Disclaimer: They're mine! They're mine! They're mine! (Looking at you) Oh, don't say that! Don't say they're not mine... Please? All right then, you win... they're not mine... but can't I at least keep Éomer? No? Why not? Why do you need him? Please let me keep him... I'll be nice... I'll kiss your feet... no? Oh, you're hard to please... all right then, but can't I wish they were mine?
Things Worth Fighting For
Chapter 5
It was much that was happening in Rohan these days. The people were strong and proud, yet they were sad and most had no more hope. The king were said to be aging and his councillor in charge of things, Orcs were roaming freely across the Riddermark. What gave the people only a little hope in all this was when they saw their brave riders proudly riding across the plains in search for Orcs that were threatening their land.
People's hopes were that the Riders of Rohan would somehow free them from the Orcs, Wild Men and Dunlendings that were attacking the villages, killing their people and herds, destroying their homes and burning their crops.
But the riders were having problems of their own. How in the name of Eorl would they manage to train a flock of farmers and one young Gondorian boy to become real warriors?
The task Éomer had set out to was not an easy one. He expected trouble when he became Third Marshal of Riddermark, but he did not expect to train some brainless farm boys to become warriors in only a few weeks time. Word had reached him from his cousin that things were becoming worse in the Westmark. More Orcs and Wild Men were attacking the Rohirric villages and settlements.
Éomer seriously wondered if training new men were such a good idea after all. Perhaps he should just send them all home and tell Théodred none had come. But then Théodred would probably come for himself and make a speech in each village and ask them why none wanted to defend Rohan, so Éomer did not think that would work.
He was now watching the farmers on the training field sparring with each other using wooden sticks. Many of the men were not wearing a shirt, but a few did. Éomer wondered if they were afraid they did not have enough muscles or perhaps their skin was too pale. But what really made Éomer wonder what he had gotten himself in to, was the Gondorian boy. He was fully dressed in trousers, a shirt and a green Rohirric cloak with the hood pulled over his head. Amazingly enough he managed to fight his opponent.
Éomer shook his head and wondered why on earth anyone would want to train with so many clothes on.
When Farabor was finished with the match he walked over to a bucket of water and poured himself a drink. Éomer decided to have a talk with him and walked over.
"You know, it would not be so warm if you did as the other men and trained without a cloak on," Éomer commented.
Lothíriel almost choke as she heard him. If he only knew what he suggested... no doubt she would win every sparring match, since the men would be busier watching her than fight her. "Marshal..." she said as she turned at him.
"It will be easier to fight if you take the cloak of," Éomer said. "Why do you fight with it on you?"
Think, Lothíriel! "You do not fight without clothing during a battle, my lord."
"True enough, but this is not a battle, it is simply training," Éomer pointed out.
"Yes, well, I like a challenge. It is far too easy to fight without a cloak," Lothíriel said.
"Still, it is only training." Éomer said, but Lothíriel did not hear a word anymore.
She had a feeling she knew only too well. Oh, please not that! She knew what it was. She felt it in her stomach and she felt how it made her wet between her legs. Quickly she covered herself completely with the cloak, so no one would notice. Éomer had turned his gaze at the men sparring and Liriel used this opportunity to disappear.
Éomer had been so lost in his own thoughts that he had not noticed that the Gondorian had left. No man he had ever met was as strange as this boy from Gondor. And Éomer could not explain why he had talked to him in the first place. If he wanted to fight in a cloak, let him fight in a cloak. It was not Éomer's fault Farabor was a strange person.
But something bothered him with this young Gondorian. Something he could not quite put his finger on. And it bothered Éomer not knowing what bothered him.
Damn! Why did it have to be now? Or rather, why when she was standing so close to Éomer? Had it already been a month since her last time? Lothíriel counted the weeks and realized it probably was. But why when she had spoken to Éomer?
The last week Lothíriel had felt a tension building up within her every time she was near the Marshal. She had sometimes wondered how he would be to kiss. How his lips would feel against hers. Every time she caught herself thinking like that she cursed and told herself she would probably give him a heart attack if he found himself being kissed by a boy. Because that was what he thought she was. And if she suddenly would act upon her foolish imaginations she would most likely kill him before she had a chance to tell him she was a woman.
So Lothíriel pushed such thoughts in the back of her mind and instead thought about things that were happening now. Like how she would handle her monthly cycle with all this men around her.
