Chapter 6.

Éomer rubbed his aching neck softly as he removed his armor and placed it on the shelves in the armory. The room glowed softly as the candlelight bounced off shields and spear heads. It seemed bathed in an almost unreal gold hue that made his eyes ache. His head throbbed at the memory of the fight, a constant falling back and giving way before they finally drove the orcs off with a renewal of resolve. It had been many weeks since Éowyn's coming of age, and the attacks seemed to be multiplying at an incalculable rate since then.

All the attacks seemed to issue from the west, from Isengard some said. The wizard Saruman had finally turned on them and joined with the ever increasing shadow in Mordor. But they were only whispers, discouraged at present by the king and his advisor. No man could tell for sure what evil claimed so many of the Eorlings lives so mercilessly. However, Éomer could not help but half-believe the whispers of treachery.

The king still hoped to preserve their alliance with the wizard, and Grima discouraged any action against such a powerful ally. On recollection, Grima discouraged any action of any kind, which led to their almost nonexistent victory in the first place. Éomer thought back to the morning, when the first scout had informed the king of the third attack that week. He had been in the Great Hall, watching the proceedings in Théodred's stead, as he was gone on another task…

"My lord king, they are proceeding to lay waste to many of the outer homesteads along the Anduin. Many of the horse breeders there are dying trying to protect their homesteads and families." the tired man said with a pale, sweaty face that spoke of his hasty ride to Edoras.

"And how should we know this to be true, king. He is only one witness, let us wait for another to come and verify his account. One so hard-pressed may unknowingly confuse the facts," Éomer heard Grima whisper in the king's ear.

"My lord, if we wait to attack they will undoubtedly gain ground and pillage more homesteads before we can prevent them," Éomer said quietly with a quick glare at Grima.

"And yet, if he is wrong we lose many a trained fighting man, and our own king to a rumor. If an enemy attacks while you are gone chasing a whim…"

"Father, if we tarry for more information many will die, for the sake of our knowledge."

Grima turned suddenly and glared at Éomer, "You address the king inappropriately Éomer son of Éomund." The court seemed to quiet at his accusation, all looking towards the king for his own reaction. Éomer was startled; he had always addressed Théoden as such since he had been a small child.

"King will do Éomer, sister-son." Théoden said quietly.

Éomer was taken aback at his words; he had never addressed him so formally. Sister-son, the word sounded begrudged and cold. He had called him son before, when the days had not been so dark and the dais on which the king sat, not so crowded.

Théoden spoke again, more loudly, "We will act, but with a small company commanded by Grimbold. I will not join the éored, for fear of leaving our backs exposed to our enemies in Edoras."

Men mumbled among themselves, the king not coming? It had not been heard of for a threat so close to Meduseld. Could such a small company under the command of a lesser marshal defeat a threat said to number at least two-hundred? They had questioned well, the battle was long and never had they lost so many needlessly. The men were disheartened to fight under the banner of a king who sat on a throne in the city. It was not the Rohirrim's way.

Éomer's train of thought vanished as Théodred entered the armory searching for him. "Ah, here you are, and in one piece, this will please father."

"Yes it will please my mother-brother," Éomer muttered bitterly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, why have you come to seek me?"

"Your cheerful company to be sure," Théodred grinned jokingly and then somberly, "Éomer I heard of what took place this morning in court, do not be disheartened, it was a miscommunication of some sort."

"No, I heard what he said from his own lips, if anything, he had miscommunicated to Éowyn and me our position in this family. Do not worry it will be remedied, though I am sure Éowyn will be as astonished at the change as I."

"I do not believe father meant it that way."

"Yes, your father did. Though he did have help from Grima. Let us stop this debate, my head feels like a hundred horses trample upon it, what did you seek me out for?" he asked resting his hand on a rough wood shelf.

"The king wants your account of the battle."

"Indeed that is a relief, I thought it would be something extremely difficult like killing ninety and six orcs single-handedly, and unhorsed." Éomer replied sarcastically as they continued on to the king's study.

It had been nearly an hour after sunset and the halls were dimly lit by candles as they walked silently to the study doors. From the outside they heard conversation between Grima and Théoden. Éomer heard his name mentioned but did not pause to hear the conversation, instead he knocked loudly. He would not sneak around and listen to words not meant for his ears like some lesser men in Rohan. Their voices immediately stopped and Grima quietly told them to enter.

Éomer swung open the door, "My lord, Grima." He said nodding his head to each in turn. Théodred stood silently by his side. The room was dim but lit by a few candles. Éomer remembered back to when he had been a boy and had first entered this room. Tapestries depicting many battles hung from every wall and souvenirs of past battles decorated the tables. The Eorlings were a people of history, though none was hardly ever written down, it was told in song and in art passed down from generation to generation. The king sat in a large chair and behind him stood Grima; both sets of eyes were fixed on Éomer.

"Éomer you come from a hard-won battle, can you explain to us why this victory was so scarce?" Théoden asked his keen eyes watching for any untruth.

"My lord, the reason is solely this, if we had in fact left the moment that the scout told us of the attack, had more men, and been led by our king instead of another man, we would have quickly ended the confrontation."

"Éomer, you place the blame on this throne?" Théoden asked with a scowl.

"Yes my lord," he answered blatantly," the men were too few, and dispirited that their king who had always rode out to battle before would not lead them. They felt they were sent because it was a hopeless mission, and we only wished to delay the orcs by sending them."

"Then why pray tell would I send my nephew into the fray if that was so?"

Éomer paused and Grima's mouth turned up slightly in understanding, "It is said my lord, that I am out of favor with the king and he wished to see me dead by sending me out with them."

