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Untold Tales of the Mark: The Banishment of Éomer  by Katzilla

 Chapter 75: Kindred Souls


ÉOWYN’S CHAMBERS

“Only this last one, please, my lady. I will not go before you ate it!” Maelwyn insisted playfully, a smile on her face as she held the spoon up for Éowyn. “For how will you ever regain your strength if you eat like a little mouse? And your brother would be very angry with me, too. He was very insistent last night, and very serious when he ordered me to take care of you!”

Éowyn returned the smile, but gently pushed her handmaiden’s hand away.

“I ate as much as my stomach permitted this morning, Maelwyn. I promise to eat more later, but if I had one more spoon full right now, I will certainly burst. Please, have mercy with me; I can surely not make up for every dinner I missed in the course of only one day. Éomer will not know, and even if he says anything, I will tell him that you did your best.” Her gaze strayed wistfully to the window. It seemed to be a very nice day. A day to be outside and enjoy the sunshine. “Where is he, by the way? I did not see him yet.”

“The Lord Aragorn left with his company this morning, and your brother accompanied them to the crossroads. Hildegard told me that he was here looking for you before he left, but you were still asleep, and he did not want to wake you.” Maelwyn followed Éowyn’s gaze. “It must be almost midday, so I suppose he will be back, soon. Surely he will come and see how you are faring.”

Éowyn nodded, suddenly feeling an overwhelming craving for fresh air and light. Her eyes found her young handmaiden.

“I would like to surprise him, Maelwyn, and await him on the terrace when he returns. It will brighten his spirits when he sees me out of the bed, and also, I would really like to go outside and sit in the sun. I’ve seen enough of the Golden Hall for a while.” She pushed herself up and let her legs glide over the edge of the bed, meaning to stand up, but was immediately overcome by a wave of dizziness so strong she had to close her eyes and hold on to the mattress.

Quickly, Maelwyn reached out to steady her.

“Slowly, my lady… You only woke last night! You are still too weak to stand up without help! I understand your wish to be out of these chambers for once, but for now, we must be careful. Much can happen if you fall.”

“I will not regain my strength by staying in bed,” Éowyn insisted between bursts of hard breathing, and braced herself for the effort. Almost pleadingly, she looked at the woman before her. “Please, Maelwyn, help me out. My condition will much improve when I’m allowed to see the sun’s face again. With your help, I should be able to make it outside… and let it do its wonders Trust me, I know.”

Sighing, Maelwyn shook her head, but it was a sigh of relief. If Éowyn’s iron will was back, it surely had to be seen as a first sign of her recovery.

“Well, at least let me go first and arrange that a little corner is prepared for you on the terrace, before I come back and help you with your clothes. Do I have your permission, my Lady?”

Éowyn nodded eagerly.

“Aye, Maelwyn, of course. And thank you. I am aware that your task of looking after me is complicated by the fact that I am awake again, but please be assured that your care is highly treasured, and I promise you that the service you provided for my brother and me during those days of danger will not be forgotten.” To her surprise, Maelwyn blushed and averted her gaze in obvious embarrassment.

“What kind of a servant would I have been to abandon you, Lady Éowyn?” the young woman mumbled, starring at her shoes. She ached to go, uncomfortable as if she had accidentally sat down on a busy ant hive. “It was the very least I could do. I was honoured by your trust in me.”

“A trust well earned. You risked your life to help Éomer, although I had no right to ask this deed of you. I would not call that a small thing.” Éowyn’s gaze grew intense, and out of impulse, she suddenly laid her hand onto Maelwyn’s thigh. “It will not be forgotten, Maelwyn. I mean that… and now go and see whether there is not a sheltered, sunny spot to be had for the two of us on the terrace.”

“The two of us?” Maelwyn blinked in surprise.

“Provided you would grace me with your company while I wait for my brother to return from his errand?”

“Of course, my Lady. I’d be glad to. Now please, I beg you not to stand up on your own while I go and make the arrangements. I will be right back and help you.”