After cleaning herself up and making sure no one had seen her, Lothíriel had told Helmling she needed some rest. He had nodded, saying he understood since the training cold be very exhausting. So Lothíriel now lay curled up in bed, feeling very sorry for herself.
Why was it women who had to be cursed with this? Why not men? Why did they have it so easy? It seemed very unfair, but Lothíriel also saw the problem if men were in a country far away and suddenly had the problem she had now.
Suddenly Déorl, Galrim and Halmod came in the door, and Liriel realized how late it was. She pretended to sleep instead of answering all sorts of strange questions from them. How she wished for this week to end fast!
A long week later...
Éomer watched his men give the farmers a long lesson in military strategies. Helmling were reprimanding them about something they had done during training that would have them killed had it been a real battle.
Éomer had just returned to Aldburg with his éored after they had hunted some Orcs from the Folde. The Orcs had not gotten very far before they were cut down.
He saw the gates open and a rider came through. He was obviously a messenger. When he saw Éomer, he hurried over to him. "Lord Éomer!" he cried out and dismounted while he tried to catch his breath.
"What news do you have?" Éomer asked.
"My lord, my name is Léother, scout in Lord Théodred's éored. It is a great battle going on at the Fords of Isen and I barely managed to escape to deliver you this message. Your cousin needs you aid. The battle goes ill," Léother said and tried to catch his breath.
Éomer did not have to listen to more. His cousin needed help and he would not waste another minute. "Éothain!" Éomer walked against him as he started to give him orders. "Assemble the éored; we ride soon. Have someone ready my horse."
"Of course, Éomer, but what has happened?" Éothain asked concerned. He had never seen Éomer so worried before.
Éomer sighed. "Théodred is in trouble. Carry out your orders."
Éothain nodded and left to do so. Éomer went to get his sword and helmet, while he silently prayed nothing had happened to his cousin.
Lothíriel had never seen Éomer so worried, although his face was almost expressionless. She had seen the worry in his eyes and wondered what had caused it. She wished she could do something to help him, to ease his worry, but banished the thought as soon as it presented itself. Again she reminded herself what would happen if he suddenly found himself in the comforting arms of one of his soldiers.
The best thing she could do right now was to saddle her horse and prepare for what seemed to be her first battle.
"Théodred!" The first thought that entered Éomer's mind when he saw all the dead were that he had failed his cousin. For a moment all he could was to stare ahead of him, hoping this somehow was all a bad dream. He could not dwell on this any longer and knew what he had to do. "Find the king's son!" he ordered his men and dismounted.
Lothíriel had never seen so many dead before. The only dead person she had ever seen before were her mother, and that was an image that still haunted her dreams. She had heard Éomer say Théodred's name and wondered how well he knew him.
"Mordor will pay for this." Lothíriel turned around to see the soldier who said this. The anger was to read plainly on his face. Then she saw Éomer roll an Orc over, so he was lying with his face up.
"These Orcs are not from Mordor," his voice was angry and Éomer wondered if this would have happened if they had done something with Saruman earlier. But it really didn't matter now. His concern now was to find his cousin and bring him home.
A soldier kneeling over something near the river called to him. "My Lord Éomer, over here!"
Fear gripped Éomer's heart as he saw the soldier kneel over a familiar armour. He couldn't be dead...
Lothíriel had also seen this look on Éomer's face. She turned at Galrim. "How well does the Marshal know the king's son?"
Galrim took a deep breath. "They are cousins. The Marshal is son of the king's sister."
He said something else, but Lothíriel had no idea if it was important or not. Rohan really was full of surprises. A royal marshal. And here she had been trying to get away from royalties, and she had ended up with the nephew of a king. If his mother was the king's sister, then she was a princess, what in turn made him prince, at least it would be told so in Gondor.
Éomer looked down at his cousin's face. Théodred moaned softly, almost impossible to hear, but Éomer heard. "He's alive," he said relievedand turned at Éothain, who had come to stand next to him. "We must ride to Edoras immediately. There is no time to waste. Help me to get him on Firefoot."
Éothain nodded and did as his friend had told him. Not ten minutes later they were on their way to the capital of Rohan.
Lothíriel had seen larger fortresses than Aldburg, yet she had found it impressing. As she had been in awe of Aldburg she was even more so by the sight of Edoras. The capital of Rohan was built on top of a great hill, and even before she had seen it closely she found the city very beautiful and strong.
They rode through the gates and through the city, until they were before Meduseld. There Éomer had two men to help him carry Théodred inside, while the others could only watch.
Lothírielturned at Déorl and Galrim. "What now?"
