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severussnapedamagedlove · 7 months

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Do Not Ask - LOTR One Shot

(EomerxOC, Helm's Deep, Love, Fluff, Gore, Blood, One Shot, Grief)

Helm’s Deep was full of the last remains of its people. They were all gathered in the aftermath of what was set to be the battle of their lifetimes, for it saved them all. Blood coated the grey stone walls. Black and red blood of both enemy and ally. It smelled as battlefields do; the foul stench of rotten corpses, excrement and hot iron blood.

Eomer frowned as he stepped through the Keep. It was thick with bodies. How far they’d come into their last defense, how close Rohan was close to being an extinct race of Men.

His legs burned as he climbed the final ascent of stairs. He entered a grand hall. Only it was not lit with torches and the smells of roasting foods as he remembered it.

Women and children were out of the caves. They were frightened. The looks on their eyes as they searched for their survivors reflected a fraction of the terror in their warriors eyes. The things on this battlefield were harsher than most. Uruk-hai made war a vile, horror filled with atrocities too filthy to be recounted.

Eomer was Third Marshal of the Riddermark. His place was out in the field in search of survivors. It was where he was needed. He fully intended to join his Eored once his search was complete. There were two he needed to find first.

Selfish need drove him further into the room. It was duly noted that it was out of line for his position. Still, he walked farther inside the hall until he saw them. All he needed was a glance. One look, and his heart would be settled.

He caught sight of his sister. She had her hand pointed, where supplies were to be set as they tended to the wounded. Her eyes were rimmed red. The caves were a savior to the men’s mind, but it did not save their loved ones of the sounds of the deaths. It only amplified the fears of what might come find them in the cave whether it be freedom or death.

Eowyn found his gaze. Her body gave slight give, weakness to her knees, a kind breath out of her chest, as she gave a wobbly smile.

He, too, shared the same relieved breath.

There was a face he sought out in the crowd. Through the endless waves of faces, some familiar, some not, he yearned for a face that was known to his heart by instant fluttering.

The longer the absence, the harder his heart pumped.

Where was the face he longed for?

It took too long to walk through the survivor people until he located someone who was bound to know. An elderly woman with crooked fingers and a boy near thirteen in age. The boy’s clothing dragged on the floor behind as he walked.

Eomer placed a hand on his shoulder. “Maynard. Where is your sister? Her face is lost to me.”

The woman and boy exchanged looks. Their faces told of a restrained guilt. He was not let in on their silent exchange. Tensions in his gut quivered. The battle fear was not yet over for him. There was relief still to be awash his body in victory. Their hesitation did not ease him.

“Speak,” he barked.

Maynard gathered the billowy fabric up to move. “We don’t know.”

Eomer stood straight. His eyes squinted as he took in the boy’s slumped shoulders. The woman’s deepening frown.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” The boy trembled.

He staggered a step, startled by his own thought he’d come to.

She wouldn’t.

Now he saw it. The clothing was sizes too big for the young boy. A young boy who – if by recollection – should have been out on the battlefield alongside his countrymen.

The elderly woman held a stiff face as he turned to her in anger.

“Do not ask to send our young ones,” her voice said, “when there were perfectly fit soldiers ready to fight.”

Eomer flew to the battlegrounds. He searched the dead before they made safe the castle. There were wounded to tend to, provisions to secure, men to regroup, efforts and rebuilding all to be concerned with yet his solider heart could not rest until he found her.

The frantic wavy grip of his throat struggled to keep breathing as he looked through bodies. Their helmets pulled from their heads. Blood, mud, disgust smeared around. A singular stench of death on the wind. It cloaked the stronghold with its inescapable melancholy.

He moved through the bodies on the wall – what was left of it. There were men with crushed ribcages. Their insides leaked out onto the stone.

His stomach flipped. Eyes turned to sadness at the innocent round eyes of children that gazed up from their limp corpse.

All he pictured was instead her: light colored eyes of sky blue with perfect golden hair, more flat than wavy. The coloring of her cheeks perfectly pink turned white, ghost-like in death. Broken bits of her body torn from her flesh like an animal consumed the life straight from her living tissue.

