#32: Heartache

It was the only time they came to blows, when Éomer walked into the courtyard to find his sister and Théodred kissing amongst the flowers. Théodred nursed the black eye for weeks and stopped his short-lived courtship of Éowyn, but he loved her until the day he died.

.***.

Éomer could tell Théodred anything. Anything at all.

They had been best friends before the King adopted Éomer as his son. Best friends that came from something other than shared blood. Like the little hobbits Éomer met years and years later, "cousins" didn't begin to describe their relationship.

Éomer could tell Théodred anything at all. He told him about the creeping suspicion he had that he wasn't infallible, the fear he felt whenever he led men into battle ("I don't fear for myself, Théodred, but I could never, never forgive myself if someone got killed on my account.") He even told his cousin about the affection he felt for a certain maid in one of the outer village, a young woman without the benefit of noble birth but strong in body and mind and beautiful in face.

And Éomer had been sure, absolutely sure, that this was a two-way street, that Théodred told Éomer just as much as Éomer told him. After all, hadn't Théodred expressed similar worries that he was not cut out for the King's position, the position Théoden had been grooming him for his entire life? Hadn't Éomer been the first one Théodred ran to when his second-favorite playmate, a boy their age known as Cleon died of fever?

They were joined at the hip, at the head, at the heart, with similar mannerisms and emotions and ideas. Éomer knew what Théodred was thinking. Always. Which is why he was totally blindsided the day he walked in on him kissing his sister.

He was twenty-one at the time, tall and strong, already a captain and moving swiftly up the ranks in the military because of his good aim and great strategic mind. All day he'd been out on the practice fields, sparring and riding and training men older than he in the art of war.

All day he'd been looking forward to going back to the home on the top of the mountain, looking forward to getting out of the wind and the driving rain and sitting someplace warm and dry. He and Théodred had a long-standing tradition of getting drunk by the fire on days like these, and it was only the thought of a warm drink and dry shoes and good company that kept Éomer out in the weather for ten hours.

He stumbled his way up to the house, tired and wet and sore but happy nonetheless. This army he was training was going to be completely his own, with men that he'd taught, men that trusted him and would, Éomer was sure, follow him anywhere.

There had been one particular young man three years younger than Éomer (so just about Theodore's age then, but Éomer wouldn't think about that. He couldn't think about Théodred going to war. His friend was so young) who had looked up at Éomer after he'd successfully pulled off a block with his shield and swing with his sword that he'd been trying to get all day. It was this boy who had put his wet hand to Éomer's wet face and informed his captain that he was bleeding rather badly. "We should all leave, sir, this weather is only going to hurt us now."

And Éomer had agreed, and dragging himself up to the Golden Hall was quickly becoming the best part of his day so far. A warm fire and warm clothes and warm food was all he needed…

He was so close to the baths that he almost didn't look in the courtyard when he passed by the door, but sometimes the younger servants went out there to pick vegetables from the garden and couldn't push the heavy door open again. A few years ago, a young boy had been trapped out there all night before anyone noticed, and luckily it had been Spring….today it was raining, and cold, and Éomer forced his sore arms to do this one last task before the reprieve of the bath.

The driving rain almost (almost) blocked the view of Théodred and Éowyn, but Éomer could just make them out. And when he processed what he was seeing – his best friend kissing his sister? – he forgot his fatigue and his dripping clothes and the cut across his forehead that was leaking blood into his eyes and he roared, "What are you doing?"

Théodred and Éowyn jumped apart as Éomer barreled across the courtyard to them, shaking his head uselessly as more raindrops pelted him. He was already wet, anyway. "I can't believe you!" Éomer said, inserting himself between Théodred and Éowyn and yelling in the younger man's face. "I leave you alone with my sister – who is your sister by law, Théodred, do not forget – and you…you take advantage of her?"

"No one is taking advantage of me, brother!" Éowyn retorted from behind him, but Éomer quieted her with one death glare before turning back to Théodred.

"You are the man I trust most in this world." Éomer said, voice controlled now, a deadly calm. "You are the man I would die for, and you take advantage of this relationship to hurt my family?"

"'Mer, you're bleeding." Théodred said, eyes wide with concern as he went up to touch Éomer's face just as the boy on the practice field had done not an hour before. "You should see the Healer. It is a deep cut, friend."

"Friend?" Éomer raged, "You call me friend after this…this sort of frivolities with my sister? I know you, Théodred, do not forget that. If I didn't know you this would not be a discussion. My sister is old enough to make her own decisions." From behind him, Éowyn made a small noise, affirming that she was old enough. "But you are not one for serious relationships, and I will not have my sister's heart broken in some fling with a boy we both care about!"

He was thinking worst-case scenario. As a captain, he was always thinking worse-case scenario. What if this was more than a kiss in the courtyard? What if this was a relationship, one that turned ugly? All was fair in love and war, after all, and lines would be drawn, sides taken, and could Éomer lose both his sister and best friend in one fell swoop, one failed affair? He didn't think so, but there was the possibility, the terrible possibility, that he would have to choose between Éowyn and Théodred. And he just couldn't do that.

"This is not a fling, Éomer!" Théodred said, raising his voice for the first time. He pushed back his drenched hair and scrubbed his face with his wet hand, making sure, making absolutely sure, that he could see Éomer when he said what he needed to say. "This is not us playing at being young lovers. I love her!"

The punch came from the frustration Éomer felt that that moment, the frustration at not being able to put his fears into words, the frustration of the prospect of having to chose, the frustration of still being wet and cold and sore and having this conversation when all he wanted to do right now was have a warm bath.

Théodred reeled with the force of it, but stood up quickly afterwards, one hand to his rapidly swelling cheek, the other out in a motion of truce. "Éomer…" He said, mind racing, eyes flying over Éomer's crazed eyes and stumbling stature and that gaping hole on his head, bleeding freely down his face. He needed a Healer and he needed rest and they were all wet and cold.

So he said something that he didn't want to say. "I will make no further advances on your sister, Éomer, and I extend an apology to you for my misconduct." He said it formally, tiredly, and half-glanced over at Éowyn, irate and fuming behind her brother. She didn't say anything, though. She, too, saw what Éomer and Théodred saw. This relationship, if it didn't last until marriage, would only lead to division and woe.

Éomer looked Théodred up and down and nodded curtly, wobbling some more on the spot until Éowyn put a helpful arm around his shoulders and led him out of the courtyard, leaving Théodred to stand there, alone with a throbbing cheekbone, to muse about how sometimes nobody got what they wanted.

.***.

We love writing about Rohan. We get to make most of it up.

Anyways, have a Happy New Year, everyone!