a/n: First off, I just wanted to thank you all for the reviews! They really help me to get into the story more, and to polish it more and spice it up. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Please continue to review!

The New Kings

Eomer walked the fields of Pelennor, his eyes scanning bodies for life. So many were dead. His uncle was among them, though his body was taken inside Minas Tirith for preparation for a proper burial. Eomer bit down on his tongue, hoping it would jar him from this nightmare.

Instead, the stench of spilt blood reminded him of the truth. There was a lump stuck in his throat, threatening to choke him or make him wail. But no tears came. He swallowed back that lump and resumed his search for the living among the dead.

His men did the same. In fact, all the surviving soldiers searched if they could. A goodly amount was in the House of Healing, inside the city walls. How he wished Theoden were there, rather than being readied for burial.

He hit something with his foot accidentally. Eomer looked down to see a severed arm. Red blood stained the grass around it. He shut his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, he saw his men. Fallen. Dead. Their lives were sacrificed for all of Middle Earth. Some of their eyes were open, looking up, terrified. Others were shut, as if sleeping but for the obvious wounds. And some, even with their eyes wide open, looked content.

It is the honorable way to die. Better battle than frailty. That thought gave him comfort as he pictured Theoden. His uncle was no doubt happy. Demise on battle was glorious, especially compared to rotting away from Grima and Saruman's poisonous words.

Eomer sighed and continued the walk through the field. His sword was drawn, just in case they came across any live threats, but he held it loosely. The enemy was defeated, for now.

His eyes moved back and forth, surveying the bodies. Many of them had golden hair. One's hair was particularly fine, wavy, much like his sister's.

It was an odd thought. He frowned, and took a step closer.

His heart dropped, and his breath ceased for a moment. Eomer stared at the body, his eyes focusing on the hair and then the face.

It can't be.

It can't be.

"No," he whispered.

That lump in his throat grew. He dropped his helmet and his sword, and ran towards her.

He screamed, loud and long, and dropped to his knees by her. His sister.

Eowyn.

She was limp in his arms as he held her to him. The armor she wore was cool despite the warm sun beating down on them. Eomer's last hope, his last kin, friend, everything close to him, was gone.

He cried, his tears raining down on his sister. His scream had echoed over the fields and now his sobs did the same. But he did not care. Nothing mattered anymore, not when all dear to him were lost.

Eothain laid a hand on his shoulder, and he remembered Aragorn was nearby. Somehow, they managed to separate Eomer from his sister, though he didn't remember when or how.

His grief was full, though in its height he failed to notice one thing: Eowyn was not dead.

He still did not believe it fully, but Aragorn now tended to her. Eomer watched, his heart aching. His eyes were still wet, and his body filthy from battle. Despite the healers' efforts, he would not leave Eowyn's side. She was not out of danger.

Suddenly Aragorn stopped his efforts, and smiled at Eowyn. He turned to Eomer, letting him see that smile. Eomer gasped, and he felt his eyes flood again.

"She will be well," the Ranger said. He stood and clapped a hand on Eomer's back. Eomer could only nod, his body and mind numb. Aragorn left them.

He stared at her, his last kin.

She's alive, Eomer.

She lives.

And suddenly, he broke down. He buried his head in his hands, and just let his tears come.

Theoden.

Eowyn.

Selanae.

His sister now lived. He hoped the same fortune was granted upon Selanae. Eomer finally sat back, leaning against a stone wall, and fell asleep by his sister's side.

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Aragorn seemed troubled, but who wasn't these days? Eomer himself still was not over his . . . experiences. Death, near death, and the unknown clawed at his strength and peace of mind.

Gandalf, Aragorn, and several others gathered in the hall of the Steward, though Denethor killed himself. Faramir, the new steward, was too ill to assume any duties so soon. And according to Gandalf, it was not entirely necessary anyway—the King had returned.

Eomer studied Aragorn as they concluded the next step in the war against Sauron. The Ranger seemed weary, even though he stood tall and confidently. Was he really so confident? He seemed to take more charge now, and Eomer wondered if that unsettled him.

It certainly unsettled Eomer when all looked at him as the decision maker for Rohan. He was king now, though unofficially until his coronation. He shuddered at the title.

Aragorn approached him, his eyes almost frowning.

"What troubles you, Eomer?" he asked. Eomer almost shook his head to deny anything that bothered him. He was used to not coming to the forefront. He coughed and looked to the floor.

"We discussed much," Eomer said with a nod to the hall and the people therein. "But we have not decided about Selanae." For a brief moment, he feared he'd come across challenging. He was so unsure of how to act now. He kept his eyes on the floor.

"Eomer," Aragorn said, and then waited. The heir of Rohan looked to the future king. Aragorn's face was sympathetic, his mouth turned just slightly in a smile. "I know how you feel. But there is no reason to fear."

He wondered what Aragorn was speaking of, Selanae's situation or being king.

"What do you suggest?" he asked. Eomer shuffled his feet, but stopped himself from fidgeting more. He drew a quick breath.

"I do not want to think about what she will face," he said, even as images of orcs and darkness and evil shadowed his mind. "But we must find her, quickly."

Aragorn tilted his head to one side. "You do not think she can handle herself?"

Eomer sighed. "I know she can. And I know you think she may be where she is supposed to be," he said. "But I cannot leave her there, alone and without some help."

Aragorn nodded slowly, and Eomer continued.

"As soon as we arrive, I will infiltrate Mordor, and find her."

Any traces of a smile or sympathy disappeared from Aragorn's face. "Eomer, it would be suicide to go alone."

"It is suicide for her as it is," Eomer quickly defended. "I will not leave her to face fate alone. Please, Aragorn." He drew a deep breath. "This is my decision."

Aragorn held sadness in his eyes, such the like Eomer had seen only in death. Perhaps his intent was folly, but Eomer was resolved. Finally Aragorn nodded.

"Be careful," he warned. "Eowyn will not want to recover only to find her dear brother slaughtered."

Eomer almost froze. 'Slaughtered' drew up many memories for him, for his father. He nodded quickly, and walked away to prepare his men for battle.