Author's Note:
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Éomer
He pulled on his armour with practiced ease. It was heavy, often needing two people. But his rage lent him strength, his experience taught him to wrestle with all the ties and buckles.
"You are leaving again?"
"I have to." Éomer said curtly. "Rohan needs me."
"Rohan always needed you." The voice was wry. Then it grew more solemn. "But you can't charge out into the battlefield every single time. That isn't a wise decision."
Éomer jerked on his jerkin irritably.
"I am a king. A king of Rohan! If I do not show my courage to lead my people, then what will they think of me?"
"Are you sure it is courage leading you into battle? Or perhaps it is cowardice leading you to the only thing about kingship that is familiar to you."
Éomer slammed his fist into the stone wall. Pain blossomed through his fingers, seeping into his knuckles and pooling into his palm.
"Why do you care?" He hissed.
"I care because I was the one who taught you how to fight when you were a lad. I also told you that your rage in battle will kill you someday. Is that what you want? Death?"
"Of course I do." Éomer whispered. "Death stole those whom I love and threatened to take my sister. Death is the only escape I have now from this burden I bear."
His companion's voice was soft but condemning.
"I would not have chosen death."
"I know you wouldn't" Éomer spat. "I am not you, Théodred!" He turned around. His dead cousin stood behind him.
Théodred smiled brokenly. He was dressed in his own armour, blood spattered and armour broken where the Orc had dealt a mortal blow which took his life.
"You are not." Théodred acknowledged. "But when do you intend to realise that?"
Éomer glared at him.
"What are you talking about?" He demanded. Théodred slowly smiled. His teeth were stained with congealed blood.
"You need to confess your sins, cousin. Either admit that you were slow to come to my aid, or accept your new position as king." Théodred murmured. Éomer squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. "But then, don't. You will join me soon."
Éomer's eyes burst wide open. He yelled and grabbed his sword. He tossed it at Théodred with a war cry. The sword clattered against the wall and fell on the ground.
Éomer blinked slowly, feeling his anger disappear. Théodred was gone. He was alone, accompanied only with his grief and rage. Éomer collapsed on his knees, buried his face in his hands and wept.
