Chapter Seven: Of New Kings

Rest. Solace. Relief. Peace.

The morning came with a beauty that left Eomer speechless as he rose and dressed. His body was terribly sore, reminders of the great fight of the previous day, but he felt a peace unlike any other flooding through him. The war was over. He had slept without nightmares, had slept more deeply than he could remember, and now there was to be a coronation in just a few short hours.

Food was brought to him, and he dressed in his best clothes shortly after eating. He hadn't brought much with him to Minas Tirith; only his weapons and what could fit in his saddle bags, but he had packed a formal dress outfit in case, beyond all hopes, Sauron would be defeated.

His clothes smelled of Rohan, and he realized that he hadn't been to his home country in a very long time. He remembered the rolling hills as he took off his night clothes and pulled on his black trousers. He could hear the whistling of the wind as he closed his red leather vest over his undershirt. He heard the pounding of hooves against green earth as he drew on his dark green cape and ran a brush hastily through his blonde hair. His boots came on last, and he smiled slightly at the mud that lightly covered the soles of the soft leather. Soon, very soon, they would be covered again in the rich mud of Rohan, come after a healing rain.

Eomer hurried out of his chamber, eager for the coronation and celebrating to be over so that he could return to Rohan. He walked through several hallways and found himself walking across a long corridor with no windows, open on both sides to the elements, obstructed only by beams and a railing of elaborate wood. He could see the mountains and fields of Gondor, but his eyes moved from viewing the scenery to focusing on the princess who stood at the end of the corridor, her arms draped over the railing and her face gazing out at the land.

Lothiriel was dressed in a gown of light purple, a sheer material draped over the fabric to give it a wistful appearance. Her long hair was braided and twisted, all pulled up in an ornate fashion, pinned to hold the vine of silver leaves that danced across her forehead. There was color about her eyes, making her irises shine beautifully, and there was a lovely smile on her face as she stared ahead. She heard Eomer approaching, but did not turn to acknowledge him, content to continue looking forward as she spoke.

"Can you hear it?" she whispered, her voice excited. "The ocean calls from Dol Amroth."

"Are you soon to return?"

"Soon," she nodded, still smiling. "What celebrations we shall have!"

Eomer didn't speak, and Lothiriel turned to face him, unable to hide her delight.

"So solemn, my lord?" she asked, her eyes inquiring.

"I rejoice that I shall be returning to my home, but I have an uncle to bury."

"I am sorry," Lothiriel spoke softly. "That is painful."

Trumpets began to sound from the distance, and Eomer and Lothiriel jumped when a door slammed from somewhere nearby. Elphir rushed towards them, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail and his face red from exertion.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, stopping at Lothiriel's side and taking her arm. "Come! The coronation is about to begin! Good morning," he greeted Eomer. "It's off to the White Tree, yes?"

"Yes," Eomer nodded.

"Let us be off then," Elphir grinned, inviting Eomer to join them with a large sweep of his arm.

Eomer bowed his head in acceptance and joined the brother and sister on their walk towards the courtyard of the White Tree.

The air was pulsing with the electricity of thousands of souls waiting for the moment when they could go wild and cheer with joy and exultation. Every person stood silent, holding his or her breath, gazing steadfastly at the monarch who stood before them, facing the great wizard Gandalf as a crown was placed on his head. A gentle breeze stirred amongst the people as their king was announced and white rose petals began to fall. The cheering rose into the air like the flames of an immense fire, fanning the excitement of thousands, the freedom of millions.

Aragorn began his walk, moving in the midst of the people like the great and glorious conqueror that he was. Eomer watched him with pride, bowed his head in respect to the new king, and gazed after him as the elves parted, revealing Aragorn's beloved Arwen. Eomer could not see all that transpired, but when more cheering erupted, he accurately guessed that the king had shared a kiss of passion with his fair lady. He looked away, giving the two privacy, and spotted Lothiriel standing across the pathway, surrounded on all sides by her brothers and father. There was an immense pride in her face, and the way she stood reminded Eomer of a queen. This wasn't her coronation, but she was as regal as if it was.

