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errruvande · 3 years

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Matchmakers (Éomer x gn!Reader)

Reguest: Anon. Hi! Can i ask for one with eomer where he is trying to confess his feeling(i need shy eomer in my life ok) and his friends tease him about it? Fluff and kisses in the end? Thanks

Word Count: 3.552

NW: None, I guess

AN: This's my first Eomer piece, hope it's not that bad lmao

AN 2.0 I am so sorry for delay, I had been cut off Internet for these last two days :(

gif isn't mine

Éomer truly thinks he has the most tough-to-see-through appearance, but the truth is - everyone around him sees how asunder he is, from loneliness, tiredness and longing. Now, when his uncle is dead and his beloved sister moved to Ithilien with her brand new husband to rule over that city, Éomer is left alone in Edoras, surrounded by commanders.

He is in his working place, loaded with papers and maps, minding better strategies to remove all the last orcs from the Riddermark.

“I can’t bear it, how I wish Theoden was still alive, he’s so much better in this than me…” he exhales with fatigue, placing one paper on top of the high ream of others, taking another paper from the different ream.

“You are doing quite well, my King.” the muffled sound of the door opening and steps wafting over the room and Éomer takes a break from his work to greet the man.

“Gamling, my friend! I’m glad you came, I am occupied with this paperwork, it’s killing me.” he gathers some sheets and straightens his hand toward Gamling. He loosens his grip and all the papers start to fall, waving in the air. “Look, I’m swamped in it…”

Éomer stands up and goes to the little table with decanter on it, he pours the wine in two glasses and offers one to Gamling.

“Thank you, my Lord” Gamling makes a gulp of the richest red wine in the whole Rohan, forgetting the business he’s came here for. He shakes his head to escape from the inveloping feeling. “My Lord, I was thinking you may want to hear that,” Éomer takes a lazy seat on the edge of his table, focusing his gaze on Gamling, he waves to him to continue. “Y/N and their father are back in the town.”

Éomer chokes on his wine, putting his glass down and trying to help himself from coughing.

“I’m not sure for how long they are staying, still they have some work beyond our borders, your sister is expecting them at Ithilien, as I was informed’

Your father is the chief builder of Edoras, after the defeat of Sauron, King Elessar asked for his help in rebuilding of Ithilien and Minas-Tirith’s suburb areas, when Legolas’ elves and Gimli’s dwarves are building the main cities. So you’ve been thither from Ithilien to Minas-Tirith and back for the last few months, helping your father in his duty.

Éomer almost attacks Gamling with a question in his eyes. “That is indeed amazing, but what makes you so sure that I may be interested?”

Gamling is trying to hold back his chuckles, bowing slowly. “With all respect, my Lord, I simply know”. Éomer’s eyes widen and he wraps his fingers around glass’ stem and makes a few sips to win some time for himself. “Just for you to know, her father is waiting for you in the Hall, wants to consult you on some question of his work at Ithilien, do I need to tell him that you’re busy or you’ll come to him?”

Éomer waves off his offer, placing glass on the table. “I’ll go and visit him in a minute, besides, I need a break from my work indeed.”

He turns around to sort out his papers, leans his arms on the table and slumps down to his elbows. A deep sigh rolls out his lips.

{***}

As he walks through the doorway to enter the Hall, he greets a man who’s standing in the centre of the room, studying the paintings on the walls.

“Hæmferth!” Éomer spreads his hands while a wide smile is growing on his face. “That’s so nice to see you, how are you, how is Y/N?” He put his palm on Hæmferth’s shoulder and squeezes it tight. “You haven’t been in Edoras for how long?” he sets his eyes on the golden chandelier, scooching his brows together. “Six months?” the man nods back. “Hope you and Y/N are fine.”

Your father bows deeply, greeting the new King. “Thank you, my Lord, we both are fine, Y/N is a little bit tired, but they are such hardworking person, it takes a lot to cut them off from their work.” he says and a huge smile crawls on his face. He’s so proud of you.

“Then I hope Y/N is going to take their time to rest well, while you are here at home.” Éomer gestures to the table, offering Hæmferth a chair. “Gamling told me you have some questions for me? What is it?”

And they hop into questions of building, trades and more things that have been concerning your father for so long.

They have been talking till the nightfall, many papers have been placed on the table in front of them and many ideas have been written down.

“Y/N, where are you going?” a guard of the Golden Hall questions you as you walk up the stairs to enter Meduseld. “The King is busy”

You titter, pulling up a little bag filled with home food to show it to the guard. “Yeah, with my dad.” you take a step towards the doors, still looking at the man with a little smile. “And I’m going to bring him some food”.

As you take first steps into the Hall, you stumble, scanning the long room. You feel home, after all this time somewhere else, you are finally home. You got tired of these white, stone and marbled cities - they are gorgeous, for sure, but your heart longs for the simplicity of your home city’s building. This wooden Hall, King’s Hall, is not that expensive but no one would dare to say it is not mind blowing and eye-opening. The countless woodcarving painted gold, all over the place - it’s mesmerising, you feel the history of this place, each and every year and every King this Hall have seen.

You take your time to enjoy Meduseld, and finally come closer to your father and Éomer .

“My darling!” your father hears your steps and turns around on his chair to greet you. “What are you doing here?”

You want to show him your basket, but Éomer interrupts you by standing up rapidly as soon as he sees you. The frightened look on his face he’s trying to hide by stretching a shy smile, you notice and smile at him with your eyes only.

“I… Y/N, I’m glad you’re back” he tilts his head to greet you and you take a little reverence, still looking at his awkward smile.

“I’m glad to see our new King is settled and ruling by his heart.” you see the kind of a proudness glow in Éomer ’s eyes. “I did my research already,’ you thither your sight from Éomer to your father and then back to Éomer . “People are happy, at least as much as they can be after this terrible war that took so many people.”

Quietness falls between three of you, making your father glance at you with a look of confusion. Éomer sways on his feet.

“I am more than happy to hear that.” he says back at you, his voice is a bit deeper and worried from your mention of this great loss.

You’ve been looking at each other in absolute silence for the whole solid minute, till your father coughs and you shake your head to get back to reality.

