A/N: To AnonymousBookLover55 - Thank you for pointing out the error! :O I honestly have no idea what went wrong with the upload - and I'm sorry for the technical glitch in this chapter! Hopefully the same thing won't happen to my latest attempt at uploading this!

To Sev Baggins - Thank you for your constant support! :) Things will get much better and juicier as things go along here - and in even more so in The Lover From the Sea! Viva Frodrida!

Chapter VIII: Fergus and Théoden

Fergus ventured off from his home and towards the rolling fields of Rohan, lost in his thoughts as he rode astride his daughter's horse.

He hadn't been to Rohan or seen its king, Théoden, since he was a young lad - when he went on a quest to Gondor to win the hand of his queen, Elinor. He passed by countless trees and rolling hills as he journeyed on to fulfill his current one.

Elrond had said that the Rohirrim were among the greatest warriors among men - and Fergus knew he was right.

** The prince of Clan DunBroch was lying on the ground, motionless and in pain. His horse had been hacked to pieces by orcs.

No help would come. He knew this. Undoubtedly, a man from one of the other clans would reach Gondor first - and possibly take Princess Elinor by force. This would be definitely true if that man were from the Larg clan. The Largs were known for their orcish brutality.

He had a slash across his stomach from the orc ambush. He figured that he'd be choking on his own blood soon.

The sound of hooves suddenly materialized from the distance. He could feel their vibration in the earth he lay on. There must have been at least forty men on horseback. He could see them on the horizon. The mere thought of the Rohirrim made him sick.

He was a prince among the Wild Men of Dunland. The Wild Men had hated Rohan for as long as anyone could remember. His people always saw their Rohirric neighbors as plunderers on horses who drove them into the hills and took their land.

Before he knew it, the horsemen were mere feet away - so close that he could hear the conversation of the men along with the heavy breathing of their horses.

"I thought there would be a hoard of orcs here."

"Those pieces of filth must have run off."

"Be careful, and have your swords ready," said one of them, who appeared to be the leader. "They could be waiting for the cover of night, or could be lying in ambush."

"It's probably the former. No orc or goblin could survive daylight."

"I don't know. I've heard rumors that they've started breeding armies in order to make them stronger."

Despite the faint beating of Fergus' heart, it leaped out of his chest when he noticed one of the men eyeing him and trotting his horse in his direction.

"It looks like those filths already killed a man."

"Aye - A wild man no doubt," said another. "That's what one gets for fighting alongside the servants of Mordor. Good riddance, I say."

At his normal strength, Fergus would've sprung to his feet and knocked him off his horse into the next fortnight. His heart only sunk when the leader of the pack trotted forward and dismounted his horse, walking towards him until his feet were only mere inches from his body.

The leader of the Rohirrim looked down at him for what seemed like a good long while before turning back to his comrades.

"He's not dead."

...

The young Théoden halted when he and his men reached the spot where they had expected to find an orcish encampment, only to be surrounded by more trees and rolling plains. It seemed to blend in with the same scenery that had surrounded them for days- save for a couple of ghastly additions.

The bloody corpse of a dark brown horse lay on the ground, its lifeless body hacked to pieces. An unmistakably orcish blade was nearby, covered in an all too familiar thick crimson liquid.

A few feet away lay what appeared to be the fresh remains of a large, burly man who appeared to be around the same age as the Rohirric prince. Even under the caked dirt and blood, Théoden could tell that the man's short beard and shoulder length hair were a fiery shade of red. A nasty gash marred his abdomen and tore through the now bloody leather garments and chain mail. His barbaric garb gave him away as a man of Dunland- a wild man. However, something about the dying man gave Théoden the sneaking suspicion that he ranked high among his people- perhaps it was the rings on his fingers or the metal cuffs that adorned several of his braided locks, which was not unlike what he'd seen on the beards of dwarves.

Théoden could hear the men behind him conversing about what they were supposed to see. One even foolishly stated that the orcs might have run off. Théoden looked over his shoulder at them.

"Be careful, and have your swords ready. They could be waiting for the cover of night, or could be lying in ambush."

The men conversed, speaking to him of rumors about the breeding of orcs and goblins. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he noticed the mortally wounded wild man's chest rising and falling. The men behind him had assumed that he was dead, as Théoden himself had initially presumed.

He trotted his horse towards the wild man, and once he was close enough, he dismounted his horse and came closer, until his feet were mere inches from the wild man's head. Théoden looked down and heard the man's labored breathing. The man at his feet was about to cough up blood when a jolting idea flashed through his mind - an idea that most would have dismissed as utter madness. He stood and hesitated for several moments, debating with himself. Against his better judgment, he succumbed. His only reassurance was what he told himself- that it was only in the hopes of obtaining information about the orcs.

Théoden turned back to his men.

"He's not dead."

He paused, scanning their faces before continuing.

"Which one of you can spare your horse?"

The Rohirrim exchanged confused glances towards one another. Théoden stared them down before letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Fine - I'll carry him myself! If we keep him alive, he may be able to give us some much needed information about the orcs." **

Théoden had saved Fergus' life all those years ago. The two had become unlikely friends and personal allies - and Fergus had never borne any ill will towards Rohan since. It had been many years since the two had seen each other - and only Eru knew how much had changed since then.

All that King Fergus could hope for now was that things hadn't changed for the worse - and that his daughter Merida was safe. Much of his hope for his life, his family, his kingdom, and Middle Earth now rested on luck and his old unlikely friendship. And so, with all the determination he had left, he rode for Rohan.