Éomer's Five Senses after Battle
This is a one off story that I wrote this afternoon instead of doing study. It is quite different from everything I've written so far. I kind of got the idea after seeing the little snippet of Éomer crying over his sister, Éowyn's, body, and basically my imagination took off from there.
Taste
The heaviness of death hung low. Blanketing the battlefield with an all-overwhelming sadness that even the victory of the just fought battle could not shake. Éomer's throat tightened as he surveyed all the dead men and horse around him. Their crumpled forms with thick dust settling over them like the first thrown dirt at a funeral.
A few lone riders were making their way through the scores of dead, searching, always hoping to find their loved ones as anything but dead. A young rider from the West-Mark was screaming in pain as a few Gondorian soldiers aided him in moving him away from his first battle.
Éomer stepped over piles of dead orcs towards a familiar lump. He would recognize that body anywhere, even without the thick coating of dirt, grime and dust. Dropping to his knees, Éomer pulled the delicate head into his lap, not caring the men around him might see him cry.
Smell
The musky scent of horse sweat entered his nose as Éomer buried his head into Firefoot's mane. The dappled-grey war-horse was also Éomer's best friend and to lose him here, before his time, was enough to crack Éomer's heart. The horse had been so brave during the battle. Firefoot had not put a hoof wrong, even standing his ground against the Oliphaunt. Simply because Éomer had asked him to, while all his sense screamed at the horse to flee. But he had not. He had done as his rider asked of him. Éomer raised his head, smoothing the long grey forelock down over the horse's broad forehead. The great grey horse's eyes were closed and a bead of fluid had leaked from the eye, as though the horse had been crying too.
"Oh Firefoot." Éomer whispered, his voice catching in his throat. "I'm so sorry." The devastated rider crumpled forward over his mount once again.
Hear
Through the sound of his sobbing, Éomer thought he heard a faint nicker. But that could not be right? Could it? Firefoot was dead, and it was all his fault. The horse had shown how big his heart was by charging into battle and he had paid the highest price.
There it was again. That soft sound. Éomer sat up slowly to look about him for the horse making the noise. Underneath his hand, the grey coat twitched.
"Firefoot?" Éomer whispered, not allowing himself to believe it. A deep rumbling sound came from within the horse.
"Oh Firefoot." Éomer felt the tears stream down his cheek despite the smile forming on his lips. The horse opened an eye to look up at him. "Oh Firefoot." Éomer felt incapable of stringing more words than 'Oh Firefoot' together. Gently he stroked the grey stallion's neck, caressing the horse he loved so dearly. Firefoot nickered a little louder and moved his head, seeming to be trying to get as close to the man as physically possible. Éomer obliged and tightened his grip on the warm body.
"My Lord Éomer." A choked voice made its way through the haze of Éomer's emotions. Éomer turned his face to see Éothain kneeling beside him. Behind his friend stood two soldiers of Gondor.
"Allow us to care for your horse. He will have a fine stall within the city." One soldier said, but Éomer was not listening to him. The young mans eyes were fixed on the face of his friend.
"Éothain?" Éomer asked, very afraid of the answer. Never before has he seen such a pained look upon the features of his friend. "What is it?"
"The Lady Éowyn." Éothain hesitated and Éomer felt his heart drop. "She fought."
"No." Éomer gasped.
"She is dead."
Éomer could not breathe. It was as though someone had taken a hammer to his heart, and all the relief from finding his horse alive vanished in a heartbeat. The flame within his heart died.
Touch
Éothain helped Éomer, whose legs would not cooperate, to his feet. Éomer took a last look at his treasured horse before following Éothain. Each step closer felt like walking closer to his doom.
Then he saw her, lying in a crumpled head beside the fallen forms of King Théoden and Snowmane.
'No, it can not be Éowyn. She is on her way back to Édoras,' a tiny hopeful part of his mind was telling him. But his eyes did not betray. Éowyn lay sprawled on the ground, his beloved sister and only family.
Éomer collapsed to his knees drawing up his younger sister into his lap. Her body was cold to the touch. Éomer's heart shattered into a million shards and tore him up inside. Éothain looked away, unable to staunch the flow of tears from his own eyes.
Éomer clutched his sister's limp body to his chest. He tried to speak, to tell her how much he loved her and how much he needed her with him, but the only sound he could make was a heartfelt cry that burst from within his pain wracked body. Éomer sobbed as though his life was going to end before another heart-wrenching scream broke out of him.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder, but Éomer was shrouded in so many layers of grief that he did not even register the presence of anyone around him. That is, until someone tried to remove Éowyn from his hold.
See
Éomer fought against the person moving Éowyn. His eyes, blinded by tears, could no longer see anything. Éomer could hear voices around him and he felt two strong pair of hands restraining him, forcing him to release his sister from his clutches.
"Éomer, listen to me." Éothain's voice, and his hand grasping Éomer's chin, forced Éomer to listen. "Éowyn is not dead."
Éomer could not stop himself from crying and he did not care who saw him. His sister was dead. His King, and foster father, was dead. As far as he was concerned, his life was over. A feeling of removed weight came over him as he felt someone lifting his heavy armor off his body. Strong arms pulled him up onto his feet and held him upright when his body threatened to collapse.
"Éomer, listen to me." Éothain's voice, and his hand grasping Éomer's chin, forced Éomer to listen. "Éowyn is not dead."
Éomer opened his eyes. Blinking away tears, he looked at his friend with suspicion.
"But you told me"
"I was wrong. Aragorn and the Wizard Gandalf have taken her to the Halls of Healing." It was lucky that Éothain already had a firm hold of his friend as Éomer's knees buckled.
"She's alive?" Éomer asked with disbelief.
"Yes." Éothain nodded. "Come, Irolas here is going to show us the way in."
Éothain guided Éomer along in front of himself, quickly waving away a Gondorian who held the Helm of the late Théoden King. 'Later,' Éothain mouthed, the other soldier nodded knowingly. He polished the helm of the new King of Rohan with the corner of his tabard, as Éothain took the new King in to see that his sister really was alive and that not all was lost in this dreadful war.
The End
May 2004.