You flinch and then get closer to the table, placing your food on it. “I brought you some food. Only if it matches your Royal standards.” you wink at Éomer , offering him some homemade pie he accepts with a silent giggle.

“If only my cooks were making pies that delicious.” Éomer licks his lips after biting a piece of pie.

You smile at him, taking his complement, and tilt your head slightly. “I’ll leave you then, I see you still have so many work to do”

You turn on your toes and go to the doors.

“Y/N, one thing,’ Éomer stands once more, eyes glued to you. ‘There will be a feast tomorrow,’ he clears his throat, covering his mouth with hand for a second. “I would be happy to see you there, only if you want to come, of course…”

“I will consider it” you say, half-turning to him, playfulness lights up on your face and in your voice. “Goodbye now.”

“Goodbye., Y/N, sleep well”

{***}

"It's too tight on me..." Éomer exclaims, stomping on one spot in front of a mirror. "But that's the best one I got!" The one exhale he makes is full of anxiety and panic. "They would like this one more,' Grimbold sticks his head in the wardrobe, mumbling. "Y/N love simplicity over pomposity, this one is perfect" When he’s finally on freedom, there’s a simple long red tunic with golden ornament on its collar in his hands. Éomer pierces Grimbold, and the last takes a step back with a little bow. "What?" The displeasure behind his question ricochets off the all four walls, filling the room with the feeling of confusion. Grimbold only smiled back. "I do not care if Y/N is coming or not, I just want to look good." He turns to the mirror, wrapping fingers around the collar of his cuirass and moves it to find the most comfortable position. "Sure you do, my Lord, sure you do" Grimbold finds it hard not to laugh at his King's behavior, as he knows him since Éomer was a child, and from the height of his age he sees what King's heart feels about Y/N. He's been there before. "Get lost, Grimbold!" The look is reflected on the mirror, piercing Grimbold with annoyance and anger. "And tell Gamling to not even dare to think of coming here to teach me or tease me." Éomer knows what these two are doing but doesn't get their intentions. Still, he doesn't like it. He. Does. Not. Care. About. Y/N. Grimbold bows, still having a vicious smile straightened on his face, and makes his way to the Hall, where the people are already gathering to celebrate. As the door is closed, Éomer sighs loudly, placing his gaze on the red suede tunic Grimbold has left hanging on the head of Éomer 's bed. {***}

So many people are here, so many brave and mighty warriors and their wives, children. The Hall is full of life and love, and, of course, of joy and amusement. You grab a glass of wine, curling your hands together at your chest, looking at all of these people with a curiosity and a bit of sadness. You know many of them, and already have talked with two or three people, but overall you're standing by your side at the wall and just.... enjoying being at home? "Y/N" Man's voice in your left ear makes you twitch, choking on your wine. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to scare you, little one. I didn't think you would come, after this exhausting trip". Ah Gamling always has been soft towards you, he has a fatherly feeling for you, since his son was a good friend of yours since you were children and up to his death at Helm's Deep. He was a good man, friend and son, poor Gamling and his wife. "I couldn't reject an invitation from a King" The teasing smile crawls on your face as you talk, the mere thought of Éomer becoming King is making your mind turn upside down. "And I haven't seen my friends for six months, and they are all here." Gamling's brows cling together for a second, filling your mind with a sorrow. You place a palm on his shoulder gently. "Almost all, I'm still thinking of him, too, I'm so sorry". He squeezes your hand with his, and averts his eyes. "What?" His face lights up as he watches over your shoulder into the distance. You follow his gaze, turning your face to the way where the King's throne is placed - the Hall becomes full of whispering quite fast, people taking some steps back to make a corridor for the King. Éomer walks slowly, greeting everyone who's standing in first lines.

"Brothers! Brothers and sisters, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters!” His voice has filled the room, as he occupies the centre of the Hall, looking over everybody. “There are still cursed beasts walking on our land, killing our people, stomping the ground of our fathers!" People are chattering, nodding and shouting words of hatred for orcs. "We should kill them all, we should clear our land, we should paint our blades in red for the sake of our children!" Éomer takes a glass of beer from the table near him, scanning the room in woe, becoming silent for a moment, realizing how many familiar faces he doesn't see in that Hall. "We fought bravely, many of us fell, but more of us stayed alive! For love that blooms in our heart and our souls, for those who fell in battles, we stayed alive so we can take our revenge! For our brothers!" And every one in the room shouts with him in unison, drinking whole glasses with one gulp. Éomer hits the table with his glass. "You fought mighty, now enjoy your victory! Please yourself!" He takes a few steps forward, hands are completely out of control, waving in the air. You'd say he will bump into you, unless his eyes are glued to your face. "This speech was nice, I loved it". You say to cheer him up. Éomer only lowers his gaze with a shy smirk. "Theoden would say it better" "But you do you, and you'll have your time to learn" you touch his tunic with your palm, corners of your lips curles up. "I love it, though I thought you would wear another one, that black with golden ornaments and your cuirass on it" Éomer sighs, shaking his head. "I thought that too" You’ve been talking about how you love the celebration and how you have been missing your friends and fields, seeing Éomer studies your face like that is the first time he sees you. He lingers his eyes on your mouth, capturing its form changing from a curvy line of a smile to a sudden circle of exclamation, while you are talking to him about different troubles you and your father went through. Éomer forces his smile not to be as wide as his emotions want it to be, knowing how much fun you had in Gondor and Ithilien. "And then we adopted her! And now I have a puppy, can you believe that?!" You spread your arms in exclamation and Éomer fights back his chuckle, catching your glass from your hand in an effort to save the wine from spilling. "She is in good hands, then." The look of adoration on his face makes you avert your eyes to his tunic again, you feel how blood rushes to your cheeks and ears. When you look up at his face again, he looks over your shoulder with a grimace and waves to someone to go away. You move quickly to see the man Éomer is communicating with, and see the back of Grimbold, who's already making his way to the table with beer on it. Turning your head to look at Éomer and ask what's going on, you see him twitching his hand in panic, trying to make you think he wants to fix his hair. "W-what? Nothing, I'm good, you're good, everyone's good." His face is terribly red and wet from sweat, he turns around and shouts just to win some time to calm down. "Everyone is good?" And the room is cheering, clinking glasses. "That's good" You can't help but laugh hysterically. That's not his ordinary behavior, rarely someone sees Éomer panicking his heart out, or being overwhelmed, he's playing tough guy when he's around other rohirrim, around his Éored especially. "Is it hot here or it's just me?" You can tell he's truly overheated, since his hair got stick together and his forehead is glowing with little sweat drops. "You definitely need some fresh air, my lord" sarcasm in your voice cracks him up and Éomer bends his left arm.

