Author's Note: I don't know about the rest of you, but one thing that I was really disappointed over in The Two Towers was the lack of interaction between Theoden and Eomer. You do not get a feel for their relationship whatsoever. That was what led me to write this.

Another A/N: This fic is movie-verse, obviously, since in the books Eomer was at Helm's Deep the entire time and Theoden made sure to know where he was.

The Bonds of a Family

King Theoden of Rohan stood on a balcony of his country’s safe haven, overlooking the people before him—his people. Mere moments had passed since the vile Orcs from Isengard had fled after realizing they would lose this fight. A proud smile barely touched his lips before fading as he took in the destruction before him.

The Orcs had blown an entire wall of Helm’s Deep apart during the battle. Even several yards away from the initial explosion, debris and body parts spoke of this despicable obliteration. Broken ladders with crushed Orcs littered the ground. Dead Orcs by the thousands polluted the once beautiful scenery before Helm’s Deep. The smell of death stifled the air.

Rohan had suffered great loss of life, but they had come out the unexpected winners. Theoden remembered the numbers they had at first been up against: ten thousand Orcs against a small army of 300 men, many of whom were too old or too young to put up a strong fight.

Then, nearly at the last minute, a group of Elves from Lothlorien had come to help, adding a good number to Rohan’s army; however, once the wall had been penetrated, it did not matter. The Orcs flooded the haven, far outnumbering their enemy.

Just as hope nearly died completely, Gandalf the White Wizard had shown up, bringing with him the Rohirrim—Rohan’s own fearless riders—Theoden’s own men. The brave warriors of Rohan were numbered in the thousands, and as they charged down the hill near Helm’s Deep, the Orcs proved to be no match for them. Theoden’s heart swelled with pride towards the Riders of Rohan, and it swelled all the more knowing that the saviors of the battle were lead by his nephew, Eomer.

The king descended the stairs to his left, his eyes taking in the many wounded who still awaited treatment, the dead who had not yet been covered. Out of the corner of his left eye, he could see Gimli the Dwarf tending to an injured young boy. The injury was not fatal but the boy was frightened and would not be settled despite the Dwarf’s best efforts. A little farther off, Legolas was helping another elf with Haldir, the leader of the Lorien Elves. He had perished in the battle, as had many other Firstborns. The grave, upset look on Legolas’ face seemed to sum up the entire atmosphere that now enveloped Helm’s Deep.

Nearing the bottom of the staircase, Theoden saw his niece, Eowyn, cupping the Dunedain’s face in her hands. Aragorn, the heir to Rohan’s neighboring kingdom Gondor, was perhaps the greatest leader of his time. As he passed the two, Theoden shared a warm smile with his niece, noting the immense affection he saw in her face towards Aragorn. As the king had told Aragorn not even a week before, he had not seen Eowyn smile so genuinely in years.

Theoden had also expressed to Aragorn the regrets he felt towards his niece. Saruman, the great wizard who had sided with Sauron against all that was good, held a strong hold on Theoden’s mind, and the king had been unable to be there for Eowyn, whom he loved as a daughter. The king felt incredible gratitude that Gandalf had been able to break the evil wizard’s hold.

Stepping down into the field before Helm’s Deep, Theoden saw Orcs and men mingled together in death. Men he’d known for years now lay unmoving, pale and cold. The greatest number of deaths on Rohan’s side had come from the Riders, the ones who had charged the Orcs not only with weapons, but with their bodies as well. At this thought, the king nearly panicked, his eyes now searching almost frantically through the crowds of people. He had seen many people he knew, but where was Eomer?

Theoden had raised Eomer and Eowyn after the deaths of their parents. Just as he loved Eowyn as a daughter, so he also loved Eomer as his son. He doubted Eomer even knew that, especially considering Theoden had signed his nephew’s banishment under penalty of death. The logical side of the king knew that he had signed that document under Saruman’s control and would otherwise have never done such a wretched thing. A greater part of him, however, felt incredible guilt; he had failed his nephew more than he had failed even Eowyn.

“Theoden!” Gandalf’s deep voice cut through all the noise and caught the king’s attention. Although he wanted to find Eomer, Thedeon recognized that at this moment he needed to be the king of Rohan.

Gandalf met Theoden halfway from where they had stood and the wizard immediately began to question him on available rooms to put the wounded, the amount of healers and supplies available, and if there was a place to put the dead. Still searching out his nephew, Theoden answered these questions to the best of his ability before finally demanding to know Eomer’s whereabouts.

The wizard nodded and turned, pointing through the crowd to a small group at the far end of the field. “You will find him over there.”

From the distance, Theoden could not distinguish faces from one another, only bodies. The one thing he could see clearly, however, was four men huddled around another who lay on the ground, apparently injured.

Rational thought fled his mind and the king desperately picked his way through the crowd, stepping over dead men and Orcs left and right. He had only recently lost his son Theodred, and it had been a devastating, nearly life-crushing loss. Losing Eomer would be like losing another son. Pushing aside thoughts of his nephew’s death, Theoden concentrated on just getting to Eomer’s side.

As he drew neared, the king was relieved to see Eomer kneeling at the gravely injured man’s side. Sighing with intense relief, Theoden slowed his hurried pace into a confident stride.

