Sunday, 18 February 2007

I really should be working on my metamorfic_moon piece, but i have hit a proverbial brick wall and i hate it anyway. brick wall is likely caused by alcohol followed by work, followed by more alcohol.

therefore, as a result of my Chinese New Year induced semi-hangover, we have the second part of my Aragorn/Arwen fic.

Title: Lorien Love File- Part 2
Author: captainraz
Format: fic chapter
Rating & Warnings: G; none
Word Count:
Summary: The continuing story of Aragorn's and Arwen's love. Or at least, the parts that occur in Lothlorien.
Author’s Notes: STILL don't own Lotr.

“And on the evening of Midsummer Aragorn Arathorn’s son, and Arwen daughter of Elrond went to the fair hill Cerin Amroth, in the midst of the land, and they walked unshod on the undying grass with elanor and niphrededil about their feet. And there upon that hill they looked east to the Shadow and west to the Twilight, and they plighted their troth and were glad.”

Aragorn came up behind Arwen with a grin on his face; she hadn’t heard him. Therefore, to demonstrate his tracking prowess, he began to tickle her violently as soon as she was in reach. Predictably, Arwen squealed but then she started fighting back. She soon had wrestled Aragorn on to his back so she was astride him and had him pinned.

“Do you yield?” questioned Arwen teasingly. Aragorn shifted so as to be more comfortable.

“Only if you plan on staying there.”


“What? Can you blame me?” he asked innocently.

“I can blame you for a lot of things Estel.”

“Ah but you took advantage of me.”

“Estel!” Aragorn merely smirked. Some time lapsed before either spoke again and it was Aragorn who broke the silence.

“I suppose you are right.” He said

“About what?”

“This isn’t really a very dignified position for an elf-maid to be in.” Arwen snorted.

“If you had had your way Estel I would no longer be an elf-maid.”

“Are you insinuating that I would take advantage of you?” he asked trying to sound insulted.

“You would be too afraid to try and take advantage of me.” Aragorn laughed and flipped Arwen over so that he was on top of her.

“Oh really?” he asked cocking an eyebrow.

“Estel get of me.” Said Arwen trying to shove him off. “Get off!”

“You were the one who wanted me to take advantage of you.” he pointed out. Arwen merely pouted. Aragorn looked down at the elf in his clutches and noticed for the millionth time just how beautiful she was. “I love you,” he whispered nuzzling her nose with his own, “You know that don’t you?”

“You only tell me everyday Estel.” She whispered back. “Just as I tell you everyday that I love you too.” Despite the serious tone Aragorn chuckled. “What?”

“You realise the consequences if we are found like this?” She nodded, not really comprehending his meaning. They would probably force me to marry you, not that I would require much forcing. Then he thought of something he had been putting off. “Come walk with me.” He whispered, helping her up.

She wound her arm around his waist and he reciprocated. Aragorn’s mood had quickly changed from playful to serious, and Arwen was puzzled by this.

Aragorn could not be exactly sure how long he had walked in these woods with Arwen, such was the way Lorien affected mortals perception of time. No matter how long he had been in Lorien he knew that the more time he spent with Arwen, the more sure he was the she was the one for him. But he had to be sure of how she felt for him; she had to be willing to forsake a lot for him if they were to be together forever.

They walked in silence until they reached Cerin Amroth, widely regarded as the most beautiful place in Lothlorien. At the foot of the hill Aragorn turned to Arwen.

“Take off your shoes.” He said. Arwen looked at him incredulously. “Take off your shoes.” He repeated. This time she complied and he did the same.

Hand in hand they walked up the hill and Arwen knew why Aragorn had requested they go barefoot; the feel of the grass beneath her feet was wonderful. When they reached the crest of the hill Aragorn turned to face her but still kept silent, looking pensive. Eventually Arwen broke the silence.

“Why have you brought me here?” she whispered. Aragron put his finger to her lips.

“Can you not feel it? To the east lies Shadow and in the west Twilight, but in this place there is peace. Sheltered from both fates. While outside the borders of this land the Shadow grows, here there is peace.” His face looked troubled, “ The Shadow grows.” He murmured.

Arwen thought that she caught insecurity and despair in his eye, and replied with what she felt in her heart, for she felt hope when he so plainly did not.

“Dark is the Shadow, yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it.”

Still he stood looking towards the west with a troubled look in his eyes, and Arwen wished only to see him smile again.

“They say that foresight is gifted to the elves; you will rise and defeat this enemy. The Shadow cannot last forever, for you shall defeat it.” Aragorn shook his head.

“Alas! I cannot foresee it, and how it may come to pass is hidden from me.” He stroked her face and seemed to smile a second. “Yet with your hope I will hope. And the Shadow I utterly reject.”

He paused, and Arwen could see within his eyes a struggle taking place, and she knew that he was steeling himself for some grim task. He took a deep breath.

“But neither, lady, is the Twilight for me; for I am mortal, and if you will cleave to me, Evenstar, then the Twilight you must also renounce.”

Arwen looked shocked for a moment then, for she had not expected that of him. She stood still as a white tree, looking into the West. There she perceived that she saw the white shores of Valinor, and the laughter of a thousand elves in Elvenhome. And Arwen thought that she saw her mother, who had forsaken middle-earth many years before.

Then Arwen looked into Aragorn’s eyes and saw there love and understanding, and acceptance at whatever choice she chose. And then she knew that though she might live ten thousand years more, she would not find another man such as Aragorn. Arwen knew that there could never be another who loved her as he did, and could give her what he offered.

And in that moment Arwen Undomiel realised the true power of love. She realised that there was nothing without Aragorn, and whatever she gave up for him would be worth the price. At last she spoke again.

“I will cleave to you, Dúnadan, and turn from the Twilight. Yet there lies the land of my people and the long home of all my kin.”

Even as she spoke the words she knew of their finality, and of the grief she would cause and feel because of them. But she knew that Aragorn was worth all the tears of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

Even now there was a smile in his eye as he put his arms about her, pulling her to him. He rested his forehead against hers and said two simple words:

“Hannon le.”

And then he kissed her and did not stop for a long time. When they pulled apart he stroked her face and looked serious again.

“I suppose I had better do this properly.” He muttered almost inaudibly. Then he sank down on one knee before Arwen, who was by now not the least bit surprised at any actions he might choose to make.

Aragorn looked into Arwen’s eyes and smiled a thousand smiles, each and every one of them for her, and only for her.

“I ask of thee, Arwen Undomiel, when my time comes, wouldst thou be my bride? Will you marry me?”
“I say to thee Estel, that nothing in all of Arda could make me happier than to stand by your side as your wife. Of course I will marry you.” she said with a smile.

“Then bear this ring for me, as a token of our troth, so that those you shall meet shall know of our love.” And he slipped the Ring of Barahir off his finger as he straightened. “Even as Beren himself bore this ring so now I bear it too. And I would give it to my Tinuviel so that she may know the depth of my love for her.

“Oh, Estel, I only have to look into your eyes to know of the depth of your love. But I shall wear your ring, and cherish it all the more for it is a gift from you, my beloved.”

And Aragorn slipped the ring onto her finger even as he claimed her lips as his own. There they stood until the stars had come out in the heavens to honour their love. Then finally they broke apart and looked into each others eyes, revelling in their newly pledged love.

“We had better be getting back. I… we had better inform the Lady Galadriel of our troth-plighting.” Said Aragorn at last.

“There will be time for that in the morning, tonight is for me and you.” she replied holding on to him tightly. Aragorn smiled into her hair and he began to sing.

“Long was the way that fate them bore,
O’er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away,
In the forest singing sorrowless.”

“The Lay of Leithian.” Arwen whispered.

“Ever has it been a favourite story of mine, but now it concerns our fate closely. I would do anything for you, my Evenstar.”

“And I for you.” she whispered.

“You already have,” he murmured back “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Then Aragorn noticed that she shivered slightly, and insisted then that they return to Caras Galadhon.

So hand in hand they returned to the elven city hearts bursting with joy and love. Knowing that the path before them was not going to be easy, but also that the rewards would be great.

Hand in hand they returned to civilisation, walking barefoot in the undying grass; for they had neglected to remember their shoes at the foot of Cerin Amroth

Thursday, 15 February 2007

Lorien Love Files- Part 1

Title; Lorien Love Files; Part 1
Author; captainraz
Format and Word Count; 2624
Rating; G
Warnings; pure, unadulterated fluff
Summary; The continuing story of Aragorn's and Arwen's love. Or at least, the parts that occur in Lothlorien.
Author’s Notes; Don't own any part of LOTR- especially not the great chunk of text at the start of this fic

“It came to pass that when Aragorn was nine and forty years of age he returned from perils on the dark confines of Mordor, where Sauron now dwelt again and was busy with evil. He was weary and he wished to go back to Rivendell and rest there awhile ere he journeyed to the far countries; and on his way he came to the borders of Lórien and was admitted to the hidden land by the Lady Galadriel.
‘He did not know it, but Arwen Undómiel was also there, dwelling again for a time with the kin of her mother. She was little changed, for the mortal years had passed her by; yet her face was more grave, and her laughter now seldom was heard. But Aragorn was grown to full stature of body and mind, and Galadriel bade him cast away his wayworn raiment, and she clothed him in silver and white, with a cloak of elven-grey, and a bright gem on his brow. Then more than any kind of man he appeared, and seemed rather an Elf-lord from the Isles of the West. And thus it was that Arwen first beheld him again after their long parting; and as he came walking towards her under the trees of Caras Galadhon laden with flowers of gold, her choice was made and her doom appointed.”

Aragorn had seen his Lady. All the fevered dreams of his youth seemed at once aflame in his veins. His heart beat fast, and his senses were tingling. She was there, still beautiful, still perfect, and yet he could not think what to do. He averted his gaze and stared at the ground. A sudden thought came to him and he snatched up a handful of the golden flowers that grew by his feet; and he walked toward her, butterflies in his stomach.
And so it was that Arwen turned and beheld him. And in her heart of hearts she was glad to see him, yet his face was stern and unreadable to her, for long years of toil and secrecy had taught him how to hide his true nature.

“My Lady,” he almost whispered.

“Mae govannen, Éstel.”

“Long years have passed since our first meeting under the woods in Imladris, and yet you are still as beautiful as the new born stars.” Arwen laughed, but her voice shook slightly.

“You wonder at that Dúnadan? As I said to you long ago, the children of Elrond have the life of the Eldar. But you, you have grown. No longer are you the boy just come to manhood. One could have mistaken you for an Elf-lord as you walked toward me then.”

