Chapter 37

Yule

Time passed without her knowledge; all she could remember were faces in her dreams. Perhaps she had not been dreaming, and those faces that she saw were looking at her. She slept and woke, but she could not recognise either from the other. Sometimes she could picture Lady Éowyn frowning at her, sometimes it was another face, unfamiliar yet it appeared again and again. She guessed that it might be the physician, but she could not tell. Her body was exhausted, yet her mind was restless. She dreamed of trickling streams and of falling leaves, the sound of her footsteps on green grass and the songs of birds. There were moments when she shivered, and then sometimes she felt unbearably warm, and she began to wonder if she was awake.

The other face she saw was Éomer's, often it cast a concerned expression, his brows knit together. She vaguely recollected hearing his voice as he sang to her, the warmth of his hand on her cheek. Ithílwyn wished she remembered what words he had sung, for even when she strove to recollect, all she could faintly recall was the bare melody and sound. Then he disappeared and came never back, and his song was forgotten. She woke, her eyes stretched wide as they had not been in days. Her body was rested, and under the care of Lady Éowyn, her health had gradually improved. Lady Éowyn discovered her arousal but showed no diverse expression. She remained as civil and as cold as she had been when Ithílwyn first met her. There still abode feelings of distrust and resentment, though Ithílwyn wished otherwise.

A few things had changed since she had fallen ill. Four whole days had risen and set, and she had been sleeping and gathering her strength the whole while. Éomer had left for Aldburg at the king's order that he should pursue the Orcs and eliminate as many as possible. It was not made known to his sister when he would return. After she seemingly recovered, her appetite increased and in the span of three days, was able to sit in bed with self-effort and feed herself. It was not long until she was deemed healthy enough to be assigned chores just as the other peasant women were. The midwife remarked that she was only fit to mend clothes and stitch fabrics. She never left the Lady Éowyn's room, baskets of mending and trays of food were sent daily. Ithílwyn knew not why this was arranged, but she thought it best for her to remain in the room. The Lady Éowyn seemed to ignore her presence, and she was not important enough to be seen around Meduseld. Her chores tired her often, though she remained seated often with a pile of fabric in her lap. Being secluded in the room meant that her pregnancy would not be evident, nor would anyone recognise her. Above all things, she knew she could not stay in this room forever. Before it was too late, she had to leave, she just did not know how.

On one particularly rainy afternoon, Ithílwyn huddled under her shawl. Feeling light-headed and uncomfortable, she paused her fingers from their work and took deep breaths. She was constantly tired and nauseous, for all her dormant movements. Once she overheard Lady Éowyn mutter in her slumber that sleeping in the same bed as her was akin to sleeping next to a corpse. The sound of raindrops pattering against the windowpane threatened to lull her to sleep.

"Your food," Éowyn announced as she entered the room briskly. Ithílwyn watched her leave as quickly as she entered without glancing her way. Evidently she had far more important affairs to attend to than to concern herself with her brother's mistakes. She was the first, and the child within her undoubtedly the second.

Days passed in Meduseld passed slowly, as grass grew on the plains. By now, Ithílwyn was familiar with the routine set for her, and though she was grateful for shelter and sufficient food, she felt as if she was being treated as a privileged prisoner. Restricted to the vast space of Lady Éowyn's chambers was beginning to prove difficult, though the cave she had once lived in was smaller in comparison. There was the added space of the forest, and the lake which was of course not found here in Edoras. Ithílwyn spent many conversations looking down at her stomach. And wondered when she would be set free at lat. Strangely enough, she recognised that same longing in Lady Éowyn, yet she never spoke of it. It seemed that she had no friends of her own and Ithílwyn guessed it was why her demeanour had become so frigid. Her uncle was in poor health, her brother and cousin were far off, engaging in warfare and battle while she remained here to look after strangers and people she had no affection for.

One night Ithílwyn lay awake in bed, disturbed by the rough movements in her belly. Lady Éowyn entered the room with an angry air about her, muttering furiously under her breath in rapid whispers. Seeing Ithílwyn seated on the bed and staring at her with curious, concerned eyes startled her and she cursed.

