I spent the remainder of that day and the morning of the next assisting the king as much as I could, all the while trying to avoid Wormtongue. During that time, Éomer did not return, nor did any word come to indicate his whereabouts.  Every so often, I caught Wormtongue looking at me darkly. I was certain that he believed I knew something, but there was something else there as well; though I couldn’t quite put a name to it, that made me feel cold inside. When I did catch his eye, I looked away as quickly as possible—I did not want him, or anyone else, to know that I was afraid of him.

Since Théodred had already been buried, it was decided that a brief gathering would be held in his memory. Though I wished with all my heart that we could wait for Éomer to come back, I knew that there was no way of knowing when he would return, and making the preparations had helped to distract me from my own grief.

It was nearly time for the assembly to begin when I went back to the king.. The skirt of my dark dress pooled around my feet as I knelt before Théoden, taking his withered hand gently. “My lord?” I asked. 

Théoden turned towards me, and I could see a flicker of emotion in his eyes. “My son is dead,” he said, his voice flat and filled with grief.

“Yes, my lord, and we go now to honor his memory.”  He made no further response, but silently stared at nothing. Finally, I decided to take matters into my own hands and gently helped him up.

This, at least, I could do. Théodred’s mother had long since passed away, years before I had been born. It seemed that his father’s spirit had fled as well, though his body lived still. Éomer was gone; I was all that remained of his kin. If nothing else, I could ensure that my cousin had someone there to remember him, even if his final resting place was far from us.

I took Théoden’s arm and led him to the end of the hall until we stood next to Háma at the doorway. He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the king, then followed us down the path leading to the gates. The people of Edoras slowly filed in behind us, and the men began to sing a slow song acknowledging the courage of their fallen leader. In this fashion we left the gates of the city.

There would be no mound for my cousin beside those of his forefathers, but as we passed by the mounds of kings long-gone, I saw that a new pile of stones had been raised beside the path. It was there that we stopped, the people gathering behind us. I looked toward my uncle as he stood there with a dazed expression on his face, as one lost in a dark dream and unable to awake. He would not speak about his son, I realized, just as I saw a dark figure step into my line of sight.

“This is a dark day for us indeed,” Wormtongue stated; though he did not speak loudly, his voice carried among the assembly. “Today Rohan is left without an heir to the throne, lost needlessly in a battle that should not have been fought. And with his loss we find our city without defense, abandoned by those who should stay to protect our King in this vulnerable time.”

I gritted my teeth, knowing full well that he spoke of my brother. Before Wormtongue could speak again, I stepped forward and said, “Théodred’s death should well be mourned; it is a great loss to us all. But he died bravely, defending our people. My cousin would have had it no other way.” Wormtongue looked greatly displeased that I had dared to dispute him in this matter, but as several murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd, he held his tongue for the moment. I stepped away from the King, picking a few blossoms of simbelmynë from one of the nearby mounds, then gently dropping them onto the pile of stones. “Westu hal, Théodred,” I said softly. “May your spirit be at peace in the halls of our fathers.”

Several other women in the crowd followed suit, and I stood aside and watched as the stone mound grew white, covered by the snowy blossoms. One man began once again to sing slowly, and his voice was soon joined by several others. Then, after a long while, Théoden turned away and stepped towards the walls of Edoras. The company began to scatter, and Háma once again stood beside me. “My lady, will you be returning soon?” he asked quietly.

I looked to see that Wormtongue was already making his way back towards the city, then shook my head. “I would like to stay a little longer. Will you accompany the king back to Meduseld?” He nodded and departed with the others, and I was left alone.

I knelt down and picked up one of the flowers. Its milky petals felt as soft as velvet between my fingers, and as I gazed at it, my eyes blurred with tears. I finally allowed them to fall as my thoughts drifted into old memories.

I remembered Théodred as he had been, full of life and hope. When Éomer and I had first come to Edoras to live, he, more than anyone else, had eased the adjustment for us between life in Aldburg and life in Meduseld. Though he was already a man when I was yet a child, he had ever been more like another older brother to me than a cousin. It had been he that had first taught me the basics of swordplay, saying that as a member of the House of Eorl I should know how to wield a blade whether I was female or not, and it had been largely his example that had taught Éomer, who was admittedly prone to rash action, to use his head instead of letting his temper get the best of him.

Even as we grew older, and his father’s health began to fail, out of the three of us Théodred had always been the one who believed most firmly that the days would brighten for our people once more. I had never realized until now, when he was lost to me forever, how his refusal to give up hope had strengthened mine as well. And what hope have we now without you, Théodred? I wondered, a tear splashing on the simbelmynë blossom and running off like a drop of rain.

I was abruptly jerked back to the present when I heard a voice behind me, one I knew all too well. The cold knot that filled my stomach whenever he was near twisted painfully. “Such a pity,” he said. I kept my face ahead and did not answer, hoping in vain that if I ignored him, he would go away. It was not to be. “You must miss him terribly, especially now that your brother has abandoned you.”

“Éomer will return,” I answered, still refusing to look back at Wormtongue.

“And if he does, what then? Do you really think that the king will ignore the fact that Éomer disobeyed a direct order? You heard the order as well, my lady; you cannot speak for him in this regard. The best he will be able to hope for is prison.” I heard his heavy footfall, then felt the cold weight of his hand upon my shoulder..

I angrily pushed it away, stood up and whirled to face him. “Leave me alone!” I cried.

“Oh, but you are already alone,” he answered. “Your cousin, your parents are all dead. Your brother is as good as dead. The years weigh so heavily upon your uncle that he does not even recognize you anymore.” The hideous voice softened. “And when he is gone, what then? To whom shall you go? There is no one left.”

I remained silent for a long moment, his words pounding in my ears. “I do not know where I will go. But I do know this much—I will not stand by and do nothing while hope remains,” I finally answered.

“Hope? Of what?” he mocked, knowing just as well as I that my defiant words were hollow. “That when the king is gone, you will find a way to leave this place? You cannot join the Riders; they would never allow a woman to fight alongside them. Perhaps you could marry and start a new life, away from all of these troubles. But who would take you? For fair you are, Éowyn, yet cold, as fragile as a lily touched by frost. It takes little to break a flower such as that.”

For a long moment, his eyes gazed into mine as his cold hand brushed the cheek where the tears I had shed for my cousin still remained. I closed my eyes, shivering in disgust at the touch, yet unable to pull away as if I had been frozen by some spell. When I opened them, his eyes gleamed with a dark light as they stared at me.

Anger flared up inside of me. “Your words are poison!” I spat at him, then turned and walked back to the gate as quickly as I could; I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me run from him. The tears started anew; I hated him, and I hated myself because as much as I tried to keep myself from believing them, his words still echoed in my mind, casting a deeper shadow of despair over my already darkened thoughts. 

As I reached the open gate, I heard a cry, and stepped back just in time to avoid being overrun by pounding hoofs. I turned and looked in wonder at the white form racing away. If I was not mistaken, it was the horse Shadowfax—the horse chosen by Gandalf the Grey upon his last visit to Edoras. He had returned only weeks before, now completely wild. It had taken the efforts of many strong men just to confine him in the paddock; none dared to attempt to ride him.  And he had somehow escaped, and now ran free over the green fields.

Never in my life had I felt such envy for a horse. But Wormtongue had been right about one thing—I had nowhere to go, and I could not leave my uncle alone. Not like this. With a sigh and one last look as Shadowfax disappeared from view, I turned and walked back into the city.