“You flatter me,” Aragorn replied, forcing down the blush that threatened to surface in his face, “I am but of the race of Men.” Arwen could almost hear the thought that formed in Aragorn’s mind, and men are weak.

“Be not so hard on yourself, Éstel, Men may yet prove to be greater than the Eldar.” Then he smiled and looked into her eyes, but for all his skill he could not read her thought. Then he suddenly remembered the flowers in his hand.

“For you,” he said “beautiful blooms for a beautiful Lady.”

“Now it is my turn to feel flattered,” laughed Arwen “but is that all that you see in me, beauty?” her face grew grave and there was almost an anxious note in her voice.

“Nay, Lady,” answered Aragorn, “tis true that I see in you Lúthien Tinúviel come again, but methinks that which is pleasing to the eye may also be reflected in your fair nature.” This time it was Arwen’s turn to force down a blush, but she was feeling pleased with herself, and with Aragorn’s fair words towards her. Curse his unreadable face she thought.

As they had been talking they had wandered far from the court they had met in each other in, and now both found themselves to be somewhat lost. And completely alone. Aragorn sighed and stared at the trees around him.

“What are you thinking about?” enquired Arwen.

“The names of all the stars, and of all living things, and the whole history of Middle-earth and Over-heaven and of the Sundering Seas1.” Answered Aragorn, somewhat untruthfully, he had been thinking on his Lady. Arwen laughed.

“Wise and full of wit art thou, Éstel, be sure that it is not your downfall.”

“I will” whispered Aragorn, still full of thought. The day wore on, and still they stood, side by side, each lost in their own thoughts. At last Aragorn turned to Arwen, meaning to say something, but he lost his nerve at the last minute. Once again he caught the elven wisdom in her eyes, and turned away, ashamed.

“What is it Aragorn?” asked Arwen gently. Aragorn paused and looked around him.

“It must be nearly dinnertime. The day wears on and we still stand here.”

“Indeed it does, but I find your presence comforting. If you are finished thinking of the names of all the stars, and of all living things, and the whole history of Middle-earth and Over-heaven and of the Sundering Seas, then we may go to the evening meal.” Aragorn smiled.

“Then let us eat.”

Yet out of this brief conversation was born a great friendship. For the next seven days the walked and talked and laughed together in that fair land. And Aragorn found that all his fears slipped away when he was with Arwen, that they had much to talk about, and had much in common. And he found that for all his fears she was easy to talk to and they came to know one another almost intimately. And Aragorn found that as the days passed, he loved Arwen more and more.

But by that time Arwen knew him well enough to see that there was a shadow between them, and that something troubled him; for he had not yet told Arwen of his love for her. And being in nature a lot like Galadriel her grandmother, Arwen was as outspoken as a man and confronted Aragorn on this matter.

It happened when they were resting together in Caras Galadhon. Aragorn was laid on the ground seeming to sleep but not. Then Arwen found the courage to ask the question that had been driving her mad.

“Aragorn?” she asked gingerly.


“I hope that over the past week we have spent together we have become friends.”

“We have my Lady.”

“Friends don’t keep secrets from each other.” Aragorn sat up then, fear gripping his heart.

“What do you mean?” he tried to keep the fear out of his voice, but he spoke thickly.

“I can tell when someone is keeping a secret from me. And I should think I know you well enough by now to know when you are lying to me.”

“I have never lied to you.” Aragorn’s voice was low and dangerous, but it was tinged with hurt.

“But I know you keep something back.” This Aragorn could not deny. “Why won’t you tell me.” Aragorn looked away.

“I cannot.”

“Why? Because I am a woman?” The last comment was said with vehemence, Aragorn knew how she felt on that matter.

“I cannot tell you because I can tell no one.”

“But I thought we were friends.”

“We are!” Aragorn’s was raised now. “But friends also respect each others’ wishes. I can tell no one!”

“I thought you’d be able to tell me.” And with that Arwen stomped off to dinner, leaving Aragorn feeling hurt, upset and confused. How was he ever going to make things right? Then he too left for the evening meal, trying unsuccessfully to force the thoughts to the back of his head.

Dinner was an awkward affair that evening. The tension between Aragorn and Arwen could have been cut with a sword, never mind a knife. This was something that did not escape the notice of Lady Galadriel. Being able to read the hearts and minds of others, she also discerned the cause of the problem, and vowed to confront Aragorn on it.

After dinner Aragorn sulked off on his own, and Galadriel took her chance.

“Aragorn?” he whipped round to find himself face to face with Galadriel, and lowered his eyes.

“My Lady Galadriel, what can I do for you?”

“You can answer a few questions for me.” Aragorn felt dread then, for he knew Galadriel could read many things, and would discover more than he could give in his answers. But he also knew that Galadriel was already perfectly aware of the situation.

“Is that really necessary my Lady? Surely you already know thrice that which I would give you in answer to your questions.” Galadriel smiled at this subtle compliment.

“And you know more than is good for you also.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Tell her.”

“I cannot.”

“Why?” but Galadriel already knew the answer to that question. “She would not rebuke you Éstel. You underestimate my Granddaughter greatly.”

“Nine and twenty years I have loved her, and long since I gave up hope that she could ever love me in return. She is too far above me.”

“Think not so of yourself Aragorn, you are not so low down as you think. And I do not think that you have given up all hope.” Aragorn sighed.

“For twenty-nine years I have hidden who I am, how I feel. It is hard for me now to open those gates long locked.”

“But you will open those gates for me, why then can you not for Arwen.”

“You my Lady have no need for open gates to read someone’s heart. Long ago you read my mind, and I have been naked to you ever since.”

“But you would ask me of my advice Naked One?”


“Then tell her, if only for the friendship you two share. Both of you are too lonely to fall out like this. Would you not rather share her friendship than her hate, if she cannot love you?” Aragorn knew that Galadriel was right, as always. He bowed and went off to think.

Arwen will go to him she thought this may yet turn out right.

Aragorn knew that Galadriel was right, but still he could not find the courage to tell Arwen how he felt. Coward he thought you have led armies to victory against impossible odds without fear, yet you are reduced to a trembling wreck at the thought of telling someone you love them.

But he knew why he was so afraid. All his life he had had to hide his true nature, he had become accustomed to shutting everyone out. If he let someone in then he would be vulnerable, a feeling he did not like. It did not help that he had been told quite clearly by the man he had called Father that he wasn’t good enough. Not good enough for Arwen. She is too far above you. He was broken from his musing by a quiet voice.

“Éstel?” It was Arwen. Aragorn took a deep breath and turned to look at her, a heartbreaking look in his eyes.

“I must tell you something Arwen…” then he faltered, unsure. What if she laughed? But a nasty little voice in his head told him: if she does, then she is not worth your love. Aragorn braced himself. “Arwen… you must forgive me if I… seem forward… but I cannot put what I want to say into words.”

Then Arwen found Aragorn’s lips on hers, in a brief but fiery kiss. To his surprise she did not push him away, but when he pulled away he was breathless from his own daring. He cared not if Arwen thought him a rogue, so sure was he of being rebuked. But he knew he had to plough on, though his heart felt ready to break. Arwen was still stunned from the kiss, so he took his chance.

“What I really meant to say… wanted to say is… I love you.” If Arwen was stunned before then it was nothing compared to her shock at this revelation. She was used to men desiring her body, but not to them confessing love to her. He continued “I have loved you ever since I first looked into your eyes, and saw there the elven light. Each long year that passed for me only increased the pain. But the last few days have made that pain unbearable. I love you, Arwen Evenstar, you and no other.”

Then Aragorn turned as to walk off as he felt the tears fall down his face. His life felt over, his heart was broken. All seemed lost until Arwen stirred.

“Wait!” she called “I would not have you leave with a broken heart. Not if I am the only one who could heal it.” Aragorn stayed then, if only to hear her voice one last time. But then Arwen too faltered. “I am afraid I have been somewhat hypocritical. I pressed for you to reveal your secrets, but still I kept my own. I am sorry. Since you have now opened your heart to me, I feel now is the right moment to return the favour, lest that moment be lost forever.”

Arwen knew what she had to say, and that she could say it now, but still she feared to say it. Once said, it could not be taken back, and that was what scared her. Yet Aragorn had found the courage to reveal long hidden secrets, she had to return the favour. But still she was transfixed by that brief kiss.

“You say you have loved me since you first looked into my eyes. You are certain, I am not. I know not whether my heart was turned when I saw you seven days ago, or whether I merely understood. Certainly I have thought much of you in your absence.” ,i>Stop digressing she thought “All I know is how I feel now, and I say to you Éstel, that I love you too.”

Then Aragorn understood. Hope at last came back into his heart, and filled it till he thought it would break with happiness. For that moment at least he cared not whether he was dreaming or not, all he cared for was Arwen’s eyes.

Somehow Aragorn kept his presence of mind, when Arwen seemed to lose hers. He took her chin in his hand, and their eyes met for a moment before he kissed her. Into this kiss he poured all of his love and desire of many years alone, and all his fears washed away. The kiss was as fiery as the last, but it ran deeper. In this kiss they told each other of their love over and over again, and they lost themselves in the passion of that kiss.

“So it has happened at last.” They were broken from that perfect moment by a voice; Galadriel. Both blushed, still breathing heavily; but their hands remained clasped, though neither could remember them coming together. Galadriel looked vaguely amused at their embarrassment. “I wondered when you would both realise.” Then Aragorn understood, it was not just his heart that she had read.

“Thank you.” He said. Galadriel merely smiled and left them alone again. Aragorn felt a light touch on his lips, and looked down to find Arwen with her arms wound around his ribs. He laughed and kissed her again, not caring who looked on.

For that moment all that mattered was that they were together, in love. Neither cared how long they stood there. Indeed it was awhile before they came up for air.

But both knew that this was only the beginning.

Wednesday, 14 February 2007

More Blogthings

Your Kissing Technique Is: Perfect

Your kissing technique is amazing - and you know it.
You have the confidence to make the first move.
And you always seem to know what kissing style is going to work best.
Sometimes you're passionate, sometimes you're a tease. And you're always amazing!

Your Brain is 47% Female, 53% Male

Your brain is a healthy mix of male and female
You are both sensitive and savvy
Rational and reasonable, you tend to keep level headed
But you also tend to wear your heart on your sleeve

Best Valentine's Ever!

Ha! Just had the best Valentine's Day ever.

The boyfriend came over, we had a chocolate fondue, made love, went for a walk on the beach and then went out for a meal at a Chinese restaurant.