He fought every want to succumb to his emotion. They were bottled so tight, ready to release. He did not know if he would weep or scream. Perhaps, it was the brewing of both: his sorrow at losing the woman he loved so deeply and the anger at himself for not keeping her safe.

A foot solder approached behind his back. The clinking of the chainmail against the armor chest plate echoed in the silence of the dead.

The loud clank of a helmet dropped to the stone.

“Keep that helmet on, solider,” he said through his gritted teeth. “There is still reason to fend for your head.”

“Is your head forfeit then, my Lord?”

It was a voice he convinced himself would never sound in his ears again. He turned around.

There she stood, much like a man, in her armor. An empty sheath hung from her belt. The chill of morning left her breaths clouds sourced from her chapped lips.

She panted heavily. The effort to remain standing dwindled as she swayed.

“Brona,” escaped his lips in disbelief.

Eomer rushed to hold her in his arms. His hands trembled against her body. It was real. No figment of his imagination. It was her. Alive.

He pulled her against his chest. Her weight impacted him fully. She was exhausted.

“Yes, my Lord. I am here.”

“Why did you not come find me?” He murmured. It was a selfish yearning in his heart. To have known she was there would have had him fight harder. Harder to protect her. Harder, to keep them all alive.

She winced as slid his hand between the plates of her shoulder and pulled them down her arms. “You’d have sent me back to the caves.”

Glimpses of her flesh below her tunic showed deep purple and black bruises. Red rashes at her neckline were from the metal chainmail too close to her neck below the armor. He pulled the last heavy pieces off her body showing what woman laid inside. She was not small, nor slender, but woman all the same. A woman who loved flowers and song and enjoyed riding in the yellow light of dawn.

He collected her body into his arms. It relaxed, limply hung by a thread of her energy.

The cots were assembled for the wounded. Eowyn tied a knot at the back of her head to keep it out of the way as she wound a linen wrapping around a bleeding arm. She directed the others tending to the injured around the room.

She rose, wiped the blood from her hands to the white apron tired around her waist, when her eyes caught at Eomer. Her face went pallid.

Not a breath exited her chest as she rushed across the room. A finger ran along her friend’s face. “Is she?”

“No.” He shook his head. “She’s passed out from exhaustion. Dehydrated.”

“Bring her here.”

There was an open space on the floor. A wooden crate was covered with spare comforts that were available. A flat pillow and course blanket.

He frowned. He pulled the cloak from his uniform. It was a luxurious cloth. He slid the fabric over top her body.

His sister handed him a bladder of water. “Drip some into her mouth. I’ll massage her muscles. It will ease the pain.”

He tried to hold the bladder steady. His hands trembled too much. It flicked water over her cheeks down her neck.

Eowyn frowned. “I’ll do this.” She took the water. “You massage her.”

The room was thick with energy. The battle left many wounded, some beyond repair, and many young men dead on the fields that surrounded the grand hall. There were cries of loss, cries of reunion, cries of pain around them.

Neither sibling said a word as they worked on their friend.

Eomer gave a long glance at his sister. Her hands worked at the joints of Brona’s shoulders, rolling them and stretching the muscles with her long fingers. She discovered a split in the skin of Brona’s underarm like the slice of a sword come from behind.

A cold sweat formed at his spine.

War was no place for those with tender hearts. It was horror and gore. It was for the field of monsters and those who became monsters in their fight against monsters.

His innocence was lost on those death fields. The slain bodies full of blood and hate and anger and other worldly tissue filled his mind with no impact anymore. It was like a tapestry woven of a scene. He saw what was before him, but it did not illicit emotion. Just a barren stare.

There was no hope for him. But his love. The beautiful pieces of her soul were light and delicate and glee. They were the bits that he adored. She felt emotions that he could not bring his heart to feel.

What had she endured that night? What savage action had killed that spirit, he wondered. Would she even be the same?

“Did you know?” He bumped his sisters arm with his shoulder. His fingers worked at massaging the left hand. It was the one that held the sword. The grip on a sword for extended periods of time cramped the hand woefully.

