CXVII

The Kingslayer

Eowyn had followed him silently through the camp to the command tent. What to do about this? He thought, I can't keep her secret, Eomer and the Rohirrim must be told she is here. For a second he wondered if Westerling had been sheltering her, but decided he probably hadn't been, the man would have let it slip at some point. He glanced over his shoulder at her a moment, the pale blue eyes behind the helm met his, Well she's here now… it seems pointless to send her away now that the siege is underway, and she would need to travel all the way back to the fords to return to Edoras.

He paused, "You commanded Rohan's armies?"

"Yes," she said, a touch of pride entering her voice, "and I was never defeated in the field."

A part of him recalled something that his father had often repeated, "Defeat doesn't always happen in the field." He started walking again, and she followed.

"That's the sort of thing your brother would say," She said suddenly, "Tyrion, he doesn't have the body for battle but he has the mind for strategy."

"That he does," he said, "I heard that he helped remove some usurper, what was his name?"

"Grima," she replied, "a lord who had been my father's advisor… he would have wed me and declared himself king if not for your brother's plots."

Tyrion… the wizard was supposed to take you far away from war and the troubles that come with it, he smirked to himself, then again, perhaps a court full of intrigue and betrayal brought out your better qualities, you were always like father in ways neither of you cared to admit.

They came at last to the command tent in the center of the camp, the pair of guards that had followed him earlier waited outside now. They moved to his side as he approached, eyeing the knight following him suspiciously.

"It's all right," he gestured dismissively as Eowyn tried to follow him into the tent, "He's with me." The two looked at one another a moment before resuming their positions near the entrance. Redcloaks, he thought irritably. The personal guards of the Lannister family were good men, and discrete, but he had never liked having them hovering over him.

As he entered the tent he saw that the large dinner table had already been set, a roasted boar had been set at the center, with a thick glaze that reflected the low light. Perhaps a dozen in total would be dining with him, he'd found that awarding knights and lords a seat at his table for a job well done was a useful incentive to keep the camp running smoothly. Forlong was already cutting himself a piece, at his side was a thick shouldered man with bushy sideburns that Jaime recognized as Ser Merlon Crakehall, the youngest of Lord Crakehall's sons.

"It's going to be hard to tell tales of this war without mentioning the Crakehall's Lord Forlong," the young knight said, his mouth already half full of bread, "My father's fleet smashed the Corsairs in the Bay of Belfalas."

"Some say Boromir, Son of Denethor, might have had something to do with that," Forlong replied in an amused tone.

The youngest Crakehall waved dismissively, "Well of course he helped, I never said he didn't!" He took another bite of bread, muffling his words even more, "My brother Tybolt and I, we fought at the battle of Osgiliath too, the two of us charged through the streets on horseback and there wasn't anything that could stop us-"

"Save for the black riders," Jaime said, silencing the boasts as he sat down.

There was silence for a moment, Ser Merlon swallowed the bread with a gulp, "Aye," he admitted, "They were…" he shuddered rather than finishing the thought.

The table grew quiet again, momentarily Jaime recalled his brief duel with the Lord of the Nazgul. He'd retraced his steps a thousand times in his head, and each time he'd come to the same conclusion, Another few minutes and I would have been dead, either he would have run his blade through my heart or it would have stopped beating of it's own accord.

"Is there a need to talk of such things now?" a voice piped up from the end of the table. As one they all turned to see the hobbit leader, Shirriff Robin Smallburrow, looking into his wineglass and hoping to avoid their looks. "I-I just think that we have enough to worry about without bringing up whatever might be in Mordor…"

"Agreed," Forlong rumbled, "I say we cross the bridges as we come to them."

"Crossing bridges?" called another voice from the end of the table. Jaime turned to see Ser Lambert Turnberry, one of his father's knights who always insisted on wearing an eyepatch over his perfectly functioning eye, "Let's hope they're easier to cross than the one we're working on now!" the joke was dark, but enough to get a chuckle from those gathered. A few men looked his way, trying to judge how he took the comment. He knew from experience that few men dared to joke or jape about anything in his father's presence for fear of offending the Old Lion.

I am not my father, He allowed a slight chuckle which eased the tension in the room.

"Jaime," Forlong said suddenly, "who is that you've brought with you?"

