Chapter 20

Unwilling Agreement

Ithílwyn ran to her room and shut the door behind her, launching herself on to her bed. Clutching her pillow tightly, she cried against the soft material, allowing her tears to dampen the fabric. She had not a clue as to why he would accuse her of scheming against him. It had never crossed her mind to instil guilt in him. Was it not he himself who insisted stubbornly that he would not marry, and that he did not want children? She wiped the sticky substance flowing down her nose with her sleeve and tried to cease her crying, as it was beginning to get hard to breathe when she cried for long. It had been a terrible mistake to come to Aldburg with him. He had been kind, and sweet to her when she had first arrived, and then he chose to ignore her, his behaviour becoming cold towards her. Then, he alone decided that their relationship would not exceed the limitations of pleasant conversations and mundane greetings.

She understood his noble intentions, for he was acting for the betterment of both their reputations and perhaps she had thought that with this gesture that he might actually have cared for her. But after doing so, he left Aldburg, and her, with nothing but a hastily scrawled note that read, "I leave for duty," and the first letter of his name at the bottom of the small sheet of paper. Just as she had thought that the Third Marshal held a notable degree of affection for her, he rides off with his men, leaving her behind. Her heart had been in such agony in his absence, constantly reminding her that he would not leave so abruptly if he had liked her enough as a friend. Over the course of his disappearance, she had been tearing herself in two, utterly frustrated that she was constantly thinking about him when he would not have wasted a thought of her while he was away. As the days prolonged into weeks, she worried over his health and fretted over his safety, her mind choosing to conjure up scenes of a bloodied Éomer, lying unconscious on the ground. It was accurate to say that she did not get enough sleep, however hard she tried.

She put her hand on her chest, trying to breathe deeply so that her chest would stop heaving. She went over to the small table by the side of the bed and poured herself some water to drink. It was not long before a new trickle of tears fell down both sides of her cheeks. She felt injured, hurt beyond belief. She had never once asked him to consider marrying her, and as for siring children, she had never frowned or disagreed with his decision. How had he thought of such things, and scare the children? Poor Aetheline. But for all his wrongs, she had to admit that she was not innocent in this matter. It was not in her authority to allow the village children to enter Aldburg without its master's permission or acknowledgement. Nor was she right in poking her nose into the affairs of the library, however muddled they may be. For all her misconducts, there had been no harm out of her illicit arrangement.

The library would no longer be an eyesore, and Éomer could come and sit a while in the library after a long day once she had the furnace cleared. She was sure he would enjoy peace and quiet after talk of war. Her efforts were not welcome however, and neither were her kind interests entertained. How was she to tell the children that they could not return to the library again, or accept life in Aldburg without their cheerful and humorous company? They had brought joy and gaiety into her life. She considered herself blessed to have known and worked with them on the self assigned task. She would miss them dearly, and thinking about them made her heart ache. Aldburg would be a silent place without those wonderful children.

She rolled over and lied on her back, staring at the ceiling as she wiped her runny nose. She breathed in deeply. It was nice to know how well he appreciated her efforts. She had not been angry or offended with him when he barged into her room and taken her roughly. In fact, she was thrilled to think that he had missed her while he was away and after he wept and regained his composure, he returned to being the Éomer she knew and adored. If only he would cease pretending as if he was not hurt or saddened by the unpleasant things of the past. She remembered how reluctant she had been to leave him that morning as he slept in her arms, a peace on his face that rarely showed itself and a youthful glow to his face that he seemed to lose when he woke. She remembered the feel of his warm skin against hers.

After last night, she fooled herself into thinking all was well again. She had expected him to be busy with his various duties and the children were expecting her that day, so she left him slumbering on her bed. Furthermore, he had sustained a few cuts and bruises that would not cause him great pain, though they did warrant aches and soreness. She had dressed them as best she could in her haste and planted a kiss on his smooth brow before she left the room, stealing one last glance at his unceremonious sleeping position.

