The evening meal on the eve of Midsummer was something of the likes Éomer had not experienced in a long time. Although the number of people participating was quite moderate – the king himself, Théodred, who had arrived later that same afternoon from the Westfold, Éowyn and he, Gamling, a long-time loyal warrior of Théoden’s household and chief of the Edoras-based éored, Hama the doorwarden and his wife Éolinda, Fastred and his wife Léara, and the king’s counsellor – the amount of food on the tables seemed generous enough to make them collapse. Centrepiece was an entire roasted piglet, done to perfection in honey and herbs, and emitting a scent that was almost enough for all present to forget their good manners and start eating before everybody had arrived. There were large bowls of potatoes, steamed carrots and corn, and on everyone’s plate a smaller bowl containing a steaming, creamy soup had been placed. Fresh bread added its mouth-watering scent. Exquisitely worked carafes held wine, ale, a variety of juices and water, and additional smaller plates and bowls at each seat indicated that the feast would not end with the boar.

He had been hungry upon his arrival, ravenous in fact at the thought of the king’s famed Midsummer meal, but now that he actually sat at the table, listening to the older men and watching them eat, Éomer suddenly found his attention claimed by something other than the food. While the men merrily indulged themselves on the feast, the young rider listlessly poked around with his fork on his plate, his eyes on the man sitting on the opposite side of the table, three seats across. His uncle’s counsellor. With all the attention of a bird of prey, Éomer observed the darkly-clad man from underneath his eyebrows whenever he lowered his head to eat, or over the rim of his glass of wine. Éowyn at his side pretended to pay the advisor no heed, but long years of experience told Éomer that his sister was tense and uncomfortable. Despite of this being the first reunion of their family after one year, she talked only when spoken to and kept to herself, even when Théodred, with furrowed brow, inquired about her unusual silence.

"I apologise, cousin, if my quietness causes you grief. It must be the wine, for this is the first time I ever tried it, and I fear that it makes me feel tired and gives me a heavy head. Please, forgive me."

"Ah, but of course you are excused, Little One," Théodred laughed in amusement. "I was afraid that it might have been something else that was ailing you. But I have to agree with you, the wine is rather heavy, father! Shouldn’t Éowyn be drinking juice or water only?" He shifted his attention back to the king, but Éomer did not hear his uncle’s reply, because he felt his sister suddenly turn rigid on her seat. He looked up – and straight into pale blue eyes which lingered on his younger sibling’s slender frame, a distant, appreciative smile playing around the corners of Grima’s thin-lipped mouth. For the eternity of ten more heartbeats, the counsellor did not notice the young man’s piercing glare as he stayed lost in appreciation of Éowyn’s beauty. Then he woke with a start. From one moment to the other, the dreamy, faraway expression melted into an inscrutable mask, in which the pale eyes became solid blocks of ice. He knew he had been caught. Feeling heated rage rise in his veins, Éomer countered the glance, and it took all the restraint he could muster to not outright shout at the counsellor across the table.

"—wasn’t it, Éomer?" Fastred’s raucous laughter interrupted the silent duel, as the older warrior slapped his apprentice heartily on the back. "By Béma, you looked greener than the grass you were sitting upon when we came back! But he slew those orcs, my lord! Their corpses looked so messed up, I felt almost sorry for them! May the Valar prevent that your nephew’s anger is ever directed at me!" He laughed again and almost spilt his ale as he raised his tankard in salute at the young man he had been talking about.

"Éowyn?" The king did not laugh along with his captain and his son. Instead his gaze lingered on his oddly behaving niece as his hand with the glass of red wine he had been holding sunk. "What is it, child? Would you like to be excused from the table for today? You look unwell."

Éomer twitched as he regarded his sister’s taut, pale features, and the sight of her distress caused him to boil inside.

"Aye, uncle, I would be grateful if you did, for my head is hurting. I would very much like to lie down."

"I can bring her to her chambers, my lord," Grima hurried to say. "I will send for the healer and tell her to brew something to ease the young lady’s predicament, if she wants it."

‘All that ails her is you!’ Éomer wanted to shout, and only bit on his tongue at the last moment as he laid down his cutlery.

