Éomer opened his eyes. Sunlight overwhelmed his sight; a blurred figure closed the shutter. Instinct raised a hand to his brow as shield. This small motion taxed an exhausted body beyond its limit and unconsciousness again claimed him.
On waking flickering candlelight cast shadows through the darkness of a room he did not recognize. Training surfaced and his muscles tensed, preparing for action be it offense or defense. Without moving head or body, his eyes roamed the space. His hands explored the firm surface where he laid, shoulders and head elevated and supported by thick padding.
A woman sat in a nearby chair. Hearing the change in his breathing, she smiled and spoke. Neither her face nor language were familiar. Instead of forming words his parched and irritated throat croaked. Propping on elbows he pushed up and forward. Winded and sapped of strength he sagged onto the bolsters.
Laying aside needle and thread, she moved to his bedside. Placing a hand on the small of his back and the other on his chest, with gentle motion and touch she helped him sit straighter. Reaching across his shoulders she hooked a hand under his arm, supporting him while fluffing the pillows, then settled him against them. From a nearby table she offered a wooden bowl. "Dwr. Slotian."
Wary of the offering, he waved a gesture conveying 'No' and shook his head. She sipped from the mazer, then placed it in his palms, her own covering his tremoring fingers as he clasp it. When his grip steadied she pulled back. His dry mouth absorbed the first cautious sip. The next swallow trickled cool water down his throat soothing its roughness. His third gulp emptied the bowl.
Her right hand rested on her chest. "Seren." It's index finger pointed to him.
"Éomer. Son of Éomund."
"ay … ow … mr … sən … ov … eoh … mund." After his affirmative nod, she raised a hand with palm facing him and said, "Aros." This sounded like an instruction.
He watched as she poked at the fire burning in the tall, wide, and deep hearth, coaxing it higher; added small logs hissed and popped before coloring the flames a deep blue. Her fingers rubbed dried leaves over a silver cup, crushing them into a fine powder before pouring in steaming liquid from a copper pan resting on hearth stones. A wooden spoon drizzled thick honey into the brew. From a cauldron mounted on the other side of the fireplace she dipped rich broth ladling it over thick slices of bread. Returning to him, she sat on the edge of the bed and held out a bowl.
Enticing aroma and sharp hunger overrode prudence, and he eagerly accepted the food. But his hands shook from the effort of balancing the dish in one hand and wielding a utensil with the other. Reclaiming both Seren held a spoonful of broth near his mouth. He accepted needs must and swallowed the mouthfuls she fed to him. Her pleased smile felt like a reward.
Food and water proved a balm, his hand didn't quiver when holding the cup. Its contents tasted floral with sweetness tempered by hints of lemon; the brew's lavender scent calmed. Sated, drowsy from warmth and tea, Éomer resettled on the linen sheets, laying on his side, huddling under threadbare quits. As his eyes closed, he heard a soft voice say, "Cwsg, Ayowmr sen ov Eohmund, Rydych yn ddiogel."
And was unsure whether a phantom or fingertips brushed against his cheek.
ooooo
When Éomer woke light did not blind. Shinning rays streamed through open door and windows on this rare sunny midwinter afternoon. Fresh air swept fuzzy cobwebs from his head. His hand smoothed over the soft tunic he wore. Its matched companion lay at the end of the bed and in neat folds. Testing strength, he swung legs over the side of the mattress. There were no ill effects. Feeling buoyed by this first success, he donned the pants and stood. His head spun like a whirligig set in motion.
Entering the one room cottage, Seren's brow furrowed as he teetered. She hurried to his side and draped his arm across her shoulders. "Ffwl." Her tone did not sound complimentary; it did sound concerned. She led them to a straight-backed wooden chair and pushed him into it. He rested elbows on the table, cradling his forehead in cupped hands. She delivered a lengthy speech while bustling about the room. Despite the foreign words mixed with frequent references to Ayowmr sen ov Eohmund there was no mistaking its scolding. He began to regret introducing himself in the formal manner.
A plate filled with eggs, ham, richly buttered bread thudded in front of him with enough force to jar the accompanying spoon laid across its rim. From a jug she filled a cup.