The morning began like a beautiful dream, only to be succeeded by a terrifying nightmare. She had not seen him in such a state of fury, save last night's intrusion, when his blood was hot from the heat of battle. She would have been terrified to the point of falling on her knees if he had not raised such corrupt accusations against her. Also, she was furious with the way he scared the children, and caused her to abandon them because of his spiteful words. The hasty conclusions that he accused her of made her heart wither. She had very much longed to slap him, thinking to herself that this was not the Éomer that she had fallen for. But she had restrained her hand thinking that she could not forgive herself for hurting him. If it was another man, she would not have hesitated to use such force.

For all Aldburg was a finer home than her humble dwelling in the forest, at least she experienced peace in her life in her sparsely furnished cave. Aldburg proved a constant reminder of war, pain and strife. Éomer had changed since he returned, and she could not say that she welcomed this new facet of his personality. And as much as she was loath to, she knew that she must speak to him about her trespass. He is the Master of Aldburg and propriety demand that she stand up and take responsibility for her actions. That was a prospect she could not muster any excitement for.

The evening sun filtered through her window and Ithílwyn, though unwilling to face the world around her just yet, was filled with deep longing to breathe the refreshing scent of the woods, to feel the texture of the tree bark under her palms, to kick piles of multicoloured leaves and watch them sway gracefully to the ground. And most of all, she longed to tell her mother about all she had encountered and experienced and to let her know that her company was sorely missed. A fresh wave of tears fought its way through her defense at the thought of her mother. Finríel would know what to do, and would have done what was right. She, on the other hand, had been a fool. She burrowed her face in the pillow and sobbed until her voice became hoarse, her heart pouring out its sorrows. His scent still lingered in her bed.

"Mama, I need you, I miss you," she whispered, feeling very childlike and immature. "I cannot be brave as you wanted me too. I have tried, and I know that I have said many a thing that contrasts greatly to my current behaviour, but I am so scared. I need you here with me, to help me. I do not know what to do, will you not help me? He does not love me, and to pursue him further is folly. Oh Mama, I am so lonely without you," she whispered despairingly and lowered her head back into the pillow. There were no more tears she could shed, but her heart was still in much anguish and pain. At that depressing moment, she resigned herself to a life of sorrow and loneliness, and she did not think that she could smile at the sun again.

"Ithílwyn?!" a familiar voice called as she heard a series of knocks on her door. She cleared her throat and wiped her damp face before replying.

"What is it?" Her voice was hoarse and she hoped dearly that whoever it was knocking on her door would not have noticed that she had been wallowing in a pool of self-pity and despair for hours.

"Ithílwyn? It is Ainsware. It is almost time for the evening meal, will you be joining us? I will help you get ready if you would like me to."

"No Ainsware, I will not be there, I do not feel well." That statement was partly true. She was not ill to a degree where she could not participate in the meal but her chest was hurting in a most excruciating way. And Ainsware would not be appeased unless she was told every detail, something she was not quite prepared to do yet. It would be an unpleasant situation indeed if she would be peppered with questions at the table, and then she would have to give an answer as to why she had ran crying to her room, leaving the children in Ainsware's sole care when it was she who had sent them home each time.

"Open the door, dear Ithílwyn. Tell me what took place in the library."

"Have the children arrived safely at their homes?" she asked, placing her hand on the bolt of the door. She wondered if it would bode well if she let Ainsware through the door.

"Yes, they are well and brought safely home." The door opened slightly and Ithílwyn stood face to face with a concerned Ainsware. Enveloping the younger woman with her arms, Ainsware was heartbroken to hear Ithílwyn sobbing on her shoulder. What had that foolish man gone and done now?

"Dear Ithílwyn, do not cry. Oh, this is entirely my fault. I should have been more stern with you and dissuaded you from bringing the children. Had I not known earlier what his reaction would be?"

"It is not your fault," Ithílwyn said in a thick voice, pulling herself away.

