~*~*A/N: Happy New Year everyone! Can't believe it's 2003. Well…I've been waiting for this chapter for a while, and I'm very excited to be writing it finally. This is for all the Éomer fans out there. But first….
--KITT-KATT: Hope you enjoy TTT whenever you see it. I'll check out your fics as soon as I can. :) And thank you so much for your nice reviews. They mean a lot to me.
--MORGAN: Thank you! And yes, keep an eye out for the new story. I'm working on ideas for it.
--AINSLEY: I know the feeling. I get weird looks too whenever I'm in one of my "oooh look at Wormtongue" moods.
--MS. BIBBIT: Hmmm…Gríma…a cop? Interesting thought. ;)
--TARA: Hmm…just wait and see! Hehe.
--K.C. HUNTER: Thank you for explaining this "meeble". Interesting. I'm glad you're so intrigued by my story. Wormtongue does have his moments, doesn't he? ;)
--RACHEL: Let me know if you write a Gríma fic too…I'd like to read it.
--HATHOR: Oh, there's going to be worse cliffhangers to come. Mwa-ha.
--COBALT: People like you rock. ;)
--RONDRAH: Yeah, Éomer's voice is very nice. (I saw TTT again this morning for the seventh time, so…yeah. Yay.)
Okay…here y'all go.
~*~
CHAPTER TWELVE: Tumbling Towards Tragedy
Náwien's eyes fluttered open, and she stared at the stone wall in front of her for a few moments, listening to the steady sound of her own breathing. A comforting stream of sunlight trickled in through the cracks in a nearby window, and rested lightly upon her cheek, flooding her face with a deep warmth. Her eyes flickered over the walls, ceiling, and floors as she remembered the previous night's events, starting with Enelya's sudden departure and ending with her sister's extremely peculiar behavior at the end of the night. Memory came floating back to her, and she recalled her conversation with Éomer. Náwien sighed as she realized that she had left him in a cold anger, and she decided that it might be wise to visit him at the Golden Hall to present her apology. Her harsh feelings had dwindled since her hostile confrontation, and she was only left with emotions of regret. She should not have been so cross with him, for she knew that he was only looking out for her. Náwien nodded, pulling herself to a sitting position in her bed, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. At any rate, she was determined to prove to Éomer that she was a strong fighter, and that she could hold her own against a band of Orcs. Of course, it would take more practice, but she knew that one day, Éomer would be calling to her aid in battle. She would fight alongside him and Éowyn, and, perhaps most importantly, alongside her sister.
Náwien rummaged through a thick rack of dresses, carefully selecting a sleek white gown with a long skirt and flowing sleeves. She pinned her fine blonde hair back behind her head, letting a few solitary wavy strands fall into her face, blocking her vision only slightly. Admiring her appearance for a moment in the shiny mirror, Náwien slipped down the hall, walking past Enelya's closed door without even so much as a good-morning knock. Náwien didn't care to see how her sister was doing, for she was still annoyed and confused about the events of the past night. She would speak with Enelya when she desired to do so.
~*~
Éowyn ventured outside into the cool breezy morning, tilting her chin up to the sun, sighing as she felt the rays gracefully kiss her skin. She was grateful for the end of the rains, though, she knew the storm would return when the sun went down that evening. How she hated the weather that plagued the nights of Rohan.
Suddenly, the sound of hooves against the ground caught her attention, and she looked up, seeing Éomer's student, Náwien, approaching on her brown horse. Éowyn watched as she dismounted artfully, tucking a few stray strands of her hair behind her ears. She stroked her horse's mane for a few moments, absorbed in the beauty of the animal. Then, Náwien turned, and climbed the stone steps before the Golden Hall, her sword's silver blade shimmering at her side.
"Good day," Éowyn said, as Náwien approached her. She bowed slightly in response, smiling shyly at the royal Shield Maiden, feeling a bit awkward in her presence.
"Did you find your sister last night?" Éowyn asked, as Háma stepped forward to ask Náwien to remove her weapon.
"Aye," Náwien replied, placing her sword upon Háma's table. "She was home when I returned."
"Did she say where she went?"
"She said she visited the Golden Hall, but I am doubtful," Náwien answered, glancing up to look Éowyn directly in the eye. "I came here myself, if you did not already know. I looked for her here, but I did not have any luck."
"I heard you also looked for your sister at the borders," Éowyn said, her expression unreadable.