"You curse like your brother," Ithílwyn commented and smiled.

Éowyn huffed, "It is not he who taught me to swear. Go back to sleep," she replied.

"My lady, I cannot help but wonder if you are distressed, I know it is no business of mine-"

"You are right, it is no business of yours to meddle," she snapped, "to pry into the affairs of those of above your station."

"I apologise, my lady, but you seem very lonely. And I understand you are a capable and respectable woman. If you need to talk to anyone, I offer my companionship if you wish to be friends, though it may not be much." Éowyn eyed her suspiciously, although she did not seem as cold as before.

"Thank you for your kind offer, Ithílwyn. But I am afraid I do not trust you enough to call you a friend," she declined civilly. "It is late and I am weary, good night." Ithílwyn blinked twice then laid back down on her side, feeling very hollow.

The days grew shorter as winter winds blew harshly across the plains and over the hills. The chill settled over Meduseld and its inhabitants. Content with her mending and with the warm, crackling fire, Ithílwyn hummed softly as the needle darted in and out of the fabric in neat, even stitches. The babe seemed to swish along to the tune she had made up, and she smiled at the thought. Her middle was expanding at an alarming rate, and she discovered that she could no longer see her toes when she stood up. She was afraid, and alarmed that fear should be the emotion she experienced. Should not a mother be joyful or glad?

"Leave me!" yelled Éowyn in anguish, entering the room hastily and slammed the door hurriedly. Ithílwyn stared at her, concerned and worried. She was met with a stern glance, but a spark of fear shone through her grey eyes.

"Who is bothering you?" she asked, putting her mending aside.

"You do not know him, and I refuse to discuss this matter. I have been humiliated enough!" she exclaimed, before bursting into tears.

"Oh dear," Ithílwyn exclaimed and wondered what to do. Should she approach Lady Éowyn although she would most likely reject her attempts to comfort her? Before she could make up her mind, the king's beloved niece sobered and went over to the basin where she washed her face. Once she finished wiping her damp face with a towel, she turned towards Ithílwyn.

"Do I look alright?" Ithílwyn nodded in response.

"Thank you," Lady Éowyn replied and then exited the room without another word, leaving Ithílwyn befuddled.

They did not speak for several days, which as Ithílwyn noted after reflection, seemed uncanny considering they shared the same room and the same bed. While Ithílwyn was taking her afternoon meal one wintry afternoon, her host marched in and extended her letter holding hand.

"My brother has sent you a letter," she announced without any change in her expression or tone.

"Oh," Ithílwyn said, placing her spoon down and retrieving the piece of parchment reverently from the fair hand of Lady Éowyn. The letter was sealed and imprinted on the dried wax was the emblem of Eorl's house. "Thank you," she added, looking up to find the figure of her host exiting the room as the door was shut once more. Ithílwyn stared down at the letter, sniffing it tentatively. It smelled like any other parchment, and she ran her fingers over the shape of the wax before breaking the seal.

Dear Ithíl, it is in these quiet hours that I loathe my birthright, this duty to the king which I no longer hold any desire to fulfil. There, I have committed treason with those words, yet they are truth. Under his bidding I am to remain at Aldburg, accusing me of mishandling military affairs in the Eastmark. Perhaps his words rang true, for there are more refugees in the fortress now than residents in the villages scattered about the eastern plains. While I am here, it is hoped that I should kill as many Orcs as my duty warrants, but I must confess that thoughts of you frequent my mind oft. More often than it should. You would be pleased to hear this, would you not? What are you doing now I wonder? Are you sad, or happy? It pains me to leave you while you were still ill, and I apologise. Éowyn tells me you are faring well, but she does not include more details. You must forgive her behaviour, she is slow to trust any acquaintance, and lesser still a stranger. However, she has provided for you well enough, I expect. If she does not, show her this letter, for I will verily come upon her and rebuke her for failing to provide. She has received stern orders from me, and she has never failed me once, even if she did not approve of my requests.