Ainsware smiled sadly and placed her hands on Ithílwyn's slender shoulders. "When Éomer was appointed Third Marshal, he looked around Aldburg and its many rooms, making few comments about certain rooms and how he would have preferred it. However, he did not enter the library, and he told me that the library was best left abandoned and that the maidservants need not spend time cleaning it. It was true that there were many things to do besides cleaning the library and because there were not many in Aldburg who entered the room, I thought he was being practical in the matter. But now I see that there may be another reason behind his decision. Ithílwyn, it is known to you perhaps that people of the Mark are not known for their love of lore and of reading, but Théodwyn, the former mistress of Aldburg, was an exception, her mother originating from Gondor. She raised her children in the library, and as Éomund was away far too often, she spent much of her time there. It could be that your presence or interference with the children rather, has reminded Éomer of his childhood, and memories of his mother."

"Why does he respond so bitterly towards anything that relates to his mother?" Ainsware gave a small, sympathetic shrug.

"Perhaps he is afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Ainsware did not reply and sat there in silence. "What will I tell the children now, Ainsware? If Éomer is furious for my intrusion into the library, he will definitely ban the children from stepping foot into Aldburg." The older woman reached out to comfort the younger, who was definitely in distress.

"Would you like me to speak to him on your behalf?" she asked. "He will not dare to raise his voice against his old nurse," she added and smiled reassuringly at her. The offer was indeed tempting. It allowed her the freedom to avoid looking at the man who loathed her so, despite the foolish tendencies of her heart.

"No, Ainsware, it is my fault. And it would be wrong to allow you to take blame for all that has happened. You have been stern with me, but I have chosen to remain stubborn. And as much as I am loth to do so, he deserves an apology from me regarding this unfortunate incident. It would be terribly cowardly to send you in my place when you are innocent of all accusations. I was raised to be responsible for my actions and I will not disgrace the woman who took such pains to raise me."

"Very well, young woman. Let us hope your bravery lasts. You have my assistance should you need it. Come and have something to eat, I am sure you will feel as strong as a fort with some food in your belly."

Ithílwyn gave a weak smile and shook her head gently. "My apologies Ainsware, but not tonight. I fear I do not possess any appetite for a meal, no matter how delicious the fare might be. But I will eat with you tomorrow morn."

"Are you certain? I could have a tray sent to your room."

"Thank you Ainsware, but I need a solitary night. I hope you understand. I think I will retire to bed early."

"As you wish. I shall see you tomorrow morning. Goodnight." Ainsware left after a final scrutinising look and Ithílwyn leaned against the door and sighed in relief. She took off her dress and laid it out on a chair. She washed her face and wiped her skin with a damp towel before changing into a nightdress. After she braided her hair, she opened the windows and lifted her body so that she managed to sit on the ledge. Cool evening air washed over her and her mind cleared for that one moment. Spreading her arms out with her eyes closed, she felt the wind causing the bottom of her nightdress to billow about her.

The spring weather was wonderful. She would have to pay a visit to her horse tomorrow and take a ride to calm her nerves. The moon emerged from the clouds as a glowing crescent, surrounded by twinkling stars. She sat on the ledge, painting the constellations with her finger and thinking of tomorrow. She would have to face Éomer tomorrow, if she wished to resolve the matter quickly. Or should she wait until his mood improved? But that day would remain a mystery, that man's moods were as hard to read as the number of clouds in the sky on a summer night.

She did not think he would hesitate to punish her for her insolence. Whatever punishment he chose to deal her, it could not possibly compare to the sorrow she would face without the children's company. Although she supposed she could still meet Fram in the stable if she wished. But one out of ten was not a good consolation. They had only been in Aldburg four times (not counting Fram) and they had cheered her when Éomer was not around. She did not know how she would look forward to life in Aldburg with the children gone. She sighed wistfully, twisting her braid in thought. If she had listened to Ainsware's advice, she would not have met the children she had grown to care for. But she would not have irked Éomer, and thus cause his anger to erupt. The whole situation might not have occurred if she had been obedient and had stayed her inquisitive hand. All the same she could not quite label her feeling as a kind of regret, for the library was by far her favourite room in the whole of Aldburg and the abandoned state of it bothered her conscience. If only it bothered him.

