Hello again everyone! So here's the deal. After a LOTR marathon the other weekend, I started thinking about this story again. I reread it and found that there were a LOT of great things. On the other hand…there was a LOT that needed to be fixed. I was too hurried when I first wrote it, and it's time that the characters get more time, and get fleshed out a bit more. Besides, it can only get better…right?

So, sit back, relax, and get ready for a super sappy, angst ridden romance. (Something a dear friend of mine has dubbed my "Tolkein Trash".

Shout out as well to my original Beta, Mercury Gray.

Chapter One: Introductions

Edoras 3012

Emilyn sat in front of the stables restlessly playing with a piece of straw and watching as the stablemen went about their afternoon chores. Occasionally one would smile down at her causing her heart to sink just that much lower seeing the sympathy and pity in their eyes.

Halda, a middle-aged gentleman who had ridden to war with her father, finally took a seat next to her, grunting as he eased his body onto the hard ground. Years of riding with the Rohirrim had taken its toll on him, but now, as head farrier, he was in his element tending to the horses of Rohan.

"How is she?" Emilyn asked, not wanting to look at the man afraid of what words he would speak.

Smiling kindly, Halda picked up one of the pieces of straw she had been playing with, throwing it out into the wind that always blew around Edoras, making the place feel as if it were constanty in motion. "Lindel is going to be fine. She sprained her right foreleg, but that should heal in a matter of weeks."

A relieved sigh escaped her lips and Emilyn looked up at him, smiling through tearful eyes. "Can I see her?"

"In a moment," he answered, his voice turning stern. "We have to discuss a few things first." Leaning back against the hard wood of the stables Emilyn waited for the inevitable to come. Closing her eyes, she listened to her consequences. It was always this way she had learned. You do something that others see as foolish, and you have to pay the price. Being raised as neice to the King, she often wondered if children of the Westfold had to deal with the same things, or were they aloud to run about doing whatever their heart desired. For Emilyn, and her family, it was always the same: "What were you thinking?"; "What will our people think?"; "You must lead by example!" But Emilyn never thought that was fair. All she wanted was to take care of her brother and sister. So what if she was youngest! That didn't mean she couldn't watch after them just the same. That's all she was doing when this entire mess started, and now she would have to accept whatever punishment her Uncle dealt out without complaint.

It had been shortly after Emilyn's third year that the children of Théodwyn and Éomund of the Eastfold were brought to Edoras. Their father had been killed by orcs during a raid and their mother, unable to find peace after her husband's death, forsook her children and died shortly after of grief and pain. Only twelve, Éomer took charge of his younger sisters and rode straight for Edoras, knowing he would find help there. Being the youngest, Emilyn barely remembered her parents, just images if anything, and her uncle, Theoden King, was the only father she knew. Her cousin, Theodred, another brother.

For the past ten years, the seat of Rohan had been their home. And a better place for a child to grow couldn't be imagine. In Edoras, Emilyn and Éowyn had learned to ride, to wield a sword, and had lived a life like no other. It was only when Emilyn found herself in trouble, which happened more often then she cared to admit, that she pouted about the life she had been blessed with. Now, she waited for Halda's sentence as one who was to be sentenced to death.

"You're uncle told me that I was to punish you as I saw fit, and since I answer to King Theoden, and him alone, that's what I plan to do." Halda paused a moment before continuing, not wanting to be too hard on the child, but thoroughly enjoying torturing the spoiled niece of his King. "You will not be allowed to ride Lindel, or any other horse for three weeks." Emilyn began to protest, but Halda raised a hand. "I also expect you here every morning to help clean the stalls."

"But, Halda," Emilyn tried to speak again, but stopped when the farrier continued.

"My Lady, you have to learn that you are only thirteen. You are not a member of the Rohirrim, nor are you a grown woman," he raised his hand again to prevent her from speaking. "I realize that you are a good rider, but Emilyn, trying to follow after your brother? Do you realize how dangerous that was? You are lucky Lindel was spooked and sprained her leg. What if you had come across a band of orcs? Or worse, what if you actually had found your brother?" Halda's voice was raised, fear of what could have happened to the child frightening him. Visions of her lifeless body being carried into the city were not something he wanted to imagine. "He is the Chief Marshall of the Mark. Do you really think he has time to look after his sister while in the field protecting our borders? Not only could it be disastrous for him and his men, but for our kingdom as well."

Emilyn nodded, knowing he was right. She had been foolish thinking she alone could ride out and find the Rohirrim.

"Now," Halda said, standing with a groan. "Go and see Lindel." Nodding soberly, Emilyn stood, brushing the pieces of straw from her skirt. "And milady," Halda added. "The riders will be back soon. I can promise you that." Emilyn gave the old man a smile and hurried inside the cool stable.

The next week dragged by while Emilyn trudged through her punishment. The only good thing about it being that she was still able to see the horses. But, when Éowyn rode out on her own horse, Emilyn knew that it was simply to taunt her. Pushing an auburn curl from her face as she shoveled another bit of hay into Lindel's stable, she muttered something about how rude and arrogant her sister was. With a loud snort, the horse nudged her mistress, nearly knocking Emilyn off balance.

"I'm sorry, Lindel, but it will be another week before I can ride you again. Besides, you need to let your leg heel." Emilyn straightened herself up and pushed another piece of hair from her face. She was hot, sweaty, and knew she smelt horribly. It wasn't just sweat and horse like the normal aroma after riding, but everything else that went along with cleaning a stable. Pausing, she wondered how many other noble daughters would be caught cleaning a stable. She doubted the women of Gondor would do such a thing. Pushing back her sleeves she started back in on her work, laughing when Lindel nudged her again.