AND i got a teddy bear HE christened Nymphadora Tonks and a red rose.

I think i might jsut be a teeny-weeny little bit in love.

CaptainRazzle xxxx

Tuesday, 13 February 2007


Your Seduction Style: The Charmer

You're a master at intimate conversation and verbal enticement.
You seduce with words, by getting people to open up to you.
By establishing this deep connection quickly, people feel under your power.
And then you've got them exactly where you want them!


The Second Part of my sequel to 'The Deepest Wounds bleed Not'

Title- The Greatest Battles Are Fought Within

Chapter 6- fight back, Éomer, fight back

All I know for sure is I’m trying
I will always stand my ground

Stand my ground
I wont give in (I wont give in)
I wont give up (I wont give up)
No more denying I got to face it
Won’t close my eyes n hide the truth inside
If I don’t make it someone else will

Stand my ground
I won’t give in
No more denying
I’ve got to face it
Won’t close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don’t make it someone else will
Stand my ground

“First things first, we need to keep you busy,” announced Faramir happily over breakfast the next morning. Éomer looked up at him sceptically from his bread and honey.

“What on earth has gotten into you Faramir?” he asked. Faramir merely shrugged happily, but Éomer got the feeling that Faramir knew something that he didn’t.

“You need to stop dwelling on your problems and find something constructive to do.”

“And what is there constructive to do around here for mad people?” asked Éomer sardonically. He could hear high pitched giggling in his ear again, but resisted the urge to swat his shoulder; he would get the better of them.

“Evidently what you are lacking is mental discipline,” said Faramir suddenly dropping the giddy tone. “And look at you Éomer, you are as unfit as anything; your muscles are far too relaxed, and you’ve been drinking far too much lately, you’ve developed a real beer belly! What good are you going to be if you cannot fight?”

“I haven’t been able to practise for months. My bad arm hindered me for a long time and you try finding time to practise your swordplay when there are a hundred councils to attend in a day,” said Éomer irritably.

“Well, now your arm has healed, and you have plenty of time on you hands, you can get into shape again.” And with that Faramir dragged Éomer to his feet and out the door with his giddy school boy face back on, leaving Éomer mourning his only half eaten breakfast.


Not too long later Éomer found himself in the practise ring stripped to the waist and sword in hand facing an equally half-naked and similarly armed Faramir, who was still sporting his silly grin.

“What in the name of Gandalf’s undergarments is wrong with you? You and Éowyn aren’t expecting my first niece or nephew are you?”

“Well if we are then Éowyn hasn’t told me yet,” said Faramir seriously “Here’s to hoping!” the silly grin was back on his face. Éomer shook his head as if in despair at his brother’s childish behaviour.

“Then why the silly grin Faramir? What do you know?” Faramir merely tapped the side of his nose.

“I brought you out here to get you into shape, not to answer silly questions.” Then Faramir straightened up, saluted and shouted, “Éomer King, have at thee.”

For the next hour Faramir pressed him hard, and by the end both were sweating profusely. Éomer’s muscles had burned painfully from early on, but he practised the mental discipline Faramir had told him he needed and ignored it; he knew he needed to do this as much for his sanity as for his fitness. After a quick drink and a bucket of water over both their heads to cool down, they were back in the ring and fighting again.

Éomer was tired, and he found he couldn’t fight both Faramir and the constant urging and giggling in his head. His muscles burned, and his instincts cried out to stop so that he could confront his demons head on. Instead Éomer launched himself at his brother-in-law with such ferocity that Faramir had a hard time matching him. Steel clashed against steel with frightening tempo. At the end of the allotted hour Éomer refused to relent, and pressed Faramir hard until they were both exhausted. Even Faramir’s well kept muscles were burning with the effort now, and his throat was dry. Éomer simply would not let up, his brow was furrowed, and Faramir knew that it was not him that he growled at.

Finally, the pain and mounting exhaustion built up a wall that the demons could not penetrate through, and Éomer’s determination kept it there. He fell down suddenly, finally succumbing to fatigue, and Faramir nearly fell over him. Both men lay on the ground breathing hard and painfully for some time before Faramir found the strength to speak.

“What happened, Éomer?” asked Faramir through laboured breaths.

“They tried to get into my head, but I wouldn’t let them. I thought you said I didn’t have mental discipline,” laughed Éomer.

“Okay you proved your point, but did you have to take it out on me?” gasped Faramir clutching his heaving chest still; they had been practising at a ferocious pace for well over an hour, and it was showing in both the men.

Éomer grinned even as he felt the first attempts to breach the block of his weary mind, but he denied them. This was all in his head, and in his head he would be in control; if he could not even control his own thoughts, then how could he ever hope to keep control of a country? He growled away the shadows that threatened to overtake his thoughts; only sheer determination would keep his own thoughts under control.

He looked up and met Faramir’s eyes; those kind grey eyes that held so much wisdom and hid a lifetime of pain. Faramir had fought away his demons, Éowyn had helped him do that, just as he had helped her fight hers, and now he and Éowyn were helping him fight his demons. And Lothíriel is helping me too he thought. Éomer realised how lucky he truly was to have those three; they gave him reason to fight, they gave him hope, and that is the most precious gift of all.

Éomer said none of this, but he knew Faramir understood; Faramir always understood.

“Come on you great oaf,” he smiled, “lets get some food.”

Éomer’s stomach growled loudly in answer and both men laughed.


Éomer’s physical condition improved dramatically over the next week, and his mental discipline increased daily. By the end of a fortnight he was once more the powerful warrior he had previously been, beating all in Ithilien who would fight him. His demons were under control during the day now, and the noble and honourable man he truly was began to surface once more.

Night time was an entirely different story. His demons manifested themselves in his dreams, and not a night went by when he was not visited by horrific nightmares. During the night, Éomer relived all the bad things that had happened in his life, relived every gruesome battle in sickening blow-by-blow detail. He would wake several times a night, drenched with cold sweat and screaming, often entangled in his bedclothes from thrashing violently.

Despite this though, Faramir thought he was ready to re-enter the public domain, inviting him to attend the Council of Gondor when he went on the 20th of May. Éomer politely declined. He knew it would be better for him to wait until he was completely recovered before he re-entered public scrutiny once more.

But Éomer still didn’t know when that would be.

Chapter 7- Consequences and Revelations

Look into my eyes, you will see
What you mean to me,
Search your heart, search your soul
And if you find me there you will search no more,
Don’t tell me it’s not worth trying for
You can’t tell me it’s not worth dying for
You know it’s true
Everything I do, I do it for you.
-Bryan Adams, (Everything I do) I Do it For You

Éomer awoke one morning before the end of May to find himself on the cold stone floor and Faramir stood over him with an ugly look on his face. Éomer sat up and shook the sleep from his head.

“What in the name of all the Valar in Valinor have I done now?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“You’ve been walking in your sleep again,” said Faramir in a cold voice that chilled Éomer’s soul “and you attacked Éowyn.” Éomer groaned and buried his face in his hands. Not only had he probably turned his sister and brother-in-law against him, but in the same night he had managed to undo months of hard work. “And if that weren’t bad enough, Éowyn is also with child.”

“I’m going to be an uncle?”

“Possibly,” replied Faramir and Éomer could not hold back his tears then. Faramir’s heart melted, deeply moved by pity for his troubled friend. Éomer was sat ranting nonsensically through his tears, saying that he should just be left in the wilderness to die and other such ridiculous ramblings. Faramir cleared his throat to get Éomer’s attention.

“You need not worry your silly little head too much,” said Faramir, the tone of his voice dramatically different, “the healer says that a fall down the stairs shouldn’t have caused any damage to the unborn babe; Éowyn is as tough as old boots and twice as stubborn.” Éomer was shocked out of his crying.

“You’re covering up for me again aren’t you?” Faramir smiled. “Do you ever think that you’d be better off if I had killed myself, after all the trouble I’ve caused?”

“Never!” replied Faramir truthfully. “You have a knack for attracting trouble that others have to get you out of, but we’ll see you through it.”

“I don’t deserve friends like you,” said Éomer miserably.

“Stop winging you great pansy! Do you want to visit your clumsy sister or not?” Faramir’s eyes twinkled, and Éomer joined in the jesting.

“So you were lying to me when you said I wasn’t going to be an uncle.”

“I didn’t say that,” Faramir protested “I said that Éowyn hadn’t told me.” Éomer dragged himself up form the floor and wiped the remnants of his tears form his eyes. Faramir smiled, he could see in Éomer’s eyes that his night time attack hadn’t undone the work they had all put in to his recovery, it had simply doubled his resolve. “Come on, let’s go see Éowyn.”


Éowyn as it happened turned out to be quite alright apart from a few bruises, and was more bothered about the fact Faramir was keeping her to her bed than the fact her brother had beaten her up. Éomer had sat and cried and apologised profusely, and Éowyn let her brother get it out of his system. Both she and Faramir were glad that he wasn’t going to give up after this little setback; it was commonly known that the love Éomer held for his sister was rival to none, and if anything had happened to her because of him it would have destroyed him.

Eventually Faramir pestered that Éowyn should be left to sleep, much to her disapproval, and Éomer slipped out to be alone. He needed to think.


Éomer was sat with his back against a tree in the Gardens of Ithilien, widely regarded as the most beautiful gardens in all of Gondor, but it was not his sister’s handiwork that concerned Éomer now. Éomer hated himself for what he had done to Éowyn, and he felt wretched that she and Faramir had covered for him yet again. Éomer knew that these were emotions that his so called demons could feed on, but he refused to let them; he was going to find a way to destroy them once and for all.

All he needed to do was discover the emotion that gave them most power, and then find a way to eliminate that emotion; easier said than done.

Éomer sat racking his brains for the best part of an hour, trying without much success to find the root of all of his problems. He mentally went through all the major events in his life, trying to sort through the emotions he had felt at the time, but he failed to find a solution to his problems; his demons were still laughing at him somewhere inside his head. Éomer buried his head in his hands in despair.

I wish Lothíriel were here he thought miserably. Then he lifted his head up, realisation slowly dawning in him at last. His hands reached to his throat to where his swan pendant hung, almost forgotten. He took it off and turned it over in his hands, remembering at last what he had discovered that night he had almost killed himself, that night he had blocked out of his memory.

This simple gift, nothing more than a necklace had saved him, and at last he knew why. It was a gift from someone very dear to him, someone who cared about him and had lent him strength when he most needed it; and so the pendant lent him strength too. The swan necklace was a gift from someone he loved; for Éomer realised now that he did indeed love Lothíriel, and Éomer felt stupid for not realising it sooner. What he had to do was clear to him now, and excitedly he set about preparing for his journey.


