Writ of Shadows and Phantoms
Chapter 26: The Whispered Admission
~Better late than never~
May 3020 T.A.
Edoras
Eastward the gradual dawn prevails where softly-burning sun appears, waking the birds. The first light of the day was embraced by morning song of chirps.
Éomer walked down the stoned steps to the direction of Middenvale. Among the fenced field, he saw Édhere talking to one of the farmer's lady.
"Good morning, Sire."
"Good morning, Édhere," he replied the greeting, nodding at the young man. He raised his head over the horizon, squinting his eyes when the sun ray blinded him.
"Lady Lothíriel is down in the chicken coop."
It seemed the guard knew well he was looking for the lady Édhere was responsible of.
"Chicken coop?"
He arched an eyebrow at the rider. He could see the amusement leaking from Édhere's polite smile.
"Aye."
Éomer pushed through the vegetable yard and unlocked the fenced door. There he saw her standing among the feathered balls clucking and pecking around her feed as she threw the corn and barley feed out in a wide swath. She let out a hearty laugh when a bird pecked at her brown riding boot.
"Don't be so greedy! There is no more!" she said, swinging the empty basket upside down and shaking the last residue of the deed. "You lot are too fat! You eat too much!"
There were more than thirty laying hens with a few roosters.
"Now you have your food. It is time for my reward." She clapped her hand against the basket. A few birds flew out of her way. Then she pushed the barn door open and extended her arm into the wooden housing.
"Eggs, eggs, eggs!"
She hummed a song as she gathered the eggs for the breakfast.
He watched her hair flying in the spring wind, stretching like black feathers of raven. A sudden wave of adoration swamped his heart. What was that overflowing warmth that was stroking every nerve of his body? He did not notice the corners of his lips curling upwards.
"My Lord Éomer?"
"Yes, Éothain?"
He answered without turning back.
"Everything is ready."
"Excellent. We will head out after breakfast."
About half an hour later, everyone was seated in the Golden Hall.
"Farmer Barwick's wife says they have a few geese good enough for dinner table when summer comes," Éothain remarked casually.
Farmer Barwick was known to breed good poultry. The cheese they had for cheese-rolling festival came from him and his forefathers.
"How many do they have?" Lothíriel asked, accepting the cooked eggs from a serving maid.
"Around thirty and increasing, I think. Sufficient for our summer feast!"
"All you think about is food!" Éomer flicked an eggshell at him.
"Éomer King, a man cannot defend his land and woman with an empty stomach!" Éothain defended.
Éomer shot a glare at him when Éothain emphasized the word. That earned a few snickers at the table. Éomer threw a glimpse at Lothíriel who quickly sipped her cup of tea and looked away.
This had been a typical morning breakfast at Meduseld now. His entire household would sit together for each meal and interesting conversation often came uninvited.
"Gamling, how is Háleth doing?"
The King of the Mark turned to his advisor to break the short silence.
"He is getting there. He had his first archery test yesterday. I must say I am impressed. Blood of Háma flows true in that boy."
The huge grin on his and his wife's face surely spoke the pride. Since their return from Helm's Deep, the older couple had decided to foster Háma's son. Gamling had every intention to train Háleth to follow his father's footstep – to be Éomer's doorwarden.
"Good. Very good," Éomer took a pause before asking, "so is the cottage sufficient for three of you?"
"My Lord, it is more enough-"
Éomer did not give the old man to a chance to decline.
"If it is in any case too small, I am offering you a bigger dwelling. The new ones under construction just east of Meduseld…"
And reservation came in his voice.
"My Lord?"
"…I've caught quite a few keen esquires last night lurking in your garden," Éomer said quietly and calmly, biting a piece of butter-spread butter while trying to appear casual, "…and people heard you last few nights again."
Everyone straightened up immediately at his words despite the casual tone. Éomer did not look at Gamling or Wynflaéth when he spoke but he could almost hear the hard swallow that Wynflaéth just forced down her throat. Her blushed face was probably completely submerged in her soup now. For a few moments, only clanking of cutlery was audible.
"So, perhaps, you would like to reconsider my offer. The new hut is made of stones and walls lined with heavy tapestries and curtains. I am sure Háleth would appreciate that too."
Everyone was trying painfully to act normal and neutral. Of course, it was not the first time they had this conversation at the breakfast table. But every time it was brought up, it still had the same effect as the first time they were told. The only difference was that – there were more audience this time and Éomer did not seem to mind and just spoke it as frankly as a daily subject, although it was still practised with some degree of precaution.
