Chapter 29: Confessions

WHITE MOUNTAINS

Éomer had eaten in silence, the atmosphere in the small room leaden in the wake of his dispiriting tale of the Mark’s decline. He understood Freya’s wordless brooding and the far-away look on her face as she contemplated the meaning of his words, but it was beyond him why she still held herself so stiffly in his presence, why her body language was so rigid as if she barely dared to move. She had been tense the entire time she had sat beside him in her chair, her gaze sooner directed at the distant world beyond the window than at him, evading him as much as she could in the narrow confines of the children’s room. It irritated him greatly, and at last, Éomer felt that he had to inquire about the reason for the strange behaviour of the woman he had known well for eleven years and yet never seen like this.

“Freya?” His voice woke her from her absorption, and the grey-blue eyes that looked too large in her gaunt face turned to him with a distinct notion of wariness in her gaze. His frown deepened. “Will you not tell me what happened? Or what the cause is for your discomfort around me? I must say that I do not understand. Did I do something?” She flinched in response to his words, her involuntary reaction confirming to him the correctness of his suspicion: her strange bearing was not just an imagination. “Or is it something you would rather not talk about it?”

It took no intensive studies of his host’s expression to interpret correctly the two contradicting impulses on her face: the daughter of Féonwar reminded him of a wild animal, a deer perhaps, that still curiously listened to the cracking of dry twigs in the undergrowth while its muscles already vibrated with the impulse to fly. And she looked guilty, too, distinctly aware of what he meant, even if she still remained silent. Her expression more guarded than ever, Freya averted her eyes to concentrate instead on placing the half-emptied bowl he had sat aside on the tray to take it out.

“And what good would it do?” she replied at length in a flat voice bereft of hope. “For there is nothing that could be changed about it.” Hesitantly she slanted him another glance, and although the moment was fleeting, the hurt in her expression sent a bolt of alarm through Éomer even in his state of leaden exhaustion. Straightening against his pillow, he extended his hand to touch her arm, an instinctive gesture to which she reacted as if he had meant to hit her, pulling away from him. Dumbfounded he stared at her.

“Was it is, Freya, tell me! Is it about Osred? Is he not treating you well?” He could not explain what had directed his thoughts in this direction, other than her repeated nervous glances at the door and window while she had sat with him, and was sceptical when she shook her head.

“Osred is a good husband, Éomer. It is not he who is the problem... it is I.” Her surprising statement hung in the silence while she contemplated for a moment longer whether to tell him or not, whether to reveal her secret. But didn’t he already know, deep inside, what she was hinting at? Didn’t he feel it, too? Briefly shutting her eyes in a desperate hunt for the right things to say, Freya exhaled deeply before she summoned all her courage to meet Éomer’s gaze, grateful that he had not interrupted her and thus granted her the time to bring at least some kind of order to her thoughts, even if her insides still felt in an uproar. “Osred... he is the kind of man every woman in these isolated settlements hopes to find one day: he is crafty and practical, he is eager, he is strong and protective and selfless. He works hard to ensure our survival out here, and he is a loving father.”

“But something is missing, you mean. Something you would seek for in a man with whom to share your life.” It was a statement, not a question, and she nodded slowly as she stared at the closed door, still seeing all-too-clearly the expression of deep hurt engraved in her husband’s weathered face as he observed her tender moment with Éomer and understood that he would never be able to evoke the same emotions in his wife as the esteemed warrior of the Rohirrim.

“Do not misunderstand me, Éomer; I do care for Osred, but I fear not as much as he deserves. It is a different form of love that I have for him. I respect him for his commitment and dedication and his hard work… but in the end, it is just this: respect... and partnership. We work well together, and we get things done. Our farm has never been in a better state, but that is not what marriage should be about, is it?” She fell silent, an expression of remorse and guilt wandering over her face, for a moment uncertain whether it was wise to go on, but now that she had started, Freya felt it impossible to hold back the outpouring of her emotions any longer. She had to get this out once and be done with it for all time. Perhaps Éomer would understand, and perhaps he wouldn’t, it was not in her hands.