An hour later Éowyn came out of the house to find out what all the commotion was about, to find her brother sat astride Firefoot in a set of armour he had purloined from the Ithilien armouries and quite obviously prepared for a long journey.

“Éomer! What in the blazes do you think you are doing?”

“I have to go to Dol Amroth Éowyn,” replied her brother, who was trying to convince the gate keeper to let him out.

“What the hell for? Éomer I don’t think you should attempt this right now,” warned Éowyn when her brother looked as if he would argue with her.

“I have to get to Dol Amroth!” Éomer almost shouted, “Trust me on this!” Éowyn though that her brother had lost his mind completely and was about to voice this opinion when she felt her husband’s hand on her arm.

“It’s alright,” he said to Éowyn more than to Éomer, “You go get your girl Éomer.”

Éowyn wondered what the hell her husband was on about for a moment before it dawned on her. Éomer merely smiled; the ever astute Faramir had of course known how he felt all along. Faramir had known the solution to Éomer’s problem but had had to ensure he stayed alive long enough to discover it for himself.

“Thank you.” He said simply.

“Any time, little brother,” said Faramir with an affectionate smile on his face, “Now go.”

Éomer kicked Firefoot into motion and was gone, bound for Dol Amroth and his fair lady.

“He is healed.” Said Éowyn.

“Almost,” replied Faramir “Almost.”

Chapter 8- Dol Amroth

Éomer had envisioned some slight problems about his unexpected trip to Dol Amroth, but he hadn’t envisioned them being problems with getting into the palace. The Doorward at the Palace had evidently heard too many of the rumours surrounding the ‘madman’ King of Rohan and was obstinately refusing to grant Éomer entry.

“Listen you damned fool I am the King of the Riddermark; open the flaming door!” barked Éomer attempting rather unsuccessfully to keep his notoriously fiery temper in check; he would bear scars for the rest of his life from the last time he lost his temper.

“Sorry milord, but I can’t do that. No offence sir but they say you admitted to being mad, and I can’t let a madman in to see my lord the Prince.”

“I may be mad but now you are making me angry,” warned Éomer “Open the door.” When the door ward looked like arguing for the umpteenth time Éomer cut across him. “If you listened to the rumours properly you’d realise that I am more of a danger to myself than to anyone else.” The Doorward didn’t have a satisfying argument to this and so reluctantly he let Éomer in.


Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth looked up as someone barged into the council room unannounced. His face quickly turned to surprise when he saw who it was.

“Éomer King, what brings you to my door?” Éomer smiled inside that someone still recognised his authority.

“Prince Imrahil, I am sorry for the unexpected visit but I really must speak with Princess Lothíriel.” Elphir wasn’t the only one on the council who looked jumpy at that announcement. Imrahil however didn’t flinch.

“She’s out in the terraced garden, reading if I know her.” he smiled.

Éomer murmured his thanks and set off, quite definitely distracted. Once out the room the council erupted into a thousand protests about “that madman being allowed to be alone with the Princess.” Imrahil calmly stated that he trusted Éomer with his life and most certainly trusted him with his daughter before matter-of-factly returning to the issues at hand.


Lothíriel was indeed sat in the terraced garden, reading a book on the histories of Gondor and looking out over the sea. It was a fine day, the sun was warm on her face, and Lothíriel pitied anyone stuck inside at that moment. Lothíriel heard a slight commotion in the corner of the garden and looked up to find Éomer striding across the lawn towards her wearing the livery of Ithilien.

Lothíriel’s first thought was how good it was to see her friend again; her second was how good he looked. His muscles once again looked impressive under the fine armour he wore, and there was pride, dignity and power in his gait once more. But it was his face that was most striking; the wind whipped cords of his golden hair about a face that spoke of nobility despite the unkempt beard on the chin, and his eyes showed none of his troubles, and held the most happiness Lothíriel had seen in them in a long time. There was much more to behold in those tender brown eyes, and none of it spoke of demons or knives or self harming.

“What in Arda’s name are you doing here?” Lothíriel called when Éomer was near enough.

“Am I not allowed to come visit my dearest friend?” he grinned as he swept her into a warm embrace. “I missed you.” he whispered into Lothíriel’s ear.

“I missed you too.” She replied as he released her from his bear-hug, “Which is why I am surprised to see you here. I never got one letter, not even to tell me you were safe and well and back in Emyn Arnen.” Éomer’s eyes changed then, and a hint of sorrow crept in, but Lothíriel saw something else in his eye that she thought she recognised, though she did not take it for granted; Éomer’s emotions were rather unpredictable. “Why are you here Éomer?” she asked not quite keeping the suspicion out of her voice.

“To bring you the wonderful news that I am healed in my mind, or very nearly so. There is just one thing I have left to do.”

“What do you have to do?” asked Lothíriel, not liking the seeming distress in Éomer’s eyes as he told her he was well again. Lothíriel could see he was scared, but she could not understand why.

“Valar Lothíriel I’ve been such a damned fool!” he burst out suddenly “The answer was right in front of my face all the time and I was too stupid to see it!”

“What answer Éomer?” as a reply Éomer took out the swan pendant Lothíriel had given him.

“It was there all those months ago; I knew what I had to do back in November, but I allowed myself to be distracted and I forgot about it. I recognised the power this simple gift had and I allowed my own self concocted demons to hide it from me because I was scared of the truth. I did not dare believe it was so simple.” Éomer stepped closer to Lothíriel and showed her the pendant with a smile back on his face and in his eyes. “This pendant helped you through the darkest hour of your life, because your mother gave you it. It was a gift from someone you loved dearly and who loved you in return. It provided support because when you held it you remembered the love your mother gave you. When I held this little swan I remembered the friendship and support you have shown me since the beginning, and I realised that you are the only one who can truly save me. I love you, Lothíriel, more than I ever thought I could love anyone, and will only truly be saved if you can tell me that you love me too.”

Lothíriel looked surprised for a moment as she absorbed what Éomer had just said, before breaking out into a wide smile.

“Éomer you are the biggest bloody fool there is. I knew I loved you when I gave you that pendant; I have loved you since the moment I first met you. My mother told me that the only person I was to give this to was the man I planned to spend the rest of my life with. I loved you enough to know that then and I love you even more know.” Lothíriel stepped towards Éomer’s waiting arms and whispered in his ear. “You are free.”

“No,” he murmured “I am home.”

Then their lips met and they were lost to the world, lost in each others embrace. Neither were aware how long they stood there; they had both waited far too long for this to worry about such trivial matters. Both were amazed at the hidden passion that had been bubbling under the surface of both of them, and when the pair finally surfaced, both were struggling for breath even though the kiss had started off as tender, an exploration of the unknown.

“Did you say something about me being the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?” asked Éomer with a grin.

“I think, Éomer King, that we will have to if you keep kissing me like that!” Éomer laughed.

“Marry me?” he murmured against Lothíriel’s lips before gently kissing her.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Said Lothíriel with a happy smile on her face.

Éomer laughed, and kissed her again, and again, and again. He never wanted to stop kissing this wonderful woman, and he could not remember feeling as good as he did when Lothíriel was in his arms. They only stopped kissing each other when the dinner bell went, and Éomer realised he was still in a set of armour borrowed from his brother-in-law’s armoury with nothing else to change into. Reluctantly he released Lothíriel and set of to see if he could borrow some clothes form someone.


Imrahil sidled over to where the young King of Rohan was watching the dancing. He looked fine in an open necked tunic made of a light blue colour; Dol Amroth’s colours as he had borrowed it from Imrahil’s eldest son Elphir. The open neck allowed the Prince to see something very interesting; Éomer was wearing a beautiful silver swan pendant, with just a single sapphire.

“So it was you that she gave it to?” asked Imrahil by way of greeting. Éomer looked surprised at first, but quickly put his hand to his neck, understanding what it was the Prince was talking about. He smiled and nodded. “I thought she had. Lothíriel stopped wearing it some months ago, but insisted that she had simply put it away for safe keeping. I knew she wasn’t telling the truth, but also that she would tell me who she had given her heart to when she was ready.”

“Are all Gondorians so perceptive?” asked Éomer pretending to sound annoyed.

“No,” laughed Imrahil “Just the ones with elvish blood. Faramir knows as well?” Éomer nodded.

“Faramir knew before even I found the intelligence to work it out; and he probably knew of Lothíriel’s intentions when she gave me this pendant last spring.”

“Indeed, I am sure he did.” Imrahil cocked his head, as if in amusement. “I think that you will make an excellent son-in-law Éomer.”

“Then you give your consent for me to marry your daughter? What will the rest of Gondor think about Lothíriel marrying the madman King of Rohan?” Éomer looked and sounded slightly worried, but Imrahil never stopped smiling.

“They probably will not like it but frankly I don’t give a damn! You have shown immense courage Éomer; you have faced your innermost fears and demons and overcome overwhelming odds to find yourself again. You stood tall and brave at the Black Gate and fought for the freedom of Gondor on the Pelennor Field before the gates of the White City and for that you won great renown, but the greatest battles are fought within ourselves. Few who endure such emotional and psychological torment come through as you have; you are a blessed man Éomer King.”

“Éadig,” murmured Éomer quietly.

“Pardon?” asked Imrahil.

“Éadig,” replied Éomer “It means blessed in the Rohirric tongue.”

“Very well then, Éomer Éadig you shall be. Now if you will excuse me a moment.” Imrahil moved away to the dais at the end of the hall, and the next thing Éomer knew Imrahil had called the room to attention in order to make a speech.

“Ladies and Gentleman, Lords and Ladies of Gondor, I have great news indeed for our lands. Éomer, King of Rohan has asked for the hand of my daughter, Princess Lothíriel, which she grants full willing, and thus, so do I. Therefore I have great pleasure in announcing the betrothal of King Éomer the Blessed to my daughter, Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth.”

For a moment the room stood still in a shocked silence, the noble of Dol Amroth hardly able to believe the folly of their Prince. The first to move was Prince Elphir, who strode over to where Éomer was stood looking slightly tense to say the least. Elphir held his hand out to the King which Éomer took and shook nervously.

“I believe congratulations are in order upon your betrothal, brother.” Éomer smiled at the last word, and Elphir returned the grin and took Éomer into a brotherly embrace. “Forgive me for doubting in you, brother,” whispered Elphir in Éomer’s ear “but by your own words we all thought you mad.”

