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Legends Never Die
Éomer's eyes narrowed as he saw someone already inside the Hallow's and standing in front of Thèoden's bier. There is supposed to be no entrance here now. His hand went to the hilt of his sword and tightened. "Who is there?" The figure turned a hand drawing back the hood of their cloak as they did so. A woman? Inky black hair blending into the shadows tumbled free, grey eyes shining with a strange pale fire in the flickering torchlight.
"My Lord King," the woman bowed. Bowed? She noticed his confusion and laughed lightly, "It would feel ridiculous to bow in a pages' tunic and leggings, My Lord King." She gestured to her outfit, his eyes followed her motion. There was indeed a pale white tunic with blue over vest and leggings under her cloak.
"Who are you?"
"I am Lothìriel." He blinked feeling like he should know that name, and tilted his head to assess her more thoroughly. Willowly, fairly tall for a Gondorian maid, with a finely chiseled face, full lips, and the easy stance of one who was confident in herself. She looked familiar, and yet he knew that never had he been introduced to her. "And what do you here, Lothìriel." A slight unease with the whole situation made him more abrupt than was his want.
"I imagine the same thing you do. To pay homage to the fallen kings." She spun in a circle, arms outstretched encompassing all the tomb openings, then added softly, "And tonight, one in particular, Rohan's coming, and his ordering it, saved my family, my father and brothers." She brushed a hand lightly over the top of Thèoden's bier.
Éomer came to stand beside her, resting his hand where hers had brushed. "I would that I did not have to feel the need to come. I would that he had never died. To go from his greatest weakness to his greatest triumph and be killed in that moment." Éomer took a breath, his heart heavy, his shoulders bowed with sorrow. "Is it a hard thing for you, Lothìriel, to stand here beside so many of your fallen and dead heroes?"
The girl looked at him, eyes glinting again in the torchlight. "Heroes never die, King Éomer." She placed her hand on his, forcing him to look her in the face, "They become a part of who you are. They live on in your deeds," she spoke with conviction as if willing him to feel the truth of her words.
Éomer frowned, "Would that I could believe that. That I could take up his mantle."
"My Lord King, every time you picked up your sword in training or battle, you were readying yourself for this. Every time you studied while others laughed, ate, and made merry, you were preparing to be where you are. Every time you failed. Every time you bled. Every time you risked your life for another. Every time you were mocked. Every time you were praised. Every time you were defeated, and every time you sang of your victory. Thèoden does live on in you. And now," her gaze once more went around to the other tombs. "As our kings live on in my father, brothers, cousin, and I, so they do in you also. For you fought with us and for us. And your deeds will now be sung and added to our lore," her voice dropped, "And so. You will live on in us as well." Éomer bowed his head, fighting against the thickness in his throat. He felt a settling over him, it felt as if she had sifted through all his memories, and he had just received a benediction from the Valar themselves.
"I would be alone for a moment," he whispered. The girl inclined her head and quietly walked away, moving like a wraith in the night. Long he stayed there, letting memories of the past wash over him. Not just of Thèoden but of Thèodred and his father also. Their legends will never die.