My Father, My King

A/N: Wow, I did not expect to continue this! There are prolly gonna be two more chapters, or so.

Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing but my belly, baby Chad.

Chapter Two: Nothing I Can Do

Theoden is drawing something as I sit by the fire, letting the heat pour over me as I stretch my aching muscles. He peers at the paper with the utmost concentration, hardly daring to breathe for fear that exhaling will disturb a pen-stroke. I shut my eyes, trying to let my thoughts drift, but curiosity overcomes me.

"Theoden?" I call softly. My seven-year-old brother looks up, an expression of exasperation on his chubby face. He does not deign to reply, only waits for me to speak, his impatience clear in his large grey-brown eyes.

"What do you draw?" I inquire, forcing myself to stand. I rue my own inquisitiveness; in truth, after a long day of riding, I would rather do nothing but sit by the fire for days on end.

He pushes the paper towards me, sighing exaggeratedly. It is a roughly done, half-finished sketch of a woman, her hair flying in a fierce breeze, her dress long and floating.

"Who is she?" I ask softly, meeting his eyes. He blushes.

"I thought to draw our mother," he says, so softly I can barely hear him. "Father always said she was so beautiful, and-" he sighs. "It is a terrible picture."

"No, no," I hastily reply. "It is wonderful." I can feel a small lump in the back of my throat. "Do you not remember her?"

He shrugs. "Not really. I dreamt of her once." His eyes take on a far-off, dreamy look. "She told me that she loved me, and missed me." He looks straight into my eyes, and I see that there are tears in his. "I miss her, Elfwine."

I sweep him up in a hug, blinking back a few stubborn tears. He makes a half-hearted noise of protest, but returns my embrace.

"Elfwine," he whispers, and I hold him at arm's length for a moment. He looks very young and vulnerable, and I am reminded of a night I carried him into bed, years ago. "Why doesn't father look at me anymore?"

"Oh, Theoden." How am I to answer his query? I have the same question. I can see it has been troubling him- I know him well enough to know that he blames himself, at least to some extent. I lean over close, drawing him into my arms again. "Never, ever think it is your fault."

"But how can it not be?" His voice is plaintive, and it cracks on the last word- he struggles to master himself.

"When our mother died… part of father died as well," I try to explain, knowing that whatever I say will never fill the gap in his heart- or, indeed, in my own. "He has not been himself for years now."

"A dwimmerlaik?" He asks fearfully, his voice a frightened whisper.

I sigh. "Almost, Theoden."

"He looks through me so…it is as though he does not see me at all!" My brother looks at me pleadingly. "Is there nothing I can do?"

*Nothing I can do…*

"I know of nothing, brother." The words break my heart. There *is* nothing to do. Father is hardly a man, of late. I sorrow for my brother- he is almost an orphan, knowing neither mother nor father. My father does not leave his room except to take audiences with the people every morning- he still does his duties as King of the Mark well enough- but long has he neglected his youngest son. I am torn between anger at him and sorrow for him; anger that he cannot leave the past behind, cannot see Theoden for what he is- and sorrow for his loss, for I know that he left the better part of his heart at my mother's graveside.

Theoden looks down, struggling not to break down, not to cry. I ache for him; he is my only brother, and I know that I would do anything to make him happy again. But I cannot take my father's place- it was cruel of fate to give Theoden a father and then take him away.

Suddenly, with a venom swift and sudden as a striking snake, Theoden snatches up the half-finished picture of my mother and throws it into the fire. I grab him, and he begins to sob, collapsing against my shoulder. I let him cry for a few minutes, as he bangs his fists against my back in helpless frustration. Finally, spent, he sniffles and stands, wiping his eyes. He looks ashamed of his weakness, and refuses to meet my eyes. I gently lift his chin until our eyes lock in a moment of wordless sympathy, and in that moment more passes between us than could ever be said in a thousand years.

"It's not fair, Elfwine," Theoden says, but it is no more than a calm statement of fact. I feel as though I am being ripped apart from inside. I nod.

"No, it isn't."

He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, and sighs. His eyes look grey as the stormy sky, as my mother's were.

*Nothing I can do…*