“You are quite forgiven Elphir, and I swear I will make Lothíriel Queen.” Elphir nodded as he drew back.

“When a man’s engagement is announced it is a polite custom to offer the couple a toast,” said Elphir almost angrily as he looked to his father.

“To Éomer Éadig and Lothíriel of Dol Amroth; long may you be happy together,” called the Prince by way of a toast, which was reluctantly taken up by the nobles.

“Éomer Éadig and Princess Lothíriel,” called the assembled nobles as the pair in question grinned at each other across the room.

There was still much work to be done, but Éomer was going to be all right at last.

Chapter 9- Leaving

Éomer spent a blissful month in Dol Amroth; the most wonderful time he had ever spent in his whole life that he could remember unless it was those months with Faramir, Éowyn and Lothíriel the previous year.

During that time Éomer began his rehabilitation into the world in which he would have to walk if, when, he took up his throne once more. Many hours were spent in council with Prince Imrahil, his sons and other nobles striking preliminary agreements on trade arrangements and other such bureaucracy.

Many blissful hours were also spent on the beach with Lothíriel, and the couple soon became the talk of the City, not least because of their ‘inappropriate’ displays of affection for one another. Not that either Éomer or Lothíriel cared one jot; they were just glad to be together, and happy that for once things seemed to be going right for Éomer.

Éomer was thankful that Dol Amroth largely kept itself to itself, and as such there were no rumours escaping to other parts of Gondor or even to Rohan of the betrothal of the King of Rohan and Princess of Dol Amroth, nor of Éomer’s rehabilitation into the world of politics and his seeming recovery.

Éomer would fight his battles, when and where he chose to fight them.

But Éomer knew he could not stay in the blissful peace and security of Dol Amroth forever; there was still one battle left to fight, and it could only be fought in Rohan. The only trouble was tearing himself away from Lothíriel, but she had to be told, and so Éomer faced his love one night about his departure.


Éomer went to Lothíriel in the evening, when the stars were just out and the flowers fragranced the air in the garden she was sat in, reading as ever. The first thing Lothíriel noticed was the glum look on Éomer’s face, and not being one to beat about the bush, she asked him what was wrong. Éomer sighed deeply.

“All is not well in the world; a kingdom is without her king, and that king dwells in exile. True, many generations have not yet passed but Rohan still awaits the return of her own king even as Gondor has done in all the days of my forefathers.”

“You are leaving.” Lothíriel did not ask, she merely stated, and she could not meet Éomer’s eye.

“Aye, though it tears me apart to do so, and I know that I will leave my heart behind in Dol Amroth.” Lothíriel at last looked at her betrothed. “I swore to Elphir that I would make you queen.”

Lothíriel crossed to where Éomer was stood and placed her hands on his chest as she looked tenderly into her beloved’s eyes.

“Not all your battles are yet won, and I must wait patiently as ever until you have triumphed again.”

“I have just one more thing left to do, and were it not for you, Lothíriel, I would not be able to fight this last battle. You have made me whole again, and I will spend the rest of my life paying off this debt that I owe you; I love you.”

“I love you too,” whispered Lothíriel.

Then their lips met in a tender kiss that neither Éomer nor Lothíriel was willing to break for a very long time, for they knew that it would be their last kiss until they met once more, whenever that was to be.

Éomer would leave in the morning.

Chapter 10- Éomer King’s Final Battle

Three figures on horseback raced across the plains of Rohan towards the capital, Edoras. They did not slow as they approached the gates of the city, and the guards did not dare stand on their way. The three riders made their way up the hill to the Golden Hall of Meduseld, the seat of the Kings of the Riddermark. They ascended the steps and at the sight of the riders’ golden haired leader the guards stood up straight and admitted him without question.


Éomer swept into the Golden Hall and his eyes were immediately drawn to a group of men stood around a table upon the dais at the far end. One man’s face in particular drew Éomer’s eyes.

“What is he doing in my hall?” bellowed Éomer, drawing the attention of everybody in the vicinity.

“I could ask you the very same thing,” replied the councillor Tyrannon with a very smug look on his face.

“Last I looked, Éomer, not Tyrrannon was King of Rohan,”

“And last I knew Éomer King had stepped down from his throne, willingly, knowing himself to be unfit for rule due to an unsound mind,” retorted the politician.

“It was not a permanent abdication and I fully intended to return when I was fully fit once more.”

Éomer was starting to get angry, but was doing a very good job of suppressing his temper. The sensible Rohirrim decided that their King was far more frightening when his temper was just bubbling under the surface, but under control. Tyrannon however seemed to have a reckless streak and ploughed on.

“And who has judged you to be fit, Éomer King.”

“Not you Tyrannon, you have not the right! By heritage you are Gondorian, though you do your country no credit, and as such you cannot judge the Kings of the Mark!”

Éomer let his temper out a little then.

“It seems to me that you are having trouble with your temper Éomer King, are you sure you are ready to rule a kingdom?”

Tyrannons voice was laced with silk and slime, and Éomer recognised the tone, especially when Gamling, Elfhelm and Éothain, who were stood nearby looked like agreeing with the Gondorian.

“Silence snake!” bellowed Éomer suddenly, “I swore when I took the throne that I would not allow such leech-craft in my halls again. It seems that in my absence a Worm has once more judged Rohan to be weak and ready for the taking.”

Éomer looked livid, and Tyrannon was suddenly afraid of the power the young King seemed to possess. Éomer walked slowly up to the politician until they were stood face to face, and then the King hissed in Tyrannon’s ear.

“Grima’s leech-craft and lust for power turned out to be his downfall; be sure you do not meet the same sticky end.” Then Éomer stood back and called to his guards. “Guards, please escort this man to the dungeons, I trust they will be more suited to his temperament.”

“Stay where you are!” barked Tyrannon suddenly and angrily. The guards seemed unsure of which order to follow.

“Eorlingas,” called Éomer loudly “Who would you follow, your King who is of the house of Eorl, or this Gondorian politician of no house of renown?”

The guards decided to obey their king, and Tyrannon was dragged to the dungeons kicking and screaming. When the politician was safely out of sight Éomer turned and looked at his councillors with a strange look upon his face; a mixture of anger, defiance and a demand for respect.

“Well,” said Gamling with a sigh, “I think we can safely say that the King of Rohan has quite definitely returned and means business.” The other advisors fidgeted a little.

“What puzzles me,” said Éomer, traces of his earlier anger still evident in his voice, “Is why perfectly sensible and I hope, loyal, advisors such as yourselves would fall for the charms of such a man.”

“He said that King Elessar had sent him to offer his advice while Rohan was without her King. We had no reason to disbelieve him.” said Éothain. Éomer pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It did not occur to you that he might have brought about my being removed from office intentionally in an attempt to seize power over Rohan?” All three advisors looked stunned. “Well now I know I have the most dim-witted councillors in Middle-Earth, I hope that I can still count on them for their loyalty.”

“What puzzles me most, my lord, is why the King of the Riddermark chooses to make his dramatic return garbed in the livery of Ithilien and escorted by two Swan Knights of Dol Amroth.” Elfhelm’s only defence against the glare his King shot him was the smile upon his face.

“Well I would have preferred to have had my own set of armour, but apparently someone saw fit to bring that back to Rohan. I am escorted by Swan Knights because Prince Imrahil did not wish me to return to Rohan from Dol Amroth alone.”

“And why was our King in Dol Amroth?” inquired Gamling. All present were surprised when Éomer’s stern countenance finally melted.

“I went to seek the hand of Princess Lothíriel from her father. We were troth-plighted almost six weeks ago. Imrahil at least has faith in the soundness of my mind.”

“Éomer, you are honestly telling me that you are to wed the Princess of Dol Amroth?” Éothain looked incredulous

“Yes,” smiled Éomer, “Rohan is to have a Queen after more than forty years. Finally the Rohirrim will have something to celebrate.”

Then Éomer turned to one of the orderlies and gave him instructions in his own tongue. Once the servant had bustled off to fulfil the task given to him, Gamling turned to Éomer.

“Pardon me for asking my lord, but why to you require a tunic bearing The White Horse and a green cloak?”

“There is one last thing I must do before I can call myself King again; I must seek the approval of the people I serve.”

“Is that such a wise idea Éomer? After all, you made sure that it was known around Rohan about your, ahem, condition.”

Just then the servant returned with the items Éomer had requested. He removed the cloak he was wearing and donned the surcoat and cloak he had just been given.

“A king cannot be a king without the approval of the people he rules else he would be a tyrant. Look at me Gamling; do I look like a tyrant to you?”

“No my lord, you are no tyrant.” replied Gamling.

“Then I must see my people.”


A horn blew, and the people of Edoras looked up from their work to see a tall figure stood on the steps of the Golden Hall. His countenance was stern as he surveyed the city, and his golden hair and the green cloak he wore blew about him in the wind; there was no mistaking that this was the King of the Riddermark. For a long moment no one moved or spoke; a young Rider was the first to stir. Hesitantly he walked up the steps to the Meduseld until he was stood before his King. Slowly he drew his sword from its sheath, laid it at Éomer’s feet, before stepping back and crying out “Hail Éomer King!” The cry was taken up by the people as they all fell to their knees before the King.

Éomer’s features curved into a small smile before he turned his attention to the young lad knelt at his feet. He bent down and put his fingers under the lad’s chin, forcing him to meet his eye.

“What is your name son?” asked the King in a kind voice.

“Hereric son of Herefara my lord.” Replied the young man.

“Arise then, Hereric, son of Herefara, I owe you much.”

“Pardon me, your Majesty, but I do not understand how you owe me anything.” the poor lad looked terrified that the King could owe him anything.

“A King is no King without a Kingdom, and a Kingdom cannot exist without its people. My throne rested upon the will of the people, and all it takes is one solitary voice to woo the people; I owe you my throne, Hereric.” Éomer smiled, “Come Hereric, I must greet my people.”

Éomer spent many hours greeting his people, telling them his good news, assuring them of his health, and promising them a brighter future than they had had in a long time. When Éomer finally went back into the Golden Hall he sat down with his councillors and advisors to discuss events that had occurred during his absence, and how the King meant to move on from here.

When Éomer finally found a moment to himself it was very late indeed, and he was still wearing the armour he had travelled in, and the tunic and cloak he had requested earlier. Instead of ordering a bath and retiring to bed, he sat down behind his desk and began to write a letter to Lothíriel. He told her that he had arrived safely home, and that all was well now; he wrote of the events of the day he had had, and also informed her that preparations for the wedding would begin on the morrow.