Eowyn swallowed but said nothing.

“Eowyn,” he said sternly.

“I only suspected,” she replied with no give in emotion. There was fear for her friend, but no guilt in what had befallen her. “There were too many around. I-I could not see what happened until it was too late.”

“She could have been killed.”

His sister put a palm against Brona’s cheek. She leaned into the touch. “You don’t know what its like. That feeling. Left behind, to wait for everything you love to be stolen from you bit by bit.” His sister placed a gentle kiss atop her forehead. “There is ache in surviving. Being the only one to not be killed in bloody battle. To carry on with the weight of the dead as a reminder of why they perished. It would have killed her, Eomer. Killed her. To have Maynard slain in battle while she lived. She would have not been the same woman we love. I could not ask that of her. Could you?”

Eomer sat there for a few long hours while his duty called at him to rejoin his uncle and regroup his men, he remained by Brona’s side.

His sister’s words echoed within his head.

The shrill heartbreak of cries that came from the caves when the boys were pulled from their mothers. Old men pulled from grandchildren. The women of his country asked to give more than they were willing to survive.

He’d not allowed himself to consider what was done to Brona when they came for her brother.

The fact she changed her clothes with him, made herself a man, just to save his fate from being skewered by an Uruk-hai lance.

Tears were in his eyes when her eyes started to slide open. Her brow flexed in confusion as she looked around her. They stilled when she caught sight of him on side of her cot.

“Eomer,” she breathed.

Her hands touched his cheek. A slip of water fell from his eye. Her thumbs wiped it away.

“Am I dead?”

He shook his head. “No. You should be, but you are not.” His hand trembled as it cupped her cheek. It held her close. The coloring of her face returned. Peachy pink hue touched the tops of her cheek as she stared up at him with those loving eyes. The fear of losing her had near come to fruition. “Forgive me, my love. Forgive me for what I asked of you. Our land was in need. Our people nearly extinct.”

She held the hand against her face. “Forgive me for doing what I must.”

Eomer pulled her into his lap. Her body slowly wrapped around his. Lips pressed against his cheeks. They both forgave what awful betrayal they had done to one another without fulling realizing the devastation it could have caused.

The land was safe. Their loved ones survived the long battle.

The world was far from perfect. It had more trials to endure, but they did not doubt the strength of one another as they faced the terror that grew in the east. For a dark cloud hung over their life, but it did not shade their love.

For more stories on Eomer Eadig and Rohan, please check out my Eomer collection on fanfiction.net!

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maplesleep · 1 year

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Horse girl Éomer ❤️

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr eomer #rohan #karl urban #horses #crack lol #i fucking hated his armor so much....why....so......detailed #GONDOR doesn't have such complicated fuckn armor!!!#my art #maplesleep art #digital art #Artists of Tumblr #eomer #riddermark #that poor orc is bout to get GOT

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katjaschmitt · 1 year

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Study / Concept Art for “Rohan”

#rohan #riddermark #land of the horselords #lotr #lord of the rings #silmarillion #tolkien #lotr art #my art #soft pastels #a red sun rises #abstract art #abstract landscapes #women artists

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arwendeluhtiene · 1 year

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🎨Miniature painting, Games Workshop LOTR strategic battle game (2000s): Gamling and some Rohirrim ✨⚔️

ArtStation

DeviantArt

Art IG

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delwaaunglor · 1 year

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Finished another Rider of Rohan today. This paint scheme chosen by @jh_fleming . #paintingwarhammer #ridersofrohan #rohirrim #fortheorlingas #tolkien #riddermark #middleearthstrategybattlegame (at Simpsonville, South Carolina) https://www.instagram.com/p/CkmNtzEON7g/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#paintingwarhammer #ridersofrohan #rohirrim #fortheorlingas #tolkien #riddermark #middleearthstrategybattlegame

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almostlookedhuman · 7 months

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#universes beyond #mtg #lotr #éomer of the riddermark #arda #éomer #di giovanni

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riddikulusims · 4 months

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Entries for the Kuse Jumping Tour final on EquialitySims Discord server! We did pretty well, with KPE Project Runway coming out as the top horse for her level for the year!

