There was a voice singing nearby. Slowly, gently, it summoned him, leading him...
At first, Éomer did not comprehend much of the words, and he didn't need to – just listening to the voice seemed like a task to require most of the effort he was able and willing to give right now. He knew the tune, though, and with the recognition the words began to make sense as well. It was a popular ballad, one which spoke of lovers hoping to meet in a place full of flowers...
"As I wander I will ponder
On the happy by-and-by;
Only summer over yonder
Brought a joy to you and I;
Do not borrow grief or sorrow
In the hours that yet remain;
We shall know a glad tomorrow
When the roses come again..."
He knew that voice. It was dear to him, and it had pulled him from dark places and nightmares more times than he cared to count. Even now it was calling him back from... from somewhere. He was too weary to try and figure out just where he had been. That became irrelevant anyway, because a hand took his own and held it tight, and he thought of how very well he knew that hand... how many times he had counted on its strength.
Quietly, keeping his eyes close still, Éomer wrapped his fingers about hers and squeezed them. Warm, reassuring firmness of those fingers was like an anchor to firmly bind him to awareness. Yes, he knew this one.
The singing had stopped. Why had it stopped? He could have listened to her for hours... it seemed very important that he did, because now he could remember thinking he'd not hear her voice again. But when and how and why... he couldn't say.
"Éomer?"
Perhaps he should wake up. She was calling to him and there was an alarming edge in her tone, the kind to demand an answer. She is upset. Why is she upset? It bothered him – he had to find out.
He tried to speak up, but all he managed was a low groan, as though he had forgotten how to talk. But she called his name once more, more urgently now, and the hand on his moved to cradle his face... he forced open his eyes at last, but unfocused he barely comprehended what he saw. However, he did not need to see to know who it was hovering over him.
His Lioness spoke his name again, her trembling voice pregnant with tears. He grew more concerned as he tried to understand why she was so beside herself.
"... riel", he grunted, his voice horribly raspy, but it made her sob audibly. Then she covered his face in kisses, mumbling sweet nonsense between each touch of her lips against his face. Slowly, her words became more lucid, and his comprehension more clear.
"... was so afraid, I thought I was going to lose you... how could you do that to us? Didn't I tell you to be careful? Oh, sweet Elbereth, I'm never letting you out of my sight again..." she stammered and he could see the tears in her eyes, which alarmed him. But when he tried to move, to wrap his arms around her, lances of pain went through his ribcage and left arm. This caused him to groan once more.
"Hold still, beloved. You were injured, you haven't healed yet", she told him, blinking tears from her eyes and made a movement as to shift away. However, he grabbed her hand with his right one, though even that did not come without pain.
"Injured? How?" he rasped, trying to remember but failing. Béma, his mouth felt like those accursed deserts in Harad! He was sure he could think more clearly if he just got a drink.
"I'll explain in a second. You should maybe drink something first", she said and left his side for a moment, but even that felt too long. Injured in battle... he could not recall such thing, but it had to be true, considering how beaten and battered he felt. His arm... was it broken?
He didn't get to wonder for long, because Lothíriel returned to his side with a glass in her hand. Carefully she lifted his head so that he could drink some water, and idly he thought he had never tasted anything so glorious.
When he was done and she had put the glass away, she looked like she might leave his side again. But once more he grabbed her hand.
"Don't go", he said quietly, his voice a bit clearer now.
"I need to go and get a healer. They should take a look at you, now that you're awake", she said warily. If she had been distressed only just before, she seemed calmer now. Well, that was just the way his wife was: once she had something to do, someone to take care of, she would put aside her own anxieties.
"Later. What happened? Why am I injured?" Éomer wanted to know. His wife seemed to hesitate, trying to decide between staying and fetching healers. So he held her hand a bit tighter and sought her gaze with a silent plea.
Her eyes softened and she sat down next to him, cradling his hand between her own two. He felt reassured and relaxed once more; he could endure some pain while she explained what had happened. It worried him that he could not remember the reason he had been injured.
Lothíriel began to describe the events leading to his current state, and he listened in silence. Flashes of memory did return to him with her words, but mostly it was a tangled, confusing mess. And he had let it happen!
Once more he groaned, as much in frustration as in pain. The noise made his wife shift restlessly next to him.
"You really need a healer. They should be able to give you something to help you relax... dear Elbereth, people are going to be so happy to hear you're awake..." she spoke and went before he could object. Éomer sighed; perhaps some poppy would be helpful with the aches and hurts all over him.
Her tears and relief upon his awakening... the darkness that was behind him like a black wall to prevent memory... people are going to be so happy to hear you're awake...