Éomer finally went to bed that night feeling that all was right with the world; everything was at long last going to be okay.

Chapter 11- The Wedding

Éomer looked around the Golden Hall at the many drinking, dancing and laughing people. Edoras and even the whole of Rohan were celebrating, and this seemed strange to Éomer after the land lying so long in darkness. For a moment he closed his eyes and remembered the event that had brought such joy to his people.

In his mind he could still see Lothíriel’s smiling eyes as he uttered his vows to her; as he had proclaimed complete and everlasting love and devotion to her before the entire world. And when her voice had faltered as she repeated her vows, all he had to do was give her a small smile and there was courage and conviction once again in her words.

Éomer’s eyes searched around the hall, looking for Lothíriel amongst the many drunk and bawdy men of Rohan. His gaze finally rested upon his wife who was dancing with her cousin, while a heavily pregnant Éowyn looked on with a smile. Éomer wove his way through the crowd, hindered only by well-wishers who wished to offer their congratulations to their king upon his marriage. Finally he stood upon the dance floor in the path that Lothíriel and Faramir wished to take, causing them to stop in their tracks.

“Yes, can I help you?” enquired Faramir politely. Éomer smiled.

“I have come to relieve you of my wife, dear brother; it is time she was returned to me.”

“As you wish my lord,” replied Faramir formally, bowing to the king of Rohan.

Éomer took Faramir’s place as Lothíriel’s partner, and for a moment the two newlyweds were simply content to be in one another’s company. But soon enough Lothíriel’s curiosity got the better of her, and she voiced her musings.

“What was that about, with you and Faramir?” Éomer smiled, something he which seemed to be doing more and more of.

“I was simply teasing him, my love. And anyway, he looks quite content to be with his own wife.”

Lothíriel glanced over at her cousin and had to agree, Faramir looked none too bothered that Éomer had stolen his dance partner. When Lothíriel looked back at her husband he was looking at her with a strange smouldering look in his eyes.

“I love you.” he said simply.

“I love you too,” replied Lothíriel, but the look in her eyes belied the words she said.

Éomer halted their dance and pulled his wife close to his chest.

“What troubles you my love? Tonight is supposed to be a celebration.”

“There will be other battles to fight, and I fear that I cannot help you to win all of them.”

Éomer took her chin in his hand and raised Lothíriel’s head to meet her eyes.

“You have already helped me to win the greatest battle I have ever fought. You have equipped me with the shield of you love and the sword of hope. I will prevail in all my battles because I know that you will be waiting here for me to come home to, and that thought is warming indeed to my heart.”

Lothíriel had no words to truly reply to what he had just said, so she leant up and kissed him instead.

“You finally have the happy ending you so longed for, my love.” said Lothíriel tenderly stroking her husband’s cheek.

“No I don’t,” said Éomer “This is no ending, but the beginning of the rest of our lives together. The end will never come for us as long as we love each other.”

“I didn’t think you were a man of such poetry,” she teased “I had thought Faramir was more inclined to spout such flowery words.”

“Don’t get used to it.” growled Éomer in return, pretending to be annoyed.

“Anyway, that is enough talking; I have plans for you this evening, O my darling wife.”

And with that Éomer kissed Lothíriel soundly, much to the appreciation of the roaring crowd. When he had done he scooped her up in his arms and made his way to the door, completely oblivious to the jibes of those who knew perfectly well what was to come next for the two newlyweds.

Much later that night, when the stars were shining in the sky and fair Ithil was beginning his descent towards the earth, the King and Queen of Rohan finally saw fit to take their rest. And as the two lovers fell asleep, entwined in each others arms, Ithil who looked on thought that maybe, just maybe, even the deepest wounds can be healed with just a little bit of love.


This is the first part of my the sequel to 'The Deepest Wounds Bleed Not' in which we finally see a happy ending!

Title; The Greatest Battles Are Fought Within
Author; captainraz
Rating; PG-13
Warnings; mentions of self harming, suicide and general mental imbalance
Summary; Éomer triumphed over his demons, and now they are subdued. But his past will not stay secret, and his despair allows his demons to take hold once more. Caught once more in a downward spiral, Éomer knows he must do something to rid himself of despair once and for all. But first he must find the root of his problems, and learn so much about himself. In the end, will Éomer be able to fight his greatest battle alone?
Author's Notes- Once again, I own nothing but the plot, and there is every chance i may have lost that at some point!

Chapter 1- Confessions

I can see,
When you stay low nothing happens
Doesn’t feel right
Late at night
Things I thought I put behind me
Haunt my mind

When Éomer, King of Rohan received the dispatch from King Elessar of Gondor that his presence was required at a week long summit of the Captains of the West, his heart leaped with joy. He had an excuse to travel to Gondor to visit his sister and brother-by-marriage, and his dear friend Lothíriel. Now that he was here, however, he had a different opinion.


Absently Éomer scratched the scars on his arm. Quiet reminders of a turbulent and violent past, evidence of demons not yet completely fought. Éomer’s thoughts however were not on such serious matters. His thoughts were not on anything at all, certainly anything but the council he was currently in attendance of.

It took all of Éomer’s self control to prevent himself from falling asleep. Being a warrior and a man of action, he hated councils at the best of times, but this man was so boring. Looking around the room he could tell he was not the only one who was bored to tears. All of the Dol Amroth party, including Lothiriel and her father, looked half awake; Éowyn and Faramir were entertaining themselves by sending flirty looks at each other, and playing ‘footsie’ under the table; Elessar appeared to be listening, but his eyes had long ago glazed over, and even Queen Arwen’s elven self control appeared to be being tested to the extreme. The others around the room were either fiddling and fidgeting, or attempting to stay awake.

The monotonous drone of the speaker’s voice was broken quite suddenly by someone snorting as they jolted themselves awake. The man who was speaking stopped suddenly, looking furious that someone would dare find his speech boring. King Elessar jumped in quickly to avert any conflict.

“I do believe that we could all do with a short break. Get some fresh air, clear our heads, stretch our legs.” He looked around for people to agree, and they were numerous. “This council is adjourned for one hour.” The speaker looked even more furious, but was not about to oppose his king.

Éomer watched as Aragorn took his wife’s arm and led her off, and Faramir and Éowyn did the same. He had the suspicion that they would not be using the free hour to stretch their legs. An almost unfamiliar feeling panged Éomer’s heart at that thought, but he shrugged it off.

Taking Aragorn’s advice he went outside into the gardens for a walk and some fresh air. After a short while he found a stone bench in an alcove and sat down, pondering. A few moments later, Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth wandered over and sat down next to Éomer King. Éomer stretched languorously.

“I’m glad to be out of that conference hall,” said Éomer, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who was more boring.”

“Quite,” agreed Lothíriel, “What was he actually talking about?”

“I’m not entirely sure; I lost the will to live after about ten minutes of listening to him drone on!” Éomer had meant the comment as a joke, but Lothíriel’s scowl told him she had taken it quite differently.

“What?” she said, her voice quiet and dangerous.

“Oh come on Lothíriel, you know I only meant it as a joke,” said Éomer sounding exasperated. He was sure he did not understand why she would react so to his comment.

“One should not joke about such things, Éomer King, especially not those such as you.” Éomer was stung by Lothíriel’s use of his title, and showed it by reacting angrily.

“I wouldn’t have thought that those such as you would not judge me such. You know better than that!” he growled.

“Well perhaps some us merely worry about you, and do not want to hear of you losing the will to live, even in jest.” Lothíriel rushed off then, and Éomer knew that she was in tears, and was utterly confused.

The hour passed all too quickly and all had to return to conference. Some were undeniably in a much better mood, and it was not hard to guess why. Éomer however entered the room scowling, and Lothíriel’s expression was unreadable. Sitting down in her place, she pointedly avoided Éomer’s gaze.


Indeed Lothíriel began to avoid Éomer altogether, and he remained utterly perplexed as to the severity of her reaction. He was also slightly angry that she was avoiding him so, when there was so much he really needed to tell her.

Éomer finally cornered Lothíriel on the fifth day of the week long summit. Unable to catch her any other way, Éomer grabbed her elbow as she passed by him, and pulled her into a dark side corridor.

“Hey! What…?” Éomer put his hand over her mouth to halt her protests.

“You have been avoiding me, and so I have been forced to use drastic measures in order to be able to talk to you.” Lothíriel angrily shook herself from his grip.

“You are a pig Éomer King!” Éomer looked stung, noticing that she was again using his formal title.

“Will you stop being so formal with me Lothíriel! I only wanted to talk to you, to tell you exactly why I am not going to lose the will to live just because of some silly, boring old man at a summit!”

Lothíriel calmed down significantly, and looked both worried and fearfully curious.

“Why…” Éomer lowered his eyes and his voice.

“Because I’ve already come so close to letting go on life.” Lothíriel’s eyes widened and she had to fight back tears at the thought.

“Oh Éomer! When? Why?”

“About three months ago. I told you I had started cutting again, but the response I had from you was nowhere near enough to pull me out of my despair. This time I almost went too far, this time I became suicidal.”

“No!” gasped Lothíriel. Éomer nodded grimly.

“I even got as far as putting my knife to my throat. I had everything prepared for in the event of my death. I was ready to die.”

“What stopped you?” Éomer smiled slightly, and that surprised Lothíriel.

“You did. Or at least, your necklace did.”

“My necklace?” Lothíriel sounded confused, and Éomer put his hand to the swan at his throat.

“Yes. You told me that it would help me through my darkest times, and it did. I recognised the power it held, and it saved my life.”

“And yet you still make jokes about losing the will to live?” Lothíriel’s voice sounded both incredulous and hurt at the same time, if that was possible.

“I didn’t think. I didn’t think about how my words would hurt you.” Lothíriel knew that was the closest thing to apology she was going to get. “It is in the past, and a past that I am trying to forget. I didn’t think.” He ended lamely.

“You shouldn’t want to forget about something like that Éomer. It is not yet fully gone, is it? It could come back, you could start cutting again if you go downhill, couldn’t it?” Éomer nodded sadly, tears forming in his eyes. It felt like the wall he had built around his feelings that last few weeks had just crumbled, and now everything was just pouring out.

“Oh Éomer!” said Lothíriel, folding him in her embrace, tears falling down her cheeks. “Tell me everything.”

For over an hour they sat to together, crying in the dark. All of the grief and despair the Éomer had tried to hide came flooding out and Lothíriel did her best to comfort him. Together they went over the past with a fine-toothed comb, trying to come to terms with all that had happened to Éomer since the War of the Ring. Lothíriel sat and comforted Éomer, and listened to his troubles, his hopes and his fears, just like she had promised him.

