This is another slow chapter, but one I don't feel a little guilty about writing lol. Just a filler, but I hope some of you let me know what you think of Eomer's demeanor...it seemed fitting to write in some of his worries in this chapter, but that's just how I feel he would react... Anyway - only a chapter or two more to go, and then we're done! :)

Cheers

Little over a week later, she was home. After Pippin and Merry had entertained the company in the Gardens for a little while longer, they had all dispersed to their beds. The following morning Alandria had been immediately seeked by Éomer, and as they spoke leisurely together she brought to his attention her pining for Rohan. He admitted he felt the same, if not stronger, for he knew that many duties awaited him at the city and realm that was now under his rule. Éomer then immediately expressed his concerns for Rohan to Aragorn, and the busy King readily gave them leave. Éowyn insisted to come as well to aid her brother in organizing Edoras, reluctantly leaving Faramir behind to mind his own duties in Minas Tirith, but with a promise to return soon. Éomer, Éowyn, and Alandria then quickly gathered together what Riders were left and rode from the White City. Their travel was quick and unhindered; a handful of retreating orcs were seen in total, and the creatures fled at the mere sight of the group of Rohirrim. The weather was pleasant, it being the earliest days of May, and the trip was made in little less than a week, as they took much more leisurely means of arriving than when they had ridden to the aid of Gondor.

The company did not even halt their riding as they came upon the City on the Hill, and instead kept onward, riding through the open and waiting gates, into the welcoming arms of the city. Alandria found herself surprised that people still dwelt in Edoras, as if she had expected them to have disappeared with the changes that were overcoming Middle-earth. Yet nay, most of the women and children that had been left behind were still there, waiting with cries of joy and mingled sobs of sorrow at the losses: less than a thousand Riders returned from the six thousand that had ridden out - and many of them were from cities other than Edoras.

The Riders came to a halt before the steps of Meduseld, their numbers trailing down through the city, and Éomer, Éowyn, and Alandria dismounted. Éomer led the two women to the top steps of Meduseld, and then he turned to face the crowd that had gathered below him. The people could be see murming and whispering to each other, glancing from the scarce number of Riders to the tall young man that stood before them with confusion. Alandria knew they were looking for their King, refusing to believe the worst.

"People of Rohan!" Éomer called, his strong voice demanding their silence and attention. "I have a few short announcements to make, and then the Riders may disperse to their homes - this will not, however, be the last I have to say. Only for now." He paused, suddenly seeming ill-at-ease undernearth the townspeople's expectant stares. He shifted, glancing nervously behind him to Éowyn and Alandria, then turning back to face his people with a deep breath. "Sauron, the Dark Lord, is destroyed." A rush of noise from the crowd exploded out, but they died down as Éomer held up his hand for quiet. "He has been vanquished by the hobbit Frodo, who had the burden of the One Ring with him for miles, and traveled to the very heart of Mount Doom to cast it into the fires. There, it has been eaten by the volcano, and Sauron is no more." There was another rush of murmurs and mixed sounds of surprise and joy from the crowd, until Éomer called for quiet again.

"Gondor now has a King, as well. Many of you likely saw him when he was here - a mere Ranger, he looked. Travel-worn and hardy, but a King nonetheless. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and now rules Gondor and governs all the rest of Middle-earth. We are lucky to have such a King." Éomer swallowed, pausing again under nervousness, before hesitantly going on. "At the mention of a King, I now must tell you all what has befallen the country of Rohan in the midst of these other great happenings - King Théoden, my uncle dear as a father, has fallen on the Field of Pelennor, where we rode to Gondor's aid." Cries of dismay burst from the Lord's audience and he allowed them for a few moments, before raising his hand again. "He was taken by the Witch-King, Lord of the Nazgul. His death however is obviously," he glanced at the Riders before him, "not the only nor the least we have suffered, yet the time shall come later to grieve for them. The bodies of those who fell shall remain before Minas Tirith to become a landmark of one of the greatest stands and alleigances in the time of Middle-earth. The body of King Théoden, however, must be buried here, beside the tombs of his forefathers. You may have noticed at this point though that we do not carry the body with us; nay, I have left him at Gondor for the time being, until things here can be sorted. Then we shall ride once more to Minas Tirith, and bring the body of Théoden, son of Thengel, for proper burial."