"Do you mind?" You curl your arm around his and hear an imperceptible sigh rolling out Éomer 's lips at the same moment your fingers touch his arm.

{***} Éomer close his eyes under the feeling of smooth cool wind on his hot cheeks. "Is it better?" You wrap your fingers around his wrist and go forward, down the ladder.

"Yes, better indeed. Wait, w-..." He stumbles on your eager to go down, pulling him with you way too suddenly. He somehow manages to steady himself, clinging to your shoulders and stomping feet on the ladder, 3 steps from where he just stood. "Y/N, you almost killed your King!"

The street is now filled with his laugh and for once more you see something strange in his eyes that sends shivers down your spine.

"I-I'm sorry." You do not dare to look him in the eyes while they are full of something you can't quite read yet, you do not want to misinterpret his intentions.

After a moment of silence, Éomer takes his thoughts under control, making his way to the gardens. Many of his Éored get out of Hall already to take a little break from drinking and smelling the beerish breath of their friends. Walking by them, you realize that you are the center of their attention now, as you walk side by side with Éomer , with the corner of your mouth lifted high up to your cheeks.

"Lady/Lord Y/N!" You hear from both sides of the road, they're chuckling and bowing to you like you are one of these nobles at court.

You laugh back at them, but Éomer sees panic in your eyes. His eyebrows knits together and smile tugs into a tight line, he’s clearing his throat. Éomer ’s gaze lies heavily on those of them who are still chuckling.

"What's the matter of all of this?" You purse your lips, looking at Éomer with curiosity, hands locked together in front of you.

"Uhm..." Éomer 's voice drops down in anxiety, eyes wondering the ground under his feet. "N-nothing, they're just drunk" his voice switches from low to high and he coughs, trying to cover up his emotions. You only raise an eyebrow and nod.

As you are hidden from everyone's eyes and ears, he stops suddenly, a heavy sigh rolling off his lips. "Y/N". You turn your head on his voice, feet still making last steps, and your eyebrows are fixed up under your hairline. You nod. "You've been asking what the point of their odd behavior?" You nod again, now very slow, giving yourself time to absorb the information. Éomer chews the inner side of his lower lip, eyes are fixed on some mysterious dot in front of you, at the level of your stomach. He feels how nervousness blooms in his belly, going higher to his lungs, cutting off the oxygen.

"Éom—"

"I love you" He breathe out in relief, and you could see his every facial muscle set at ease for a moment. But the lack of emotions from you throw another wave of anxiety at Éomer 's poor nervous system.

Your frustrating look starts to lighten up and, even though the smile creeps on your face, your eyes are still full of uncertainty.

"So your very, and I mean VERY, uncommon behavior,” You eyes, walking up and down his body, along with your trembling voice, plant fear in Éomer’s mind. “... and this tunic, which I love more than another, black one, and your men's teasing..." the puzzle starts to become a clear picture and you gasp, hiding your mouth behind your both hands. "Oh, Éomer..." You murmur, taking his shaking hand in yours. "You cannot imagine how much I love you, but—"

He grit his teeth in pain, not being ready for your words.

"I'm not a suitable match for you, you need a noble person behind you, and I am just a child of a builder." You do not notice you're squeezing his arm tightly, directing all your nervousness and anxiety into your arms. "I'm—"

Éomer pulls his arm from your grip and places both palms on your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. "You are good enough for me. I do not need a noble person if they’re not you." He cups one of your cheeks in his hand, framing your chin with his finger. "And, after all ... I am a King now, who'd dare to say I can't be with you?"

It’s hard for you to hold back your smile, your face radiates warmth and happiness, eyes become watery in a matter of seconds. You stand up on your tosses and crane your neck to press a kiss to Éomer’s cheek, but he lowers his chin and bends forward, catching your lips by his. You gasp, opening your eyes wide, staring at Éomer while he cups your wet cheeks in his palms and whipping your tears with his fingers. He slides his palms down to your back, closing the gap between your bodies, and you borrow your nose into his chest, slowly wrapping your shaking arms around his torso.

"You shouldn’t have been so nervous..." Éomer feels you murmuring into his chest and ot only makes him squeeze you in his arm more tightly.

{***}

Now everybody watches you. In the centre of the Golden Hall. In the arms of a King. You’re dancing eagerly, holding on Éomer’s hand and shoulder. His golden hair falls down your face as he bends to nock you a kiss.

“Finally” Grimbold chuckles, following your every move from afar.

“Finally indeed” Gamling elbows his friends slightly. “Glorious work, my friend!”

They both crack up, clincking their glasses.

Forever tag: @bonjour-rainycity

Tag list: @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @sweet-bea-blossom @keepalydsonit @wowhowrudeofumain @queen-of-the-downtown-scene @blabladuh @monka7-blog-blog

AN So that's it, hope you enjoyed it💖I’d be the happiest person if you leave a comment or reblog, if you liked it, that’s mean the world to me ❣️✨

#eomer #eomer x reader #eomer x you #eomer of rohan #eomer fanfiction #lotr fanfic

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reality-warp · 6 years

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CM Chapter 17 “Preview”

Merry Christmas guys!

You read right, it’s a look inside the next chapter of CM! <3

I’ll be honest, I really wanted to have this chapter done for Christmas day, but realistically I’m not going to have it polished before New Year thanks to the family holiday I’ve found myself on (and trust me, this is one chapter you guys will really want me to get right.) But I still wanted to give you all a little gift this holiday, so please consider this the usual Tumblr-exclusive teaser--only slightly longer, and with much more to come. :)

Here’s hoping you enjoy the sneak-peek. And I hope you all have had a very happy Christmas and a wonderful holiday season. Much love from me and my family to yours,

Rella xx

Helm’s Deep was a monster of a fortress, though you wouldn’t know it at a glance.