-------------------------

THE PLAINS

Firefoot’s breathing had subsided to a normal pattern as they approached the Snowbourn in a relaxed walk, and only the stallion’s sweat-glistening hide and the foam on his neck gave away the effort that lay behind him. After the Dunedáin had vanished from sight, Éomer had sent their éored back to the city before spontaneously challenging Éothain to a race to the river, providing his mount with the opportunity to burn off energy that had accumulated over the last two days he had spent in the stable. Always a fierce competitor, Firefoot had not allowed Scatha to pass, and when the other stallion had given up, had triumphantly lifted head and tail as he flew over the ground as if to mock his challenger.

Now both horses walked side by side along the river’s edge, reins loose, for once depleted of energy and thus providing their riders with the perfect opportunity for their difficult talk. For a while, the two friends rode in silence, still occupied with the rush of adrenaline from their race, but what had at first felt like mutual togetherness, changed very quickly to uncomfortable waiting, and Éothain’s rigid bearing reminded Éomer of his real reason for seeking the solitude of the river. Another glance from the corner of his eye confirmed to him that if he wanted their quarrel settled, it would be he who had to make the start, for Éothain did not seem inclined to speak at all.

“I had a conversation with your mother last night,” he began, but to his surprise found himself immediately interrupted, although it had seemed to him that Éothain’s attention had been focused on the far horizon, barely even hearing him.

“I saw you together. And I can easily guess what she told you, but no matter what she said--”

“There is no but, Éothain.” Éomer wished that his friend would look at him and see how much he meant these words. “Your mother was perfectly right: I was selfish. I only saw what the verdict meant for me; I did not consider what it meant for the people of Edoras, and that they would have been left at the Worm’s mercy had you indeed followed me into exile.” He shook his head. “I did neither know that Gríma’s men controlled the stables, nor that he had threatened death to the families of those who accompanied me. I knew none of these things, although they render my anger unjustified, especially when it concerns you. I am the one who must apologise.”

“Don’t. You have every right to be disappointed,” Éothain muttered, still avoiding his gaze. His expression, even in profile, seemed unusually hard to Éomer, almost hewn into stone. He could not remember ever having seeing his friend in this condition. “We have been best friends for over ten years. Friends help each other in their need, or what point would there be in friendship? What kind of a friend was I to let them chase you out into the storm, knowing that even if you survived the elements, Gríma would not leave it at that?” Éothain turned around, and in his eyes burned the cold flame of self-loathing and shame. “I knew that he would do everything in his power to have you killed, Éomer. And still I did nothing. I was ready to sacrifice you just because I was not man enough to follow my instincts. No matter what you or mother say, there is no excuse for that.”

Éomer held his gaze. “Aye, there is, Éothain, and you know it very well yourself: we are commanders of the Rohírrim, and as such, our first duty will always be to the people of our ward. We swore that oath on the day we joined the éoreds. Our first concern will always have to be those who cannot defend themselves, even – or especially – over personal matters. Thus--”

But you were one of them!” Éothain yelled, and beneath him, Scatha gave a surprised jump, almost unseating him. Absent-mindedly stroking the grey’s neck, Céorl’s son righted himself: “At that moment, you were one of those needing protection! They sent you out without weapons and provisions, without the means to fend off enemies, or even just hunt to sustain yourself in the wild!” He shook his head, and his blue eyes pierced Éomer. “And don’t tell me that, as a soldier, you are less prone to being killed by the enemy; that is only true for as long as you carry appropriate weaponry. Without sword or spear, a Uruk’s or even an ordinary orc’s strength will always surpass every man’s strength.”

The memories of his own fight in the cave quickly flashed before Éomer’s eye, but he forced them back, dismissing them as not helpful.