When neither of them had any tears left to cry, Lothíriel wiped her friend’s face and they both went to dinner, somehow managing to hide form the world what had just transpired. Eomer certainly felt better for having talked, but he knew that his troubles were far from over.

Neither of them knew about the figure who had waited in the shadows, listening intently to every word. No, Éomer’s real troubles were only just beginning.

Chapter 2- the beginning of greater troubles

I just know there’s no escape now once it’s set its eyes on you
But I won’t have had to stare it in the eye

Stand my ground
I won’t give in
No more denying
I’ve got to face it
Won’t close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don’t make it someone else will
Stand my ground

The final day of the conference had finally arrived, and King Elessar was just about to officially end the day’s council when a cunning politician by the name of Tyrannon rose and begged leave to speak.

“My lord Elessar, there is one item yet which I wish to be discussed.” Elessar nodded wearily.


“I wish to bring in to question Éomer King’s ability to rule.” The room was thrown into chaos at this statement. Éomer merely groaned, knowing what this was about. Faramir, Éowyn and Lothíriel all jumped to their feet, shouting in protest, and the other lords of Rohan added their voices to the tumult. Even Elessar sat forward in his chair in surprise, hiding well the fact he also knew what this was about.

“Faramir!” shouted Éomer, silencing the room. “All you three sit down; let us hear this man’s accusations.”

“Lord Tyrannon, know you that the consequences could be dire if your accusations prove unfounded. On what grounds do you seek to depose King Éomer?” warned King Elessar.

“I wish to bring in to question his mental well-being. The accusations which I level are grave indeed. I put forward that Éomer King is incapable of ruling on the grounds of several of his actions. I have heard admitted from his own mouth that for months he has intentionally been cutting his arms with a knife for no understandable purpose. I also heard admitted two circumstances which are serious indeed. The first is an occurrence in which Éomer King hacked his own arm to pieces in anger, admitting that if he had not done so he would quite likely have killed your own Steward, my lord. The second is more alarming still; that Éomer King took it into his head to commit suicide, and took it as far as putting a knife to his throat before being deterred. Need I say more?”

The entire room looked on in stunned silence at these accusations, though they were not revelations to all. Éomer stood slowly and sadly, facing Lord Tyrannon.

“I will not deny the allegations which have been put forward against me. There are scars upon my body which were caused by my own hand, I will admit that. I will also say to you that I would not expect any one of you to understand my reasons for doing so, and I do not care to explain them. I will however contend with the question of my ability to rule my country; my personal torment has not affected Rohan thus far.”

“But you did attempt to commit suicide.” Argued Tyrannon.

“I intended to, but I did not attempt. None of your claims can I truthfully deny; for indeed was I troubled in mind.” Éomer paused and thought out his next words, and he knew that saying them could be a rash move indeed. “I will not deny you allegations, but neither will I allow your condemnation; it is not granted to any lord of Gondor to judge the Kings of Rohan fit to rule or not. Leave is given only to the people whom I serve, and that power is afforded to only three in this room. Therefore ere we depart let us hear their judgment, by which I shall abide, and let us conclude this business at this time.”

The three lords of Rohan who were present squirmed in their seats, none wanting to speak first. Neither Gamling nor Elfhelm nor Éothain wished to betray their King, yet they had been bidden by him to pass judgement. None of them dared speak treason, even in foreign halls.

“Come now, let us be done with this business. In my halls your judgement shall not stand as treason, not when you have been commanded by your King to speak thus.” Said Elessar, forcing his words out. He did not want to see his friend removed from office, but he wanted to be done with the uncomfortable affair.

“Éomer is my King, by blood and by deed. As my captain he fought beside me, and I counted him as my friend. Thus I shall not speak against him, for it is not the place of a Marshall to bring his King to account.” Éothain spoke first, and when he was done he sat in his seat, glaring at the other two Rohirrim. Éomer gave a small smile, thankful for the support, but he knew the other two could still vote against him.

“I put my faith in the bloodline of Eorl. Éomer is my King, yet even a king needs rest. If he would take my advice I should advise him to make the most of the leave of absence he has been afforded in the next two months, that he may better rule when he returns.” Elfhelm’s judgement was not condemning, but still suggested he took a rest form duties. Gamling stood to pass his judgement.

“I have heard the claims made against my king, and heard the admissions from his own mouth. For me it serves to make sense of Éomer’s behaviour of recent months. Moody and withdrawn he has been about his personal life, but I have not known it to have affected his rule. Quite the opposite, I have seen my lord throw himself passionately into his duties and shown unswerving commitment to the people of the Mark. But I have heard him admit that he would have killed himself, and this sits badly with me. The death of the King would have affected the people of the Riddermark.

“Yet still I stand by Éomer, for he is King by right of blood and by strength of deed and by the word of the late King Théoden. Éomer is the rightful King of the Mark, and the authority to depose him does not belong to any lord of Gondor. This then is my judgement; Éomer is King, and shall remain thus, yet I would have him stand down for a time to confront that which so obviously has troubled him, that he might return to Rohan when he is judged to be ready.”

Gamling sat when his speech was over, and there was silence in the hall until Éomer stood to speak.

“You have heard the judgements passed upon me, and true to my word I shall abide by them.” Faramir was shaking his head, his eyes wide open. He stood up suddenly in protest.

“You cannot!” nearly everyone in the room looked surprised at Faramir’s uncharacteristic rashness. “You cannot do this Éomer!” Éomer simply locked gazes with his brother-in-law and continued.

“As of this moment, I stand down from my throne and pass the care of Rohan to my three lords in this room, for a time.” Faramir bowed his head and muttered no to himself. Others in the room simply looked shocked at the turn of events, and Éowyn and Lothíriel seemed to be struggling with tears. “With that business concluded I do believe that this council is ended. There is nothing more to say. Lord Elessar.” Éomer nodded to the King of Gondor and left the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. Slowly people began to move and leave.

Elessar looked in a foul mood and motioned to his Steward and the Dol Amroth party.

Tyrannon was one of the last to leave the room, and Éomer was waiting for him. As the politician left the room Éomer grabbed hold of him and dragged him into the shadows, pinning him to the wall.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” protested Tyrannon.

“I am giving you a warning. I do not know what you think you have gained by removing me from office, but I tell you now; you have not won. I will return to Rohan to take up my seat in the Golden Hall once more.” Tyrannon smiled wryly.

“When you have been judged fit.”

“And who is judging me? You have not the right.”

“You are a madman Éomer; they won’t let you back, not if I have anything to do with it.”

“You want to be careful, I’ve just about had enough of you.” said Éomer dangerously, letting his temper show just enough as to be a warning.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.” And with that Éomer walked off, not letting Tyrannon see just how upset he was at this turn of events.

The whole world would know, and the whole world would judge, whether they had the right or not.

Chapter 3- further down the spiral

The White City was still tingling with the revelation of Éomer King’s abdication when the Rohan party was leaving three days later. Éomer had spent very little time with his friends, and hadn’t been seen at all in public.

The party was stood in a courtyard on the sixth level, just outside the Citadel entrance. All three Rohirrim Lords and their guard were incredibly subdued, the burden of the task ahead weighing down on their minds and on their spirits. Many had gathered to see them off, but all were equally subdued because of Éomer’s admittance, resignation and apparent retreat into recluse. Aragorn Elessar was bidding farewell and offering advice to Gamling when an unexpected person made an unexpected appearance.

Éomer look weary and dishevelled; he had obviously not slept much and his eyes looked laced with drink. He wore simple breeches and a shirt that was only half tucked in. No longer was he the tall and regal warrior king they all knew, nor did he pretend to be. No one had expected him to turn up, but his untidy appearance surprised none in light of the recent revelations. Nodding briefly to those he passed in the now silent courtyard he made his way over to Gamling.

“This is a proclamation that I wish to be made all over Rohan.” Éomer’s voice was amazingly sober, but it was despondent. Gamling looked puzzlingly at him as Éomer handed him a piece of parchment. “The people of Rohan deserve to know the truth. They deserve to know of the madness of their king, and they have the right to judge me for themselves.”

“You are sure you wish to do this?” Gamling asked hesitantly taking the parchment.

“I will not lie to my people, and I will not lie to myself anymore. Please do this, for me.” Gamling nodded. Éomer smiled grimly. “I will be back, I promise you. I will not abandon my people.”

“And neither shall your people abandon you, Éomer King.” Replied Gamling with a salute, before spurring his horse and riding out. He was quickly followed by the rest of the party from Rohan.

Éomer stood watching the road long after everyone else had left, and long after the dust from the horses had settled. Eventually, as it turned dark, Éowyn and Lothíriel came out and made him go in for something to eat. Worry was clearly etched on the two women’s faces, and they were right to worry.

They didn’t know if Éomer would ever be the same man again.


After the party from Rohan had left Éomer returned to his hermit-like existence. He had been understandably crushed by his ‘problem’ being made public, but even he didn’t know how badly it had affected him. He did know that it was unlikely that he would ever be allowed to return to office and take his rightful place in the Golden Hall. Everyone in the world thought he was mad at best, and possessed of an evil spirit at worst. Éomer tried to avoid everyone that he could, spending long hours alone in his room. Not even Éowyn and Faramir could get through to him, and Lothíriel too was hard pressed to get anything coherent out of him.

Eventually, Lothíriel, Éowyn and Faramir were forced to tell him that they were going to Emyn Arnen as planned, and would leave him in Minas Tirith if he continued to sulk. It was common knowledge that Éomer had been drinking heavily since… but few knew the true extent of the destruction he was wreaking on his body, nor did many people know of the dangerous downward spiral that Éomer had once again placed himself on. Éowyn, Faramir and Lothíriel wanted him away from the public, and where they could keep an eye on him. Reluctantly Éomer agreed.


Éomer continued to drink heavily at Emyn Arnen. That was, until Faramir put his foot down rather hard because his brother-in-law had drunk half of the bottles of his favourite (and most potent) wine.

“That is the last straw, Éomer you drunkard!” Bellowed Faramir when he discovered his depleted wine rack. “How are you ever going to convince them that you are not mad if you age always drunk?”

“Define ‘them’.” Retorted Éomer “You don’t think I am mad, so who exactly is judging me? And I’m not drunk!”