#sims #sims3 #ts3 #equiality sims #riddermark equestrian center #rec #the rec #showjumping #warmbloods #kuse jumping tour #kuse

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skoogstokig · 8 months

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Pruta tills säkringen går!(Eller: När bilförsäljaren väl är knäckt är det mycket lättare att pruta!)

View On WordPress

#inbyte #mildhybrid #Riddermarks Bil #V90

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emilybeemartin · 10 months

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Okay, I finished the main images that have been plaguing my brain, so help yourself to: Gondor-Rohan Weddin Day, AU Edition

BROTHER HONOR GUARD

Also details because we all know I love symbolism: Eowyn's carrying Theoden's sword, and she has a Gondorian medal of honor and seabird-wing necklace, while Faramir has a Rohanian crest.

After all the tragedy and trauma, you know--you know--Boromir and Eomer would spend all day being stupid giddy and trying to start shit to cover up for it.

With help from Merry and Pippin

Get him, Eowyn

Who's that in the crowd eyeballing the Third Marshal of the Riddermark?

Final shot for everyone who's obsessed with Boromir's awesome hugs

Okay I have to stop for now or I'm gonna miss a plane, byeee

#lord of the rings #au: boromir lives #faramir #eowyn #eomer #boromir #gondor #rohan #merry #pippin

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edges-of-night · 10 months

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Imagine where your first kiss with LotR characters would be ♡

Thank you for all your positive responses to my first post! I hope you’ll enjoy this one as well, it was a lot of fun to write!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Aragorn would make your first kiss absolutely romantic. He would take you to a moonlit spot he found in the forest, where you’d listen to a brook and the night birds as he holds your hand. Aragorn kisses you without expecting or demanding anything in return. He is content as long as he can be with you!

･ﾟ✧ Arwen.

Arwen would playfully guide you to her favourite tower in Rivendell by your hand. She’d smile brightly over her shoulder as you ascend the artful staircase to be closer to the night sky. She’d stargaze with you there, maybe show you a book or two about the Elvish constellations that she keeps up there. You would kiss over such a book, or maybe against the white balustrade.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir is well aware of his charms. When it comes to your first kiss, he teases and plays with you. However, once you share a quiet moment in the ruins of Osgiliath, he gives in to your advances. Leaning against a stone column, the usually shameless man grows silent against the comforting touch you provide.

･ﾟ✧ Elrond.

Elrond keeps his house very orderly. He takes it upon himself to sort the library, for example. Since you offered to help him, you have been working all afternoon. “This is the rest,” you’d say with a tired smile and a sigh as you set back the last books. Charmed by your blush of exhaustion in the golden sunlight, Elrond would smooth your hair back and lean in for a thank you kiss.

･ﾟ✧ Éomer.

Éomer would kiss you in the wide grasslands of the Riddermark. Your horseback ride has been interrupted by a sudden storm – the weather here is erratic – forcing you to find shelter in a rock formation. There, Éomer would make sure that you’re alright and dry, and as you’d touch, his heart would skip a beat at your damp hair and puffed lips. Being the man that he is, he’d kiss you passionately then, however offering you to “keep this between us and the rain” should you desire so.

･ﾟ✧ Éowyn.

Éowyn loves the hills and cliffs of Edoras. There, she has a secret hiding spot where she used to play as a kid. Now, she uses it for romantic rendezvous’, as she tells you with a smirk. You joke around a bit: “So, I’m your romantic tryst?” – “Perhaps you are!” – before you both lean in for a playful kiss that soon turns into something more romantic, truly.

･ﾟ✧ Faramir.

If it was up to Faramir, he’d kiss you anywhere – on the market in Minas Tirith, in the forests of Ithilien, or his castle after the Ring War. However, he couldn’t have chosen a better place than you: a flowery meadow where you sat down with drinks and books to tell each other fantastical stories about magic and dragons. While you lie in his arms, all you need to do is look up to find that Faramir wasn’t even reading the book you held up and instead just admired you. And then, cupping his cheek and gently guiding him toward you is just too tempting!

