Chapter 13.

Éowyn sat across from the king and his advisor at the table. Théoden feebly ate the gruel Grima had restricted him to for "apparent health reasons." The lumpy, white porridge dripped down his beard which seemed to be quickly graying.

Éowyn grimaced as Grima smiled at her across the table. He reached over and wiped the king's beard with a napkin. Since Éomer had left for the Folde and taken up his duties, the Hall had deadened severely. The very air seemed to press in on her at all sides, suffocating her with the familiarity.

She could almost laugh, if but a bit cynically at this scene. The crassness of the great King's unkempt robes and porridge covered face created a picture of what Éowyn was slowly beginning to associate the kingdom of Rohan with; pure and utter ignorance. The noble horse-lords? Pah! This was no more than a broken-down remainder of what once was.

Grima interrupted her thoughts with his own words, "What a noble scene, do you not agree? How would it be if the venerable Steward of Gondor was to see his appointed king of Rohan now? The king sitting, being cared for by his advisor and niece? Surely he would think him a dotard, and the house of Eorl no more than a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs," he finished with arms outspread towards the extent of Meduseld.

Éowyn almost nodded her assent as Grima watched her keenly. Her eyes narrowed suddenly and she remembered Éomer and Théodred who were much more than brigands. Then she remembered the poisoned wine and rose slowly.

"Thank you Grima for the breakfast. If you will excuse me I must attend to the stables and look after the new foal," Éowyn said in an almost shuddering voice, as she walked away quickly with the distinct feeling of his eyes boring into her back.

Éomer had been putting on his armor when he was joined by Dengal. Tardiness had become a growing habit for Dengal since they had become settled in the city.

"How many did the scout estimate there were?" Dengal asked hurriedly strapping on his breastplate.

"Thirty to forty as an estimate, though he could not be sure. They were traveling in full daylight without any covering and had some kind of white mark on their helmets. The scout was to far away to tell what it might have been."

Dengal nodded as Éomer finished, the marshal turned to watch Dengal with his own armor, "You were with Hild then?"

Dengal looked up surprised, his hands frozen on his sword belt, "Yes…" he paused and then continued his voice sincere, "I love her Éomer. I have never felt this way about anyone… I am going to ask her to marry me."

Éomer smiled, "I knew that any woman who made you act as meek as you have this past month must be your perfect match. But you might want to consider asking her father's permission first as a precaution. We both know how well you get along with women's relatives," he concluded with a hearty laugh, smacking him on the back.

"Ask me about what?" a mirthful voice caused Dengal to start. Ceneleod entered with a smile sliding his shield onto his back and examining the tip of his sharp spear. Dengal's face quickly took a cadaverous pallor.

"Of something better discussed without my company uncle. If you will excuse me, I will meet you both in the stables," Éomer quickly answered and exited as Dengal swallowed nervously.

In the stables the early morning sunlight made the hay a pale gold. Brynefot pawed at the ground expectantly in his stall as Hild tried to feed him an apple. She turned as Éomer approached and smiled.

"Hello cousin. Your horse does not seem to like apples from my hand as much as she does from the hand of Leofwyn. How have you managed to escape her today?"

"From much effort on my part I assure you. She is at the moment trapped by your mother into learning embroidery, though I do not think she will be kept in that prison for long."

"Where is Dengal?"

"With your father and of that matter I will say no more for fear of a harsh punishment," he said in response to her imploring glance.

"Then I will not ask of it," she stated simply a small smile on her face, "I will simply have to interrogate another."

Éomer laughed, Dengal and his attraction to wild women. The thought painfully reminded him of Éowyn but he tried to push it away. He tried to ignore the pain it caused him to realize he had been away nearly a month and half. He tried to ignore the fact that he was not sorry to be away from that place. His thoughts were interrupted as Dengal and Ceneleod entered both faces bore a smile.

"Go tell your mother to prepare an evening meal tonight worthy of the victorious when we return," Ceneleod said to his daughter as he mounted his horse.

Hild nodded and then opened her mouth to speak, but Dengal interrupted her, "I will assemble the men," he said simply galloping into the courtyard.

