My story is forgotten. I am nothing in the pages of history, only mentioned once as a concubine. But no, there was much between the lost pages of Rohan's history. So? I shall resurface what was lost...my love. It will be known once more.
Originally I was bought unto the empire of Rohan as a servant, a descendant of the wild men of the south. My mother was a supposed flower, birthing me and with mounted courage, gave me away not to suffer as she had the wife of a rogue, a thief. She wanted more than that for me when she looked down into my olive skinned face, bright and placid over my heart shaped face. My eyes were quite a commodity, it was said, as the steal gray of my eyes was said to harbor the clouds. As it were, the first moment I glimpsed myself in the reflection of Lady Eowyn's mirror, I blanched. I'd not known how wild I looked, so took the time to tame my wild black curls, smoothing them into waves down my back.
All my life I have served as Lady Eowyn's maidservant, in the constant presence of her and her brother, Eomer. As well as Theodan and his important men from across the maps. I held an intense curiosity for men, as I was not allowed to speak to them, and if I did, it was to offer them ale or beer. Or to wash their shoes or carry their armor to the blacksmith for repair.
I would dawdle with these tasks always, lingering in the hall where a meeting was taking place, listening to the soothing, low rhythms of men's voices. They sounded gruff, almost the same. Yet Eomer's held a difference I was sure only I could appreciate. It was something husky and affirmative, but always low and demanding, slick with honey and oils, tension and pain reaching through the lines of his face. He was not good at hiding his feelings, and never has been. But as a girl of fourteen I would wash mugs in the hall, glancing over my shoulder often to survey his expression. It seemed always worried, as if he could never wipe the stresses that challenged him daily, from his face.
As a girl I was intrigued by him. By his masculinity, by his skill at tournaments and horseback riding, his friendships amongst the court. I could tell you in my young age, what scandal was present, and who Eomer was most fond of. Though it was hard to find fault in him. He was oddly perfect, a warlord- strict on himself and ready to face anything, all the while dreading it. Though he never had a sweetheart in his young years, and he never dishonored his brothers. Eomer was my obsession, and as Eowyn's maidservant I was bound to my own code of secrecy, infatuated by his every move. If he entered the room, by breath would quicken. If he left the room, I would flinch.
Overall, the reason I adored this man I hardly knew but from his outward actions, was because he and myself were excruciatingly alike. Both strict with ourselves, both dedicated to being the best we could be, but all the while longing for something more. I knew him, and though he'd not so much as glanced at me in the court, I held a fragment of rancid hope that he could feel the same about me, if he knew me. This hope ate me from the inside out, leaving me restless and defeated, though striving for the next day just to be filled with the same feeling.
If anyone heard my thoughts, they would assume I was insane. I was simply a girl with infatuation reigning over her, and, to be honest, there was hardly a world I belonged in within the court. I was a ghost, nothing but a servant. Until the war of the rings ended in victory, where my life changed drastically in the form of socialites.
I was allowed entry to the festivities, all the while standing beside Eowyn, always one step behind her. Though she seemed to like speaking with me, almost as if I were the only one that could not speak back, but listened intently to her gossip.
"Maerien- look," Eowyn had clasped her hand round mine, possibly breathless in her own sense, "He's here. Faramir of Gondor..." She gave me a meaningful glance, full of hope and repressed emotions. For a moment I understood her feelings entirely, relating to her for the first time in many years. I wanted to say something, to insist that she speak with him- but she did without me telling her so.
She left me, alone against the pillar in the great hall, a ghost once again among the rowdy men from across middle earth. Though there were some elves and dwarves, they had their own upheaval of activities thriving in the celebration atmosphere. I stood alone, scanning the hall, until I found his eyes, the eyes that held so much stress in their mahogany sheen. But they were focused on a man next to him, and that man...was pointing directly across the hall. I swiveled on my toes, curious to see what had captured his friend's attention so raptly, and then my stomach sank and I froze on the spot, biting my lip and facing away from them.
He'd been pointing at me.
Might he have noticed me, staring at Eomer? I tried not to think of the consequences it would induce, and went to take up an ale pitchure and pour to anyone's hearts content. I could hear my blood pounding in my ears, something that happened only when I was most unnerved. My cheeks were flushed, and as I poured a dwarf his last mug of ale before he passed out, I found that occupying myself with something other than Eomer- helped my shame recede.
The night was young still, and it was not long even then as the man and Eomer approached me. I recognized the rugged man as Adeumos of Gondor, a warlord just as Eomer was. His eyes were volatile and unwelcoming, though they seemed to snake across me with a hunters keenness. I did not look back, for fear of two things.
One- the man and what he would say.
Two- Eomer. What was he thinking, as his drunk friend dragged them to the girl that had her back to them.
"My, my," The pearly words came from the man in driblets, "How quaint. A woman of the south. In all my time, I never thought I'd live to see a wild mans daughter serving Rohan." He then issued a hiss of chuckle that vibrated up my spine, making me shiver.
Knowing I could not refuse any longer, I turned on my heel, facing the man and keeping my eyes on him alone. I could not bear to look Eomer in the eyes, for fear that he would figure out my secret, but more importantly I was a cowardess. Strong in my fleeing, master in stealth and being unheard. And since that was what I spent my entire life becoming, but hating it all the while, my gut curled for the lack of my bravery as I felt Eomer's eyes on my own, and I looked down.
"Might I pour you some Ale, good sir." I pitched on a rogue tone towards Adeumos, my eyes plastered on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Eomer's brows furrowing deeper, lining him even more with something that I'd once called stress. I felt sick, wondering why that was his reaction to my voice, even directed to another person. Why, oh, why did he detest me so much? I curled my fingers round the pitchure, feeling very cold.
"Certainly," the man said with a brogue, and held out his empty mug with an obviously amused expression, as if he were enjoying my subjected awkwardness in ignoring his commentary.
I poured skillfully, and then for the first time, I let my eyes drift to Eomer's face. I was surprised and had to force my tongue to the roof of my mouth before my jaw fell slack. He had been staring at me the entire time, taking in my actions as if I were vermin. I gulped down waves of electricity coursing through me, pulling myself together to ask him the one question I had to ask him, ever.
"And you, my Lord?" I asked, holding my nerves responsible for my voice fluctuations, and even more so I blamed them for my shaking hands as I poured him ale.
I bowed low to him, and waited for them to leave me in my shameful peace, alone once again to re-examine and echo his expressions and very being within the confines and comforts of my mind.
Before they were gone, Eomer raised his glass to me with his eyebrows lifted, mocking me as he guzzled down the ale I'd poured him.
This was the first of our introduction, or rather the first night I'd ever been within three feet of him. I longed for him, and in my bed in the maids quarters, listening to Faramir and Eowyn sneak to see one another, hearing their hushed tones and loving voices, I ached from every fiber in my body. I was cursed to be alone forever, and to that I was certain. Jealousy can be either a white flag or a disease within someone, and for me the jealousy that consumed me flared around Eowyn, and though she was oblivious, I felt hollow and wanted to tell her my longings. What would she think? What would anyone say?
More importantly...what would he think of the lowly maidservant, too weather-beaten and damned to defend herself?