Eomer stood in the Great Hall at Gondor, staring at the throne that lay a few feet from him. His gaze was fixed so that he did not notice the soft footsteps approaching or the concerned blue eyes that watched him from nearby.

"What holds your gaze, then?" Legolas’ quiet voice echoed in the emptiness of the huge room.

Startled, Eomer whirled to face the elf. "I did not hear you approach."

"Few do, or I should be ashamed." The elf’s wry smile lit up his face for a brief moment. "But you seem pensive, my lord, more than you seem concerned about the battle ahead."

"I look at this place," Eomer said softly. "And wonder at all that has happened. Living in such times of darkness, somehow, I did not think to find myself on the throne of Rohan. Leading my people on the run, perhaps, if I could not save my uncle, but never as King. So little hope for so long…"

"And then a surfeit of hope for your people, and then utter loss, and then hope again." Legolas answered in a voice gone quiet to match his.

Leaning against a black and white pillar, Eomer closed his eyes. "I rallied my men with a cry for us to go to death and the world’s ending. And here I stand, and the world has not yet ended. Our hope lies in two little halflings who’ve ventured into Mordor itself, we’re to fight at the door to the cursed place itself, and I know not whether I should hope or despair."

"Aid our hope, then, Eomer. For that was what Lord Elrond named Aragorn as a child…Estel…hope." Legolas said. "Hope has in short supply in my land for some time, as darkness and evil surrounded us more each day."

"You did not tell me that you were Prince of Mirkwood." Eomer said bluntly, mind balking at the thought of this elf’s true age and the legends beside whom he had lived and fought. He opened his eyes and took in the face of his companion. "Gimli and I spoke for a while this morning," he added in explanation. "And he told me of your father."

Legolas met the man’s regard steadily. "When the Fellowship set off on our quest, I was needed to represent my people, and to protect the others. My skill with a bow was more vital than any accident of birth. Your people viewed me with enough fear and awe at first, merely for being an elf, that I deemed it unwise to add my lineage to that mix. And…things… have happened that make it unlikely that I will ever come to my father’s throne."

Eomer watched the archer lower himself gracefully to the middle of the marble steps, wounded arm still favoured slightly. "This…assault on the Black Land, you mean?"

"Nay, for will be what it will be. I will fight surrounded by friends and brothers." Legolas smiled and absently tucked one warrior’s braid behind his pointed ear. "There is no shame in dying in such a way, if that is what happens. As for not taking the throne of Mirkwood, my reason is not a thing I would speak of yet."

"Do you miss your home?" Eomer asked, curious, watching the elf’s eyes turn fathomless, dark, and sad.

"I do, indeed. And I await word of my people and how they fare in this fight. I sense that this darkness has encroached further toward my home.

I would be more content to go on this journey if I but knew their fate."

Thinking that at least he knew about the fate of his loved ones, for good or ill, Eomer found himself wishing he could think of some comfort.

Seeming to sense the man’s thoughts, Legolas shook his head. "Ah, pay no heed to my darker thoughts. What of yours, Eomer?"

"I cannot think past this night just yet." Eomer admitted. "I know that Eowyn will take our people to safety if we fail at the Gates, and now that I am assured that she will heal, that is some comfort." He grinned suddenly, images of his sister’s stubborn expression when they were young coming into his mind. "She has ever been unyielding when it came to protecting those she loved, even to getting into scraps with boys twice her size who were tormenting me."

"I have known more than one young elf-maid with similar tenacity." Legolas echoed the man’s grin, obviously relishing the chance to ease the tensions of the day. "Clearly, Eowyn does not easily yield to being left out of things."

"I never did either, actually." Eomer answered him, and crossed to sit next to him. "I had a habit of trailing after my cousin Theodred whether or not he wished me to do so, for I held him in high esteem above most others. It seems to run in our family, although I would think now that this trait is an advantage."

"Then use that knowledge." Legolas said simply, and watched Eomer digest the words.

"Use it." Eomer repeated quietly. "How?"

"Be the type of leader who allows all who wish so to be heard. Too long have your people been silenced because of Grima Wormtongue and his Dark Master. Let Rohan have its own voice once again and never stop your ears as Theoden King was forced to do." Legolas regarded him calmly, ageless face framing eerily ancient eyes. "If you would have what wisdom I can impart just now, then take Eowyn’s example."

"It was she who insisted that Merry join us on the march, and she who brought him. I think…I think that I have learned much from both of them."

"Indeed." The elf answered him dryly. "I have had a similar experience with Gimli. I have been, since our journey began, forced to…change…my view of him. Those quarrels begun by our fathers seem somewhat without purpose now, when we have fought at each other’s sides and stood against evil."

With a nod of understanding, Eomer leaned back against the step behind him. "I had never thought to fight at the side of anyone outside the borders of my land. ‘Tis a pleasant surprise."

"Who will accompany you, then, on this endeavour?" Legolas inquired.

"Those among my Riders who can, will ride with me and with Aragorn and Lord Imrahil. I plan to leave Elfhelm to guard this fair city in my absence, and to defend the roads that would lead to our people."

"A wise choice."

"I…lost many in the battle for Minas Tirith. Riders I had know for some time, who looked in trust and eagerness to me. I wish to lose no more, but if we do not go forward against this enemy…" Eomer shivered a little. "There is a fear in me that the risk must be taken yet again." He contemplated the marble floor at his feet, trying to decide how to phrase his thoughts aloud. "I would also feel great honor in traveling and fighting at your side, Legolas. Prince of Mirkwood or member of the Fellowship, you have more than proven your worth. Rohan’s company will be safer with you as representative of your people when we stand before the Gates of evil.

Long fingers grasped his arm tightly. "And free folk of Arda will stand a greater chance of prevailing with Rohan’s presence, Eomer."

When the man finally looked up, the elf’s intense gaze practically radiated thanks and understanding. "Perhaps." Eomer shook his head. "I will try, as you say, to aid hope. And implore that it will aid me on the morrow." He lifted tired fingers to clasp those that still gripped his arm, and they both rose without speaking further.

Rest was necessary before this final and desperate chance could be taken. And Eomer could only hope that such a bond as had grown between them, uncrowned Kings and Woodland prince, could give them strength in the coming dawn.