To the King

Chapter Eight

Night of Trial

“When I find myself fading, I close my eyes and realize my friends are my energy.” Anon

My thanks to Katzilla for the use of her characters Bergfinn, Féalgar, and Battleaxe, who will appear throughout this story.

Éowyn stood in the shadowy hallway outside Théodred’s room leaning against the cool stone wall for support. The hour was late and she had checked to be sure the children were all sleeping soundly before turning in herself when she was overcome by a tremendous, crushing wave of grief. Momentarily staggered she sought to rest against the wall until the moment would pass and she could breathe once more. Éowyn was struggling to stifle a sob when she felt a soft touch on her shoulder and found herself enfolded in loving arms.

“Faramir,” she breathed.

“Shush, love, just let it out. We are alone here; there is no one to see,” Faramir assured, aware of her reticence to display grief before others. He continued to hold her close, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head as she poured out her anguish. Faramir had never seen her cry and had long expected that the grief she struggled so hard to deny would find its way to the surface once she had returned to Rohan. While still in Minas Tirith it was easy for her to pretend that all was as it should be in Rohan, but now, here, she was faced with a truth she could no longer push away.

“I can’t…I shouldn’t,” she stammered whilst sniffing and wiping her eyes on Faramir’s shoulder.

“Tears are not a weakness, my love, particularly when they are offered as tribute for a one so dear.” Faramir realized that Éowyn was confronting many ghosts on this trip, especially with Théoden’s body in the Golden Hall where he had been such a powerful presence. She had been so busy making preparations for the funeral and for the children since they’d arrived that she had not had time to allow for her own heartache. Faramir had watched her bury her feelings in activity each time they threatened to surface and he wanted to be near when they finally did defeat her iron will. He understood that she needed this time, particularly with the more public aspects of the funeral still facing her.

“Tears make me feel weak,” Éowyn choked ashamed and yet so very grateful for Faramir’s tender support. She ducked her head to his shoulder as a door opened down the hall and one of the guards made his hourly check of the hallways surrounding the great hall. The man immediately noticed the pair, nodded to Faramir and tactfully changed his direction, once again leaving the passage secluded.

“Come with me,” Faramir directed, as he turned and led Éowyn to the door leading to the outside terrace. He grabbed a cloak from a peg on the wall as he passed, and wrapped it around her to ward off chill. “You really should be resting, but I am loathe to leave you just yet, and I cannot chance the compromise of your honor should someone see and think the worst of me.”

Éowyn could not help but smile through her tears at his tender regard for her reputation. “Indeed, had any suitor been found in my room with me he would likely have been unmanned on the spot by either Éomer or Théodred.”

Faramir shuddered and Éowyn actually chuckled softly. “You would be safe, my love, for Éomer knows you to be a man of honor.

“If it’s all the same with you, I think I’ll not take that chance.”

Éowyn smiled again as Faramir led her over to a stone bench where they could sit and look out over the starlit night. She sighed as her gaze fell to the many campfires dotting the landscape outside the city walls.

Faramir followed her gaze. “No.”

“No what?” Éowyn inquired, turning to look at her intended.

“No, you are not to even think of what needs to be done for tomorrow. We are going to sit here and talk and you are going to relax and let your mind be at peace for a few hours of the night.”

“So states Faramir of Gondor?” she asked fondly.

“So states Faramir of Gondor,” he affirmed as he kissed her forehead and wrapped his arm around her.

“I really should go to Éomer,” Éowyn worried. “He’s so alone.”

Faramir’s arm held her firm when she made to rise. “He’s not alone, Éowyn. Gamling is staying with him.”

Since it was obvious that Faramir was intent upon her resting there, she settled into his arms and felt herself slowly relaxing, content to bask in his affection and support. “Uncle loved me very much, but he took Éomer under his wing as a teacher and father. Théo was always the one that would make sure I was happy and secure. He would see that I had pretty hair ribbons or a new doll if I seemed sad.” She laid her head onto Faramir’s shoulder as the memories filled her with remembered warmth and she wished that Faramir could have known Théodred like she did. “He would take me riding when he saw that I was upset or angry. We would leave the city at a nice dignified pace, but once we were out of sight Theo would put me in front of him, hold me tightly, and then we would race like the wind.” She turned slightly to look at Faramir. “He was the best rider in the Mark, you know. I can still feel the pounding of the hooves if I close my eyes and think back. I would laugh and shout with delight because I knew that I was safe within Théo’s arms. He would never let me fall.”

“I’m glad he was there for you,” crooned Faramir as he nuzzled her neck, longing to impart all the love and comfort he could.