His mother must have held a notable degree of affection towards the library. It was unclear whether he shared the same sentiments. She did not feel the least weary and she wondered how she was to fall asleep if her mind would not cease thinking. Out of defiance, she thought of cleaning the library in secret, although she knew now that her efforts would be singular, as Éomer could not possibly sanction the children's assistance. She doubted that he would speak to her cordially too. He would not care about the way she would occupy her time as long as it does not involve the library. That is, if he does not imprison her in her room or other terrible punishments befitting her crime. She pursed her lips and scratched her head. Finríel was right, happy endings could only be found in story books. She knew what he had expected her to do: marry someone else. But that would not be possible if she only wished to marry one man, and it was not her fault if the man in question refused to marry. It would seem that that was the dilemma she had found herself in. And it was a difficult dilemma at that. She yawned and stretched her legs, making sure not to fall off the ledge. She sighed and stared out the plains, thinking to herself that she ought to bid the children goodbye properly. Perhaps she could pay them a visit, and if they were not upset at her for causing them trouble, then maybe she could bring her own books and read to them. The image that appeared in her mind was a lovely one, and she smiled. She wondered if the children would welcome her. She had spent four days in her company and she hoped that they had established a deep enough friendship for the short amount of time. They had shared many laughs and taught each other songs, which they sung whilst cleaning. She remembered one which Aethelflaed taught her.

Light from the star,

Glow of the moon,

Wherever you are,

I will be there soon.

Whisper of the leaves,

Darkness of shadow,

Morning, noon and eve,

Your steps I will follow.

Music of the rain,

Laughter of the stream,

Hide not your pain,

It is all but a dream.

It was a song Ithílwyn herself had heard when she was much younger. Finríel had sung this song a few times, but she had forgotten. The song was now linked to her mother and the children of the Eastfold, and she sung it in a quiet whisper as she brushed tears away. It was a parting gesture, a promise that she would not forget those she cherished. The last word died on her lips and she shivered. Stepping down from the window ledge, she closed the windows and crossed the room to her dresser, where the amulet lay. She picked it up and held it in her palm as the cool gem warmed. She had never given it much thought, despite the object being the only physical link between her and her birth parents. Finríel had always been sufficient as a parental figure, and somehow she never had the desire to seek her parents. Her mother had loved her and cared for her, and although Ithílwyn was curious to know the woman who had birthed her, she would not pry Finríel from the special place in her heart. Perhaps now that she was alone, she could investigate into her family. Her sister had told her little about their father and she remembered little about her life in the village after the years she had spent in the cave. She placed the amulet down, leaving her thoughts to simmer for another day. She clambered on to the bed and caught Éomer's scent on the other side of the bed. She threw down the pillow that he slept on and decided to sleep on her side of the bed. With that resolution, she curled herself up and closed her eyes.

Sleep evaded her no matter how many times she turned and tossed under the sheets. She was warm and comfortable, but her mind would not rest. She groaned and pushed the covers away, sprawling herself on the bed to no avail.

"Well then," she said to herself, "this will not do at all." She got on to her feet and walked to the drawers where she opened the bottom drawer, where all her personal belongings were kept. She produced a book bound with leather that was worn with age and use. She pressed the book to her chest and smiled wistfully as a wave of bittersweet memories washed over her like a wave of the sea. It was the very first book Finríel had bought her and she had used this book to teach the young girl to read. It was a children's book, but it brought a strange comfort to Ithílwyn. The book was present at many fireside nights, when Finríel would hold the scrawny child and read to her. It was there when the child grew and read to her mother for a change. It was not absent when there was but one woman in the cave, and it had travelled all the way to Aldburg. Ithílwyn smiled and stroked the cover of the book, knowing that it was this thing in her hands that had planted the desire to read in her. She lit a candle and placed it on the desk, turning the cover of the book. The first sentence was barely read when she heard a sound outside her door. Her fingers gripped the book and her body froze in surprise. The sound was followed by a loud thump on the ground. She stood up and walked slowly to the door. Her heart was beating heavily in her chest. She pressed the side of her face to the door but heard nothing. She took a deep breath and opened the door slowly, allowing only a tiny slit for her to peer out. She saw nothing and decided to push the door open wider. Poking her head out, she did not notice anything out of the ordinary and it gave her the courage to step out of the door. The hallway was empty, but with the aid of the candle flame which she returned to retrieve, she could see a fallen tapestry and two broken vases lying in pieces on the floor. As she drew closer to examine, she found several drops of blood amongst the broken pottery.

