CHAPTER 2

Life taketh away

Éomer did not know how long he had sat against the wall, outside of his chambers. He did not care, he just sat, and waited. Only muffled sounds could be made out from behind the bolted door. He had long since stopped trying to guess what was happening. He had grown numb. He just sat there, waiting for someone to wake him from this darkness. Drag him back into the real day. Where nothing would be as it was here.

A noise penetrated the thick wooden door. Éomer lifted his head and looked to the door. It started out as pitiful, irregular complaint but soon it was as if someone had blown a horn in there. It was a baby crying, and a baby with a sturdy set of lounges at that. Éomer jolted to his feet.

'Éothain, that is my child in there.'

Éothain was right by his side.

'I believe it is, Éomer.'

The bolt rattled once more and soon the door creaked open. Inside stood the midwife. She looked as weary as he had ever seen. Éomer tried to look past her into the room.

'My Lord.' she said.

'Is that the the heir of Rohan proclaiming his arrival?' said Éomer with pride. When he did not receive an answer he looked back at the women. She could not meet his gaze.

'My lord..' she said again. 'My lord I am so sorry.'

On the bed lay Aema. She was tucked in neatly under a clean, white sheet. Her arms lay along her sides. Her hair had been braided once more and lay perfectly over her one shoulder. There were no traces of blood, he sought them but found none. The room was instead veiled with a strange sense of serenity.

Aema was pale, so very pale and so very still. Éomer knew.

He had seen death too many times.

Though he did not want to understand he could not fail to recognize it.

In utter silence, but with a face twisted from grief he moved closer.

Éothain gestured to the midwife with the little bundle in her arms to bring her helpers and leave the room and so they did.

Éomer sat down on the bed next to Aema. At first he just looked at her. Her lips had lost their color, her eyes were closed and her eyelids seemed almost translucent. Hesitantly he lifted his hand to her face. His fingers tracing a stray strand of hair away from her chin. He stroke her cheek. The warmth of her body was gone. He gripped her neck and pulled her up towards him. Aema's arms fell limp behind her, her head hung over the crease of his arm as he cradled her.

His whimpering utters of denial soon crescendoed to a wail so full of agony it was not soon to be forgotten by those who heard it.

And so the King of Rohan sat, rocking his lifeless wife in his arms, burying his face in the chest where no longer heart beat.

For three days Éomer sat by Aemas bedside. He had bolted the door and would not let anyone in. He did not sleep. He did not eat. For three days he sat by her, holding her hand, kissing it. Talking to her. He wept for her, for him, for their life that would never be. He screamed and cursed. The sun and the moon the east and the west, all he could think of, he cursed.
For three days all had tried to reach him and all had failed.

Rumors flew across Rohan that the King had gone mad.

On the morning of the fourth day, Éomer emerged at the door. Éothain, who had been waiting outside throughout the days, rose. The sight of the King was horrendous indeed. As many battles as they had fought together, never had Éothain laid eyes on a more broken man. Éomer didn't grace him with as much as a glance. He was fully armored and carried a the typical bundle of necessities under his arm. He paused, turned his head slightly, still not looking at Éothain, he said;
'Take her to her grave.'

Éothain scrambled after him.

Éomer marched through the halls of Meduseld. People stepping out of his way, curtsying all the while peering at him, as if they would catch a glimpse of his mind. He looked at no one, spoke to no one, he acknowledged no one. He reached the stables where he saddled Firefoot. He's actions were swift and determined.

'My Lord.' Éothain said without receiving the slightest reaction. 'Éomer?'

Éomer busied himself with tightening the saddle girth.

'My King,' Éothain said. 'Were will you go?'

There was no answer.

'My King, you cannot abandon your duty in this manner!'

Suddenly Éomer drew his sword. He pointed it uncomfortably close to Éothain's throat.

'Duty? I gave you an order, did I not? You are to bury she, who was dearer to me than life. Speak of duty once you have fulfilled yours!'

'Éomer where are you going?'

'I shall go alone. You and your men stay far away from me, do you understand? Your king commands it!' Éomer growled. 'Now move away.' he leaned forward and Éothain backed away, one step at a time until he was out of the stables.
Soon after the thunder of Firefoot's hooves rolled over the courtyard and Éomer left the city of Edoras.