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Title: The Last Journey of Theoden King (#549)
Author: Lizzie
Chapters: 2

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Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: Theoden's last journey home as seen through the eyes of Merry.
Published: 18 Jan 2004
Updated: 10 Feb 2004
Warnings:
Type: General
Characters: Merry, Eomer


Chapter 1 - 1

Title: ‘The Last Journey of Theoden King’ Chapter 1.
Author: Lizzie Wright
Rating: PG (deals a little with death and grief)
Summary: Theoden’s last journey home as seen through the eyes of his esquire Merry.
Disclaimer: All characters and geographical places that I have used in this story belong to J.R.R.Tolkien and his family. I am only borrowing these characters and I will make sure I return them in good condition, so please don’t sue.
Word from the Author: I am a huge Eomer fan, but this craziness really extends to the whole race of the Rohirrim, I have a fascination with them that can definitely drive me crazy some times. Anyway, this story originally was going to be from Eomer’s point of view, but somehow Merry wormed his way in and demanded I tell this story from his point of view or else he would send Lobelia Sackville-Baggins over to torture me. Besides, I thought Merry is intrinsically linked with the People of the Mark and therefore he is as much a part of the Rohirrim as anyone. So here is the first chapter of this story – please review, and if anyone would like to Beta my stories, (including this one and any following chapters) please let me know. 


The day dawned bright and clear, with the sun slowly ascending into view over the Ephel Duath. Only half a dozen clouds scudded across the sky to the north. A warm breeze with a slight sea smell upon it blew in from the south/west. Seeming like a pearl upon a dirty brown oyster, the white stone city of Minas Tirith stood proudly against Mount Mindollium, bathed within the suns rays. Spread out at the base of the city, the Pelennor Fields appeared an ocean of green grass with the occasional dead patch where some dire thing had fallen during the Siege of the City. And across this field a sight could be seen which would delight the eye of any onlooker, for a parade of immense royalty, nobles, warriors and ladies stretched across the fields heading northward before bending north/west heading for the Druaden Forest. This procession, though looking bright and merry was in fact, the funeral procession for the fallen King Theoden of Rohan.
At the head of the procession rode the new King of Rohan, Eomer, with his friend, King Elessar, his sister Eowyn, and his close friends, Gandalf the White, Legolas the elf, Gimli, the dwarf, Frodo, Sam, and Pippin, the brave hobbits, Prince Imrahil and his children, and the Queen Arwen. Yet, even in front of these esteemed folk went the Golden bier that carried Theoden King, and upon this bier sat Merry, the hobbit whom had pledged his life to the fallen King and therefore felt this loss as much as Eomer and Eowyn, Theoden’s nephew and niece. A quiet procession they made, all seemed sunk within their own thoughts. Only the footsteps of animal and man broke the silence. Occasionally the Riders of Rohan further back would break into a song of glory and honour for their fallen King. Their voices strong and proud drifted across the plains into every forest, cave and over rivers that seemed to hush at the hearing.
At the head of the procession, Merry sitting upon the Bier pondered all that had happened over the past few months and wondered at where they all were now. With the war won, and much rejoicing within Gondor and Rohan, there was still the sadness of loss for the gain of victory. For every battle won a loss was counted, and in Merry’s mind the loss of Theoden King was perhaps the greatest of all. And so here they were, escorting the King home to be laid to rest, only to have them all getting on with their lives afterwards. Somehow, Merry thought this unfair, that he could return home and live the rest of his life, whereas King Theoden would now lie forever under the soil of his birth. The grief still to near in his heart, Merry felt he did not want to see the future, to see the result of this war that had taken so much.
