So here it is everyone, the sequel to my previous story, For Gondor and Rohan. Yes, as the summary stated this will be an eventual EomerOC story, but of course that will take a little while, as he doesn't appear much in the Two Towers :) I could just go the book's way, but I don't feel comfortable enough to try! Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it. I am nervous, and hope it does not disappoint! Please review and let me know what you think :)

Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.

It seemed as though they'd been running forever. Three days, it really had been, but none of them denied the exhuastion they felt. Yet despite it, they still carried on. Still they ran, never stopping, rarely sleeping, hardly eating or drinking save for when they came across water. Never before had any of them endured such a journey. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Ranger of the North and heir of Isilduir led them; Legolas Greenleaf of the Mirkwood Elves ran with; Gimli, son of Glòin, there was also; then Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn, from Rohan. Three days it had been since the fateful battle of Amon Hen, and for that long she had been a near stranger to the rest of her company. None of them could recall one word from her since they set out - although there was no denying they'd hardly spoken themselves either. She ignored them all other than when Aragorn issued any sort of order - stop, rest, move out - and stayed silent in the hope that silence would bring her peace. It did not.

The rare times they rested, only for a couple hours each, she was plagued with nightmares. Dark dreams of the battle by the river, and the one she'd lost. The soldier of Gondor, Boromir, son of Denethor. Whether waking or asleep, he tormented her mind. She felt broken inside, mangled, and the hole his loss had torn into her chest was still bared, still hurting and vulnerable. But she had not the time to linger on such pains. They were running, following, hoping to catch the band of orcs that carried two hobbits - their friends and once fellow companions. Often she found herself longing and praying to have beneath her a strong steed, a horse of her country on which to travel. Travel, and even fighting, on foot was not welcomed by her, and she had grown tired of it. She wanted her horse, her country, her people. If she must be deprived of the man she had grown to love, must she lack every other joy in the world as well? The question answered itself - yes, she must, for these were not times of comfort and joy. The rough ground beneath her and harsh sun above only proved such words.

On the bright morning of the third day, the quartet was at a rare stand-still, Aragorn lying flat on the ground with his ear pressed to the earth. No one moved, or hardly breathed, for fear they should disturb the Ranger's listening. He lay there for several long moments, straining to hear the running of hundreds of large, armored orcs. Alandria stood patiently, but it was not a long wait.

"Their pace has quickened." The dark-haired man murmured, slowly opening his eyes and raising his head. "They have caught our scent. Hurry!" And at his word, he was on his feet, running again, with Legolas, Gimli, and her following.

"Come on Gimli!" The Elf encouraged his Dwarf friend, who followed considerably slower. Alandria didn't wait to hear any reply from the short, sturdy man, and kept an even pace with the Elf, following Aragorn.

Their travel for the next full day - and most of the night - was same as it had been previously. The expansive golden grass and hills of rock, low mountains and deep creeks surrounded by even more empty grassland - it began to excite Alandria. She knew where the chase of the orcs was leading them. Straight into Rohan. Straight to the country and people she hadn't seen in months. She would endure another week of this exhausting chase just to lay eyes on the city of Edoras, the Golden Hall of Meduseld. But near the peak of the next day, Aragorn dropped to his knees while tracking in a shaded valley. Alandria and Legolas were soon at his side, and she stared down in confusion at the green and silver leaf-brooch between the Ranger's fingers.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lòrien fall." He breathed, brushing dirt from the pendant.

"They may yet be alive." Legolas murmured softly, while Alandria felt cold dread creep up her spine nonetheless.

"Less than a day ahead of us." Aragorn decided, rising to his feet again and at once beginning to run, with the Lady of Rohan and Elf close behind. "Come."

As they wove out of the low valley, Legolas led them up to a rocky hill, and then they paused atop the stones. Alandria was hit with a flood of mixed emotions, all far stronger than she would have liked. She was comforted and yet excited by the sight of the rocky, golden plains before them, the plains of Rohan; a flood of anxiety and fear for what she would find when she arrived hit her as well; and, at the edge of it all, was a sorrow for the man she wanted by her side to see the land of her country with her, and who would not ever be there.