He turned to see Eowyn still standing awkwardly by the entrance to the tent, her face still obscured by the helm she was wearing. Seven hells, I didn't realize she couldn't take that off. He thought a moment about what to do and then sighed, She won't be here much longer anyways, he decided, there is no need for secrecy.

"My lady," he said, "why not remove the helm and introduce yourself to our guests."

The look she shot him could have cooled a smith's forge, but slowly she reached up and pulled the helmet off, revealing her fair face. The collected knights gasped as she reached up and pulled a short string that had drawn her hair up, allowing it to fall to her shoulders.

"Princess Eowyn of Rohan," She said in a steely tone, "at your service." She walked to Jaime's side, her anger barely contained, and roughly pulled a chair out, plopping down and grabbing the nearest goblet.

"Lady Eowyn," Forlong said uncertainly, "It is good to see you again, but what are you doing here?"

She glared at Jaime again, "I was on a secret mission for my brother."

Already saving face, he thought with some amusement, "A mission that is now over," he said, meeting her gaze, "She will be returning to her brother's camp as soon as we can find a way for her to do so.

"So this is truly the princess of Rohan then?" Merlon Crakehall mused, "traveling with armies and acting as a spy?"

"It's truly her," She replied before taking a drink of the wine.

"Wait a moment," Turnberry said suddenly, "Prince Jaime, you said you were going to bring the winner of the joust at Serrett's camp to dine with us, is she-"

"She is," he finished, "I witnessed Lady Eowyn unhorse Ser Swyft myself."

Turnberry started chuckling, and it soon spread around the table, "Swyft got his arse handed to him by a woman!" he roared.

Jaime could see Eowyn's face beginning to turn red, he sighed before speaking up, "I've seen you both joust Turnberry, you wouldn't have fared any better against her."

The men stopped laughing, Turnberry seemed embarrassed, "I-I meant no offense of course, it's just that-"

"Intended or not offence was taken Ser Turnberry," Jaime said sternly. The uncertain looks went around the table again, thoughts of his father's war councils again entered his mind. He grinned a little, hoping to bring some warmth back into the room, "But forgiven certainly?" he said, glancing over at Eowyn.

"Certainly," she said, raising her glass slightly.

He could tell from the way she said it that she would have liked nothing more than to show Turnberry how easily she could unhorse him herself. Angry and impetuous, he thought irritably, and now my problem. He shot a glance at Furlong, the old man's lips were pursed and Jaime wondered if he was having similar thoughts.

"She's really been to battle you know," Merlon Crakehall spoke up, "My brother Lyle is one of her closest advisors and has ridden at her side many times!"

She frowned, "My closest advisor?"

"Yes," Merlon responded, more to the other knights than to her, "Lyle knew that this would be an important front in the war you see-"

A groan went up around the table, "There's nothing a Crakehall loves more than talking about another Crakehall," Ser Darren Broom laughed, "I'm sure wherever Ser Lyle is he's telling everyone who will listen about how his brother Merlon is leading this army!"

A small smile did appear on lady Eowyn's face at that, "Ser Lyle played a part in freeing Rohan, it might not have been possible without him."

"You see!" Merlon exclaimed, seemingly vindicated, "What house can match house Crakehall in words or deeds?"

That started a lengthy debate among the assembled knights, which quickly became standard dinner conversations. Pleased with the way things were going Jaime allowed himself to lean back and drink some of his wine. After they had eaten they continued to drink and talk, though not about anything of consequence, they would plan the next attack in the morning and they all knew it.

Lady Eowyn tried to join the conversation a few times, but seemed to grow frustrated at the change in the men's tenor when the spoke to her. It was not outright disrespectful exactly, but they avoided the ribald jokes and boasts they kept for one another. It seemed to frustrate her, and she soon stopped.

At the end of the table Shirriff Smallburrow seemed similarly detached. He sat lower than everyone else even while sitting on a large pillow intended to boost him up, and none of the topics of conversation seemed particularly interesting to him.

After perhaps a half hour of such talk the men began to leave, and eventually the last, Ser Turnberry, drunk on a few too many cups of wine, staggered back to his own camp, leaving Jaime, Eowyn, and Forlong alone.