Red-faced, Gamling and Wynflaéth just kept their mouths shut, not knowing what to say at all. It was hard to curb their yearning sometimes. And whenever the spark was ignited, there was no turning back.
"I am sure Gamling and Wynflaéth would appreciate it," Lothíriel quickly spoke up for the poor couple. Beneath the table, she gave the person opposite her a kick but his back faced her, his shoulder shaking violent. Éothain was trying hard not to laugh in front of the table.
Then came another egg shell at him. Éomer sighed and decided to change the subject.
"I am taking a few older boys out today."
She turned to him, her hand in midair. "What are you planning to do?"
"The weather looks promising. I guess a few lessons on hunting won't hurt."
He reached out to accept the egg she was preparing for him.
"Any animals in particular?" she asked, spreading some butter on a piece of bread.
"I doubt we would find anything. Maybe hares or squirrels if we are lucky. June is in a few days and we won't be here and they won't have anything to do until we are back from Mundberg. Besides, they are old enough to learn a thing or two about survival."
They were planning to spend a month in Minas Tirith, two weeks before and after Éowyn's wedding.
"Do you want to join us?" He asked, sipping his coffee.
No reply. He turned to her. Her eyes were locked absently on the teapot on the table.
"Lothíriel?" He waved his big hand in front of her, unwebbing her from the day dream she was weaving.
"Oh, I am sorry." She quickly wiped her mouth with a napkin and replied, "I have to prepare for our trip to Emyn Arnen. I am afraid I can't join you."
"That is fine. I guess we will see you before lunch," he pushed away from the table and signalled at his Royal Guards.
"Lord Éomer!" she stayed silent for a while but called out loud when her mind came back to her.
"Yes?"
He glimpsed at her over his shoulder. His eyes sparkled under the seeping sun light.
"Be careful. Please."
She always shy away whenever he was looking at her that way.
"The Royal Knights are with me. I will see you later."
A faint smile touched his lips.
Her mind had been unsettling since she received the letter from Amrothos yesterday. She worked hard to make sure nobody notice, pretending she was just being her clumsy self. She looked at the taters in the basket in front of her. Her fingers were on mechanic order, stroke after stroke, peeling the skin of the crop but her mind remained an empty yet tangled cavern. Empty that she did not hear all the noise soaring up and down around her. Tangled that she was torn between her options. She had a month. A month left to make her decision.
The scent of earth, sweat and horse wrapped the air around her. Before she could turn around, an armoured arm stretched in front of her and grabbed a dried gooseberry and then a dozen of dead brown-furred animals found their way on her work top.
"What are you working on?"
The usual dark and rich voice rang clear in her ears.
"Taters and gooseberry pies," she answered without turning, her eyes on the leporids, "this is a nice prize. I thought you won't get anything in this season."
Her work top sank on one side as Éomer leaned his frame against it, still chewing the piece of dried fruit. She could feel his eyes flipping between her and the people hustling in and out of the kitchen.
"Luck is on our side," he said, pointing at five antlered mammals which were being dragged into the kitchen, "Look!"
"Deers!"
She dropped her peeling knife and tater and rushed over to examine the trophy of his morning hunt. Deer was very rare in Belfalas; not only that the pirates of Umbar had almost hunted them down to extinction but also the shore was never the preferred habitat of these animals.
She looked at him. Admiration gushed out from the bottom of her heart and filled her eyes. He was full of surprises. She smiled as he leaned over to remove the antlers. "Éothain and Édhere will help you with the preparation. Wynflaéth says she will come around to collect the hides."
"This is going to feed many."
"I have told the people to come around with their plates at lunch time."
"I better get started then."
She rolled her sleeves up and reached for a knife but froze and tensed when his gloved hand came close to her cheeks and stroked a strand of her hair hanging at the side of her face. She looked up and met his emerald eyes, wanted to say something.
"Éomer…." The words reached her throat but her jaw was so tight that she could not let them out.
"I'll get the fire ready."
His finger glid off her chin. He rose onto his feet and headed back to the Great Hall.
She kept her eyes on him until he disappeared from the door. The smell of his leather still lingered and it kept bleeding the unspoken love. She turned her head away and inhaled deeply, trying to return her attention on the animals in front of her.
Later that evening.
She hesitated again before stepping in. She looked up and saw the huge wooden sign. It read: Arcil, Jeweller of Edoras.
Braving herself with a deep breath, she pushed the door open and immediately she was greeted by a grey-haired man.
"What can I help you with, my Lady?"
She chewed her lip and lifted her left hand. "I need you to remove this."