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Frodo would kiss you in front of your house in Hobbiton, having accompanied you home after a party at the Green Dragon. He’s a gentleman, so he’d always offer to walk home together. Maybe you’re both a bit tipsy, but either way, you end up leaning against a quiet corner of your house, hidden away in the night shadows, where you share a kiss that Frodo blissfully smiles into.

･ﾟ✧ Galadriel.

Galadriel would know you’d want to kiss her even before you yourself were really aware of it. One day, while sitting by a brook near her abode in Lothlórien, she’d grin at you because she knows very well the reason for your blush. She’d offer you to sit by her side, or maybe even on her lap, and converse with you before brushing your hair out of your face to finally give you that kiss!

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf would finally kiss you after a long day of studying. You’ve been sitting in Minas Tirith’s library for hours, pondering ancient magic and recent developments. Once you call it a day, he’d look up and smile at you, like he just remembered something. Then he’d wish you goodnight. “But first…” You’d be lying if you said you haven’t seen it coming from a mile away, but of course you let him have his joy anyway!

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

While usually brash and charming, Gimli is all quiet when it comes to asking you for a kiss while staying in your home. If he was wearing his helmet, he’d take it off, needless to say! You know he meant it to be a chaste forehead kiss, but you like to give your Dwarf a kiss worthy of a song – one that renders him speechless for at least a day. He’d definitely stumble over the doorstep on his way out!

･ﾟ✧ Haldir.

It is needless to say that Haldir would deny any desire to share a kiss with you until the very last second. After protecting the borders of Lothlórien from orcs, he is badly wounded and in dire need of your healing skills. Though he is ashamed of the vulnerability, he cannot help but marvel at your beauty and compassion while you’re immersed in your task. He’d guise the kiss he gives you in the moonlight as a shameful repayment, but by now you can read his marble face so well that you know better!

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Legolas would kiss you swiftly and lightly, like sunshine does when you step outside on a summer morning. Out in Mirkwood, he’d swirl around you like a butterfly to keep your fears away. You’d heard stories about the dark forest, but he knows just how to keep your mind off of it. “There,” he’d smile after your kiss, just shakily enough for you to realise he means this seriously after all, “the fear is gone.”

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Merry would make a pompous scene out of kissing you. He’d announce it loudly, standing on a table in the Green Dragon. He’d get a blast out of your reaction, whether you’re blushing in embarrassment or laughing brightly at his joy. When he does join you by your chair and pecks your flushing face, the crowd cheers you on!

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin would kiss you on a festive night. You’d run through the strawberry fields all night, always hunting the colourful fireworks sent by Gandalf from the hills above. After you break down beneath a tree, laughing and exhausted, Pippin would exclaim something like, “I could kiss you right now!” and quickly lean in.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Sam keeps a mental list of things he’d like to say to you someday. However, he’s so insecure he doesn’t even dream he’d ever get the chance. But when you’re sitting in the shadows of the sunflower field on a bright summer day, he’d want to seize that opportunity and babble in his adorably timid but sincere manner. But, being embarrassed by his own fumbling, he’d eventually go, “Maybe I oughtta kiss you instead, y’know?” Far be it from you to object!

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theworldsoftolkein · 3 months

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youtube

The Lament for the Rohirrim | Clamavi De Profundis

#tolkien legendarium #middle earth #jrr tolkien #the lord of the rings #rohirrim #tolkien #the rohirrim #riddermark #kingdom of rohan #horselords of middle earth #the horselords #rohan #theoden #Youtube

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severussnapedamagedlove · 1 year

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Eomer X OC Fluff Scene

This is an excerpt from a fic I’ve been working on...

Eomer was bent over a table. A map stretched across its length. There were lands he had memorized listed, where his memory filled in the gaps with ridges and dips, valleys and streams too little to be noted on the map’s face. Grimbol pointed to a section where a grouping of farms laid on the outskirts of The East Fold.

His eyes squinted at the map in search of something.

