elfdine will be teaching you also." He looked up at Théodred, "Yes thank you for your timely entrance my lord, if there is nothing else?"

Théodred took the hint, "No indeed," he said leaving, and shutting the door behind him. The thud of the door slamming was the most forlorn sound either child had ever heard. Éomer looked back to the strange man who was clasping his hands and looking eagerly in the boy's direction.

"Oh that is good my lady, now lunge!" Three weeks later, in the courtyard near the armory, Lady Elfdine jumped with unimaginable speed away from her little lady's sharp jabs. Éowyn smiled as she lunged again. The cobblestones gleamed slightly in the morning light still wet with dew. The tutor held up her sturdy arms resignedly, "Oh let a lass catch her breath, young one. How you ever persuaded me to indulge you both in these lessons is beyond me." The big woman took in large breaths.

"Now, how about we let your brother try, shall we?" Éowyn nodded reluctantly, and handed her sword to her brother, who rose and took position.

They circled for a moment until Lady Elfdine struck, her blow made Éomer's arm vibrate. They struck out and parried until at last Éomer's sword was knocked out of his hand. "You are improving lad."

"You are winning only because you are bigger than me," he said embarrassed.

"Well then, is that the reason? You better start eating up then if you ever expect to defeat me," she answered with a loud, merry laugh.

Éowyn giggled, and Éomer turned to glare at her, "Come on now lad, let us try it again," their teacher chastised.

After fencing, was the noon meal with Lord Thode and then their daily lesson of History in the study. The study was always dark and smelled constantly of parchment. Lord Thode was not a Rohirrim and had learned the art of reading and writing in his own country of Gondor. The children sat in two small green chairs each decorated with the horse of Rohan. Lord Thode stood in front at his small oak table, on which was placed a various assortment of items. Feather quilled pens, maps, and remnants of past meals were all strewn across it.

"Today we talk of the King Brego, and his son Baldor."

"Is that the one that tried to walk the paths of the Dead?"

"Yes Éomer, now as I was saying, Brego was the king who drove the enemy out of the Wold, and completed the great hall of Meduseld in which we now stand. He…"

"Did he build it all by himself?"

"Of course not!"

"Well it is a good question Lord Thode. My brother only meant that it does say he completed it…"

"Well it only means that he was the one who was in charge when it was finished. Now if you don't mind? After Meduseld was built, they had a large celebration, and it was at that celebration that Brego's son Baldor…"

"The one that went on the paths of the…"

"I was getting to that Éomer! It was at that celebration, that Baldor announced his intention to tread the paths of the Dead. But he did not return."

"Well that was real smart!" Éowyn exclaimed her little hands resting upon the seat's arms.

"What do you mean by that Éowyn?"

"Just what it sounds like Lord Thode. My sister means that it was stupid to go. Why would you go on a path of the Dead, I mean does not the name tell you something?"

"That is very impertinent Éomer, and you did not allow your sister to answer. Éowyn?"

"No, he said it quite well," she answered simply. Lord Thode's pear-shaped face grew red, and he hurried out the door of the study.

"I wonder what has gotten into him." Éomer stated innocently.

Note:

Hey guys, another chapter! Thanks to my two faithful readers! This chapter is kind of sappy compared with the others, its pretty happy, happy, joy, joy if you know what I mean. But don't worry the next chapter will probably have them much older, I just wanted everybody get a feel for their childhood.

Isilhén- thank you so much for the reviews, I hope you like this chapter.