"Oh! That is a very prestige piece of jewellery you have there, young lady."
"I am sure you have seen it, Master Arcil."
"Of course I have! A very eager young man came just moments before the start of last Yuletide bonfire and asked me to fasten the silver clasps on it."
Guilt showered her from head to toe. For a very brief moment, she had some resignation not to remove the bracelet. She sniffed to find her courage.
"Can you remove it please?"
"It is a very fine bracelet, you are talking about here. Whoever that carved it, is the best in Rohan. Are you certain, my Lady?"
"If you don't remove it now, I will have to chop off my hand to do so!"
His persuasion angered her. It made her feel guilty and stupid. Doubtful about her decision. Of all which she did not need at this moment.
The old jeweller sighed with disappointment in his eyes. "If that is your decision," he gestured at her to sit down next to his workbench and pointed at a huge black iron anvil, "please rest your arm here."
He turned around and searched his toolbox. "You know, that bracelet of yours, we have a name for it."
She looked at him with guarded expression, still cautious that he was trying to persuade her to give up her idea.
"It is called Bracelet of the Dawning Light, meaning hope," the old man continued to explain as he retrieved a hammer and a chisel. "The colour of diamonds," he pointed at the eyes of the horses, "resembles the first light of the day. Whoever that offered this to you, did so with the intention of sharing a future with you. He might not have realised it back then but in his heart there is the thought to do so."
She looked away from it, eyes closed. "Please remove it."
The jeweller looked at her, puzzled by her decision. He lifted his tools and dropped them again. He grabbed her wrist and turned it around, inspecting it. There were incisions, though very light, but still visible on her pale skin.
"Did you try to remove the bracelet yourself, my Lady?"
"It won't break with a knife. Or, a sword."
"You are one stubborn woman, aren't you?" he shook his head and sighed in disbelief. He aimed the tip of the chisel and was about to hammer it down.
"WAIT!"
"Have you changed your mind?"
"No….but can you break it at the clasp please? At least it can be repaired after that. But if the tusk fractures, then it will be beyond repair forever…."
She heard hope in her voice. How ironic.
"I hope I will come to repair it sometime very soon, young lady."
A heavy thud sent shocks of waves through her arm. The old man held up the bracelet and put it in her palm. The horseshoe clasp snapped in half. He looked at her teary face.
"Please remember that that man loves you."
She felt her lips curling upward hearing a third party's reassurance of her thought of him. There was joy dancing in her heart.
"I know. But there are choices in my life that I must make," she wrapped her fingers tightly around the bracelet and bowed. "Thank you, Master Arcil. If it must be repaired, I will definitely come back to you. Good night."
A few days later.
"Just a little loose here, Wynflaéth."
She unfolded the dress on her bed and pointed at the waist.
"How many?"
"Probably an inch or two."
"Béma! Have you lost some weight, my Lady?"
The older woman turned the garment inside out and inserted a threaded needle, starting the modification work. Lothíriel watched as the tailor's delicate fingers swirled around the fabric. Wynflaéth had offered to seam her a new dress for her cousin's wedding after they found out that moths had seared holes through the silk dress that Lothíriel's mother left for her. The sight of it shocked the two women. The once blue and light fabric turned into foul-smelling pile of dust when they retrieved it from its parcel. Lothíriel was certain that she had sprinkled enough camphor every month and Gamling's wife was quite disbelieved that moths could infest and eat away the dress so quickly.
"No. I have always stayed the same size."
"But you did not eat much today."
"I have had enough vernison in my life for the past five days. Thanks to Éothain!"
"That kid loves you like a sister, you know." Wynflaéth said whilst tying a dead knot at the end of her stitch.
"I know, Wynflaéth, I know," she took the older woman's hand and squeezed it. A smile lit her lips. "Everyone loves me here. It feels like home." She looked down at the ivory dress, trying to hide the sudden weakness in her voice.
But it won't stay that way for long.
A knock came at the door.
"Lady Lothíriel?"
"Yes, Édhere?"
She rubbed her nose to regain her composure.
"Lord Éomer wishes to see you in his study."
"Tell him I will be there soon."
She stood up, stretching herself. She leaned over to the older woman and kissed her on her cheek. "I will see you in the morning, Wynflaéth. Thank you for everything."
She followed her guard to the door of the study. Édhere, consciously, took his leave rather quickly. Even Éothain who was supposed to stand guarding his King had disappeared. This was silly. What were they thinking that Éomer and she were going to do? They had been quite in control lately, not spending much time together alone. She felt Éomer had pushed the effort to assure someone was always around them. Probably to remind her of not to lose herself in his presence.
