All characters of LOTR are copyright of J.R.R. Tolkien and Tolkien Enterprise. Unless otherwise stated, most personality and physical appearance are based on both Tolkien and Sir Peter Jackson's Lord of The Ring Trilogy.

Glory Bee: Thank you for taking the time to review my ever first fanfic and my second :D

Butterflyninja935 & The Random Hummingbird: Thank you for reviewing my other story. The handbook might play a little role in this story, ha!

Writ of Shadows and Phantoms

Chapter 2: of Dynt and Fool

Fields of Pelennor

16 March 3019 T.A.

Some Rohirrim soldiers were already up and bringing their horses near their camp for their daily care and maintenance. Stamping of hooves accompanied by occasional neighing and snorting made the camp livelier than last night. Éomer woke up and saw that the sun was beginning to rise. His throat felt dry and rough. He coughed while trying to swallow and damp his throat.

"Éomer King? Are you awake?" Seemingly someone heard him - a voice rang outside his tent. It was Éothain.

"Yes." He pulled the blanket away and brought his feet down on the side of the bed. He had a very slight headache. Rubbing his right temple, he let out a soft sigh.

Éothain entered and greeted his king, "Good morning, my lord. Do you wish to have a wash?" Éothain had been responsible for Éomer's daily maintenance since he became Third Marshal of The Mark. They had known each other for long time and got along well.

"Please, Éothain. Thank you." Éomer looked around his tent and was puzzled to find his armour scattering on the ground and two basins. He tried to remember last night.

"Yes, my lord. I'll get some esquires to burnish your armour." He bowed and hurried off to sort the needing of his lord.

Flexing his arms, Éomer came quickly to remember the unpleasant experience he had with one of the Gondorian servants.

The night of 15 March 3019 was completely out of his elements.

Finally, they were finished with inspecting and comforting their soldiers. There was still some medicine left in the jars. He was told to use them wisely and he did. He left the tent where the injured slept. Elfhelm and Gamling were assigned the same tent just next to the one of the injured men. Prince Imrahil had very generously arranged to set up a more spacious tent for his brother-in-arm and positioned it closer to Minas Tirith, first in the line of the Rohirrim camp. Éomer looked across the field of Pelennor. The dark sky veiled with stars, or maybe they were not stars, he could not tell. He was weary. And his heart sank with grief. His uncle fell. And he almost lost the only family he had left.

The tents around him flickered with dim candlelight from within. It was very quiet. Most had gone to rest. Maybe he should too. He entered his tent and found it well lit with a few candles and torches. A basin of supposingly hot water stood idle. It had been prepared for him but only waited too long for it to go cold. He did wish for a wash, at least to clean off the dirt and dry blood from his face.

He pulled a chair and dropped effortlessly on it. He set his sword aside and pulled off both his leather gloves and reached over his right gauntlet, trying to release it with his left hand, then a sharp pain on the back of his neck shrieked through and down his spine. Curse the orcs! One had managed to hit him with a mace when he was attacking the Haradrims. There was no open wound, as far as he could tell, but it did land a heavy blow. Reaching beneath his hauberk with his right hand, he felt a bump, almost the size of his palm just above his left shoulder. He hissed as he continued to assess it. It hurt with every little movement he made. Now that his mind and attention were no longer centred to the war and his men, suddenly everything came back to him. The sore, the ache and of course the pain. Having difficulty removing his armour, he quickly became frustrated and swore in Rohirric.

Heading back towards Minas Tirith, Lothíriel was running a final check across the Rohirrim camp and carrying a small basin of hot water with her in case any of the feverish soldiers needed refreshing. When she heard someone hissed and swore, she quickly examined where it was coming from. She could not understand the speech, but she recognised the tone. The tone was of frustration with sour pitch of pain. She had heard it too many times today. Following the sound, she found herself at the tent bearing the standard of a white horse against a green field with a golden sun above it. White and green, the colours of the Horselords. Banner of The King.

Hearing approaching footsteps, he reached for his sword and shouted loudly in Rohirric and his tone was not friendly, "Who is it?"

"Who is there?" He kept asking in a louder volume.

A shadowy figure seemed to have taken by shock. It took a step back then stood still outside his tent. He could not tell or recognise who it was. Then the sleeves of the tent were lifted, there came and stood the woman he met moments ago.

She should just have left it and gone to bed but she could not help it. She was not used to be ignorant. Upon lifting the tent sleeves, she was met with the same pair of angry eyes that she had seen before. His loose blond mane fell in front of his face but they failed to curtain those sharp eyes. The glow from candlelight and torches lit up the tent significantly more than the tent that they were previously in. She could now get a clearer view of him. A straight nose and weathered face grimed with grease, dry blood and muck sat beneath the blond fringes.