Dawn is nearly approaching, and soon the men will rise as we head into the plains to hunt our enemy. It seems unjust that we are bound to protect those who are as strangers to me, but to be leagues and miles away from those that lie close to my heart. I am well, and so is Firefoot. Your old letters are still in my possession, and I am grateful for the humour you have provided through them. You give me courage, Ithíl. And I wish you would remain as courageous as I know you to be. I must cease writing, for I am beginning to feel silly. You must excuse me, for I have rarely written a letter such as this. I have so many things I wanted to tell you, but now as I put ink to this piece of parchment I forget. I will be returning to Edoras at Yuletime, which means you have a long wait to suffer. There is little desire to participate in festivities, but perhaps after much sorrow and bloodshed, a feast might cure us all. Little words have I written, and they are but a poor translation of the thoughts I had wished to express. I miss your presence, and often you haunt my dreams. There the bell has rung, and I must away. Please grant me this one favour: that you will keep safe and that you will protect our child until my return. Béma be with you, Éomer.

How dearly she would have loved to read more, and she was downcast when there were no more words left at the bottom of the page. His absence was made all the more profound, and she cursed these foul days she lived in. Woe and separation were the bane of the living and little joy was left in hoping for the future. She would wait till Yule, when he would return. And she would savour the last joyous moments of her life if naught else.

Days grew shorter as night swallowed the light of the sun. Without sunshine, it seemed that the world was turning into gloom. It was hard to remain cheerful under these circumstances, and Ithílwyn found herself wondering of the fortunes of the world, and whether an innocent child could endure the evil and darkness yet to reveal itself. Though preparations for the Yuletide feast had already begun, there was little cheer to be found in Meduseld. Her health had greatly improved, and she took to sneaking out of her room before dawnbreak to venture into the garden. There she would seat herself on the bench dampened by dew and with her cloak around her, she would close her eyes and face the east. Then she would imagine a bright light as the sun rose over the horizon, with fields of lavender and daffodils as far as her eye could see. The grass gleamed and shone as if their small blades had been polished and the scent of the air was clean and fresh. There was enough enchantment in her fantasy to give her courage to face another day. Without hope, she could not bear to live, and so as foolish as it seemed, she clung to the belief that spring would come, and that the sun will come once again to shine in the Mark.

On one such occasion, Ithílwyn opened her eyes and sighed quietly, hastily returning to the room before Lady Éowyn woke. She nearly screamed when upon opening the door, a hunched and dark figure stood hovering over the sleeping form of Lady Éowyn. His pale fingers reached out towards her cheek.

"Who are you?" she inquired in a whisper, for fear had overcome her. Out of the corner of her eye, she grabbed the fire poker and hid it behind her back. The strange man turned to face her, breathing through his mouth. The glance he cast her was full of malice and hatred, and she shivered at this stranger. Without a word, he hissed and flew out of the room in rage, pushing past Ithílwyn and leaving her in a state of shock. She gripped the fire poker tightly until there was utter silence in the hall outside. Then she bolted the door securely and placed the fire poker in its original position before climbing into bed, disturbed at that evil man's intrusion.

"My lady, there was a strange man in the room this morning. Her stood over the bed and watched you as you slept," she informed her host a while later. Ithílwyn noticed Lady Éowyn's posture stiffen; her hands paused in their work.

"If you do not mind me asking, who is he my lady?"

There was a loud exhale and a pause before she spoke. "That man is the king's advisor, and he has developed an unnatural affection for me. Do you mean to say that he crept into this room earlier, while we were both asleep?"

"Yes. I was awake my lady."

"What were you doing?" she interrogated pointedly.

"I went to get some fresh air," Ithílwyn answered quietly. Lady Éowyn looked at her, debating whether to believe her word.

"I am afraid that we must bolt the door from now on, we cannot risk him repeating this trespass again." At her suggestion, Ithílwyn nodded sombrely. "Thank you for informing me, of this... incident. This matter will be handled accordingly, but please do not consider him from now on. I have to see to the maidservants today, farewell."