When Eomer saw his uncle, he stood immediately and approached the king. Bowing his head humbly, Eomer greeted his uncle formally. “My king.”

Theoden frowned, bringing his hand under his nephew’s jaw and tilting Eomer’s head up. The younger man held his uncle’s gaze as the king eyed him closely.

“Are you all right?” came the unexpected question from Theoden’s lips as he took in a nasty gash high on Eomer’s forehead, which bled freely down the side of the warrior’s face. His tunic wore several patches of dark red blood, and his complexion was a little too ashen for his uncle’s taste.

“I’m all right,” Eomer replied. “This bleeds so heavily only because it is a head wound. It looks much worse than it is.” He saw Theoden indicate his tunic. “The blood is not mine,” he informed the king grimly, turning to point to the man on the ground.

Theoden recognized him as Eoward, one of Eomer’s closest friends. Eoward was bleeding heavily from his chest and the king could see that his nephew held no hope.

“We will have him seen to right away,” Theoden declared, placing a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “I am sorry.”

Eomer only nodded, looking down at the ground for a moment before returning his eyes to his uncle. “Are you all right? Last time I saw you—“

“It is okay, I am fine. Gandalf released my mind from Saruman’s hold.”

The young Rider nodded, his mind still reeling in the great change he saw in his uncle. Even the signature that had banished him had been weak, barely recognizable. Eomer wondered if his uncle remembered signing the parchment.

At the quick flash and insecurity that flickered across his nephew’s face, Theoden knew what the younger man was thinking and became even more determined to set things right. “I am very proud of you,” he told Eomer. “You have proven yourself worthy of your title.” Suddenly remembering that Eomer now had a new title, the king allowed himself to smile a little. “In fact, you have proven yourself worthy far beyond your title. But you are no longer the Third Marshall of the Riddermark, Eomer, you are now the Second Marshall.” Proud as he was of Eomer and to give this promotion to him, Theoden felt a small pang of the grief he’d been pushing aside as he gave away his late son’s title.

Shock and grief overtook Eomer’s facial features. “Then Theodred is dead. I knew he would not survive his injuries, but after I left Edoras… I forced it out of my thoughts.” There was a short pause. “I missed his burial,” he continue, his voice laced with sorrow. “I am sorry.”

“It was not your fault,” Theoden assured. “It was mine. Had I not banished you—“

“You are not to blame for that,” Eomer declared firmly. “It was not in your control.”

“Even so,” the king replied grimly. “It must have hurt you to see my signature on your banishment. For that I am terribly sorry.”

The younger man said nothing. The small part of him that had wondered about his banishment felt immense gratitude and relief at receiving an apology, a confirmation of his uncle's love for him.

Turning back to Eoward, the king and his nephew helped move the injured man to a large, overcrowded room inside Helm’s Deep where most of the wounded were being treated. Hundreds of men covered the hard floor, making it near impossible for anyone to move around the room. Bitter weeping echoed off the walls as people searched for their loved ones.

Eomer would not leave his friend’s side until a healer would see him, and then Theoden finally insisted that Eomer have his head wound treated. As the two were about to engage in an argument over the matter, a sharp cry caught their attention and they turned to see Eowyn running towards them.

The young woman pulled her brother into a fierce hug, which he returned just as strongly. “When I could not find you on the field, I feared the worst,” she explained, still holding him tightly. When they parted, her hand flew to his head wound.

“I was just about to make him get it checked,” Theoden assured her.

“There are too many others with more serious injuries than this,” Eomer insisted, gritting his teeth in irritation. “If a healer is seeing to me, then someone who needs it more than me is still waiting.”

“Then I will do it,” Eowyn decided, shooting her brother the determined look he knew better than to argue with. She led him to a small corner of another, less crowded room, grabbing some healing herbs, cleansing liquids and a bandage on her way.

“It is unnecessary, Eowyn,” the stubborn Rider protested weakly, feeling the need to at least attempt to protest.

“It at least needs to be cleaned,” insisted Theoden, who had followed his niece and nephew. “Now stop arguing, that is an order.” He smiled at his nephew when he issued his “order” and was rewarded with a smile in return.

Eowyn sat Eomer down on the floor and proceeded to clean his injury, starting with the dried blood down the side of his face. None of the three spoke until she had applied the small bandage, save for once when Eowyn muttered a quick but heartfelt apology when Eomer winced, unconsciously pulling back.

When she was done, Eowyn stood up with her brother and smiled as the king pulled them both into his arms. With Eomer in one arm and Eowyn in the other, Theoden was starting to believe things would turn out all right.

“It feels as though it has been ages since you were both in my company,” he told them. “It gives my heart great joy to see you both here and well.” He watched as Eowyn and Eomer clasped arms, creating a circle that the family now stood in.

“Over the years, the numbers in our family have dwindled, and now we are the only three left,” Theoden continued. “Never have I been prouder of either of you.”

The genuine smiles he received in return made the king’s heart feel light. With a kiss to each forehead, he was forced to let them go and return to business. The love he had seen in Eomer’s eyes assured Theoden that the younger man held no grudge or hurt and that all was well. He knew a greater battle still lay ahead of them but for the moment he felt like nothing could go wrong.

The End