They both had little idea what happened next, and looked at each other instead of answering.
"Take care of your horses and get something to eat." They turned around to see Helmling standing behind them. "We will not leave Edoras for a while."
The three of them nodded and went to take care of the horses.
Lothíriel turned her gaze at Meduseld once more and saw a beautiful Rohirric woman run inside. Her golden hair flowed in the wind, but Lothíriel could not see her face as she disappeared inside so soon.
When Éowyn heard that her brother brought their cousin home badly wounded, she dropped all she were doing and hurried to the Golden Hall. The sight that greeted her when she entered Théodred's chamber were as if from a nightmare. Her dear cousin lay in the bed, so pale he looked dead already. He was so still she had difficulties picturing the cousin she knew; teasing her, laughing and smiling, training with Éomer, worry for his father...
Her brother was sitting next to the bed, and she sat down next to him, whispering their cousin's name. She glanced at her brother, and saw the look upon his face. She could tell he held little hope. He showed her one of Théodred's wounds and she closed her eyes. There really seemed as there was no hope...
"I must tell our uncle what have happened," Éomer's voice was above a whisper, butjust barely.
Éowyn shook her head. "We must tell him."
Éomer gave her a grateful look. At least it would be the two of them.
The siblings entered the Golden Hall together, both walking steadily toward king Théoden's throne. At least Wormtongue was nowhere to be seen, something Éomer was extremely grateful for.
With a last reassuring look at each other, they approached the king. Éowyn approached him first.
"Your son is badly wounded, my lord," she told him, but Théoden showed no reaction of having heard her. She glanced at Éomer, who only gave her a small smile. He started reporting the events that had led to Théodred's condition.
"He was ambushed by Orcs," Éomer told him, but still Théoden gave no indication of even acknowledging their presence. "If we don't defend our country, Saruman will take it by force."
The next that were heard was a voice coming from the shadows. A voice Éomer and his sister knew only too well, one they wished they had never heard. "That is a lie," Gríma Wormtongue came out from the shadows, ever looking like the snake he was. "Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally." Wormtongue looked at the Third Marshal threatening for a moment, as if daring Éomer to prove him wrong.
Éomer was about to reply when moaning from his uncle caught everybody's attention. He was moaning Wormtongue's name; Gríma. Wormtongue went over to the king.
Éomer broke the silence that followed. "Orcs are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked. Unchallenged. Killing at will. Orcs bearing the White Hand of Saruman." Éomer tossed the helmet he had taken at the Fords of Isen before the feet of his uncle. Wormtongue looked at it, insecure, and Éomer and Éowyn looked with satisfaction that he was uncertain for a moment. It quickly changed.
"Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind?" Wormtongue asked, changing the subject. "Can you not see? Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent... your warmongering."
"Warmongering?" Anger entered Éomer's voice as all suddenly lay so clearly before him. He grabbed Wormtongue and slammed him against a pillar. "How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price, Gríma? When all the men are dead, you will take your share of the treasure?" The look on Wormtongue's face was one Wormtongue was unable to hide, one that made Éomer go cold to the bone. He recognized that look as lust and desire. To want to take a woman even against her will. And that look was directed at his sister, who made her way out of the hall this very moment, and that look made Éomer even more furious than anything else. His grip on the worm tightened. "Too long have you watched my sister. Too long have you haunted her steps."
Éomer felt strong hands grip him, forcing him to let Wormtongue go.
"You see much, Éomer, son of Éomund. Too much." The men gripped Éomer harder, and one hit him in the stomach, while he tried to free himself, without any success. They were at least four, and they had a strong hold of his arms. Wormtongue continued. "You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Rohan... and all it domains under pain of death," he spoke slowly to let the words have the desired effect; however Éomer denied this as soon as he heard.
"You have no authority here. Your orders mean nothing." Again he was hit, but he continued to glare at the snake.
Wormtongue looked extremely pleased with himself. "This order does not come from me. It comes from the king." He held the parchment with the order on for Éomer to see, and no matter how hard he stared at the signature at the bottom, he could not deny it. It was his uncle's. "He signed it this morning," Wormtongue said, even more pleased with himself than he looked. The men started dragging Éomer, who still fought them, out of Meduseld. Wormtongue grinned and smiled after him. "If you are not out within the hour, you will be dead."
Being tossed out of the hall was not something Éomer ever imagined could happen. He especially never expected to be tossed into the arms of Háma, the Door Warden of Meduseld.