Náwien did not reply for a moment, uncertain of what Éowyn was going to say.
"Do not worry," Éowyn continued, after a slight pause. "I am not going to lecture you, for I believe my brother already did just that. Furthermore, you already know that you made a mistake. I suppose I do not need to remind you of the severe risk you took."
"Right," Náwien said softly, nodding, surprised at her words.
"And Enelya was here last night," she added. "Háma confirmed it for Éomer and I."
"But you did not see her?"
"Nay, I did not. I cannot imagine what drove her to the Golden Hall at such a late hour, and whom she met with, but…." Éowyn trailed off, a faraway look in her eye. "But I believe I have an idea of what may be happening."
Náwien's eyes widened in surprise, and she looked at Éowyn in wonder, waiting for her to finish her sentence.
"I believe you are here to see my brother," she said suddenly, changing the subject before Náwien could ask any questions. "I will not keep you. Go to him as you meant to." Éowyn smiled gently, gesturing to the doors behind her. Náwien stared at her for a few seconds, curious as to what she might have known. When it was clear that Éowyn was not going to give any more information, she sighed, and pushed through the double doors into the Golden Hall, a million questions still burning on the tip of her tongue.
~*~
Náwien did not have to look very long to find Éomer, who was leaving the Throne Room, appearing weary and tired. He looked surprised to see her and was rendered speechless for a few seconds, before going to greet her.
"Good day," he said smiling slightly.
"I've come to offer you my apologies," Náwien replied, lowering her head in respect for his honor and authority.
"For what?" Éomer asked, knowing full-well what she was coming to say.
"For the way I acted last night," Náwien explained, looking up at him with wide eyes. "You were only saying what you thought was best. And you were right. I just want so badly to be as good as you are, with the sword. It's all I've ever dreamed of."
"I know," Éomer replied, approaching her slowly. "And I do not doubt that you will obtain that level of skill one day, with the right training and diligent practice."
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Náwien asked, a mischievous gleam in her eye. She jerked her thumb towards Éomer's sword. "Might as well get a lesson in while I'm here."
Éomer smiled at her, unsheathing his sword and holding it in front of him steadily. He handed her his spare blade, knowing that her own weapon was outside on Háma's table. Náwien grinned, feeling a surge of energy course through her veins as her fingers flexed around the handle.
"Ready?"
She nodded, placing her feet shoulder-width apart, just as he'd taught her. He brought his sword down, his blade crossing hers, and there was a long pause as they stared at one another; the silence was filled with challenge and tension, which crackled between them like sparklers.
"Let's go."
Their blades crashed together, the sound of metal echoing through the hall. Éomer's deep voice carried over the din of their tarrying, and he called out counts, never breaking his rhythm or stride. Náwien concentrated as hard as she could, trying to stay with his fast pace, but did not forget to smile, keeping in mind Éomer's words from her last lesson.
"Move your feet," he instructed loudly, and she obeyed, pivoting and whirling, taking him by surprise. He increased his speed, working to challenge her constantly. He continued with his counts, but stopped short when the tip of his blade nicked her upper arm slightly. Náwien let out a soft cry, and her sword fell to the ground with a clatter. Éomer sheathed his weapon quickly; his hand was upon the wound in the next second. The soft material of her dress was torn, and her crimson blood stained the sparkling white fabric. The cut was not deep, but it was still quite painful, and she winced sharply.
"I'm sorry," Éomer said, his voice thick and full of concern.
"It's all right," Náwien replied, feeling dazed as Éomer ripped off a small patch of his sleeve and tied it around her arm tightly. She felt her breath catch in her throat as his rough fingers grazed her skin, sending chills down her spine, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Éomer did not remove his hand from her arm; instead, his hold lingered, his gaze flickering up from the base of her neck to her honey-colored eyes. Náwien briefly wondered if she was going to faint, either from the shock of her injury or from Éomer's touch. Probably the latter. His deep brown eyes were dark with intensity, and Náwien knew he was the sole reason for her light-headed state.
"Éomer, are you--"
The sound of Náwien's voice speaking his name was absolute confirmation, and, catching her off-guard, Éomer bent, pressing his lips on hers. His stubble was rough against her fair skin, and the blood rushed to her face as she felt the moist flash of his tongue. Náwien's eyes widened, unsure of the kiss as well as the foreign feelings flooding her body.