"Lindel, I have to hurry. Uncle said he needed to speak to me today, and I don't think it would be very courteous of me to see him like this." She imagined walking into the hall of the King smelling of manure. That would certainly earn her another lecture of some sort which made her laugh to think of the upset it would cause. The look on her uncle's face alone would almost be worth the consequences...almost.

As she was leading one of the ponies back to its stall she heard a commotion outside.

"The riders are back!" a male voice called out excitedly. "The Rohirrim have returned!"

Without a second thought, Emilyn shut the pony in its stall and rushed outside running as fast as her legs would carry her. The steep dirt roads that led down to the gates of the city almost tripped her in her haste. By the time she got there, a large number of villagers had already surrounding the Rohirrim and their horses.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Emilyn spotted her brother. One couldn't miss him even without his crested helmet, Éomer, Chief Marshall of the Mark, tended to stand out in a crowd.

Handing the reigns of his mount to a stableboy, Éomer noticed his sister pushing her way towards him. He handed his helmet to a friend and picked her up in a great, strong hug swinging her off her feet and nearly taking her breath away.

"Emilyn," he laughed, setting her down and getting a good look at her. "I've missed you. Three months is far too long to be away." Brushing the ever unwieldy curl from her face, he looked her over. "I think you get more and more beautiful every time I see you." Smiling, Emilyn threw her arms around him again. "But," Éomer began, stopping her. "You smell horrible. What have you been doing?" he asked, pushing her back a foot or two and holding her at arms length.

Frowning, Emilyn looked into her brother's stern face. "I'm sure you'll hear all about it. Eowyn's probably just dying to tell you."

"Then I'm sure it will be a very interesting stoy indeed," Éomer chuckled, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder with a grunt. "First things first. Let's get you cleaned up. And while you return to your normally dignified self, I will speak with the King."

After leaving his sister in the care of her serving women, Éomer marched towards the Golden Hall. Without acknowledging the Royal Guard, he stormed through the doors and found King Theoden deep in conversation with two of his advisors.

"Éomer," the King greeted him with a warm smile and hug. "I heard you had returned. I trust you have news for me."

Éomer stood in front of him, refusing to acknowledge the greeing. "How could you," he spat angrily.

Meeting the young marshall's eyes, Theoden nodded. "Leave us," he ordered the advisors, this was no conversation to have in the presence of others. Waiting for the hall to empty, Theoden focused on the angry warrior in front of him. "Do you have something to say to me?" the King asked, the smallest of threats in his voice, but knowing not to push the issue.

"Gondor?" Éomer spat, his face livid. "You would send my sister to Gondor without even consulting me? I had to find out from a ranger who had been traveling with their party." Éomer was raging with anger. "They are on their way here now!" he shouted. "Were you merely hoping that I would return before she left?"

Theoden motioned to a bench. "Why don't we have a seat," he said, laying a hand on Eomer's arm.

Jerking his arm away, Éomer glared at his uncle King. "I will not sit down. I demand an explanation."

The King nodded and sat back against the wooden table. With a heavy sigh he rubbed a hand over his worn face. "I am not happy about the situation either, but it has to be done. An alliance with Gondor is what this country has needed for years. Lord Denethor is a cunning leader. It was he who approached me. While, as her uncle, I cannot bear to see her go, as her King, I see the wisdom in this match."

"This match?" Eomer asked, taking a threatening step forward.

"Yes," Theoden said, trying to help his nephew through this. "She will be married to the Steward's eldest, Boromir."

"Married! She's only sixteen! There is time yet for her to consider marriage." Éomer turned, moving to one of the heavy wooden poles in the center of the hall and punched it in anger. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head, resting his head on the wood above where his blow had landed. "I don't understand. Éowyn's older by two years. I don't want this marriage for her either, but at least I would understand."

Theodon nodded. He had not looked forward to this conversation and, in all honesty, didn't blame his nephew for his anger one bit. Éowyn and Emilyn were the only daughters he had. His line now rested in Theodred alone, and the thought of sending one of the girls away broke his heart.

When Denethor had broached the subject with him, Theoden had rejected it outright. But the King of the white city was very convincing and Theoden could see the wisdom in it. He knew he would need to decide which of the girls would be best for the match and it was like trying to decide which of his arms to sever.

"It was the hardest decision I ever had to make," Theoden answered softly, and for the first time, Éomer could hear the anguish in his uncle's voice. "It had to be Emilyn," he said, this time barely above a whisper. Éowyn is a shieldmaiden, she was born for it. But Emilyn," he paused, smiling as he thought about his youngest niece, "fate has different plans for her." He looked up at Theoden. "You know that as well as I do."

"They won't be married now," Theoden assured him, "but in a few years, yes." The King put a fatherly hand on his marshall's shoulder. "Éomer, we are not losing her forever. She will spend half her time at Minis Tirith, and half her time here." Letting Éomer digest the information, Theodon poured them both a glass of strong, spiced wine.

"Emilyn has a lot of growing up to do," the King spoke, after taking a long sip. "For far too long she has been raised by men. It's partly my fault for indulging your sisters, but it is time for Emilyn to grow up." He handed a glass to his nephew. "She will be a woman soon. In Gondor she will have the proper influences. She will be around women of the court who can, hopefully, tame a bit of the wild spirit in her." Theoden laughed, taking another sip of his wine. "No doubt you heard about her most recent mishap?"

Shaking his head, Éomer finished his glass in one long gulp. "She mentioned something, but didn't give me the full story."

"It's of no matter," Theoden answered, taking a step towards Eomer. "This will be a good thing," he said, placing a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "I promise."