Théoden's face grew thoughtful, and for a moment Éomer thought he could see the realization of what he had done play across the king's face, but it was merely a wish. "Indeed, this is nonsense, my lord. And you Éomer son of Éomund are foolish. Do you wish your uncle dead upon a plain? He is of many years, and would fall valiantly but to no avail. No indeed we need his wisdom of many years to lead us, not to be wasted on war-mongering." Grima said quietly, glaring at Éomer like a parent scolding an ignorant child.

Éomer remained silent, how could this worm say such things to the king and still live. Théoden was still stronger than many of the young soldiers and war-mongering, as Grima called it was the essence of the king's soul. It was of any Eorling's soul, they lived to ride across the plains, the pounding of the horses' hooves echoing through them, matching with the beating of their rider's hearts.

It was to see their spear heads glow in the morning light and the golden fields rush before them and behind them in a continual motion. It was to protect the land they loved, and the people they loved, and the life they loved. It felt like the world he had known for so long was drowning in a rain of deceit and despair. The ocean of hopelessness consumed his soul and he knew not what to say.

He heard Théodred clear his throat and speak, "Grima, you are of more years than I, but you seem to have the wisdom of a child. What you call war-mongering, is what have kept these plains ours for many decades. You both scold Éomer like he is a newborn, but his words are true. This morning you delayed the king, and persuaded him not to go on the mission, the result was the death of thirteen men, proved in battle and brave-hearted beyond compare. If you can accept that blood Grima, I have nothing else to say. Now if you will excuse us," he concluded turning on his heel and leaving with Éomer close behind.

Outside of the room Éomer felt he could breathe again. He paused and Théodred turned to see what the problem was. "I have just remembered that I was supposed to see Éowyn after I returned, I better go now and see if she is still awake."

Théodred nodded and turned to go, "Théodred, thank you for what you said in there, it was…"

"No thanks needed my brother, now I know why you hate that worm so much."

"Yes, a worm, but with a tongue like honey, his sweetened words please the king, but they will poison the kingdom."

"Wormtongue, a very fitting name," Théodred said quietly with a laugh.

Éomer turned and hurried down the hall to Éowyn's quarters. With regret, he thought of the other scolding he would now receive from his younger sister for waiting so long to come. He enjoyed the silence, as he walked towards his sister's quarters. It seemed that in the past few weeks his headaches had been unceasing.

He turned the corner and stopped suddenly.

His sister stood there talking in hurried whispers to a tall young man, Dengal. Dengal nodded and leaned his head down to meet her lips with his own. Éomer strode towards them and both stepped back a pace startled at his intrusion.

"Dengal," he said in a low voice bordering on a growl.

The young man's face was pale and his mouth opened slightly, "My lord, my lady," he said quickly turning on his heel and striding away. Éowyn watched him go then turned back to her brother with a challenging air about her.

"Sister."

"Brother," she replied evenly though with a hint of guilt.

He took another step and looked down to meet her eyes, which were glaring up at him. "Sister besides the fact that it is past sunset and we are steps away from your chambers, I believe we agreed that for the time being it would be best if you stayed away from Dengal."

"You agreed, I spoke nothing of the matter."

"I remember clearly that your mannerisms towards the statement were quite in agreement."

"A nod and a smile do not always symbolize unquestioning agreement Éomer."

"Of course not, but from a woman of your status and personality, I honestly did not expect it to mean nothing else. I would assume (as I did then) that you are not a person who makes deceiving their older brother a practice."

Éomer went on quite heatedly, "Besides which, I believed that you were a person of sense who would listen to advice on a subject from a person who is to be trusted. Dengal is not a man suited to you, he is as I believe I stated before a flirt. He views you only as a passing fancy and his interest in you continues to endure only because it is heightened by your royal status."

"You assume many things that are not true brother, you may know him as a soldier and drinking comrade, but not all his aspects have been revealed to you. I know this may come as a bitter revelation but you are not omniscient."

"I have never claimed to be sister," Éomer paused and put a hand to his head, "If nothing else only think on this, remember how he ran away like a scared rabbit to his hole just a moment ago. He left you alone to defend his actions; does not this say something of his character?"

Éowyn ignored the statement and blundered on, "You are so intent on keeping me as I am, your dear little sister that you are blind to any of my own desires. It is exactly as Grima said, you are afraid of change Éomer…"

"Grima?"

"Yes Grima, our uncle's advisor whom you seem to abhor so much. That is alone an example proving my statement, he is a new advisor with new ideas so you shun him and hate him before even knowing him.

Éomer's voice grew lower and he glared at Éowyn his blue eyes lit on fire, "You know not of what you speak. I know all I want to of that disgusting worm and his ways, and I do reject him and them with my whole heart, which has not completely turned to stone and ice like your own. Neither you whom I thought I knew, nor that filthy, vile snake knows my mind. I came here seeking repose and comfort, though you don't ask of it I will tell. The battle today was scarcely won, partly due to your precious Grima, and thirteen good men died far from their homes. Théodred and I must visit their families tomorrow with Grimbold and offer what comfort we can."

Éowyn was startled by his bitter words and drew back temporarily stunned. She showed some concern when he spoke of the dead mingled with regret. "Brother, I did not…"

He interrupted her, "I would still talk to you and Dengal tomorrow after we are done however, in the courtyard if that is acceptable and if your rabbit friend will join us."

Éowyn did not respond to the barb but quickly turned and with the slam of her door left her brother to the silence of the hall.

Note:

Hey all, hope some new people will read this chapter! Also I made some changes to chapter 5, so please reread it. Anyway hope you enjoyed this chapter! To see disclaimer and other random stuff please see the first chapter.

isilhén- thanx so much for reading my work, sorry I'm not updating very fast, I hope to gain some ground in the next couple days.