Ithílwyn watched her leave, convinced that she had spoken more words to her in that moment than in the past fortnight.

A few days later, Ithílwyn sat with several other women she recognised from the journey to Edoras. They were instructed to string garlands to decorate the hall for the Yule feast. The women sat there with sullen faces, and Ithílwyn could not refrain from thinking of the feasts she had attended in Aldburg and how vastly the atmosphere differed. Here there was no gossip, good-natured teasing or playful banter. The silence was strange, and terrifying to comprehend. Even Lady Éowyn was behaving rather uncannily, she seemed distracted and often stared elsewhere. Though she had not been very friendly, Ithílwyn still felt some degree of concern for Éomer's sister. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Lady Éowyn leaving the hall with an annoyed expression on her face. An ill premonition struck her, yet she hesitated to take action. After all, she had been instructed not to meddle in the affairs of the nobility. However, she was soon alerted of the mild need to empty her bladder and she excused herself quietly, though no one paid her any mind. Instead of heading for the nearest chamberpot, she left the hall where Lady Éowyn had disappeared with the irritated expression. Immediately she stumbled upon the strange man, the king's advisor and the Lady Éowyn. He was speaking to her, with an unsavoury glint in his eyes as she endeavoured to avoid him. She whispered angrily, yet he hounded her with a fierce determination. Ithílwyn took a deep breath and marched toward the two and bowed her head, presenting only the top of her head.

"Forgive me for interrupting, but Lady Éowyn's presence is required in the hall urgently. One of the women has requested for her." A stifling silence followed her apology, and Ithílwyn could hear her heart beating nervously and she kept her head bowed.

"I have to take my leave, snake," Éowyn muttered furiously, turning on her heel and taking Ithílwyn with her. As they left, the king's advisor let out a growl, and the sound of it made Ithílwyn afraid. When they had travelled some distance, Éowyn halted in her steps as Ithílwyn panted beside her. The White Lady of Rohan held herself with dignity as she attempted to compose herself. But it was painfully clear that her hands were shaking, and that she was as terrified as Ithílwyn had been.

"I should thank you for the service you did me, Ithílwyn," Éowyn spoke later that night as they lay in bed. The pride and haughty demeanour had disappeared, and Ithílwyn caught a glimpse of the vulnerable woman, with her own fears and worries.

"Does the king know about his advisor's advances towards you?" she asked.

"The king's mind is poisoned, clouded by the snake's venom," Éowyn answered spitefully, beginning to seethe in anger. It was the most animated behaviour the lady had expressed and Ithílwyn kept very silent. "He has made countless attempts to persuade me to marry him. I fear that when my uncle has been reduced to nothing but a puppet through wicked sorcery, it will be my fate to be his wife." Ithílwyn gasped at the thought of such a terrible fate as Éowyn shut her eyes in despair. "Even now he schemes and plots, and I fear for Théodred and Éomer for he loathes them most." Lady Éowyn then turned to Ithílwyn and stared at her. "I have spoken so freely to you, and it puzzles me."

"Perhaps you have stayed silent for too long," Ithílwyn replied, to which her host snorted and laid down on the bed.

"That is ridiculous," she muttered and turned her back to Ithílwyn, who merely sighed and blew out the candle.

"Éomer!" his sister exclaimed with delight when she saw him. She had entertained fears that he would be absent for various unfortunate reasons, but they were pointless, for her four-limbed brother had arrived.

"Ah, Éowyn," he murmured when she embraced him. He kissed her cheek and noticed her forlorn expression. "What has he done Éowyn? Has he hurt you?"

"No, Éomer, he has not hurt me. I was just afraid that you would not return forYule." He cast a sad smile at her, marvelling at her likeness to their mother.