The mix of emotions from simply seeing part of the country was overwhelming, so much that her eyes burned with the prick of tears and her breath rushed out shakily in one word, the first word any had heard her speak since the battle of Amon Hen: "Boromir." Alandria had hoped that when - and if - they came to her country, as the Fellowship, he could share with her the experience of being home again, and the same when they got to his home, Gondor. None of that would ever happen now. "Rohan.." She finally spoke again, just a whisper. "We're here."

Aragorn nodded, as they all gazed out at the golden hills before them. "Home of the Horse-lords. Are you glad to be back, Lady Alandria?" She could only nod, her feet anxious to carry them closer to the city of Edoras, but the Ranger was still comtemplating their path. "Why into Rohan? There's something strange at work here..some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets it will against us..." He paused for a moment, before running closer to the edge of the large rock. Only then did Alandria notice the Elf had made his way down below them, and further ahead, and was perched on top of his own boulder. "Legolas!" Aragorn yelled. "What do your Elf-eyes see?"

"The Orcs turned North-east...they're taking the hobbits to Isengard!"

Alandria shared the same fear they all felt at the mention of the now-evil place, with it's tower of Orthanc and corrupt White Wizard. She turned to Aragorn, hoping for some direction from him, but he only reflected her fears. "Saruman." He whispered, and then scrambled down to meet up with Legolas, Alandria and Gimli following. "They are surely going to Isengard?" The Ranger was asking the Elf as they approached, and the fair blonde immortal nodded.

"There is no other place to go on their path. They are taking Merry and Pippin to Saruman."

"They've got no chance there!" Gimli spoke up, as unnerved as they all were by this news. "And we're never going to catch them in time!"

"True." Legolas agreed. "Even as fast as we are traveling, these large orcs are stronger, and run in sunlight with ease. I do not see us catching them before they reach Isengard."

"We must try!" Aragorn snapped, already beginning to run. "We are the hobbits' only chance."

Alandria followed with Legolas and Gimli, none of them arguing with the Ranger, for they all knew it to be true. Now again they ran and ran, stopping even less than before and running faster, fresh strength in their blood now that they knew their friends were headed to the White Wizard. That night they each slept barely more than an hour, before pressing on again. And when the sun rose, it was pale and red, staining the remaining darkness a pale pink. Alandria ignored the Elf's prophecy about the red sun and blood being spilt, but could not deny it gave her a chill. What if they were too late, and the orcs had decided to kill Merry and Pippin already? Still, they did not cease or pause their chase, and soon the bright sun lit the entire gold landscape around them.

There was an strange sound in the air, or so it seemed to Alandria, as the small group ran - and stumbled - exhaustedly onto the brink of a large hill, overlooking the country below them for miles. As she became aware of the sound, it seemed to grow louder, until suddenly, it dawned on her what it was, why it was so familiar. And it was coming from behind them. She whirled around, just as Aragorn lowered himself to his knees again to read the signs in the ground. The shrieking whinny of a horse alerted the other three, and at Aragorn's signal, they hurried to the rocky part of the slope. The Ranger and Elf crouched low, pulling Gimli quickly down beside them, but Alandria stood a few paces back. She trembled with anxiety, knowing what was coming.

Soon, the first several of the horsemen appeared before them, coming over the hill, and as they rushed forward in a mass of glinting silver, flaxen hair, and horse-flesh, were followed by at least a couple hundred more. Aragorn realized who they were and glanced at his companions, catching Alandria's eye. She felt a faint, very faint, weak smile twitch her lips. The Ranger faced back at the horse riders, and smoothly rose to his feet, striding out of their hiding place as the last of the Riders galloped by - as always, with Legolas, Alandria, and Gimli close behind.

"Riders of Rohan!" Aragorn yelled at the men galloping before him. "What news from the Mark?"

Alandria saw the Rider in the lead raise his spear as soon as the Ranger's voice broke the beats of their horses' hooves, and with a swiftness and smoothness that awed the rest of the company, the group of horsemen turned around and now rode back to where the Man, Woman, Elf, and Dwarf stood. Alandria felt her stomach twist and turn and boil in anticipation, thrilled to see Riders of her country again, wondering who among them she would know, praying this meant they would go on their way to Edoras soon.