“I always that that I should feel differently about the man to whom I swore my oath. That he should make my heart beat faster whenever I thought about him. That the thought of him should fill me with a warm feeling, and that I should barely be able to stand being separated from him. That we should be two halves completing each other; the sum of us being more than one whole thing, something greater.” Her lips tightened, and a terrible honesty shone in her eyes as she looked Éomer straight in the face. “My marriage is none of these things, Éomer. Osred doesn’t know how to make my heart beat faster; he doesn’t know how to make me dream, nor would he understand what dreaming was good for, for he has no dreams himself. He only knows common sense and the world he can see and touch. For him, the world is divided into ‘useful’ and ‘useless’ things. All those things Aragorn told us about, the far reaches of the land he wandered through and the beings and creatures he has seen... Osred has no interest in that; it does not exist for him. As long as it does not concern our farm-life, he is not even curious to hear about new things. He is satisfied with being faced with the same challenges year after year after year; he doesn’t want to hear about other people or other races. He doesn’t like surprises and thus he never surprises me...” She swallowed at the disillusioned tone of her own voice.

“Life with Osred is predictable, Éomer, and it is all about duty and work and reality. All these years that I lived in this vale all alone with my parents and my brother and sisters... I never felt that our world was too small or that there was something missing. But lately, it feels as if the mountains are closing in on me, as if their ring around our valley narrows with each day that I spend here. Some days, it feels as if I am slowly suffocating. If it were not for our children…” She broke off, uncertain about the continuation of her confession.

Listening with mixed feelings, Éomer could not help but wonder: “Did you ever tell him? Try to change things? Perhaps he doesn’t know what it is you want.” She looked at him wearily and shrugged.

“How do you explain the importance of dreams to someone who has none himself?”

“But there must have been a reason for you to choose him. I remember that you wedded very quickly. From one visit to the next, things changed from where you did not even know Osred to him living on the farm with you. I was very surprised, to say the least.” Did she hear indignation in his voice, or was it just wishful thinking?

“It is the usual way to marry out here in the wilderness, Éomer. We live so far apart from each other that there can be no courtship. We meet at the spring or the harvesting fairs, and if we do not find each other too terrible, we will take them home with us if they possess the necessary skills. I do not have to tell you how hard life is out here. I could not manage it on my own, no matter how crafty I may deem myself. There will always be a task that requires more strength than I have to offer or an additional pair of hands. It was my head that chose Osred; it was reason, not emotion. We cannot afford to wait for love out here; we must take what we are offered. I needed a man who would take care of my family and me, and I thought that with time, love might develop between us, but my heart would not let itself be fooled, for it had experienced that feeling once and to this day, it is someone else who evokes it in me.”

She looked at Éomer openly as she submitted herself to his judgement, not entirely sure what she wanted to hear. Perhaps, it would make things easier if he laughed at her; perhaps it would be best if he found her secret longing ridiculous. Her heart would probably break, but she would be cured of her ridiculous dream. But Éomer did not laugh; he frowned like someone who had been given bad tidings instead of a declaration of love. Was this better?

“Freya...” Visibly shocked by her confession, Éomer reached for her hand, and she allowed him to take it at last, savouring and hating the feeling at the same time for it tore her apart. “You know that there is no way for us--”

“Aye, we decided long ago that we could never be together. You are a warrior; I am a peasant’s daughter. You are a noble, our next and perhaps last king the way it looks, and I am a commoner. The Mark can not have an uneducated farm girl for her queen; nobody understands it better than I, and I wouldn’t even want to live at the court of Edoras. We talked about this before. And yet what can I do when my heart feels differently? All these years, when you visited us on your patrols, it was you who lifted me from of the bleakness of my life; with your tales of your battles and the bravery and courage of your riders. Or when you sat with Loégar and Edilda when they were smaller, telling them of our ancient kings and legends. It was not only them who listened with baited breath; I did as well. The way you told those stories, the way you made them come alive…you made me feel the adventure as if I was right there. And I remember the passion with which you told me of your dreams and plans for the future…it is something Osred could never do. He doesn’t know about passion. I have lied to myself for so long, Éomer, telling me how foolish I was to feel that way when I lay next to Osred in the night and listened to his breaths instead of yours. I thought that with time, I would learn to take those feelings I had for you and shift them to him… but I cannot.” She took a shivering breath, and when she continued, her voice had lowered to a whisper.