"What has happened?" she asked herself quietly, trying to figure the mystery. The trail led past her room and as she neared the Third Marshal's chambers, she could hear muffled noises coming from within. She nearly dropped the candle she was carrying and she was caught between fleeing to the safety of her room or to find out what was taking place in his chambers. The door began to open and she tried to run, but her feet would not budge. Aldric stared at her and she stared back at him.

"Ithílwyn?!" he asked, his voice in a disbelieving whisper. "It is late at night, why have you not slept?"

She was in shock and though her lips moved, it took her some time before she could speak. "I, um, heard noises outside my door. Is everything alright? Are you bleeding?" Aldric's face was struck with panic.

"No, I am not bleeding, but I need Stanhelm's assistance."

"Stanhelm? What has happened that you need a healer?" Aldric took a deep breath and sighed.

"Éomer's injured. He was drinking, and he involved himself in a brawl." There was a synchronised sigh from the two. Ithílwyn got the feeling that Aldric painted a better picture than what had originally taken place.

"Let me see to him. Stanhelm asks too many questions, questions I doubt you are able to answer. How badly is he injured?"

Aldric scratched behind his ear and thought hard. "His nose is bleeding and he has enough bruises for a lifetime. And you should know that he still has wounds from battle. Do you need supplies then?"

She nodded. "Towels, bandages, a needle and some thread. There are some things in my room that I can bring. Please hurry."

"Of course. Ithílwyn?" he asked as he gripped her shoulder. "Are you certain you want to help him?"

She smiled to herself. "Has everyone heard then?"

"Only Ainsware and myself. We were worried about you, and him," he replied, his head gesturing in the direction of Éomer's chambers. She shifted her gaze to the side.

"That is very kind of the both of you, but I will be alright."

He smiled at her warmly and squeezed her shoulder lightly. "I shall return presently with the things you need." She nodded and returned to her room to gather some supplies, placing them in a clean basin before travelling to his room. She did not know what condition he was in, and she was most definitely not prepared to see him sprawled on a chair pathetically, the expression on his face a seemingly permanent grimace. His eyes were closed and Ithílwyn wondered if he had fainted. She called his name twice with urgency, tapping his cheek. His eyes fluttered open and she sighed in relief. With much haste she emptied the basin of its contents and filled it with clean water from a pitcher in the washroom. The Marshal reeked of sour ale and blood.

"Can you tell me where you are hurt?" she asked.

"Everywhere," he groaned. That did not help her. Nevertheless, she dipped a clean cloth into the water and wrung it dry. "Ithíl," he whispered with difficulty.

"What is it?" she replied softly, wiping his face and nose. His breath smelled of vomit.

"Am I dead?" he asked.

"No man dies from a bloody nose," she replied sensibly and continued sponging off the dried blood underneath his nose. "Are you thirsty?" she asked, noticing his parched lips. He nodded painfully and she poured him a cup of water and held it to his lips. He drank thirstily and she put the cup away.

"I need to remove your shirt. Could you lean forward?"

"It hurts," he moaned.

"I know it hurts but if you want to get better you have to listen to me." He leaned and she caught him, grunting as she bore his weight. It took her a while to remove his shirt, which was now decorated with stains of blood, ale and vomit, as Éomer found it painful to lift his arms. She threw his dirty shirt far away and noted that he had gone and decorated his body with new cuts and bruises. The bandages she had placed on him this morning had disappeared. She sighed and began cleaning each wound, having to repeat the process of soaking and wringing the same cloth many times. She wondered where Aldric was.

"Ithíl," he croaked.

"Shh, lie still and do not speak." If he spoke, she would lose her concentration, and a healer with lack of focus was ill news.

"I did not mean what I said earlier," he rasped, looking at her remorsefully.