He sputtered after a long swig. "That's milk!"
Hands planted on her hips silently yet clearly communicated, What did you expect?
"Ale."
Narrowed eyes suggested he drink it and like it.
An amused voice said from the doorway, "Seren is a firm believer in the restorative power of her ewes' and heifers' offerings." She greeted this visitor with a smile and a peck on his cheek. Platters of dried apples, honey, and cheese, as well as more ham, bread, and butter soon filled the table's surface. She added jugs of herbal tea and fresh water then retreated outside.
"You are much improved from two days ago," the newcomer said in Westron.
"How long?"
Taking a seat opposite Éomer, the visitor sliced a piece from the wedge of cheese and offered it to the other man. "This is the best on the island. Seren coddles her sheep and goats as she would a child. Six days. But first the pleasantries. I am Kai son of Ivar."
"Éomer son of Éomund."
"Is this all I am to know of you?" asked Kai. Both stared at the other, neither blinked. "Your caution speaks of wisdom. Very well. I shall trust first. Forodwaith is my birthplace though my home village lies in ruin. Many years ago restlessness pushed me south for adventure and fortune. This winding path led, among other places, to Osgiliath where I apprenticed for a time with a healer. How much do you remember?"
"My men and I sailed for a coast town, truly more of a trading post, at the mouth of River Isen. A storm blew us off course … after that I recall little."
"Winter gales are perilous here. The ship broke apart near our barrier island of Ynys Enlli which lies north of your intended destination. No other on board survived."
In answer Éomer chanted in his native tongue, a cadence telegraphing sorrow without requirement of understanding its words. Then he said in Westron, "Mourning the lost must wait for a later time and another place." His brow wrinkled, eyebrows lowered and knitted together. A hand scrubbed his chin. "The cargo? Was it salvaged?"
"It litters the bottom of the sea."
The horseman's eyes defocused and stared over Kai's shoulder. "Then my expedition has failed. Tell me the rest."
"Lung poisoning settled in you as it often does after near drowning. I have few remedies for this illness; miracle aided by ceaseless supporting care spared your life. Survival was uncertain until the fever broke last night. A blow to the head and shock from the icy water hide your memories; they may return in time and with patience."
Impressions without context or continuity swirled for Éomer: soothing touch, cool damp cloths on his forehead and the back of his neck, a bitter beverage.
"What goods did your ship carry?"
"Seed. Purchased at a high price." His eyes met Kai's. "I am Third Marshall of Rohan. Tenacious drought, persistent beyond what is natural, plagues my country. As do thieves. Crops fail or have been torched by bandits; grain stores are depleting. Is there a boat whose owner will take me to the mainland? Any destination. From there I will search for a new supply."
"You are one hour out of bed from a serious malady. Time is required for rebuilding your strength."
His flattened palm rapped the table as Éomer said, "Those living in our eastern and southern border villages cannot feed their children."
"If you will indulge an old man and his adages: rushing saves a minute and costs a day." The corners of Kai's mouth twitched. "And I see you agree, in spite of reluctance and worry, embarking on a difficult journey before healing does not serve your people. Good, good. Many commanders cannot get their head out of their arse. I am pleased you have matured beyond this. Now you must rest. I will return tomorrow."
Éomer removed a leather cord nestled under his tunic and lifted it over his head. He placed it and the ring it held in Kai's hand. "If you have need show this to any man or woman from Rohan. They will escort you to my keep at Aldburg, my cousin, or King Théoden."
Kai studied the seal of the East-mark before settling it around his neck. "This gift is not mine to claim, instead I will hold it trust."
"Permit me another question before you go?"
ooooo
Seren returned to the cottage, slipping inside with quiet footsteps. Her eyes found Éomer and she bent over his bedside.
"Diolch," he murmured before returning to feverless sleep.
With tender touch her fingers smoothed hair off his forehead.
ooooo
Lexicon
Aros: Stay, remain, wait
Cwsg: Sleep
Diolch: Thank you
Dwr: Water
Ffwl: Fool
Rydych yn ddiogel: You are safe
Slotian: Drink