Déorhild stepped lightly down the corridor, holding the sides of her cloak closed against the cold. She heard the sounds of horses and looked down to see Éomer and his men enter, a body draped over one of their steeds. Hurrying, she ran back and opened a door into a hall way leading into the Golden Hall. Crossing the large, mostly empty room save for Gríma and Théoden at the throne, she opened a door opposite and continued walking till she arrived at a small room that overlooked the valley and mountains. "Éowyn!" she called to the woman bent over an old tapestry. "Your brother's returned," she continued once Éowyn looked up.

"And Théodred?"

"I don't know. I just saw them enter the court and then came to tell you."

"Thank you," she replied, rising and retracing Déorhild's steps to the courtyard, Déorhild following.

When they entered the courtyard, however, it was mostly empty, the last few horses being led away to the stables while the men who rode on them were walking down to their homes or to the great kitchens of the Golden Hall. Undeterred, Éowyn walked up to one and demanded, "Where is my brother?"

The man turned around and pointed up the way she had come. "He went up there, through the main entrance."

"Why there?" she questioned quickly as the man turned away.

"I don't know. He was carrying Théodred's body with him." The man walked away with the others, leaving Éowyn and Déorhild standing still, stunned.

"Why carrying his body?" Déorhild asked, not expecting an answer nor receiving one.

Éowyn picked up her skirts and hurried across the courtyard to the front, running up the stairs, Déorhild on her heels. She tore through the entrance and into the hall, turning sharply to the left and running a short ways down a corridor to an open door. Éowyn paused momentarily before running inside, calling out, "Théodred!"

Déorhild saw her run to the bed in the dim room where her cousin's body lay. Éomer, still fully dressed in chainmail and leather armor, as was his cousin also, sat by the bed. Déorhild stayed in the doorway, watching in silence.

Éowyn touched her cousin's face which Déorhild could see was dark with dried blood. Éomer nodded his head in direction of Théodred's torso. His sister looked, pulling back the torn and bloody clothing. She recoiled from the sight, turning away in grief and slight disgust. Her gaze met her brother's gaze and Déorhild could see sorrow in their glances. She stepped back, feeling no part in this. Together, the brother and sister exited the room, heading for the throne room, Déorhild following in the shadows.

The Golden Hall was dim, the faint light dancing with the dust motes in the air. Théoden, indeed looking sick and old, stared, as if dead, into nothing. He did not see his niece on her knees before him as she gently said his name. "Your son is badly wounded, my lord." Her voice was soft and Déorhild had to strain her ears to hear it from her hiding place behind one of the pillars as she watched from among the shadows.

Éomer stood on the left side of his sister, standing. "He was ambushed by Orcs.If we don't defend our country,Saruman will take it by force," his tone was more forceful and... Pained.

The king showed absolutely no reaction, as if he had not heard. There was a slight scuffling noise and Gríma appeared from behind the throne, slumped in his posture, his appearance, as always seemed to Déorhild, to be soaking wet like a frog. "That is a lie. Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally," he said in a smooth yet sinister tone. Déorhild felt a chill go down her back.

Théoden turned to his evil advisor and murmured repeatedly, "Gríma. Gríma... Gríma..."

Déorhild could feel the brother and sister's frustration. "Orcs are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked. Unchallenged. Killing at will. Orcs bearing the White Hand of Saruman," Éomer dropped an orc helmet onto the ground at the King's feet. A white handprint was on the top of it.

Gríma turned in visible anger, but his voice was still controlled. "Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind? Can you not see? Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent... Your warmongering."

Déorhild felt a sudden urge to shout back at the man in controversy to his words, but Éomer did it instead. "Warmongering?" He walked up and grabbed the advisor by the shoulders of his clothing before continuing between clenched teeth, "How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price, Gríma? When all the Men are dead, you will take your share of the treasure?"

Éowyn backed away and began to walk out of the hall. Déorhild left her place in the shadows and followed her as she left, leaving the hall to the aging king and his advisor in the grip of Éomer.

The light from the growing evening fell across the work of embriodery in Déorhild's lap. She squinted hard at the threads as she poked in her needle, managing once more to successfully stab her finger. Inhaling sharply, she put it down, hearing the floorboards creak at the doorway. Déorhild glanced up to see Éomer standing in the doorway, cleaned up, but dressed in his armor still, his horse-helmet in his hands. "Éomer, what is it?" she asked, her brows furrowed in bewilderment.

"Théoden has banished me from Rohan," his voice was emotionless, dead-level.

"What?!" she gasped, standing up and walking to him.

"I am banished from Rohan," he repeated.

"But--but why? How can the King do this?"

He shrugged. "I'm declared guilty of high treason against Théoden and am therefore banished."

She tried another tactic. "But you have seen for yourself, the King is sick. How could he sign such a document that would prove you guilty?"

"He signed it, but his signature was not what it once was."

She was silent, gazing at him. "Where will you go?"

"There are some still loyal to the land that Rohan once was. They will follow me. We will keep our borders safe if no one else will."

"D-does Éowyn know of this?"

"No. I want you to tell her."

There was another pause. Then he began again, his voice pleading now. "Déorhild, there is no time left. I have tried time and time again to silence these feelings, but I can no longer. Since the day I heard you sing the song of lament for those of your village and the journey we took together to Rohandras till now, I have loved you. Nothing will change my mind. I am sorry for my rash actions at the stream long ago, but I wish I had been more outspoken with my feelings. Maybe I would have, if I knew our time together would be this short... But come what may, that is how things stand between us, at least to me. I wanted to be honest with you, to know that you knew the deepest feelings of my inner heart before I left. There's no certainty I will be back. But you had to know. If you take offense, I am sorry and will take the blame if I have hurt you. But I do not regret my words to you now." He stopped abruptly and looked her, directly in the eyes. Déorhild, for her part, was stunned. "I must go now. My men are waiting. If this is our last farewell, so be it. At least I know that I am hiding things from you no longer." He bent and kissed her mouth for the second time since that day at the stream.

Then he was gone.

Haha, sorry for the long pause of updates! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please feel free to let me know what you think. You don't know how encouraging it is to see your comments and votes on my stories. It means a lot and is the main reason I keep writing this instead of just deleting it.

Anyways, I finally got to the exciting parts! ...Such as above. *ahem* Hopefully, despite the prison aka school, I can update this more often as I know what I'm going to do from this chapter and onward. Till next update! For wrath, for ruin, and for a red dawn!