A/N: As promised, the remaining three chapters. I very much hope they don't disappoint, particularly those of you who've been patiently waiting for so long!
At least two additional stories come to mind as a natural follow-up to this. Although I'm still working on the particulars (and have not yet started work on either) I will do my best to get them out in shorter period of time than this took -- assuming, that is, that my life remains even marginally free of fire, flood and famine!
Lisswyn waited until after the evening meal to approach Eomer. It had become somewhat customary for a time of singing and storytelling to take place at the fire after the meal was finished, while others who wished to retire early could do so. More than once, she and Eomer had slipped away for a short walk before going to their tent, so when she held out her hand and said, "Walk with me," he did so.
In a companionable silence, they walked a bit away from the fire, into the nearby trees, and began circling the camp, though still within the ring of ever-watchful guards. It was a nice evening, not yet too warm despite their ever-southward movement, and as they walked, Lisswyn gradually relaxed, aware that while she was still more tired than it seemed she should be, she was no longer as sore as she'd been during the first days on the road. Eomer seemed relaxed as well, which seemed to bode well. He would know what to do for Brecka and Thedhelm.
"There is something I must discuss with you," she began softly, only to have her thoughts as well as her mood shattered when he tensed. He didn't quite pull away from her, but may as well have done so, given his stiffness. Understanding that he thought she was going to plague him with questions about whatever had been bothering him for so long didn't reduce her own response in the least.
Jerking her hand away, she stepped in front of him and slapped a hand on his chest to make sure she had his full attention. Trying desperately to remember through her temper to keep her voice pitched low, she bit out, "My lord, contrary to what you seem to think in your self-absorbed moods these days, there are matters in the Riddermark beyond whatever it is that is causing your black mood." In spite of her efforts, her voice broke, and she took a moment to steady herself before she went on more quietly. "I am still your queen, and there are matters I've been made privy to which I believe you should know. When it suits you to have such a conversation, please find me. Rest assured that I will not plague you with questions about that which you feel I am not worthy to know."
Aware that he was gaping at her, Lisswyn turned with as much dignity as she could manage and went to their tent. Where had that come from? Not only the angry outburst, but the sarcasm at the end? She wasn't given to either, particularly with Eomer. So concerned had she been for him, she'd not even fully realized to degree to which he was hurting her with the distance he was placing between them. But then, perhaps that was it – it was one thing for there to be something he didn't wish to discuss with her, and something altogether different when she could no longer discuss anything with him due to his fear she'd broach the unbroachable topic.
Scowling, and no longer wondering about her own response, she shoved the tent flap aside and entered, then just stood there, lost, only vaguely aware she was weeping.
He followed her, of course. She'd known that he would – if not for her sake, then to find out what was wrong in the Mark that she was aware of and he wasn't. She was still standing in the middle of the tent when she heard the rustle of the flap and felt the slight breeze.
Quickly wiping her cheeks, she turned. "Forgive me, my—"
"Don't. Don't say it. Don't call me that, certainly not when we're alone." Unable to see him clearly in the shadows of the tent, his voice still struck her as dangerously quiet.
The knot in her stomach loosened a bit. "Fine. Eomer." She sighed, and wiped her cheeks again. "I'm sorry I spoke thus to you. But I do not know what else to do. I've tried not to plague you concerning whatever it is that's troubling you so, and yet even still you stiffened when I approached you about another matter – such is your trust in me, apparently," she ended on a bitter note. "And yet, I must bring such things to your attention – or would you have me refer people to Eothain, perhaps?" She winced as the sarcasm once again got the best of her.
"Of course not." He brought his hand up, pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not a matter of trust. I trust you as none other." Turning, he bent and lifted a candle from near the door flap, and stepped outside to light it on a torch before returning and pulling the flap firmly closed behind him. Staring at her in the fragile light of the candle for a moment before he set it on the floor he motioned to her. "Tell me first of the matter concerning the Riddermark."
The 'first' sounded promising. Why did it make her feel so guilty? Pushing that thought away she told him of her conversation with Brecka that afternoon.
When she'd finished, he simply stared at her for a long moment as if she'd been speaking in a strange tongue.
"There are young people in Edoras – men in my guard – who wish to wed and haven't done so because there's no place for them to live, when we have empty lots in Edoras?"
At her nod, he shoved his hands through his hair and growled something she suspected was a swear word. "Why didn't they say something to Eothain, if not to me? He would surely know the land is there – we've only to build on it. Something which would have been easier to do earlier in the spring," he muttered.
"I do not know the answer to that. In Thedhelm's case, I'd say it's because he supposes there are men higher than him who'd receive housing first in any case. But as to why none of them have asked Eothain…" she shook her head.
He stared down at the candle for a long moment in silence. "By the time we return from Edoras, the planting will be complete and all the foals born. We can begin building cots then, with a view towards autumn weddings, after the harvest."
"And what of Thedhelm and Brecka's other problem?" she asked softly. Did he value Thedhelm as much as she thought he did?