Suddenly, Éomer pulled back, his breathing ragged. He looked down at Náwien, feeling ashamed of the advancement he'd made upon her. Her shining light eyes were full of youth, and he could see her innocence reflected in all of her features. It would only cause her trouble, pain, and grief to entangle herself with a man such as he. He'd seen so much, and she so little. Éomer did not need a wizard or wise Elf's advice to know that any involvement with Náwien would only end in tragedy.
"I apologize for that," he said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.
"For what?" Náwien asked, repeating his words from earlier. He looked her in the eye - a mistake - and found it difficult to look away. Bravely, Náwien stood on her tiptoes, leaning up to kiss him. He appeared surprised at her courage, but he'd expected it. His obvious weakness gave her strength. But it became apparent, as her lips moved against his own, that there was nothing to do but give in. If it didn't happen that day, it would the next time, or the time after that. Inevitability was impossible to escape.
Éomer's arms slid firmly around her waist, drawing her close and pressing her body tightly against his. Náwien ignored the stinging sensation in her arm, and focused only on the growing intensity of the deepening kiss. Not to mention the growing yearning in her heart.
~*~
Éowyn walked through the halls, heading for the Throne Room in hopes that Théoden would soon recover from his peculiar state of being. Of course, Éowyn knew that her faith would only be in vain.
She paused upon seeing a swell of white, which caught her eye. Éowyn raised her eyebrows, seeing her brother and Náwien tangled in a fiery embrace, their lips pressed together as he ran his hands down the ivory-colored bodice of her dress. Éowyn sighed, turning, and she continued on her way to the Throne Room. She would not let herself be troubled with Éomer's foolish choices, even though she knew that her brother was making a huge mistake.
~*~
Wormtongue stood behind a column, lurking in the deep shadows of the room, his eyes fixed on the girl in Éomer's arms. He knew that he had seen her before, but he could not match a name with her youthful face. Nevertheless, he was fixated with her. Her creamy skin was flawless from lack of years, and her blonde hair shone brilliantly even in the dim lighting. He was drawn to her beauty and innocence…oh how he longed to stain her purity with the scarlet blood of evil. He desired more than her virginal body, for something deep in his mind told him that she would be an important part of his plan.
~*~*A/N: Cliffhanger AGAIN!*~*~
--KITT-KATT: Hope you enjoy TTT whenever you see it. I'll check out your fics as soon as I can. :) And thank you so much for your nice reviews. They mean a lot to me.
--MORGAN: Thank you! And yes, keep an eye out for the new story. I'm working on ideas for it.
--AINSLEY: I know the feeling. I get weird looks too whenever I'm in one of my "oooh look at Wormtongue" moods.
--MS. BIBBIT: Hmmm…Gríma…a cop? Interesting thought. ;)
--TARA: Hmm…just wait and see! Hehe.
--K.C. HUNTER: Thank you for explaining this "meeble". Interesting. I'm glad you're so intrigued by my story. Wormtongue does have his moments, doesn't he? ;)
--RACHEL: Let me know if you write a Gríma fic too…I'd like to read it.
--HATHOR: Oh, there's going to be worse cliffhangers to come. Mwa-ha.
--COBALT: People like you rock. ;)
--RONDRAH: Yeah, Éomer's voice is very nice. (I saw TTT again this morning for the seventh time, so…yeah. Yay.)
Okay…here y'all go.
~*~
CHAPTER TWELVE: Tumbling Towards Tragedy
Náwien's eyes fluttered open, and she stared at the stone wall in front of her for a few moments, listening to the steady sound of her own breathing. A comforting stream of sunlight trickled in through the cracks in a nearby window, and rested lightly upon her cheek, flooding her face with a deep warmth. Her eyes flickered over the walls, ceiling, and floors as she remembered the previous night's events, starting with Enelya's sudden departure and ending with her sister's extremely peculiar behavior at the end of the night. Memory came floating back to her, and she recalled her conversation with Éomer. Náwien sighed as she realized that she had left him in a cold anger, and she decided that it might be wise to visit him at the Golden Hall to present her apology. Her harsh feelings had dwindled since her hostile confrontation, and she was only left with emotions of regret. She should not have been so cross with him, for she knew that he was only looking out for her. Náwien nodded, pulling herself to a sitting position in her bed, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. At any rate, she was determined to prove to Éomer that she was a strong fighter, and that she could hold her own against a band of Orcs. Of course, it would take more practice, but she knew that one day, Éomer would be calling to her aid in battle. She would fight alongside him and Éowyn, and, perhaps most importantly, alongside her sister.