Something told him he was lucky to be alive.
"It's only a matter of time now, I tell you", Stándenu muttered grimly to the company of three other riders he was with. The man was not famed for his cheerful personality, but since the King's injury he had been on an even darker mood than usually. Alger watched him quietly as he forcibly carved a piece of cheese on the top of his bread, and then grumbled on, "He'd have woken up already, if there were a chance of recovery."
"You don't know that", Ceorl put in sharply and glanced around. He cringed, "And anyway you should not declare it so loudly. You don't want Lord Elfhelm to give you a thrashing, like he did that poor bugger yesterday."
Alger hid his grimace. He had been on guard duty when he had heard one of his peers muttering about how it was now just inevitable that their king would die. Unfortunately for the fellow, Marshal Elfhelm had happened to hear it. The man had dealt his deadly right hook right on the spot, and Alger had heard him growling he would not hear anyone spreading such wretched gossip. Right now, he was at least preoccupied talking with Lord Éothain about something, and thus was unlikely to hear the mutterings in the table. Even so, it did not go unnoticed that the usually good-humoured man had been snappy and short-tempered ever since his arrival in Edoras after the Queen had sent for him, and Alger did not remember seeing him like this ever since Éomer King had returned from the south.
All men show their fear differently, his remembered his mother saying many years ago. Funny, that he hadn't really understood that before now.
"She at least doesn't seem to think he's going to die", he muttered and looked down at his mug of ale. Even now, he still found it difficult to speak the name of his queen.
"The Queen sits next to him and sings. How's that going to help?" Stándenu asked glumly. "It's not any more useful than catering to a corpse."
"For the fifth time, Stándenu, he's not dead yet. Have some faith", said Folcred in a tired voice. He had been quiet up until now; in the past almost two weeks, he had not participated even once in the gossiping and guessing that went around in the capital. He was one of the men who had come to serve Éomer King during the Kin-strife, and Alger knew the two had become friends since then.
He took a long sip of his ale and briefly closed his eyes. Though he knew it was treasonous to even think of it, he imagined how it would be like if the King did die. While Eorlingas would be inconsolable, he was certain the Mark would endure, because the Queen would surely do her utmost to guard the realm until Elfwine Prince came of age. She would be heartbroken, though, she would require comfort... he had no illusions: she loved her husband fiercely, and someone like him could never replaced. But then, one could offer some warmth and solace without having to try and be someone else...
It was mad, to even entertain such thoughts. He knew he shouldn't let his mind wander like that.
"Well, that's what I think", Stándenu muttered, disrupting Alger's line of thought, for which he was silently thankful. The older rider was staring at his roll of bread like it had personally offended him as he went on, "Mark my words. We should get used to the idea of having a child for a king. Let's just hope no one tries to make use of that..."
Alger held back his groan and instead drank some more ale. His mood was turning more brooding by the minute; he would have gone to seek some distraction from a local tavern, but he would have guard duty later tonight, and Captain Edelric had very little understanding for drunkenness while performing Rider's duties.
Movement at the edge of his vision suddenly caught his eye. Alger turned his head to see the Queen emerging from the corridor which lead to the royal chambers, and at once he took notice of how she looked like. Her enormous smile, the hope in her glance, the sparkling of her eyes... Béma, she was never more beautiful than when she looked like that.
He wondered if something had happened and watched as she hurried to Elfhelm and Éothain. Some silent words were exchanged between the three, and Alger witnessed the exact moment when the frowns on the faces of two men changed. Lord Elfhelm's roaring laughter filled the Hall, and he grabbed the Queen in a mighty bear hug, lifting her from the ground.
It could mean only one thing. He's awake, then.
For a moment it looked like the Marshal might be lifting up Éothain too, but apparently he got a swift rejection. Muttering to himself, the former captain limped to where Captain Edelric was sitting, likely to send riders to those it would concern. But Elfhelm strode through the Hall, bellowing as he went: "Cheer up, you miserable buggers! He's awake! That lucky oaf is going to be all right!"
After the healers had checked on him and changed the linens around his wounds and an hour's rest, Lothíriel told him perhaps he should not push his luck yet; he should receive visitors on the morrow, if he felt strong enough. However, she didn't object to his one request, which was to see his children. For one reason or the other, his throat felt tight when Lothíriel fetched them, but when he saw the faces of his children, his anxiety melted away.
She carried Elfhild, but Elfwine hurried before her as fast as his small feet would carry him. The beaming joy on his face made Éomer feel even more acutely how difficult these past two weeks must have been for everyone he cared about.