Merry sighed and turned to catch a glimpse of those that followed behind. There was the new King of Rohan, Eomer, and a serious look upon his face as he gazed ahead. Though they had not gotten of to great start, Merry now felt close to the young King, Theoden’s nephew, and held the hope close to his heart that they would be good friends for life. And beside Eomer rode Eowyn the fair, and Merry felt such warmth in his heart as he looked upon her face that held flickering emotions of grief at the loss of her uncle and joy at her newfound love for Faramir. Merry knew they would be friends for life. Behind them rode the King Elessar and beside him rode two of Merry’s best friends Frodo and Sam. Merry still could not believe that they had survived the peril of Mount Doom and he often found himself touching their arms to assure himself that they were really there. Beside Frodo, Sam and King Elessar rode Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli, the Lady Arwen and her kin, Faramir, Prince Imrahil and his sons and daughter. And further back along the line, Merry knew his bestest friend Pippin rode proudly with the Knights of Gondor.
Grief ever in the back of his mind, yet curious still, Merry looked with interest at the forest they were approaching, for it were the Grey Forest, the home of Ghan-Buri-Ghan and his kin. Thinking Eomer may quicken the pace to pass this place without disturbing the inhabitants, Merry’s heart skipped a beat when he heard deep, rumbling drums issue from within the forest. It was to late, for the wild men already knew they were there, and yet Eomer did not quicken the pace, or rather he slowed until almost stopping. Merry turned to see what was happening behind, and Lo, for Aragorn was trotting forward, past the Bier. Looking on with interest, Merry jumped as trumpets were blown in reply to the drumming, then with a clear, deep voice, Aragorn called into the forest, ‘Behold, the King Elessar is come! The Forest of Druadan he gives to Ghan-Buri-Ghan and his folk, to be their own forever; and hereafter let no man enter it without their leave!’
Merry looked in astonishment as the drums ceased and Aragorn walked his horse back to behind Eomer. Passing the Bier, Aragorn gave Merry a nod and smile, Merry replied with the like. And so they continued on their journey on the Great West Road, until the sun had set and only pale golden strip appeared on the horizon and the moon shone heavy overhead. Just before The Druaden Forest, and in the shadow of Amon Din, they made camp on a field beside the road. The Bier was set in the middle of the camp, with guards set at each corner, eyes alert and hands resting lightly on their spears. Though the war was over, raids by Orcs were still a common occurrence in the region. Great tents were erected around the bier, tents of such magnificence and glory, that when the hobbits gathered together for dinner they all wondered at the splendour.
“Do you remember, way back at Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party and, well, I thought our tents were grand,” Pippin said as he took a break from stuffing the herb bread into his mouth.
“Well, at Dunharrow we had tents, but to be sure none as grand as these, and what do you think Frodo? Sam?” Merry turned to them, seated so on his left, Sam eating rather hastily, whilst Frodo seemed to only pick at his food.
Frodo smiled at Merry, “They are grand, aren’t they? All I am glad for though is that we are here to talk about such things as tents and their grandness.”
“Here, here, Mr Frodo. They are grand I suppose, though I think I only crave the simpleness of the Shire for the moment,” said Sam, looking thoughtfully into the sky.
“We all do Sam, we all do,” Frodo replied smiling.
After dining, the hobbits were called to enter King Elessar’s tent, perhaps the grandest of them all. Thick black weave, edged with silver and on each side panel the White tree embroidered with extraordinary skill. Inside, the tents walls were lined with warm white cotton and lit with candelabras that yellowed the entire space. In the centre of the tent a great fire roared, the smoke rose quickly, up through a smoke hole in the ceiling of the tent. Five large benches draped with silver cloth and cushioned with fat pillows ranged around the edges and low tables made out of planks of wood stood at random around. Opposite the tent flap sat King Elessar’s chair, not quite a throne, but high and carved out of maple wood which made it glow red in the fires light. Elessar sat on this chair, his tunic of dark blue velvet and his simple, silver, circlet crown banding around his forehead. Beside him, on a low chair of similar style sat the Queen Arwen.
