CHAPTER 21
'Wake up brother, can you hear me?'
Éomer heard Aragorn's voice. It seemed so close, yet so far away.
'Éomer? Come out of it!'
He struggled to open his eyes.
'He's waking up.'
He knew not who Aragorn was speaking to but his curiosity was swiftly suffocated by a sharp pain shooting through his body. He screamed and wreathed to shield himself against it. His whole mind was flooded by nothing but pain.
'Éomer! ÉOMER!'
Two hands held his face in a firm grip and finally he managed to open his eyes to look at his friend. He panted as he tried to focus on the face looking down on him.
'Éomer, you are gravely wounded. Do you understand?'
Aragorn's face was still a blur but Éomer nodded, he understood well enough. The pain he felt was as grave as ever.
'You must drink.'
A pouched touched his lips and as the first drop touched his lips he sensed the desperate thirst. He gulped for more and ignored the odd bitterness of the water.
'It will make you feel better.' Aragorn said. 'I know it doesn't taste good but it will help you.'
When he could drink no more Éomer fell back and closed his eyes once more. He could hear his own groans yet could do nothing to stop it.
'We are half way to Minas Tirith. You must hold out Éomer.'
The last he heard before falling back into unconsciousness was Aragorn calling orders to move out.
'Get King Elessar. He's waking up!'
Éomer stirred as the agony seeped through his veil of unconsciousness. Again he moaned and tried to reposition himself to rid himself of the discomfort. There were movement around him but who it was or where they were he did not know. Then the familiar voice of Aragorn spoke to him.
'We are getting closer my friend. We will reach Minas Tirith in less than three days.'
He felt a cold, damp cloth being pressed against his forehead, it offered relief. Though it was slight, he welcomed the sensation.
'Earyn.' he murmured.
'We will get you home to your baby girl Éomer. All I need you to do is fight it. Do not give in.'
'Earyn...' he murmured again. Just the sound of her name calmed him enough to let him fall back into sleep.
Éomer found no relief. His body was ridden with fever and his mind with either dark dreams or nothing at all. He slipped in and out of consciousness. Sometimes Aragorn was there to offer comfort, sometimes someone else would offer him water or encouragement. Sometimes all he saw was a dark, star studded sky above him accompanied by the steady thumps of walking hoofs. Every time the agony threatened to overwhelm him he would think of her. He chanted her name to himself. He pushed his thoughts passed the pain and focused on the memory of her toothless grin. There in her eyes he saw not only himself, but Aema as well. When he focused hard enough he could almost feel them there with him.
It was his sole source of comfort as he laid in a make do cot, somewhere along the Harad road.
Many a times had he fought for his life, yet fighting with sword in hand came easier to him.
Fighting death when one was already within his clasp was a far greater battle.