"Da! Da!" Elfwine cried out as he clumsily climbed on the bed and crawled to hug his father. While his injured ribs did not agree with it, Éomer held back his groan of pain and wrapped his good arm about his son's shoulders.
His son looked up at him hopefully, "Da better now?"
"Aye, I'll be fine", he reassured the child gently. Even as his ribs ached, he could only smile when he looked at his son.
"Careful, Elfwine! Your father is still healing", Lothíriel put in as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She smiled at their daughter, "Look who's here. Do you want to hold her?"
"Could you lift her?" Éomer asked, spreading his arm, from which Elfwine had moved to examine his wrapped, broken arm. Carefully Lothíriel placed Elfhild in the crook of his good arm, though she remained close in case his strength failed suddenly.
A sleepy little smile entered Elfhild's face as she looked up at her father. She had her mother's eyes, which he would often notice with a wave of affection... but there was something about her face which confirmed what Lothíriel had told him when she was still expecting their daughter. Elfhild would indeed bear resemblance to Princess Théodwyn.
"Thought you wouldn't be seeing this old face again, did you?" he murmured softly. Looking at his two little children made it all the more real: he had nearly made half orphans of them! Béma, it truly was a wonder that Lothíriel would bear with him, considering all he put her through...
"Da must better. Ma really sad", Elfwine interrupted solemnly.
Quietly Éomer looked up and met the eyes of his wife. She answered the gaze silently – didn't try to deny their son's statement.
"Don't you worry about that. I had everything under control", she said in any case and reached to gently comb back Elfwine's hair with her fingers.
"We'll talk later", he said to her and settled back once more. Even so, he did know this time could only have been very difficult. Attending to the matters of the realm, tending to two small children, worrying about her injured husband... he at least knew he'd have been beside himself with worry had it been her to lay wounded and unconscious.
As it was getting late already, it was not long that Elfwine fell asleep next to him, and Elfhild too passed out. Seeing their children were fast asleep, Lothíriel got up.
"I should get these little rascals to bed. I'll come and tell you good night afterwards", she promised and picked up Elfwine, who did not even wake up. Elfhild was sleeping safely in the crook of his father's arm.
"You don't mean to stay here for the night?" Éomer asked quietly.
She bit her lip, "I thought it would be easier for you to get rest if I stay with the children tonight."
He gave her a wry smile.
"You once said you don't sleep very well when I'm gone. What makes you think it's not exactly the same for me?" he asked her, and she said no more. She flashed him a brief smile before carrying Elfwine to the royal nursery.
As soon as she taken Elfhild there as well, she began to ready for bed. He watched her quietly as she opened her loosely braided hair, combed it clear, and changed into a night shift. But before joining him in the bed, she gave him an inquiring look.
"Is there anything you need? Do you want me to go and get something?" Lothíriel asked.
"I'm fine. Just get in the bed before I come and grab you", he growled, even though they both knew he probably wouldn't even be able to stand up right now. Still, she smiled and crawled next to him and pulled on blankets. Usually, she'd roll into his arms and curl up there, but now she just settled next to him and placed her chin against the shoulder of his uninjured arm. She let out a small sigh as she relaxed, and he turned his head so that he could kiss her brow.
"I'm sorry to have caused such worry", he murmured against her skin.
"Don't think about that. It's not like you did on purpose", she replied softly, intertwining her fingers with his. She went on, even quieter now, "I won't lie, though – I was so scared you might not wake up. I don't remember when I was last so afraid as I've been past two weeks."
He couldn't really do anything else except mutter his apologies again. But she looked up and smiled, and told him not to worry about it.
"Do you remember what happened?" she asked him then. He frowned, trying to reach back in his memory... but the events leading to his current state of being remained unclear.
"I recall we were ambushed. It was a tough fight, and I... I was thinking I might not make it", he muttered at length. "The next thing I remember is your voice singing to me."
He could feel her shiver as she took in his words.
"Edelric said no one saw you go down. It must have been a bad fall... otherwise it wouldn't have taken this long for you to wake up", she said, holding his hand a bit tighter. "I'm just glad you're awake now."
"As am I, love. As am I."
On the morrow after eating breakfast with Lothíriel, Éomer was feeling a little stronger already, and so they agreed he was well enough to have visitors. He expected to meet his friends, so that he could apologise to them for causing so much concern and to reassure them he'd get better. Yet while he felt better than yesterday, he knew the road to full recovery would take its time. But he did not get to say the things that were in his mind, because when Éothain stormed in, the former captain immediately filled the quiet with his angry voice.
"You! I have had it with your attempts to get yourself killed!" he growled as he limped towards the bed, waving his index finger as he came.
"Éothain -" Éomer tried, but he was cut short very quickly.