“He was so gentle,” she continued, lost in her memories. “He would give me horsey rides on his back when it was time for me to go to bed.” Éowyn fell silent for a moment just enjoying the fantasy of having her cousin and uncle back with her. She closed her eyes as reality once again reared its head and her memories evaporated like a fog fleeing before the sunlight. “He would have made a wonderful father, as you will.”

“I met him a few times, when I was a child,” Faramir mused, grateful for the darkness that hid the slight blush that had covered his face at the image of fatherhood her words conjured up. “He was very close to Boromir.”

“Yes, I remember that now. I remember Boromir coming here once or twice. I was afraid of him.”

Faramir actually laughed at that statement. “Afraid? Of Boromir?”

“Yes, afraid,” laughed Éowyn, punching him playfully in the side. “He was so grand, larger than life really.

Faramir closed his eyes as the vision of his brother burst on his mind. “That he was, and more, but why did you fear him?”

“I was afraid that he would steal my Théo away from me,” she admitted softly. “I was just a little girl…”

“Who had already lost so much,” he finished sadly. “I wish I had seen you as a little girl. I’m sure I would have loved you even then, as I love you now,” he added softly, letting his lips find hers, offering her the comfort that words didn’t hold.

Éowyn pulled back to look at his face, breathless from his kisses. “I do not know how I could get through this without you by my side. I’m so grateful to the king for allowing you to accompany me.”

“Aragorn is a good king and an even better friend. I am proud to serve him.” He smiled as Éowyn stifled a yawn. “Come, love, it is time to sleep. Tomorrow will be a difficult day. I’ll see you to your room.

Éowyn stood tiredly before turning suddenly to take his hand in an almost panicked manner. “How do I do it , Faramir? How do I say goodbye to him forever?”

Faramir took her hands and pulled them to his chest. “You will do it the way you and I will face everything else in our lives. You will do it by standing by my side and allowing me to share the burden with you. Together we will face whatever Eru shall ever again ask of us.”

O-o-O-o-O

The massive bier holding Théoden’s casket was located on the throne side of the center fire pit in the great hall. The green and gold bunting that had been created for it was breathtaking, Éomer thought. Bergfinn and his son, Féalgar, who had so lovingly crafted the caisson, had obviously worked magic here as well and their devotion to Théoden was evident in even the smallest details. Bronze sunbursts adorned each corner wrapping around to hold the dark green material neatly against the bier.

Éomer and Gamling were sitting at solid wooden table off to the left side of the hall, a half eaten loaf of crusty bread and a round of sliced buttery cheese between them. A platter of apples and a pitcher of ale had also been set out to sustain the warriors through the long watch of the night. As they ate, Éomer queried Gamling about the arrangements for the morrow.

“Shortly after dawn the door wards will open the Meduseld,” instructed Gamling. “The people will be allowed to file through to pay their respects to Théoden and then to kneel before the throne to pledge fealty to their new king.

“Where is Hálith,” questioned the king suddenly, uncomfortable with the thought of sitting on the throne. “I’m ashamed that I have forgotten to inquire as to his whereabouts.”

“You have had much on your mind, my lord. That is why you have advisors. I have taken the liberty of having your things moved to the King’s apartment. Hálith has been moved from the barracks to your old room until other arrangements can be made.”

Éomer nodded his approval. “He is too old to be quartered with the younger children in Théodred’s room.”

Gamling sighed as he sat back in his chair studying the anxious face of his young king. Éomer seemed deep in thought as he gazed up at one of the tapestries adorning the hall. He frowned deeply and shook his head as his eyes sought the bier once more. Unable to sit, he stood up and began pacing agitatedly back and forth in front of Gamling.

“What is it, sire? What vexes you so?” inquired the man, and he was even more puzzled by the stricken look his king turned upon him.

“I cannot do this, Gamling,” admitted Éomer, shaking his head in defeat and frustration. “I just did not realize…did not have time to fully think this through before.”

“You cannot do what, my lord?” asked the puzzled lieutenant.

“Be King of Rohan,” answered Éomer honestly. “Here, in this Hall, I see it clearly. These tapestries tell us the stories of our Kings, great men all. They were larger than life, Gamling. How can I even think to stand in this hall of all places and compare myself?”

“Sire,” said Gamling calmly, “you are our King. We follow you proudly. Why do you doubt yourself now?”

“Just look around you, my friend,” said Éomer sweeping his arm towards the tapestries. “It is all here, mocking me. Folca drove the orcs from our lands and died slaying the boar of Everholt. The tapestry of Folcwine is here. He recovered the lands that were taken from us by the Dunlendings.” He pivoted, pointing to another wall. “Léon, the father Éorl, was the greatest horse tamer of all the Rohirrim. There is the tapestry of Brego, the king who built this very hall. And there,” he said, pointing to yet another tapestry, “Helm, the Hammerhand, who wielded the strength of three men and led our people through the terrible winter siege.”