Náwien rummaged through a thick rack of dresses, carefully selecting a sleek white gown with a long skirt and flowing sleeves. She pinned her fine blonde hair back behind her head, letting a few solitary wavy strands fall into her face, blocking her vision only slightly. Admiring her appearance for a moment in the shiny mirror, Náwien slipped down the hall, walking past Enelya's closed door without even so much as a good-morning knock. Náwien didn't care to see how her sister was doing, for she was still annoyed and confused about the events of the past night. She would speak with Enelya when she desired to do so.
~*~
Éowyn ventured outside into the cool breezy morning, tilting her chin up to the sun, sighing as she felt the rays gracefully kiss her skin. She was grateful for the end of the rains, though, she knew the storm would return when the sun went down that evening. How she hated the weather that plagued the nights of Rohan.
Suddenly, the sound of hooves against the ground caught her attention, and she looked up, seeing Éomer's student, Náwien, approaching on her brown horse. Éowyn watched as she dismounted artfully, tucking a few stray strands of her hair behind her ears. She stroked her horse's mane for a few moments, absorbed in the beauty of the animal. Then, Náwien turned, and climbed the stone steps before the Golden Hall, her sword's silver blade shimmering at her side.
"Good day," Éowyn said, as Náwien approached her. She bowed slightly in response, smiling shyly at the royal Shield Maiden, feeling a bit awkward in her presence.
"Did you find your sister last night?" Éowyn asked, as Háma stepped forward to ask Náwien to remove her weapon.
"Aye," Náwien replied, placing her sword upon Háma's table. "She was home when I returned."
"Did she say where she went?"
"She said she visited the Golden Hall, but I am doubtful," Náwien answered, glancing up to look Éowyn directly in the eye. "I came here myself, if you did not already know. I looked for her here, but I did not have any luck."
"I heard you also looked for your sister at the borders," Éowyn said, her expression unreadable.
Náwien did not reply for a moment, uncertain of what Éowyn was going to say.
"Do not worry," Éowyn continued, after a slight pause. "I am not going to lecture you, for I believe my brother already did just that. Furthermore, you already know that you made a mistake. I suppose I do not need to remind you of the severe risk you took."
"Right," Náwien said softly, nodding, surprised at her words.
"And Enelya was here last night," she added. "Háma confirmed it for Éomer and I."
"But you did not see her?"
"Nay, I did not. I cannot imagine what drove her to the Golden Hall at such a late hour, and whom she met with, but…." Éowyn trailed off, a faraway look in her eye. "But I believe I have an idea of what may be happening."
Náwien's eyes widened in surprise, and she looked at Éowyn in wonder, waiting for her to finish her sentence.
"I believe you are here to see my brother," she said suddenly, changing the subject before Náwien could ask any questions. "I will not keep you. Go to him as you meant to." Éowyn smiled gently, gesturing to the doors behind her. Náwien stared at her for a few seconds, curious as to what she might have known. When it was clear that Éowyn was not going to give any more information, she sighed, and pushed through the double doors into the Golden Hall, a million questions still burning on the tip of her tongue.
~*~
Náwien did not have to look very long to find Éomer, who was leaving the Throne Room, appearing weary and tired. He looked surprised to see her and was rendered speechless for a few seconds, before going to greet her.
"Good day," he said smiling slightly.
"I've come to offer you my apologies," Náwien replied, lowering her head in respect for his honor and authority.
"For what?" Éomer asked, knowing full-well what she was coming to say.
"For the way I acted last night," Náwien explained, looking up at him with wide eyes. "You were only saying what you thought was best. And you were right. I just want so badly to be as good as you are, with the sword. It's all I've ever dreamed of."
"I know," Éomer replied, approaching her slowly. "And I do not doubt that you will obtain that level of skill one day, with the right training and diligent practice."
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Náwien asked, a mischievous gleam in her eye. She jerked her thumb towards Éomer's sword. "Might as well get a lesson in while I'm here."
Éomer smiled at her, unsheathing his sword and holding it in front of him steadily. He handed her his spare blade, knowing that her own weapon was outside on Háma's table. Náwien grinned, feeling a surge of energy course through her veins as her fingers flexed around the handle.