The hobbits approached the King and Queen and bowed their heads in respect. Doing likewise, the King and Queen smiled upon them before gesturing for them to sit upon the only free bench to the King’s left. Merry gazed around at all the faces within the tent as the chatter rose to a slight din. Opposite to them, on the bench next to Arwen, sat Eowyn and Faramir in deep conversation. Merry thought it wonderful that his favourite lady was to marry such a worthy man as Faramir. Knowing of Eowyn’s adoration of Aragorn, Merry had struggled with wether to inform Eowyn of Aragorn’s love for the Lady Arwen, in the end he had decided not to, it was better that Aragorn let her know himself. And now, Eowyn was to wed the Steward of Gondor, Merry smiled at the thought. Seated next to Faramir were Prince Imrahil and his daughter. Merry had been introduced to the Prince and his family within the rooms of Healing when they had been visiting Faramir. Imrahil was a middle-aged man, Merry guessed about seventy, he had snow-white hair, tanned skin, and clear blue eyes that twinkled like Gandalf’s did. Merry had borne witness to Imrahil’s sense of humour many times over the past few weeks and took great delight in sharing a pint of beer with the Prince. Lothiriel, the princes youngest child and his only daughter was a girl of great beauty, Merry had decided when he first met her. Nothing to equally match Arwen or Galadriel, but he found Lothiriel’s earthy looks of dark brown hair, olive skin and brown eyes quite refreshing after the evening chill of Arwen and crystal shine of Galadriel. Shy, Lothiriel had barely said a word to anyone but her own immediate family, though she had sat with Eowyn within the houses of Healing and, as far as Merry knew, had been extremely kind to his favourite Lady.
On the other benches sat Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, and Prince Imrahil’s sons. With Eomer so obviously missing, Merry glanced with concern at the tent flap; it was unlike Eomer to be unsocial. Suddenly someone gave his shoulder a push and he turned to find Pippin handing him a half pint of beer. Pippin’s own half pint was nearly gone. Merry smiled his thanks and downed the beer. Foam clung to his chin. Laughing seemed to echo around his head, the candles flickered hypnotically. The air grew thick and heavy and Merry found it hard to breath. This did not feel right, Theoden was not there and here they were drinking, joking, laughing, and chattering like a pack of chatter-bugs. Bile rose in Merry’s throat and his heart sunk into despair. Leaping to his feet, Merry dashed out of the tent, silencing more then half the tents occupants into confusion and concern.
The cool night air flushed his face as he made his way to the edges of the camp. Sweat, which had formed on his forehead within the confines of the tent, now felt chilled and uncomfortable, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice over his head. A shiver sneaked its way along his spine. Stumbling over some supply packs, Merry jumped when a deep voice swam through the night.
“Merry, my friend, why are you not in the tent with the others?”
Merry turned to his right and spied Eomer sitting on a log not a metre from him. Eomer shifted on the log to make room for him. Plonking himself down, Merry sighed into hands. Turning to Eomer, whose face was one of utter concern, he smiled. “I just couldn’t stay in there knowing he isn’t there.”
Eomer patted his back, “Oh, but he is, in spirit. You see, he travels with us to Rohan, until he is lain with his forefathers . . . . . and his son, he cannot really rest. He is here with us.”
Merry glanced at Eomer thoughtfully. The young King had turned back to cleaning his sword, Guthwine, he polished vigorously bringing out the intense silver sheen of the steel. Finishing one side, Eomer flipped the sword over and began polishing again.
“How long will it take us to reach Edoras?”
“Fifteen days if the weather holds right, which I’m certain it will,” replied Eomer now moving onto his swords helm, polishing the horse head carved out of metal. Merry nodded as he watched, almost hypnotically, the young King polishing hard and then soft and then holding the sword out in front of him to see where he had missed.
“What will the funeral be like? If you don’t mind me asking?” asked Merry as he averted his gaze to his hands. “You see, I’m unsure about funerals, I’ve only been to two my whole life and even then, they were Hobbit funerals and Hobbit funerals are really only another excuse to drink lot’s of drink and eat lot’s of bread and cheese, in honour of the deceased Hobbit, of course. I am sure the funerals of men are much more grand and sadder than our little hobbit ones.”
