Éomer slept deeply, yet his slumber was strewn with disturbing images, disturbing because he didn't understand them. A scene of dark rain, a river where bodies of men, orcs, and horses lay on the banks and in the river itself. Of him leading men out of Edoras while others hid their eyes from the sight, as if ashamed. The last troubled him most deeply, him leading the same men across the fields of Rohan, yet it seemed as if a heavy weight had wrapped itself around his heart and couldn't be loosened and he, in his dream, couldn't understand why he felt such pain.

Then the dark oblivion passed away and he heard, as if in a great distance, singing. The melody was unfamiliar, but at the same time he seemed to recognize some of the tune. The bittersweet melody rose and fell, sometime low and deep throated and at other times high, but yet silvery and not harsh. He tried to concentrate on the words, but discovered that he did not understand them. They didn't sound at all like the language spoken in Rohan, but not the Common Speech either. It reminded him of the time that envoys from Gondor visited Eodoras and at one point spoke to each other in their own language; these words sounded like it. Then the song finished on a mellow note and silence reigned for a few minutes.

Another song began, only in a different language that he could not recognize at all. The melody this time was mystical and soft. Éomer soon became aware of a flickering reddish yellow light, and he struggled to open his eyes. The smells of fresh, roasting meat, made him sit up and as he did so, his eyes opened. The song had faded away and he stared at the sight in front of him.

Déorhild stood bent over a small fire that flickered brightly in the dark twilight. She had just finished putting some more wood on the fire over which hang a make-shift spit on which a moderate portion of meat was roasting. Overhead, the stars glimmered coldly down from their lofty places in the night sky. Nearby, Éomer's horse was grazing while the saddle and a curious looking bundle lay near the fire.

Éomer sat up straighter and pushed away the blanket which he had been laying under since he went to sleep. At his sudden movement, Déorhild started and stood straight, looking at him. A chill wind raced across the plain and ruffled her long hair, which blew hard with the wind. She was clothed now in a simple dress that had short slits running up the sides allowing movement, very similiar to his sister's; she had obviously discarded her armour earlier as it lay with the bundle near the fire. Then she strode over to where he sat and knelt silently beside him, gently pulling off the bandage on his arm. Éomer stared at her, surprised at her silence. The only other sound being the wind and the crackle of the flames. The silence to him was eerie, but he didn't speak.

Déorhild finished binding the wound as she had begun; in silence. She turned back to the fire and carefully took off the meat that was on the spit and using her clean knife, cut it into two portions. She handed one to Éomer and they both ate. Surprisingly, it tasted much better than Éomer had anticipated. At last Éomer spoke. "Déorhild, where did you get this meat? For you know as well as I that no creatures, unless orcs count, roam these desolate lands. Do you mean to say that--?" he left his sentence unfinished, horrified at the idea that struck him.

Déorhild looked up at him, a shocked expression on her face which then turned into a wry smile. "No, of course not. Where did you get that insane idea?"

Éomer shrugged. "I was just trying to think of an explanation. Though I dare say," he added, "If this is orc, it tastes very good."

He heard Déorhild choke and he looked up at her. She sat, leaning her head on one of her hands, her shoulders shaking. She raised her head and he realized that she was laughing. He also realized that it was the first time he had heard her laugh and it was a beautiful sound. She kept on laughing while he stared at her in disbelief. When she recovered herself, she said,  "No, of course not." Then she sobered down a great deal and looked at him strangely, "I'll tell you when you've finished eating."

Éomer stared at her puzzled. "Alright. Suit yourself."

When they had finished, Éomer sat back, leaning on his elbow and stared at Déorhild, who leaned against the hard cold stone behind her. She shivered and looked at him, as if she was going to speak. When she didn't, Éomer asked, "Well?"

Déorhild stared at the ground before looking up. "Do you really want to know?"

Éomer answered, "Yes, I do."

"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you." She sighed before continuing. "Do you remember what happened to my horse?"

Éomer stared in surprise at her strange answer. "Aye, it was killed." Then a look of sickening horror passed over his face. "Do you mean to say--"

Déorhild glanced up quickly. "Aye. But at the very least, it's better than orc, isn't it?" she protested, though she knew well what this meant for those of Rohan; simply a disgrace and a shame to the Horse-Lords to know that they had eaten their very livelihood.

Éomer only shrugged and turned away. Then he started and gazed at Déorhild again. "How did you get it  and when? I thought that you were on watch when I slept."

Déorhild stared up at him and looked down again. "I took your horse and went back to Rohandras whilst you slept."

"You did what?" Éomer exclaimed.

Déorhild continued, "I went to the village because I needed to bring various articles back that remained in my family's house."

"Such as?" he gestured vaguely.

"Nothing of your concern," she warned in a quiet tone.

Éomer shrugged and then stared into the distance. The light from the fire had died down and with it the warmth that it provided. A chill wind blew hard across the plain and he saw Déorhild shiver with the icy edge that the wind carried. "Come here, Déorhild," he said gently.

Déorhild looked at him, puzzled, but then got up and slowly walked till she stood in front of him. Éomer pulled his cloak out to one side so that it lay on the rock beside him which he leaned against. He gestured for Déorhild to sit down next to him. She hesitated, looking uncertainly at him. Then she sat down close to him and stared into the distance, quite obviously pretending not to notice when he drew his cloak around her. Éomer leaned his head back for a few moments and then looked up. "Déorhild, you sleep first. I slept earlier so I will take the first watch." Déorhild nodded and went to sleep after a few moments.

Éomer watched as her breathing evened out and suddenly her head, which had been leaning against the hard rock, suddenly slipped down and she unknowingly leaned against his shoulder. Éomer smiled and then looked out into the dark night at the faintly glowing embers of the fire. The dark night seemed to nearly enclose them and Éomer looked about almost fearfully until at last he seemed satisfied and sat still, occasionally gazing about the barren landscape for any sign of danger.

Déorhild suddenly started and blinked her eyes open. She stared across the vast plain that stretched as far as the eye could see. A pale golden sun had risen over the landscape and had pushed the darkness away. The ashes from the fire the night before formed a small blackened circle on the ground. Inganiad was close, tearing up mouthfuls of the bare patches of grass left over from the summer. Then Déorhild realized that she was leaning against Éomer's shoulder, and she sat up straight, Éomer's cloak sliding off her shoulders. At her sudden movement, Éomer opened his eyes and looked at her. She stared at him in bewilderment. Then she stood up and stretched before making her way to Inganiad. Éomer also stood and wordlessly, they saddled up the horse and prepared to leave.

Déorhild put on the chain mail and leather jerkin over it as well as putting on her cloak. Then she followed Éomer as he led his horse over the brink of the hill that led the way back to Edoras. But at the crest of the hill, she paused, shield in one hand, and drawn sword in the other, looking back the way they had come. The breeze blew, ruffling her hair which hang loose over her shoulders.

Suddenly, she raised her sword and shield high into the air, looking back to where she knew her village to be. She lifted up her voice and cried, loud and clear, "Ábíede broþor! Uncer cwealm scæl na afaran ungewítnod." (Farewell brother! Your death shall not go unpunished.)

Éomer watched in astounishment but said nothing. She turned back, with one last look at the distant mountains, and then followed Éomer back to Edoras.

Sorry for not picking this up earlier! I hope you enjoyed. :-)