Chapter 5.
It was the same dream…
His hands were covered with blood. "I cannot stay," his mother's eyes staring into his as the words echoed over and over again. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" and then silence, darkness. The smell of sweat and blood and death; his father's eyes staring into his, and then closing, his cracked lips moving, "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" then silence, darkness. The blood was still there on his hands and the smell was killing him.
Suddenly, Théoden was there with Théodred, looking at him with contempt, their arms folded. "We cannot stay. We cannot stay. We cannot stay…" they glared at him again and then vanished. Éowyn's hand was upon his shoulder. She took his hands but withdrew horrified looking at the blood that stained them. Her eyes met his, an icy, blue stare. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" she walked away, her white dress fluttering, a stark contrast to the darkness.
But now a new part had been added. Suddenly, he saw Gàmóld lying on the ground, dagger-wound to his heart. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" His eyes opened wide staring at something behind Éomer. He turned as a hand gripped his shoulder. He was face to face with the worm; his tongue flickered as he spoke. "I am here Éomer. I will always stay!" then he pulled out a dagger still stained with his father's blood and put it to Éomer's chest. The black blood was still on Éomer's hands.
He woke, sweating profusely. The dream kept coming back to haunt him, now his hands were likewise blackened by Gàmóld's blood. The change had been imperceptible at first but ever growing. Grima had settled into his new position comfortably and now seemed to be gaining more control of the king's ear. Éomer had told no one of the incident that had happened over three years ago. The memory of it still gnawed at him night and day.
Éomer forced the memories away as he dressed for his sister's banquet later that day. On this day she passed into womanhood. She was of fifteen years old now and ready to become a proper lady. She was still as wild as ever though and Éomer had little hope that this ceremony would perform some great transformation. He loved his little sister dearly, but her exuberance more often caused trouble than could be desired.
He put all worries aside, tonight would be a celebration. His hair was combed and his dark green tunic clean. The few hairs that made up the beginnings of his "beard" were trimmed back almost into nonexistence.
His room was now separate from Éowyn's quarters down the hall, but still extremely comfortable. The bed placed against the north wall, was made of a dark rich wood inlaid with gold that wound through the headboard and bolsters. A luxurious green blanket covered the entirety of it.
The west wall contained only the door, and the south a woven tapestry depicting his father's last battle with the orcs, made in brilliant shining threads of blues, greens, purples, reds and of course gold.
Against its east side wall was a dresser and shelves which held a couple of books but were almost completely taken up with other articles. His father's knife still resided in its own case, mementos of various battles, and his father's signet ring. Slowly, he turned and took it down from the dusty shelf, rubbed it on his tunic and reverently placed it on his right pointer finger.
A knock came at the door and Théodred leaned in, a playful smile on his face. "Done grooming Éomer? Do not worry about those pitiful hairs on your chin, brother; they are so small no girl will see them."
Éomer turned and glared, "Just because the ladies dance with me more than with you does not mean you have to be jealous."
"Ah really?" Théodred answered picking a pillow up from Éomer's bed.
Éomer turned to answer and was met by the pillow full force in the face. "Yes well you better fix your hair madam." Théodred continued bolting out of the room. Éomer shook his head, for being thirty-two years of age Théodred certainly did not act like it. Éomer exited the room and made his way to his sister's quarters. He knocked at the door from which he could hear a maid yelling and scuffling noises.
"Éowyn?" he ventured when no one answered.
"Helsum, get the door, it is my brother. Oh really, I did not hurt you that badly."
Éomer could not keep from laughing. The door opened and he stepped inside. Éowyn's maid Helsum lie on his sister's bed, hand on her head. "So what happened here? Wrestling with the maids again?"
Éowyn answered from inside a side dressing room. "Very funny! No, she was trying to help me brush my hair and it was so painful, that, well I accidentally elbowed her in the eye."
"Accidentally?" Éomer answered skeptically.
"Yes, she is right my lord, it was an accident this time."
"Just wait a moment brother, I am almost ready."
"Well it would be like you to be late to your own coming-of-age anyway." Éomer answered with a laugh.
He looked around the room as he waited. The bed with four tall posts rested under a white canopy, nearly opaque but for the gold thread that went across it in waves. The sheer material tumbled down the posts to the floor. The bedspread was dark green as his own, but her bed itself was made of a lighter wood. She also possessed a very similar chest of drawers and shelves but both had extremely different items decorating the surface. A plethora of items including a hair comb, two unsheathed knives, a pen, a map of Rohan and Gondor, a few dried simbelmynë, and an arrowhead found in a field, of which she was convinced was elvish in origin.
The curtain slid back and Éowyn walked towards him. "Do you approve?" she said smiling.
Éomer smiled back, "No, for you are much too pretty to come down to the hall with me"
She was dressed in a fluttering white from head to toe, that painfully reminded Éomer of his reoccurring dream. She wore no decoration other than the green pendent taken so long ago from their parent's room. Her golden hair fell about her shoulders like a meandering river. Éomer proffered his arm solemnly and led her towards the dining hall.