Éomer quieted for a moment, and the people before him took the opportunity to talk quietly amongst themselves of all that they were hearing. Alandria caught bits of "That Ranger, a King?" and "Théoden dead? It's not possible!". There was even a group to her right that were quietly discussing whether or not Sauron actually was vanquished, or if this was all a hoax to put them at peace before the legions of Orcs came and killed them all. She listened with only slight annoyance, waiting for when Éomer would announce his right now to rule.

Finally the lord raised his hand for silence yet again, and it was quickly given. "My last announcement is one I am sure you have all figured out for your own at this point, so I shall make it brief: as Théoden, King of the Mark, has fallen, and his son fell weeks ago, I, Éomer, son of Éomund, sister-son to Théoden, am now the rightful heir. I am to take the throne in Meduseld, and rule Rohan as best as I may." Alandria smiled faintly, noticing how the man seemed uncomfortable with the notion of such a duty. "Yet I do not take the throne at this moment. Not until the Riders have been bidden home, and Théoden has been rightly put to rest, shall I take up my rule. Until then I am only a sort of Steward, and my sister Éowyn holds as much command as I." He paused, sternly and proudly gazing out at the people gathered around the Golden Hall, displaying to them with only a look what strength he had, and then he bowed. "Until later, that is all. Riders - those of other cities, feel free to stay and rest or depart for your homes. Those of Edoras, you are bidden to do likewise. The rest of the day shall be for resting and rejoining, until tomorrow morning, when those that have fallen are accounted for. Fare thee well." The lord bowed again, and with a nervous glance to Alandria and Éowyn, he retreated into Meduseld, both women following.

"Are you alright, Éomer?" Alandria asked as soon as they had passed through the front doors. She could understand Éomer's anxiety at commanding a city that he was used to only serving and protecting, but in his last glance she had seen fear.

He did not answer, striding instead to the throne at the end of the great Hall, and then halting before it. He stood with his back to his sister and Alandria, simply staring at the wooden throne before him. Both the women waited anxiously in the peculiar silence, until Éomer turned his head the slightest to acknowledge them. "Éowyn," he said, "can you please find some serving girls to prepare a meal for later? And find someone to gather a handful of men so we may prepare Théoden's tomb?"

Éowyn hesitated, still pondering her brother's curious behavior, before giving in and nodding. "Yes, m'lord."

"I'm only your brother, Éowyn." He corrected. "You need not use that title on me."

Éowyn said nothing, glancing meaningfully at Alandria as she quietly left to do her brother's bidding.

Once the Lady had left, Éomer stepped up to the throne he'd been gazing at. He reached forward, then hesitated with his hand still extended, as if he was pondering drawing it back. After a moment, however, he moved forward and his hand fall on the arm of the great chair. His fingers trailed across the dark wood almost tenderly.

"Éomer?" Alandria murmured, moving closer to him. "What is the matter?" He didn't answer, only drew his hand back from the chair and stood still, his back and shoulders straight and rigid. "You were uncomfortable before your people - but I understand that. Yet can you not explain the fear I saw?" She was at the steps now, and quietly padded up them until she stood just behind the tall Horse-lord. Tenderly, she placed her hand on his shoulder, gazing earnestly up at him. "What are you afraid of, déore?"

Éomer reach up to touch the hand that lay upon his shoulder, and he turned his head slightly in her direction. She could only see the one hazel eye, and it flicked from her, down to where their hands touched. "I was never supposed to be a King, Alandria. He had a son, and then that son should have had his own son, and so on - the throne was never supposed to come to me. I was supposed to forever serve the King, protect the Riddermark - not rule the entire country." His hand dropped from hers and he turned to face her. His handsome features were troubled, worry and fear still lurking in his dark eyes, his stern brows pulled together, furrowed in thought and concern. "Alandria, what if I can't rule Rohan? What if I fail my own country?"