"I will do that, uncle," he said instead, his gaze determinedly on his sister as he slid back with his chair to stand up. "Since I haven’t seen—"

"But we were just talking about your battle with the orcs, Éomer!" Théodred objected after another sip of wine. Apparently, he had not yet sensed the tension between his relatives and their counsellor. "You cannot disappear from this table without having shared your perspective of the battle with us! As often as I had been playing the orc in our training fights, I want to hear now how you disposed of them. Let Grima accompany Wyn to her room, I am certain he won’t mind."

"Of course not, my prince. Shall we go, young lady? Would you need a steadying hand?"

Éomer wasn’t sure, but it felt to him as if there was a sparkle of triumph in the counsellor’s eyes as his glance found back from his lord’s son to the object of their discussion. Éowyn looked pale as she came to her feet, but her expression remained calm and composed, not betraying for a moment how much she was dreading the unexpected turn of events.

"I thank you, counsellor, but it is only a headache that is ailing me. I can very well walk by myself. I bid you all a good night. Uncle… Cousin…" Regal and haughtily, Éowyn indicated a stiff nod at the guests at the table before she turned around and disappeared into the twilight of the corridors, leaving Grima to follow in her wake.

"Wyn? Éowyn?" His tentative knocking was not rewarded with an answer, and in the flickering light of the torches which had been lit for the night, Éomer found himself in a strange situation. He had waited for a while after the meal had ended, and until the noises in the Golden Hall had died down, before he had silently slipped out of his room and made his way over to his sister’s to inquire about what had happened after she had left with Grima. But now, no one was asking him in.

His natural impulse would have been to just open the door and look whether his sister was faring well after the disconcerting experience at the meal. But he had been away for a long time, and while he had learned the skills of a rider of the Mark somewhere far away in the Eastfold, Éowyn had grown and her body begun to change into that of a woman. He knew from experience that girls could be strange at that age, coy and moody, and they suddenly seemed to value their privacy a lot more than before. Éothain’s older sister had been like that, too, and that afternoon when the both of them had bolted into Aldana’s room without knocking to show her a wounded bird they had found in the grass was one of the memories that were best forgotten.

Éowyn... there was no mistake to be made that she was about to grow into a beautiful woman, too, with the unusually dark eyes they both shared, and her proud and noble face. The flowing golden curtain of her hair had been tamed by a thick, artfully bound braid during the meal, leaving her slender neck uncovered, and the tight white-golden gown she had been wearing had likewise subtly hinted at the ongoing change. It was no wonder men were starting to notice her. Which was an even more unsettling thought. How was he supposed to watch out for his little sister when he was away slaying orcs in the far reaches of the Mark? And what in Béma’s name was he supposed to do now? Walk away without looking after her?

Pondering his options, the young rider finally opened the door with the utmost caution. Silently, he stepped into the dark room and waited for his eyes to adjust to the pale illumination of the moonlight, even though the absence of another form of light told him already that Éowyn was sleeping. A moment later, he recognised her slender form underneath the blanket, and saw the slow rising and falling of her chest. Unable to ignore the urge, Éomer took the two steps over to her bed, and then – cautiously to not wake her up – sat down on its edge to gaze at the sleep-softened featured of his younger sibling. Reflexively, his fingers smoothed away a strand of the golden flood which had partially fallen over her face, and his heart flowed over with love.

‘I will protect you from him, Wyn,’ he vowed silently to himself. "I will protect you from anyone out there who wants to do you harm. No matter where duty may take me, I will be there should you ever need me. Do not be afraid, Little Bird.’

He sat for a moment longer, lost in thought, until a faint noise from the slightly opened door alerted him that he was no longer the only waking soul in the stillness of the night. Not wanting to get caught in his sister’s chambers when he had obviously little business there, Éomer hastily rose and hid behind the heavy curtains. An instant later, the narrow crack he had left open widened to reveal a dark shape. Cautiously peeking through a thin part of the curtain, Éomer tensed when the moonlight revealed his uncle’s new counsellor stepping into the chamber, and his lips moved in a silent curse. In his hands, Grima was carrying a tray with a can and a pot of steaming contents, which he now quietly sat down on the little table opposite the wall where Éowyn was soundly sleeping. What in Eru’s name was that scarecrow doing here? Serving the royal family was the duty of their servants and maids, of which Grima was – in the common sense -- neither, and Éomer had little doubt that his sister would never have allowed that man into her room had she been awake. But his younger sibling was walking through a different realm right now and oblivious to the silent, pale figure that turned away from the table to regard her with an expression on its face which caused Éomer’s blood to churn. It took all of his restraint not to jump out of hiding and wring the scrawny counsellor’s neck. His knuckles digging into the fabric of the curtain instead, he watched as Grima’s lips moved with words that were too low for him to understand, until – after an eternity, it seemed to him – the darkly-clad man slowly turned away and left the room.

