Disclaimer: I only own the OC's, no more, no less. LOTR belongs to Tolkien's estate.
Charlie's going a little loopy, if her storming to her room didn't foreshadow anything.
Chapter Four: Letter
Charlie stared out the window, watching absently as the sawgrass and mangroves swayed in the distance from her bedroom. Her attention laid with her thoughts, racing around her head like the drivers in a NASCAR race. She shifted her folded arms on the windowsill, resting her chin in a crook between them. A sigh escaped her as the wind whipped through the screen. A mid-afternoon sun was bathing the ranch in a beautiful light, making everything shimmer from the rain. She noted this, but it was soon overtaken by thoughts of the supposedly fictional guest.
Steps echoed up the stairs and stopped at her door, the vibrations in the floor giving the person away. Perhaps that was why she had never invested in new floors: the old oak timbers gave away anyone or anything of fair size. The person came to her door; the only closed one, and knocked softly a moment later.
"What the hell do you want?" She snapped, turning to glare at the door. Clearly, she had not made it obvious to him that she disliked this whole "you're from another world" idea and wanted to be left to her thoughts that told her she was from the world she knew.
"I have come to apologize. I did not mean to scare you." Éomer felt odd to be talking to a door, but brushed the feeling off. He needed for her to trust him so he could find a way out of here, even if that meant doing something he rarely did. He did not bother to question her language, not needing nor wanting more turmoil.
"Scare me? Ha! Are you trying to insult me? Charlie Manning doesn't get scared!" If she was not ticked off before, she was now.
He gulped and said, "That is what Merides always told me when she would be frightened."
She leapt to her feet and walked to the dresser. Her shirt was equally annoying to the Marshal outside her door. "What is with you? I ain't her, for God's sake! Why do you keeping thinking that?" She yanked a tank top from a drawer and proceeded to change. A yellowed envelope went unnoticed as it dropped to her feet, landing with the slightest whisper on the rug.
Now she was stirring up Éomer. "And why do you doubt that you are her? You have a symbol of Rohan upon your very hand. You have many features that are common to the people of the Mark! And of your parents…"
She opened her mouth to interrogate him about what he knew of her parents, but stopped. It was a trap, a well-planned one, but not clever enough to fool her. She spotted the envelope on the floor as she closed the drawer and picked it up tentatively. Opening it with her nail, she retorted, "Well, if I am her, why don't I remember anything?"
That silenced him. Heavy, agitated breathing was heard from the hall for a moment until he calmed down.
With a triumphant smirk, she removed the musty paper from its home and unfolded it. The words came over her like an unwanted cold shower:
Dear Char,
I don't know when you may be reading this, or if I am dead or alive. But that is beside the point anyways. I know how much you love to sit in the attic and sift through the old family heirlooms and junk that has been deemed sentimental for no apparent reason. One box in particular worries me the most when you come over it, and I hope you have read this before you have found it. It is the unlabeled cardboard box beneath a small but heavy purple bin of ceramics, if you want to look. But please read this before you go running from the house.
When you first came to us, you were stumbling down the very road you love to run. You muttered something about "Merides" and "Rohan" before passing out into my arms. I guessed the first was your name (something I did a little research to find the proper spelling for), but was suspicious of the latter, since Rohan was fictional (you know well of my love for Tolkien's works). When you finally woke, you had no recollection of anything from your past, not even your name. We did not tell you of what you had said because we were not sure how you would react. We chose the name Charlotte for my mother, who was just as strong and free as you (of course, you have proven you are more of those than she was), and so you would fit a little better in our family.
The box contains what you were carrying when you came. I hope you will remember whatever you forgot that day, perhaps your entire past. I never told you of this because I knew you would deny anything that was not sensible to you. I know you, Char, and you deny until there's too much against you. I hope you can recall something that fills some of that void I see in you.
With love,
Mom
Charlie gulped and let the letter float to the unmade bed. Everything had taken a vicious tailspin in a matter of hours and she was beginning to feel the effects of fighting it. Her emotions, all negative, had kicked into fifth gear and were content to stay there. She had half a mind to grab the keys to the Porsche and go for a ride to the beach, but that would accomplish nothing in the long run. She knew that answers lied in that box in the barn.