"Well," Forlong sighed, "Now that everyone else is gone is there any chance I might hear the truth of why the princess of Rohan is in our camp?"

"I only just found out myself," Jaime said, turning to her, "Well my lady?"

She stared at them a moment, "This is my fight to finish," she muttered, "sending me away now, when we're on the Wizard's doorstep… it's an injustice!"

He raised an eyebrow, "An injustice?"

"Yes," she said bitterly, "You…" she sighed angrily, "you two wouldn't understand."

"You're searching for glory in battle," Forlong said, "most of the young men who march off to war dream of something similar."

"The young men," she spat, "but they are told to seek it, allowed, to seek it. What songs will be sung of Eowyn, who chased Saruman back to his lair and then quietly returned to Edoras the moment her brother returned? Who went back to her rightful place at home and away from danger?"

"You are fortunate if missing your place in a few songs is the worst thing you ever suffer" Jaime said in a harsher tone than he'd intended, "Tomorrow we will find a way to return you to your brother on the far side of the river, if we do not take the crossing perhaps we will build a raft."

"They call you the Kingslayer don't they?" Eowyn said suddenly, "Your brother told me once that you cared little for any law of gods or men, that you broke oaths easily. Who are you to look down on me for refusing to accept my station in life?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but realized he didn't have an answer. His face flushed red a moment, but Forlong just looked at him with tired eyes and sighed.

"Lady Eowyn," he said, "You have done much, were it up to me I would allow you to do more, but you must understand that we cannot betray your brother's trust by hiding you within our ranks."

Her shoulders slumped, "Do as you must then," she said in a defeated tone, "I will return to my tent, and again to you in the morning." She turned and slowly made her way out of the tent.

"Should we send some guards after her?" Forlong asked, "To make sure she doesn't disguise herself again?"

"No need," Jaime replied, "She was lucky enough to have it work once when no one was looking for her, but those men who dined with us will talk, and by tomorrow everyone in camp will know that the Princess of Rohan is among us."

"I suppose," Forlong muttered. "It's a strange thing for a woman to yearn for battle so, I don't know if I've ever heard of anything like it. Do you suppose she fights among the men or does she command from the rear?"

"She fights among the men," he said without hesitation, "I saw her in battle myself during our approach, and the way she unhorsed Swyft makes me think she's killed from the saddle before." He thought a moment, "she's no doubt strong for a woman, but even so she'd never match a man for strength, much less an Uruk-Hai."

Forlong stroked his beard, "She's probably fast then, and skilled in swordplay."

"I could best her," he said almost involuntarily. Forlong gave him an amused look and he scowled, "I squired for Sumner Crakehall and he made me spar against his sons. That family gets their growth young, by the time they're fifteen they're nearly as large as a grown man. If I had relied on strength alone they'd have beaten me black and blue every time."

"Stop right there!" a voice came from outside, one of his guards.

"I need to see Prince Jaime right now!" a second voice, Jaime struggled to place it a moment, The hobbit, he realized, Smallburrow.

He heard another guard laugh, "Go back to your camp you little imp, if you've got something to say to the Prince say it tomorrow."

"I-It can't wait!" Smallburrow said again.

Jaime sighed and walked to the entrance of the tent, he pulled the flap open, "What is going on out here?" he asked.

The guards both straightened their backs, "Prince Jaime," one said, "This… dwarf-"

"We're not dwarves," Smallburrow interrupted, "We-"

"What news do you have Shirriff Smallburrow?" Jaime interrupted.

"A pair of my hunters came back, they say there are wolves in the hills," the hobbit replied, "near the camp."

"Wolves?" Jaime asked, "They won't dare attack a camp this large."

"There are too many to be a pack, a hundred at least, maybe more." The hobbit paused a moment, "They're not normal wolves," he tried to explain, "They're far too big, and they're as smart as any orc. Surely you've seen them by now?"

"I have," Jaime said. He turned to the guards, "Wake everyone you can, tell the sentries to be ready for anything."

The guard glanced at Smallburrow a moment, but then nodded, "Yes M'lord." He gestured to his partner and they went to carry out his orders.

He turned back to Forlong, "We're about to suffer another raid, go to your men."

"And here I'd hoped to get to bed at a reasonable hour," Forlong said as he stood up.

