Author's Note: This story is a continuation of "Between a Princess and a Soldier King". If you have not read it please start with that story.
I had to stop writing to deal with personal struggles and my previous account, username Taima1, was deleted due to inactivity. I emailed the support email for this website several times with no response. I cannot continue the story under that penname but I would like to continue it nonetheless. I am hoping that I can write under this new name and finish what I began so long ago. I want to sincerely thank everyone who read and/or reviewed my previous story. I am so sorry that I left you hanging!
I have an idea of where to take this, but it will be difficult and so much time has passed that my writing is not going to be quite the same style as before. Please read and review, or not. I understand if you are upset with me.
As always, J.R.R. Tolkien's characters and Middle-Earth locations are his. I am merely borrowing them and playing make-believe for a while.
Abandonment and Difficult Adjustments
The cool air brushed across his face as he strode through the rows of tents. Originally he hadn't planned on walking far, but once out of the stuffy tent with its whirling nobles, merrymakers, and all the eyes of his Rohirrim he found the distance created by his movements comforting. So he continued on. The crunching of the grass underfoot showed that the dew had already fallen, giving the air a moist, crisp feel.
He sighed. This felt better. He was used to patrolling a camp in the evening, used to these sights, used to the feel and flow of night breezes, used to the smell of canvas, grass, and horses. The horses were corralled some distance from the main feast tent, but he knew Firefoot was out there grazing on this tender Gondorian grass, probably behaving ridiculously to impress the mares in the other corral. Éomer snorted. Considering the fine horseflesh brought in by all of the nobility Firefoot had likely abandoned all pretenses and was giving a full-blown presentation of his assets. He immediately felt better thinking of Firefoot, still close by.
This was what he knew. Why couldn't this remain his life? Why did you go Uncle? He thought sorrowfully at the stars. I don't know how to do this. Théodred was supposed to be here. The hope he had felt during his surprisingly enjoyable dance with Princess Lothíriel was vanishing as his thoughts rushed in like an avalanche. Théodred was supposed to be King next when you went to the halls of your forebears. Just like Father was supposed to return home from his patrol and Mother was supposed to stay to care for Éowyn and I. Why did you all leave us? Were we such poor examples of the House of Eorl that we weren't worth your effort? Your will to live?
Éomer stopped dead, trying to slow his whirling thoughts and emotions as panic began to grip him. Éowyn had tried to leave too. Was it just me? Am I a bane to my family? He tried so hard to please them all. To be worthy of their love, uphold their honor and name. Why hadn't Éowyn joined him at Cormallen? Was she ashamed of him even now? Unwilling to stand beside the last heir to Eorl? An unfit heir?
Whickers sounded ahead of him. He had begun walking swiftly again without realizing it. His feet fleeing to the only thing he had left. His thoughts racing down dark turns. What if he has left me too?
The smell of horses reached him as he passed the last row of tents and came to stand beside the corral. Trying to rein in the panic he forced himself to look around the corral slowly. He located Firefoot and released a breath that he hadn't known he was holding. As he gulped in lungfuls of cool air Firefoot tossed his mane and stamped, eyeing a dappled grey mare in the other corral. The mare was paying him far too much attention, encouraging more posturing from the huge stallion.
Éomer watched the pair for a few moments. Firefoot was a fine warhorse. His lineage and training was impeccable. He could have his pick of the available mares if they were penned together. Did Éomer deserve such a horse if his whole family abandoned him?
"Stop it, Éomer."
Éomer jumped and whirled around. Éothain was standing several yards back from the corral, having come after Éomer when he didn't return to the main tent after a few minutes. Having watched the other man grow up, become a Rohír, take up increasing leadership, and face the deaths of most of his family, Éothain knew about how quickly Éomer's moods could turn. He knew that once the black miasma of despair took hold it would be days before anyone could fight through it to convince Éomer to shake himself free of it.
"What are you talking about?" Éomer ground out. The cold thoughts had catalyzed to fiery anger suddenly. Anger at Éothain for interrupting his thoughts. Anger at himself for losing himself so fully that he hadn't noticed Éothain's approach. He knew the anger was illogical, since just before he had felt completely abandoned and here was his best captain– checking on him. It rubbed him the wrong way, Éomer decided stubbornly.
"Stop following the dark thoughts. Whatever you are thinking, I can tell it is not good. You let me get within knife-throwing range you were so caught up in those webs." Éothain said firmly, imploring his young friend to see how much power he was giving his doubts.
"My thoughts are my own to have Éothain. I ignored you on purpose." He lied.
Éothain snorted at him.
"Leave me be." Éomer growled.
Éothain slowly shook his head "No." He looked around the camp buying himself time to think of the correct approach. "I have known your family for decades. I have watched you and Éowyn grow up. Do you know what my favorite memory of your family is?"
Éomer was puzzled by the direction this was taking and eager to end it so that he could continue brooding. "No." He replied flatly.
