Disclaimer: See Prologue. Gwen is mine.
The Light Within
Chapter Forty-Two: Contemplations
by: Sherrywine
Éomer stood frozen in the hall, for long moments after Gwendolyn fled, trying to wrest his raging lust back under control. It was a good thing she was gone – he had been moments away from carrying her down to his chambers to have her under him. He cursed himself and his impulsiveness, knowing it had been wrong to kiss her as he had. You scared her, you ass. Éomer cursed Grimbold, too, for planting the notion in the woman's head that he would hurt her if he bedded her, and he cursed her innocence and youth as well. He had a rule for such things – well, two rules. The first was that the women he bedded must always be willing and of age. Gwendolyn fit the bill on both accounts there. The second rule was that he would bed only women who knew well enough what it meant to do so, and that, he feared, was the problem. The woman quickly bringing him to his knees was wholly an innocent. She had even tasted innocent.
It really only made him want her more, knowing that no man had ever had what he could have.
She probably thought him a scoundrel, and a cad. Grimbold certainly made it seem that way. It was true that until recent years he had been openly unattached and enjoyed many a female's company, he now was more serious-minded about such things. He took mistresses. Éomer chose carefully, mindful of overly-attached women. That's why I only go to Bridget now. But even now, he had begun to grow apart from the widow, and the death of his cousin had only inflamed his desire to be done with her more. But, there were advantages to having a willing, experienced woman like Bridget in his bed. She understood there could never be anything more between them than sex. Women like Gwen – innocent, young – they saw romance and marriage. And that he couldn't give her, even if he wanted to.
Frustrated with himself, Éomer stalked down the hall, wishing he hadn't been so aggressive with the young woman. I don't want to scare her away. For all his desire to have her under him for long hours, he found he was growing to like her. He wanted her in his bed, yes, but she was worth more than a moment's distraction, and he knew that. Gwendolyn was a good person, and far as he could tell, a good friend to his sister. It was clear by her treatment of others that she had a good, kind heart, and a true kindness for others' plights. It would not do to treat her callously. She's worth far more than Bridget on her worst day, and that goes for any other woman I've bedded.
He had no intentions of breaking her heart, but damn if he didn't want to bed her with a furious passion. It was far more than he had ever felt before. Éomer entered his chambers, sending the heavy door crashing into the wall as he stalked inside in a sudden fit of anger, and set to undressing for a much needed washing. His thoughts were heavy and brooding as he contemplated the innocent woman he had held just minutes before. Éomer knew it would be best for her if he stopped this dance of desire, for many, many reasons. He reminded himself she was an innocent, a kind-hearted, young, beautiful innocent. She's the marrying type, besides, Éomer. The argument went round and round in his mind.
But the conflict ran deeply in him. The stubborn, brave little woman called out all his baser instincts – the need to fuck and to bend to his will – strongly. And to keep her – oh yes, to keep her in his bed until it ruined her. He definitely couldn't keep her. As Théoden's nephew, Éomer would be expected to make a royal match, and thus could never consider even the idea of marriage to a commoner. More besides, just because she was not suited to him in the family way didn't mean she couldn't secure a good match for herself one day. Why are you building a case against yourself, Éomer? He berated himself, and cursed his need for honor. You want her, so take her! His body practically roared with desire, in complete agreement, but he knew his path as a man and as a royal of the House of Éorl would be tarnished should he continue with this pleasurable game involving the young woman. He tugged at his hair in frustration. But I desire her so.
The memory of her lips upon his, her body against his, had him clenching his hands at his sides into fists, as his body throbbed. But her innocent, kind gaze flickered in his mind, and his consciousness won out over his lust. I cannot take her. He sighed. She can never be mine. It was probably for the best that she was afraid of his intentions – she would stay away from him, and leave temptation out of arm's reach. Damn if he didn't hate the idea of it at that moment, though. He wanted her spread out in his bed for days. But it is not to be. Sighing heavily, Éomer turned his mind to preparing for the funeral he did not want to attend.
Gwen had taken to writing in her new journal everyday, much to Éowyn's fascination. The older woman had another book of blank pages for her as a gift, saying that she had had the thing for years and had never used it. "My uncle had always hoped I would develop a fondness for the pen as his wife and sister had," Éowyn explained. She looked at the slim book in her hands a little sadly. "I never did. I am glad that you will get some use out of it one day – you write far more than I!" With a smile, the golden-haired woman passed it over to Gwen. And the younger female wrote often – of Théodred's funeral that very day, and of her confused, jumbled thoughts concerning the King's newest heir. Éomer. This book was only for her eyes, and no others. While Éowyn dressed, Gwen wrote.
