Chapter 7.

His hands were covered with blood. "I cannot stay," his mother's eyes staring into his as the words echoed over and over again. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" and then silence, darkness. The smell of sweat and blood and death; his father's eyes staring into his, and then closing, his cracked lips moving, "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" then silence, darkness. The blood was still there on his hands and the smell was overwhelming.

Théodred's dead body lay before him, white and rotting. His cousin's eyes suddenly opened, the colorless orbs staring at him unwaveringly, "I cannot stay," the corpse said as it rose, the voice was hollow and dead. The corpse reached out to touch him, spreading crimson blood on his body. It faded into the darkness as Éomer struggled to evade the touch.

Éowyn's hand was upon his shoulder. She took his hands but withdrew horrified looking at the blood that stained them. Her eyes met his, an icy, blue stare. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" she walked away, her white dress fluttering, a stark contrast to the darkness.

Suddenly, he stood on the terrace of Meduseld surrounded by the people of Rohan. They were all covered in wounds, lying on the ground already dead or dying. They grasped at his legs as he passed, "We cannot stay," they whispered. The sound was lost in a loud wind that swept through the city. A voice repeated words in his head.

Slay whom your lord names as enemies, and be content. Meddle not in policies you do not understand.

His country turned brown before his eyes as the people died one by one. He felt a sudden weight on his head and reached up to feel a crown.

Meddle not in policies you do not understand…

The crown was covered in blood.

Éomer woke suddenly to the biting temperatures of late night and a shrill cry that pierced the air around the camp. Many around him began to sit up, and the guards around the edges of the encampment leapt up. The king, who was only a few yards away from Éomer, opened his eyes and slowly got to his feet. He looked around, waiting for an explanation from one of his guards.

There seemed to be a congregation by the area where the wizard and his companions had laid to rest the night before. Éomer stretched his arms above his head and strapped his sword around his waist before stepping over the prone bodies of some sleeping soldiers to find out what had happened.

The crisp grass of early spring bent beneath his feet as he reached the kneeling figure of Gandalf. He was in earnest conversation with one of the Hobbit creatures. The hobbit was lying down with his companion sitting by his side. Both had lost any look of mirth and were listening to the wizard with serious expressions.

It was an eerie sight by the fading moonlight. The sun had not yet made an appearance and an air of foreboding surrounded the entire episode. The king joined his men as Gandalf stood up and ushered them away from the hobbits. The stone that Wormtongue had thrown down at the wizard lay by Aragorn's feet covered by a blanket.

"Peril comes in the night when least expected. We have had a narrow escape!" the wizard responded to the questioning glances.

A soldier near Éomer related the situation to the marshal as the wizard continued speaking. The hobbit, Pippin, had taken the dark orb and looked into it. It was a powerful weapon used for communicating with Sauron. The hobbit had seen Sauron, had spoken with Sauron.

"We must move. The neighborhood of Isengard is no place now to linger in. I will ride ahead at once with Peregrin Took. It will be better for him than lying in the dark while others sleep," the wizard finished speaking.

"I will keep Éomer and ten Riders. They shall ride with me at early day. The rest may go with Aragorn and ride as soon as they have a mind," the king said looking to his nephew with a nod.

"As you will," said Gandalf, "But make all the speed you may to the cover of the hills, to Helm's Deep!"

Abruptly, a shadow fell over the whole group. The light from the moon was cut off and many of the riders crouched in fear. Éomer remained standing as a cold fear gripped his heart and paralyzed him from acting in defense. His legs locked and he stared up in silent terror. In a moment it was gone. He realized he had not been breathing as cold air was allowed into his thirsty lungs.

"Nazgûl!" Gandalf yelled as the black figure flew away, "The messenger of Mordor. The storm is coming. The Nazgûl have crossed the River!" his voice urged the men to movement and preparation, "Ride, ride! Wait not for the dawn! Let not the swift wait for the slow! Ride!" with that he sprang away to his horse.

Aragorn followed close behind. Éomer watched as Gandalf mounted and then Aragorn helped the hobbit called Pippin up into the wizard's waiting arms. With a toss of the great mane and a flick of the flowing tail the horse was gone.

Éomer did not listen as the other hobbit talked with Aragorn. He watched the horse become a distant speck and then turned to listen to the king. The men were already saddling the horses. The fear of the winged creature had spurred them into quick action. There were only twenty-four horses now and the company was silent as they rode hastily. The sun was rising when a scout stopped the king to bring strange news.

"My lord," he said to the king, "There are horsemen behind us. As we crossed the fords I thought that I heard them. Now we are sure. They are overtaking us, riding hard."

The king called out for the riders to halt immediately. They could not run from an unseen enemy, exposing their backs to treacherous weapons. Éomer pulled out his sword from its sheath as other soldiers around him unstrapped their spears. He pulled his horse around to the rear near the men under his command. Aragorn dismounted quickly and helped the hobbit off the horse. The heir of Gondor stood poised and ready by the king's horse, sword withdrawn in preparation for battle.