Sarra had told me during our walk that over half of it was actually below ground, dug straight into the side of the mountain it was built against. But as Aragorn, Benvolio and I crested the final hill that brought the valley into view, the parts that were visible were breath stealing all on their own.

The Hornburg—the main fortress of Helm’s Deep—stood out from the sheer wall of the cliffs like the bow of a ship, its two levels and internal walls formed entirely from the same dark grey stone of the mountains. It had been built so that it was slightly raised above the valley it overlooked, the only access via a long, narrow causeway leading up to a set of heavy wooden gates.

Unless of course, you felt like scaling the enormous Deeping Wall that stretched literally from one side of the valley to the other, with only a thick steel grate at the base to let the stream flow through.

It wasn’t quite dusk yet, but the sun was hanging low enough in the sky to cast a forbidding red hue over the cliffs as we cantered past the empty trenches and ramparts.

One tiny, stupid part of me was almost reluctant to guide our Benvolio up the stone walkway towards the entrance, the intimidatingly huge walls of the citadel looming up over us like some kind of sleeping giant that would swallow you if you got too close.

But deep down, I knew exactly why I was truly reluctant to enter, and who I would face inside…

That feeling of dread quickly disappeared the moment the lookout guards began pointing and shouting all along the battlements. Eventually one had the presence of mind to bellow for the gates to be opened, and the colossal wooden doors began to swing outwards. Benvolio—who had carried us the entire way without so much as a snort of complaint—staggered inside before coming to a shaky stop only a few steps past the threshold. Tired soldiers and nervous refugees lining the walls of the first courtyard, all of them turning to watch open-mouthed as Aragorn slid off the horse (indecently spritely for someone who’d been on horseback all day, in my bruised opinion). I carefully swung my creaking legs off Benvolio’s back too, trying to ignore the clamouring, pointing people beginning to surround us, and immediately fell face as my knees gave out.

My annoyance at Aragorn’s supposed lack of exhaustion disappeared as he caught and steadied me.

“Can you stand?” He asked, no trace of judgment in his tone. He obviously knew how much the journey had taken out of me by how naturally quiet I’d been. It took a moment to properly get my feet under me, and even then they were barely steady enough.

“Yeah, just give me a second.”

He nodded, slipping an arm gently around my back. The action was partly to disguise the fact that he was still mostly holding me up from the growing crowds around us, but also to make sure I was the only one who could hear him whispering.

“Don’t say anything about what we saw. We must tell the king before anyone else.”

I nodded, trying to keep the look of dread off my face. The last thing we needed was to panic the civilians with the news of what was really coming our way.

A gale of furious shouting erupted suddenly from the back of the crowd, cutting off any reply I might have had. I couldn’t immediately see who it was coming from, but I’d have to guess. I’d have recognised that angry Dwarven baritone in a crowd of a million people all shouting at once.

“Where are they?! Get out of the way! Out of my way, I said! I’m going to bloody kill them!” Gimli was howling as he literally shoved his way through the crowd, almost kicking over a gawking young soldier when he didn’t move fast enough. Aragorn and I both just gawked as our resident dwarf appeared in the gap he’d created, his fuming, helm-less face almost as red as his beard…

And bloody hell, there were tears in his eyes.

“Gimli—?”

“You two are the stupidest,” he shouted, cutting me off and jabbing a thick finger at us with every ground-shaking step towards us, “the luckiest, canniest, and the most reckless pair of sodding lunatics I’ve ever known in all my days!”

I’d barely had time to draw air to spout some kind of fumbling apology before he drove into us, arms as strong as tree roots coming around to pull us into a hug so hard my breath left me all over again. “Bless the both of you bleeding basket cases!”

The embrace was clumsy, warm, and made every one of my bruises scream with protest, but it was by far the best thing he could have given me right then. I let my body fold over with the force of the hug, my arms automatically returning it as hard as I could.

Well, crap. Now there were tears in my eyes too.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” I managed to mumble through the knot in my throat. Aragorn let out a soft laugh that I could hear the tired smile in, giving us both a comforting pat on the back.

“I too am glad to see you well, master dwarf,” he said softly, the weariness beginning to creep into his voice at long last. “Are the rest of you well?”

“Aye, for the most part,” Gimli answered, releasing us with some reluctance. “A few bumps, a few bruises. We all made here in one piece at least. But what by Mahal happened to you two fools?” He jabbed a finger straight at my face, his glare like stone. “And you, lass. What in the ‘byss were you doing in the middle of the bloodbath? And losing your knife, again!”

I suddenly had the unsettlingly familiar feeling of being scolded by an affection but exasperated kindergarten teacher.

“I—”

I didn’t get the chance to finish my train of thought, let alone my sentence because I suddenly felt a pair of familiar eyes on me, and turned to find an equally familiar face staring straight at me.

Though granted, not the one I was both hoping for, and dreading all at the same time.

Boromir was standing open-mouthed at the foot of the stone steps learning up to the upper battlements. He looked as if he had been awake far too long, and on his feet for even longer, and if the expression on his face was anything to go by, I either looked truly amazing or like I’d just crawled out of my own grave—probably the latter.

I felt myself give sheepish smile and an awkward little wave, and his face split into a wide, joyous smile. He pushed his way through the gap in the crowd far more gently than Gimli had, but the hug he wrapped around me was no less strong.

“We thought you both dead,” he mumbled quietly against the top of my head.

“It was a near miss,” I admitted, hugging him back as hard as my shaking arms were able before pulling back. He had a few new cuts and bruises from the warg fight but otherwise looked as healthy as I’d left him. If anything, there was a renewed spark in his eyes that I was sure I hadn’t seen before. “Are you alright?”

“Am I—?” He threw his head back and burst into a loud rumbling laugh, pulling me into another one-armed hug. “I’m quite well, you tiny madwoman. Next time, for once, worry about keeping yourself in one piece before fretting over protecting the rest of us.”

I couldn’t quite hide my surprise at the warmth of his reaction, but I also couldn’t hide the wide grin that came with it. I gave an exhausted but genuine laugh as I rested my forehead against his shoulder.

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

The Gondorian warrior released me and turned to face Aragorn with equal relief as he had shown me if a little more restrained. He clapped the ranger hard on the shoulder, the nearest battle-worn men like them ever seemed to get to an embrace, but they both looked genuinely pleased to see each other alive.