“That may be so, but as Riders of the Mark, we also learned the many ways of evading the enemy’s attention. I was capable of looking after myself, Éothain; I was no helpless lad lost in the woods. And why should you have endangered your family by disobeying the Worm when your father was already taking action on my behalf? Your mother told me that Céorl left for Aldburg to alert the Eastmark’s éoreds of my coming, which he could only do because he had just returned from patrol that morning and not brought his horse to the stables, which were under the Worm’s control. It was impossible for you to leave, and it would have been wrong, Éothain, and you are well aware of this! Your resisted emotion and followed reason instead, although it was one of those decisions every commander dreads to make. Don’t think that I do not know how hard it is to make that choice, for I was in the same position. Had you not stayed to keep the filth at bay on top of Edoras, things could have turned even worse: then it would not only have been the Royal Household taken hostage, but the entire city, and many more would have died. You made the right choice, Éothain; get it in your head! A storm is headed our way, and we must all work together if we want to brave it. When we ride to war, we cannot afford doubt within our ranks. It is time to put this behind you!”

At first, it seemed to him that Éothain had another stubborn reply upon the tip of his tongue… but then he looked away. Thinking about what he had just been told, Éomer hoped as they continued their ride in brooding silence. Above their heads, two hawks were sailing the mild breeze, and their lonely cries carried far while they circled in endless spirals above a land on the verge of being reborn after the hard winter. He sighed, wishing for a moment to be one of them, with no concerns for what the next day would bring. Those birds knew nothing about treason or disappointment, about honour and duty; their only concern was to fill their stomachs and those of their offspring and survive from day to day. How much easier such a life had to be. But then again, what did those hawks know of love… and compassion… and joy? What good was a life without these things, and were not these experiences alone worth anything one had to endure to find them?

“Éothain…” he began anew, sensing that he had not yet reached his friend. “Believe me, I understand how you feel. I was faced with the same choice: that between Éowyn… and the good of our people. Though my head tells me that it was the right decision to first eliminate Saruman’s thread to the Mark before I rode to Edoras, my heart still bleeds because in the same breath, it forced me to abandon my sister, fully aware that Gríma would play his evil games with her. Everything in me called me home where she needed me… and yet I rode in the opposite direction. Trust me, Éothain, not a moment has passed since I first made that decision when I did not loathe myself for it… especially after finding Éowyn in this horrible condition upon my return.” Éomer’s gaze strayed to the distant hill, and the golden sparkle of the roof on top of it. “I did what had to be done, but the knowledge gives me no comfort.”

Éothain exhaled forcefully, and in addition to his self-hatred, a new expression of despair flickered in his eyes.

“I appreciate your attempt to comfort me, Éomer… but there is no such thing to be had for me, for what happened to your sister, is a result of my failure as well. I had meant to watch over Éowyn for you, thinking it was the least I could do when I had already failed to come to your aid. I had meant to do everything in my power to ensure that Éowyn did not come to harm while you were away…” Éothain swallowed and turned away from Éomer’s inquisitive gaze, and his voice dropped to a whisper filled with self-hatred. “You saw what became of it. My vows are worthless.”

“That is not true.”

“I failed my best friend; I failed your sister, our king… and I failed my own father. I put him into the grave because I was too scared to storm up that bloody hill and kill the filthy Worm where he stood! Instead I waited until it was too late to save him, and until it was almost too late for Éowyn as well! You were right to hate me when you came back, Éomer, and I am perfectly aware that you only speak with me now because it is for the good of Rohan. Inwardly, you despise me. Say it openly and spare me your false compassion!”

For a moment, Éomer could only stare at his friend in utter consternation, and his reply died on his tongue. Slowly, deep lines appeared on his brow as he shook his head in beginning anger, then he growled, barely able to restrain his temper: “That is just complete and utter nonsense! It is not pity I offer you, Éothain; it is understanding from a friend who experienced the same dilemma, but I swear that if you call me a liar once again, you will give me a genuine reason for our quarrel!” Reflexively, he corrected his seat as Firefoot shifted nervously underneath him in reaction to his sudden anxiety.

He stabbed his finger at Éothain.