Alandria merely smiled softly in return to his worries. She traced a hand down the side of his face, until she cradled underneath his jaw. "You worry too much." She whispered, smiling still, dropping her hand 'till it grasped his. "If you were not supposed to be King, it never would have fallen to you. But it has - and so you shall rule over Rohan, and you shall rule just as greatly as Théoden ever did. You're not alone in this, Éomer," She took grasped his other hand as well, her earnest emerald eyes holding his hazel ones. "I shall be with you. I, and all others that will serve your court. You will not be alone, understood?"

He nodded, her words convicting and promising, and smiled slightly. He pulled her closer then, into his arms, and held her close. "How I ever got on without you, love, is beyond me." Alandria smiled, pressing her face deeper into his chest and sighing. He held her for many moments more, before deciding he ought to let go, lest they fall asleep in such a manner. He pulled her arms from around his waist and stepped back, smiling again. "Thank you, Alandria." He leaned down and kissed her briefly. "I'm sorry I have such silly fears."

She shrugged, smiling up at him. "I love you despite them." Her hand ran up his chest then, playing with the ties at the neck of his shirt. "But now, about that kiss you just gave... I think it was entirely too short.." She snuck a look up at him, smirking, and as soon as her eyes met his he dipped down for another kiss. Their mouths clashed at first, both powered with desire, having been robbed of any intimacy throughout their travelling from Gondor. After a moment though the reckless passion subsided, and they eased into a long, gentle kiss. Éomer held Alandria close, hands around her waist and keeping her body locked against his own. Alandria had one hand woven into his golden mane, and the other cradled around his neck gently. Their tongues wove slowly and tenderly together, keeping the gentle tenderness of their kiss passionate. Now and again Alandria would teasingly challenge Éomer for control of the kiss, and every time she did, he would pull her closer to his own strong body, and claim her mouth sternly with his lips, teeth, and tongue.

Alandria finally broke away with a giggle and a gasp, her chest heaving against Éomer. She teasingly eyed the lord from under her lashes, and smiled upon seeing his hazel eyes had darkened with desire. "I have a feeling, that might have been..the only time..we'll be able to do..that." She panted.

Éomer smiled slightly, kissing her briefly again on the forehead, before releasing her. "I feel you may be right. Now," He cleared his throat, straightened his tunic, and adjusted his bearing, before facing Alandria again. "Would you like to clean up? We've been on the road for quite a few days, and you're probably weary.. I know I need a wash."

"Well you're a smelly man, that's why." Alandria teased, and Éomer grinned.

"Perhaps. But you just kissed this smelly man, so now you smell too."

Alandria made a face in mock-disgust, and sighed. "I'll get a wash then. Do you suppose Lynwen is still here?"

Éomer shrugged. "I'm sorry to admit I don't know many of the house-staff by name, love."

"Ah well. I'll find out for myself then.." She began to wander off towards the servants quarters, but hesitated. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"I'll likely just talk to some of the staff about what has happened since I left, and then we'll have a meal with the surviving Riders that feel up to one, here, in the Hall. And then I'll take a few men and we'll dig Théoden's grave and prepare everything for the tomb. Tomorrow morning..." he sighed, stepping down from the throne and rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, "Tomorrow we'll deal with the families that lost men. And so on..." He trailed off, staring at some point away, before glancing back at Alandria and smiling weakly, tiredly.

She smiled back, as reassuring as she could be, and waved her fingers lightly at him. "I'll let you alone to your plans, then. You should get some rest, love."

He waved her away with another tired smile. "Some day, maybe."'

The day passed quickly, falling into evening, and then abruptly, night. Alandria did manage to find Lynwen once she retreated to clean up, and the kind maid's joy at seeing Alandria alive easily persuaded Alandria to laughter. Lynwen was then eager for all manner of details about the battle, and over the course of a very long bath Alandria happily obliged. Soon though she was called for, and left Lynwen to join Éomer and a score of Riders for a meal in the Hall. She sat on the lord's left, while Éowyn was seated at his right. The meal passed surprisingly quickly as none were eager for talk - not with knowing the number of men that were missing from the Golden Hall, and certainly not with their families waiting for them. Éomer ended the short meal with a toast to those that had fallen, and those that still rode. The men echoed him, and one man in particular remained standing a moment to toast to Éomer, wishing him strength and good health and a good reign. Éomer smiled abashedly, and thanked the man before releasing them all, save a few, back to their homes.