"I was chopping wood for my family, being only about 10 at that time, not yet a Rohír when your family rode past my family's house on the way to market day in Edoras. You and Éowyn were just bairns but you made the most beautiful family. Do you want to know why?"
Éomer was glaring hard at Éothain, who was just confirming that he had lost something precious.
Éothain waited politely for a reply, then went on as elders do, "Well, I'll tell you. Your family came up the lane singing. Now, they weren't singing a battle song– as you might have thought the Marshall would be. Your family was singing 'The Raucous Raccoon.' You know, the one about the loud raccoon bumbling through the woods, meeting forest creatures and riddling with them?"
Éomer raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
"Your father was roaring the raccoon's lines while your mother sang the lines of the hart. You and Éowyn were singing along the words you knew. I stopped and stared as your father came into view, not believing the hard Marshall would sing such a silly, childish song. He stopped his horse near our yard and roared the next lines at me, pointing and shaking his head, just like the raccoon in the song. I was flabbergasted. Your family continued with the song and when the chorus came next your father waved for me to join in. Not wanting to upset the Marshall, who was behaving strangely indeed, I sang along. Your father sang the beginning of the next verse where the raccoon meets a kingfisher and pointed at me to sing the kingfishers' lines. So I did. I finally looked at you and your sister again and saw you laughing and clapping at all the different voices, smiling at your father. He was smiling at you two and your mother. After the next chorus your father waved to me and your family continued up the lane, raucous and joyful. I could hear your voices until you were out of Aldburg! And I wondered, what on earth the Marshall was doing making such a fool of himself after returning from a long patrol with heavy losses. There had been a vigil the night before and the ceremony for hailing the victorious dead."
Éomer stood still, waiting to hear more, and puzzled that he did not recall this event. Of course, he would have been very young. He knew the song and in his mind, recalling the words, thought he remembered a loud gruff voice being the raccoon. It could have been memory of his father singing, but that clashed with his memory of an angry, driven man. He frowned. Frustrated that Éothain was weaving a tale of a family he did not know. Frustrated that their time together had been so short.
Éothain had walked slowly nearer as he told his tale, gesturing and changing voices for different characters like a good storyteller. He knew that if he had gone about it matter-of-factly Éomer would have shut down.
"I found out the next day, because he came to my house to tell my father the Éored was riding out again immediately. He spoke to my father, who went to get his gear, then turned to me and cracked a small smile. 'Well met, Kingfisher.' he said. 'Well met, my Lord Marshall' I replied hesitantly, having never addressed the Marshall before.
His smile faded. 'Éothain, I thank you for joining my family in song yesterday. Your company added joy to our holiday. Why did you not return my greeting properly?' I gulped. 'Lord Marshall, I apologize, please instruct me on the proper greeting so that I can show the proper respect.'
Your father cocked his head at me and spoke slowly, 'When someone invites you to have a bit of harmless fun, Éothain, you should participate because you do not know when the next chance to laugh may come. The Rohirrim have hard lives, which can be cut short. It is too easy to focus on the sorrow or pain. We must remind one another that life is also full of love, joy, beauty, and fun. Heed your responsibilities but also take any chances you have to cherish the life we fight to maintain. If we have no happy times, no laughter, there is no reason to defend our way of life. What do you think, Kingfisher?'
It took a moment for me to understand what he meant, but your father was a patient man. Eventually, I replied, although mortified with my own daring, 'I think I understand, Lord Raccoon.' Your father grinned at me and tousled my hair before saying his goodbyes and moving on to the next house."
Éomer's eyebrows were drawn together as he considered this completely new facet of his father that he hadn't heard of.
"You see Éomer, my favorite memory of your family is not due to their fighting prowess, their leadership, their strength or their honor. My favorite memory of your family is due to its desire to live fully in the moment. Your father and mother only had one day together after a month-long patrol that day– and they must have known it, your father being Marshall. So they took their wee bairns out riding— your father probably wished for a day out of the saddle by then. They took you to Edoras' Market day to enjoy their short time together . And your parents didn't waste any time– they sang a silly song and used ridiculous voices to start the merrymaking right away. They made the best of a rough road by choosing to. They were even kind enough to share that merry-making with me. They taught me what it means to be Rohirric that day– although I didn't fully understand it then."
Éomer considered this silently. Firefoot had finished impressing the mare for the time being and had trotted over to look at his masters' back. Leaning over the corral he huffed into Éomer's hair. Éomer absentmindedly reached back to scratch his nose.
"Your father even took the time to explain why he had done something so seemingly useless and out of character to an ignorant young lad. Éomer, there is always time to see the hard, dark, sad realities we live with. We must make time to see and experience the good, funny, and beautiful things about Middle-Earth." Éothain finished.
Éomer was staring up at the stars, frowning still. He took a long time to gather his thoughts. Then even longer to decide if he could trust Éothain if he voiced them.