"Lord Éomer?" Háma asked in disbelief, making sure the younger man managed to stand before letting go of him.
Éomer glared at the large door, wishing he could walk back in and tear Wormtongue's guts open. "Ic will acwellan him! Awiergan him!" Éomer cursed in Rohirric and Common tongue. Never had he wanted to kill someone as badly as he wanted to kill Wormtongue.
The commotion had caught the attention to many of the people of Edoras. Lothíriel were standing next to Galrim, wondering what were happening.
"Éomer?" Háma looked even more worried at him. "What in the name of Eorl has happened?"
Éomer looked at him as if he had not noticed him earlier, then he calmed down slightly, yet his voice only came as a low growl. "Wormtongue."
Háma was more worried than he ever had been in his entire life. "What has happened?" he asked again.
Before Éomer had a chance to answer, the doors to Meduseld opened and Éowyn came out, fury written across her face. "How could you? Have you no sense at all? Why you even have a head I cannot bring myself to understand! You never use it anyway!"
Lothíriel could not help but wonder who this woman was and how she knew Éomer. Oh, stop this! It is not like you have any right to be jealous! He thinks you are a man! But telling herself that did not make her feel any better or less jealous. Because that was what she was. Even if she admitted it to herself or not.
The only concern Éomer had right now, was to calm his sister. "Calm down, Éowyn. I could not bear to see him look at you in that manner. Only the thought what he could do with you given the chance..."
Éowyn cut him off. "I can take care of myself. This has only made things worse. Théodred is badly wounded and now you will be gone too. What will I do without you?"
Lothíriel's heart sunk faster and faster. They were obviously close. Too close for her taste, but she could not have expected for him to be unattached. What made it her business who he shared his bed with? Besides, he did not even know of her existence. Then it suddenly hit her. Where was he going?
"What are you speaking of?" Háma asked. "What has happened?"
Éomer sighed. "Banished. I have been banished." The word had a bitter taste in his mouth.
Háma stared at him, and now Éothain came out of the crowd. "Banished!" he called out in disbelief.
Éomer nodded grimly. "The order came from the king."
"But he cannot do that!" Éothain shook his head. "You're his nephew."
"The king is not as he used to be. And it was more Wormtongue's doing than it was the king's," Éomer said.
"What happens now?" Éothain asked.
Éomer stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean what do we do now? Where do we go?" Éothain asked and grinned when his friend looked at him in total disbelief. "You did not really think I would let you go alone, did you? Sometimes you can be such a fool, Éomer."
"Then we ride, Éothain. To the borders of Rohan to ensure no more Orcs can come into our land," Éomer said.
When men heard that, many decided to follow the Marshal. His entire éored would follow him. And those who had survived in Théodred's and were not too badly wounded that they could not come, and some of the other men that had been stationed in Edoras.
In less than an hour the riders had assembled outside Meduseld. Men took farewells with their loved ones and Lothíriel wished she could see her family one last time. She looked ahead to see Éomer saying farewell to that woman. She went a little closer to hear them.
"Take care of yourself, Éomer," Éowyn said and gave him a hug.
"You know I will," Éomer said. "Take care of yourself, little one. You have no more brothers who can protect you and get banished by the effort."
Éowyn smiled. "Thank Eorl for that. How would I handle more of you?" A tear fell down her pale face. "Do nothing stupid, brother. Rohan awaits your return."
Lothíriel could not help the smile that grew across her face. She was his sister!
The men dismounted and with a final goodbye, they left Edoras. They rode through the gates and out on the open plains. Faith could have been worse to them. All were not lost yet.
Translations:
Ic will acwellan him! – I will kill him!
Awiergain him! – Damn him!
Author's note: I was thinking of throwing Éomer in the dungeon, but it did not give me very many options concerning Éomer and Lothíriel. It just seems much easier for them to fall in love if they're on the plains somewhere.
When it comes to the scene with Éomer's banishment, I know I did not have to write all that down, but I did not want it to just start when Éomer is thrown out of the Golden Hall. And the rest of the story will probably be a mix between the book and the movie; whatever seems to be the best way for this story.
Lady scribe of avandell, as you see I used your suggestion. I hope it worked, although it ended quite abruptly. Well, I could not use almost a week for her to deal with it, so I jumped over all the small details. It was a problem for her nevertheless.
And to the rest of you: thank you sooooooo much for the reviews! I'm absolutely... I don't know what to say, so I'll just say thanks and be over with it. Thanks, thanks, thanks, thanks!