"Daughter did you not hear me, go inform your mother of my wishes immediately and give her my farewell," Ceneleod said angrily though his eyes glittered with amusement.

The two rode to join Dengal leaving a rather frustrated Hild behind. She stomped off bitterly to find her mother. Éomer smiled, he was glad to have his uncle beside him. It almost was reminiscent of the days when Théoden would still ride out with them.

"I am glad my lord that you have decided to join us today."

"Why should I not? I have a family to protect. It would be cowardly to do otherwise. I have no excuse, for I am neither a dotard nor an invalid," Ceneleod replied slightly aloof.

"I did not mean to insult you uncle. It is only that, it is indeed a tragedy when a lord will do more than the king does for his country. Théoden has not ridden out with the riders for many months."

"That is his choice. We have our own, and mine is to serve my country. Now let us talk no more of this today. It saddens the spirit," Ceneleod said with a smile, "we have no need of that before a battle."

Éomer nodded as they approached the other riders, mounted or preparing to mount. They left shortly, and came swiftly to the hilly area at the foot of the mountains. They followed the orcs' trail for many miles before finding evidence of their passing. It was strange that none of it had been covered at all, and no attempt at secrecy had been taken. The orcs had left an undisguised path of flattened grass, broken branches, and scorched circles from fires. They were no doubt in a hurry to reach their destination. They stopped to observe the area. Éomer knelt and felt around the charred circle. It was still warm.

They mounted and followed the obvious trail and then spotted them moving at a quick pace towards the north. "Éomer… I do not wish to distract you but if I may ask, what possible motive would the orcs have for moving north? Should they not be returning to Morder in a southerly direction?" A tracker asked quietly as he rode beside the marshal.

"I do not know. These are strange creatures and they bear a white mark, not the eye of Sauron…. We must wait until they have been killed to surmise what their purpose is…"

They approached the group which was nearly thirty and the archers began a full assault, hitting many of them. Some fell, but most continued on with the arrows sticking from their backs. Éomer ordered another volley to cover the spearmen's attack. They were very soon in the midst of the battle and the remaining orcs turned to fight, finally resigning their journey to defend themselves.

Éomer had to slash at one many times before it finally fell to the ground. A large, gash had been inflicted to his leg and the blood from it slowly seeped through the cloth of his garments. By the end his wound seemed minor in comparison with the damage overall. Almost all the men had suffered something and two men lay on the ground their faces pale with death, blood pouring from irrevocable wounds. His uncle stood up from examining them with great effort, bearing a large wound from an arrow that had imbedded itself in his shoulder.

Dengal stood beside him, "My lord, these are no orcs," he said softly looking at the carnage around him.

Éomer examined one lying near his feet, which seemed to be still breathing slightly. His eyelids opened to reveal, two large discolored eyes. He sneered as Éomer knelt and grabbed him by the throat.

"What is your business here foul beast?" he asked slowly bringing his knife the creature's throat and pressing down.

"I do not fear your knife yellow-hair, I am an Uruk-hai!" he said grabbing Éomer's hand with sudden strength and drawing the blade into his neck.

Éomer stood up and release the knife as it was drawn to it's hilt into the Uruk-hai's neck and dark black-red blood gurgled onto the ground.

"Yes Dengal," he said looking up at him, "these are certainly not orcs," he reached down to pick up the helmet of the creature, "And they are certainly not from Sauron," he finished raising the helmet so everyone could see.

Note: Hey everybody, Thanks for being extremely patient with this story, I know I have not been faithful in my updates. But my summer has finally started, so hopefully I can get this story sewn up soon.

I know I've gone a little off book canon with the whole Uruk-hai thing, but I am certain that the Rohirrim would be a little astonished when they first discovered this new breed of orcs.

Many of you asked me about the relationship between Éomer and Ceneleod. He is the husband of Éomer's aunt, Théoden's sister. Morwen and Thengel had 3 children of which Théoden was the only boy.

Thanks for your reviews everybody! I'll try to respond to all of them in the next chapter.