The bitter clank of steel against steel echoed about the rough-hewn stones. The sun was setting over Rohan, the gold of the fading light streaking high up into the sky, a last desperate lunge for the day. Eomer ignored the brilliant sunset, he ignored everything but the satisfying ripple that vibrated through his body with every thrust of his sword. He was always met with an answering blow, his friendly foe grunting and sweating as he did in the dying light.
"You are weaker than I remember!" Arrick taunted breathlessly, shouldering another of Eomer's hard swings. His brow creased with the exertion, perspiration gathering at the base of his neck and dripping down his back. The two men were the last in the training plaza, releasing pent up energy before being called to sleep. Eomer could think of nothing better to keep his mind off of his current problems--Arrick did not care that he was King, he only cared for Eomer's health, mental and otherwise.
"I do not have as much time as I once did..." Eomer replied, dodging a sloppy swing, "...for humiliating you in front of the other men." They both laughed despite their exhaustion. The King's deep hazel eyes flashed with every swift movement, his blonde hair wet with sweat and falling out of its leather binding. He landed a particularly hard blow to his friend's shield, causing Arrick to tumble forward into Eomer. The King barked with laughter, slapping his friend's bare back good naturedly.
"Weak indeed," Eomer teased, pushing Arrick back and smiling crookedly. Arrick shrugged, sheathing his sword while clasping hands with his friend, "Not all of us can keep up our strength as you do, no table is laid so finely."
Eomer's smile diminished with those words, "You cut me." He withdrew his hand from Arrick, turning his eyes to the ground where their muttled footprints lingered. The other Rohir sought justification, noting his friend's shift in mood, "I care more that my child eats, I will survive but he is still young--"
"Your point is made," Eomer interrupted darkly, throwing his shield into the sand. His eyes darkened with rage and hurt, they bit into Arrick's face, "This match is over." A servant scurried into the ring and picked up the weapons Eomer had discarded, keeping his distance after feeling the palpable anger radiating from the King. Arrick snorted, expecting Eomer to respond in his usual prideful manner. The King left, muttering to himself as he did.
After a long soak, Eomer was feeling much relieved. He walked the polished floors of his study, idly glancing over messages that had been delivered that day. Yet another reminder from Faramir about the feast. Eomer smirked, it was very like Faramir to be excited about food and wine and dancing. Lately, the King had no stomach for such things, preferring the quiet solitude of his quarters.
He had dismissed the servants, picked at his food and now felt compelled to lie down. The fight with Arrick had tired him physically and made his head swell; the Rohir would not abide his flaws as a leader for much longer. Never before had he doubted his abilities so seriously. Soon, he felt the seductive smoke of sleep creep over him, lulling him away from the dark problems that shadowed him constantly. It was comforting to drift into his unconscience mind, to spend time with memories that did not ask anything of him, that did not demand his attention or require his permission. And indeed, they defied his wishes, showing him the face of a memory he had long desired freedom from.
Eomer was suddenly quite aware of a melody tickling his ear. He tossed among
the furs and quilts on his bed, covering his eyes and pressing his legs to his
chest. But his subconscience welcomed the invasion, inviting it into his brain
with enthusiastic, open arms. Eomer smiled despite the rush of sudden pain that
accompanied the tune. It was milky, lingering between words, hesitating on the
finer sounds, as if aware of the beauty in those minor, discordant notes...
Tâd gwaloth ned i mith
I ardhon dâr na romru
A derir nuin i lith
The being whose dusky, rich voice floated down to him forced tears from his
eyes. He rose without permitting his legs to carry him, but the window and its
billowing, smooth curtains insisted. The night had covered the rolling hills of
Rohan with a blanket of inky snow. The pointed tops of the houses all directed
his attention to the silvery orb in the sky and the millions of sparkling
minions surrounding it. The song had paused and Eomer's chest clenched, aching
with need to hear that voice again, to be enveloped in its consuming embrace.
Gerin i peng far taer
In annar coll agarwaen cîn
Hen lhûn síla ah glaer
Eomer could not stop the tears, nor the crushing feeling of freedom that coincided with the phrases. The song rose and fell with his breathing, climbing into the starlight with each heart-breaking word. It brought him to his knees. No one in Rohan could sing like that--not the Master Bards, not the grieving mothers--it was an immortal voice, an eternal voice. For a moment, Eomer could only hope that his impossible wish had come true, that by some stroke of luck she had returned to him--but his understanding of this revelation was cut short by furious pounding on his door.
"Come," his voice was shaking with emotion and hardly rose above the
commotion. The oak barriers were thrown open and the wild eyes of Faramir met
his own, "My lord, you must come quickly: Rohan is burning."
Eowyn and his chief counselors were already on the crest of the hill when Eomer arrived. Faramir was close behind but unable to match the neck-breaking speed of Eomer's horse. The sight found there was beyond his comprehension; a row of houses was consumed in climbing flames. The drought had made stopping the fire nearly impossible, the dry timbers and hay of the barns feeding the conflaguration fervently. Eowyn's pale skin was alight with the licking flames as she turned to look at her brother.
Eomer's eyes searched the disaster quickly, taking in the fire with his lips set in a grim line. He motioned to those with him, dismounting his horse as he began to run toward the houses. "Come with me, the roofs are too close together!" Faramir and Eowyn exchanged a look, shrugging as they too swung to the ground and followed after the King.
Rohir were fleeing in every direction, grabbing children, animals, food, jewelry, anything they could salvage from the flames. Eomer kept his eyes trained on the house nearest to the next row of cottages, noting the dangerous lack of distance between its roof and the next. Upon reaching that last house, it too exploded into flames, its western walls crackling as they burned. The King took up an ax from the block nearby, swinging into the remaining eastern walls.
"My lord! What are you doing?" Faramir called to him over the popping and spitting.
"The walls! We must collapse the walls!" Eomer cried back, swinging furiously at the posts with the ax. Faramir disappeared for a moment before returning with another, he too began to hack away at the house. Eowyn and the advisors stood nearby, shoving the loose boards and logs back into the house to keep the fire contained. A high-pitched scream interrupted their work.
"What was that?" but Eomer knew precisely what it was.
"A child! There is a child within!" Eowyn shouted, wiping soot and sweat from her forehead. She moved to press inside and rescue the child but Faramir intercepted, "No, Eowyn, it is too dangerous, the house is going to fall..." She struggled within his grasp, reaching for the posts to pull herself away. Faramir was too strong, too adament in his wishes. Eomer paused in between strokes, eyes turning to slits as he squinted past the timbers--where was the child? The screams had turned to faint whimpers, hardly audible above the roar of the fire. The house was now swirling with flames on the western side, and those fighting to collapse it knew that there was nothing to be done.
Eomer raised his ax to take another swing and felt his body clench with paralysis. A face appeared among the dancing flames, her silver skin free of ash and blackness, her cool, reassuring eyes mesmorizing as she stared back at him. Her hair, indistinguishable among the yellow flames, framed the calm expression that she gave him. As quickly as she had come she blinked out of his view. Eomer stared at that spot long after, unable to tear his eyes from it and the horrible apparition. What could it mean? Was she in trouble? A loud cry went up from Faramir as the walls began to shake and crumble. Eomer was tempted to rush inside, to be certain that he was not condemning his love to a fiery death but Faramir's hand stayed him. The child's screams had vanished into the clamoring flames.