“We found the Orc who saw you go over. You have much explaining to do,” Boromir started to tell us, but Aragorn raised a hand to him.

“Later, right now we must see to Theoden, urgently.”

Both Boromir and Gimli’s faces fell at the severe tone of his voice.

“You saw something?” Gimli guessed, and Aragorn nodded, eyeing the surrounding crowds who were still shellshocked at the reappearance of two of the supposedly dead.

“On our way here. It’s imperative we’re all prepared.”

Boromir had taken one look at the expression on Aragorn’s face a nodded, immediately flagged down a couple of passing soldier. Less than a minute later Theoden’s lieutenant—who I recognised as Gamling—had appeared at the bottom of the steps leading to the second level. After a brief moment of shock at the sight of me and the ranger still alive and walking around, he started conversing in urgent, hushed tones with Aragorn and Boromir while the soldiers started dispersing the crowd and led a knackered Benvolio off toward the stables.

I couldn’t help but scan the crowd with a searching gaze as the curious soldiers and Edoras refugees started to lose interest and move away. I hadn’t intended to voice my thoughts as my eyes failed to find who I was searching for, but my mouth moved before I could stop it.

“Where’s—” I cut myself off, but Gimli saw the look on my face and knew instantly who I meant.

“He’s not here, lass,” he told me gently. My stomach dropped at the words, icy dread forcing its way past my flimsy composure.

“Oh God, he’s not—?!”

Gimli threw up his hands in a calming gesture.

“No, no, he’s alive,” he reassured, seemingly not at all surprised to see the fear on my face, “though I wouldn’t say he’s well, exactly. He’s assisting the women and children down into the caves.”

I felt my whole body sag in both tiredness and sudden relief.

He was alive, and helping. At least that meant he wasn’t injured. The weight that knowledge lifted from me was a surprise. I’d been so focused on keeping myself and Aragorn alive after our fall I hadn’t stopped to realise Boromir had been right—I had been worrying about them all. Not knowing whether they had been hurt in the fight, whether they were even alive…

I felt sudden, humiliatingly exhausted tears stinging the corners of my eyes, and I had to clench them shut to stop them falling.

Gimli cleared his throat and gave me a gruff pat on the shoulder.

“Here,” he said, reaching into his spare scabbard and withdrawing a familiar looking blade with a clumsily carved handle (now slightly stained with Orc blood). He took my hand and pressed the handle into my palm, pointing a warning finger straight into my face. “And I swear by Mahal, you lose this again and I’ll have the smithy weld it to your side.”

I hiccuped and laugh, and it was just what I needed to get myself under control again.

“I do have the worst luck with that knife,” I agreed, clutching it to my chest once before stowing it safely back in the sheath at my waist. “Thanks, Gimli.”

“Bah,” he waved me off, but I saw the smile lurking behind that beard.

Just then, a woman appeared out of the crowd still moving around us. I wouldn’t have otherwise noticed her, she blended into the other refugees so seamlessly in her dusty travelling clothes, wavy blond mane and tired look. But the moment she spotted us she made a bee-line straight for me, dark brown eyes intent.

“Pardon, m’lord and lady,” she said as soon as she was close enough, her voice holding a similar Rohirric accent to the one Sarra had. She still had her gaze fixed on me, eyes flicking occasionally up to my ears. “I don’t mean to intrude, but, you are the one called Eleanor?”

“Aye,” Gimli answered before I could even open my mouth, clapping a solid hand on my back and almost collapsing my spine. “This is she.”

The woman never looked away from me, and there was something uncannily familiar about her…

“M’lady Eleanor, my name is Etain,” she told me solemnly with a slight bow.

And suddenly I realised why I felt like I’d seen her before. Her hair might have been threaded with grey, but it was exactly the same as Eothain’s sandy blond. And her eyes mirrors of Freda’s warm brown.

“You’re Eothain and Freda’s mother,” I blurted stupidly, but she smiled, the expression weary but warm as a midsummer afternoon.

“That I am,” she confirmed. “My children tell me you are responsible for their lives.”

I fumbled for some kind of response, suddenly feeling—against all reason—truly embarrassed by the blunt statement that made me sound far more heroic that I was.

“I, well…”

She hugged me.

Crossing the small distance between us in one smooth stride, she wrapped me in an embrace so similar to my own mothers it almost floored me. I suddenly found myself fighting back the sting of tears a second time.

“Thank you,” Etain whispered, her own voice thick with her own unshed tears. “I am in your debt, m’lady. Thank you.”

I hesitated a bit before giving her a gentle pat on the back in acceptance of the hug, honestly unsure of how else I should react.

“You don’t owe me anything, Etain,” I told her gently. She released me and gave me a disbelieving look.

“Of course I do! You are the reason my son and daughter have not joined my husband in death.”

“I was… only doing my job,” I said feebly, and the overly humble reply seemed to amuse and please her because she beamed, taking both my filthy hands tightly in hers.

“Whatever your reason, should you need anything, any request I can grant, it is yours.”

“I—” I was about to try and deny that she should offer me anything, but something about the look in her eyes told me that refusing her graciousness would be deeply insulting. Or worse, ungrateful. So I swallowed the impulse, hoping I wasn’t too red-faced and ducked my head in a small bow. “Thank you, Etain. Where are Freda and Eothain anyway? Are they alright?”

“They are both well. Already safely down in the caves,” she said, a questioning glance from me to where Gimli had joined the grim conversation with Boromir, Aragorn and Gamling. “Will you be joining us, m’lady?”

I quickly promised her I would come and check on them once I’d seen to my companions. She’d just moved off towards the archways leading down to the catacombs below the keep when Aragorn appeared at my side again.

“Theoden is preparing the keep for defence. We must inform him of what we witnessed,” he said with a pointed glance at the retreating Etain and the other refugees. I blinked at him, more than a little surprised.

“You want me there too?”

Aragorn eyed me as if the answer was obvious.

“Of course. You saw them as clearly as I.”

“Likely clearer, depending on how hard you hit that river,” Gimli added dryly, to which Aragorn threw him a dirty glare. The dwarf simply smirked, clapping the ranger on the arm.

