a/n: Thanks for the reviews, and please keep them up! I'll admit--well, never mind. Just read this and tell me if you like it.

Hauntings

Eomer grimaced when he stretched. The pain triggered a yawn, which he promptly hid as he continued his way through the royal house. His shoulder felt tender still, and he rolled it once to test its mobility.

It would heal completely, he knew, but it would be awhile before he would wield a sword effectively. He wondered how he even managed at the Black Gate.

His heart sped up as he neared Selanae's room. Eowyn had told him she was awake now, and seemingly fine, albeit recovering still. He was as well, which became evident to everyone when he slept through two days. Eomer rounded the corner and prepared himself mentally to see her.

She wasn't there. He should have expected as much, or at least be used to disappointment where she was concerned.

That sounded wrong in his mind, but he shook it off.

Through her window, though, he heard the distinct sound of metal clanging. His steps were quick to the window.

Outside in the courtyard was Selanae. Her head was bowed and her hands on her hips. Eomer heard her sigh out harshly, as if angry. Her sword lay on the stone ground, though there was no one else around her who could have caused it.

Eomer let his gaze linger for a second longer before dashing out of the room.

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Her thigh ached a bit, but she knew the wound didn't cause her to drop her sword. She even argued herself over it for a moment before reality won.

Her mind was haunted. She kept seeing the Mouth, Sauron's Great Eye, and blood. Everywhere she looked, there was blood. Sometimes it was black, of orcs; other times, it was bright red and flowed like the river she woke up in years ago, when she was blissfully ignorant. And then there were faces. . . .

She didn't know who they were, but she knew what they meant.

Selanae swallowed; her throat remained dry. She had to stop this, quickly, before it got worse. And she knew who she'd see if it got worse.

She closed her eyes and without seeing, bent to retrieve her sword. It was the dragon-hilt again. Apparently, Eomer had set it aside for her.

Eomer. Before she could stop herself, she saw him. Lying on that cold, dark floor, at her mercy, though trying to appear in control. Blood flowing from his shoulder, from his side, from cuts and beneath bruises. Bits of his flesh, clinging to the arrow . . .

The sword fell again from her hand. It broke the chain of thoughts enough that she dropped to one knee and caught the blade before it clattered again. Again, she shut her eyes.

Focusing.

Slowly, she rose, the sword firmly within her grip, but loosely handled. She kept her eyes closed as she began to move.

One step forward and a graceful turn. With a swooping movement, she brought her left leg around, the point of her foot lightly brushing against the ground. Her arms extended, the sword following parallel to her foot, and her right arm for balance.

She completed a circle, then stepped forward again. The sword she brought directly above her, pointing to the sky. She twisted her body in a downward spiral, turning herself on one knee and coming back up again with another twist.

She swung the sword in an arc overhead, and thrust it forward. As if her target stung her, she recoiled, bringing her body straight and the sword down at her side. She held it diagonally, pointed to the ground, with her arm rigid.

Her eyes opened as she raised the sword swiftly and—

Eomer!

She dropped the sword like a hot poker, and stepped back. Her heart felt like lead, even though he smiled at her.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said, stepping towards her. Selanae nodded politely, but looked towards the ground. She barely registered that he seemed rested, better. It didn't matter. "Are you well?"

Again, she nodded to the ground. "And you?"

He leaned forward and picked up her sword, handing it to her. She saw it in his hands, and knew he was waiting. With a deep breath, she brought her chin up to see him.

Her body went rigid. Instead of the clean, recovered King of Rohan, she saw the man she nearly broke in Mordor. She took the sword without really seeing it, even as the damning image before her played in her mind.

"I'm well. Quite better, actually," he said, a slight laugh to his tone. She almost heard him frown as he noticed her tension. "Selanae?"

She blinked, once, twice, three times. She saw the perplexity of his expression, his neat green tunic, those eyes, and his strong body. But she kept remembering the tortured, desperate looks he'd given her inside the dark tower.