She drew a deep breath and tapped the door.
"My Lord, you wish to see me?"
He turned around. The candle light flickered in his eyes. His blond mane swept over his shoulders. The dim of the room softened his stern feature.
"Please come in."
Her steps lumbered a little under his scrunity. Her eyes glid across the room. His hand was pressing on a cloth-wrapped parcel. She forced herself to look away, remembering the feel of his hand on her skin. His hands—those long fingers—touched her face, skimmed her neck then wound around her. So tight.
"I believe this is yours," he said, sliding the parcel to the edge of the table for her to pick up.
"This is?"
Sweat drenched her skin. She knew why she felt nervous.
She unwrapped the parcel, revealing the metal accessory beneath. Her belt. She thought it was lost.
"I did not know you kept it."
She flexed it and slung it over her hand. There were scratches on the matte metal surface.
"Hannor brought it into Meduseld that day," he sighed and stood up, turning to the window. The silence spreaded in the study whilst outside the rain drops were beating against the window.
"I washed off the blood," he finally added.
She forced the sting down her throat and ran her fingers along the edge of the buckle, her mind revisiting the event that almost did them apart.
"I've heard Imrahil is not attending Éowyn and Faramir's wedding," he said, looking at her reflection on the window glass.
"My brother, Amrothos, is representing Belfalas. As far as I understand, my father is quite occupied at the moment."
"I hope all is well in Dol Amroth."
"It…is…"
She hoped.
She shifted uncomfortably in her posture. There were many things she wanted to tell him. Where should she start?
"Éomer, I-"
"You should go to bed," he interrupted her, "it is late. We have a long trip tomorrow."
She was a little taken back by his reservation again. It was certainly not the first time he had tried to dismiss her as quick as possible whenever they were alone. When there were others around, he made no attempt at all to hide their connection. It was confusing. What was he thinking? Perhaps, she should go to bed. It was indeed late. He was right. They should not be alone at all. Those unsaid words would have to wait.
She bit her lip and bowed.
"Then I bid you good night, my Lord."
They were now just two days away from Minas Tirith. Éomer took his whole household with him. He had made it clear that he wanted Éowyn to have the best of a brother could provide. There were chests of fine goods and a few mearas.
The weather was warm during the day but cold at night. The wind channelled and travelled along the White Mountains taking the chill of the tipping snow with it.
Lothíriel rose early. She could not sleep. In fact she could not sleep for most of the nights. The sky was still a blanket of dark sapphire with star dust blinking across it. She unlocked one of the chests and retrieved a long object clothed in layers of hides. Untying the knots, she pulled it out. It spanned three and a half feet with a double-edged black steel blade. The hilt was made of pale ilex wood, a glazed leather enveloped the pommel. A silver swan sat on its guard, spreading its wings. It eyes still glistened with the blue and green ray of aquamarines.
She pushed away the folds of her tent, taking a peek outside. It seemed quiet. Only the shift guards were awake. The damp grass rustled against the edge of her dress under her quick pace.
She held it in front of her with both hands. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Her mind worked at its best to unscroll the lessons her brothers had taught her. She had not touched her sword for a very long time. The very memory of swinging it seemed distant and blur.
Her right foot moved a step length further. She needed to get herself back to the correct posture. She tried a few whips but it did not feel right. Time has leeched her skills too far. Her hands were not as agile as they used to be. Another whip. She nearly lost her balance.
"You won't kill a fly like that."
She nearly jumped. Firstly, she was not expecting any company at this early hour. Secondly, all of the people who caught her, it just had to be Éomer. She caught a glimpse of him over her shoulder. He stood not far from her tent, arm-crossed, observing her. His hair stirred lightly in the breeze. The ray of torches lit up his cheek bones and nose.
"Good morning."
A wave of humiliating embarrassment washed over her. It was not intense but sufficient to make her feel like a stupid child being laughed at every failed attempt to impress.
The sound of his boots brushing against the grass grew louder. She pulled her shoulder back to ease the nervous chill.
His large hand grabbed her hands resting on the hilt. He pushed her feet tighter together with his boots. "Find your balance before you start. Control and follow your breathing. You breathe too shallow and too quick. Deep inhale before each move. Exhale slowly as you unleash your strength."
She felt his eyes gaping her every move. He stood behind her. His warmth was heating her from head to toe. His scent drove a twinge through her body. His arms enveloped her, guiding her hands. She froze, her stomach a jumble of tightening knots. His body was solid as an oak against her. Her heart banged out of rhythm, her feet itched to pull away but could not. They had not been this close to each other since the night in Helm's Deep. Every attempt of her to spend some time with him was interrupted by either uninvited guests or his reluctance. Yes, she could feel it.
