A/N Chapter 8; thank you to all my lovely reviewers. Merci beaucoup. I've done my french oral, so I don't need to think about dialogue anymore…however my Italian oral's next week so maybe…

No I would not be so cruel to those people who have been so nice to me. Enjoy.

"Uncle, I cannot allow this to happen. We do not know enough about him, what if he is another of Saruman's fiends come to cause more havoc, what if…"

Éomer was cut off in the middle of the tirade by the King, who was staring at his nephew in astonishment. "Sister-son," he said gently, "Your sister will be guarded by a full century of warriors to protect her. What could happen?"

His reply was an enraged sigh, "My liege," Éomer began in a voice of forced calm, "While you were…indisposed, my sister was in the gravest danger every moment he was here. She is no longer a little girl; if you had seen her when the news of Theodred was brought…" He broke off, unable to put into words the feelings Éowyn had held for Theodred, that of cousin and of intended. Although never said, it had been considered certain that the alliance between the cousins could do nothing but strengthen the horse lords, and neither party had proved indifferent. His sister had not shed a tear, but her eyes had been strained for days, and Éomer had been told by the housekeeper that she had not slept for several nights running.

Perhaps that had contributed to his eagerness to help those who lived on the great plains of Rohan. A desire to leave the court where a King lay dormant and a serpent gave orders while keeping his beaded eyes fixed on the form of his sister, for whom there was nothing he could do. Never would he betray the oath he had taken as third marshal of the Riddermark; to obey his liege lord in all things, so there was nothing, nothing at all, that he could do to protect Éowyn, as she clung to stubbornly to the bars of her ice cage, her imprisonment caused as much by herself as by anything else.

As he stood before his uncle now, the same dormant King, the same liege lord he had sworn to serve, he was filled with ice himself. Ice and fire. He would hate to see his sister take to the battlefield against such a foul enemy as they would face, despite the thought that she would hold herself as well as most of the men in his éored, yet he would not have her stay while a man he did not know was given free rein within the halls of Edoras, even if he had the look of one who was not in possession of his eighteenth summer. They were worst at that age; he had certainly been terrible. No, the boy could not come with them; if he was a spy of Saruman then he could do nothing but mischief with them, and Théoden would not consent to have him returned to the dungeon. He must stay with Éowyn, though it was not to his liking. He bowed, curtly and abruptly, turned and went from the room. At his sides, his fists were clenched and his anger was controlled only by the thinnest of veneers.

All thoughts of fellowship with his ex cell mate were gone. His sister was the only remainder of his close family and he was not going to lose her to another of Saruman's spies. His thoughts could not leave the idea of the convenience of Jake's arrival just when Wormtongue was found out and expelled, but he would not go against his liege Lord. He had not turned on him throughout Worm tongue's dominance; why would he do so now.

When he entered the great hall he stopped short; had the boy started making trouble with his sister already? She was standing at the table where Legolas, Gimli and Jake had elected to sit and she looked absolutely livid. Her face was white and there were two spots of red on the apples of her cheeks. She was glaring down at the three where they sat, and it looked like that elf was trying to reason with her. As he approached he could hear her voice; as close to shouting as it was possible to get while still maintaining, in theory, a ladylike address.

"Well, he can speak properly now can't he? So he can help. I have enough to do with getting everybody else ready without people sitting around tables nursing their beer! I should think you would show some kind of…"

He approached and stood beside her, unable to resist shooting a black glance at Jake.

"What's wrong?"

"Éomer!" she seized his arm, giving him a quick hug. Let's ride together shall we?"

Éomer groaned inwardly; nobody had told her.

"Sister, look, Rohan needs someone to sit the throne of the hall," she stared up at him, face whiter than ever.

"Éomer, our uncle sits the throne. We'll win, we'll win together. He doesn't need me to look after Meduseld while he's gone. We'll keep the orcs away from here until there no danger at all. He doesn't need…" He shook his head, unable to answer her desperation with an answer she would welcome.

"Éowyn, you know you cannot come with us."

She was blinking rapidly; never a good sign. He sighed; when would his sister learn that she must stay somewhere safe, that none of her relations would countenance any other role for her than that of a gentlewoman?

"You know I am as good as, no! I am better than most of the men." She hissed at him, raising her voice so heads turned around the hall. "I can fight. You won't shut me away here!" Everyone in the hall was staring at the siblings now. Éowyn looked like she would hit him, and Éomer did not consider it cowardly that he had backed away slightly.

"Éowyn; I know you can fight, and so does our Uncle, but,"

"But what then? If you know I can fight then I shall. We need every man we have to fight Saruman's evil." She stared up at him, challenging him, but he could not give into her. The mention of what they were to face only strengthened his resolve to leave her behind.

"Exactly; every man! You must stay here. They need you here."

"I am needed there too!" her voice cracked and her brother could tell that she was on the brink of losing the last vestiges of her composure. He didn't know what else to say to persuade her out of it, but he realised she was not looking at him anymore anyway.