March 6th, III 3019
I have high hopes for this diary, that it may serve as a reminder in years past of my thoughts during this difficult year. What I wouldn't give sometimes for a simple typewriter. Anyway...
The King's son was laid to rest today under his burial mound. Éowyn told me of the great swaths of simbelmynë, bunches small white flowers that are named for grief and remembrance, will one day cover the Prince's tomb completely. If the other mounds are any indication, Théodred's will look as if it is capped in snow soon enough. It is beautiful and yet sorrowful. The ceremony itself was not unlike those found on Earth in the modern day, but there are unique customs I found somewhat confusing, like the placing of worldly goods in the tomb before it is sealed. To me, you just don't bury things with a body like that, but it was poignant to watch the man's life pass into the tomb. Éomer added, in addition to Théodred's sword and shield, a lute and a fiddle. Éowyn told me later they were included because her cousin had so loved playing music. And do you know, diary, that she asked that I stand with her during the burial?
It was an honor to do so, but I confess to you that I felt very much out of place standing among the deeply grieving women of Edoras. Standing with Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn would have been much preferable to garnering looks from the other ladies for my dry-eyed sadness. I think, though, that it was worth it; Éowyn seemed to take comfort in my presence, strangely enough. I think we might end up close friends. She is a nice woman, and I like her very much. Anyway, the King's son was buried, and I confess that I did not wait my turn to leave – the heavy weight of grief in that place was too much for me to bear. It reminded me painfully of Boromir's hasty funeral. God, I miss that man!
She really did. Sadness welled in her chest painfully as his face rose in her mind's eye. After a brief moment, Gwen continued to read what she had written, dotting away the few tears that pricked in her her eyes.
At the funeral feast afterward, the King made a speech in honor of his son. It brought tears to my eyes (but what doesn't, honestly?)! Gwen smiled at that line, knowing that she could definitely be considered the overly-emotional type. It was one of her flaws, by her thinking. He spoke of holding his child for the first time, of hearing his cries, of feeling the rush of love only a parent can know. And he bravely spoke of waking from the fog Gríma had surrounded him in, to see his niece before him, and a radiant joy filling him. (Éowyn sat beside me, by the way, and beamed like crazy during this part). Of course, we all knew of the point of the speech, and when the man wept in front of us, tears fell from all our eyes. I can't begin to imagine the depth of a father's pain. Then, to everyone's expectation but mine, he named Éomer his heir. The handsome man rose to accept a chalice from his uncle, and drank from it, swearing to avenge his cousin's death at the hands of Saruman's uruk-hai before he is crowned King. He looked as fierce as I've ever seen him in that moment, and despite my efforts, I couldn't help but be aware of his every movement. Damn hormones! Gah.
Gwen looked up from her diary, hearing someone stop outside the door. When no knock came, she continued to read.
On my way back to my chambers, I ran into Éomer again, and the sight of him sent all sorts of crazy, tingling emotions through me. Really, it's effing ridiculous how much he can affect me with just a look! Thankfully he avoided my gaze altogether, and we passed without incident. Diary, I have no idea what I will do if he kisses me again. I was ready to rip off my clothes and let him have me there in the hallway, and that was just ONE single kiss! The man is pure sin, I swear. Sometimes the wanting is so strong that I don't even care if he uses me, and I would give anything to spend a night in his bed.
After those moments I feel hideously guilty, because my mother would be so ashamed if she knew I wanted premarital sex so badly. Hah. Truth be told he's got me spinning in doubts – is it worth it? Is it not? My thoughts turn it round and round constantly. I not two days ago swore that I wouldn't become weak with lust for the man – and yet here I am, drowning in it. Is this how it's supposed to be? Is it supposed to feel this way? I don't know, diary, but I have no idea what step to take next.
Gwen really didn't know where to go from here. Every time she saw the damn man she fairly panted with lust – it was ridiculous, really. Yes, she desired him, but she wanted to stay true to herself above all. Gwen just wasn't sure how do that in this situation, because she didn't know what she wanted, nor what such choices meant here in Middle-Earth. It wasn't like anyone she knew up to this point had spoken to her about sexual customs! Wishing she had her mother to talk to about it, Gwen shook her head and read further.
