Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. I am only playing with the fandom for the enjoyment of myself as well as others.

Author's note: Take care that a spew warning might apply and be cautious when handling food and liquids while reading this.

Chapter 61

Théodred, son of Théoden, King of Rohan gripped his sword tighter in his hand as he tried to penetrate the fog with weary eyes.

For five days now he and his Eored had held the marshy land near the river of Isen. The band of Orcs that had cornered them there had been large, much larger than what they were used to facing and upon releasing this he had sent out four riders for aid. He did not think that Erkenbrand would be able to reach them in time, but his command was the most experienced one. It was a vain hope, but one he was desperate enough to take. He'd sent his youngest and most inexperienced rider that way. One that was yet untried in full combat for this was proving one that would put even the most grizzled warrior to the test.

The Orcs had herded them in front of them as if they were cattle. Allowing them no rest, giving no quarter as they attacked in small groups from all sides while steadily driving the Eored the way they wanted them. Finally, far down the course of the Isen from where Théodred would have prefered they had found a position where they were able to dig down and offer real resistance. Even so they had taken heave losses, twenty of his men had given their lives, five were injured and could not fight. Not a man had come away unscathed though most were still able to hold sword and spear.

It seemed him the Orcs were growing more cunning by the day. The ambush that cost his uncle his life had been their first real warning of this. Even before he became a rider himself he had known that Éomund, married to his father's sister had been a powerful and forceful warrior. He had looked up to him, admired him and had wished to be like him. Éomound had seemed him then a mountain of a man, tall and heavy built, skilled with sword and an astonishing rider.

Théodred had indeed looked up to him, so when his uncle had a son, Théodred had already then felt a deep pride that Éomound trusted him to take care of his son. Éomer had not been hard to like. He was a fearless babe, always ready to get into mischief, with the wooden sword from his own childhood that Théodred had given to him he was ready to charge out of Edoras on foot to slay every Orc he found. As he was no more than two, it had made Théodred laugh and attempt to teach him how to wield the much too large toy.

When Éomund praised him, and thanked him for taking such good care of his son, nothing could have made Théodred more proud.

Indeed he thought his uncle was invincible…

…and then he was not.

Éomound's only real flaw as a warrior was his temper. It flared hot and violent and beyond his control. Never had Théodred seen it directed towards anyone in his family, but the Orcs could evoke it and so they did. They had used such cunning it still seemed strange to Théodred they had been able to accomplish the task. Yet they had, many small raids that were over and gone before Éomund could respond had driven him into such a rage that at the sight of them he lost all sense. Left was only the lust for revenge, and so he had been led into an ambush that would strike so hard and leave only a very few of his Eored.

Théodred hadn't been able to take it in fully at the time though he was a rider himself. He had no time for there was Éomer who refused to shed the tears he should have allowed to run freely in his grief. There was Éowyn who cried for days and could not be consoled.

Not quite six months later their mother died of the grief that had consumed her and her children were orphaned. Èowyn still crying and Éomer still refusing to though his anger was getting out of hand. Both of them had their father's temper Théodred felt, though Éowyn was sly and cunning, even cruel sometimes while Éomer exploded into a fury where all sense left him.

His father had taken them in, and Théodred had tried to be a brother for them both. Someone they knew they could turn to, for to be spoiled and to be supported. Éwoyn took to it instantly, demanding stories and begging treats, seeking him out for stories when she was sad and scared.

Such was not Éomer's way, he grew sullen and withdrawn, his temper every bit as dangerous as his father's. Training him to be a warrior Théodred saw all his potential, and yet it filled him up with an ice cold fear. For if Éomer could not excell where his father had failed, then there would be a small mound covered in simbelmynë.

The thought of Éomer cold and dead just like his father had been more than he could bear, but it had seemed it was inevitable as time did nothing to sooth his temper. Indeed it seemed to grow hotter for each year, the fact that he was much more skilled than many his own age doing nothing but add to his frustration as he was not allowed his wish to join the Eored.

In the end Théoden had been able to reach him, though it had nearly cost them the boy to do so. Once he put all his devotion to master his hot temper Éomer had done so, and he had progressed to be one of their best riders, even now leading his own Eored though he was deemed young to do so. He was skilled, and he was relentless. Had he been close enough Théodred would have sent for him, but he would be too far away. Instead he had sent for the others, Erkenbrand, Durnhilm, Harkand and Herdenbrand, praying one of them would reach them in turn.

Just minutes before they had head the clanking of armour and the grunt of the vile creatures as they moved in once more.

With the sun only coming across the horizon and the fog still thick over the wet ground Théodred did not see how they would live out the day. He would not see his father again, he would not get to hold Èowyn in his arms and sit her in front of him in the saddle. He would not see Éomer grow into a man, never be there to laugh if he ever found out why it was nice to kiss a girl.

"Steady men!" there was no use in stealth, so he hoped his men would take courage from his voice as they stood grouped together. Their swords drawn, their shields raised and their hearts strong. "For Rohan! For the King!" Théodred cried.

Then he heard it, the sound of a horn, first only a lone one, then joined by one more. The sound rising and seemingly coming from all around them in the fog. No more had the one note died out before it sang again, louder and closer over the approaching thunder of hooves. Such a thunderous crescendo that the very ground seemed to shake.