Gamling watched calmly as Éomer moved from tapestry to tapestry reciting the history of each, which, taken as a whole, embodied the legendary history of the Mark. He had felt sure this moment would come at some point for his young king and hoped that he would have the necessary words to calm and reassure the man. “My lord, our kings have been men of renown and great deeds, but some of them have been flawed as well. It falls to each man to make the decisions he deems are best for these lands and our people. You have led our warriors boldly and bravely for many months now, proving yourself over and over again. Let the makers of the tapestries worry about who is worthy and who is not.”

Éomer’s shoulders slumped in momentary dejection. “It is not the facing of battle that I fear, my friend; it is the facing of peace. I have spent my life defending the Mark, fighting every enemy the dark one could throw at us. What do I know of peace? What if my lack of knowledge leads to disaster for our people?”

“Théoden King once stood dispirited and doubtful before me.”

Éomer spun to stare at his friend. “Uncle Théoden?” he asked in disbelief.

Gamling could not help but smile at Éomer; he seemed of a sudden like the young man that Gamling had watched grow to manhood, and he had an unexpected memory of the earnest young man who had stowed away in his éored as just a lad. Gamling still remembered the ire of Marshal Erkenbrand when he had discovered Éomer tucked into his éored some hours out from Edoras.

“On more than one occasion,” he assured the astonished king. “I will tell you now what I told him then. “Your people will follow you to whatever end.”

Éomer turned to stare once more at the bier. “There are so many questions I wish I could ask him. I never expected to be king; that was Théodred’s future.”

“Éomer,” soothed Gamling, walking over to take the man by the shoulders and forcing the king to look him in the face, “You will make the decisions as they come, one at a time. You will never be alone. Look around you, my lord. Look at the same tapestries that seemed to mock you earlier. They are your forefathers, and their spirits will be with you, as will Théoden’s. He may walk the hallowed halls with your esteemed ancestors, but he will not leave you in need. This I believe. Do not allow doubt to cloud your mind now.”

As Gamling finished speaking a warm pink light filtered through the high openings of the Hall, bathing the floor with the first enchanted rays of morn. It was as though the kings of old were infusing the room with their spirits and enveloping the young king with their reassurance.

“It is almost time, sire, and you have yet to sit on your throne.” He held up his hand to ward off the inevitable denial from Éomer. “No, my lord, do not doubt it again. It is now your throne, as we are your people.”

“And the last thing my people need to see is a hesitant king,” finished Éomer. “Thank you, my friend.” Éomer took a deep breath and ascended the dais. He had stood here after the battle of Helm’s Deep; stood in the place that was rightfully Théodred’s as he supported his uncle while the toast for the honored dead was intoned. He had been in this hall the day the beacons of Minis Tirith had been lit and Gondor had called for aid. He’d held his breath awaiting the King’s decision, all the while knowing in his heart of hearts that Théoden would never betray the oath of Eorl. His heart had swelled with pride as the King called them to “muster the Rohirrim,” and he’d sought his sister’s eyes in reassurance, relieved that she, at least, would be spared the bitterness of battle.

He shook himself from his reverie and looked down at the throne where his uncle had led their people for Éomer’s entire life. Taking a deep breath the turned and sat down on the Throne of Rohan.

A door off to the side opened and a quiet gasp signaled the arrival of Éowyn and Faramir. Éomer turned towards Éowyn and held out his hand.

Éowyn was chagrined to have gasped audibly though she had been taken aback to actually see Éomer on the throne. She shouldn’t have been, she silently castigated herself, for she was well aware of the requirements of the day. She moved forward to take Éomer’s hand and kneeled before him, placing her head on his knee.

“Éowyn,” beseeched Éomer trying to raise his sister to her feet.

“Please, Éomer, I want to be the first to swear fealty to my king. I am so proud of you, brother.”

Éomer glanced hesitantly at Faramir, knowing full well that once she became his wife her fealty would be to Aragorn. He was unsure how the Steward of Gondor would react to this action, and yet he was moved with love for his darling little sister and this act of devotion.

Faramir nodded his head in approval of his lady’s action. “It is fitting that my future wife pledge herself to the King of Rohan, for her heart shall always be with him.”

“Thank you, Lord Faramir,” offered Éomer. “Please, I would like you to sit beside me as we greet the people.”

Gamling smiled and nodded his approval to the king.

Éowyn beamed with pride that her brother would so honor her future husband by offering him the chief advisor’s seat, though it would certainly be an expected accord for such a high ranking representative of the court of Gondor. She graced them both with a smile and moved to stand between the two most important men in her life.

“Gamling,” directed Éomer, “notify the ward to open the doors.”

TBC