"My lord Aragorn; do you not need every warrior to fight?" Éomer turned to see the future King of Gondor behind him, and he grimaced at him, his face hidden from his sister's.

"My lady, we do need every warrior," her face lightened, and Éomer raised his eyebrows in disbelief, "But some must fight in different battles, bringing a different kind of honour to their name. You must remain here in Edoras to look after your people."

She glanced from face to face in horrified realisation that she could do nothing that would allow her to come, then, unable to hold her composure for another minute she grabbed up a pile of blankets from a nearby table, covering her face, and almost ran from the room, scattering servants in her wake.

Éomer sighed; his sister would never be able to follow her dreams, but. With a flush of anger as he turned back to the table and saw Jake, he would make sure she lived to realise it. As Aragorn collected his companions to check their hoses and gather the extra ration and other necessaries that had been given them, Éomer seated himself in Legolas's vacated place and leaned towards Jake.

"You," he snarled, "Will obey my sister in everything. And if I return and find she has been harmed in the slightest degree, you will pay for it with your life; be sure of that!" He jerked up from the bench again and left a staring Jake behind, unsure of his place and even more worried about the lack of a friendly face around him.

As dawn touched the furthest peaks of the distant mountains, the column of riders left the city. Wives, mothers, children, sweethearts, all thronged the walkways on top of the palisade walls, weeping and cheering in the same breath. The King rode at the head of the file, with Gandalf and Aragorn, while Éomer rode slightly behind with his subordinate, Eothain. Gimli and Legolas could be seen riding together on the same horse, a blonde head among the helmets.

Jake wasn't sure how to act. It felt false to mimic those cheering them on, for he did not know where they went, or what they would find when they got there. Although he had seen nothing to suggest they were heading off to slaughter innocents that would not be unlike the Viking legendary he had heard in primary school and he did not want to ask unless his fears were confirmed. As it was, his stance was similar to the Lady Eowyn's beside him, who stared as the rising sun caught the spear tips, stared so hard that it seemed she was trying to transport herself to her Uncle's side, forsaking her white gown for armour, and her coronet for warrior braids. She stayed staring off into the distance until the army could not be seen even as a black speck on the horizon.

His desire was opposite to hers. She wanted to fight; he wanted, well, not to flee exactly, but preferably to stay alive. There was no way he could ever have held his own in a swordfight, or survived five minutes in a mounted charge. It was better that he be left here, nearer the place he had arrived, nearer to food and shelter, and farther from these enemies they talked about; orcs, or some such.

A pincer grip on his upper arm brought him out of his reverie. The sun was almost directly above his head, though it gave out little heat compared to the woman beside him. Éowyn had finally ceased her perusal of the horizon and, looking down into the town Jake could see the women were now talking in small huddles or as busy about their business as the day he had arrived.

"I asked you what trade you were brought up to!" Jake blanched. Eowyn's fingers, he was sure, had raised a bruise of his arm, and her glare was unlikely to do him much good either.

"Uh, trade?" he questioned, hoping she wasn't going to take out all her frustration on him.

"Trade; what work can you do. Or are you totally useless?" It seemed his prayers were not answered; he was definitely going to be her punch bag whether he liked it or not. As his silence continued she turned to sarcasm as her weapon of choice.

"Were you a fletcher? A miller? A village idiot?"

Well thought Jake, Aragorn was right; not all killing was done on a battle field. She obviously took his words to heart.

"I was, uh, I was a good runner." It was the best he could come up with, for with a certainty he didn't have any other useful skills.

"A runner? What a thing to be proud of; a coward!" She half turned away; dismissing him, but this last sally was more than Jake could accept, even from a lady.

"I was considered one of the best in my school! I won the county cup at speed! I have medals from it; where I come from we didn't need to fight, we…"

Eowyn's face had lost its paleness; unfortunately it had now been replaced with an angry crimson.

"Right. I don't want to hear anything more. If that's your only talent, then you can go and do something useful. Seorwyn!" she turned to the open doors behind them. "Seorwyn!"

An older woman hurried out, perhaps in her late forties, and he was handed over to her. With a sinking heart he realised it was the woman who had caught him staring at the servants before.

"Seorwyn, this boy is to join the message runners."

The housekeeper looked him up and down, assessing him rather too thoroughly for Jake's liking. "He's a bit old for that, in't he milady?"

"Nevertheless; that's all he's fit for, so he had better do it well. Set him to anything that needs doing." She turned and strode into the great hall, heading towards the council chamber where the King had retreated to with Gandalf earlier presumably to decide his fate, and he gloomily trudged after the bustling grey skirts of Seorwyn.

A/N I chose the housekeepers name because it sounded like 'Sour one', a choice which should soon become self explanatory if it is not so already.

Lonely, the review button's so lonely; it has nobody, so please press it…

(Sing along with actions kiddies.)