"I'll go to my own," Smallburrow said, "We're on the edge of the camp."

And thank the gods for that, Jaime thought, "Did you tell your-" He was about to say men, "hobbits to prepare for an attack?"

"Of course I did," Smallburrow said.

"Take them and patrol the west edge of the camp, look for any sign of these wolves," he ordered, "I'll meet you there with reinforcements as soon as I can." He turned and walked towards a large red tent near his own where a detachment of redcloaks would be waiting. As he entered their tent he saw that a number of them were already in their cots, a few others were seated around a table talking. They glanced up as he entered.

"Get your armor on," He ordered, "Arm yourselves." They quickly sprang into action, these were some of his family's best men, and within ten minutes they were ready and standing at attention, their crimson armor reflecting the low torchlight. He nodded, "Come with me," he turned and walked out of the tent, the men lining up behind him.

As they marched through the camp he was pleased to see the flurry of activity as messengers ran from tent to tent, shouting orders. His presence seemed to add to the air of alertness that was spreading through the men, and as they passed knights and smallfolk alike were strapping on swordbelts and gripping spears uncertainly.

He was forced to stop as Lady Eowyn stepped into his path, "What's going on?" she asked. She was still wearing the armor from before, though she had abandoned the helmet. Several men stopped to stare at her, as if questioning if it was really a woman in the middle of the camp, but none for very long, there were other things to do. "There are men saying we're about to come under attack."

"It seems that way," he replied, "stay near Westerling's camp, if it's only a raid it's unlikely they'll make it that far-"

"The last time Saruman attempted a raid you were almost killed," she said, cutting him off, "I will accompany you."

"Absolutely not," he said, "how am I to explain it to your brother if something happens to you?"

"You don't have time to argue with me," she said, "and you can't spare the men you would need to force me away."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes and made a quick gesture with his hand, a group of six men walked forward from the column to form a small semicircle around them.

He smirked a little as he saw her expression become less certain, "I think I can spare the men Lady Eowyn."

She kept eye contact with him as she shifted her stance slightly to her right, "Let me come with you," she said, firmer this time.

She's getting ready to evade the guards, he thought, there are six of them she couldn't possibly- he realized that Eowyn had balled her hands into fists, Oh gods, she's going to try to fight them!

He allowed himself a chuckle, "Fine, we've wasted enough time on this, let's go." He gestured for the men to stand down and began walking. Eowyn seemed to sigh before joining him at the front of the column.

"Thank you," she said quietly after they had gone a few feet.

"Don't make me regret it," he said in return.

As they reached the western edge of the encampment he saw a collection of a few hundred hobbits spread out in a skirmishing formation, arrows nocked and ready on their small bows. Smallburrow was near the front, his sword drawn. Among the hobbits were a few of the men who had come with Smallburrow from some town in the North called "Bree," they were armed with spears and wooden shields and seemed ready, if nervous. Behind them were a number of Westerosi knights and levys, most armored, though at least one man was in his smallclothes, an axe gripped tight in his hand.

"Well where is this attack?" A silver armored knight asked. Jaime recognized Lord Serrett of Silverhill, "I don't hear anything out there!"

"Do you think attackers would announce themselves before conducting a raid Lord Serrett?" He asked as he brought his detachment of redcloaks to a halt. He pointed out into the hills and trees of the Vale of Isengard, "Anything could be out there."

He peered up and down the length of the camp, there were groups of men at attention here and there, and even those that weren't had gathered weapons and shields. We'll be ready wherever they hit us, he thought. Idly he wondered if the Rohirrim camp on the far side of the river would be hit as well, but he pushed it from his mind, there is enough to worry about over here. The moon was nearly above them now, waxing and nearly full. Between the lights of the camp and the bright night sky he was confident they would not be taken unawares. Perhaps they saw that we are ready for them and decided to fall back.

He was pondering what to do when he heard a voice, softly at first, but then growing louder until it was almost as though he were being shouted at from somewhere above him. It was a deep and terrible sound, speaking and ranting in a language he did not understand, he fought to keep himself from clasping his hands over his ears, some of the men around him did.

"It's Saruman!" Eowyn exclaimed angrily as she drew her sword. She looked up into the sky frantically, the way her teeth were bared it was as though she expected the Wizard to drop down from the clouds.