“I have news of the Hlud if I could just find it…” The old voice said.

The king reached and pointed to the spot where the Hlud lived. “Here, Grim.”

“Ah, yes. The Hlud reports of - .”

There was sound in the Golden Hall that echoed through the barren aisles. It was cleared of the day. Post celebration come down was still underway since the grand royal party a few days prior.

Even Eomer was dressed down in tunic and leggings, devoid of finery.

He gave little consequence to the noise, as he expected it was Heferth back with reports of how much the celebration had cost the coffers. However, he shot another look quickly when he realized it was Lady Eira in a simple loose dress he recognized from one of Rohan’s wardrobes. It was especially remembered by Eomer. It was one of his mothers.

“Lady Eira,” he said with stern surprise. “You should be resting.”

“I have done naught but rest, your grace.”

Her gait was stilted. Her face winced with each motion.

Eomer stepped away from his advisor at the high seat and approached the wandering woman with no business attempting to walk after an injury like the one she had suffered.

The memory of her warm blood between his fingers still filled his mind, never to leave.

“Are you in search of something, my lady?”

She shook her head. The muscles of her neck tightened. Her hand reached forward and grasped to the edge of a nearby table, wobbling ever so slight. “Just a stroll.”

His heart sped as he neared. The thick cling of her sweat struck his nose. She exude too much to be healed. His brow fell.

“I don’t need tending to, so don’t even ask,” she snapped.

When her eyes finally met his, there was a cruel twist in their bodies. The pallid color of her face stabbed him further through.

Theodred’s face. It was back at the river, pulling his beloved cousin from the blood stained waters, seeing that same lifeless tone to his body. That tangy swell in his mouth brought him back to that haunted moment in time where chaos surged throughout him and stayed for many long months.

Eomer blinked away from the memory. “I am not asking. I am telling.” He tilted his head with a warning look. “Please, retire.”

Her jaw clicked in place.

“I will escort you back to your chambers.” His arm rounded behind her back to direct her back the way she’d came to prevent any falls to the floor.

The lady stiffened her grip on the table. “No thank you. Your grace.”

Eomer shook his head. There was no option in his mind that would allow her to walk around his palace so gravely injured without care. The risk to her body was too great. He’d be on constant edge.

His hands practically shook in fear. “I will not permit you to continue in this state.”

“I am not yours to worry about.”

That stung his heart. He blinked back his surprise, recovering quickly.

“I swore your safety to your friends before they departed,” he stated evenly. “My sister would have my head if I let you injure yourself further. Just stop being so self-righteous and let yourself be cared for.”

The fact that she refused his help festered deeper and deeper as time passed.

When her knees buckled, he reached out for her on instinct. His heart beating fast as she fell right into his arms. The fragile trembling of her body from so little movement settled his resolve. She was far too ill to be upright.

He cradled her against his chest as he lifted her up.

“Eomer,” she slipped, forgoing his title. “Put me down. I can walk on my own.”

The servants of the palace parted from his way as he marched through his palace halls. It was a worn path of memory back to his sister’s old rooms. All the while, Eira resisted. Her body was too weak to fight. The tongue within her mouth, however, was another story.

“Put me down. I am not some damsel. My legs are capable of walking. This is so unbecoming a king, you know. Th-they do not permit such actions by royals.”

“I was not born to be a king,” he said evenly. Her weight was nothing to his strength. “And I was not raised to let a lady suffer so.”

They made it to the door. It, the last obstacle in his path.

“Oh,” she said. The journey over, there was no point in fighting his hold. “I can get that.”

The bed was the only place he would place her.

His leg raised and kicked against the wood. The door flew open at the force and clattered against the wall behind.

“Hot water. Cloths. Oils,” he shouted.

Eira’s body relaxed in his arms. He felt her settle further, easier to hold to his body. A subtle excitement filled his veins.

“Have you eaten?” He asked her quietly.

“A little,” she admitted.

He turned his head around at the servants he knew lingered near. “And a meal. Bring it all to Lady Eira’s room immediately.” The door was kicked back closed behind him.