The music coming from the room before they entered was lively and filled both with excitement. For Éowyn's coming of age, like many other girls' celebrations, she would finally be allowed to take part in the dancing for the first time. Her first dance would be with her father, or in this case Théoden, and then after the meal any person of her choosing. Many girls would practice for weeks with friends of their own so they would not be embarrassed when it came time to dance.
They entered through the doors and all the music softened as Théoden stepped forward to take Éowyn's hand. He smiled at the two children together, so much time had passed. The king and his adopted daughter glided easily onto the floor as the music again grew loud. Everyone watched in respect as the young lady danced her way into womanhood.
The room was almost as the large as the Great Hall itself but not quite. Short wooden tables went all the way around the outside of the rectangular shape, the inner floor kept back for the dancing. The dining hall was not nearly as somber as the Great Hall but was decorated in flowing tapestries and beautifully crafted lanterns.
Éomer looked around, eyeing the guests that had been invited. Relatives of course were there along with close friends and nobles, Grima was the only one who sat closer to the king than some of them. A few guests of honor were there as well. One caught his eye, an older man about Théodred's age with unusual dark reddish brown hair. He was dressed nicely, in fashions that Éomer took to be from Gondor. He was sitting with a group of young men who were watching his sister avidly.
Among them were two of his own friends, Dengal and Eror. Éomer would not mind if Éowyn took a liking to Eror but Dengal was not one to get involved with. He was in short, quite a womanizer. The dance ended shortly and Éomer hurried to join the group of young men at the table. He hoped to become acquainted with the strange guest.
Éomer sat down beside Théodred, who was engaged in a conversation with the man. He looked noble, no doubt some sort of royalty. His eyes were a soft brown, like the leather of his boots. "Ah, Éomer, this is Boromir, son of the steward of Gondor." Théodred said as he noticed Éomer.
The man, Boromir nodded his head and Éomer did likewise. "So you are the pretty little girl's brother, correct?"
"Yes," said Éomer, in shock that the steward's son would come to a small celebration like this.
"But surely, you do not honor us with the visit merely to enjoy the party?" Éomer continued.
"No, I do not. I am in the midst of an errand and am taking shelter in Rohan for the night. I was simply fortunate enough to join you on such a happy occasion."
Éomer smiled and in jest continued, "Happy for some."
Théodred laughed, "What, you do not want your sister to dance?"
"Oh, she can dance, with the right person."
They all laughed and continued to eat. Éomer enjoyed Boromir's added company. He proved very admirable, and the only thing Éomer could complain of was his older age, otherwise he would be someone who would fit into the family well as Éowyn's husband. Oh well, she would be married soon enough. As the meal drew to a close, Éomer noticed Grima rise and make his way to where Éowyn sat.
Boromir followed the gaze and saw the look of distress on the young man's face. Silently, he rose and made a quicker route to Éowyn. Éomer did not see him rise and was extremely relieved as he saw the angry expression on Grima's face as he watched the girl leave with Boromir to the dance floor. Éomer smiled, "Yes, I like that man," he muttered.
After that dance Grima sat at the table with a sullen expression. Éomer proceeded to enjoy the rest of the celebration, after her dance with Boromir, Eror would be waiting and all would go well. The second dance began and Éomer threw up his hands as Dengal escorted Éowyn back onto the dance floor.
Boromir sat beside him and watched in amusement. "I cannot help you with every man you do not like young one." Éomer smiled sheepishly, "I know, thank you for what you did, Grima is far too old for her anyway."
"Really, and I am so young compared with him?" Boromir laughed again, "She seems to like that one."
"Yes, that is the problem."
"He seems decent enough."
"Yes, if you are another man and not the girl he seems to be enamored with for the moment."
"Ah… Well I must say I like Edoras. You all are so much more relaxed here. And one cannot forget the music, much better for dancing." He said quickly changing the uncomfortable subject. They talked long into the night, and Éomer found himself much impressed with the man. Soon he found himself saying goodnight and escorting his sister back to her room.
"So, what was the nicest compliment you received tonight?"
"Well, I do not know. Many said I was the fairest lady in all of Rohan. But I think the nicest was from Grima."
"Grima?"
"Do not act so surprised. He said I was truly far too beautiful for Rohan and must have been stolen from the elves as a child."
Éomer did not like the haughtiness which invaded Éowyn's voice as she spoke those words. "I think Grima is too clever for his own good. The elves are said to be ethereal beings. Though I doubt very much that there was a prettier woman at the dance tonight, let us not get too puffed up. You seemed to dance with Dengal many times."
"Yes, he is very nice, and handsome if I may say so."
"Sister, I do not think it wise to spend much time with him, he is quite a flirt and whatever his feelings may be, his sincerity cannot be trusted. Are we agreed?"
Éowyn nodded with a smile and entered her room. Éomer walked slowly to his room, taking in the silence like water. Wearily he reached his quarters, changed clothes, and sank into the coolness of his own bed, fearing for a moment, and hoping for a dreamless sleep.