More Then you Seem

Dunharrow March 9 3019

They had sat up camp and were in the process of regrouping their numbers when the messengers from Gondor came bearing the Red Arrow. Gondor called for aid and Rohan would answer. Weary, battle worn and smaller in number than the king had wished for the next morning they would ride to war. Eomer would marshal the Rohirrim and soon the final battle of the free peoples of Middle Earth would begin. They were out numbered, weakened and losing hope. But they would make a stand worthy of the greatest songs. Rohan’s day was coming!

“So young one, the king has made you his heir,” the voice was from Gamling. “It is an honor to serve for such noble men.”

“There is still life left in the Rohirrim King yet Gamling. My uncle’s strength has returned and the people follow him.” Their conversation was interrupted by the king himself wishing to speak to his nephew in private.

Inside the royal Théoden offered his nephew a drink and motioned for him to sit. “There has not been time to groom you for kingship Eomer. For that I am sorry.” It was hard for the king to face the past few years; the years where he had been a slave to Grima and had let his country fall into ruin. Had let those that loved him and were loyal to him almost die.

“There is still time for the deeds of Théoden king. Your people will follow you into battle.” Eomer saw no use in dwelling on the past, it was over and Grima no longer would exert his control over his uncle. However Eomer also knew that Rohan would fall soon, there was no mending the evil times that his uncle had fallen into.

“That they will, but when I fall the people will follow you. Are you ready for that?”

“I will do my duties to king and country as best I can uncle.” Eomer thought that his uncle doubted him still and his heart grew heavier.

Sensing his nephew’s heavy heart Théoden said, “I do not doubt that Eomer, future king of Rohan and sister’s son. But there has been much war, so many lives lost and Rohan burned. Take council from those around you my boy. Look to those that love you for your strength in these uncertain times.”

Théoden wanted to ask his nephew about Elfwine and Lothiriel but now was not the time. He hoped that one day the young boy would know his father better. Eomer already had a family and when he became king the ties with Gondor would be stronger. He knew that his time was short and he spoke from his heart.

“Lothiriel will make Rohan a good queen Eomer. Take Elfwine into your council, groom him for his destiny as the first king of a new age. That is my wish for you. You have a family that loves you; do not turn away from them.”

“I will follow your wishes uncle,” that was all he could say. “But now the time draws near that we ride. Let us have a least a few hours of peace and quiet before the floodgates are opened.”

Though he knew his uncle meant well he had not seen his son or lover in four years. The times made it almost impossible for them to be together again. So Eomer focused on the war ahead and not on the family that he did not know still needed him.

March 13 Minas Tirith

“My lady come quickly,” The healer had burst into Lothiriel’s room! “Your cousin is gravely injured. Your father begs you hurry!”

She had not slept since arriving at the White City and learning the news that her lover no longer lived. It was pure adrenaline that kept the princess going, that and the need to shelter her son from the end times as much as she could. Everything was just motion; she no longer held the emotion or energy to care about things. The end of all was coming and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Right now all she could do was her duty to country and family.

Hurriedly following the healer she came to her cousin’s room. There, around the bed was gathered her father, brothers, and Rufio. On the bed Faramir lay near death. His wounds were grievous and at the sight of them Lothiriel lost the fleeting hope that she had tried desperately to cling to. Rufio came and wrapped his arms around his wife’s shoulders. His eyes were red from crying, looking at him for a moment she knew why he wept.

“When,” she whispered quietly him?

“During the skirmish to bring our brother’s safely to the city. One of those foul beasts swooped at his horse, it threw him and he was trampled by the retreating guard.”

Lothiriel closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them tears ran down her cheeks. “I am so sorry Rufio. Christobal’s loss is a huge burden to bear and our army will sorely miss him. Come to me when you can. I can not make it better but we can weep together.” She kissed him on the cheek and walked over to her cousin’s bed.


In the courtyard Pip and Gandalf sat waiting for news of Faramir. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth had ridden out with Gandalf to stay the enemy long enough for Faramir and those that had survived to get to the safety of the city. However Gandalf wondered how long the safety of Minas Tirith would last. He sat smoking his pipe, watching the young hobbit look toward Mordor.

“Excuse me sir wizard, but they say you have come from Rohan?”

Gandalf’s solitude was interrupted by Cerrywyn’s question. He looked at her and nodded.