The few that stayed behind were to help Éomer with the digging of Théoden's tomb, and then Alandria and Éowyn would help prepare it. Normally they would have found servants to do the task of digging a grave, but Éomer insisted Riders do it, in honor of Théoden, who would be known forever as one of the greatest Kings of Rohan, doomed to have his son die before himself, and then to fall at the hands of the Witch-King of Angmar. The men aided Éomer without a word of complaint, and yet the relentless intensity Éomer showed as he shovelled up pile after pile of dirt made it seem as if he didn't need their help to finish the job. The men, however, merely exchanged looks and continued their work until at last, over an hour later, the proper-sized grave had been dug.

Éomer sighed heavily and leaned against the shovel he had now wedged in the ground. "Thank you, men." He breathed heavily, panting slightly. "I am sorry to have kept you from your homes, but that would've taken far too long by myself." He smiled slightly, and then gestured for them to be off. "I've got it from here, thank you. Very much."

"Not a problem, m'lord," "Of course, m'lord," they replied, each turning away and slowly trudging back up the road to the gates of Edoras.

Éomer glanced down at the dark grave he had just dug with a weary sigh, and then returned to Edoras by a path that led behind Meduseld, letting him straight into the back of the Golden Hall. The path was tricky and rocky, but it had been made years and years ago and was now as safe as it could ever be. Éomer had navigated it only a scarce few times, but found his way easily enough. He stepped straight into the hallway beside his chambers, and slipped into his room to clean up quickly before going into the Hall. Once he did, he found Alandria and Éowyn seated at a table in the Hall, talking quietly about a variety of things - namely, Éowyn and Faramir's engagement, and what the wedding would be like(Éowyn insisted it would be small, likely held in Gondor or some peaceful part of Ithilien). They turned to attention upon Éomer's entrance, and both rose obediently. Éomer hesitated at their rising, unnerved by the lordly manner everyone was already treating him. Hadn't he stated he wasn't yet their King? Such actions from people made him uncomfortable.

"It's done." He finally said under their silent gazes, and his words seemed to break the stillness.

Alandria took half a step towards him before hesitating, seeing Éowyn was still in the room. The White Lady, however, was not blind, nor näive.

"It's late, I ought to retire. I have a feeling tomorrow shall be tedious enough." She glanced at both her brother and Alandria before smiling faintly, and bowing her head to her brother. "I shall see you both in the morning."

"You shall." Éomer replied. "Sleep well, Éowyn."

"Goodnight, my lady." Alandria put in, as Éowyn nodded at them once more, then turned and quickly left.

Once the sound of Éowyn's retreating footsteps had disappeared, Alandria turned back to Éomer. "She's getting good at that, isn't she?"

"Getting good at what?"

"Leaving us alone. I wonder if she feels uncomfortable around us?"

"No," Éomer shook his head, wandering back towards the throne. "I think she just feels we need it."

"Hm." Alandria studied the man before her for a moment, before sighing heavily to catch his attention.

"What?" He asked, glancing up at her.

"Can I go see the grave?"

Éomer paused, surprised by the request. "Why would you want to do that? It's a hole in the ground. That's all." Alandria said nothing, and Éomer sighed, but with a faint smile. "Fine, fine. You'll need your mantle though - it's getting cool out."

Alandria was quick to retrieve the dark, earth-green mantle Éomer had given her before they supped, and strode back into the Hall still fixing it about her. "Ready." She stated after a moment.

Éomer nodded, and started towards the door leading to the path behind Meduseld. Alandria hesitated until she became aware that he was not waiting for her, and then followed after him. "Where are we going?" She called, and the man stopped once he realized she was further behind him than he'd thought.