Selanae quickly bowed to him. "Excuse, my lord." Sword in hand, she turned from him.

But he caught her quickly by the wrist, pulling her back.

"Selanae, please," he said. It was that plea that brought her eyes to his. His eyes were sad, worried, and yet . . . "Will you not speak with me?"

He was being nice—and not falsely. That threw Selanae off, enough that she found herself nodding.

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Eomer's spirits rose when she nodded. Finally! He suspected she was blaming herself for what happened to him. He understood what she did, why, and knew it ultimately saved him and the rest of the world. But he had to make her understand that.

"I never had the chance to thank you," he started, walking through the courtyard. Selanae gaped at him, so much so that he couldn't suppress a grin. "For rescuing me, and not killing me." He meant it teasingly, but Selanae didn't smile. Or she did, but from the look in her eyes, she didn't find it amusing.

"I'm sorry for what I did," she said, rather quietly. She stared at the ground again. Eomer stopped, turning her to face him. He tipped her chin up with one hand, gently forcing to look him in the eye.

"Selanae," he whispered. Their faces were close, and Eomer felt his heart constrict as he saw the tortured gaze she showed. "I do not blame you. I never will."

Suddenly her eyes flashed, and then seemed to laugh at him. She stepped back from him with a wavering look, and Eomer could almost feel the coolness emanating from her.

"Really, Eomer?" she said with spiteful doubt. "You don't blame me for being allied with Sauron in the first place?"

Eomer's heart dropped. He knew there was a past, but he recognized the tone she used—

"You don't blame me for torturing you?" She stepped back towards him, her eyes glinting with darkness yet again. She's trying to frighten you, to push you away.

Why?

"Surely I could have found another way, Eomer," she said lowly. She brought a hand to his face, lightly sliding it over his cheek. "Surely I could have freed you without inflicting such pain."

Eomer glared at her for a moment. He sighed, and quickly tried again.

"Stop. Why do you do this?" he hissed, capturing her hand in his. "Why do you persist in trying to keep us apart? I've come to care for you more deeply than any woman."

A smirk lighted her dark look. "You care for an illusion. And I don't care to keep us together," she said simply. She straightened her posture and turned from him.

He didn't stop her this time.

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Eomer tried to pay attention to the discussion, and his struggle to do so was yet another reminder that he was unfit to be king. He frowned as Gandalf spoke.

"The people seem to be in good spirits, despite the damage," he said. "They understand that their lives won't be perfect overnight."

Aragorn nodded, and glanced to Eomer. "How fare the people of Rohan?"

Eomer shifted in his seat. "Recovering. There is much to be done at home." He glanced to the closed doors, where outside the room a faithful rider stood. "I've received word that the people are well enough for now, but we must prepare quickly for the seasons ahead."

"How do they bear the news of Theoden?" Gandalf asked. Eomer pursed his lips together and drew a silent breath.

"As well as can be expected," he said. "My uncle will be missed greatly."
"And how do they receive the new king?"

Eomer felt frustration rise within him, but he knew Gandalf was asking valid questions.

"Well, I am told." Eomer shifted in his seat again. He noted that Gandalf glanced to Aragorn before responding.

"You aren't sure?" Aragorn asked, a slight smile at his lips. Even so, Eomer shook his head a bit miserably.

"There is much I'm unsure of."

Neither man or wizard spoke, but merely exchanged looks. Eomer fiddled with his fingers.

"What's happened with Selanae?"

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She had overreacted, and probably insulted the King of Rohan. She was convinced of it. All Selanae had to do was calm down, and remember that she had her whole life ahead of her. She didn't have to be alone, or remain in the dark.

That kept repeating in her mind as she walked into the large dining hall. It was already full, with Aragorn, his friends and fellowship and Eomer all seated and conversing.

However, the conversation seemed to cease as she wandered in. She knew she should have stuck to her room for this meal, like she had the others. With a self-conscious tug at her gown, she took another step forward.