"My lord, I heard you outside. What is it?" She asked.

"It is none of your business. Please leave."

"But you were hissing of pain. I've heard you." She insisted persistently.

"I am fine!" He roared.

"You are not! What do you need?" She barked back.

"I just need some hot water." He broke his glare away from her. Fatigue crept over him. He did not have the strength to argue with this woman.

She came up to him, leaving her basin next to his feet then rose to remove the basin of cold water from its stand and replaced it by the another hot basin.

He could not help but noticed how swift she was with her task. He resumed removing his armour. Just before he finished the second buckle on his shoulder plates, he caught the corner of his eyes and she was still standing there and watching him. In his tent while he was getting undressed.

"Woman, what are you still here? Do you enjoy watching a man getting naked? Leave!" He snorted. He did not need help to remove his armour and certainly not a woman there to witness him getting undressed.

Her eyes narrowed. She was certain something was bothering him. His movement seemed crippled in her eyes. No man removed his armour like that. Not unless he was in pain somewhere. But as her presence was not appreciated, she decided it was time to leave. She just returned him another angry look, bowed and took her leave. Just a few steps away, she heard him cursing again and again. And each time it was getting louder.

She was not blessed with a pair of healing hands. She was not destined to be a healer. Most living creatures that came into her hands did not survive for long; animals and sadly plants too. Taking it as a bad sign, she had then refused to treat any wounded but offered to run the domestic affairs of their household. Or, more appropriately, a Mistress of Household, as her three brothers loved to call her.

Her eyes wandered across the open space in front of her, not knowing what to do with this proud Horselord. Her feet turned back and she stood just a few feet away from his tent, making sure he did not find her outside his tent. She had learnt enough of his temper in less than a few hours.

The cursing continued and often accompanied with a loud clack of metal object falling onto the ground. It repeated a few times until all had gone silent. Then she heard dripping of water.

Éomer was not particularly impressed with himself now. It was clumsy to remove any piece of armour when the sharp pain cornered around every nerve of his. It took a while to get rid of all the armour. He pulled the chainmail over his head and began to undo the lace of on the back of his tunic. Another strike of pain shot up his neck. He hissed and cursed. He flung the soiled robe on the chair. Reaching for the cotton towel, he squeezed out the excessive water and started cleaning his face and body, then finally worked his way around the bruise bump. Biting his lower lip, he had managed to wipe himself clean enough to go to bed. After putting on the pair of clean cotton trousers provided by Imrahil's hospitality, he now found it harder to put the shirt on. Exhaustion was over running his mind and body, intensifying the pain around his neck. He cursed again and this time really loud.

Waiting outside and deciding she would bear no more of this, she stormed into his tent. She flung the sleeves of the tent and her eyes widened as there standing in front of her was a half naked huge man, back to her, in his trousers, then slowly turned around looking puzzled.

"For Béma's sake, why-" He yelled at her, fumed by her uninvited presence. His patience was running thin.

Before he could continue, she interrupted him abruptly. "What is that?" She paced in towards him and surveyed his back, pushing aside his hair and there in front of her, she saw a bruise. A raised bruise of purple and black and it was bigger than her palm.

"Why did you not seek a healer, my lord? This is a bad bruise! It needs tending!" She exclaimed.

"It is nothing! There is no open wound. Just a bruise and it does NOT require tending!" He barked at her. He started to wonder if this woman was a warg in her previous life. Like a warg, she won't loosen her bite but kept vexing him down to every bit of his nerve.

"Of course it does!" Why this man could not see the need for healer to tend him just because he was not bleeding, she could fail to understand his sense at all.

Enraged by his response, nameless fury crawled over her. She bit her lower lip and then unexpectedly she struck him with heel of her left palm on his very bruise. Her unforeseen revenge sent even more pain piercing through his fatigued body. Reflex response kicked in. He grabbed her palm with his right hand and rose to his full height, charging towards her, banging her on her floor. As much as she had anticipated this, she thought he was going to scream and yell at her. But it all happened very fast and went windwhirling. Now a man sat on top of her, restraining her movement with the heavy load on her left arm and his left arm pressing against her throat. So hard that she thought her neck would break. And she could not breathe. She could feel her throat compressing and her tongue sticking out from her mouth. She made desperate effort to inhale all the air while trying to pull his arm away with her other free hand.

Her eyes widened in terror as the air within her lungs was depleting rapidly, compromised by her vigorous action of trying to save herself. Her pupils appeared hollow. Pale ring circled around a darker shade of grey like a deep whirlpool that consumed all his rationale.