"Don't Éothain me, you idiot! What does it take to make you understand? How many years have I been trying to hammer it into your moronic skull, and still you don't get it?" his friend raged, oblivious to the others who had just entered the room and were now gazing at him in shock.
"I had no intention -" he tried again, but once more Éothain interrupted him.
"It doesn't matter! It happened and you almost got killed! Do you have any idea of what we've been through? What your family has been through because of you?" growled the crippled man as he lifted his hand, which had become a fist.
"My family -"
"Yes, your family! Didn't you learn anything from the fate of your father? Or is that what you were aspiring for? Go down with a great bang so that your children get to wonder why their father abandoned them in some idiotic display of foolhardiness?" Éothain bellowed now, and the entire chamber seemed to shake with his voice. He went on, even louder now, "You know what happened last time! Don't give me that face – we all know perfectly well it wouldn't reoccur. But it still doesn't change the fact your son is not even three years old yet, or the fear and despair the Rohirrim had to endure when they thought you dead! You nearly inflicted that upon them again!"
Éomer could only stare at him in mute astonishment as he went on, his voice rising still, "Béma, I can't do this again! I can't keep wondering whether you're going to make it or not! I'm too old for this! I'm done!"
Without another word, he turned around and limped to the door of the chamber, and then out, leaving behind a stunned silence.
Though he heard Lothíriel's soft footsteps, Éomer did not make a move or show her he had heard her return. Presently, he sat in the same position as when Edelric and Elfhelm had gone, and his wife had escorted them outside.
A pounding headache hammered against his forehead, which he rested in his good hand. There was a sick feeling as well, turning and twisting inside.
Then a gentle hand fell on his shoulder and he could not hold back his sigh.
"Are you very upset?" Lothíriel asked at length. He could feel her eyes on him, but was not able to meet her gaze.
Éomer didn't know what to answer, because how was he even supposed to feel like? Any odd stranger could tell him far more atrocious things and he would pass it with laugh, but Éothain... his words cut deeper even than he could ever have guessed. Perhaps it was because the former captain was completely right.
So he just made a vague coarse sound at the back of his throat as an answer, and apparently it was enough for her to pick up the necessary information.
"Don't be too hard on yourself. Éothain was just upset because he was so afraid of losing you, beloved. No matter what angry words he said, in the end you are his friend and he loves you", she consoled him and moved slightly closer.
"He was not wrong, Lothíriel", Éomer said at last, though he still wouldn't look at her. "It was my own fault. I should have been more careful... should have known there would be more orcs. It was irresponsible to endanger myself like that."
"But you couldn't have known. Edelric told me everyone thought there wouldn't be so many orcs – it's not your fault the reports were wrong", she insisted heatedly.
At last Éomer turned to look at his queen. Her expression was urgent but also worried. How could he tell her that the very concern in her eyes proved Éothain was right? He could only imagine how hard these past nearly two weeks had been for her. And she was not the only one who had suffered because of his carelessness.
"It's like he said. It doesn't matter", he said quietly and lowered his gaze.
"You know what does matter, though?" Lothíriel asked forcibly. "The fact you're alive. And you don't have to be perfect. We all know you are not a man to sit behind walls when people are being killed and driven out of their homes. You're not a relic to be locked in Meduseld, and anyway what sense does it make to hide away one of the finest war-leaders this land has ever known? In a flawless world we could all live in peace and there wouldn't be any orcs, there would never be danger, but this is not the flawless world. We both know that very well."
He had no idea of how to counter her words. Truth was, she had a point, too. He was not meant for idleness or standing back. He was a Rider, a defender of Men. It was who he was, like generations of his forefathers before him – it was in his blood. He had been a Rider too long to be content to give up the wide fields and the task of protecting them... and being one of the Rohirrim meant taking the risk every time one rode out. Like Lothíriel said, it was not a flawless world.
But that did not mean he didn't have to take responsibility for what he had nearly caused to happen.
"I am sorry for the concern and grief I've caused. I promise it won't happen again", he spoke at last seeking his queen's hand in his own. Lothíriel just smiled at him.
"It's fine. I've gone through worse", she murmured and reached to kiss him, and that was the end of the conversation.
A/N: Here comes an update! Éomer is back in the land of the living, but it was never going to be an entirely smooth return... I don't think many people were as affected by his accident as Éothain.
The song Lothíriel sings in the beginning of the chapter is a folk song named "When the Roses Come Again".
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Jo - Thank you! I really enjoyed writing the part with Silfren. It's always good to bring him back, no matter how long he is off-screen!
brandibuckeye - I'll try to get back to Amrothos as soon as I can! :)