"I promised to return, dear sister. And I fulfil what has been promised." Éowyn smiles up at him, and his heart warms. "The king has summoned me, Éowyn. I have to present a report on the Eastmark and there is little to talk about that is not death. Forgive me, for I am weary and so are my men. I have to wash and meet with the king." Éowyn nodded understandingly, her joyous expression replaced with another more sombre. Her brother leaned in and whispered in her ear, "How are the women? Are they faring well?" Éowyn nodded casually and watched his brother's features relax slightly. "Good, good," he mumbled and bowed his messy blond head, placing a kiss on her forehead and bidding her goodbye. She was worried about her brother. He seemed haggard and strained, devoid of cheer. Éowyn sighed and hoped for her uncle to regain his senses quickly, though this evil enchantment set upon the king might prove too great a challenge for the sons of Eorl to overcome.

"Westu hal, Théoden Cyning, Lord of the Mark," Éomer hailed. His uncle hunched in his chair, his beard unshaved. His eyes were no longer bright , nor did they seem to perceive much. Even the flesh on his bones appeared chalky. It was then that fear struck him, the fear that his uncle was dying an unnatural death. The king let out several unintelligible noises and Gríma rose from his seat beside his uncle and stood before Éomer.

"Peace, Éomer son of Éomund. Your uncle, the king wishes you well. What news have you brought of the Eastmark?"

"My lord king," Éomer began, speaking directly to his uncle and ignoring Gríma's presence, "the Orcs multiply swiftly. The plans of our spies are thwarted easily. Victory is difficult to achieve with the limited number of men amongst our ranks." Gríma shook his head disapprovingly, and circled around the Third Marshal.

"You have failed your liege, Third Marshal. The king did not appoint you to lead his people to their death. You have brought disgrace upon your king, and disaster on his people. The king's patience with your constant failures grows thin." Éomer clenched his fists in anger and gritted his teeth in an attempt to control his temper. "You are expected t present a written account of your affairs by tomorrow morning to the king, including the number of deaths under your charge. Perhaps the king might show mercy and spare you from being reprimanded in front of your men for the careless decisions you have made in your folly. Now depart from the king's presence." Éomer stood very still, approaching the king boldly.

"I request for a private audience with my uncle, the king." His request had never been refused before, and he prayed silently that his uncle would hear him. The king seemed to show some response to his ask, but then turned to whisper in Gríma's ready ear. Éomer was speechless with horror. The snake grinned viciously, satisfied with the king's need of him.

"As you wish my liege," he replied, turning to face the Third Marshal once more. "Théoden King bids you speak freely in the presence of his advisor. The king wishes to hear sound advice before coming to a decision." Éomer deeply desired to reach out and grab the wretched worm by his collar and throw him across the hall. Ignoring his authority, he stared at his uncle, hoping for some recognition. How could this be the same person? His uncle would have welcomed him like a son, not perceive him as a stranger. They were kin, the same blood flowed through them.

"Uncle," he called, with a tone that lacked courage. "I am asking for your permission. There is a woman I intend to make my wife. As your sister-son, I ask for your blessing and approval."

Gríma's eyes grew wide at the Third Marshal's request. The king opened his mouth, and Gríma leaned in to listen.

"Let him speak of his own accord," Éomer instructed in a loud voice.

"He is, son of Éomund. I am merely his humble servant, as he wishes me to be his mouthpiece. Surely you understand that I must obey my king's instructions." Gríma then turned to the king and listened to his unintelligible murmurings. Éomer seethed, knowing his uncle would have never treated him so indifferently. He would have rejoiced at such news, and clasped him to his chest, laughing and insisting on meeting the woman. "Take heed, Éomer son of Éomund, for this is what the king says. While war lies on our land, your thoughts have been clouded with the wiles of a woman? Perhaps that is the reason behind your failed military strategies. Your folly has cost the king greatly and yet you stand here, insolently approaching the king without permission." Éomer glared at Gríma, incensed that this worthless, honourless man would be so bold as to usurp his uncle's lordship.

"Until peace has been reclaimed in the Mark, you will not marry. Nor will you entertain such thoughts when the security of our borders is at risk and the lives of our people are threatened."