I do know this – whatever I do – whatever happens – it will be the best choice I can make for myself. No hasty decisions. One thing about it, if there is one thing Théodred's funeral has reminded me of, (and with Boromir's loss as well) it's that life is too short to worry about the future, even tomorrow. I could be dead by this time next year, and the more I think about it, the more I don't want to die a virgin. So there's that, too. The lust I feel doesn't scare me; what scares me is that it will turn into love...for the wrong guy. I know how I am, diary, and I'm not naive enough to think Éomer would ever consider me future relationship material – he'll be King one day! So all it would ever be is sex. Is that enough? I just don't know.
Gwen groaned at the written reminder, torn by indecision.
I am coming to hate the constant throb in my body, though, I know that. The tightness, the need for a man, is pretty much always there now. It's kind of pissing me off, actually. I have no clue why my body is acting this way, and I really don't want to ask Aragorn, Legolas, OR Gimli. They would probably have a cow – literally. And Éowyn is Éomer's sister for Pete's sake, so I can't go asking her to help me with her brother! Honestly, I'll be glad when Aragorn decides to move on from Rohan and find Frodo, as I assume now that he's found Merry and Pippin (and that they are safe) we'll go after the Ringbearer. My heart aches with the thought of him and Sam alone in the wilderness. Their peril must be becoming greater by the day, and the thought of the quest failing sends me into a tailspin. I think we should leave. As soon as possible.
Gwen shut the diary once the ink had dried, placing it on the table beside her bed. Well, I've established one thing: I need to talk to Aragorn about getting the hell out of dodge. Shaking her head at the utter absurdity that was her first diary entry, Gwen rose, needing some sunlight.
Gwen walked the streets of Edoras leisurely, taking time to stop and play with the children who crossed her path, to talk to the women of the streets as they went about their day, and to pet any animals she met along the way. It was a pleasant time for her, this walk. Mostly, it was just nice to be alone in her own company while she checked out the sights of the city. She had always been a people person, and the city of Edoras provided her the first real chance to just talk to the people of Middle Earth; in Bree, she had been too confused and afraid of her circumstances to want to speak to strangers. In Rivendell, she had been so caught up in herself that she had barely spoken to Dothiel much of the time, much less the others of the haven. And in Lórien the elves had been too standoffish to strike up random conversation with a human.
But Edoras was a different sort of place altogether. Many of the people she met greeted her like an old family friend: warmly, casually, and by name if they knew it. Even more of the women remembered her from the morning's funeral, and talked with her in low tones about their Prince personally. Gwen slowly came to realize that all, or at least much, of Edoras grieved right along with the royal family. There was a closeness to this community that pleased her greatly. Gwen strolled up the hill carrying a basket of fresh peaches she had been given by a kindly older woman with a gaggle of children at her skirts. Though Gwen was sure the woman had little food to spare for herself, there was no persuading the woman to keep her gift, and so Gwen resolved to share the fine fruit with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli once she returned. Thinking of the Ranger, Gwen was reminded of a niggling thought she had had recently.
I really need to speak with Aragorn about Burningstar. She was terribly anxious to have her weapons back, and she hadn't seen them anywhere. Gwen found herself standing at the top of the hill, looking out over the many white-topped burial mounds of the Kings that lay in the short valley below. Fresh, burning incense was smoking from the top of the Prince's newly-built memorial, and she could see where many gifts and trinkets had been laid down by the people for him. Glancing down at her basket of peaches, Gwen thought to offer up her own humble gift-of-a-gift. She took the winding path down to his mound, emotion clogging her throat when she saw the first bunches of planted simbelmynë over the chamber door.
Solemnly, Gwen took the plumpest peach she had from the basket and laid it at the door next to the countless other gifts. Silently she stood, contemplating the man who had been loved by so many. I didn't know you, Théodred...but, I wish I had. I'm sure you were a great man. Gwen paused, trying to think of the right words. Did you know how much you were loved by your people? It is obvious to me that it was so very much. I remember something my papou used to tell me, in his crazy Greek accent. "Good men can't ever see their effect on others in this life. That is what makes them good." I believe this is true, Théodred, and that you were a good man indeed.
Gwen recalled the wailing moans of the mourners at the funeral and shivered when a cold wind blew over her. May you ever rest in peace.
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