“The whole world is judging you Éomer. You made your problem public, and now the whole world judges.” Éomer started to argue that he hadn’t made his problem public, but Faramir ignored him and continued. “And I think that you are a fool, you fall into the same trap time and time again and don’t seem to realise it. One day you won’t be able get out of that trap, and you will be so caught that we won’t be able to help you. It started with drink last time didn’t it?” asked Faramir quietly and pointedly.

Éomer bit back the tirade he had been planning. He knew what Faramir referred to, and in his heart he knew that Faramir was right. If he calmed his mind, cleared it of the alcohol induced fuzz, he could feel it. It was an almost tangible being, one that no one else knew was there, silently urging him to use his knife. He knew that that was why he had started drinking in the first place, the alcohol numbed the insistent nagging in his skull. But had it awaked a new monster?

Éomer shook his head violently, as if in denial.

“I need to think.” He said simply, and with that he walked out.

Chapter 4- the downward spiral (the bottom)

It’s all around,
Getting stronger, coming closer
Into my world
I can feel
That its time for me to face it
Can I take it?

Éomer disappeared after that, for two whole weeks. In that time it seemed as if half of Ithilien was running around trying to find the errant royal, and the other half was occupied trying to keep their Prince from finding himself and blowing a hole in Éomer’s head with his bow. To say that Faramir and his family were angry would be an understatement, but they were also very worried. The best rangers in all of Gondor could find no trace of him for two weeks, and in his state of mind it was obvious as to why they were so worried.


Éomer sat down upon a small hillock and wiped the rain from his face. It was pouring it down, and Éomer was soaked to the skin and shivering from cold, but he hardly noticed. Éomer didn’t quite know how long he had been out here, and was completely oblivious to the mayhem he was causing. He knew that he had neither eaten nor slept since he left Faramir standing looking puzzled in the wine cellar, but that didn’t bother him either. He needed to think.

He was scared. Once more he was on a downward spiral drawing him inexorably towards death and destruction, and even now, after all he had already been through, he felt more helpless than ever. He felt as if he was watching someone else’s fall into darkness, unable to help them. And Éomer knew that that was how it would seem, that he would be unable to do anything to help himself until he discovered the true reasons that gave his ‘demons’ their power.

For that was how Éomer saw them now, as demons. Living, breathing beings, ones that only he could see, ones that lived only in his head, and lived only to lead him to darkness. If Éomer had looked in a mirror then, his confused and troubled mind would have seen little shadows dancing on his shoulders, laughing and leering at his pathetic attempts to fight them. Their mere presence was a mockery of the noble and honourable man that Éomer truly was, the noble and honourable man that was fighting every moment to escape from these demons. But no matter how hard or how long he fought, Éomer knew that, ultimately, he was failing.

He was falling.

Éomer knew that somehow he had to go back to the start of all this. He had to find the root of all of this before he could truly be free, but how? All of Éomer’s life seemed to press in on him, suffocating him, preventing him from seeing or thinking clearly. Everywhere he looked in his life, there seemed to be a shadow over him. And for as long as he could remember there had been something missing from his life. Éomer strongly suspected that he wouldn’t know the source of his demons power until it was far too late.


Éomer returned to the Prince of Ithilien’s house a changed man. He no longer seemed to want to fight, he felt that he couldn’t. He no longer seemed to care what others thought of him, what did it matter anyway? How were other people’s opinions going to help him when they just thought he was mad? His face was gaunt and troubled, and he seemed to be bowed down by the weight of the shadows on his shoulders, shadows that only he could see. He was detached to the point where he just brushed off the absolute beating he received for having disappeared for over a fortnight.

Worst of all for Éomer was the news that Lothíriel had been forced to return to Dol Amroth while he had been gone. Unable to say goodbye, she had left him a letter, but still Éomer came close to complete and utter despair. He knew that a letter wouldn’t help him; it hadn’t in the past and it wouldn’t now. He needed Lothíriel there, with him, to guide him.

But she was gone; now he would have to do this alone, and that was what Éomer feared most.

Chapter 5- talk your way out of this

Though this might just be the ending of the life I held so dear
But I won’t run, there’s no turning back from here

Stand my ground
I won’t give in
No more denying
I’ve got to face it
Won’t close my eyes and hide the truth inside
If I don’t make it someone else will
Stand my ground

Éomer was sat in his room, alone again. Lothíriel had gone, and always there were duties for Éowyn and Faramir to be doing. It was the price you paid for being of noble station; you rarely had the time to spend with your family. And so Éomer was left alone in the fight against the monster that was himself.

Éowyn and Faramir had not been too happy about his little disappearing act and less happy when he seemed unbothered by their little rant when he returned. In the weeks since he had been back in Emyn Arnen, Éomer had been growing more and more certain that they too thought that he was mad. It wasn’t helping that the quiet urging had turned into an almost constant ache in the back of his mind. Thus far he’d managed to control it, but it was getting increasingly harder and harder.

Even as he sat there, in his room, he could hear the shadows in his mind giggling and laughing at him. He sat watching as they spat in his face, and his temples ached with the effort of resisting their insidious commands to pick up his knife and…

No! He would not think that. If he thought that then he would have lost for surely he would not be able to resist then. If he thought about it then he would do it, and he could not afford to take another step towards the doom that these demons promised him. although… if he did do it, then the debilitating nagging in his head would go away. He might actually be able to relax enough to get a decent nights sleep, untroubled by nightmares. All he had to do was pick up his knife…

“LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” bellowed Éomer suddenly, throwing his knife as hard as he possibly could through the window, shattering the glass. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!!”

Éowyn came rushing in then, brought running by the sound of smashing glass, and by Éomer’s bellowing. She entered to find her brother stood in the middle of the room, face contorted with anger and breathing heavily, shouting and gesticulating at some unknown foe.

“Éomer, what is it?” Éowyn asked gently and cautiously, she had no way of knowing how he would react to her presence when he was in this state. To her surprise, he turned towards her with tears in his eyes before collapsing on the floor sobbing. Éowyn rushed to his side and wrapped him in a huge hug.

“It’s just too much for me. Too many emotions and I can’t control them. Everyone thinks I’m mad and I do too; I have voices in my head Éowyn, demons sat upon my shoulders. I’m going mad and the whole world knows it.” Éomer wept into his sister’s shoulder, and Éowyn didn’t know what to think. Certainly her brother seemed to be mad, but then, if he truly was would he be able to identify that he was mad?

“Come on Éomer,” said Éowyn helping her brother to his feet, “We need to get you a cup of tea and then we are going to sit down and have a little talk.” Éomer merely sniffed and nodded, tears still streaming from his eyes.

“What are we going to do with you?” said Éowyn under her breath.


Ten minutes later Éomer was on his second cup of tea and feeling much better, although Éomer would credit this to that large shot of whiskey Éowyn had added rather than to the calming properties of the tea itself.

“Talk to me Éomer,” said Éowyn “What exactly is happening to you?” Éomer laughed, the first time he had done so since his ‘self-harming’ had become public.

“Apart from I’m going mad?” he asked ironically.

“At least he still has a sense of humour” muttered Éowyn. “You said that there are too many emotions and you can’t control them, would you care to elaborate?” Éomer sighed.

“It started off as grief, and as loneliness, but I already told you that. When I went back to Rohan after my four months here the loneliness hit me harder than ever, as did a depression I couldn’t control. You know of course that I started cutting again, and that I nearly killed myself?” Éowyn nodded grimly. “I can’t quite remember what, but I only stopped because I discovered something. Lothíriel’s pendant saved me, but for some reason I can’t remember what actually saved me. After that I was ok, I just threw myself into my duties. I wasn’t as happy as I could have been, but neither was I depressed, I supposed I just felt numb after what I had nearly done.”

“What do you mean, you don’t quite remember what actually stopped you from killing yourself?” asked Éowyn.

“They won’t let me.” Replied Éomer quietly.


“These voices I have in my head. The personification of all the bad emotions, the things that drove me to cutting myself in the first place. I see them as shadow demons sat on my shoulders, and even now they are laughing at me.” Éowyn looked sceptical. “See I told you I was mad.” Said Éomer with a laugh.

“And these… demons, they tell you to cut yourself and they stop you from remembering things?”

“Yes. I can ignore their urgings up to a point, that’s why I haven’t cut since the end of November.” Éowyn looked impressed that he hadn’t started cutting again since he had been removed from office.

“But why would they stop you from remembering things?”

“I think that that night, the night when I almost killed myself. I think that I discovered the true, deep reason why. I think I discovered the one incident, the one emotion that gives these demons their power, and they don’t want me to remember what that was.” Éowyn was worried that Éomer saw these emotions as actual beings, but could not deny the actual logic behind the words, and they seemed to have given her brother some courage. “I know how to beat these shadows, these demons. I know how I can be rid of them so that I am truly happy and I’ll never have problems like this again, I just need to find it within myself.”

“And I think you need help to do that.” Said Éowyn. “Think now for me Éomer, what is it that makes you… cut, what makes you tick? When is it that these ‘demons’ are at their most powerful?”

“You think that there is a catalyst?” asked Éomer with a frown. “Something that happens in my life to unleash these deep-set emotions?” Éowyn nodded.

“Think Éomer, right back to the beginning, what made you start cutting?”

“I don’t know. The War of the Ring had just been fought, we’d lost Théoden and Théodred, I’d been made King, and you got married. There was no one incident, it just got too much. I think I’d had a hard day that day.” Éomer shrugged Éowyn let it go.

“And when you hacked your arm to pieces at our house?”

“The argument with Faramir,” said Éomer immediately “We both just snapped.” He added sheepishly.

“When you returned home in September?”

“I didn’t start cutting until October, after a frustrating four weeks in Dunland”

“When you decided to kill yourself?”

“Disappointment at the lack of help I got from Lothíriel’s letter.”

“And when the ‘voices’ and ‘demons’ appeared?”

“Tyrannon,” said Éomer despondently “I might not have wanted to be King, but the position is mine by right and I have a duty to my people.”

“Éomer, demons or not do you really have to break my windows?” said Faramir casually from where he was leant against the doorframe. Neither Éomer nor Éowyn were sure of how much he had heard, but neither need have worried. Faramir walked over to give Éomer a hearty slap on the back. “You, my brother, are going to have to stop smashing my windows long enough to find the source of your problems and solve them so that you can return to Rohan.” Éomer looked puzzled at the comment, but was glad Faramir seemed to understand.

“I promised I would stand beside you no matter what Éomer, and I plan on keeping that promise. You will get through this.” reassured Faramir with a smile.

If Faramir could hear what Éomer could in his head he wouldn’t have been so sure, but he was glad of the support nonetheless.