"Think of the stance. The attack. The slash in front of your eyes," he titled his head slightly to look at her. His hand pressed lightly on her back, straightening her pose. He towered over her in every aspect. Her upper arm was not even as big as his shin. Her hands appeared like those of an infant in his.
She followed every word he said, every move he taught. Every breath she inhaled was becoming increasingly enriched in his smell, mingling with her own. It reminded her of her trip to Edoras more than a year ago. The day that she found herself in trouble just because fishing with Éothain. Also, the same day that she came to terms with her own feeling.
"Shift your weight to your back foot."
"Raise your blade and parry."
"Always thrust with all your strength."
"That is a good move. Try again."
She could hear the laugh and pride in his voice. She looked up and caught a flash of his dimples. He never actually smiled or laughed very much. But he was laughing now. The back of her neck burned with swamping delight. Her sword whiffled in the background of birdsongs. Then they moved onto bow and arrows.
"Keep your arm straight and still."
"Don't tense. Relax your shoulder."
"Pull. Hold. And, release."
"You should not grind away the callus on your fingers. The hardened skin will aid when you swing your sword or pull the string. It won't hurt as much when you don't have your gloves on," he commented as he stepped aside, hands clasped behind his back - an apparent gesture that he was satisfied with her progress.
Her hand stilled at his words. Her lips turned into a bitter twist. "When I was in Dol Amroth, I had been constantly reminded I have hands of a blacksmith. They are not a grace to glance upon."
"A silly man does not know what a true gem is if he judges a woman solely on her outward appearance. People of the Mark do not judge a horse by its saddle," he forced a pause and hesitated before adding, "…and the Riddermark is your home now."
Her heart nearly leapt out of her throat at his blunt words. Was it a confession she just heard? She looked up at him instantly. He just held that deepening look on his face. She turned her head away, blinking the overwhelming emotion away. She brushed her hand across her forehead as if to wipe away the thin layer of glistening sweat. Her pinky finger ran over her eyes, and she tried to pretend it was the smoke from the breakfast campfire that birthed the stinging moist in her pupils.
Just these few moments she had forgotten she had been walking on egg shells. But those happy moments were very short-lived. She was also shocked that her happiness was so easily satisfied. And easy to lose too.
"Maybe we should head for breakfast?" he asked, breaking the silence between them.
Unable to articulate, she only nodded.
As they arrived at the fire camp, the trio, as they were now known as, Éothain, Édhere and Stán were working on their effort to impress everyone at the table. Éothain earned his charm, showing his trick to catch a fried egg in the air after taking a full spin. Édhere who probably learnt all the techniques from his Marshal, threw his dagger up to halve the sausages already falling from some altitude. While, Stán, having the most benign look among the trio, outperformed his friends. The crowd watched in amazement when a mixture of tea and milk was poured back and forth repeatedly between two vessels from a height. The result was a cup of rich tea with a thick frothy top layer at its optimal drinking temperatures.
"What do you prefer today, My King?" A grin broke across the face of the young Marshal. Mischief gleamed in his eyes.
She watched as Éomer gestured at the selection of breakfast in front of them. He looked so much at ease now. He even joked at the trio being poor showmen.
"And you…" Éothain greeted and bowed in front of her, "…My Quee- Ouch!" He rubbed his head and looked accusingly at his King. "You! You! You-"
Shaking his head, Éomer rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath.
A few people close enough including Gamling and Wynflaéth snickered at the sight. Their speculative gaze darted back and forth between Éomer and her.
Lothíriel forced a weak smile, hoping to lessen the embarrassment. She could feel the flame spreading from her ears to her cheeks. But she felt happy.
The joy was contagious and the air was light. It continued so until they reached Emyn Arnen.
Much to Éomer's dismay, Lothíriel spent the first few days upon their arrival in Emyn Arnen with Arwen and Éowyn. They claimed there was a need to conduct a final checklist for Éowyn's wedding gifts and had asked to go to Minas Tirith. Lothíriel tried to justify it by taking Hannor along so that he could meet his friends. And a day after, they returned. Arwen came back with bolts of luxury fabrics of which she then offered half of them to Lothíriel and Wynflaéth as if they had not enough to carry back to Edoras. Éowyn's wagon was full of different flowers and herbs. She immediately indulged herself in her garden which she was ever so proud of. And finally, much to his surprise, Lothíriel had with several chests of silverware, ranging from forks and knives to plates and pots.
