Chapter Three: And After?

I lift my father's cold hand to my lips. There is no warmth in it; he has no pulse. He is dead.

This is his end: old and decrepit, e died during the night, with none to witness his last breath. Perhaps, at last, in death he will find the peace he wished for. All that he loved was dead and gone long before he took leave from life; he could not spare any of his love for me, or for my brother.

Am I to grieve now? Can I even grieve for him? Why was I the one to find him at last, now that he is dead? I know that my brother will cry and cry, though to me and to the world he will not bare his grief. Ever I was the weaker brother- younger, and weaker; Elfwine assumed responsibility for me, along with the rest of the country- he the crown prince, the ruler of Rohan, now that my father is gone. He will assume kingship stoically, and rule well; the people will love him, for he is pure and good.

And I? I will fade into anonymity, as always- if there had been anyone to care, I would have spent my life in his shadow.

Of course, there was no one. I still feel my father's absence, stabbing me like a wound no one can see, spreading its poison through my heart and mind. All my life he was beside me, and yet I was not sufficient to draw him out of the past. Elfwine suffered as well, but he bore, and will bear, his burden in silence and good will, whilst I become bitter as wormwood and ash. Well, I am too bitter to cry; no death can move me now, as I sit beside the still body of my father, like unto a figure carved of cold marble, devoid of tears.

The people will mourn for him- Eadig, the blessed, King of Rohan, Marshal of the Mark. I finished mourning my father's loss long before his wandering wits at last reached the hall of kings. No, my father died the day he watched the smoke of my mother's ashes float up and disappear into the blue wilderness of sky.

Now he is gone. I cannot say that I will mourn for him. The only pain I feel now is the dull ache of cankered wounds that only he could heal, that will now never see reparation.

"Theoden?" It is my brother, Elfwine, standing in the doorway; he is disshevelled from sleep, looking exhausted. "Are you all right? Why are you- "

His gaze moves from me to the corpse of my father. He rushes to my father's bedisde, pressing his ear to my father's unmoving chest.

"No heartbeat," he says numbly, and slowly straightens. "No heartbeat."

He falls to his knees, taking one of my father's hands in his own.

"Oh, father," he whispers, his voice raw with pain. I sit beside him, silent. How can I comfort him? What can I say?

"Father, you cannot leave me now," my brother whispers. "Not now."

Tears spill down his face as he rocks back and forth gently. He does not sob- for he is stoic now, as ever. I know better than any how heavy the burden of being the future king has pressed upon his shoulders- he fears seeming weak, too weak to rule. But he is strong, my brother. He will leave his sorrow behind and emerge the braver for it.

I am weak; I wallow in my own bitterness, letting it seep through my soul. I am gall and acid now, and joyless; my brother is oak, strong and noble.

My brother gets to his feet, wiping away the tears that flow still.

"He will need to be cremated," Elfwine says, his voice cracking, despite his struggles to keep it steady. "I will- I will see what I can do. He is- it was his time to die."

"Elfwine." My voice is calm. "I will arrange the pyre. Take a few hours to yourself."

"Theoden?" He is worried for me, worried that I do not cry- he is grieving, innocent. Something moves inside me. My brother loved me when no one cared. This I will do for him; for once in my life, I will protect my brother. For once, I can help him.

"Go, Elfwine." I enfold him in an embrace, feeling his tears wet my shoulder and cheek. "I will be here."