Eomer sits by his cousin's deathbed, and wonders if it is all his fault.
Eowyn seems to know what he feels. She kneels beside Eomer and draws him close, her cool hands gentle and soothing on his face. Eomer pulls her to him, buries his face in her hair and breathes deeply. He cannot tell which of them is shaking.
Theodred is dying. That much is obvious; the wound is deep and he burns with fever. There is nothing to do but wait and try to keep him comfortable. And think.
They know that what they do is altogether forbidden. Perhaps it could be understood if it were only his cousin, only the occasional rough comfort on the road. But it isn't. And that his sister joins them, there is no excuse for that. They know it is wrong.
It doesn't feel wrong. Not when they are together in Theodred's dark room, on the rare nights when they are all in the large, richly carved bed. Theodred warm and solid and smiling, his hands in constant contact with both of them. Eowyn between them, slender and squirming and her feet always cold. She always insists on warming them on Eomer's shins. It makes Eomer yelp and Theodred laugh softly as he pulls Eomer into a deep kiss over Eowyn that continues until she tugs impatiently at their beards, demanding attention.
No, it doesn't feel wrong, but it is. And Eomer wonders if this is their punishment.
He must have made some noise, or gripped Eowyn too hard, because she pulls back and looks at him for a long moment. It's only when her thumbs wipe away the tears on his face that he realizes he is crying. Eomer shuts his eyes and grips his sister's waist. The door is open, the room is not private or safe, but Eomer does not resist when she pulls him into a gentle kiss. It is warm and familiar. They part slowly and Eomer presses his forehead to his sister's.
It is some time before Eomer can let his sister go so they can return to their vigil.
Eowyn seems to know what he feels. She kneels beside Eomer and draws him close, her cool hands gentle and soothing on his face. Eomer pulls her to him, buries his face in her hair and breathes deeply. He cannot tell which of them is shaking.
Theodred is dying. That much is obvious; the wound is deep and he burns with fever. There is nothing to do but wait and try to keep him comfortable. And think.
They know that what they do is altogether forbidden. Perhaps it could be understood if it were only his cousin, only the occasional rough comfort on the road. But it isn't. And that his sister joins them, there is no excuse for that. They know it is wrong.
It doesn't feel wrong. Not when they are together in Theodred's dark room, on the rare nights when they are all in the large, richly carved bed. Theodred warm and solid and smiling, his hands in constant contact with both of them. Eowyn between them, slender and squirming and her feet always cold. She always insists on warming them on Eomer's shins. It makes Eomer yelp and Theodred laugh softly as he pulls Eomer into a deep kiss over Eowyn that continues until she tugs impatiently at their beards, demanding attention.
No, it doesn't feel wrong, but it is. And Eomer wonders if this is their punishment.
He must have made some noise, or gripped Eowyn too hard, because she pulls back and looks at him for a long moment. It's only when her thumbs wipe away the tears on his face that he realizes he is crying. Eomer shuts his eyes and grips his sister's waist. The door is open, the room is not private or safe, but Eomer does not resist when she pulls him into a gentle kiss. It is warm and familiar. They part slowly and Eomer presses his forehead to his sister's.
It is some time before Eomer can let his sister go so they can return to their vigil.