"Are you certain we need all these?" he inquired, raising a straight eyebrow at one of the shining plates in her hands.
She pulled her lips into a thin line. "We don't need these. They are for Amrothos to bring back to Dol Amroth. They are for my father."
"I hope your brother has some really strong brute horses to carry them. They are very very heavy," a clear voice rang behind them. Éothain dropped on the floor and let out a breath of exhaustion. "Can we get a donkey to carry all these next time?"
"Come on, Éothain! They are not that heavy!"
"They are as heavy as your books!" he insisted.
Éomer pulled his bodyguard up. "Enough you two. Time for you to do your job properly. Let's go, Éothain! We have works to do tonight. Now let's get you a beer."
"Have fun!"
By works, Éomer meant all the social meetings he had to endure when the merchants and noble families foist their daughters on him or flirtatious women who threw themselves shamelessly on him. And his bodyguard happened to be the best saviour he ever had in his life. Éothain would always come to his rescue, dragging him away with his best friends, Stán and Édhere. And of course, Men of the Mark could not lie. That was a curse. But Hannor, of all, could deliver whatever they told him with such a convincing tone and sweet innocent face that nobody ever questioned the boy's words.
"I am truly sorry, my King is drunk."
"I apologise for interrupting you but my Lord is required somewhere else."
"He offers his most sincere apology that he cannot be present at this moment."
These were among the lines that Éothain managed to fabricate to free his King from the troublesome social events.
Éomer took a quick glimpse over his shoulder as he led Éothain to the tavern at the foot of Éowyn's ford. From the corner of his, he saw Lothíriel on her knees, her hands over her mouth.
Trying hard not to laugh?
He looked again.
Or, choking back a sob.
It was the night before the wedding. Éomer squinted across the dark folds of mountain behind where the Dark Lord once dwelt. The Ford of Éowyn was impressive. It stood tall and majestic on a hill next to the Great River. But that never interested him. Tomorrow his sister would be officially the Lady of Ithilien. He would have to walk her into the Hall of the Steward where Faramir would take her hands and claimed her as his wife.
His jaw clenched and his fist tightened at this thought. All he ever wanted was for Éowyn to be happy. But the thought of giving her away was harder than he imagined. He could still remember vividly the day she was born. It was a cold day. It was winter. He had just passed his fourth summer.
His mother was in the labour room with some midwives. His father was pacing impatiently back and forth in their house. The people of Aldburg were excited and they gathered outside on the porch since the midwives were called.
Decided that he could not stand the grumpy and impatient tapping of his father, he slipped out of the back door. He went all around the garden and came in front of the window behind which his mother was in. He stood tiptoed and wiped the window clean of frost with his sleeve. His grubby hands gripped on the rail, trying to take a peek. But as soon as he got close enough, his breaths steamed the window immediately and he could not see anything.
Annoyed by his several failed attempts, he stuck his lips out and returned to the Hall where his father was still waiting. The chill of morning air laid on the latch as he closed the door behind him. Blowing warm air into his hands, he pushed his way around all the standing adults who were guessing among themselves.
"Is it a boy or a girl?"
"It has to be a boy!"
"No, I think it is a girl!"
His father asked him once if he wanted a sister or brother. His answer sent his father laughing so loud that he thought he was stupid. He only said he wanted a horse.
A whistle awakened the anxious people. His father rushed to the labour room with bated breaths. Éomer heard a strange new sound he never heard before. A sound that made him wanted to explore. He pushed and squeezed himself through the long limbs, finding a path to join his father. And he saw the little wiggling thing in his mother's arms. His emerald eyes treaded the kicks of those little feet. Pink they were. Soft they were. Wrinkled they were.
He could feel beneath his chest that his heart was beating with so much excitement.
"Come here, Éomer!" called his father, his large hands lifting him through the air across the crowded room.
He saw the smile in his mother's eyes. The tears in his father's. The eyes of those whom he loved.
His puzzled head tipped to one side and amazement swam in his eyes as he glanced down upon this little pink thing that was making strange sounds. Strange they were but they sang in his ears. Nothing else seemed to matter in those silent happy moments. He needed no big horses or his cousin's saddle.
His father smiled at him and braced him with a shoulder.
"Meet your little sister."
"What is her name?" He heard himself asking.
"Éowyn."
She was his greatest and most treasured discovery in his life.
"King Éomer?"