Eomer hadn't realized how intensely he was staring at the princess until he was startled by everyone getting onto their knees around him. The Hobbits stood at a far distance, looking about them in confusion and a shyness that struck Eomer to the heart. He found himself sinking to his knees, humbled by the courage and sacrifice of the four men who stood before, shorter than everyone else but with a bravery that made them larger than giants in the eyes of all whom they had saved.

Everyone stayed on their knees until Frodo quietly requested that everyone get up. And then the celebrating began. Cheers echoed through the air, and everyone began to swarm together. Eomer fast lost sight of Eowyn, of Aragorn, and of everyone he knew. Music began, and Eomer found himself lost in a mass of dancing and swirling bodies. Beer and rum was everywhere, passing from one hand to another, and before Eomer quite knew what was happening, there was a woman dancing closely around him, and there were two mugs of beer in his hands. He couldn't see over all the people that surrounded him, and he couldn't move to find his way to the Banquet Hall where, he imagined, the royal people and higher authorities would be gathered for organized entertainment and dining.

"There you are," a voice spoke from near his knee, and he glanced down to see Samwise Gamgee blinking up at him. "We had thought you must have gotten lost in the crowd."

Eomer found that words could not slip past his lips. Somehow, seeing this Hobbit, this humblest of the lot, gazing up at him so contentedly and so kindly, made Eomer feel weak and as if he was smaller than the smallest of the Hobbits. To think that this small man, having done so much, should even think to come looking for yet another warrior of Rohan, touched Eomer deeply.

"You and your brothers have humbled me," Eomer spoke, clearing his throat to keep his voice strong and steady. "You have fought and striven together as all soldiers should do in battle."

"If it's all the same to you, Lord Eomer," Sam blushed, "it weren't no trouble. It is the way of Hobbits, to help friends."

"Then all Hobbits must be as honorable and selfless as you four have been," Eomer smiled.

"I have come to take you to the Great Hall. The celebrating has begun, and King Aragorn requested your presence."

"I shall do as the king bids," Eomer bowed.

The Great Hall was a flurry of color, dancing, and music. Eomer immediately spotted his men, sitting at a long table, all having begun their merry drinking, beer frothing and mugs raised in salute. He began to walk towards them, but someone spoke his name, and he turned to see Aragorn approaching him. There was no smile on the king's face, just a look of solemnity and understanding, and he moved to stand in front of Eomer.

"With such celebration, I would have thought to find you more relaxed, dear friend," the king spoke.

"There are matters that I must see to that are not to my liking, King Aragorn," Eomer bowed.

"None of that, please," Aragorn said, putting a hand out and placing it on Eomer's arm. "I am always to be a friend to you. There are heavy matters on your heart. I know that the death of your uncle has placed an overwhelming and unexpected burden on your shoulders."

"I had believed that Theodred would next have the throne of Rohan. With his passing, I had hope that King Theoden would survive. When my uncle was killed, he gave his crown to Eowyn. Now I find that she does not see herself fit to rule Rohan and that she prefers to remain here, in Gondor, with the Steward. I indeed have a large burden. I must return to Rohan as soon as possible to bury my uncle and repair my kingdom."

"There is another matter that troubles you," Aragorn spoke, tilting his head to the side to study Eomer's face more carefully. "You long ago prepared yourself for the worst. You were always one to plan far in advance, in the case that disaster was to happen."

"Indeed, I had prepared for this," Eomer nodded gravelly. "But I forgot one rather important detail that is to cause me a great deal of grief."

"The matter of a queen."

"Indeed," Eomer sighed. "I cannot be crowned until a queen has been found, a queen that the men of my country will approve of. No such woman has been prepared for a burden such as the one she must carry should she become Queen of Rohan."

"There are many women of nobility within this city that I believe would be able and willing to assist you," Aragorn said quietly. "Do me the honor, my friend, of letting me find such a woman for you."

Eomer blinked, a frown appearing on his face.

"You wish to find a queen for me?"

