Posted: May 2004
Title: My Favourite Marshal
Author: Miranda Bell
Fandom: Tolkien
Type: FCHet, FCS
Characters: Eomer/OFC, Eomer/???
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This story is written for fun not profit; Amanda and Red belong to me, otherwise characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate and whoever holds copyright to "My Favourite Martian"
Warnings: Silliness
Beta: do
Author's Note: A little bit of word association run wild.

Summary: The ladies love the horselord.

*****

"My Favourite Marshal"
- an LotR re-make of an old 60's TV show ;)

Premise :

A portal has opened in space and time, dropping Eomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, and his trusty steed Firefoot into the hapless life of LA journalist Tim O'Hara. Tim tries to pass the Marshal off as his cowboy cousin Martin while they try to figure out how to get man and beast home to Middle-Earth.

Episode 20 :

[Tim arrives home to find Eomer in the next door yard locking lips with Tim's neighbour Amanda, while her lounge lizard partner Red lies unconscious at their feet.]

Tim: Martin! Amanda! What the heck's going on here?

Eomer [cheerfully]: Cousin Tim! I was just passing a few moments talking over the fence with this beautiful maiden here when this [kicks Red] idle cur came out of their house and started railing at her for not having his dinner on the table.

Amanda [pouting]: He's not the boss of me, we're not even married.

Eomer [fixing her with his liquid brown-eyed gaze]: I'm very glad to hear it, my lady, he is not fit to lick your shapely ankle.

Amanda: Ooh, Martin...

Tim [looking at Red's prone form, aghast]: But why is he out cold?

Eomer: He strode over to us shouting fit to wake a Balrog. He called Amanda a flirtatious hussy and me a brainless himbo. Now, I'm not sure what " himbo" means to be honest, but it was clear that both our honours were being impugned. Then he laid hands upon the lady and made to drag her back to the house. After voicing several warnings which were flatly ignored I had no choice but come over here and strike him.

Amanda: Ooh, you should have seen him, Tim. He was so strong -

Tim [sighing]: Yah. So manly, so forceful, I know the drill. Try taking him into a bar.

Eomer: Ah yes! Could we go back there sometime, Tim? I liked those ales very much.

Amanda [giggling]: Ales? Oh Martin, that's so cute. Are your folks British? We call them beers in this part of the world, honey. Where are you from again?

Eomer [dutifully]: Texas.

Tim: Look, what about Red? How hard did you hit him, Martin? Is he going to need a doctor?

Eomer: Doctor?

Tim [sighing]: Healer.

Eomer [looking down at Red from his manly Rohirric height]: He'll live. A herb compress from the wise-woman, a tankard of watered-down mead, a sore head in the morning and he'll be as good as new. For what that's worth.

Amanda [kicking Red, who groans slightly]: He's a mongrel. I should leave him.

Eomer [seriously]: You should, lady. You must not stay with such a low creature who dares to lay a hand on you in anger. It is clear he does not value you as you deserve.

Tim: That's what I've been trying to tell her for months -

Eomer [struck by an idea]: Cousin Tim, can she come and stay with us? She can have the spare room.

Tim: *You* have the spare room, Martin.

Eomer [shrugging]: It's a big bed.

Amanda: And I don't wriggle. [ batting eyelashes at Eomer] Unless I'm asked.

Eomer [winking at Tim]: Are all the wenches around these parts so forward?

Tim: Apparently only the ones I've been in love with from afar since I was a teenager.

Amanda: Oh, Timmy, I thought you were over that years ago. We're still buds, right?

Tim [resignedly]: Yeah, great buds. Great, forever-platonic buds. Why don't you go and get your things, Amanda?

Amanda: I promise I won't take up much room, Martin.

Eomer: I'll take Firefoot's tack out to the shed to give you a little more space.

Amanda: Ooh, your horse. [ purring] Perhaps you could teach me how to ride.

Eomer [rumbling]: I'm sure I could give you a few pointers to help you sit firm in the saddle, my lady.

Tim: Oh, brother.

Amanda [tracing a burly forearm with soft fingertips]: Oh, Martin...

Eomer [overcome]: Eomer... my real name is Eomer... it would give me great pleasure if you would call me that.