Remaining where he was for a few moments longer, his heart furiously beating in his throat, Éomer considered his options. It would have been hard for him even had he not been eating and drinking and the blood circling his stomach instead of his brain. Even in his calmest mood, he knew he was no deep thinker or strategist. He was known – and famous – for his straight, even blunt manner, and often his reputation alone had helped him achieving whatever he had set out to do. People were easily intimidated by his forceful presence... lads of his own age, at least. But what was he supposed to do about this? Tell Théoden? Or Théodred? But then he would have to admit likewise having been where he had not belonged in the middle of the night. And what exactly was it that he had to tell? That he thought Grima had been looking at Éowyn in an inappropriate manner? Like his bluntness, his protectiveness of his younger sister was no secret to anyone, and likely to be dismissed as over-eagerness by his cousin and uncle, possibly even smiled at. No, if he wanted to protect Éowyn from this worm, he would have to take matters into his own hands!

With a last look at his still sleeping sister, Éomer silently crossed the dark room and slipped back into the empty corridor, straining his ears for signs of his opponent. From behind the corner, the sound of distant footsteps carried lowly through the great hall, and Éomer followed them stealthily until he could see Grima’s bowed shape in front of him, about to disappear into his own chambers. Silently approaching while the counsellor still had his back on him, the element of surprise was with the young warrior as he seized his opponent’s arm and violently pulled him around, his voice lowered to a threatening hiss.

"What were you doing in my sister’s chambers, Counsellor Grima? Counselling her while she was sleeping? Despite the uselessness of such an undertaking, you would be the last person she would ask, and you know that!"

The pale blue eyes stared at him uncomprehendingly for the longest moment, before the startled look in them vanished and was replaced by the calculating glance Éomer had already seen twice before. With a jolt, Grima freed his arm and stepped back, but behind him was only the wall. Noticing that he was cornered, he decided to attack.

"What is the matter with you, young lord, that you think you must sneak up on your uncle’s advisor in the middle of the night and assault him? Is it the ale speaking through your tongue, or is it something else?"

Éomer’s eyes were two blazing coals in a face filled with rage.

"You know exactly what I’m speaking of, counsellor! Even if my sister wasn’t feeling well, it was not your place to enter her room unbidden. That is a maid’s duty, not yours!"

"Oh… I see." Grima rose to his full, not very intimidating height, and his eyes narrowed. "So you were there, too. I thought I felt someone else’s presence in the room, but I was not certain." He tugged at his coat which Éomer’s assault had put into disarray. "Now, I do not even want to ask you, young lord, what your business was in your sister’s chambers, hiding even, because you knew you were doing wrong. But since you seemed to have been there, you should have noticed that I brought your sister medicine for her aching head. She had still been awake when I left her earlier and apparently fell asleep very quickly afterward, even before I could bring her another pot of freshly brewed tea. One of the kitchen-maids specifically stayed up to make it for her in case that the first one would not suffice. So, yes, I cared for your sister. Is that a crime in your eyes, Éomer son of Éomund?"

Taking another angered step forth at the counsellor’s denial, Éomer’s gaze pierced the darkly-clad man, and rising fury made his hands tremble. His restraint was almost gone.

"Yes, you brought her the tea. And then you stood by her bedside, leering at her! Like you did at the table! Éowyn caught you! I caught you! And if you deny it once more, I might just forget myself and make you remember – and regret it!"

Pale blue slits sparkled in ice cold fury at him, and when the counsellor spoke, his voice suddenly took on a new quality as he sneered:

"Ah, I see. Your little, insecure sister set you on my track, hoping that you would scare me away with this infamous temper of yours. Oh yes, son of Eomund, do not believe that I haven’t been warned! In fact, both your uncle and your cousin told me of the brash and uncontrolled young rider who would join us on Midsummer’s eve. They told me to be careful around you, because all it took for Éomund of Aldburg’s son to lose his temper would be the vaguest hint of an idea planted into his head. I must say that I did not believe them at first. I thought a young man riding with the Rohirrim for an entire year already would have to be more thoughtful, more composed… but you certainly seem to deserve every bit of that reputation."