"Alright," she replied calmly, brushing the topic off. She had no intention of discussing the incident in the library right now. Not when his body was battered and wounded like this. Her heart filled with anger for the person who placed such ugly wounds on him. He reached out to take her hand, causing her to look at him.

"I made a grave mistake today, and I have hurt your feelings. You must know that I truly regret my actions." At that moment Aldric entered the room and stared at the two. Ithílwyn withdrew her hand abruptly and hoped he would not catch her blushing. Dropping the cloth in the basin, she stood and took the things she had requested Aldric to bring.

"Is there anything I could to help?" he asked a little awkwardly. She nodded as she poured the dirty water away and refilled the basin with clean water.

"Could you lift him and place him on the bed? Help him to a sitting position and prop his back with pillows." Aldric did as she asked and mentioned something about cleaning the hallway of broken pottery. Ithílwyn caught him by the door. "What actually happened, Aldric?" she asked. "His injuries are extensive, and his face will be almost unrecognisable come morning."

He hesitated for a while before giving her an answer. "I think it is best if he told you." And then he left, but not before he promised to return. She returned to Éomer, who was still in pain, but at least he was not laid out uncomfortably on a chair. Bringing the bowl of water and a new cloth with her, she cleaned the last of his wounds and began stitching the larger cuts up. Aldric had thoughtfully brought some wine for Éomer, who remained silent the whole time. She rubbed ointment into the bruised parts of his skin and she could feel his eyes on her the entire time. He fell asleep sometime before she was finished, and Aldric returned in time to help place her bandage the Third Marshal. She handed the rest of the wine to Aldric and thanked him for his help.

"I do not think it is you who should be thanking me."

She smiled weakly and wiped her brow with her sleeve. "There is nothing left to do save to clean the cloths and stow away the supplies. You go and rest, you look dead tired." He cocked an eyebrow.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You want me to abandon you to face the beast alone?" he teased.

"Yes, goodnight Aldric."

"Goodnight, Ithílwyn. You are a life saver."

She smiled slightly. "Are you seeing her tomorrow?" she asked. Aldric smiled sheepishly and nodded. Ithílwyn grinned and mock punched him in his better arm. "Send her my regards, and you should be ashamed if you return early tomorrow."

"Believe me, dear Ithílwyn, I could not be early even if I tried," he replied with a smirk and waved. Ithílwyn shook her head as she watched him leave. Perhaps a happy ending could be found outside of a story book after all.

She stepped back into the room where Éomer slumped against the headboard of his bed. He was snoring slightly and she picked up the things quietly. She washed the bloodied cloths and hung them on a rail to dry. She added more wood on to the fire and retrieved her things and placed them in her basin. She arranged the things Aldric had taken on a shelf for the maids to put back wherever they had originated from tomorrow morn. Her feet walked towards the door, but she stopped in her track and turned back to look at Éomer, whose chin touched his chest. She placed the basin down and closed the windows. Pulling the pillows from behind his back, she eased his body down on the bed. He stirred and stared at her with half lidded eyes.

"Ithílwyn," he rasped.

"What is it? Are you thirsty?" she asked tenderly, turning to a pitcher of water by his bed. He shook his head feebly. "Are you ill then?" she inquired again. Again he shook his head, but this time he reached out to touch her hand. Unknowingly, she had reached out to touch his forehead, worried that he might be having a fever. His palm came into contact with her breast, barely covered by the thin fabric of her nightdress. She gasped and drew back from him.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed. "I did not mean to-, I was just, I swear it was not my intention," he stuttered, placing his hands by his side.

She waved her hand as a sign that she was not offended. "Do not worry, I was just startled. If there is nothing else, I should leave. Goodnight, my lord Éomer."

"Please do not leave," he begged hoarsely. "I cannot rest until I settle this matter with you." she swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded once. Unspoken tension filled the air as she waited for him to gather his words. Ithílwyn wanted to tell him that she would much prefer discussing the incident during the day but she knew she would get no rest until the matter was resolved. He was taking too long a time and her patience grew thin.