The other three however did not similarly share her excitment and anxiety. Rather, they were nervous, unsure how the infamously proud and gallant Riders would treat such strange new arrivals. Once the Riders came to where they stood, their cautiousness only increased. The men steered their horses effeciently around the small group to form a tight, layered circle, a living wall, locking them in. They all sat silently upon their tall steeds, spears raised and aimed at which ever newcomer they chose. Their helms covered eyes and most features, leaving only wisps of golden hair and tight jaws with firm mouths to be seen. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli stood uneasily, with their hands raised in peace. Alandria merely stood and watched in fascination.

As soon as the circle made itself complete, a Rider on a tall dappled horse thrust himself forward, earning the quartet's attention. "What business does an Elf, a Man, a Dwarf and a...Woman, have in the Riddermark?" The appearance of Alandria seemed to surprise him, but it was merely her gender that came as a shock, for he continued in his demanding voice, "Speak quickly!"

Alandria stared at the man carefully as he spoke, his voice growing ever more familiar but his face hard to make out for the helm and the height at which he sat. All she could define was the glint of cautious, angry, dark eyes.

"Give me your name, Horse-Master, and I shall give you mine." Gimli countered smoothly, receiving a glance from Aragorn and hard glare from the Rider.

The man did indeed glare, hard and harsh, before handing his spear to a companion and sliding smoothly from his horse. He strode proudly towards the Dwarf, and soon his features were obvious to Alandria. "I would cut off your head, Dwarf-"

"Èomer?" She interrupted the man, to the thanks of Aragorn and Legolas, for stopping an arugment before it began. "Éomer, Third Marshal?" She repeated, stepping closer. The proud Rider stared at her for a moment, and she saw the confusion sweep over his features. He raised his hands to his helm, removing it slowly as if to see her better, and holding it at his side. He revealed a dark gold mane of hair, tied back but loose, and a short, brown beard. His jaw was firm, and his eyes dark, dark hazel. Alandria knew for sure her declaration was not wrong. She knew before her stood the King's nephew, her closest friend's brother, Third Marshal of the Mark - Èomer, son of Èomund.

"No.." He murmured, staring at her in shock. "It cannot be..Alandria? Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn?" She nodded to each of his questions, and the odd sensation of another faint smile tugged at her mouth, straining to be let out but unable to work correctly. The man did not notice however and instead rushed forward, embracing her powerfully - to the shocked stares of the rest of the woman's company. Alandria returned his embrace just as strongly, clasping onto the strong shoulders and broad chest as her insides felt as if they were caught in a whirlwind. She had never gotten very close to the Third Marshal, but as he was the brother of her friend and a lord in her country, they were certainly acquainted more than once. Any familiar face was beyond a joy to see now, and his was definitley not an exception.

They held to each other tightly for a long moment, until the feel of a broad chest and shoulders became too painfully familiar, and she broke away. "It has been too long, my lord." She said quickly, trying to shake the swarm of emotions that were plaguing her.

"Aye, far too long, friend-of-my-sister." The man smiled, once stony and harsh features now softened and at ease. "Many have missed you!" His face fell then, and he studied her with oddly intense dark eyes. "No one knew where you went, you just disappeared. And then your horse returned rider-less...we thought you were dead."

"I am sorry, but I had to leave so. Lady Èowyn knew, but it seems as though she did not tell."

"Indeed she didn't. But now that you are back, will you tell where your adventure went? And how you came across such...varied company?" His gaze finally returned to her companions, and it was guarded again, harsh and cautious.

Alandria shook her head, knowing better than to even begin their story. "It is far too long a tale to tell now, my lord. It was a matter I know for sure you will hear about again. As for my companions, this is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Aragorn bowed his head. "Legolas of the Woodland Realm," Legolas glared, most likely still sore from the started threat to his Dwarf friend. "and Gimli, son of Glòin." Gimli merely huffed.

"We are friends of Rohan, and Thèoden, your king." Aragorn finally spoke, breaking himself and the other two from the spell they had been laid in since Alandria and the Horse-lord began conversing.

Èomer observed the Ranger carefully, dark eyes still distrusting, before he sighed. "Thèoden no longer recognizes friend from foe. Not even his own kin." He gestured to himself vaguely, before signaling to the other Riders, who only then lowered their spears.

