Courtesy

Eomer crossed his arms over his chest to keep from fidgeting. The drunken merriment continued around him, even though it grew later and later. Legolas the elf was slowly drinking another ale, his 20th at least. Gimli grinned oafishly at his friend.

Eomer tried not to let his impatience show, but finally Legolas exclaimed: "I feel something!"

About time!

"A slight tingling in my fingers. It's affecting me," he said in a low tone, almost alarmed.

Gimli slobbered over it. "Wha'd I tell ya! He can't hold his drink!" And with that, the fool passed out, with ale spilling down his beard.

Finally! Eomer backed away from the friends. He searched the room, finding Theoden smiling at Eowyn. Eomer couldn't help but feel some bitterness. His eyes settled on a dark corner of the hall, and went there.

He watched everything but saw nothing. Inside, his mind was racing. How could his uncle be so unjust? Eomer couldn't pretend that it did not bother him. Soldier or not, Eomer was hurt by his uncle's actions. Theoden was a like a father to him—he had few memories of his real father. But Theoden was king first to him lately.

Why wasn't it so with Eowyn? He loved his sister, but she could get away with murder. Theoden always favored her.

He was fine with that, he told himself. He was older, beyond the need for attention and coddling. Eowyn would have taken insult to that thought, but Eomer found it reassuring. He wasa soldier! He was the Third Marshall of Rohan, and the heir to the throne. Eomer swallowed hard.

That he hadn't wanted, but yet it was upon him. He pushed it aside for now. He would not be king for some time, and would enjoy every moment he could without that burden.

The images in front of him made it back to his mind, and Eomer saw Aragorn and Gandalf talking across the way. They seemed disturbed, worried, but when were they not? There were many things to worry about, although releasing Selanae from the dungeon was not one of them. Gandalf and Aragorn spoke with Theoden, and evidently agreed that Selanae should stay in the dungeon for the night. The agreed excuse was that they feared she would try to leave again.

And holding her captive encourages her to stay. Eomer huffed at the thought.

He would not leave her down there.

Eomer turned from the busy hall and disappeared down a passageway. He weaved back and forth through the many hallways until he came to a set of stone stairs. His footsteps echoed softly, and soon he heard movement respond.

Selanae lay on the dungeon floor. Her head turned towards him, and even in the darkness of the dungeon, he could see her eyes.

He froze like some hunted animal. What would he say? He knew his uncle's orders, so what could he really do?
"It's okay," he heard her say. "I'm not angry anymore." Eomer felt himself relax a bit. He stood in front of her cell, leaning forward and grasping the bars with his hands. A thousand thoughts and words crossed his mind, but he couldn't find what to say.

"I'm sorry." It was weak, but that's all that really worked. "I imagine you've been through enough without being thrown in here."

She smiled. "Yes. It's been an interesting week."

Awkward silence came over them, and Eomer found himself staring at the keyhole on the gate. He shuddered suddenly. It was much cooler down here. Glancing at Selanae, he saw she had leggings and a tunic on, nothing heavier to shield her.

He frowned.

Suddenly he reached into his boot, removing his dagger. He held it up for her to see.

"Ah, the family heirloom," she said. Eomer smiled briefly, but shook his head.

"Maybe," he said. "Eowyn gave it to me when I became Third Marshall." The blade was long and thin, but still it was an effective weapon. It wasn't cumbersome, despite its length, and the thinness of the blade actually made it more useful than simple combat.

Eomer knelt down and eyed the keyhole of the cell. With the dagger, he pried at the lock. From the corner of his eye, he saw Selanae grin, and then laugh as the lock sprung open.

He grinned and stood, holding the cell door open for her.

"It's too cold for anyone to sleep down here," he said, though both knew she would have been fine, albeit a bit uncomfortable. "It's best if you aren't seen. Stay behind me."

He turned and headed back to the noisy feast, with Selanae following him. But instead of turning to go back to the main hall, Eomer led her to his room. He opened the door for her, glancing around to see that no one discovered she was free. She slipped past him, and then stopped.

"These are your quarters?" she asked as he shut the door. He nodded.

"I do not stay here often, but yes." He was happy to see a fire already burning in the hearth, and pointed to it. "Keep yourself warm."

Selanae gave him a short nod and sat by the hearth. Eomer busied himself with throwing on another log. He did so, and surveyed his room. For some reason, he wished he'd put away some of his things, cleaned up a bit.

He shook the thought from his head, and faced Selanae. The firelight danced over her face, and it reminded him of how she fought so gracefully. He sat on the ground, to the side of her, and stared into the fire.

Neither spoke for some time, though Eomer wished she would break the silence. He found himself settling on curiosity.

"How did you teach yourself to fight?" he asked. He almost cringed after he'd said it, but Selanae didn't seem offended or to mind.

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I knew of weapons, but seeing men fight was so odd, I didn't know if I could do it," she said. "I didn't dare ask anyone. So I started to experiment."

Eomer tilted his head to the side, silently urging her on. She glanced to his eyes and took a breath.

"I started by buying my sword, which was probably premature, but I did it anyway. In the morning, I would swing it from side to side, over my head, anything to accustom me to the weight. At night, I would seek shelter, and sometimes in villages I'd hear music. The melodies stayed with me, giving me a rhythm to move to." She shrugged again. "I eventually got better, enough to defend myself."

She looked to him, and flashed him a nervous smile. Eomer nodded.

"It is beautiful, and impressive," he said. "Never before have I seen anything like it."

"Yes, I remember," she said, a gleam in her eyes. "You thought I must be witch because of it."

Heat flushed Eomer's face. He looked at the floor, hoping to hide his embarrassment.

"Yes, well . . ."

She laughed. "Enough. I am only teasing." Suddenly she yawned. Eomer got to his feet, clearing his throat and struggling not to fiddle with his hands.

"You must be tired," he said. "The bed is yours." She raised an eyebrow at him, and Eomer hurried on. "I must get back to the hall before I am missed. If you don't mind, try not to escape for once."

She smiled, but nodded.

"Thank you, Eomer."

For some reason, chills came over him when she said his name. He bowed quickly to her out of courtesy, and left the room.

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He stumbled back to his room, delirious with the lack of sleep and excitement of the night. Even the past days, the battle, his capture . . . he still had bruises, but nothing that really hindered him. All he wanted now though was to sleep.

Eomer couldn't help but feel tense though as he entered his room. Part of him feared Selanae would be gone. Or if not, that they would be awkward about sharing his room.

He didn't know what he'd gotten himself into that situation. Why not give her a blanket or something instead? It didn't matter.

She wasn't in his bed, though the blankets were slightly tossed. Eomer frowned, and started to search the room. He almost stepped on her though. She lay by the bed's side, on the floor, with the thinnest blanket over her.

Eomer found himself smiling at the sight. Why she hadn't taken the bed, he didn't know, but he doubted manners dictated it. She was hardly proper, and wouldn't have been so self-sacrificing. Eomer reached over her and pulled at a pelt on his bed. It was by far the warmest. He draped it slowly over Selanae's sleeping form, half expecting her to wake and put a sword to his throat. But she didn't. Instead, she seemed to snuggle to the warmth.

He climbed over her and onto his bed, still casting glances at her. His eyes nervously didn't leave her until he quickly pulled off his tunic and shirt and carefully dropped his sword at his bedside. He grabbed a blanket and rolled himself in it barely before he relaxed and gave in to sleep.

a/n: Okay, got that out nowI really didn't like the last chapter too much. Hopefully this one will erase any bad memories. I've got some great stuff ahead, so please review to encourage me!