The story is about a survivor of an orc invasion, Déorhild, who comes to Eodoras to seek help from King Théoden. However, due to her strange story and backround, no one really trusts her except for Éowyn and Éomer. Also, no one is really close to he...
Éomer suddenly halted, startling Déorhild who was riding on Inganiad. It was several days since they had left the stream and those days had been long, cold, and exhausting. Late November was no time to be traveling, especially at the pace they were going. Éomer had insisted on taking turns with one riding, the other walking. And he was very obstinent about Déorhild's refusal to ride for so long. "In Rohan, we honour our women," was his argument.
And Déorhild always shot back, "Then you must honour my request that you ride whilst I walk alongside. 'Tis not right that you should labor the many miles back to Eodoras while I weary your horse." So the long and short of it was, by this time, they were starting to get on one another's nerves.
Déorhild stared at Éomer who continued staring at the broad plain before them. "Why are we stopping?" she asked, startling the silence that had long fallen between them.
Éomer turned to look at her. "Because we are. We are not going any futher today."
Déorhild dismounted, puzzled. "I don't understand."
Éomer proceeded to unsaddle his horse and taken everything off of the mare's back. He slapped his horse's flank gently and Inganiad walked some distance off, beginning to tear up the dry grass and eating it. Then he turned to Déorhild, who stood puzzled, and answered, "The land we must go through is barren of any kind of tree or rock to give us shelter or to provide a hiding place should we be under attack." Then he added quietly, almost as if to himself. "And I have my own reasons for wanting to travel that land in broad daylight."
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Later, as the pale sun set in the west, leaving the land in darkness and a chill, biting wind blew over the land, Déorhild asked, "May I see your wound again?"
Éomer glanced at her and then pulled back his sleeve, revealing the not-so-very-white-anymore bandage. Déorhild came closer and undid it, peering in the dim light cast by the fire at the wound. Then silently, she took off the bandage and placed clean cloths on the wound, binding them up tightly, though not too tightly. Then she sat where she had before, staring into the fire.
Éomer spoke next. "You remind me of my father, Déorhild."
Déorhild stared at him. "What?"
"My father, Éomund."
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"But I thought your father was Théoden."
"Nay, nay. He is my uncle. His sister was my mother." Éomer was silent for a few moments. The night was still save for the wind which whistled around the large rocks and boulders that lay strewn about this side of the land and the incessant crackling of the flames from the small fire that lay between them. "My father was Chief Marshal of the RidderMark. He married Théodwyn, my uncle's sister. My sister and I are their children. My father was a very reckless man; he had courage, strength, and skill with both sword and spear, but he was not always very careful. That led to his undoing." Again, Éomer paused. "A few years after Éowyn's birth, my father took many of his men and led them to the plain that is before us--" he gestured to the open land beyond the light of their fire, lit only by the faint twinkling of the stars, for it was a cloudless night, "--to fight against orcs roaming against our land. As usual, he only took a few men. They were all slain, my father among them. My mother died of grief shortly afterward and my uncle Théoden took us under his wing."
"How, then, do I remind you of your father?" Déorhild said after some time had passed.
"Because you are reckless in the same way he was."
"Ah, I see. So do I die the same way he did?" She stood up. Éomer did also.
"No, that is not what I meant. I hope that you do not die in the same way. I only meant that you remind me of him sometimes. You with your reckless courage. If you are not careful, Déorhild, you will share the same fate." He sighed and sat down again.
Déorhild sat down also. "I'm sorry."
Éomer glanced up at her and smiled. "That is alright. I suppose I miss my father more now than ever."
"Why is that?" she asked puzzled.
He sobered down a great deal. "Something is happening in Edoras. I do not know what, but something is happening. I could recognize it when I left. I wish my father was here so I would be able to know what to do. Théoden didn't seem to recognize me at first when I asked him about you taking the journey to Rohandras. And when he did give his answer, his words were harsh and cold. Not like him at all." He was silent, thinking. "I think it is that Gríma."