“Go. We will continue with the preparations. Come find us after,” Boromir urged.

So we left them to the refugees, making our way up towards the main hall of the keep in Gamling’s footsteps. I couldn’t help but peer back over my shoulder as we left, glancing at Boromir’s back as he assisted an elderly couple carrying their provisions towards the caves.

‘Something’s different about that one,’ Tink piped up from the back of my head, eyeing the smile the man offered his charges as they left. I made a silent noise of agreement, turning to catch up with Aragorn and Gamling.

‘How’s definitely a little closer to the old Boromir I remember.’

‘Not just that. He feels… lighter somehow. More so than even before Lothlórien,’ she told me seriously, though she didn’t sound displeased by the observation. I smiled to myself, suddenly glad to have that second voice echoing around the inside of my mind again.

‘Well, that wasn’t cryptic at all. Glad to have you back in the land of the living, Tink.’

‘Likewise, boss. Here’s a thought, let’s never do anything that again,’ she suggested in the driest tone I’d ever heard from her. I resisted the urge to chuckle aloud and give the watching refugees even more reason to stare as we passed.

‘Don’t hold your breath. We’ve still got an oncoming siege to survive, remember.’

‘Right, an army of badass monsters. It’s all coming back to me now…’

The rest of our silent conversation devolved to tension easing jokes as we moved up the keep towards the Hornburg’s main entrance.

If I’d been in any doubt before about the magnitude of the fortress from the outside, the climb up through its levels cleared it right up. The keep was laid out kind of like the tiers of a wedding cake the bottom one housing the front gate, lower courtyard, and the stables. The second was accessed via a curved set of wide stone steps that levelled out to hold the armoury, barracks, upper courtyard and entrance to the caverns. As we passed through the throngs of loitering refugees I spied what I assumed was the smaller rear gate of the keep, its door open to show the steep, winding stairway leading down to the gully behind the Deeping Wall. The final level rose up only a little higher than the second and was almost entirely devoted to the entrance to the king’s hall, the stone watch tower holding the horn of Helm Hammerhand looming up above it like a spear piercing the gap between the mountains. When we finally reached the doors to the main hall, Aragorn shoved them open onto a room the size and hight of a cathedral. Carved wooden arches and stone pillars made for a cavernous room, and at its centre, a war table had been set up—surrounded by grizzled, tired looking Rohan soldiers, and one stunned king.

The moment Theoden saw us standing in the entranceway he was out of his chair and striding around the table, passed his shocked advisors. He’d barely managed to utter a word before Aragorn started speaking over him, no time or patience left to stand on formalities.

We had one hell of a bomb to drop.

I was mostly content to stay quiet through the briefing as Aragorn filled everyone in on what was coming, only speaking up to confirm his descriptions and add in details of my own. Surviving the fall into the river, the journey to catch up with them, the army we’d seen: the king took it all in with a grim expression, the hand resting on the pommel of his sword flexing with agitation. When Aragorn finally finished telling them about the horde of sunlight resistant Uruk-hai marching with siege equipment an unsettling hush fell over the entire hall. I wasn’t even sure anyone was breathing.

“How many?” Theoden finally asked, piercing the silence.

“Ten thousand strong,” Aragorn answered.

“At least,” I added.

Theoden just stared at us, looking as if someone had just danced the foxtrot over his grave.

“Ten thousand…”

“They had the white hand of Saruman on their helms,” I told him, glancing around to see the king’s expression of shocked dread mirrored on almost all of his men. Aragorn made a sound of agreement.

“All of Isengard has emptied. They will be here by nightfall if they’ve kept their pace.”

Theoden looked as if he needed to sit down, but instead, he only hunched forward over the war table, resting heavily on his arms.

“Why?”

“It is an army raised for a single purpose;” Aragorn said without any preamble, or sugarcoating whatsoever. “Ending the race of Men.”

For what felt like minutes Theoden just stared at us across the war table, gauging the weight of Aragorn’s expressions and the consequences of the info-grenade we’d just thrown at him. Then he very obviously buried his own fear and dread, stood straight, and met the expectant looks of his men with renewed confidence.

“Then let them come. We shall be ready for them.”

The soldiers surrounding him didn’t quite appear to share in his confidence. Some of them even looked alarmed by it.

“My king, we do not have the numbers to fight that many,” one older captain with greying hair said.

“Even within the mouth of the valley we would be swarmed in minutes if we manned the ramparts,” another added.

Theoden ignored them all, leaning back over the war table to observe the map of the valley spread over it.

“We will do as we have done before. We endure the barrage from within the Hornburg as a cliff withstands the sea,” he told them, his tone brokering no argument. “We have enough supplies stored in the caverns to last us at least two weeks. This army will doubtless pillage and burn as they go. But homes can be rebuilt, crops resown. As long as we are within these walls we will withstand them.”

“Withstand them?” Aragorn repeated under his breath, and I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him truly lost for words. I was kind of stunned too. Had Theoden completely missed the part about them toting battering rams and thirty-foot scaling ladders?

“You really think an army raised and armed by a wizard will come unprepared to storm a keep?” I asked aloud before I could think better of it.

The king of Rohan looked up barely long enough to throw me the kind of look normally reserved for finding dog shite on the sole of your boot.

“I think, as King I know how to defend my own fortress from those who would see it burned to the ground, my lady,” he said, emphasising the title as if it was something beneath his concern.

I felt my temper flaring, the sudden urge to smack that expression off his face so great I was kind of glad for the sprawling table between us. Beside me, Aragorn was no better; looking as if he was about to burst a blood vessel.

“This horde does not march on us to destroy crops or building, they come with the will and means to wipe out its people,” he argued, stepping up so he was leaned over the opposite head of the war table from the king. “Your men are right. You cannot repel this threat alone. You must call for aid, my lord. Send out riders to your allies.”

Theoden fixed Aragorn with a toxic scowl.

“And who will answer us? The old Alliances are long dead, and if what you say is true, then there is no time left even if we did have the men to spare.” He shook his head, blond hair with its white streaks falling to hide the wavering confidence in his eyes. “No, we must devote all our resources to the keeps defence.”