His hands trembling so badly with rage that he had to prop them against the wall next to Grima to not hit him, Éomer felt control slipping away from him. No longer caring who heard him, he raised his voice.

"Aye, scarecrow, I do indeed deserve it. In fact, I am proud of it! Many fear me, but only those who are doing evil things to the people I care about. I may have a quick temper, but I can also read people. And it only takes one look at you to see that you’re a liar! And I’m telling you now, I promise it, in fact, that if I catch you again lusting after my sister, or if I hear about it from her, I will come, no matter where I am at that moment, and I shall wring your filthy neck! You keep your fingers and your eyes off her, or you will regret it! "

"How unfortunate to find such narrow-mindedness and hate in the family of my dear lord, whom I have to come to know as a benign, open man who will not judge people on their appearance," Grima rebuked acidly instead of looking intimidated. "It is nothing new to me that people hate me because of the trace of Dunlending blood in my veins. They hate me for nothing more than my dark hair, despite my efforts of being useful to them. Mind you, young lord, I have known this evil game since childhood, and I always tried to comfort myself with the thought that those were only unlearned people, not knowing better. I always imagined the nobles to be different. Your uncle certainly is, he sees my effort and rewards it; he sees my vast knowledge and uses it for the best of our people. And your cousin, too, he knows better. But your heart, young man, seems to have been poisoned by what happened to your parents. You are blinded by rage, and when you lash out, you care little who you hit. I am sad to find such prejudice in a house like this."

"And you will be sad for something else, too," was all Éomer managed to say before his throat tightened to the point where he could no longer speak, and he grasped the counsellor by the shoulders and violently pushed him into the wall behind. "You shall be –"

"Éomer!" Over the thunder of the pulse in his ears, he had not heard the door opening behind him, and suddenly he was forcefully pulled back himself, losing his grasp on Grima as he stared into Théodred’s stunned expression. "Éomer, what are you doing? Are you mad?"

"He appears to be drunk, my lord," the counsellor managed to say before Éomer could collect himself enough for an answer. Indignantly, he tugged at his tunic, and his eyes sparkled with contempt. "I brought his sister tea against her headache, and he accuses me of having uncouth thoughts about her. A lass of thirteen summers! What is he thinking of me, Lord Théodred?"

"You were leering at her, I saw it!" Éomer shouted, still fighting against his cousin’s grip. "The Gods alone know what you were doing to her in your thoughts, but I saw it, and if I ever catch you again –"

"Enough of this, Éomer!" Théodred’s voice was harsh as Éomer had never heard his cousin before; every bit the marshal commanding a foolish rider. He felt heat creep into his face, but knew not whether it was from rage or shame over being yelled at by the man he was regarding as his brother and idol. "I apologise for my cousin’s behaviour, counsellor, and I assure you that it will not happen again. Please, if you would not mention this business to my father…"

"Of course not, my prince," Grima agreed, indicating a nod. His eyes briefly grazed Éomer before their expression grew gentler again when he shifted his attention back at Théodred. "Be assured that this will remain between us. I do not mean the lad harm. He has obviously been spurred into this by his sister, and we all know how confused the girl has lately been. I do not blame him for trying to protect her, but I would appreciate it if Your Highness could see to it that this incidence will not repeat itself."

"And it will not. I will talk to my foolish cousin." Théodred’s tone was adamant, causing Éomer’s stomach to transform into a solid block of ice. "I bid you a good night, counsellor. Once again, please accept my apologies for this unfortunate business."

Grima smiled benignly.

"I have already forgotten it, my prince. I bid you a good night as well. And you too, young lord," he nodded to Éomer, thus rekindling the fire which had been burning within Éomund’s son anew. "I am certain that by tomorrow, when you have sobered, you will realise your mistake, and we two shall be friends." The counsellor disappeared into his room, leaving a fuming Éomer and an infuriated prince behind.

"Théodred, I can explain –"

"Not a word, Éomer! Follow me!" With great strides which were an indication of the older man’s anger, Théodred hurried through the empty corridor to his study, the echo of his firm steps following him. Biting his tongue to not object to his cousin’s order, Éomer followed in his wake, a maelstrom of fury and dismay threatening to sweep his composure away entirely. He knew why Théodred was heading for his study and not his room: he would be lectured, and it would be a lecture he would not forget, and the prince didn’t want for the king to hear it, whose chambers were adjacent to those of his son.