Wait, he thought, the clouds? He looked up in horror as an inky blackness blotted out the stars, spreading to cover the moon as well. He followed it to the source and realized it emanated out of the tower of Orthanc, where fires still lit each window of the fortress. From the north a cold wind whipped through the camp unexpectedly, causing a number of the torches to go out, leaving them in near darkness.

"Get those lights back!" Jaime shouted, he drew his own sword and in the dark bumped into someone. He blinked his eyes a few times, hoping they would adjust to the darkness faster.

"Seven hells!" someone shouted, looking out into the darkness Jaime gasped as he saw dozens, hundreds, of glowing blood red eyes peering at them. A bloodcurdling howl echoed over the camp as the wolves bolted towards them.

"Aim for the eyes!" Smallburrow shouted, a hundred bowstrings snapped as the arrows arced into the darkness. A few of the approaching pairs of eyes staggered or stopped, but more barked and snarled as they picked up speed, closing the distance between them and the camp.

Jaime's eyes adjusted to the dark just in time to see a massive wolf leap onto one of the hobbits, closing its jaws on one and jerking him back and forth like a ragdoll. He heard a snarl and a bark as a form barreled out of the darkness at him, he dodged it reflexively, bringing Brightroar down on the back of its neck, cutting through to the spine. Another form slammed into him, and before he knew it he was on the ground, a glistening set of teeth opened and darting downward. His hand shot up to its throat, and the jaws snapped shut with a *click* just a hair short of his face.

I should have taken the time to get my helm! He thought in a panic as he tried to bring his sword up into the beast's side.

Suddenly a spear stabbed into the wolf's side, shoving it off of him and into the dirt. He turned to see Eowyn, her teeth gritted as she pulled the spearhead out and stabbed it again, this time in the throat, causing it to thrash one last time and go still as its lifeblood drained out of it.

He scurried to his feet and looked around, more men with torches were coming now, there was a howl and the wolves began running back into the darkness, the hobbits firing bows after them and a few of the redcloaks trying to chase the stragglers.

He took a deep breath and sheathed his sword, "Where did you get the spear?" he asked.

"From someone who wasn't as lucky," she replied, letting the weapon fall to the ground.

"Prince Jaime!" Robin Smallburrow exclaimed as he ran up to them. There was blood on the tip of his sword, and the sleeve of his shirt was torn, a series of deep scratches bleeding down his arm. "I-I need healers!" he stammered, his face pale, "We might still save a few-"

"I'll send for our maesters at once," Jaime said, as he looked over the carnage. The assault had lasted no more than a few minutes, but dozens of men were dead. Looking off into the hills he spotted a single pair of red eyes still watching them from far away. "You and your hunters saved many lives tonight Shirriff Smallburrow," he said, "I don't want to think about what might have happened if they had caught us unaware."

Smallburrow winced as he sheathed his own sword, there was a bit of a tear in the corner of his eye but Jaime didn't think it was because of the pain, "A dozen, a hundred, too many died either way." He glanced at the tower of Orthanc, "More for him to answer for…"

"Indeed," Jaime agreed. He turned to Eowyn, "We are attacking the crossing tomorrow. You've saved my life from the Wizard's schemes twice now, I think I'll avoid tempting fate and keep you close at hand."

Her eyes widened, "You won't regret this."

"Let's hope not," he muttered. "Get some sleep, you'll need it for tomorrow."

A/N: I'm alive! Let's do some questions

Weylandcorp4 - That would be quite a meeting, Tywin's the ultimate "dark" fantasy character and Aragorn is almost his opposite.

Pyromania101 - It's easy to know the ring is bad for you when you're not right near it, it's a lot hard when you're looking at it.

NoNameAvailable Bis - well the Westerlands got hit with the bad parts of middle earth pretty early on, now they're getting some of the good ones.

ATP - Old Man Willow was "entish" but I think you're right, he wasn't an ent. Treebeard noted that some trees are "waking," maybe Willow was one of those.

Quelthias - The whole "duality" thing seemed like a fun comparison to me.

Seanbob1 & Deadblow13 - All right guys I'll try to get a joke chapter to go with the next update. Also Euron is basically working as an underling of the Witch King to bring the war into Southern Gondor.