Merry looked up in astonishment when Eomer’s chest rumbled and let forth a great laugh. With eyes wide at this unexpected reaction, Merry felt his lips begin to twitch and before long he found himself laughing as well. He had never really thought how ludicrous a hobbit funeral might seem to outsiders, yet to them, to eat and drink in plenty was to honour their dead. Eomer’s laugh died and a thoughtful expression softened his features.
“We all have our own ways Master Merry, I think I like your way the best. We drink at our funerals too, yet we drink to forget, not to honour. When we arrive at Edoras, Theoden King will be laid in state for all to see and farewell. That night we shall have a feast and drink hardy, then on the third day we all shall journey to Barrowfield where he will finally be laid to rest under the last mound of his line. And there White Evermind shall grow in splendour on his mound to honour the brave warrior that he was,” said Eomer as he placed his sword back into it’s sheath.
Merry stood up, “it sounds beautiful your majesty, just what I would have thought worthy of such a King.”
“Of such a King,” Eomer repeated, standing as well.

As the sun shed a thin band of orange light upon the field of the camp, the tents were pulled down and the saddlebags and whatnot repacked. Merry sat upon the Bier waiting for the procession to begin again. On his lap he held Theoden’s sword, and resting on the Bier in front of him sat Theoden’s shield, almost as big as him. Touching the sword with his fingertips Merry thought of what Eomer had said to him that last evening, ‘he is here with us.’ Cold, yet comforting, the sword bought home those words for Merry. Here he sat with Theoden’s sword and therefore Theoden was there with him on this journey, as he was with all in some way. Sudden, like a shaft of sunlight breaking through a drift of snow, Merry felt a lightness of spirit, a sense of hope pierce his heart and shed a little of the grief. What Merry had been feeling these past few weeks diminished and Merry smiled.
“You have a lovely smile.”
Merry looked up and felt his smile widen. Prince Imrahil’s daughter Lothiriel stood before the Bier, her eyes soft and smile shy.
“Why, thankyou Lady, you are most kind, and to be sure, your smile is prettier,” said Merry. Lothiriel’s smile grew until her whole face lit up.
“Flirting with the Ladies Merry, it must wait for tonight for we must be off now,” Eomer gazed down from horseback at Lothiriel. Merry nodded trying not to laugh, for Eomer’s approach had caused Lothiriel’s face to turn red, and her gaze avert to the ground. Her smile though only faltered slightly. Never one to miss much, Merry also noticed the soft, almost contemplative glance Eomer had given Lothiriel. Leading her horse behind her, Lothiriel made her way past the Bier, as Eomer trotted off to talk to the Bier Guards.
“Well Theoden King,” Merry said as he patted the sword. “No need to worry about this new line of King’s ending anytime soon, looks like we may have a royal wedding in Edoras sooner, rather than later.”
As the words left his mouth, the sun finally broke over the Ephel Duath, and a flock of white doves broke from the trees of the Druaden Forest. Merry watched in wonder and knew deep in his heart that Theoden had heard him and that he agreed with Merry, that yes, there could be a royal wedding in Edoras before long.

TBC


Chapter 2 - 'Last Journey of Theoden King' Ch2

Title – ‘The Last Journey of Theoden King’ Ch 2
Author – Lizzie Wright
Rating – PG
Summery – Theoden’s last journey home as seen through the eyes of his esquire, Merry.
Disclaimer – All characters belong to Tolkien, what more can I say.
Authors note – If anyone is up to beta reading this chapter that would be so great, I would love you for life – hehe.


With the sun shining hotly overhead, for again there weren’t many clouds in the sky, Merry wiped the sweat from his brow with his kerchief. With the mountains to their left the sea breeze felt at Minas Tirith had weakened, now replaced with a stifling stillness that in essence felt suffocating to Merry. Taking a deep breath he moved Theoden’s sword to rest on the bier so that he could give his legs a stretch. So busy was he in stretching his legs, he failed to hear the approach of a horse from behind. A voice startled him, causing him to jump, which in turn caused the sword to slip. Grasping quickly at the hilt, Merry managed to save it before it disappeared over the edge of the bier and onto the ground. Horrified at what might have happened, Merry clutched his squire’s sword to his breast and then kissed it soundly on the helm.
