Author's Note: Last chapter! Woo! Okay, this is where it got a bit confusing for me. Because this is more of a movie-based fic, Théodred is younger. However, I followed the book in that Éomer is not banished by Gríma, he is imprisoned….so it's partially a book-based fic.
The following day brought visitors – the wizard Gandalf and three companions, Aragorn son of Arathorn, the Mirkwood Elf Legolas and Gimli, a dwarf from the Lonely Mountain. With them came hope for Rohan, for the wizard stood before Théoden and banished the darkness from him. Gríma had been banished and Éomer freed from imprisonment. It was only later that Théoden realized that his son was not with them, and Éowyn told him once again that Théodred had died.
It was mid-afternoon when she found herself standing on the grassy fields of Edoras, among the mounds of the fallen Kings, clad in a black dress and a veil that draped over her shoulders. Éomer stood next to her, in polished armor, one bare hand clasped comfortingly with his sister's. She was silent in her grief, unlike many of the women who were crowded behind them weeping.
"Another field of simbelynë will rise then, another snowy garden that will forever bloom," Éowyn sighed quietly, more to herself than Éomer.
Éomer could make no reply to that, for he knew it to be the truth. Always had the Evermind, the white flower also called simbelynë blossomed on the graves of the fallen Kings of Rohan. And he knew there was nothing that could be said, in comfort, agreement or sympathy.
The previous silence had been broken only by the slow step of Rohan's Riders bearing the coffin of Théodred to the tomb that was to be his body's resting place. The Prince was arrayed in his cleaned armor and an intricately woven silver crown glittered against the cold paleness of his forehead. His face was peaceful in death, as if he were sleeping, but those nearest him could almost see the white figure of Death flitting around his still form.
A lone trumpet had heralded the arrival of Théoden and the town wept to see the king in such grief. He wore a rich burgundy tunic and a green shirt underneath with gold thread tracing its way along its sleeves. On any other day, for any other occasion, the gold would have gleamed proudly, but this afternoon it seemed dulled and subdued.
Théoden had been silent throughout the ceremony. Those who did not support him might have thought that he was only mourning because there was no longer a direct heir to the throne of Rohan. Those who knew him better knew that he was unable to summon any words to justly describe his sorrow; they knew that he had lost not only his only son but also the strength and fortitude of spirit the young man possessed.
Now the king stood before his son's tomb, staring vacantly at the carved stone door that had been shut with the dull slam of stone on stone. It was so odd to him, that it was only a wall that separated him from Théodred's body, and yet he felt so far away from him.
"Éowyn…" Éomer said quietly, inclining his head in Théoden's direction. She nodded slightly, understanding what her brother had seen: Théoden, nearly collapsing from his grief. Already was a fine trembling running through his shoulders to his hands. Slipping away from Éomer's comforting grip, she made her way to the king's side, gently guiding him to his knees as he broke down. Behind them, the crowd sniffled anew, and Éowyn looked pointedly at her brother. He signaled to the other Riders who quietly began to dismiss the townspeople, telling them that Théoden needed to be left alone. Obediently, they started to file away, casting long looks over their shoulders, trying to engrave in their minds what a king's grief looked like. Soon only Théoden, Éomer, Éowyn, Gandalf and his companions remained.
After a few moments, Théoden stood, gently shrugging off Éowyn's helping hand. "Thank you, Éowyn. But I wish to be left alone."
"Uncle," she started to protest, not wanting him to be by himself in such a state.
He held up one hand and she noticed that despite his sorrow, it was not shaking or trembling; it was firm, quietly commanding, and she gave way. "Very well."
She carefully lifted her skirt to avoid tripping over its edge and started to leave, pausing to exchange a long look with the wizard Gandalf, who smiled faintly and nodded nearly imperceptibly. She saw him motion to Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, glancing towards Meduseld. Almost immediately, they turned to the king, bowed, and then started on the walk up the path to the king's hall.
As Éowyn passed her brother, he gently took her hand and went with her from the grassy mounds that were spotted with so many patches of small star-like flowers. Evermind, she said in her mind again. It was such a beautiful flower, delicate in its pale magnificence, and yet such a terrible flower to see, to know that it will bloom over the grave of her cousin, her comrade, and her friend. "Théodred," she whispered in a final farewell. "Goodbye."
The Fallen [Théoden Grieves for his Son]
(Old English)
Hé laered hine rídan
And wealdan méce
And standan fæst
And féond ne forhtian.
Nú hé sceal leornian
Thæt hearde sóth:
Hé raerede his cnapa
Of cilde tó menn
Thæt hé his death geséo
Sé féond wæs simble mid heom.
Sé féond ne recede ege.
He taught him to ride,
To wield a sword.
To stand strong and
Show his enemy no fear.
Now he must learn
The hard truth.
That he had brought his boy
From childhood.
So that he might face his death
Like a man.
The enemy was always with them.
The enemy did not care about fear.
-Poem/Song courtesy of the Council of Elrond TTT Script
Author's Endnote: So that's the end! Please review my story, and thanks to everyone who read and reviewed it.