Found

TA 3003

Háma entered the Halls of the Meduseld with a small boy in his arms that looked to be close to death and as King Théoden rose from his chair he caught sight of young girl behind him that looked to be not much older than his Éowyn, her skin a stark white, such a contrast to the curtain of dark hair that hung loose around her shoulders. She clung onto a small sword that had been fashioned out of sticks and tied together with string and he suspected it belonged to the other child that Háma had laid down on the bench, his head lolling to the side, eyes barely open.

"We happened upon them at Mering stream when we stopped to water the horses" Háma said as he pulled out his waterskin and tilted the child's head forward to try and get him to drink. "The boy was barely conscious, this one - " he pointed to the girl then. " - was dragging him through the dirt by both arms. She hasn't spoken a word about where they are from or what happened to them."

"Child, what is your name?" Théoden asked but she remained silent, her dark eyes haunted.

"Uncle?" Éomer, Théoden's his twelve year old nephew, called out as he entered the hall.

"Stay where you are Éomer" Théoden called as he watched Háma listen to the boys chest. "Háma?"

Théoden's heart grew heavy as Háma shook his head and slowly rose to his feet. The girl looked blankly at Théoden as she clutched the wooden sword against her chest and the King nodded at one of the stewards as they came forth with a heavy drape to cover the boy.

"Éomer, find Éowyn for me like a good lad" Théoden watched as his nephew left and then moved towards the girl, his rough hand cupping her face. "I am sorry child but your friend has left us, my niece will be here in a little while, she is fond of swords too - " a sad smile broke on his face as the girl held out the wooden sword to him and he patted her on the head. " - I suspect you will both become very good friends indeed."

TA 3019

Galadhwen felt herself becoming more and more agitated as she tried to focus on her needlework instead of Grima Wormtongue. The chief advisor sat at the next table, his eyes not leaving Éowyn for a moment as she practiced with her long-sword. Just the way his pale fingers stroked the table made her skin crawl.

"I see I am not the only one that has noticed Snake's sudden affection for my sister" Éomer muttered as he sat himself down next to Galadhwen.

"Ssshh" Galadhwen hushed nervously. "He will hear you."

"I don't care if he does - " Éomer seethed as Grima took a sip of wine " - if only that were poison - " Galadhwen rested her tapestry on the table and turned to look at him sharply. "Théoden barely leaves his chamber and when he does, that -" his eyes wandered over to Grima again. "- is attached to his ear, telling him what to do."

"Uncle is not well. Théodred's death has - "

"This is more than grief" he murmured as the bench creaked loudly under his weight as he moved closer. "I never told you this but - " he looked around to make sure there was no one eavesdropping. " - it was my company that found Théodred and his men, they had been ambushed by Orcs." Galadhwen' s eyes widened, her mouth hanging open slightly as Éomer cast his mind back to that day. The lashing rain. The stench of death. "Orcs that bore the mark of Saruman. I told Uncle and he did nothing."

"But Théodred was his son. Why would he - "

"Exactly Galadhwen. Théodred was his son. If that man lying in Théoden's bed was the same man that we've grown to know as a father, he would have sent out a thousand riders to avenge Théodred's death. He is under some spell I tell you. We sit here while Orcs run free across these lands, unchecked, killing at will."

"What are you saying?" she lowered her voice barely above a whisper. "That some sort of dark magic has been wielded upon Théoden to make him act this way? Tell me Éomer, do you really believe in such a thing?"

Galadhwen woke with her hand curved over her stomach, feeling an aching sense of loss as she stirred from her dream, vivid scenes of rubbing her palms over the warm, scarred back of a man sharing her bath. Her hands had been smooth, soft, unused to holding any kind of a weapon. She shivered as she thought of the man, dark haired, leanly built but she could never picture his face, it was as if his features were scrubbed from her mind the moment she awoke. The smooth stone was cold against her bare feet as she walked over to the window and opened it a crack, the air stale as she breathed it. There was no wind. No dogs barking. The city of Rohan was bathed in twilight and seemed to possess an unnatural stillness, a mad thought entered her mind then, what if Éomer was right, what if Rohan and its King had been cast under some dark spell? She had heard of the magic of elves and wizards but thought of them as no more than fanciful delights for a child's imagination. It was too far-fetched for her to truly believe. But how do you explain the dreams? the voice in her head whispered, the heavy stone walls, torches in sconces and tapestries, all seems familiar, almost as if it was home but you have never seen such finery in your life before, not even in the Meduseld. Galadhwen often dreamt she was the woman with the long, blonde hair that flowed down over the fur collar of a cape. Other times she watched the man and the woman from an outsiders perspective, as if she was the tiniest fly on their ornate wall spying on them from above. It was unsettling when she really allowed herself to think about it so she buried it as she always did.

"the one
who will jolt awake
all the unwritten
the unsung
and the unlived
in me.

i am waiting
for him."

― Sanober Khan