"M...my lo...rd!" She gathered all her strength and made a hiss through her compressed throat.

Like one waking from a nightmare, his arms released her immediately and he fell back, becoming aware that his mind was overrun by the aftermath of battle.

She lifted her weight to her side and supported herself by pressing her right elbow on the ground.

"A...are you o...out of your Rohir...rim mind?" Still gasping for air, she tried to find her voice. Her breathing was heavy and rapid. Sweat dampened her forehead. Her mind was still choking with fear. She had not felt this horrified in her life. With a hand examining her throat, she was a little relieved to find no obvious bruise on her.

"I am truly sorry, my lady! It was reflex. " He could not find any reason behind his assault, or any words other than sorry. He grabbed for a chair, and sat his body effortlessly upon it. It had been a day too long for any man to endure either physically or mentally. His brows drew closer. He rubbed his temple, and was still in disbelief that he had attacked an unarmed woman just moments ago. Maybe he should really get some sleep.

"My lord." Her voice now seemed gentle and soft. "I need to tend your bruise. I may be no healer, but that bruise of yours is no ordinary bruise. I need to see to it." Squatting down, she brought her eyes to the level of his face. He raised his eyes and gave her a brief nod.

"I will not take you by surprise this time." She reassured him as she went around to his left. As she examined his bruise closer, she now saw it was the doing of an orc mace. The same type of weapon that also left a similar huge bruise on her brother's thigh. It was not lethal but could carry the pain for a good long while if not tended. Sweeping his blonde locks aside, the purple and black lump was in fact the upper section of his left trapezius muscle. Placing the heel of her palm gently on his bump, she inhaled before saying, "This will hurt. But it will be better tomorrow."

He leaned forward and gazed her from the corner of his eyes, then pushed himself back against the chair and acknowledged her by a nod, gesturing for her to proceed.

"The pain will ease in a few days and it will be less strained than now." Slowly she rubbed around his shoulder and neck. The circular motion gradually increased in pressure. His shoulders stiffened. The pain was bearable but still occasionally he whished through his teeth and cursed in his own tongue. The strain came and went, but his neck and shoulder were starting to feel less sore. His body began to relax. She noticed his slight change of posture. Years of growing and getting into troubles with her three brothers paid off now, somehow in a different way, she least expected. A bruise if not tended immediately would cause more harm – something she had learned the hard way.

She pulled him back upright and motioned him to stay still. From the pocket of her apron, she took the scissors and made a small cut on the cotton sheet laid on the bed then tore it into long stripes. It was now too late to get a healer to bandage him. It would have to do with whatever she could find. She hesitated to move in front of him to wrap the bandage. She decided she was reluctant to meet his glaze. His eyes were very sharp and keen. They were horrifying when he was enraged as she had now learnt. If one could tell the mind of a man from his eyes, then his eyes would certainly have betrayed him.

"Just finishing the bandage." A soft voice rang in his ear. She was stretching her arms back and forth to pull a tight bandage around his shoulder. It was a rather difficult spot to wrap. He could feel her breath blowing on his skin and her blunt fingers finding their way across his chest.

His body was very well toned and brawny much like any other soldiers she met today. Though she did not have the delicate hands of a healer, she had arranged the necessary making it easier for the healers.

Pulling the two ends of the strips to tighten the bandage, she finished the knot. She stepped away and towards to the tent entrance and said, "All is done. You still need to see the healers tomorrow. Lord Beregond will be able to help. It should be less painful if you should be on your horse again in a few days."

"Don't be a fool next time. Don't that again! You could have been killed." He rose to his feet and swung his left arm around. The pain had indeed lessened and he could move his arm easier than before.

"A fool? I did that to-" Her eyes narrowed and her emotion inflamed by his words, she wanted to retaliate his understatement but then decided it was pointless. They were not at the same level of understanding and would never be. Collecting herself, she just replied, "Don't change horses in midstream, my lord. I bid you a good night."

She bowed and turned around and headed towards her tent. Fool? Yes, of course, she was a fool! What fool would still stay in the same lair after being bitten. Uttering quietly to herself, she wished she would not have exchange of business with this man again. She hastened her pace into her tent. Weariness had caught up with her. She needed some sleep to cleanse off all her doom tonight.

Éomer could not care more about this female servant. Stupid woman! He threw himself on the make bed and drifted into a deep sleep.

Note: "A...are you o...out of your Rohir...rim mind?" - borrowed from Dr Bones' line "Are you out of your Vulcan mind?" in Star Trek 2009 :)