“Gondor would answer if—” Aragorn started to argue, but was cut off as Theoden slammed a fist onto the table with a thunderous bang, making the candles flicker and several of the younger soldiers (plus me) jump in alarm.

“Gondor?!” He spat, eyes furious on the ranger. “Where was Gondor when my people cried out for aid as the Westfold burned? When our enemies closed in around us and families were murdered in their beds! Cloistered in an ivory city behind thick walls and thicker politics!”

Aragorn didn’t respond. He simply absorbed the king’s vitriol with the same stony look I’d seen him wear in combat, not contradicting of defending native people, but not backing down either. The silence hung thick in the air for a few moments before Theoden managed to reign his temper in again, breathing deeply and shaking his head. “No. I will not place a fools hope on aid that will never come. We are alone in this, Lord Aragorn. As we have ever been.”

‘Bleeding hell. This man’s pride is going to get everyone in this keep killed,’ Tink muttered from the back of my exasperated thoughts.

‘We’d better hope Gandalf makes it back in time with some kind of help then,’ I agreed.

“We will need to repel any who come close to the walls. Station archers along the battlements. I need every man and strong lad armed and ready for battle by nightfall,” Theoden was saying, directing his captains to begin putting the plans into actions. Aragorn—despite still being incensed by Theoden’s refusal to even send a raven for help—looked as if he intended to stay and at least put his strategic skills to good use. I, however, had had quite enough of everything going on in that hall. And anyway, when it came to war plans, I’d probably be as helpful as a shot of brandy to someone dying of heat exhaustion. So, with my witnessing job done, I turned for the exit, hoping to slip out and off to find Sarra unnoticed.

At least until the king’s voice stopped me.

“M’lady Eleanor.”

I halted in my tracks, feeling a dozen sets of eyes suddenly focusing on my back, preventing me from pretending like I hadn’t heard him.

‘Busted,’ Tink groaned.

I turned slowly to see Theoden frowning at me again, though with mildly less distain and more caution than before at least.

“Yes?”

The king shifted to stand a little straighter as he regarded me.

“I hear from Gamling you near smashed in the face of one of my junior soldiers before we left Edoras,” he stated in a deliberately neutral tone that didn’t match the faintly disapproving tilt to his expression. I saw the mirror of that same silent judgement reflected in several of the other captains as I looked around, and the shadow of a grimace cross Aragorn’s face out of the corner of my eye. He obviously knew the reaction that comment delivered in that tone would garner from me…

And he was right.

That anger that had sparked earlier kindled into a searing flame. In the past few hours, I’ve been attacked, shunned, dropped off a cliff, almost drowned, ridden bareback for miles with an unconscious man strapped to my back—and all in the knowledge that the person I’d grown closest to in the past few months never wanted to speak to me again.

And I had exactly no patience left to spare on subtlety.

‘Right, fuck this!’ I thought, anger pulsing through me. I turned away from the door so I faced them all head-on, raising my chin partly in a challenge, but also to clearly show the ring of bruises still fresh around my throat.

“I hear that same soldier of yours tried to sexually assault an unwilling young woman in an alleyway whilst drunk off his rocker, my lord,” I replied, loud enough so the entire room heard every word.

The hall went suddenly, deadly silent—enough that I could hear the roaring of my own furious heartbeat in my ears. Half the younger men visibly cringed back in shock, clearly unused to hearing some of those particular words said aloud, let alone as an accusation of one of their own. The older ones that didn’t either averted their eyes gave me genuinely looks of shame. But to my surprise, not one of them attempted to contradict me or call me a liar. Theoden himself looked faintly stunned behind his poker face.

I probably should have left it there, but my flaring temper was long gone, and my mouth just kept on going without me.

“I also heard,” I continued, holding the king’s gaze hostage, “that soldier only backed off when one of the woman’s companions heard the commotion and came to intervene. And that if he hadn’t, she would have been justified in beating your junior to a pulp to defend herself from such a violation.”

‘Drag him, girl!’ Tink was hollering at the back of my mind, but I ignored her in favour of watching the king's reaction like a hawk. I might have been counted as a guest and friend of his court, but I was acutely aware that if his pride was truly too great, he might treat this outburst as a great insult. Or worse, a threat to his authority.

Turns out the king of Rohan was many things, but someone who tried to belittle ugly truths was not one of them.

Theoden watched me for an agonisingly long moment of complete silence. Then he straightened, placed his hand to his heart and bowed low to me—a gesture I recognised as a deliberately Elven mannerism.

“I beg you to accept my humblest apologies, my lady. There is no excusing such an act. Under normal circumstances a shame of this magnitude would be met with banishment at the least, the headsman’s axe at worst,” he said, and despite the anger still beating through me, I couldn’t sense any deceit or insincerity in his voice. A look of regret with a tinge of guilt coloured his expression. “Please know he will be dealt with severely when this crisis has passed. But given our number and what we are now up against, we will need every hand we have to defend the keep, and the innocent people within.”

I stared long and hard at the king of Rohan across the table, mine and Tink’s mingled fury a silent storm beneath my skin.

What he said made perfect sense. But that didn’t mean the part of me that still raged at the injustice had to like it.

I gave a single sharp nod of acceptance, not trusting myself to keep from spitting venom a third time if I opened my mouth. I needed to get out of there before my anger got the better of me.

“Please excuse me,” I managed to get out from between clenched teeth. The king nodded.

“Of course. You are excused—”

But I was already out of the doors before he’d finished speaking.

‘Mother fu—!’ Tink was still yelling, but a second voice drowned her out before she could finish the obscenity.

“Eleanor, wait!” Aragorn called, following me out of the hall before I’d made it halfway down the steps. He caught up with me just as I reached the courtyard. The soldiers had already started hearing the last of the women and children into the caves, and the young men towards the armoury and several curious heads turned to watch us as I stopped and spun to face him.

“What you said in there—” he started, but I cut him off. I could barely deal with the idea of a lecture right then, let alone enduring one.

“Aragorn, I swear if you tell me I should have held my tongue and said nothing I’ll—”

“I was going to tell you that it was deeply brave,” he interrupted me. My outraged counter argument fizzled out along with the anger. I blinked stupidly at him.

“What?”

Aragorn gave me a lopsided smile. The fond, borderline affectionate kind I’d seen very rarely from him. It threw me off balance almost as much as his next words did.