Éomer woke up from his sea of nostalgia. Ah, a Westron greeting. It must be….he turned around and found his very soon brother-in-law standing a few feet away. Though happy for the Steward and his sister, the joy did not manage to break the stern visage on his face.
"Prince."
He looked at the dark-haired man. Faramir carried an air of nobility much like his friend Aragorn. But there was something else about this Prince of Ithilien. Wisdom. A virtue that many battle-lust warriors had overlooked.
He scrutinised the Númenór with a critical eye. A sudden wave of uncertainty crept into his mind. Had he made the right decision to give his sister to this man? But that thought quickly varnished as soon as the last Steward of Ithilien opened his mouth.
"My brother, if you allow me to call you this way," Faramir stretched his arms and rested them on the stone pillar.
Éomer returned his gaze to the horizon. Evening stars blinked above their heads.
"I hope you do not think marrying your sister means losing her. I know it is not easy for you tomorrow to pass her hands to me. I can reassure you that she will be happy. I will make my best effort to do so."
Éomer shot a glance at the Steward. Was his face so easily readable now?
A smirk touched his lips. Éomer turned to the Gondorian. A small laugh escaped from his breath. "If I had doubts about you and your intent, we would not be standing here tonight at this moment. I have my ways of judging a man. And you, Prince Faramir of Ithilien, of House of Húrin, are the only man in Middle-Earth that deserves my sister."
A mixture of surprise and consternation flashed across the face of the Steward. He bowed.
"That is a very honourable praise coming from you, King Éomer."
Éomer arched an eyebrow. "Have I built up such a notorious reputation being the most ungenerous person ever walks on the Middle-Earth?"
"Please forgive me, my brother," Faramir let out a light chuckle, "well, you are definitely not the most generous person when it comes to praises."
"I see you are picking up some Rohirrim attributes from Éowyn."
"It is not your sister whom I spoke to."
"Oh?"
"My cousin. Lothíriel."
Éomer immediately felt the need to straighten his back. He shrugged a little. "What about your cousin?"
"I learn that your acquaintance with my cousin is…."
He heard the hesitation in Faramir's voice.
"…..beyond casual. Almost close, I would say."
Éomer knew this subject would be brought up any time soon but he did not expect to discuss it the night before his sister's wedding. And with his soon would be brother-in-law.
"We do have some level of acquaintance and yes, beyond casual level," he acknowledged admittedly.
"Would that have anything that concerns with her future?"
Faramir definitely knew his way of picking his words. Éomer felt his gaze hardened. He was not most comfortable discussing this with anyone as he already had his own agenda but given that the person asking would be his family tomorrow, the resistance to withhold somehow slipped away.
"We will be visiting Imrahil in fall. Most probably end of fall."
"We? Interesting choice of word!"
From the corner of his eyes, he could see Faramir grinning with a hand touching his beard.
"I hope you can keep this between us," he turned to the Ranger of Ithilien, unable to suppress the warning in his voice, "nothing is certain yet."
"Yes, of course." The Steward reassured him with a nod. "I am sure my uncle would be pleased."
"That we will see."
"Is there a problem?"
"There is no problem," he dismissed. Anything that should be discussed with Imrahil would not have to be filtered. Not here. At least not by his brother-in-law.
"My cousin is not an easy woman."
"Strong and wilful you mean," Éomer turned around. He heard the rapid agreement in his reply.
"She has some exceptional qualities."
"I know."
"I mean she has the qualities to be your Queen, King Éomer."
Éomer let out a sigh of relief when Éothain came with a timely interruption to put an early stop to the conversation from going any further. Queen, queen, queen! He had grown sick of hearing the word these few days. Almost every man that he met in Emyn Arnen had offered his daughters, sisters or cousins to be his Queen. Most were having such a high hope that they wished he would give his consent immediately – which was utterly ridiculous. If in any way, he wanted a woman. A woman that wished to be his wife, not just carrying the fancy title before her name. Queen of the Mark was a burdening title. It came with a responsibility. A heavy responsibility that he saw nobody else would be fit enough for it except…
"Éomer!" Éowyn's voice echoed in the doorway. She hurried her steps to him and grabbed his hand. "Éothain says you wish to talk to me?"
His grip on his satchel tightened. A smile soothed out the frustration previously on his face. "Is there any place we can talk without interruption?"
Éowyn returned his request with a grin and dragged him to a study.
Éomer watched her as she walked around in the study, running her fingers on the shelves of books. The woman whose same blood coursed in his veins. Whom he would give away tomorrow.
"What is it, Éomer?" she settled down them down on a couch and asked.