“You should stop calling me Lady Eira,” she murmured.

Her hands clasped behind his neck as he lowered her to the fluffy top of her bed. He released her only when he believed her settled in its hold.

“It gives them the wrong idea. Moreso with me staying in this room. I should be in the servants quarters or in a house out in the city. Not here.”

“Your wellbeing has been trusted to me,” he explained as he pulled the chair from the desk over to her bedside. “And I take care of those in my stead.”

Eira raised herself against the headboard of her bed. Her face turned lazy, less stiff. “I am not a lady, your grace.”

“You are to me.”

He swore at the slightest coloring to her cheeks. The way her lips lifted from a thin line to the start of a smile had him in raptures. It was impossible to look away from her beautiful blue eyes and devious tongue that toyed with him – he was sure that she did – at every given opportunity.

A small knock was at the door. She raised herself, as if to get up to answer.

He put his hand to his chest. “Please,” he said gently. “Stay. Allow me.”

The doorway spilled a mess of servants all bearing gifts of food and drink and bandage and a steaming bowl of water. There was a stack of small cut cloths placed alongside the bowl. A hearty stuffed tray with roasted wild game and vegetables of the land with small dishes of spiced apples and small foraged berries. It was placed at her side on the bedspread.

Eomer nodded his head as the servants bowed in their leave. He made sure to close the door behind them.

He began to roll the long sleeves of his tunic. The rolling white cloud off the water had him wince ever so slight as his hands split the surface. He pulled a cloth into the waters, allowing it to swell with the heat before he wringed it free and brought it over to the side of the bed.

Lady Eira watched his motion through lazy eyes. Her head rested against the board for support. He saw the drain. What little she had done was too much.

She placed her wrist in his outstretched hand. He ran the cloth along the exposed flesh of her forearm and hand, taking care to be gentle against her skin. It was so slender in his hold. There were seldom things so small and dainty in the Riddermark.

“You are not what I expected,” she revealed after a time of watching him rinse her skin of the dense sweat throughout her. “Warrior king Eomer. Brave, bold, horse lord of Rohan.” When he said nothing on the matter, she continued. “I’ve heard of your brazen attitude, reckless and brave with stupidity. Your words are daggers, blunter than your spears but none the less piercing.” He kept quiet and allowed her mind to flow than staggered thought. He rather liked the fill of her voice. It chased away the flashbacks that took the heart of him at times. “It is not a learned behavior from Eowyn, I take it.”

That finally brought a small smile to his mouth. “Is that how I am spoken of in the other kingdoms?”

“It is said with respect,” she answered. “Seldom better spoke of, in terms of men. Aragorn excluded.”

He settled back to the seat at her bedside. The weight of many restless days pulled at him. A course jumpy ride through emotions had him stretched thin ready for rest.

“My parents died when I was young. My father, cut down by orcs. And not long after, my mother gave up. She seldom had the strength to get out of bed. I would cry and pull her arms and try to drag her out, but I was not strong enough to save her.” He cleared his throat. The words became a struggle to get out. “The only people left in the world were my sister, my cousin and my uncle. All of whom have gone on in these years. By one leave or another.”

Eira looked at him with a strange expression. He did not understand it.

“I hated that feeling.” Her voice was small as she picked at pieces of her dress.

“What feeling,” he asked.

“Being left behind…I hated being left in Rivendell. My father would go and protect the border. Not a place for children, he’d say. He’d want me to tend to my studies and practice with my bow, but.” Her eyes swam in gentle waters. “All I ever wanted was to be with him.”

It was in that moment that Eomer was struck off his guard. He never said the words aloud, as they were too fragile for his tone, but he often felt that same desolate feeling of being left behind. It was first at the death of his father, then watching his mother live on in hell until she was granted enough peace to be freed. Eowyn lived fierce and wild. He had no choice but to keep up or else lose her, too.

There were so few in the world who knew how devastating it was to be the only one remaining.

Eira was a kindred soul. He felt it inside himself the more time passed. She was a piece that he recalled missing. Apart that he did not want to do without any longer.

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