Amanda [trying out the name on her tongue]: Eo-ma... is that Italian?

[ Eomer looks at Tim for help]

Tim: Oh, sure. Yup, his British parents gave their Texan-born son an Italian name. They were very cosmopolitan.

Amanda [concerned]: "Were"?

Eomer: My parents are gone to the halls of their ancestors these many years, my lady.

Amanda: Oh poor baby. [ she places a soft kiss on his lips] Perhaps you can tell me about them sometime. I'm sure they loved you very much. I'll go and get my stuff.

[Amanda side-steps the still prone Red and flits across the lawn, while Eomer vaults the fence and he and Tim turn back towards Tim's house]

Eomer [slightly embarrassed]: I can only tell the truth about my parents, but whenever I do women seem to want to mother me.

Tim: I'll give you some mothering, you mother. You know I like Amanda.

Eomer: I... I apologise, Tim. Amanda is very beautiful, and she was being abused by that scurvy knave she lives with, and she... needed comforting. I did not mean to kiss her, but it is a long time since I have been with a woman.

Tim: Yeah, it's been a rough old week since I caught you with the pizza delivery girl.

Eomer [wounded]: I did not lay with her, Tim.

Tim: Yuh-huh, because I caught you.

Eomer: Well, who knows how it would have turned out. Never count your horses until they're safe in the stable.

Tim: Ah, Rohan wisdom.

Eomer: I will have to get the recipe for pizza to take back with me to the Mark. Pizza is really nice, Tim.

Tim [bitterly]: Especially eaten off a delivery girl's thighs.

Eomer [shuffles]: If you have a prior claim on Amanda, I promise will not touch her again.

Tim [sighing]: There's no prior claim, Martin. So go on, touch her. Touch her all over, man. Hell, do some touching for me. God knows I'm never going to get the chance. I'll just listen and beat off in next room, how's that?

Eomer: Tim - isn't our sit-com meant to be G-rated?

Tim: Yeah, you're right, sorry. I should have said "pleasure myself".

Eomer: Cousin Tim?

Tim: What now?

Eomer: You know I am very close to Firefoot?

Tim: Sure. It's freakin' uncanny the way you can get him to plait your hair. I don't know how he keeps hold of that comb with his teeth.

Eomer: Well, his lips are very strong too, that helps. Anyway, today while I was grooming him, I swear he started speaking to me. I mean, not just nickers and whinnies, real words.

Tim [frowns]: No, that can't be right. A talking horse? That's a whole other sit-com premise. Our sit-com is based around trying to get you and Firefoot back to Middle-Earth without anyone discovering you've fallen through a wrinkle in the fabric of the space/time continuum and doing experiments on you in the name of science. Mind you I could just about stick a probe up your ass myself for kissing Amanda, but anyway... look, if you throw in trying to hide the fact that Firefoot can talk on top of our current situation it would just be chaos, sheer psychological hell on the both of us. You must have imagined it, the writers couldn't be that cruel.

Eomer: I don't know, Tim, whoever's writing this episode made you stand by while Amanda and I all but disrobed and coupled in front of you. That's pretty unkind.

Tim: Hey, you're right. OK, let's go take a look at Firefoot. If what you're saying is true, I'm getting a lawyer and getting the hell out of this shitty show. There are only so many krazy komedy situations a character can take.

Eomer [stopping outside the front door]: You would desert me, Tim? Before I find out how to get back to Rohan? I thought you were my friend.

Tim: Hey, you won't get left high and dry, buddy. They'll just bring in a replacement for me, say he's my brother or whatever. You'll barely notice I'm gone.

Eomer: But Tim...

Tim: What?

Eomer: Tim... I like you.

Tim: Yeah, yeah, I like you too buddy. We'll keep in touch. I'll teach you how to use instant messenger before I go or something.

Eomer: No I... really... really like you. You, Tim.

Tim: Martin?

Eomer: Eomer, my name is Eomer.

[ Eomer sweeps Tim up into his manly embrace, and does what he's been wanting to do for 19 episodes - plants a huge wet one on Tim's luscious lips. Tim gives a little gasp of surprise, they look in each other's eyes, then suddenly mouths are open and tongues are duelling hungrily, feverishly, desperately… Meanwhile, Amanda arrives with her things ]

Amanda: Oh my god, did I ever misread this situation...