He touched her cheeks, remembering how they were when he first saw her twenty five years ago. He loosened the laces on his leather pouch and took out two leather boxes. He held the maroon case up, in front of her eyes, and he pulled the cover back.
He saw tears sprang in his sister's eyes. She lifted a hand to hide a whimper.
"These are Mother's."
"Yes, they are," he affirmed, retrieving the jewellery set and clasping the necklace around her neck.
"I thought they were lost…."
He brushed away the liquid from her eyes.
"Uncle kept them. He always said he wanted you to have them…." he paused to push a lump down his throat, "…..and he wished so much that he would be the one passing them to you."
They both knew it was not possible.
"I've missed Uncle and Théodred," she furled her arms around him.
"Me too, Éowyn. Me too." His voice quiet and gentle, his hand stroking her hair.
After a moment, he cupped her face with his callused hands and said softly, "Do not cry. You are getting married tomorrow, Éowyn. Nobody wants to see a bride with puffy red eyes. You will look very ugly, believe me. You always do after you cry."
That earned him a chuckle from his sister.
He hated it when she cried. Whenever she did, he could felt her tears running down his face.
"Now," he continued to unlock the second box, "I've never given you anything in my life. This is the only thing I could offer."
On a velvet sheet, it laid an ivory bracelet, very similar to the one he offered to someone not long ago, except that this one bore the gems of dark emeralds and rubies with clasp of gold. Colours of the Riddermark.
"I did not know you still carved, Éomer! Father always said you are the best in the Riddermark."
Astonishment was all written on her face as Éowyn.
"I only carve for those I love…" his hands on her wrist went still. He blinked a few times. Just there, right there, what had he just said? He must be tired.
He continued fastening the bracelet. "Always remember that Riddermark is always your home. The doors are open for you whenever you feel like coming back."
She lifted a hand to touch his bearded face, smiling. "I know, Éomer."
He cupped her face and brought her forehead against his.
"All I ever wanted is for you to be happy. I'll always be here for you if you ever need me, Éowyn," he took another deep breath before continuing, "You'll always be my sister. And, remember that I will always love you forever."
TBC
Éothain meets his match
Aragorn trying to be helpful
The delayed disagreement between Éomer and one particular lady.
And her final move to show her feeling before it is too late.
Find out why Éomer has been a little relunctant lately
Footnotes:
Arcil: (Old English, masculine name)An old and experienced jeweller in Edoras. He helped Éomer to assemble the clasps on his carved boar tusks.
Ford of Éowyn: According to Karen Wynn Fonstad
Éowyn's garden: Lore-wise, Legolas helps her building a garden with herbs and flowers apparently.
Journey from Edoras to Emyn Arnen: According to various online source. the estimated time taken is around 15 days.
Mundberg: Rohirrim name for Minas Tirith
The scene of Éomer and Éowyn were inspired by the song called Greatest Discovery by Elton John. I actually used the song to write the scene. I have also decided to cut down the ceremonial stuff in the next chapter, after reading all the great fics of Éowyn and Faramir's wedding. I must admit I am no way near as good as them in terms of emotional convey and creative norms for wedding.
Another slightly difficult chapter to compile. The conversation between Éomer and Faramir was difficult. I doubt Éomer would question Faramir's devotion to his sister after all he has given his consent for the Steward to marry her. Love can be either too quick or too slow. In this case, it is slow to realise it. You can obviously love someone without knowing it. Éomer knows she means dearly to him but he only finds out that he loves her. Self-struck realisation at its best and will help to explain his relunctance in the next chapter.
Reviewer acknowledgement:
BrightWatcher: Oh yeah, that would be warning for the next chapter. Sizzling...
Glory Bee: I know! You love angst free chapter!
cCeret: Amrothos is her brother and poison is in his letter. You make the connection ;)
Rogue's Queen: Chapter 24 is the most hilarious of all. Man, I could refer it back when it comes to explain it to my son in a few years! (not so soon I hope!)
b5delenn: Thanks for the suggestion! Ha! I was actually thinking about that before. It would be too cruel to leave our Éothain out of the torture! But he is definitely smarter than his King!
Talia119: Aww, don't be angry! I have updated now! It is my every intention to make it more steamy next chapter! *laughs evilly"
anon: It is a bigger conspiracy. Many similar faces will surface.
Dr.I_ust: I believe it is against my inner wish too that they did not go any further! Grrrr! Damn the reputation! But then it will sizzle more in the next chapter ;)
A big thank you again for everyone who continues to support this story, especially the beloved reviewers whose remarks are the courage and motivation for this work!