Chapter 2.

The body of Théodred had not been buried yet. The order had been caught up in the net of the bureaucracy of Grima's rule. Seeing his blueish-white skin and embalmed body seemed an emotional parting blow from the snake. The king turned his face away, eyes wet and shining with unshed tears, as the body was carried down to the mounds.

The people of the city were all dressed in black and the only sounds were the wailing of women. The glow of the sun on Théodred's armor caused an ethereal glow that made his face seem even paler. The fields around the city seemed still and quiet though a strong silent wind blew. Éowyn and the other women of the house stood in lines by the mound prepared for Théodred.

Éowyn's hands shook quietly and Éomer could see her lips quiver as they took their places on either side of the mound. Gandalf and the three visitors stood solemnly, sensing the severity of the emotions. Éomer felt very little of what his uncle and sister felt.

He had held his cousin's dirty body in the river where Théodred had died. His feelings towards the event were buried deep within the archives of his memory. The only feeling that penetrated was a hatred for the man who was responsible for this loss and the loss of so many others, and also guilt for having come too late to save his cousin.

Since the coming of Gandalf and the renewal of the King the conflicting feelings of regret and happiness forced him to leave the past. He needed to quit remembering, stop holding on to the pain that penetrated most memories and simply live for the present. They would need him now more than ever. He was shaken out of his thoughts as Éowyn began to sing a burial song.

"Bealocwealm hafath fréone frecan forth onsended

(An evil death has set forth the noble warrior)

Giedd sculan singan gléomenn sorgiende

(A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels)

on Meduselde"

(in Meduseld.)

Her voice continued as the pallbearers lowered Théodred's body and placed it inside the mound. The stone door was shut with a lonely thud. Théoden did not move and he stood silently, staring at the grave while the rest of the people excluding Gandalf, slowly returned to their homes.

The whole city was filled with the cries of heralds and war-horns. The king had returned with Gandalf and immediately issued his orders for all men to don shield and sword and to be ready to ride very soon. The guests and the house residents sat down to take what food they could in the king's haste. Many were still very weary, and uncertain of the practicality of plans conjured by a wizard. Had they not been betrayed by such a person and now at war with him. Many questioned why the King of Rohan was listening to Gandalf.

While they ate the king told them of his plan that had been advised by the wizard. The host would ride swiftly to the Fords to help Erkenbrand who was still defending the place where Théodred had fallen. Gandalf also told them much of Wormtongue that Éomer had already known. Grima had been the eyes and ears for Saruman in the kingdom watching for circumstances and preying upon weaknesses.

The king had come from the mounds with a determined face. He spoke with Gandalf as the valorous man that many remembered from long ago. "… Most of all I owe to you, my guest. Once again you have come in time. I will give you a gift ere I go, at your own choosing. You have only to name what it is. I reserve only my sword," the king said to Gandalf.

"I will accept your gift my lord. I will choose one that will fit my need: swift and sure. Give me Shadowfax! He was only lent before, if a loan we may call it. But now I will ride into great hazard, setting silver against black: I would not risk anything that is not my own. And already there is a bond of love between us."

Éomer laughed inwardly at the request. The wizard was keen of mind and tongue, and no man could say he did not speak his mind. Others sat in uneasy silence waiting for the response from their master. After only a moment of hesitation the king consented.

"You choose well, and I give him now gladly. Yet it is a great gift. There is none like Shadowfax. In him one of the mighty steeds of old has returned. None such shall return again. And to you my other guests I offer whatever you may need from our armory."

The meal was finished shortly thereafter and the guests left to be fitted in helms and coats of mail for the battle. The adrenaline of the coming battle filled Éomer and pushed away any other thoughts.

Éowyn followed her brother to his quarters where he gathered his armor, which had been taken from him before. His limbs were still sore and stiff from the nights spent in the prison. His sister helped him strap on the breastplate and tie the sword sheath at his waist. Both were remembering the first time Éomer had donned the battle gear and shed first blood. They did not talk but Éowyn reverently took their father's knife down from the shelf in his bedroom and removed it from the case.

"This is no time for our Father's knife to remain unstained. I would have used it on Grima, but now that I cannot, you must use it on other foes. This is the end of our age, and whether we fail or succeed I cannot imagine a worse fate than mine," Éowyn said wrapping her arms around him, though no warmth was in the embrace, "Embrace the chance to avenge our losses my brother, do not let them go free, or be rewarded for what they have done," she finished softly and left the room. Éomer sighed and hoped that he would not be the next death to send his sister further into the icy prison where she had confined herself.

The army was gathered outside. Many men including some of his own from Aldburg were mounted and ready to ride to the aid of Erkenbrand. Éomer watched silently as his sister passed the parting goblet from the king to himself and the travelers. She hailed the ranger and Éomer was troubled at the way she glanced at him. Her hand seemed to tremble as she passed the goblet to Aragorn.