“I am sorry I frightened you Merry, are you alright?”
Merry glanced at the rider, than relaxed. Eowyn walked her horse beside the bier, concern etched in her features, her hand reached out to him for support.
“ My lady, you did frighten me, but nothing bad has come of the fright, so do not worry about me,” Merry said. Eowyn smiled softly and moved her hand back to take the reins. They continued on in companionable silence for a while, until Merry again took his kerchief out to wipe at his forehead.
“I was right, Merry you are not handling this confounded heat very well, you need to rest?” Eowyn moved her horse closer to the bier and again reached her hand out to him.
“I will be alright, we will stop for lunch soon, won’t we?”
“ Not for another hour or so, Eomer says we are doing wonderful time considering the pace we are set, not that we could, should, or want to go any faster. Are you sure you will be alright until then?”
“Yes Lady Eowyn, I am sure I will be alright. I will not fail Theoden King; I will not embarrass him by fainting on his bier. Eowyn, know that I am alright,” Merry said, then he whispered, “He was like a father to me.”
Eowyn clutched her hand to her breast and lowered her head in sadness, “He was a father to us all Merry, he was a leader, a warrior, a true man in every sense of the word.”
“I meant no disrespect by my comment My Lady, though I could not have loved him as you and your brother do, he was my commander, inspiration and King for such a time as I could not forget him.” Merry cried with passion, leaning towards her to emphasize his point.
“Oh Merry, I know he was to you what he was to everyone. He loved you Merry, as much as he tried to deny you battle, he only did because he loved you, as he loved me.” Eowyn said, reaching her hand this time to clasp Merry’s. Merry leant over and kissed her hand, then for the remainder of the hour they held hands in comfort and friendship.
By the time they stopped on the road for lunch and refreshment, the sun was sitting decidedly westward. Where they halted, at the end of the Druaden Forest, the road cut in towards the mountains, which covered the road in welcome shade. Merry sat next to Eowyn on a picnic blanket eating some bread and ham and gulping down wonderful, clear, fresh water. His throat parched, the water soothed it and seemed to energise his body and mind. Sam and Frodo sat with them, and after a time the Princess Lothiriel also sat on the blanket, close to Eowyn. Eowyn and Merry smiled at her, Eowyn filled a mug with water for her.
“Here you go Lothiriel, you must be as parched as Merry.”
“I thankyou, Eowyn, I am thirsty,” Lothiriel smiled her thanks before draining the mug quickly. “ Is it always this warm at summertime here?”
“Only in this area it seems, further north the cooler winds seem to use the Misty Mountains and the forest of Mirkwood as a tunnel, therefore the further north you go the cooler it gets. For some reason the winds seem to wither before they reach Nardol.”
“Nardol?” Lothiriel asked. Eowyn turned and pointed over to the mountains. Nestled in amongst the lower hills a small town could be seen. Brown bricked buildings sprung out of the lime green grasses, their thatched roofs like the gold hair of the Rohorrim. Stone fences cordoned off areas into fields where sheep and cows and the occasional horse grazed unconcerned with their royal spies.
“Are there many towns along the Great West Road?”
“Quite a few here in Anorien, once we reach the Mark though the larger towns will disappear and only the small villages of my people will lay hidden.”
Lothiriel nodded then fell silent as she ran out of questions to ask. Merry, sensing her discomfit attempted to continue on the conversation. “And Lady Lothiriel, where you are from, do you have many towns and villages about?’
Lothiriel shyly glanced at Merry before replying, “yes, I am from Dol Amroth, which is quite a large city, we have many surrounding towns and villages, and many dot the road to Minas Tirith.”
