The Second Heir

The Return of the King (and his Sister)

EDITED 6-26-17

~.~

The forests of Lothlorien had faded, leaving Emryn to the darkness once more. It's inky tendrils tugged at her, pulling her down into the depths. Something pressed her at the back of her mind, a memory; but it faded when she tried to focus on it.

The darkness pulled at her again, but it was different this time; less soothing, and more menacing. No, she thought weakly, then stronger. No!

That was when she heard it. The voice, which was once so irritating, was now a welcome sound. It extended like a rope to her, and she grabbed hold of it.

The voice became clearer, and she finally recognized who the deep, rough voice belonged to. She lashed out at the darkness now, kicking it away as the rope brought her up to the surface.

~.~

Eomer had not moved from Emryn's side, even when they transported her back to Minas Tirith, carrying her with him on Firefoot.

Upon their return, Aragorn was forced away to take care of business within the city, and he had left Eomer with one simple instruction.

"You must talk to her, Eomer," he had said.

"Talk to her?"

"She may yet be able to hear us; please, Eomer, please do this," he had pleaded as he left. "I need my sister back."

So Eomer had talked to her, speaking of any thought that crossed his mind, of news brought to him by the others. Eowyn had been by often as well, and the siblings would talk and tell stories as if Emryn were truly listening, hoping she was.

Now, as Eomer sat there, he thought of something more to tell her, of anything else he could say. Why not tell her the truth? A voice in his head inquired. What more is there for you to tell her?

Eomer looked at Emryn, bringing his hand up to caress her cheek, tracing her cheekbones, her nose, her lips. "Emryn," he whispered, then cleared his throat before continuing.

"When I first met you, I was infuriated by you; you were a completely frustrating woman. Bema, you even told me off in front of my own men. But you intrigued me as well; how was it that a woman could be as strong as a man, yet possess the beauty of the elves?

"With every word you spoke I was dragged in further. The way you could make the children light up with your stories and songs, how you comforted my injured men as they lay dying-" he paused as the faces of his men, his friends, flooded his mind, faces he wouldn't see again, before continuing.

"The night of the celebration, when we spoke out on the steps, I was tempted to take you away and run off with you there and then; indeed, no woman has ever had the effect on me that you have." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "And that is why I'm telling you something I should have told you long ago. I, Eomer, son of Eomund, love you, Emryn, daughter of Gilraen, fiery temper and all."

He watched her face for any sign of movement; to see her mouth twitch up into that familiar smirk, or her eyes to pop open and look back at him with their familiar gleam. However, she remained still, only the rise and fall of her chest proving her alive. Eomer lowered his head and closed his eyes, preventing any tears that threatened to fall from escaping.