He looked at her thoughtfully. "He is correct that he is not a candidate to be Eothain's second – that position is adequately filled, and there are others ahead of him even there. But Elfhelm's second died in the battle last fall, and he has been reluctant to name someone else. I believe he quite likes Thedhelm, though. Will second to the guard of the city of Edoras be enough for Thedhelm's mother, do you think?"
Lisswyn couldn't help herself. She launched herself at him, laughing, and threw her arms around him. "It is a very great honor…my lord," she added somewhat mischievously.
He caught her on a muffled laugh and held her close to him for a long moment before gently setting her back on the floor, his arms still around her, his forehead resting against her. They stood like that for a while before he slowly said, "about the other matter…it is not a matter of trust," he said in nearly a whisper. "I just do not know how to talk about it."
Sensing it was easier with her not looking at him, she rubbed her face against his chest for a moment, then said, 'tell me what you dream."
He went still, then brought his hand up, stroked her hair. On a sigh, he said, "I find my sister as she was on the Pelennor, lifeless. Over and over again, I relive that moment of madness and horror. There's no Aragorn to heal her, no miracle of a returned king, just Eowyn…cold and still."
At the ragged pain in his voice, her heart broke for him, and Lisswyn reached up, pulled his head down to press her face against his.
He allowed the comfort, but then continued, "and even though I know she goes to a man who loves her beyond reason, I cannot think of her in Gondor, happy and whole, but only as she was when I found on her on that cursed field. It shames me."
Startled, she pulled away, looked at him. Wished for more candles. "Why?"
"Because there was a returned king. Because Aragorn had the power to heal her, and did, where others…" he stepped away, turned his back on her. "such as Brecka, who at least has a reason for the fears and memories she cannot escape, and Andric, who lost everyone but Eoden, most of them in that same battle, and yet still has the courage not to ask his brother to stay with him…when I want nothing more than to beg Eowyn to stay in the Mark," he finished on a bitter note.
But he hadn't asked her to, and wouldn't. Why couldn't he see that distinction? "Eomer, for a period of time, Eowyn was the same as dead, was she not? Why the surprise then, that your heart remembers those moments and fears them?"
"She wasn't supposed to be there. She does not understand that when I say that, it is not about her battle skills. But there must be something to fight for, or what's the point? And she was my reason. I knew what we faced, knew it was hopeless, but courage must have a reason. So few understand that," he said wearily, more to himself than her. "She was mine. The belief that she was in the Mark, safe, and if we could just prevail…"
He turned back to her, a helpless look on his face. "We fought for the slightest chance, the barest fragment of hope that we might somehow win, that even if we died, our women and children were safe, would rebuild the Mark. And there she was." His voice cracked. "Broken, lifeless, gone. What was the point of the battle? I'd failed her."
"No, Eomer!" She felt completely inadequate to discuss much about that battle, but one thing she was certain of. She reached for him, pulled his face down to hers. "I do not pretend wholly to understand the prophecy about the Witch-King and Eowyn's fate. But one thing I do know – you have never failed her. Never."
On a sigh, he shook his head before once more pulling her to him. She didn't know how long they stood like that. She was simply conscious of the relief of being in his arms, of knowing what the trouble was, even if she didn't know how to help him.
"You've tried discussing it with her?"
"It merely makes her angry. She says I'm remembering the wrong things. As if I have a choice when the dreams come," he ended bitterly.
"Perhaps when you see her in Gondor, cherished and happy, the dreams will stop."
He nodded his head, plainly not believing it.
Privately, Eomer had wondered if telling Lisswyn about the dreams would be sufficient to make a difference in their frequency and power, but it wasn't to be. It was almost with resignation that he found himself once more on the Pelennor, able to remind himself in the first few moments that it was only a nightmare. And then the shock and horror of finding Eowyn obliterated his awareness that it wasn't real, and he gave himself over to the despair.
How could she be here? Why was she here? Had she been so desperate for death? Had he failed her so spectacularly? Was there nothing she'd felt worth living for, not their people, not …him?
As he fell to his knees, though, something else pushed into his awareness: a warm body moving against his, murmuring in his ear. "She lives, Eomer. She lives, and loves, and is happy. You didn't fail her. She lives."
Lisswyn. He came awake, aware that she had literally crawled on top of him, wrapped her arms around him, and was kissing him as she murmured to him. Saving him. Her touches were more comforting than suggestive, and he could tell from her sounds of distress she was afraid she didn't know how to help him. Unsure himself what was best, knowing only that he needed her, he pulled her mouth to his and kissed her, more than willing to substitute passion for the lingering sorrow of the dream, and beyond grateful that Lisswyn was equally willing.
When he next awoke, the time-sense that never failed him told him it was shortly before dawn. Lisswyn was wrapped completely around him, as if determined to keep the nightmares away by her presence alone. He brought his hand up, softly stroked her hair. Telling her of the dreams – his fears – hadn't been sufficient to keep them utterly at bay, but she had been able to pull him out of it when it came. Why hadn't he told her sooner? He could no longer remember, but he would not make the same mistake again.
Bending, he pressed a kiss on her forehead before untangling himself from her arms. She could sleep a while longer, but there were things he wished to do before they broke camp.