"Indeed. I already have found one. She will have to prove herself to your men, however," Aragorn nodded. "Remain here in Gondor for this day. Come tomorrow morning, you will be able to leave, and you will have your queen. Rejoice, brother! The time for mourning is not now."

"I will stay here this day, but I must be leaving with the rising of the sun. You may show me my queen," Eomer agreed.

"Good. Now enjoy the dancing, Eomer. Do not let your heart be heavy."

Aragorn turned and walked away, soon disappearing amongst the dancers, and Eomer sighed deeply. He had always known that a queen would be chosen for him, that he would not be in love with whomever was to share his home and his bed. It was his duty to Rohan to marry quickly, to give his country a queen. He trusted Aragorn's judgement, though he could not help but be anxious as the dancers swirled around him. He had not had any time for courtship since the beginning of the war, and he knew he appeared to be gruff and unpleasant to many women. There were also women that could not stay away from him, however, and that gave him some hope.

He could not celebrate now. He looked to his men, smiling slightly when he saw that they had not noticed his absence. The warriors were occupied with beautiful women, good beer, and rich foods, and Eomer preferred that they be that way. They had worked hard, had remained loyal to him through thick and thin, and they deserved this reward. He would join them later, as the evening arrived, but he could not find it in his heart to fellowship with the others.

Quietly, he left the Great Hall, journeying through corridors and walkways until he arrived at the room where his uncle's remains were prepared, ready for the next day's journey. He stepped into the room, grateful that no one else was there at the time, and he slowly made his way to the funeral pyre where his uncle lay. There was very little lighting in this room, the only light provided by small wax candles, but Eomer could clearly see his uncle's facial features. He studied the man, his chest aching and his throat dry as he looked at the former king. He looked so peaceful, dressed in his armor with his sword across his chest. His soul was where it had longed to be for so long, with Theodred's soul in a place with no wars and no tears.

Eomer knelt next to the pyre, his eyes downcast as he rested his hands on one knee.

"I fear for the country that you have left me, Uncle," he spoke, his voice deep with emotion. "You guided your people with a wisdom that I do not possess. They will be expecting great things from me, because you gave them greatness. I fear that I will not be the king you would have desired me to be. I would have you here, alive again, to show me what to do, to show me how to lead. The people know me only as a warrior."

"That is why you will return with a queen," Eowyn's voice spoke from the doorway.

Eomer did not turn to look at his sister, but he waited as she joined him, moving to kneel next to him.

"What you lack will be completed by a queen," Eowyn spoke, putting her hand on Eomer's shoulder. "Our uncle would be very proud of you regardless, Eomer."

"I do not know how to rule a land," Eomer shook his head. "I only know how to lead in battle."

"You are the hero of Rohan," Eowyn smiled. "The people are chanting your name in the streets. You have rescued them from Sauron. Our uncle was a wise and great man, but he was not the warrior that you are. You protected our people in the fields when you were cast away from Edoras. The women are smitted by you, and the men revere you. You do not need to be afraid, brother."

"I should feel much better were you to remain in Rohan with me."

"I would return with you, to stay in our beloved land, but I have found a new love here," Eowyn blushed. "He needs my assistance more than you ever have, Eomer."

"Shall I soon be giving my sister away? My own dear sister?" Eomer smiled, moving to embrace Eowyn.

She giggled into his chest, a sound which made his heart sing more than any celebratory music could.

"I believe I shall be giving you away first," she laughed lightly. "King Aragorn has found you a queen, has he not?"

"Word does spread like flames within these walls, doesn't it?" Eomer chuckled.

"Indeed. I know who he has chosen," Eowyn sang, standing up and brushing a few loose strands of golden hair out of her face.

"Who?"

"I cannot tell. I have sworn secrecy."

Eomer snorted and shook his head, getting to his feet.

"Perhaps it is for the best that you desire to stay in Gondor. I don't believe I would be able to tolerate your constant mischievousness!"

"Oh Eomer," Eowny sighed, moving to hug her brother again. "How I shall miss you."

"I shall miss you more."

"You will make a wonderful king," Eowyn whispered, turning to gaze at Theoden's body. "You will make Rohan proud."