"Let me begin," she offered and drew in a breath. "I recognise my wrongdoing, and I take full responsibility for my trespass. Even though it was not my intention, it is clear to me now that my rash actions have appeared mutinous and disrespectful to my host, the Third Marshal. And I would like to add, sire, that if it so displeases you, then the children will not step foot into the library in Aldburg again. But I cannot make the same promise. I cannot guarantee that my efforts in the library will come to a halt, nor will I confess to the accusations you have placed upon my head, for they are false and a blatant misrepresentation of my character. If you have harboured thoughts of an appropriate punishment for my disregard of authority, then I accept it with humility," she said and exhaled. "There, that is all I have to say. It is your turn now," she added, holding her chin a little higher and patiently dreading the reply he would give.

"You always manage to surprise me," he remarked and laughed. His laughs came out as hoarse coughing fits and she had to get him to drink half a cup of water before he could breathe easily again. "Thank you," he said as she set the cup down. She smiled at him, lips tight.

"If it is anyone who deserves punishment, it is I. You were right, my accusations were false and in doing so, I have caused you great hurt. To me, that is a greater wrong than what you have done. I must admit that my displeasure was not because you brought the children to Aldburg without my permission, but rather it was the library in which you chose to entertain them."

"Ainsware told me about your indifference towards the library, and that it was a place your mother often frequented." He nodded at her statement and stared at her as if he could discern her thoughts.

"My sister and I spent a lot of time in the library with my mother. I do not like to remember the days of my childhood and ignoring the existence of the library was how I chose to erase those memories." She noted that he was still reluctant to talk about his past, just as he had when they had been in the cave. "When I saw-" here his voice faltered and he did not say anything for a while. He cleared his throat and continued "you and the children, it must have triggered a memory I have suppressed and you should know by now that I do not like resurfacing memories." He smiled at her but she could not muster one in reply. "I do not know why I was so angry, and in my haze of rage I spoke words I should have never dared to think. You are not what I have described, and it is a transgression I cannot hope to be redeemed from. You would be just to withhold forgiveness from me. But you must believe that I am sincere in my remorse, and know that I bitterly regret my actions. Your actions were borne out of loneliness, am I not mistaken? I have treated you unfairly, and as I pondered more on the matter, I understand the reason behind your decision."

She was crying, out of all inappropriate times, and she turned her face to brush her tears away, unwilling to let him see how weak she was. "You may continue your work, but you must understand that I do not want to hear news of it, nor would I be visiting that room soon. I am dreadfully sorry Ithílwyn, and if you would accept my apology, then I would be most grateful." She sniffled and lowered her gaze. He tilted his head so that she would look at him.

"Is there anything that I could do as a fav-"

"The children," she interjected so quickly that she took him and herself by surprise. "They should know that they are welcomed by the master of Aldburg, and you should apologise for startling them that day. Especially little Aetheline."

"I will do so. Aetheline will not slip my mind." He smiled at her but all she could feel was an uncomfortable sensation in her chest. She thought she was going to cry some more.

She turned to leave but stopped in front of the door to retrieve her basin. "Thank you Éomer," she said, forgetting to use his title. He smiled warmly at her and his gaze was such that she had to turn away.

"No, thank you," he replied. She nodded and turned around. "I am sorry that I cannot give you what you want."

His words struck her like a bolt and she turned to look at him. His expression was bordering on mournful, a rare expression for a man of his character to show.

"Yes," she replied in a soft voice. "So am I." The last three words came out so quietly that Éomer did not hear her. She sighed and smiled sadly at him. "Acquaintances?" she suggested, holding out her hand as she stood by his bed. He had to use much of his strength to shake her hand, but he did so and he echoed her last word. He could not help noticing that her eyes held longing for something beyond what they agreed for. He felt a sort of tightness in his chest he had never experienced.

"Goodnight, my lord," she wished and walked out of the room.

"Goodnight," he replied, a forced smile on his face. Formality did not suit her lips. Éomer's face remained an emotionless mask as he settled his head on the pillows. He heard her close the door and he closed his eyes, feeling hot tears drip down both sides of his face. Outside of his room, Ithílwyn slumped against the door, the edge of the basin pressing into her stomach and sighed.

"How bittersweet it turned out to be," she whispered to herself.