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Éomer

Éomer sat by the window and slowly reached out with a hand. Light from the sun played across his skin. It warmed his hand and made his scars, calluses and weather worn skin even more prominent.

"Brother?"

Éomer did not turn his head to acknowledge his sister.

"It is a trifle thing," he murmured. "Freedom is something we take for granted, but we yearn for more than the air we breathe." Having just been released for captivity after Gandalf freed his uncle from his cursed state, Éomer relished freedom. Éowyn came to stand beside him. She was as grim as he. Often, he wished he sheltered are the same like other women so that she be merrier. But fate was unkind.

"I understand," Éowyn said solemnly, her hands clasped together. She did indeed, just like all man and boy gathering for the war. Surely if the Rohirrim understood anything, it was the importance of freedom.