"Selanae!" Aragorn greeted, standing. She'd been avoiding him since the day she nearly fainted from hunger. "Join us, please!"

She managed to smile as she approached the group. And of course, there was only one seat left. It was at the end of the table, by Eowyn.

Eomer was near, as was another man who she'd seen with Eowyn lately. Selanae swallowed and sat.

The meal continued, along with vibrant chatter. But she saw the looks Eomer shot her way.

"Selanae," Eowyn started up, "how are you faring tonight?"

Selanae almost groaned. But she indulged the polite conversation, and tried to seem normal to those around her.

There was much talk about Aragorn's coronation, an event to come in the next few weeks. Guests would start arriving in a week, and all would prepare for the grand event. Judging by the levity and talk around the table, it was the event to look forward to.

Selanae pitched in here and there in the talk, and tried to endure it to the end. It was at the end of the meal that she realized she failed. Eomer switched places with Faramir, Eowyn's apparent love. It put him closer to Selanae, and she quickly smiled at him.

He didn't smile back. A glance at Eowyn assured that she was busy with Faramir, and Eomer spoke lowly to Selanae.

"I . . . are you . . ." He sighed and tried again. "Did I do something . . . wrong this morning?" His dark eyes bore into her. His face was covered with lines of worry, and for a brief moment she felt bad to have made him feel so.

"No," she said, "I . . . I just needed a bit of privacy." She tried to smile reassuringly, but Eomer appeared almost insulted.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trespass on your solitude," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"Eomer, that's not—" She sighed, and shook her head. Never mind. Selanae gulped down the rest of her goblet.

"Selanae, please," he said, leaning towards her again. He reached out to her, and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. "Gandalf told me about you, and your past with Mordor." He shook his head. "I don't hold it against you. You're blaming yourself, and you shouldn't."

She raised an eyebrow at that.

"Shouldn't I?" She pulled back from him and his grasp. "If it weren't for me and my past, you wouldn't have been tortured."

Before Eomer could reply, Eowyn took it upon herself to interrupt.

"What?" she asked, a little too happily given the subject. "Is Selanae trying to take the blame?" She laughed merrily to Faramir. "I told you she is too self-sacrificing."

Eomer's eyes flashed a warning, but Eowyn didn't see it.

"Selanae," she continued, "we are both warriors, you know. We should go off and hunt those foul creatures."

Selanae gritted her teeth, but smiled. "Yes, I've heard about the defeat you brought upon the Witch King."

Perhaps Eomer's sister had too much to drink. "Yes, and with your skill in battle, there isn't anyone we women folk couldn't bring to their knees," Eowyn said, laughing. "We should go back to Mordor and slay those who tormented Eomer."

"Eowyn!" Eomer hissed. But Selanae just kept her smile in place.

"Indeed, Eowyn," she said, her voice surprisingly even and dull. Selanae leaned towards the White Lady. "But you needn't go as far as the Black Gate. The tormentor sits here at this very table."

Eowyn laughed, though a bit uncomfortably. Faramir glanced between the ladies, and over to Eomer.

"Selanae—" the new king tried to interrupt.

"Didn't she know?" Selanae asked beneath the roar of the dinner gathering. "Haven't you told her it was me who had you captured? Shot?" With each word, she leaned closer to Eowyn, and her words grew softer. "It was me, Eowyn, who tortured him. Each cut, each kick, each drop of blood I drew—it was all me. Shouldn't I blame myself?" She looked sharply at Faramir. "It seems a clear answer to me." Her eyes found Eowyn again. "Especially when I relished every scream that I ripped from his throat. I delighted in each drop of blood I spilt."

She felt drained, but wouldn't show it, not now. She pushed herself to her feet, and flashed her eyes at Eomer, his stunned sister and her love. Selanae left the hall. The drunken laughter of the King of Gondor and his guests followed her back to her room.