“I think I should like to see Dol Amroth one day, perhaps when I am at Minas Tirith one time I may make the extra journey and visit you My Lady,” Merry winked at her, causing her cheeks to turn a rosy red colour.
“I thought I told you Master Merry to wait until tonight before you flirt with the Princess,” Eomer appeared and fell to his knees on the blanket next to Merry and Eowyn. Merry laughed, before a glance at Lothiriel abated his mirth. The rosy red in her cheeks had spread to the rest of her face and neck, and she appeared to have frozen on the spot, not taking her eyes from her hands. Eowyn had reached out and touched Lothiriel’s arm. Glaring at her brother, she gave him what for, “Eomer, dearest brother, if you wish to tease on such things than do so, but not in my hearing, or any other ladies.”
“I do apologise sister, and Lady Lothiriel for any discomfort I may have bought upon you, but I came to let you know we set off again to make Erelas before sunset, we are making such good time Eowyn that I was contemplating a tour of the villages of the eastfold perhaps, so the people may pay tribute to their fallen King, I will not do it if it grieve you though, I know you are anxious to be home.”
“If you so wish brother, you are king now and whatever you decide is fine because you are my King,” Eowyn murmured.
“And I am your brother Eowyn, in fact first and foremost I am your brother and as your brother I would do what pleases you,” Eomer reached his hand to touch her hair affectionately.
“I wish to just reach home and lay our uncle with his kin,” replied Eowyn.
Eomer nodded as he rose to his feet, “anything you wish Eowyn, we leave soon, I hope to make Erelas before sunset.” He strode off then, barking orders to his men. Merry noticed Eowyn who was watching Lothiriel gaze after her brother. A hopeful smile flitted across Eowyn’s lips. Merry also felt hopeful, Eowyn had happiness of true love now; Eomer deserved it just as much as she did. Merry looked around to Frodo and Sam, who had been sitting quietly listening to the many conversations.
“You thinking of Rosie Cotton, Sam?” Merry asked with a sly look. Sam looked at him bashfully, his cheeks flushed.
“Maybe,” Sam muttered. Merry and Frodo laughed.
The trip to Erelas took a little longer than expected, due to some scouts citing possible orcs in the foothills of the mountains. Eomer, to be on the safe side had halted the procession and investigated the report before continuing. There had been orcs about, made apparent by the small campsites filled with forgotten orc designed arrows and armour. A stench that overcame some of the Knights and riders, hung like poison around the camps. They continued on cautiously, many more scouts were sent in all directions. Nothing else was reported though and the procession made Erelas safely.
Erelas was a middle-sized town, with one main street, which had dozens of offshoots of lanes, paths and dead-ends. The buildings in the centre of town were built with thick, grey stone, and roofed with wooden slats sealed with mud and grass. The outer houses were built similar to the buildings they had seen at Nardol. With the Bier resting safely in a field on the outskirts of town, Merry went walking to stretch his aching legs. He walked the entire main street of Erelas and much to his embarrassment, he was often stared at and exclaimed over. One little girl caught his attention though.
“Look Mama, a little man, why his my size!” the girl exclaimed, her eyes bulging from their sockets. Merry laughed and waved at her, to his delight she waved back, all the while her mother trying to drag her away and telling her it was impolite to stare. Nodding to her, he continued his way down the street until he reached the end. Turning back to face the way he had come, he was surprised to see it was a fair distance. With the sun now set and the moon rising slowly from the east, the street, still quite busy, was lit by softly glowing torches every ten feet. In the windows of the many shops and houses that lined the street, candle light spun out like the glow of the evening sun, warming the pavement and faces of the people that passed by. Suddenly, out of the door of a pub, a man stumbled backwards closely followed by another man who was shouting angrily. It took Merry a moment to realise that the man stumbling out of the pub was Gamling, one who had been one of Theoden’s right hand men. More shouting ensued as more Rohorrim spilled out of the pub. Sensing a fight, Merry looked desperately around. The main street was now cut off by all the rowdy men, the only way Merry could get back to the camp to alert Eomer was to go via the backstreets and countless fields and paddocks.