“I have heard from the steward’s men that things have gone ill in Rohan. That the king has allowed Wild Men to burn and murder unchecked those once green lands and that he has sent his nephew to the gallows for treason. Is this true?”

He knew that rumors and lies were the enemy’s friend during these times and anything that would hurt the free people of Middle Earth would be used against them. “No, King Théoden and his heir Eomer ride for Gondor as we speak. Things have gone awry for Sauron and his henchmen in Rohan. The king is no longer under the influence of Saruman and his minions.”

“Then you have given me hope where none grew. I will let my lord know that Rohan has not faltered.”

“Who is your lord?” There were many in the city that vied for the title.

“Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth has taken over stewardship. We have all been under the impression that Eomer had met his end. It will give the family hope that that is not so.”

“Oh, I did not realize Rohan and Dol Amroth were friends.”

“The prince’s grandson is part Rohirric. His daughter Lothiriel bore Eomer a son 10 years ago. The bond between the families has been strained at times since the princess was and is not married to Eomer but war has strengthened them. It will give Lothiriel hope knowing her son’s father is coming to our aid.”

“It will indeed,” Gandalf took a drag on his pipe and grinned. He had not foreseen an heir to Rohan but it gave him some small hope. Rohan would not completely fall, not with Elfwine living.


“He is fading father. The healers are doing all they can. Perhaps the white wizard Gandalf can aide him.” She had tried to keep hope in her voice but hope was gone. “Uncle should be made aware of his son’s condition.”

“Denethor has long denied Faramir his council, but this turn of events has turned the old man mad. I will consult with my brother-in-law about his son but I do not think that the line of steward’s shall continue past this night.” He took leave of his daughter, leaving her with her cousin in the Houses of Healing.

Lothiriel was about to leave the houses for the evening when a shrill scream stopped her. In the room beside her cousin’s a noblewoman of Minas Tirith has been placed. She suffered greatly in the last stages of her pregnancy. Inquiring about the woman Lothiriel decided to stay a while longer, giving what courage she could to the woman. After all 10 years ago Lothiriel had given birth to a son through laboring for many days.

“It shall be fine my lady,” the princess said soothingly as she wiped the other’s forehead with a cold cloth.

“I do not want my babe born into these end times princess. I can not raise him on my own.”

“It is difficult raising a child on your own but when the time comes you can and will rise to the task. You are a proud lady of Gondor; proud women of this realm do not take lightly their duties. Rest now, soon the baby will come and you will be out of this misery.”

“You speak as if you have experience.”

“Imrahil’s grandson is my experience my lady. That is how I know that your body will soon be rid of its misery and that a precious babe will be laid in your arms. The babe will look to you for everything and you will be able to provide.”

“How long will we see these evil days before we die under the black blade of the dark army?” The woman was back to fitful slumber now and Loti left her side. The question asked was one that Lothiriel had often thought of these past few days.

How she managed to walk out of the healing houses she had no idea. Her mind was clouded over with thoughts of Eomer’s death and the war at the gates of the city. Soon humanity would fall so why even fight? It was all to, to much for Lothiriel. She had to sit down to keep from falling.

Cerrywyn took Loti’s cold hands into hers to warm them. Lothiriel did not even acknowledge the other woman’s presence. “You will surly die if you do not eat something and take some rest Loti.” Her words seemed to fall upon deaf ears.

“If you do not do it for yourself do it for Elfwine. He needs you still. Eomer will need you when the war is over.”

As she thought at the mention of Eomer’s name Lothiriel finally acknowledged Cerry’s presence. Using the bought time Cerrywyn continued. “Eomer lives, he and Théoden ride for Minas Tirith and battle as we speak.”

“What trickery is this Cerrywyn? You told me yourself that he was dead.” Loti was angry at Cerrywyn, thinking that the woman had finally dealt the last blow in their rivalry for Eomer. “Do you mean to kill me grief and lies and then take him for yourself?”

“No my lady, it was lie and rumor that I heard. He lives and is riding for Gondor.” The enthusiasm in her voice was hard to deny.

“He lives?” Loti’s voice broke but she felt herself getting stronger.

“Yes my lady he lives,” came a small voice beside them. The hobbit had seen Lothiriel sit down and was concerned about her. As he got closer he had heard the conversation the women were having. Pip could never help not adding his two cents into conversations.


TBC – the battle