“Not many could have said what you did to whom you did. Let alone in a room full of that boy’s brethren and friends. It was brave of you to do that.”

For a moment I couldn’t think of a damned thing to say, torn between genuine shock and crippling relief that he was on my side. Truly on my side this time.

“It… needed to be said,” I replied, at last, giving a feeble little shrug that really didn’t feel adequate. “It was me that guy went after this time, but it could have been another girl later. One who didn’t have a Maia and posse of warrior friends backing her up. I just said what they all needed to hear.”

His lip twitched in a micro-grin at the word friend, and I couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Never the less, I wished you to know,” he said, and his face fell slightly as he glanced back up at the entrance to the main hall. “It is… surprising sometimes, the lengths good men will go to avoid painful truths.”

I thought back to the king’s mask of confidence, and faces of the older soldiers inside. The ones who had said nothing to stop me, but also had turned their gazes away when I’d voiced what had been done. And also of the younger ones who had appeared shamed, but had not once condemned the actions of their fellow.

“I guess so,” I muttered, heaving a heavy sigh and turning from the hall, the last of my outrage vanishing to be replaced by weariness. I was suddenly so bloody tired. “Anyway, I thought I’d see if I can help out down in the caves. See if anyone was injured in the warg attack who still needs help.”

I imagined Sarra would be down there somewhere along with Freda and Eothain as well, all of them likely sick with worry by now.

I felt Aragorn rest a warm hand on my shoulder, substantially gentler than Gimli had.

“A good idea. Your skills will be greatly valued among the refugees,” he said, then paused, eyeing me with a suspicious raised brow. “And you plan to stay down there during the fighting?”

I chuckled, lightly batting his hand away.

“Oh, I will. I’m barely any help in a fight, let alone a siege.” I pointed a warning finger at him. “But make no mistake, I’m doing this because I know I’ll be more useful there. Not because some beardy horse king orders me to.”

“Noted,” he smiled again, but then something over my left shoulder caught his attention and the expression fell into shock. Confused, I turned to see what he was looking at…

And found Legolas standing on the other side of the courtyard, staring at us as if he’d seen a pair of ghosts.

I honestly wasn’t sure what I was expecting to find when I saw him again, but it wasn’t what I got. I remembered all too clearly the outward signs of worry I’d noticed on him after waking from healing Boromir at Amon Hen—the disarray where there had normally been composure, dark circles under grey-blue eyes…

But the person I saw staring back at me for that tiny fraction of time looked as if he had just worked from a horrendous nightmare, and wasn’t certain if he was still trapped inside his own torment. His dark gold hair was mussed and dark with dirt and blood from the warg attack as if he hadn’t even touched it since the fight. There was sill Orc blood staining his hunting leathers and hands, unwashed, and untreated cuts dotting his knuckles. The circles under his eyes were back, but they were dark restless bruises this time, exacerbated by the bloodless pallor his face had taken on.

But the worst part was the look in his eyes.

He looked haunted, disbelieving—a raw emotional wound open to the elements.

My mouth just kind of fell open. I think I meant to call out to him on instinct, but the sound caught in my throat. For that split second, I couldn’t look away from the ruin that Aragorn and my supposed deaths had left in its wake.

Was this was the effect I’d had on someone I'd grown to care for so much?

It was true I had never considered the repercussions of becoming emotionally attached to someone who quite literally would live forever unless killed in battle, what it would feel like to care so deeply for someone who would be around long after you were gone. But I also had not considered—at least until our fight at Edoras—what such a loss would mean for him. I at least had led enough of my human life to know death firsthand; what it looked like, how to deal with it, and how to shield my heart against it.

He didn’t.

And this is what that loss had done to him.

That terrified me—more than I was entirely able to understand.

The horror inside me turned to terrible sadness, guilt and panic, and it was more than I could handle…

“Mellon nín…” I heard Aragorn murmur, and the sound of his own shock only brought my own emotions down harder, crushing the air from my lungs.

I couldn’t handle this…

But my inner turmoil hurricane was abruptly cut short by the sudden sound of a familiar warhorn, along with the chaotic shouts of the watch guard cut through the air, and the moment shattered. I realised with a strangely disjointed rush that I recognised that sound of that horn—I’d heard almost every day back when we had still been in Lothlórien when the Galadrim had been running drills in the training grounds.

The crowds filing into the caves surged with sudden alarm at the noise and the clusters of shifting bodies momentarily blocked Legolas from my view, and us from his. I didn’t know if the feeling that washed over me was relief or frustration, one part of me desperate to charge through the crowd after him, the other unable to bear the thought of seeing him…

Knowing that I would break apart right now if I heard the same pain in his voice that I saw in his face…

The storm of things going on inside my head and heart was suddenly too much.

Everything was suddenly too much.

‘Boss?’ Tink’s voice brushed hesitantly against my awareness.

‘I… I can’t…’ I felt my own chaotic thoughts echo through my head in response. ‘I can’t… I can’t handle this. Not now. I can’t do it…’

‘Boss, are you ok? Your emotions are going all over the place.’

I didn’t even try to explain what was happening inside me. Instead, I took one last look back at the place where I’d last seen Legolas’ haunted form—the person I both wanted to see again more than anyone else, and yet the one I couldn’t bear to look at right then for the ruin I’d made of him…

And I turned and ran for the battlements, leaving a stunned Aragorn behind in my place.

“Eleanor?!” He called after me, but I didn’t answer, my feet barely touching the stone as I flew down the steps towards the lower courtyard.

‘You coward!’ Tink shouted, her outrage returned and firing through my head like a banshee’s howl. ‘You utter fucking coward, Eleanor Dace!’

I didn’t deny it.

I was a coward. But right then, much as I loathed myself for it, the only thing I could bear to let myself focus on was the last person I’d heard create that horn blast.

And the hope that he had brought an army that might save us with him.

More to come in the completed Compos Mentis: Chapter 17 ~ Mîr Nín

#mine #my writing #COMPOS MENTIS #ravame's bane trilogy #ravame #ravame's bane #aragorn #eleanor dace #tink #this hasn't been sent through my beta yet #so be warned #some of this might change between now and the full chapter #hope you enjoy lovelies #<3

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