He set off at a jog, his large feet slapping the dirt road and his breath puffing in time. He passed many houses, some large and elaborately decorated, others small and simple. He passed paddocks full of cattle, and a few fields with dappled horses sleeping, though there ears pricked up at the sound of Merry passing by. Not much later, he made the camp and headed immediately for the Rohan King’s tent. This tent, not quite so elaborate as King Elessar’s tent, was still beautifully made with hand-woven knot work bordering the plain calico walls. From the top of the tent the Green Rohan flag, with the white horse on it hung still and silent in the humid stillness of the night.
Merry stopped at the tent flap and loudly cleared his float. A deep, stern voice called for him to enter. Pushing the flap back, Merry stepped inside. The inside of the tent was warm and still. A single candle fluttered light to its master, who was sitting on the edge of his cot, his head in his hands, his blonde hair making a curtain across his cheeks. Merry, already to report the fight felt his mouth close and his step falter. Eomer looked like a defeated man. His shoulders were slumped and his back, curved forward looked weak and humped as if a great load bore upon it.
“My King, what worries you? Eomer?” Merry quietly asked. Eomer raised his head to look at him, dropping his hands into his lap.
“I have tried to be strong Merry, but I can’t do this, I know I will fail,” Eomer said, avoiding eye contact with the hobbit. Merry stepped forward so that he was in front of Eomer. Reaching over, he took one of the Kings hands into his own, and he squeezed it, just as he had done to Eowyn’s hand earlier that day. Now Eomer looked into Merry’s eyes.
“What will you fail at my lord, my friend? You, who bought such honour and respect to your people, you who loves your sister and uncle beyond death, you who inadvertently saved Pippin and me from those stinky Uruk-hai, now who else could have taken on those brutes and totally slaughtered them, and who can forget your bravery on the Pelennor Fields. I can assure you Eomer, you can not fail at anything,” Merry said in earnest. He meant every word. Merry had never seen Eomer in this light before, the light of failure and uncertainty. Yet it was in this light, that he realised how much he truly admired and loved Theoden’s nephew, for Eomer was very much like his uncle and this alone inspired awe from Merry.
Eomer shook his head roughly, “I was not trained in the way of the kingship, and I was not meant to be king. How could my uncle leave me like this, when Eowyn and I truly need him most.”
“You forget, it was not his choice, besides he is still with us, is that not what you told me last evening,” Merry lips slipped into a lopsided grin and he patted Eomer on the shoulder. Eomer smiled back at him.
“I think I shall keep you on within my house Master Merry, you are a great lifter of spirits and would be extremely useful around Edoras.”
Merry laughed, “Nay my Lord, I would not be so very useful, I would most likely just get in everyone’s way.”
They both laughed together, a warm laugh of growing friendship and honour. Once the laughter died down, Eomer’s eyebrows knitted and he cocked his head to the side, all the while he gazed at Merry.
“Why did you come here anyway Merry, don’t tell me you have tired of the Lady Lothiriel’s company already?”
Merry suddenly gasped and felt his face go red, “No, I completely forgot, there’s a fight, at the local pub, and I saw many Rohirrim involved – though they were not the only ones.”
Eomer leapt to his feet and reached for his cloak, without a word he swept aside the tent flap and stepped into the blackness of night. Merry, now standing alone in the Kings tent clicked his tongue and swung his arms. There was no way he was going anywhere near the pub and besides Eomer had left to take care of it, presumably. A yawn sneaked up Merry’s throat and he felt his jaw tighten, fighting to open.
“Perhaps I’d best go to bed,” Merry said out loud to no one. He left Eomer’s tent and began to wander in the general direction of the hobbits tent. Passing by one of the chorals for the horses, Merry noticed a young maid sitting quietly, leaning her back on a wooden post and feeding one of the horses an apple. On closer inspection Merry found the young girl to be Lothiriel. Making his way over to her, he decided that he would much rather get to know the Princess a little better than go to bed.
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