Author's Note:

You may have missed two updates before this.


Éomer

There was a storm brewing. He sensed it. He tried to will it away but it had cast its shadow on him, taking him away from the sunshine and warmth outside.

He glanced at himself in the polished silver. Even on that distorted surface, he saw his frown and the despair in his eyes. He hated it, tried to push it away. But somehow he could not.

These spells came on him from time to time. Sometimes he won, other times he plastered a mask on his face so that others did not know the turmoil within. He smiled and laughed such that even Lothíriel did not notice any change in him. Her inability to identify his emotions threw him deeper in despair.

His thoughts returned to the War of the Ring. Now the storm grew massive. The sea churned dark and wrathful in him. How could he have survived it all? Why did he survive it all? He looked down at his clothing, noting the king's emblem sewn on his tunic and bile rose in his mouth. He felt disgusted, wearing something that Theodréd would have worn had he been alive. Éomer wished that he was buried deep underground, beside his cousin, lost and unforgotten in the ground.

Suddenly he felt something brush up against his leg. A body barrelled into him, nearly toppling him.

Elfwine looked up with his large grey eyes.

"Papa, shall we go outside? You promised to take me riding."

His eyes became larger and rounder, if it were possible. It was a trick Elfwine used to get his way. He seldom heard no. Éomer smiled, the storm calming inside him somewhat. He stroked his son's hair. It was golden, like the fields that were now ready to be harvested. It was a good year, Éomer decided inwardly.

Elfwine hugged him tighter, his forehead creasing in a frown. He looked remarkably like Imrahil when he did that.

"Are you well, papa? You look sad."

Just like that, the storm inside him calmed. The sea became itself again. Sunshine broke through the clouds. The clouds were still there, ready to turn his mood but Éomer felt in control again. He knelt down and gently cupped his son's cheeks.

"Aye, I am well," Éomer said quietly. "How can I not be, when you are here?" The child only stared, not understanding at all what his father meant. Éomer ruffled his hair and stood up. He tugged on his son's hand as he began to walk.

"Come! The day has just begun and I have a promise to keep!"