"For Rohan!" This time there was hope and courage in his words as the noise was deafening, the horns and the hoofbeat coming from all around them. The clash of steel on steel as their rescuers fell upon the Orcs. Screams of pain and anger, and yet Théodred could not see who it was yet through the heavy mist. Only dark shadows occasionally showed in the heavy whiteness. Yet they mounted their horses and moved forward, steadily though slowly, so as not to mistake friend for foe.

With the sun rising wisps of mist faded away. An Orc came before him and Théodred clove his head. Through the mist ahead he saw a dark shape, a rider, for the shape of the horse could not be mistaken.

One of the foul beasts was creeping upon him, stealing in from behind where he would not be seen before it was too late.

"Behind you!" Théodred could only hope his cry would give enough warning. The rider did not turn, but the horse kicked out, catching the Orc with booth hooves in the chest and it fell back with a cry of pain. Rushing forward to join the rider's side Théodred saw finally it was a grey. Almost fading into the fog once more. Then Brego gave a loud greeting which was answered in turn.

As the rider threw his horse around Théodred could see a white horsetail cresting his helm.

Èomer…!

Spurring Brego forward he fell in by his cousin's side just as another Orc fell upon them. Théodred raised his sword to hack off an arm, then turning his attention back to his cousin, the man he thought of as a brother. In the fog, he looked so impossibly young, barely a whisker of a beard on his face. He was far too young for this, and it seemed to Théodred his Eored was in no better shape than his own. For Éomer had a bloody rag tied around his arm and there was dried blood on his face.

With the fog lifting tendrils of mist sneaked around the men, obscuring them in turn as another one came in clear view. Most of them sported bandages or heavily scarred armour that bore the mark of recent battle. Yet Théodred could not say he had ever been more glad to see his cousin.

Firefoot reared up to slam his front hooves into the head of an Orc, and the youth never shifted in his seat as he swung his sword down to cut near through the shoulder of one. It looked to Théodred that he did not have the normal power behind the blow. He vowed to find out how his cousin was truly faring as soon as their enemy was disposed off. Side by side they fought, and when Éomer turned his head to face him he was smiling. Firefoot tossing his head to whinney when he thought his master was not doing enough to slay the foul creatures.

With a laugh Éomer gave him his head and Firefoot needed no command to dispose of the ones approaching him. He was a warhorse who truly enjoyed the battle Théodred knew. It seemed to him the mighty grey thought it over much too soon, tossing his head and whinnying as he danced on the spot when none more were forthcoming.

"Easy my friend, easy," Éomer comforted him with a pat on the neck. The stallion stilling though he tossed his head.

"Éomer, never have I been so glad to see you!" moving Brego next to him Théodred worried not for Firefoot mistaking him for the enemy. He was fiercely protective of his master, but he knew Théodred well and would allow him close at any time. "But how do you come to be here cousin? I had not thought you near. I never even sent a message to you."

"We were on our way to Edoras, for I have a report I must make to our King," Èomer stated tiredly. "We intercepted one of your riders, and I bid him tell me what his task was. Though I know Théoden King awaits my report, I did not think he would mind the delay for us attempting to save his son and heir." He was weary, very much so Théodred noted, but he gave a small laugh as he finally relaxed where he still sat mounted. "I should say I think I made the right call."

"Aye, that you did," Théodred nodded. "Is my man with you?"

"Nay," Éomer shook his head. "I did not wish to interfere with his task for I feared we might not find you as easily as we wished. We would have been here afore, but we encountered one of their bands laying in wait for us. I dare say they were hoping to lay a trap for us, and you were the bait cousin…"

"Bema!" Théodred growled. "They are growing more and more cunning. What devilry this is I do not know, but we must both make our way to Edoras to report this development."

"Aye," Éomer nodded.

"But first cousin, we shall take a moment to see to you and your men, for I think you need it," Théodred leaned in to sneak an arm around his cousin, pulling him close in an embrace. "I owe you my life cousin," he stated softly.

"Nay, for I would not have had one but for you," Éomer shook his head. "Though we have wounded we must tend to," he patted Firefoot's neck again.

"Aye, we'll stack the filthy carcasses and burn them, and tend to our men," Théodred nodded. "And you will tell me more of what you have been through," he added. Éomer was too young for this he rued, too young to have seen all this horror, but there was no denying his skill and cunning. Had it not been for him, young as he was, then Théodred truly felt none of his men would have lived the day.

He was far too young for the burden, but the sight of him and Firefoot coming through the fog was one he would never forget, and it was a memory that would always fill his heart with hope…

…and hope was something they badly needed in these days.

A Temporary End... Please review, the Cricket is hungry...

Additional Author's note: Some of these stories might not fit into the Tolkien timeline, I apologise for this, I have not yet been able to procure an English copy, and therefor there has been things I was unaware of while writing. Some I've changed, some I've left as I liked them.
Most of the Rohirric I use, is, as I believe Tolkien himself used, Old English. Though some is modern Swedish, as, frighteningly enough, these are quite often the same. In order to give the story a more pleasant flow for the reader, I have opted not to use a glossary at the end, rather, I try to make the meaning very clear in the story.