"Sorry," he apologized once she'd caught up, "I forgot you don't know about the door back here. It leads to a path," he explained, "the trails right down to the tombs of all the past Kings. I'm sure some King generations ago had it built out of convenience." He pushed open the back door, and stepped out, onto a smooth path that declined sharply, turning towards the right. "Careful- here ya go...steady.." He held Alandria's hand as she stepped onto the path as well, and slowly led her down it. Everytime she stumbled or slipped - actions that were not uncommon on the sharply declining path - he would halt and do his best to stable her, until they finally reached the bottom. "There now," he said as they came to a straight path on even ground leading the last meters to the burial mounds, "That wasn't so bad, eh?" He grinned boyishly down at Alandria, who smiled back despite rolling her eyes.

He let her go then, as they came upon the sixteen symbilmnë-covered tombs, and made his way towards the open pit of Théoden's grave. "Here it is." He said. "Only a hole in the ground, Alandria, we needn't be out here-" He turned to her, but she was not beside him. She stood a couple meters away, looking not at the tombs but at the dark city of Edoras, scattered torches winking in the night. "Alandria?"

"There." She pointed to a spot he could not discern. "That torch that is closest to us, right against the wall? That's where we lived, my father and I. Of course because we were only two, we weren't the only ones in the house. We lived with another Rider, Bergin, and his wife, Lothya." She paused, still staring at the house only she could see. "I don't suppose he's alive."

Éomer turned away from Alandria then, his gaze falling on all the tombs around him. Tombs of previous kings of Rohan, back to the very first. Sixteen generations - soon to be seventeen. No, wrong - now was the eighteenth. Seventeen passed, the eighteenth would soon begin. Yet what about when that too passed? And who could know if it would even last an entire generation? Yes, Rohan would eventually be safer than it had yet ever been, but even that would not last - there would always be some enemy to fight, whether it be orcs or men from other lands. And what if he fell before he could produce an heir? Rohan would fall because of him.

Alandria came to his side then, yet Éomer was only vaguely aware of her. She held a flower of symbilmnë between her fingers, and was spinning it slowly. "What are you thinking about?" She whispered, pressing herself closer to his side.

Éomer took a moment to reply, gently taking the white flower from her fingers first. Alandria watched him intently, studying the thoughtfulness in his dark eyes. Éomer held the little white flower up into his eyesight, peering at it intensely as he spun it through his fingers. "Long has this flower grown on the tombs of dead men. Someday, the sybilmnë will cover my own tomb." He finally said, dark eyes never leaving the little white flower. "I will die, and become another mound alongside the other kings of Rohan." He dropped his hand, letting the flower fall to the ground.

Alandria's brow was bent in confusion. "Éomer, what do you mean by this?"

He turned to her then, holding her arms in his hands, staring earnestly into her dark green eyes. "I can die at any time, Alandria. There is no guarantee I will live another forty years, to die a peaceful death in my old age. I could be dead within the year, the month, for all we know - the week." His features were desperate now, his wide eyes pleading. "You must understand that, Alandria - one day I may ride out to check the lands, and not return. It's that easy, that simple."

Alandria was finally shaken by the man's earnest words. "But..but Sauron is destroyed.. Saruman too... Orcs won't-...they no longer have a ruler.."

"Yet they still exist. And they will continually exist, until, somehow, we can hunt them all down and wipe them out - all of them. And that...that could take a while."

"Why are you telling me all this, now, here?"

The young lord's features softened, and he released his desperate hold on her. "Because despite what you say, I fear I will not be able to rule Rohan right. But as it is my duty, I shall try my best anyway. But in trying so, I just... I want you to know what you're signing on for, Alandria." He appeared only sad now, sympathetic as well, as he tenderly touched the side of her face. "You already lost two people you loved to orcs and battles. I hate to be a third."

"Éomer," Alandria sighed, pulling his hand from her face and taking it in her own. She stared up at him for a long moment, unable to find the right words to say, and finally just leaning against his chest. "I promise you - I'm willing to take the chance."

Éomer did not answer her; only held her closer, and pressed a soft kiss into her hair.