"Ready?"
She nodded, placing her feet shoulder-width apart, just as he'd taught her. He brought his sword down, his blade crossing hers, and there was a long pause as they stared at one another; the silence was filled with challenge and tension, which crackled between them like sparklers.
"Let's go."
Their blades crashed together, the sound of metal echoing through the hall. Éomer's deep voice carried over the din of their tarrying, and he called out counts, never breaking his rhythm or stride. Náwien concentrated as hard as she could, trying to stay with his fast pace, but did not forget to smile, keeping in mind Éomer's words from her last lesson.
"Move your feet," he instructed loudly, and she obeyed, pivoting and whirling, taking him by surprise. He increased his speed, working to challenge her constantly. He continued with his counts, but stopped short when the tip of his blade nicked her upper arm slightly. Náwien let out a soft cry, and her sword fell to the ground with a clatter. Éomer sheathed his weapon quickly; his hand was upon the wound in the next second. The soft material of her dress was torn, and her crimson blood stained the sparkling white fabric. The cut was not deep, but it was still quite painful, and she winced sharply.
"I'm sorry," Éomer said, his voice thick and full of concern.
"It's all right," Náwien replied, feeling dazed as Éomer ripped off a small patch of his sleeve and tied it around her arm tightly. She felt her breath catch in her throat as his rough fingers grazed her skin, sending chills down her spine, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Éomer did not remove his hand from her arm; instead, his hold lingered, his gaze flickering up from the base of her neck to her honey-colored eyes. Náwien briefly wondered if she was going to faint, either from the shock of her injury or from Éomer's touch. Probably the latter. His deep brown eyes were dark with intensity, and Náwien knew he was the sole reason for her light-headed state.
"Éomer, are you--"
The sound of Náwien's voice speaking his name was absolute confirmation, and, catching her off-guard, Éomer bent, pressing his lips on hers. His stubble was rough against her fair skin, and the blood rushed to her face as she felt the moist flash of his tongue. Náwien's eyes widened, unsure of the kiss as well as the foreign feelings flooding her body.
Suddenly, Éomer pulled back, his breathing ragged. He looked down at Náwien, feeling ashamed of the advancement he'd made upon her. Her shining light eyes were full of youth, and he could see her innocence reflected in all of her features. It would only cause her trouble, pain, and grief to entangle herself with a man such as he. He'd seen so much, and she so little. Éomer did not need a wizard or wise Elf's advice to know that any involvement with Náwien would only end in tragedy.
"I apologize for that," he said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.
"For what?" Náwien asked, repeating his words from earlier. He looked her in the eye - a mistake - and found it difficult to look away. Bravely, Náwien stood on her tiptoes, leaning up to kiss him. He appeared surprised at her courage, but he'd expected it. His obvious weakness gave her strength. But it became apparent, as her lips moved against his own, that there was nothing to do but give in. If it didn't happen that day, it would the next time, or the time after that. Inevitability was impossible to escape.
Éomer's arms slid firmly around her waist, drawing her close and pressing her body tightly against his. Náwien ignored the stinging sensation in her arm, and focused only on the growing intensity of the deepening kiss. Not to mention the growing yearning in her heart.
~*~
Éowyn walked through the halls, heading for the Throne Room in hopes that Théoden would soon recover from his peculiar state of being. Of course, Éowyn knew that her faith would only be in vain.
She paused upon seeing a swell of white, which caught her eye. Éowyn raised her eyebrows, seeing her brother and Náwien tangled in a fiery embrace, their lips pressed together as he ran his hands down the ivory-colored bodice of her dress. Éowyn sighed, turning, and she continued on her way to the Throne Room. She would not let herself be troubled with Éomer's foolish choices, even though she knew that her brother was making a huge mistake.
~*~
Wormtongue stood behind a column, lurking in the deep shadows of the room, his eyes fixed on the girl in Éomer's arms. He knew that he had seen her before, but he could not match a name with her youthful face. Nevertheless, he was fixated with her. Her creamy skin was flawless from lack of years, and her blonde hair shone brilliantly even in the dim lighting. He was drawn to her beauty and innocence…oh how he longed to stain her purity with the scarlet blood of evil. He desired more than her virginal body, for something deep in his mind told him that she would be an important part of his plan.
~*~*A/N: Cliffhanger AGAIN!*~*~