It was eerie work, waiting in the dim light of the sinking moon with only the sound of horses and the beating of each heart. Soon they heard the sound of approaching horses. The waning moonlight glinted off spearheads showing that the group was the same size or larger than their own. Éomer saw the king raise his hand slightly towards him and took a deep breath before addressing the mysterious riders.

"Halt! Halt! Who rides in Rohan?" his voice sounded strange in his own ears, so unwavering and undaunted.

Suddenly the group before them stopped, reigning in their horses in silence. In the moonlight Éomer could see one man dismounting from his steed and walking towards them, palm outwards in a show of peace. There was no relaxation of grip on their weapons as the Rohirrim waited for the stranger to speak.

"Rohan? Rohan did you say? That is a glad word. We seek that land in haste from long afar." His voice rang with an accent similar to that of Aragorn's own.

"You have found it," said Éomer. "When you crossed the fords yonder you entered it. But it is the realm of Théoden the King. None ride here save by his leave. Who are you? And what is your haste?"

"Halbarad Dúnadan, Ranger of the North I am. We seek one Aragorn son of Arathorn, and we heard that he was in Rohan."

Before Éomer could answer the claim Aragorn had handed his reins to the hobbit and was striding forward. "And you have found him also! Halbarad!" he said embracing his fellow ranger, "Of all joys this is the least expected."

There was a silent sigh of relief as the Rohirrim lowered their weapons. Éomer sheathed his sword and rode forward to listen to the forthcoming explanation. He had never seen Aragorn look so joyful, nor his constant grim demeanor change for an expression of happiness.

"All is well. Here are some of my own kin from the far land where I dwelt. But why they come, and how many they be, Halbarad shall tell us," Aragorn said turning back to his friend with expectation.

"I have thirty with me," said Halbarad, "That is all of our kindred that could be gathered in haste; but the brethren Elladan and Elrohir have ridden with us, desiring to go to the war. We rode as swiftly as we might when your summons came."

Aragorn looked confused, "But I did not summon you, save only in wish. My thoughts have often turned to you, and seldom more than tonight; yet I have sent no word. But come! All such matters must wait. You find us riding in haste and danger. Ride with us now, if the king will give his leave."

Éomer turned to see his uncle's reaction. The king looked glad to accept such an offer. "It is well!" he said. "If these kinsmen be in any way like to yourself, my lord Aragorn, thirty such knights will be a strength that cannot be counted by heads."

They continued on until the sky grew gray with the forthcoming sun. They reached the Hornburg soon after and all were ready to take rest before any council was taken. Éomer dismounted his horse wearily and watched the rangers and Aragorn draw unto themselves. They had spoken few words to each other, but now by the faint light Éomer could examine them more closely.

They looked very much like the kin of Aragorn. All faces were weather-worn and had expressions of wisdom that only came with age and experience. Even the hardiest warriors of the Rohirrim looked like young boys compared to the dark-haired warriors. Two of them he recognized immediately as elves, though they looked little like Legolas. They were obviously twins and both had long dark hair very much the opposite of the other elf's. They two wore grim expressions equated with age and the experience of many battles.

Éomer had no more time to watch for his own eyes were growing heavy with sleep and the men of Rohan were withdrawing to the empty rooms of the Hornburg to sleep for awhile. Furs and the rough blankets of soldiers were laid out on the cold stone floor and despite the discomfort of the quarters almost all were asleep within moments of laying down their heads.

The young Marshal of the Mark however, lay tossing fitfully. He was used to the hard ground and sleeping in close quarters with his men, but tonight was different. There were too many thoughts running rampant in his mind, too many worries that plagued his heart. The relief he had felt at Grima's departure and his uncle's reawakening had been short lived. Now the present truths of the oncoming war and destruction that awaited the whole of Middle-earth overwhelmed his courage.

As much as he hated to admit it, the wizard's words had affected his courage. Saruman knew well that a king without brave soldiers was nothing and had used his poisonous tongue to that fashion. Was there any hope to emerge victorious from a confrontation with Sauron himself? Would the valiant people of Rohan be destroyed and forgotten by a conquered world? And beneath all these uncertainties was a question that Éomer was afraid to give voice to…even in his own mind.

The thought came unbidden anyway…what would happen when his uncle died and he was left to defend his country and his people by himself? What would he do with a crown?

Note: Yes I'm posting again, but don't get too excited. I have no idea how often this story will be updated, but since I had half of this chapter waiting around on my computer I became determined to finish it. So here you are, I hope you enjoy it, if anyone is out there still reading still!

As said before, most of the dialogue in this part of WHUG is from Tolkien's books. I'm trying my best to maintain a balance but it is becoming difficult. So I claim no part of Tolkien's genius…see chapter one for disclaimer.

Ringwraith- Thanks so much for your support, it's a constant help to me to know I have friends out there reading my stuff!

Eokat- Thank you so much for your reviews. I don't have any idea whether you're still interested in this story, but your support has meant a lot to me!

NinielB- Thank you for the review. I hope you enjoy the story as you continue to read. If you haven't already, check out the first part of WHUG…it's about Éomer's life before the war of the ring and events of the book.