Éomer returned to his room, seething and boiling with pent up rage. Never in his dreams could he have imagined anything more cruel and depraved as Gríma Wormtongue. There was no simple solution to ridding the king of that parasite, if it were so effortless, then he would have been banished long ago. That man knew sorcery, for unnatural things happened at his bidding. And since he commanded the word of the king, no one could harm a hair on his head. Once he had washed and dressed, he went to stand by the connecting door, hesitant to knock. Ithílwyn could very well be present, and he was in a foul mood. He was not in good temper to face her yet. It would be cruel to impose on her the burdens he bore when she, at her expense, had brought him peace. She had her own share of fears to consider.

After the evening meal, in which he finished sullenly and with a considerably weak appetite, he marched up to his sister and dragged her to somewhere private. He was furious that she had failed to send word about their uncle's weakened state.

"But I did, Éomer!" she insisted. "Did you not receive my letters?"

"You have sent none since my departure, sister," he hissed.

"I did Éomer. Why would I lie about such things?" she challenged. Éowyn was right, it was not of her character to commit such a crime. "The letters must have been intercepted before they could reach you. There are spies in Edoras, under Gríma's command." Éomer sighed, greatly disheartened.

"Why has he not been crowned king then?" he questioned sarcastically.

"We underestimated his might, who knew once could achieve so much with words?" Éowyn moaned mournfully.

"It is only because we tell so few untruths that it is hard for us to recognise one as cunning as that forked tongue snake."

"Did Théodred mention anything about his arrival here?"

Éomer shook his head and watched as Éowyn's shoulders sank in disappointment. "I have not received word from him either. I cannot bear to see you so forlorn, Éowyn. He will come for the festivities. Théodred holds some sway over his father, perhaps he will be able to remedy the situation. Let us not despair, dear sister." He spoke convincingly, and Éowyn nodded at his suggestion. It was foolish to be so hopeful after all that has happened in the Mark. But for his sister's sake, he smiled with as much cheer as he could muster and placed his arm around her shoulders.

Ithílwyn sat quietly by the fire, undoing the mistake in her knitting with a scowl on her face. It was Éomer's arrival that unnerved her. She had been out of sorts all day, and her attention was not entirely fixed on her handiwork, to say the least. Éowyn mentioned her brother's arrival while passing her by, and for her life she could not figure why she was nervous that he was here in Meduseld. Admittedly, she knew little of the court and its proceedings and regulations. Would he be required to present himself to the king? Perhaps it was just as well that he was not here, nothing good had ever arisen out of their previous alliances. A knock on the door startled her and caused her to drop her knitting. While struggling to pick up her thing, Éowyn entered the room.

"It is late. You should be asleep by now," she remarked, frowning at Ithílwyn.

"I had to finish my knitting," she replied in a small voice.

"Were your not chores completed before the evening meal?"

"Yes, they were. This is for the baby," Ithílwyn admitted shyly.

"Oh," was all Lady Éowyn could say. She sighed a while later as she undressed. "It is late Ithílwyn, perhaps you can continue tomorrow." Obediently she placed her things away and climbed into bed awkwardly. Éowyn, who had already washed and changed into a nightdress clambered in soon after and blew out the candles.

"Go to sleep," murmured Lady Éowyn.

"Good night," Ithílwyn replied, before the room was filled with utter silence.

When she woke, the change in her surroundings surprised her immensely. She frowned and attempted to sit up, briefly noting that the sheets smelled different. Due to the large lump on her middle, she flopped around like a large fish. Disturbed by the clumsy movements, Éomer grunted beside her and opened one eye to peek. Ithílwyn let out a small shriek and shifted her weight to one side before sitting up successfully.

"What are you doing?" he murmured sleepily, smiling at her crookedly.

"I should ask you the same," she huffed. "What am I doing in your bed?"

"Tis where you belong, dear Ithílwyn," he replied, sneaking up to her with his lips puckered in an attempt to kiss her. She pushed his advancing face away and shook her head.