Alandria's brow furrowed, and she glanced at the Riders circled about them before turning her gaze back to the tall man before her. "What do you speak of? I knew the King was...ill when I left, but do you mean it has grown worse?"

Èomer nodded with another sigh, hard features now appearing weary. "Saruman has poisoned his mind and is claiming lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that...we are banished."

"Banished?!" Alandria could not help the cry of surprise that broke from her lips, but Èomer only bowed his head slightly. "What evil could allow this?! Is there no one in Edoras to intercept these indecencies?"

"Any of us that spoke against these actions, or even fought to rid the lands of orc invasions - well, we are here before you. Banished."

"Thèodred?" The tall man dropped her gaze, and shifted, but did not answer. "He is dead?!" She cried again, surprising herself and her three companions with the outbursts of emotion.

"Nay, not dead." Èomer replied, then sighed and continued softly. "Not yet."

"My lord, what do you mean?"

"Not but a day ago, I and a party of my men found him and his company, slaughtered, by a troop of Saruman's Uruk-hai. Thèodred was alive, but gravely injured. He is in Meduseld, but last I saw, things to do not look well for him."

Alandria felt as if she couldn't stand, she was so shocked by this news. Everyone she knew, it seemed, was dead or on the brink of death. "And what of Lady Èowyn, what of your sister? Have they found a way to banish her as well?"

"Nay, she remains in Meduseld. She tries to aid the King."

"...tries?"

Èomer shook his head. "He is no longer the King we know. But, as is your story, mine is too long to tell now. Rather, what need brings your company here?" With his words, the golden-haired man eyed her companions once again, before settling on Aragorn, who answered him smoothly.

"We are tracking a party of large orcs across the plains. They have two of our friends."

Èomer stared at the dark-haired man silently for a moment, before glancing down. "These large orcs you seek are Uruk-hai, a strange new breed Saruman has created." His nearly black gaze finally met back with the Ranger's. "We slaughtered them during the night."

"But there would be two hobbits." Gimli burst in. "Did you see two hobbits with them?"

"They would be small, only children to your eyes." Aragorn explained, but the Third Marshal shook his head.

"We left none alive."

Alandria didn't breathe. She didn't believe it. She didn't want to. Merry and Pippin, the two hobbits they had ran so long and so hard for, were dead? The two hobbits Boromir of Gondor fell protecting, dead? And only the night before? At the hands of her own people? Once again she was hit with mixed emotions: disbelief, sorrow, pain, fury...but, once again, she fought it down and held her mask.

"We piled the carcasses and burned them." Èomer was speaking again, and pointing to a cloud of smoke in the hills behind his company.

"Dead?" Breathed Gimli, asking for conformation they all feared.

The Rider nodded, turning his gaze to Alandria but she could not meet it. "I am sorry." Once he received no reply from the travelers before him other than bowed heads, he sighed and then turned, whistling sharply. "Hasufel! Arod!" At his call, two horses without riders were urged into the circle, and Èomer grasped their reins firmly. "They are not much, and only two, but they are strong and will give you rest from running. Perhaps they will bade you better fortune then their previous masters."

Alandria eagerly accepted the reins to the chesnut horse the Rider held, and gently stroked it's nose, comforted by the large creature. After another quiet moment, where Legolas accepted the white horse, she numbly met the dark gaze of the Third Marshal. "Thank you." She replied simply, and he nodded, exchanging glances with the rest of her companions.

"Farewell." He turned and fastened his helm back on, before swinging atop his own dappled steed with ease and re-accepting his spear. "I wish you a quick and safe road to Edoras. And if you must, look for your friends, but do not trust or hope. It is forsaken in these lands." The powerful Rider caught her eyes again, and his dark features were sympathetic, but she did not feel it. She stared blankly back for a moment, only able to understand that now even more of her friends were dead, before turning her attention back to the horse before her. Èomer sighed heavily, nudging his horse into motion and yelling at his men, "We ride North!" And with that, the banished Rohirrim disappeared, in the thunderous beat of hooves.

NOTE: I'm also really, really unsure about the title. I know I want it to start with "For Rohan and..." but the next word is evading me. There's one out there, I know it, but I can't find the right one! So anyone with any ideas, please tell me, and I will consider them and quite possibly change the story title :)