With an expression of stone, Théodred finally turned and held the door open for him, his grey-blue eyes sparkling in the flickering light of the torch. Like a sheep to the slaughter, Éomer passed through, his hands balled into fists inside the pockets of his tunic and inwardly shaking with fury over the injustice that he was being seen as the villain and not that poison-tongued scarecrow. Stepping forth to the middle of the room and waiting for his cousin to light a candle, he prepared to defend himself. Yet as Théodred looked up, Éomer had to admit that he had never seen the king’s heir so furious.

"Théodred –"

"You speak only when I tell you to, Éomer. For now, you will listen to what I have to say to you, and you will think twice before you will say anything." The king’s son drew a deep breath, and his gaze went over Éomer’s shoulder to the tapestry on the wall. Focussing. Collecting himself. Perhaps it was a habit he should try to pick up himself, Éomer mused briefly, when -- without a warning -- the grey-blue eyes re-focussed on him.

"Éomer, I am disappointed in you. I cannot even begin to tell you how disappointed I am. Attacking my father’s counsellor like this, within Meduseld… You insulted and assaulted a man who earned my father’s trust, and who is, in fact, his right hand! No matter what you think he did -- and we shall have to speak about this matter, too -- it simply is not your place! You forgot yourself, Éomer! You always were a hotspur, quick with your temper, and once roused, shut to reason! This was difficult when you were still a boy, but understandable given your personal tragedy! You are a Rohirrim now, however! You have been riding with our men for one entire year! You should know better! It is time to grow up, Éomer, because you cannot go around insulting and attacking whoever you feel has deserved it!"

Grinding his teeth at the admonition, Éomer pressed:

"But what if he does?"

"No matter what you think happened, it is your duty to come to me or uncle with that business. You speak to us first, and leave it to us to decide about it. It is simply impossible for you to attack a member of the royal household! I am loath having to stress this, but even though you are of noble blood, you are only a distant member of the royal family, you are a guest here! A preferred guest, but a guest nonetheless!" He failed to see Éomer’s expression darken in response to his words. "By Béma, Éomer, do you have even a remote idea of what you have done?" Théodred shook his head in consternation and drew a deep breath. Which made him notice something else. "And I am sad to find that Grima was right: you are, indeed, drunk. I did not notice how much ale you had at the table, but in your own interest, you will refrain from filling your glass for as often as you like in the future. I will be counting the tankards, Éomer, if I have to!"

"But I am not drunk!" It was too much. How could his cousin be thinking that of him? And how could he say that he was not an important part of their family? Angrily ignoring the burning in his eyes and trying to swallow the rising bitterness, Éomer stubbornly insisted: "I saw him leave Éowyn’s room, Théodred, where he had no business! I saw his lusting glances at the table! He is lying, Théodred! And you know that I would never lie to you!" Despair in his eyes, he stared at his cousin’s face, where he found to his dismay not what he had hoped to find. There was no understanding, no willingness to reason. Instead, Théodred looked grim. "It is true that Éowyn told me first about Grima’s inappropriate glances. But she was uncertain, Théodred. She did not tell me to do anything about it, but asked me to see for myself instead and then decide."

Théodred sighed. This was a conversation of the likes he would never have deemed necessary, and apparently, Éomer wasn’t willing to see the mistake he had committed until he would be punished for it. He didn’t want to punish his own cousin.

"Éomer, we both know what results from your sister telling you that she feels threatened by someone or something. There is only one possible result. She knows that. She played you, but you are a rider of Rohan now, not some inexperienced lad anymore. You must know better, Éomer! You cannot simply charge into the people your sister accuses like a hungry warg! All the more since Éowyn has been a very insecure girl for months now. She has been quite difficult since you were away. You cannot trust her judgement!"

Éomer’s eyes narrowed into slits. What was Théodred insinuating now? That his sister was mad? Could this discussion possibly grow any worse?

"What do you mean by that?"

"A lot has changed since you were away, Éomer, and not least of all your sister. But I am certain that you already noticed that… Éowyn is growing into a woman now. Her body is changing, and with her beautiful face, delicate frame and golden hair, men are starting to regard her differently than before. She knows not how to handle their interest yet, but that is to be expected at her age. She cannot be blamed for her insecurity, but it is a fact that she feels threatened by those glances, no matter who gives them to her. This has been going on for months! Even if Grima looked at her appreciatively –"

"I would not call it that, Théodred!" Éomer rebuked heatedly. "I know ‘appreciative.’ And I know ‘lusting’. Éowyn is right to feel threatened by him. And I cannot believe you would rather believe a stranger than us!"