“You listen to me now, Éothain, and if you refuse to pay attention to a friend, you will pay attention to your marshal now: I learned something while I was away, and that is that sometimes, there are circumstances when not even our best intentions and skill can ensure the safety of those we love. That sometimes, the sacrifice of a few cannot be avoided for the good of many. Sometimes, despite all effort, it is impossible to save everyone!”

Éothain narrowed his eyes.

“I know that, Éomer. But in most cases, strategy and courage combined will defeat the enemy. I was unable to provide either.”

“Your father was a great warrior. So is Elfhelm. And yet both were powerless against the Worm. Our very King was turned into a tool for the Mark’s destruction against his will! Théodred, likewise a great man of war and a cunning strategist, fell victim to Gríma’s schemes! What does that tell you?”

Éothain remained quiet. Éomer could not tell whether his words were really heard, but he continued anyway, hoping that his own discovery would open his friend’s eyes.

“For many years, I simply refused to accept the idea that the filth could be our equal or even superior in his scheming, and it was this exact manner of thinking that enabled him to get us on our knees. We underestimated him. No, Éothain, as much as I hate Gríma Wormtongue, I have to admit that he was a cunning adversary. Do not seek the reasons for what happened within yourself; you did what you could under the given conditions, and I doubt that anyone could have done better. The Worm did not leave you with many options. In the end you freed Edoras; that is what counts.”

A hapless laugh left Éothain’s mouth; a sound Éomer instantly hated.

“So I should congratulate Wormtongue on his cunning strategy and forget those who died, is this what you say?”

“Don’t twist my words around,” Éomer growled, slowly but surely feeling his patience wane. Béma, he had known that Éothain’s stubbornness was secondary only to his own, but this discussion rapidly grew tiresome. If his friend was so determined to hate himself, what could he possibly do to make him see the truth? “Of course you should not congratulate him! Simply accept that it was a perfectly executed plan… and remember it for the future, so that no enemy will ever take advantage of us again. Gríma Wormtongue taught us a painful, but valuable lesson, and we would do well to learn from it. That is what I mean.” A sceptical look pierced him, but he remained steadfast under the other man’s scrutiny. At last, Éomer thought he saw a slight softening in the features before him.

“The Gods help me, I think you are indeed serious,” Éothain mumbled, more to himself than to Éomer, then he exhaled forcefully and looked away as if to regard something between his steed’s ears. “I do not know… I will have to think about what you said. It is not easy to come to terms with everything that happened, and to accept that there was nothing to be done about it. It is not really a trait we Éorlingas are known for, to accept things as a given.”

At last! A small, encouraging smile spread on Éomer’s face.

“That may be so, yet sometimes, it would be foolish to deny it. You know me, Éothain: Am I not usually the first one to question whether in a situation, something more could have been tried? This time, I truly do not see what else you could have done. Trust me, Éothain… and trust your mother; she knows it as well. Save the energy you put into hating yourself and use it instead to punish the enemy, what do you say, Brother?”

A very, very faint smile began to soften Éothain’s features, and although his eyes remained sad, Éomer knew that he had won when he extended his hand.

“It may take time…” For a moment, Éothain stared at Éomer’s offered hand, undecided. Then he accepted it. “But it sounds like a worthy goal, Brother.”

------------------------

MEDUSELD

The sun was working miracles on her wounded mind, helping her more than any healer could ever have – safe perhaps the one who had rescued her from her dark hiding place. With a sleepy smile, Éowyn huddled more tightly into the furs and blankets Maelwyn had brought her to ensure that her lady would not catch death on her first time outside in many days. Dear Maelwyn, she had stopped at nothing to accommodate her every wish and make sure that she lacked nothing, running ceaselessly to and fro between the kitchens, Éowyn’s chambers and outside as she arranged everything to her satisfaction.