"I was asleep in your sister's bed last night."

"Yes, and I carried you through the door and placed you on my bed a few hours ago. You have grown heavier, but you have grown more beautiful since last I saw you."

"I should not be here, Éomer," she sighed. "I am not your mistress any longer. If you wish to warm your bed, I suggest you seek another woman to assist you," she replied, unable to hide the spite in her voice. He ground his jaw, and even in the dark, Ithílwyn could see the anger flickering in his dark eyes.

"It was not my intention to take advantage of you that I brought you into my bed, Ithílwyn!" he spoke, his voice strained with his barely controlled temper. Then he sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "I missed you, and I entertained the notion that you returned similar feelings towards me. I am weary, so weary of the sound of clashing swords, and long has it been since I heard your voice. Do not leave just yet, I beg of you. Stay a while longer and talk with me."

"There is nothing we can discuss," she replied, gazing downwards. "How could I have been so blind? To associate with one so highly ranked and of noble lineage? I know my place in society now, my lord. You have been generous and kind, and I have experienced many wonderful memories with you. But I cannot pretend that you are not Third Marshal, or that I am a lady of noble birth. It will be wise if you do not associate yourself with me in the future."

He stares at her, confused. "Wait here," she instructs out of the blue, alighting off the bed and disappearing into his sister's chambers. Ithílwyn returns and hands him a pair of stockings.

"It is your gift, for Yule. It is but an ordinary gift, but they will keep your feet warm during the winter," she explains, embarrassed at her poor offering.

"Thank you," he replies gratefully, holding her hands with the stockings sandwiched in between.

"Do not leave," he begged.

"I have to," she answered, avoiding his gaze.

"I do not want you to."

"You must not say that. One of us has to leave."

"You may leave, but I will always follow you," he vowed.

"Please do not. Can you not see that we are not fated?"

"Of course not. There is no one in Rohan for me but you," he replied obstinately.

"It is easy for you to speak so carelessly when you are powerful and wealthy. The sun and moon cannot share the same sky. Please leave me be, Éom- my lord, I cannot bear to see you anymore." Thrusting his hands away, she fled hurriedly from his room and shut the connecting door. With a frustrated groan he fell back onto the bed and covered his face with the woollen stockings.

Afterwards, his sister refused to hear his pleas, insisting that it was Ithílwyn's decision and that she wished not to involve herself in this messy affair. She was busy enough without having to mend her brother's broken relationship. The day grew worse when at Gríma's bequest he was summoned to a council and was duly mocked by the worm in front of his men as well as the king's captains. Personally, he doubted many of the decisions he had made while as Third Marshal. But he was not so certain that sparing thousands of men and women from certain death was unwise, even if meant prolonging their lives only for a while. By sundown, he was furious and willing to murder without just cause. Although he knew none would be too upset if Gríma Wormtongue were to perish at his hands. His cousin's sudden, unannounced arrival surprised both him and his sister. Théodred's charming smile seemed to bring light to the entire hall, and with it, a glimmer of hope. The king's welcome was subdued, and beside him Gríma glared despisingly at the prince.

All was not lost, as Théodred still held sway over his father yet. With his son by his side, Théoden King paid little attention to his advisor. Éomer and Éowyn both exhaled a sigh of relief simultaneously as they watched their cousin converse with his father as of days from the past. After greeting his father, Théodred then turned to Gríma. Commenting on his pale skin, he concluded that the king's advisor was exerting himself and ordered him to rest. With this indirect banishment, Éomer watched the snake skulking away into the dark shadows, seeming to hiss at the prince out of spite. Only then did they witness an expression of relief flicker on his face. Soon it disappeared however, when the king began to laugh at Théodred's jokes. If only the prince could be exempt of military duties and remain by his father's side. The hall seemed to wonder at the miraculous change in the king's face. His sister nudged him and smiled widely. Her joy was infectious, and for all his rage earlier in the day, his lips turned upwards in a smile reflecting his sister's. Éowyn had her family with her for Yule, and now that the king was laughing and smiling, albeit differently from when he was hale, her joy was made complete. To have Gríma far from her lifted the shadows from her heart, and Éomer stroked her cheek, beholding his sister's joyous expression was a rare treat. She giggled and clutched his arm, resting her head on his shoulder.