"Grima is no stranger anymore, Éomer. He has been counselling my father for four months now, and his counsel was valuable in every single case. He has already proven himself as an asset to the court of Rohan. You will have to accept that." The sudden chill in the prince’s voice chased a shudder down the younger man’s spine. No matter what he would say in his defence, the battle was already lost. Théodred had made up his mind, and miraculously, stunningly, he had decided against his family… in favour of a crooked-looking, false liar… and thief. A thief of his uncle’s sympathy. The taste of defeat in his mouth was bitter.

Letting himself fall into his chair, his arms dropping heavily onto his thighs, Théodred looked up, and the disappointment in his features felt to Éomer as if he had been it in the gut.

"Listen, cousin, even though this is serious business, I do not want to tell father about it. Grima gave me his word that he won’t say a word, and neither will he hear it from me… under two conditions."

His expression wary instead of eager to promise whatever his cousin would order him to do, Éomer could not help asking:

"Yes?"

"First: Nothing like this will ever happen again. And second: tomorrow morning, before breakfast, both you and Grima will meet me here, and you will apologise to him. And –" Théodred added, already seeing the objection in his cousin’s eyes, "—you will make an effort at making it sound and feel honest!"

"I will not apologise to this… this liar! I did nothing wrong!"

"You will apologise, Éomer, or father will have to hear about it from me." The prince’s expression froze. "Neither he nor I can accept such unsolved business in Meduseld. If you do not show regret for your actions now, we will have to walk a different path, and I doubt that you would like it very much." Another deep sigh. "Éomer… why are you making this so hard for yourself? And for me? Do you think I want to do this? Do you think I enjoy admonishing you?" He saw the sparkle in the younger man’s eyes, betraying the overflow of his cousin’s emotions.

"But Éowyn… what will become of her when you do not punish Grima? He will see this as encouragement, and once I’m gone –"

"I will keep an eye on her, Éomer." By Béma, the young lad’s commitment to his sister was almost heartbreaking. "Tell Éowyn to come to me if she feels uncomfortable. I will see then what I can do for her."

"But you are rarely here yourself!"

"But father is. Do you think he is blind to Éowyn’s needs? Éomer, trust us. We are aware of her distress, but we also know the man well you are accusing, which is why I was so angry. I understand now that it is because he is still a stranger to you, and you cannot know better, but please, you must do this one thing I’m asking of you: apologise to Grima, and the incident will be forgotten… Éomer? Will you promise me this?"

"Aye." Staring at the floor in acceptance of his defeat, Éomer could not bring it over himself to look at his cousin. Now they both were disappointed in each other. The guardian he had always seen in Théodred from the moment on when he had stepped into Meduseld, had ceased to exist, and even though the king’s son was trying to soothe him with his offer of looking after Éowyn, Éomer knew with sudden finality that the days of protection from above were over. From now on, the two of them would have to look out for themselves. He straightened, and finally, felt secure enough to meet the older man’s gaze: "Aye, Théodred. I will do that if it is your wish. But I will continue to watch his every step for as long as I am here. You are right that I do not know Grima… and I do not trust him. He will have to earn my trust."

"That is only fair." Théodred smiled, glad to put the nightly quarrel behind them as he came to his feet. "The hour is late. Let us go to sleep, before uncle wonders about our wretched appearance tomorrow. It will be an important day."

After a sleepless night and a night of being angry at himself, his cousin, the accursed counsellor as well as all the entire world, Éomer felt both bodily and spiritually beat as he trod down the corridor to his cousin’s study. His head was throbbing like a bad tooth, and there was a taste in his mouth as if something had crawled inside and died there. Every fibre of his body wanting to turn back, his feet reluctant to take him to the scene that would set his defeat in stone, the young man approached the closed door with a heavy heart and knocked.

"Come in!"

The door seemed heavier than usual as he opened it, his insides frozen like a pond in winter. As he stepped into the room, the sight of the slightly bowed figure in front of his cousin’s desk caused his ribs to tighten to the point where he could hardly breathe. This went against everything he was feeling! And yet he stepped closer, his face an unmoved mask under Théodred’s scrutinising glance.

