The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings one shots and Imagines Book II

Faoladh - Part 1 - Éomer x Reader

Request for R4gn0r0k5014

I am basing this werewolf skin changer character more on the Irish werewolf or faoladh. They are different to the common notions of werewolves, as they were not evil, bloodthirsty creatures; but were more benevolent beings that protected other and were even called upon to aid in times of war.

Not that he could hear it, but Éomer was sure that there had been a collective sigh of relief when he finally called for his men to stop and rest. They had been riding hard for two days, with little rest or sleep. The lands of the Rohirrim far behind them now, too far in his opinion; but what was he to do. He and his loyal men had been dubbed traitors by his own uncle; and even though the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, knew that Théoden King was not himself, that he was under the control of the wickedness that had taken over Rohan, he and the others had had no other choice than to leave their homes and all those they loved, or risk the wrath of the bewitched king. Éomer only wishing that he could have brought his sister with him, so that he knew she was safe. But as it was, all he could do was hope that if that vile worm, Grima, got within an arm's length of her, she would punch him in the face.

"Gárere........" Éomer called out, as he took off his helmet, looking up at the ruins of the huge ancient building that they had all took refuge in and around. The main part, where Éomer now stood, appearing to never have had a roof.

"My lord..........?" An older man replied, as he made his way over to the Marshal.

In truth, Gárere should have been a scholar, the grey-haired rider more knowledgeable about the lore of Rohan and the lands that surrounded the kingdom of the horse men, than anyone else he knew of; but he had chosen to follow in the footsteps of his fathers, choosing the Mark over his parchments, and Éomer, for one, was happy that he had.

"What was this place..........?" The son of Éomund continued, as he took in the grandeur and scope of the partly tumbled down building. Barely able to envisage how it would have been when it was in its full glory.

"I believe that we have made it to Tailte na gealaí, the Lands of the moon, in common speech, my lord; and this is what is left of Caisleán an mac tíre, the Castle of the wolf. Once these lands were inhabited by a race of skin changers who could turn themselves into wolves and called themselves Faoladh. Though unlike the ones that gave their allegiance to the Dark Lord, Faoladh were the protectors of the lands and the people that lived in them. Often called upon by allied kings in times of war to aid them in the fight. Even Rohan used to class the Faoladh as friends and were aided by the skin changers in times of peril. I believe that we are currently stood in the main atrium of the castle, that was left without a roof so that the light of the moon could enter the space........" Gárere explained, as he looked up to the sky; a bright moon appearing from behind a thick cloud as he spoke.

"And what of these....... Faoladh? Where are they..........?"

"Gone, my lord.........." Éomer turning to look at the older man.

"Gone.......? How.........?"

"Some died in battle; others hunted by those foolish enough not to know the difference between friend and foe. And the last........the last were taken by the orcs that followed the white orc, Azog. Their final days spent in torment, as they were chained, tortured and used as sport by those vile beings........." Gárere continued, letting out a heavy sigh, before he turned to look at the Marshal.

"Though I do find myself wishing that even just one of their kind was left. For if ever the world needed the likes of the Faoladh, it is now. They were said to quite the most formidable of fighters, whether in their human like form, or that of the wolf. I can only imagine the fear that the howls from hundreds, thousands of Faoladh, would instil in the hearts of their enemies.........." Éomer, finding himself nodding in agreement; sure, that if he had had to face thousands of skin changing wolves all howling at him in unison, even he may find his courage waning.

"Thank you, Gárere............."

"My lord.........." The older man bowing, before leaving the Lord of the Mark, to his thoughts.

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She had heard and smelt them, before they had arrived. She had smelt the sweat of horse and men, long before she had seen the clouds of dust that the hooves of the animals stirred up. Her heart beating at a pace, as the mass of bodies had drawn ever closer. She had no idea why others would be making their way to her home; it had been years since she had last seen anything that could talk back to her. Years since she had seen anything but the animals that called Tailte na gealaí, home. Yet she was not about to reveal herself to these strangers; even when she had seen the symbol of the horse on their armour, telling her that they were riders of Rohan, she was not just going to present herself. For even though the horse men and the Faoladh had been allies in the past, it did not mean that they had not come for her now. Come to finish off the job that the orcs had started. So, she had stayed in the shadows, watching as the men set up camp in and around the castle that had once been her father's; a ruin that she was now the lady of. Watching and silently following the man that seemed to be the leader of the group. Her pale grey eyes never leaving him, as he made his way to the main atrium. Her sharp ears picking up the conversation that he was having with another of his fellows. The man telling him of her people and how they had all gone. It obvious that neither had any idea that they were being watched by the last of the Faoladh, and she would keep it that way. The exploits of the horse men, none of her concern, and they would most likely be gone when the sun rose. But that did not mean that she could not have a little fun. A small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, before she moved quickly and silently from the shadows of the castle. Her paws making barely a sound as she ran from the building and up to the craggy outcrop where she would often sit as a child, and stare at the moon. The celestial orb seeming to encourage her, as its light surrounded her. The silence of the night, split, as she let out her howl.