Brynefot swayed beside him nervously, and the king stood straight and still waiting for the talking to cease. "Behold! I go forth, and it seems like to be my last riding, I have no child. My son is slain, so I name Éomer to be my heir. If neither of us return, then choose a new lord as you will," he said and then motioned for Éowyn to step forward, "In my stead you have asked that Éowyn lead you. Until our return I name her your lord. Now Éowyn please kneel."

Éowyn did as he said and knelt before him to receive a sword and corslet of mail from him. Éomer waited for her to look up at him but instead she glanced at Aragorn who was speaking in low tones to his companions. He frowned slightly; his sister had found her hero in a stranger from the North. Éomer knew that she no longer held any pride in the Rohirrim, nor in her uncle or brother. So she had found the replacement for such worship, and had chosen the heir to the throne of Gondor as her idol.

The streets were crowded as they left; the young marshal of the Mark glanced to the side of the road and saw women and children standing with tears in their eyes. They did not look into his eyes, but searched among the throng of soldiers for their own dear one. Éomer led Brynefot to the gates where many horses waited, including Shadowfax who bore Gandalf, who was no longer cloaked, but shining bright in his white robes. Legolas and Gimli who had been walking with the crowds walked to horses brought for them.

The dwarf and elf talked together and Éomer joined them as the dwarf was finishing, "And a dwarf is no horseman. It is orc-necks that I would hew, not shave the scalps of men."

"Are you to ride with Gandalf on Shadowfax master dwarf?" Éomer asked, speaking in the common tongue to them both. Both elf and dwarf seemed surprised and suspicious of his friendly manner.

"Yes, though I would rather walk then bump like a sack on Gandalf's saddlebow," the dwarf answered looking up and down over Éomer.

"Pardon me for my words on our first encounter, please ride with me, my horse Brynefot will bear us both, if you will," He said with genuine repentance.

The dwarf looked happy at his apology, "I thank you indeed, and I will gladly go with you if Legolas, my comrade, may ride beside us."

"Then it will be so," the young marshal said helping Gimli onto the horse behind him. It took some time for the men to be assembled and ready to ride but when they were formed they numbered more than a thousand. The travelers rode beside the king with Éomer, and they started off with a thundering of hooves that could be hear for many miles away.

Éomer turned back to see his sister on the terrace, glittering in the noonday sun, he turned his back to her and to the city as they continued on their journey.

They followed the path that led along the foothills of the White Mountains and far ahead as they went on the Misty Mountains loomed up. The sun went down slowly and still they were silent and riding. It was still forty leagues to the Fords and they halted to make camp and let the horses rest. The camp was quiet, many old men were there, some too old for service and many too young for their coming of age also road. This was the moment of need and those that could hold a sword had come.

The king ordered the scouts to ride back and forth around the camp and they set up a circle of guards around them, but they did not light any fires. The circle sat upon the plains as a silent, watchful force. Éomer felt the loss of the fires as the cold air bit into his exposed hands and face. Théoden had been talking with Gandalf for many hour and now he walked slowly towards Éomer.

He sat down nest to his nephew and let out a long sigh of uncertainty. The silence between the two seemed enough to communicate for many minutes. When Théoden turned to Éomer his eyes glinted with unshed tears and his voice was gruff.

"Théodred died on my account. He never should have been there fighting with that few of men and I could have stopped it from happening," he paused to take in a deep breath, "You were right to disobey my orders, you did right the whole time. I abandoned you and Éowyn in your time of need. Many memories have been coming back to me from the past years, as if out of a dream. I can ask you to forgive me but it will not change what happened, what I did to you. I should have realized long ago what a noble man you have become, I may have missed the moments when you showed this to the kingdom, but I am proud of you and proud to be able to call you my relation."

"Your son my lord, as it should have been."

"I lost that right a long time ago."

"I never took it from you, and I would be honored to call you father once again, though I have always done so in my heart," Éomer said sincerely.

Théoden nodded and rose, leaving Éomer to himself. He felt a strange emptiness in his gut for many hours afterwards. He felt as though he had lost something important, or missed out on a whole lifetime of memories that might have been. The surrounding darkness had taken it.

He came to resolution under the faint stars and waxing moon that night. He could not look back at the moments he had lost and he would not pity himself for the things that had never come to pass. Events would occur, and many he would not be able to stop, whatever happened in the future, whatever faced him in life's journey would not the change the person that he was.

In that moment the young marshal of the Mark had taken his final step into manhood.

Note: Hey everyone, I put two chapters up in this new part so that you guys would have some reading material in case I do not update immediately. Please go back one chapter if you are looking for the full, lengthy, boring disclaimer. I hope you all enjoyed this, please review and tell me what you think, constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms.

Also if you are wondering why I changed Éomer's horse's name, I didn't, Brynefot is just the version of Firefoot in Old English. Finally, I know Éowyn's character is a little weak right now but she is a tough character to portray at this moment in her life, I am also trying to portray how strange she seems to Éomer.