He had continued his tirade through the door, but she had stopped listening for awhile. Their fight was no more than a yelling match of wits and denial, and she saw no purpose in prolonging the war. The woman sent the door a look of mixed emotions and headed for the window. Quietly, she popped the screen from its place and allowed it to slide down the roof. Éomer maintained his tone, an obvious sign that he heard nothing. She hesitantly stepped onto the shingles and disappeared a moment later.
"Charlie, will you open this door so we may talk?" Éomer concluded his speech. Not even the slightest sign answered him, not a footstep or breath. "Miss Charlie?"
His hand gripped the doorknob and slowly turned it, waiting for her to yell or make and equally loud sound. Instead, he found the room empty. A letter fluttered on the messy bed and his loose shirt rippled against his side, alerting him to the open window. He rushed to it and leaned out in time to see someone disappear into a large red building some distance from him. He groaned, remembering the front door was locked in a curious manner, and proceeded to scramble out the window.
The sun may have been fighting its way out, but nothing had succeeded in drying. His feet slid out from beneath him as soon as he stepped out. He recovered in time to grab the edge of the roof and felt grateful for his quick reflexes. He dropped the last few feet to the ground safely. Casting a wary look in every direction to assure no one had witnessed that, he sprinted for the barn.
Stepping into the airy building brought a longing for home. He had only been here a few short hours, many of them unconscious, but the unpleasantly warm temperature and sticky air was foreign and miserable. Two horses, his Firefoot and the other unknown, looked at him. Firefoot danced in place and tossed his head, joyful to see Éomer. The Rider's eyes passed over both in search of Charlie. A loud, dull thud emanated from above his place. He looked up questioningly as footsteps crossed the floor above him. He spotted a ladder mounted to one wall and decided it was his only way up.
Charlie was the one making the noise, moving large box-like objects in every direction. Only an oval-shaped path from her to the ladder was clear of obstacles.
"What are you looking for?" He inquired hesitantly, not knowing how hotly she would respond.
She whipped around in surprise, a small purple box in her arms. As she spun, a long sword in its sheath was knocked from its hiding place. It flew across the worn wood floor to halt a few feet before Éomer. They both stared at it momentarily, and then shared looks.
Charlie put the box down on another one near her as he came up. He picked up the sword and joined her while she cut open the unmarked box with a pocket knife.
"I remember this sword. It was Beorn's," he mused, unsheathing it to study. The blade itself was simple, but the hilt was decorated with various engravings of horses and small patterns.
Another letter was inside, sitting on top of deep forest green material covering the contents of the box. She snatched it up impatiently, but found that it was written in a script that appeared familiar but was incomprehensible to her.
She held it out to him and asked, "Can you read this?"
He looked at for a beat, deciding whether he should answer with something witty or think of it as a peace treaty. He chose the latter, setting the sheathed weapon aside to take the yellowed parchment. "Dearest Merides," he began only to pause.
She appeared unfazed, continuing her search of the contents.
"I am writing this letter to comfort you in the time of my passing. I am truly sorry to be leaving you in such a changing time; especially with no family in the place you so love. Éomund and Théodwyn have agreed for you to stay with them until you are fully grown, when you may decide where to go in your life. I know how you are sometimes, Mer, and hope you will follow what I tell you.
"I know that you share my passion for vengeance. Many, if not all, of the people of Aldburg have seen you and Éomer at what you two call play. It reminds many of us of training for battle. In any case, I do not want you to go off fighting until Éomer is of age. If you can defeat the Marshal's son at play, you very well deserve a place among the Riders. Think nothing of being in an éored of men when you join them. Being with an éored will be just as interesting as the heat of battle. The men never cease to amuse or amaze me, and will probably show you more respect than they do to me. You have that inner strength that will take you far and kill many enemies. But be careful, for that same strength may very well destroy you, as it has me.
"Take up my sword when you feel you are ready. Ride for me, Merides, and carry my strength so that it may take you far. Never forget me, Father."
Charlie stared absently at the box, letting the words sink in. Éomer watched her in respectful silence. This had to shake her of denial because they were the words of her late father, and recognition of that fact was obvious in her face. He looked at the paper and noticed a note on the back.
"It continues on the back. Never forget your heart though, my daughter. You must care for it as you do your horse: with respect and great care. I hope that you find your true love, whoever he may be."
She continued to stare at the box, and then looked at him with wide eyes. "Tell me everything you know."
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