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

Faoladh - Part 2 - Éomer x Reader

She watched from the cave, high above what was left of the castle and the homes that had once surrounded it. As the moon began to sink below the horizon, the thick, dark clouds that had covered the new day sun, had opened, and it had begun to rain. The heavy, relentless cascade falling from the sky seemingly preventing her visitors from leaving her home. She couldn't pretend that she was happy about it, she had hoped that the Riders of Rohan would pack up their bedrolls and be on their way, that morning; especially giving the reaction her howl had caused, the night before. Hearing the shouts, and watching the men reach for their weapons; watching them do all they could to keep the fires going, in hopes that they would keep the beast away, had made her laugh to herself; finding it amusing that the brave men of Rohan, the legendary Riders of the Mark, had been put on edge, by just one little howl. The Faoladh wondering how they might panic if they were to see her as the wolf; how they might react if they were to see her as she was now, a warrior, the last Faoladh, the ancient symbols of her once great people, marked into her skin. The colouring that she had been taught to extract from plant and earth, used to decorate her body and denote her status in her society. But she was not about to reveal herself just for that; it not that she feared the fight, it just that she was smart enough to know that one against many, even if she were Faoladh, were not good odds; and she would much prefer to live than see what these Rohirrim would do, if she were to present herself to their leader; a leader that seemed, at this moment, as though he was as scared of getting a little wet, as the rest of his men, as he too took refuge under the roofs that were left standing. A heavy blanket pulled around his shoulders, as he looked up at the water filled sky.

She had made her way back down to the castle, after some of the furore of her howl had died down; finding herself interested, as to whether the man that she had heard speak of her people, earlier, would be saying more. There seemingly few left in Middle-earth, that could recall her kin, never mind know what her people had done for their world and those that called it home, over the long years. Yet as she had creeped through the shadows, she had instead come across that leader, as he walked through what had once been the great long hall. A hall whose vast vaulted ceilings had once been painted with a scene of the night sky. The stars set out in the celestial patterns, that only her people knew of.

She had to admit that he looked.......well, handsome, as he appeared to be lost in the tumble down grandeur of her home; his long blonde hair and neatly trimmed beard perfectly complimenting his surprisingly soft features. She could tell that he was of the line of Eorl the Young; there just something about him that reminded her of the Rohirrim kings that she had met when she was younger. That, and how he held himself would suggest to anyone that had eyes, that he had been born with noble blood. So, the question in her mind had been, why a possible prince of the horse men would be so far from home. There nothing for Rohan to claim there, nothing for Rohan to want; and that same question filled her mind, now. Her curiosity getting the better of her, as she decided to leave the safety of her cave, and make her way to the castle, in hopes of finding out more about this man. The skin changer turning her face to the sky and letting the rain wash over her, before changing into the wolf and running with all speed down the hillside.

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Éomer couldn't pretend that he was happy. He had planned on having his men move on at first light, putting more distance between them and Rohan. Between his loyal men, and the threat of death for treason. Yet it would appear that the gods had had different ideas; the rain falling so heavy at one point, it felt as though it had hurt his head. And it, along with the howl from last night, seemed to have spooked the horses; and no matter what any of them had done they had refused to settle, refused to let their riders saddle them. So, they would have to remain in what was left of this.....Castle of the wolf, as Gárere had called it, for one more day.

With an unamused huff, the son of Éomund pulled his blanket a little tighter around his shoulders, before retreating back into a room that still had a roof and was an off shoot of the main atrium. The Marshall settling down by the little fire that he had managed to keep going through the night, as he thought of what Gárere had spoken of; of the people that had once called that place, home. He had to confess that he had never been one for books; Éomer far more interested in following in the footsteps of his father and becoming the Marshal of the Mark, than sitting for hours in a stuff library, surrounded by books and parchments. But he had been able to recall a story that his mother, Théodwyn, had shown him in some great tome that she had kept in her own private quarters, when he was a child; a story that spoke of the 'people of the moon'. Of creatures that could appear as wolves, though could stand on two legs like men. Wolves that would protect and aid their friends in times of need, just as Gárere had told him. A small smile coming to his lips, as he remembered that for some time, he had wished that he could have been one of those legendary wolf people; and that he had even once scared his sister, by chasing her around Edoras, claiming that he was a wolf, and growling at her.

"My lord.........." Éomer looking up at the sound of the voice, to see one of his men.

"What is it, Léofred.........?"

"You must come with all haste, my lord. There is a lone rider, coming with great speed towards us. He is dressed in white, my lord......." The darker haired rider explained. Éomer shrugging off his blanket and quickly getting to his feet, realising, as they left the room, that not only did they have a visitor; but that the rain had also stopped.

"Have the men prepare themselves. If this is the white wizard, we must be ready for anything......." Éomer ordered, as he gripped the hilt of Gúthwinë and made his way out to meet this rider.