Then she had helped her into her clothes, and when they had been ready to leave her chambers, it had been Théoden-King himself who had gladly taken the opportunity to support his niece on the way out, taking a highly welcome break from his daily duties to sit with her in her sheltered corner for a while and enjoy the sunshine and fresh air. Out here on the terrace, with the slight breeze that carried the scent of horses, hay and fresh grass and the sound of the busy city up to them, the oppressive darkness of the Golden Hall quickly faded to a distant shadow; an unpleasant memory Éowyn was determined to ignore although she knew that she would have to return to it all too soon.

But not yet. Not any time soon. Straightening in her seat, Éowyn picked up the teacup from the little table beside her and thoughtfully sipped the still hot liquid. Duty had called her uncle back into the hall a while ago, and so with no one to distract her, she had returned to her musings. Her uncle had looked sad when he had told her of all the things that had happened in the city and the Kingdom while they had been at the mercy of Gríma Wormtongue, and even when he had spoken of the good ones, the triumph achieved in the west and the return. He had not said why, but to Éowyn it was clear that his trouble was caused by something between him and Éomer. Tired and weak as she had been, she had not missed the change of her brother’s expression, the way his features had turned to stone last night when Théoden had opened the door to her bedchamber. Neither had she failed to notice Éomer’s suddenly rigid bearing when he left, barely acknowledging the man under whose roof he had grown up with another glance. Too exhausted to ask her uncle for the reason of their strife, she had slipped back into sleep, comforted by Théoden’s presence although she perceived great sadness in him, a notion which had followed her into her dreams… until they had become even worse.

Her dreams… Éowyn inhaled, and with a blink, attempted to force back the memory, but it was already too late. Of course, He had played a vital role in them as he first taunted her with the claim that it was indeed Éomer his men had captured in the mountains, only to suddenly throw something onto her blanket. In silent horror, she had seen that it was a severed hand, still holding a bloodstained sword… a sword she recognised. Then he had ravaged her, until she had woken.

Gods…” An anguished whisper escaped Éowyn as she squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to escape the horrible images and buried her face in her hands. The teacup fell and spilled its steaming contents onto the ground, but she did not even hear it as she fought with the rising surge of despair. It was over; Gríma was gone! There was no reason to burst into tears over something that had not happened! “Please, help me. Make this go away…”

She had not expected an answer, but there was one.

“What can I do for you, my lady?”

Confused, Éowyn opened her eyes – and beheld the strangest creature before her: no larger than a child, but it was not a child’s face that was looking at her out of blue eyes with a mixture of sorrow, helplessness and compassion. Heat flushed her face over having been caught by a stranger in a moment of weakness, and yet as she looked on, it seemed to her that the short stranger’s interest in her was genuine. He wanted to help. And somehow, he looked lonely, too. Lost. Almost as lost as she felt.

She struggled to put a little, brave smile on her face and waved him closer.

“I do not think I have seen you before, my lord. May I ask who you are?”

Almost shyly, Merry complied.

“Aye, my Lady. Of course. My name is Meriadoc Brandybuck, but those who know me only call me Merry. I have come to Rohan in the Lord Aragorn’s company.”

“And they left without you?” Éowyn furrowed her brow. “How can that be? I do not assume that they have forgotten you?”

“Nay, my Lady.” Merry looked down on his hands, which were ceaselessly folding and refolding the seams of his shirt. “They did not. They were riding into danger, and…uhm… apparently they thought…”

“… that it was not necessary for you to experience it, too?” she offered, a knowing expression on her face. “They left you behind because they thought you had nothing to aid their cause? They considered you deadweight?”

Merry blushed.

“Well… I would not say it so harshly… certainly they meant well…”

“And yet they left you behind nonetheless, because they thought you could not be of use.” Éowyn lifted her chin, and suddenly, a hard spark of defiance came to life in her eyes. “Alas, I know that feeling rather well myself.” She nodded at the empty chair beside her. “May I ask you to take a seat, Master Merry? You must have seen many wondrous things on your travels with the Lord Aragorn, and if it would not be too much to ask, I would very much like to listen to your tale. We have something in common, I gather.”






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