[ Firefoot appears at a trot from round the corner of the house and looks on with satisfaction]

Firefoot: Oh good, I was wondering when they were going to get it together, it's about freakin' time.

Amanda [squeaks]: You... you're his horse... and you spoke!

Firefoot: Yup, I'm his horse and I speak. For almost a whole episode now. Firefoot , my lady, at your service. And I do *mean* service. [ tosses his mane in surprise] Boy, this new writer is frisky.

Amanda [gaping, looking between Firefoot and the passionately clinching Eomer and Tim]: But... what, you mean... you... them... this is all because of the new writer?

Firefoot: Well... kinda... she's just picking up on some of the undercurrents from the last one - remember, the one who got busted for non-prescription drugs? Not every scene makes it to the screen, you know. There were a few deleted ones where Eomer was telling me how much he liked Tim and I was just wishing I could speak and tell him to go for it. New writer must have found them in the wastebasket and is running with them. Great job, don't you think? Could send the ratings through the roof.

Amanda: But, I thought Martin... Eomer... kind of liked me... was that just a front?

Firefoot: Oh no, baby... he digs you... he's a horselord, honey, he likes it every which way, a total bandit for anything going. And you know Tim likes you. Just scoot on in there and enjoy.

Amanda [watching the men in front of her starting to grind, and getting a bit breathless]: Well, if you're sure... [ she takes a step forward]

Firefoot: Wait a moment... [ he leans his velvety muzzle into her and delicately undoes the buttons on her shirt with his teeth, revealing shapely breasts nestled within a delectably lacy Victoria's Secret bra. Firefoot's eyes widen just a little] ... Felarof's bridle, I've never seen anything like *that* on a shield-maiden before. Very tasty.

Amanda [proudly]: Matching briefs. Cost a packet.

Firefoot: Briefs... you mean underdrawers?

Amanda [giggles]: Mmn-hmm.

Firefoot: In that case... [he pulls the tie on her wraparound skirt and lets it drop and pool on the front stoop, revealing Amanda's VS-clad lower half] ....stunning... tastier than oats. Off you go, my little filly.

[Amanda pets Firefoot behind the ears affectionately, then steps towards the writhing pair of men in the doorway]

Amanda [softly]: Oh, boys...

[ the men unlock lips and stare at the vision before them]

Tim: A... A... Amanda?

Eomer [whistling softly]: Helm's cock...

Amanda: Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?

Tim: I... you... we... guh...

Eomer [reaching out one large, achingly strong hand]: There's room for one more. But only if it's you.

Firefoot: Yeah, the pizza delivery girl can shove it.

[ Eomer gathers Amanda into the crook of his arm and kisses her until her legs start to buckle, his other hand stroking the soft silky skin of her belly. Tim watches, gulping, for a moment, then opens his front door and drags the two of them inside. Firefoot trots up to the camera, obscuring a decent view of the proceedings with his noble, beautiful head ]

Firefoot: Well shucks, folks, looks like we're out of time for this episode. Tune in next week for another zany instalment of "My Favourite Marshal", when Red peers into Tim's bedroom window, sees what his woman's been up to with the boys next door, rounds up his drinking buddies and comes over to bring the pain...

...Can our horselord, so OD-ed on shagging he can barely stand, possibly protect our trusty trio? Hmmn , maybe, maybe not. But I've been so shit-bored in that back shed I've been practising a few moves with Guthwine. Y'know , Eomer's big sword. (No, the other one! Honestly people!) So if anyone tries to threaten my main man and his sexy squeezes they'll get more than their hair plaited from me, I can promise you that...

So, catch you then, folks. Keep those letters and emails coming, we really appreciate your support. [ winks jauntily, neighs, and canters out of shot]

[Theme tune plays and credits roll]

Eomer: Karl Urban
Tim: Bill Bixby [Bixby lives!]
Amanda: Julia Roberts
Red: Patrick Bergin
Firefoot: Fluffy

Directed by: Joel Schumacher
Written by: Miranda Bell

*****

THE END

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Miranda Bell