"Éomer? I believe you have something to say to our counsellor Grima?" Do it, Éomer! said his cousin’s expression. Swallow your pride and do it, because I do not want to punish you! Turning to the darkly-clad man, but still feeling Théodred’s keen gaze on his back, Éomer raised his eyes, and despite the uproar of his emotions, his voice sounded flat when he spoke:

"Counsellor Grima… I am here to apologise for my inappropriate behaviour of last night.. In my concern for my sister and under the influence of an amount of spirits I am not accustomed to, I forgot myself and my place when I attacked and insulted you in the way that I have. I promise herewith that no such thing will ever happen again, and I seek to make amends and hope that you accept my sincere apologies."

"And I accept them, Éomer son of Éomund." A slight, slow smile spread over the counsellor’s face as he regarded the young man in front of him; pale blue eyes stabbing against brown ones – and reading them. Sensing the disdain behind the courteous words. "And since I have been told that you are a man of your word, this should take care of our quarrel once and for all. Let’s put it behind us." And with these words, he extended his hand while the smile deepened. Understanding the insult, but keeping his expression unchanged, Éomer took it; a handshake of poison.

"Very well," Théodred’s relieved sounding voice could be heard from behind them, and Éomer could not help but smile grimly to himself. A stroke of luck had seen to it that his cousin had missed the true nature of their exchange: a confirmation of the continuation of their feud with other means. "I am glad to see this dreadful business solved. We do have many enemies outside these halls, we do not need to make new ones and complicate things within them. We must stand united, gentlemen!"

"You are perfectly right, my prince," Grima agreed eagerly, nodding his head. A good-natured smile found Éomer. "And I am confident that we will. I am certain this young man has learned his lesson."

"I apologised to you, counsellor. This should be indication enough of my intent," Éomer said gruffly, wanting nothing more than out of this room, which was feeling smaller with each moment he was forced to spend in it. To his relief, Théodred seemed to have nothing to add.

"So Midsummer starts well. That is wonderful. Let us all prepare for it and meet at the breakfast-table in a moment to join my father. I will be there as soon as I have read and signed this parchment." Grasping his quill, the prince dismissed the two men in front of his desk with a nod, and they turned to go.

Not sparing Grima so much as a glance as they approached the door together, Éomer briefly halted to look back at his cousin, and this time the bitterness over the injustice he felt he had been treated with was openly visible on his face. In a matter of the utmost importance to him, Théodred had chosen to believe a stranger rather than his relative. And yet worse, he had told Éomer that he did not deem him an immediate part of the family. Of all the painful accusations of last night, this one had hurt the worst, and it was still aching. For the first time in his life, Éomer felt he had been betrayed..

Yet as his cousin had already busied himself with the paper on his desk, he missed the glance. It was probably for the better better. The open accusation on his face would have raised questions he wouldn’t have wanted to answer, Éomer mused, and with the taste of defeat still in his mouth, he turned to leave… and jumped at the unexpected sight of his uncle blocking the doorframe.

"Éomer, you, too, are here, and so early in the morning? What are my son, my counsellor and my nephew plotting behind my back on such a beautiful morning?" With a twinkle, Théoden extended his hand to ruffle the young man’s hair as he had done when Éomer had still been a child, only stopping himself at the last moment at the sudden recognition that he was facing a proud warrior now, who would not appreciate the fatherly gesture.

"Nothing of importance, uncle," Éomer managed to say and pulled himself together, but the king’s darkening expression told him that his strange mood had been noticed. Had Théoden also seen the glance he had given his son? "We were just leaving."

"Is there aught wrong? Éomer?" Yet another pair of eyes that tried to penetrate his façade. Éomer felt tired of it.

"We had a little quarrel, father, but it is nothing that would be worthy of your interest," Théodred’s voice came from behind, thankfully directing the king’s attention away from him. With a last confused look at his nephew, Théoden entered his son’s study, and the door closed behind him, leaving Éomer behind in the empty corridor… or rather, the almost empty corridor. A few steps to the right, the counsellor had been waiting for him, his chin lifted and the expression in his eyes challenging.

"You see now who it is your cousin trusts in, son of Éomund. I advise you to keep this lesson in mind and to remember it well."

Determination lighting up his eyes, Éomer rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, and his voice was calm, but firm, when he answered to his opponent’s dare.

"Last night, I gave you a promise, counsellor, and you would be well-counselled to remember it just as well: Touch my sister, and you die!" Not waiting for a possible rebuke, Éomer turned away, knowing that he had just made his first personal enemy…he vowed silently to himself.