"Why do I not remember him thusly? Why do I only recall his brooding anger at the Orc encroachments, his long absences, and the despair he caused my mother?" It came out in a gravelly whisper.
Éothain sighed, looking at his young friend. So much loss. Of course he brooded if he did not remember Marshall Éomund the way he was before he became fixated on the Orcs.
"Alas, you were such a young bairn when that event occurred. I wish with all my heart, Éomer, that you had been old enough to remember it, to remember your father as more than a single-minded warrior. He was an amazing leader, yes, an excellent warrior, yes, but he was also so much more."
Éomer blinked several times and Éothain looked away to give his king time to compose himself.
"I don't know how to do this Éothain. From your story, he knew how to do all of it."
"We are all fallible men Éomer. We each have strengths, skills to learn, and things we struggle with. Your men are proud to serve you."
Éomer looked away, stance tight, his distress and lack of confidence clear.
"Your King Théoden chose you, Éomer. Not because you were the last choice. He chose you because you stood for Rohan when even he had been bewitched into all but giving his countrymen to our enemies. You were willing to be banished, your name tarnished, and estrange yourself from your last living family members" he said slowly and firmly, "– to honor your oath and your family's name. To serve Rohan."
Éomer relaxed slightly, considering the truth behind his captains' words.
"We will serve you because you have shown your worth and honor, time and again. The blood of Eorl shows in your valor and integrity."
Éomer knew he needed to hear the words, and was grateful for them. He felt he shouldn't have to hear them if it was all true, though. Why did I feel so inadequate? Why must I face this monumental task alone?
"You are not alone Éomer."
Éomer looked directly at him then. His eyes hard and wary, searching. "How-"
"I have known you since you were a babe Éomer. I have ridden with you for years. I can tell what you are worried about long, I think, before you have puzzled it out." He stepped closer and laid a hand on his friends' shoulder. "and I can see how it would appear to you. As if every person was slipping away." He squeezed Éomer's shoulder. Éomer nodded, barely perceptible in the starlight.
"But fear not!" his tone turned lighter, "You will never be rid of me! I am here to annoy you until you pass on to the Halls of your Forefathers!" and with that he put a chunk of apple on Éomer's head, dashing out of the way as Firefoot began straining through Éomer's hair with his lips, grasping at the apple chunk eagerly.
Éomer shook himself free of his horse's mouth and ran hands through his hair as he dodged away, trying to get the apple bits and horse slobber out of his hair. Éothain was laughing nearby. Éomer glared at him but couldn't help a small smile tugging at his mouth.
"I will see to it that you pay for that Éothain." He grimaced as he found a thick glob of slobber in his locks. "Especially since no small amount of anxiety went into my appearance tonight. Leave it to you to turn a serious moment for your own frivolity." It took a second, but he caught on eventually; Éothain had just demonstrated what his father, Marshall Éomund, had apparently taught him. He had said what Éomer needed to hear, and pulled him back from his harsh, twisted version of reality.
"I think now you will be even more attractive to the ladies. Essence of horse on a horse-lord is surely appropriate." Éothain smirked.
"I am not sure that I am ready for an onslaught of female attention." Éomer grimaced then sighed. " I don't feel ready for anything but my cot."
Éothain sobered somewhat and returned to his King's side. They watched the horses settling in for the night for a while.
"We are all experiencing these changes too Éomer. It is a completely new Age of the world it would seem. All beings in Middle-Earth must get used to it together."
Éomer straightened a bit, considering that. Elves, Men, Dwarves, Hobbits, Horses, Ents, and Beasts… Only other Rohirrim would understand why he didn't count horses with all other beasts. Suddenly Éomer felt the invisible pressure in his spirit lessen. Everyone is experiencing a new reality we didn't expect, new roles and new responsibilities as we pick ourselves up. I still don't feel good, but damn, Éothain helped but some perspective on things.
A thought occurred to him. Thank you Uncle, Théodred, Father, Mother, Eorl, or whatever Valar chose to send him out here before I galloped off on my horse.
Both Rohírs stood amiably for a few moments more before Éomer clapped his Captain on the back in gratitude. "Éothain, thank you for speaking earnestly with me. You have given me much to consider and eased my mind."
"Of course Éomer. I am at your service always," Éothain saluted, "and happy to talk or put apples in your locks anytime." He grinned and began walking back towards the main tent.
The feast. The dancing. Éomer had completely forgotten. He balked at the idea of returning when due to how out-of-place he had felt. But instead of quailing, he began steeling himself and recalling how Éothain's companionship had eased his mind. He could do it. This new world had some charm– he thought of Lady Lothíriel's friendliness, candor, and joy, as well as her perfect little toes.
"Aragorn will come looking soon if you do not turn up. You know that he can track you anywhere you might try to hide." Éothain called back over his shoulder. That demolished the last feeble thoughts of creeping off to his tent.
Glancing at the glittering stars again, Éomer said goodnight to Firefoot and walked resolutely back to the main tent.