The day of Yule came, the sun shining brightly across the grey plains of the Mark. Éomer spent the morning with his family, exchanging presents and drinking to the health of each family member. Soon, their uncle grew tired, such was his frail health. While they watched him slumber, Théodred slapped Éomer on the back playfully.

"It is good to see you Théodred. We were in dire need of your presence," he admitted. Grief and worry appeared on the prince's handsome features, making him appear aged.

"Scouts return fewer in number, and I have little men to spare. Éomer, the Westfold is near forsaken. Orcs raid villages, torching houses and taking the women and horses with them." Éomer cursed under his breath and met Théodred's sideways glance. "They only take the dark horses. There are strange happenings in the Mark. Long has it been, and never did I dream of such, since I witnessed the use of wicked sorcery. Four months ago, Elfhelm sent word, describing strange hooded men with a sinister air about them who intended to purchase black horses. Being a man of the Mark, he sold none of our beasts into the possession of such evil beings. Now that the enemy is pillaging our horses, I fear for their growing strength. We know little about their forces, and though we hunt them down, their numbers seem to keep increasing. These are strange times indeed, cursed are we who live to see it. The peril has weakened my bones, Éomer. I feel frail, just as my father is weakened."

"No, Théodred, you cannot speak so," Éomer interjected.

"In a while you will soon feel the same. The weight of the people will bear down heavily upon your shoulders. There are strange happenings in this world we live in Éomer. I cannot pretend that I understand them, nor do I admit that I wish to know about them. But enough from me, shall you tell me about the Eastmark? I trust you have more to say than the letters you have written me?" his cousin asked and flashed a bright smile at him. For all his wisdom, he knew not how Théodred could smile when just before he confided in him a peculiar concern for his life.

There was loud chatter in the Great Hall that evening, as silver platters of food circled around the tables. Clinking glasses and clattering knives accompanied the noise in the hall as some began to sing. His eyes wandered around the hall, as if they were searching for someone particular. He was in good spirits, though he had not expected to find much mirth during Yule when he had first arrived. Even the king was smiling from ear to ear as he feasted together with the people of the Mark. When he spied Ithílwyn, however, his gaze remained for quite some time. He had not caught any glimpses of her since she left his chambers so hastily. She was seated beside Rhonwen, who was next to her husband. Aldric had arrived at Edoras with Éomer, and his friend seemed happy to be reunited with his wife. They were talking, at least Aldric was, and Ithílwyn looked contented as she listened to him. Her plate was empty and Éomer smiled in secret. He turned back to his own food, and joined in as his men clinked their glasses and made merry, teasing harmlessly and making lewd jokes. After a while, he turned back to sneak a glance at Ithílwyn. Aldric and Rhonwen were whispering to each other, as lovers do and Ithílwyn sat by herself while she sipped on her drink nonchalantly, hiding her despair at being left solitary. He sympathised with her, because he knew too well what being alone felt like. What delight he had gained from Théodred's arrival dissipated as fear and worry grew in its place. He cast a last glance at Ithílwyn, who seemed to sigh miserably despite the raucous atmosphere due to the Yule festivities.

"Éomer! You have barely touched your food," his sister exclaimed good-naturedly.

"I must have had too much to eat this afternoon," he replied charmingly and smiled at her. Éowyn returned his smile, and he observed her in case she had observed him staring at Ithílwyn. His sister did not reveal that she had been spying on him so he laughed with her and hoped no one else had noticed.

But someone did notice, and was curious why the Third Marshal stared into space while the festivities were proceeding. When the Marshal gazed a second time in a similar direction, it was interesting to note that the king's sister-son was staring at a woman, who was pregnant nonetheless. This seemed truly suspicious, and worth taking advantage over.

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