“It all came to me last night, when your friends brought you here on the edge of death, bloodied and pale and cold like the snow… and I understood at last what it would feel like to lose you forever, and it was devastating, Éomer. I…” she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and ran it nervously through her hair, uncertain whether she was right in confessing her innermost feelings when it would only make things harder. “I felt that with your death, something in me would die as well, something that would be lost for me forever. My children would have forced me to carry on, but life would have held no more joy for me had you died. It would have been like waking to a world without the sun for the rest of my days. Osred must have seen the realisation on my face when he saw me sitting with you at dawn, and he understood it at once. Aye, I still love you, Éomer, even though I know that I mustn’t. I cannot help it.”

Now the tears came and she hid her face in her hands, embarrassed to cry in front of the man who had once admitted to love her for her strength. It did not help in keeping her composure that she suddenly found herself enveloped in two strong arms, but she could not fight against something she had longed for for so many years: to be close to Éomer, to feel his warmth and the firmness of his muscles underneath her fingers; to hear his soothing voice whispering into her ears. She knew that all these things were wrong, and yet at the same time, they felt so very right. Caught in the storm of her contradicting emotions, she surrendered to the sheer hopelessness of her situation.

“Sssshh…” Éomer soothed, for once speechless as he held her head against his shoulder, his mind racing as he feverishly sought for a solution. “Freya…” but the words would not come. Or rather, he had something to tell her, but hesitated to utter for fear that it would crush her completely. Yet before he could think of anything else, she straightened in his arms and leant back; mustering his expression with an intensity he had never felt from the frail farmer’s daughter.

“It is not the same for you, Éomer, isn’t it? You would have told me now if it were so. I can see you are battling with something you do not want to tell me. Please, I need to know. It might make it easier for me to let go of this ridiculous dream of mine.”

“It is not ridiculous,” he objected, squirming awkwardly. How to bring this to her without hurting her? “Freya…” He inhaled deeply. “We have known each other for a long time. We were both very young when we met…”

“And your feelings for me have changed since then,” she completed the sentence for him, laughing unhappily. “Aye, I understand. I told you that we could not be together, and you took your passion elsewhere. Of course, I never expected you to wait for me to change my mind. I just wondered…”

“Yes?”

“Why did you never take a wife, Éomer? Each time you visited me, you always spoke of your riders and errands, and your sister and your cousin. You never told me about anyone else dear to your heart, and it made me wonder…” She summoned her courage. “It made me wonder whether I was not still in your heart, too, blocking the way for anyone else seeking entry.”

For the longest time, he looked at her, thoughts racing his mind he had pushed in the background for what suddenly felt to him like an eternity. How long had it been since he had last contemplated matters of the heart, rather than battle strategies?

“Perhaps it was so at first,” he admitted at last, thinking back. “It took me a while to understand, and then, to overcome my disappointment. For the first several times we met afterward, I actually dreaded to see you for fear of what your closeness would stir up in me.”

“Aye,” she nodded, like he lost in their shared memories. “You avoided me. I remember fearing that I had lost you after all, that you were unable to maintain a friendship with me even though you had said that you would make the effort.” She looked down upon his hands, which still held her much smaller one firmly in their grasp. “May I know what changed your mind in the end?”

“It was not a conscious decision, at least not one that I could remember. It was a process; a combination of knowing that we were simply not meant to be, a constant need to be on the road in search of the enemy and at the same time, the growing conviction that I had been born a warrior. Elfhelm had been right back then when he told me to my face that I would never find contentment in the life of a farmer; it would have ended in misery for the both of us had we stayed together, Freya.”

“I know this,” she admitted silently, lowering her gaze. “It was the one thing I perceived when I first laid eyes upon you: that despite your youth, you were a man bursting with purpose. That you would not rest until you had achieved your high goals, and that you would never abandon them to sow crops in an isolated part of the Mark.” The conviction in her expression grew as she added, bravely forcing herself to smile: “You have become our land’s greatest protector. It would have been selfish and irresponsible of me to keep you from your true calling. Perhaps it is this I should try to remember whenever I feel again that life has been treating me unfairly.”

“We may not have become lovers, but we have become kin, Freya. We are as close to each other as we can possibly be. You are right in saying that my feelings for you have changed, but it is not for the worse: you are as dear to me as my sister by blood, and I would tear myself in two to keep you and your family from harm. You will always have a special place in my heart, which may be more than any woman I marry in the future may ever be able to claim.” He wondered of which future he was talking. By the look of things, his worries would be non-existent before the next full moon, his dreams and desires like those of his uncounted kinsmen trampled underneath the feet of the White Wizard’s armies.

“Do not speak so,” Freya interrupted him, deeply moved by his confession even if it did not change things. Perhaps she could learn to live with this thought, even if it still felt strange to regard the man who had evoked the strongest emotions in her she had ever known as a brother. Yet faced with the choice of either that or nothing, how could she choose nothing? Laying her free hand against his lips, she whispered: “You will find a wife you love, and she will love you back, I know it. Once this war is ended, you will find happiness and contentment in a woman’s arms, and I will be glad for you when it happens.” She leant forth to kiss him gently on the cheek.

“And you?” he asked, uncertainty colouring his tone. “What about you?”

“I suppose I will have to learn to fill out this new role you appointed to me…” She smiled at his sceptical expression, but it was a sad smile. “From now on, you have an older, wiser sister. You will hate me soon enough.”

He returned her smile although he felt its true nature and could not help admiring her for her courage.

“I doubt it. But what about you and Osred? How will you go on?”

Her gaze travelled over to the door, and now even the sad smile vanished from her face.

“I will have to speak with him. I do not know if we can change things between us; I doubt it in fact. I know that I will not be able to change who he is, but perhaps I can make him understand what it is that I need from him. If we both make an effort, perhaps… we can solve this. I cannot imagine living a life without love.” She looked unconvinced, but no longer as hopeless as she had at the beginning of their talk. Lovingly, Éomer stroked her face.

“I wish you happiness, Freya. You deserve it.” A thought entered his mind, and although he felt reluctant to utter it, he had to know the answer to it. “Perhaps I should stay away for a while. For as long as things are not clear between the two of you, Osred will continue to consider me a threat, no matter what you say. I know I would do the same in his position.”

“Would you?” She straightened at the sound of running from behind the still closed door. She had been with Éomer for a long time; now it was time to speak with her husband. “Aye, I believe you are right. But don’t stay away for too long, or your new family will feel neglected. As for now, I have but one more request for you: Get well soon!”

“Mother? Mother, are you in here?” Her son’s voice sounded to her through the thick wood, and Freya rose to her feet.

“You should rest now, Éomer, you look tired. Please, forgive me for bothering you with my personal problems…”

“There is no need to apologise, Freya. I feel honoured that you told me, and I do believe that something good will come out of it for the both of us.” He smiled weakly; barely able to keep his eyes open as a leaden heaviness overcame him. He sunk into his pillow.

Picking up the tray, Freya gave him another grateful glance before she turned to the door, opening it. A young expectant face looked at her.

“Mother? Can I ride Snowflake? Halad said that he would take me with him, but I should ask you first. Please, can I?”

“Can I, too?” As usual, Edilda was not far whenever there was the possibility that her brother could be allowed a thing that she might not.

“Snowflake? That horrible white thing Halad calls a horse?”

“Please!”

“Please, Mother!”

“Well, if Halad says that it is safe…”With a last glance back, she closed the door behind her, her smile dropping from her face when she discovered that Éomer’s eyes were already shut and that he seemed to be half asleep already. Now all who was left to pretend happiness to were her children, and they were by far too excited by the prospect of being allowed to ride her brother’s big plough-horse to notice her misery. “All right, you two. Go. But tell him that I want him to be cautious, or I will need to have a word with him. Do not leave the farm, and no galloping!”

With a cheerful shout, the two children stormed out of the house, their voices soon muffled by the closing door as they raced over to their uncle’s house. A faint smile on her face at the sound of the little ones’ enthusiasm, Freya went into the kitchen and set down the tray, for a moment lost in thought. She did not know whether to feel saddened or glad at the thought of Éomer’s confession. While the depth of the feelings he held for her was comforting, they were of a different nature than she would have wished for. Still, wasn’t it better this way? Wasn’t it better than knowing that he, too, longed to be with her, and that all that kept them apart were the strict rules of their people? If he had learned to accept this fate, perhaps she could, too, all the more as there seemed to be only two possibilities left for her: to either send him away for good or to learn to be satisfied with what she could have. She did not want to send Éomer away.

With a deep sigh, she turned her attention to the pile of used dishes that had accumulated since the morning. Perhaps it would help to work some of her frustration away. It took her another moment to come to the realisation that she was not alone. Turning around on her heels, her gaze went back to the door she had just passed. It seemed that Osred had been waiting for her to notice him, and from the look upon his face, he had heard every word of her conversation with Éomer.