abnormal tragedy

Chapter 59: back

Rowan was standing looking out of her bedroom holding her one year old son as she read a letter from her sister in law. Aragorn and Arwen were set to be having a ceremony to welcome their son to Middle Earth. Rowan stroked her sons dark brown hair that was growing as she thought of hers and Èomers celebration for their son, Theoden who she had named after her husband's uncle, a year prior. As per usual, Rowan got badly drunk and needed both her brother and her husband to carry her to bed. She was surprised that her baby didn't wake up due to the noise of Gimli challenging Aragorn to a drinking contest. It was a wild night. The thudding of fists on the wooden tables could be heard from the furthest house in the city. Legolas was invited and Rowan wasn't surprised when he didn't show up. 

 "My Queen, you must get ready," Léofith said calmly, holding up thin robe; hardly useful against the chill spring breezes of Edoras, Rowan thought sleepily as she stepped away from the window.

"What is it, Léofith?" she asked, as she gently placed her son down into his cot. Éomer had been gone far too long for her liking. "The King, my Queen," Léofith replied, the Queen's face immediately lit up, "He is almost in Edoras, my Queen," Léofith finished, and Rowan could have kissed the old woman. The housekeeper smiled knowingly, but she did not say a word.

How long?" she asked.

"Less than half an hour, my Queen," The housekeeper replied.

Shivering in the cool night breeze, Rowan stood next to the open window, listening to the fast clip-clop of hooves striking the cobbles as the Riders moved towards her, Éomer's horsetail helmet recognisable in front of the group. She smiled.

  "King Éomer returns from battle." One of their guards shouted. The news is carried through the Golden Hall, repeated from person to person, echoing off the high beams overhead. Rowan stood by the foot of the steps holding onto their baby. Her heart raced, wishing to fly from the hall to the gate. But she measured her steps, walking gracefully down the hall while others moved quickly. Around her, serving girls were milling, each one armed with a tray of cups, filled with fragrant mulled mead to welcome their menfolk home; Léofith had woken those known to have sweethearts among the returning warriors, letting the rest of the household sleep the few hours remaining before the day's work began.

They make way for their Queen. The Rohirrim rode in through the gate. though many are unharmed they still carry wounded among them and lead rider less steeds. At the front rides King Éomer, the white horse tail off his helm flowing in the wind, the metal glinting in the evening light. He looked down at his wife and met her eyes. 

"We have victory! Hail Éomer King! Hail!" someone called from among the riders. The cheer is taken up by the others and the citizens gathered around. But Rowan doesn't cheer with them. She watched her husband as he dismounted and made for the hall. His jaw is clenched, eyes burning with fire. He tosses his helm to his attendant, wincing only for a fleeting moment, as they climbed the stairs. They make eye contact again.

...

Rowan waited in their chambers in front of the fire, letting its heat seep into your skin to keep away the chill of oncoming night. The soft cloth of the mantle brushes gently against her skin as she adjusted it about her. On the table sits a try of food, but she has no appetite. The silence is deafening as she sit in anticipation. The door swung open and then closed with a bang.

"Be gone from me." orders Éomer to his attendants. They dare not enter when he is in this mood. Rowan stood slowly and turn to face her husband. He is freshly washed, his golden hair darkened by the water that still clung to it. He wore a fresh linen shirt and soft cloth breeches, but nothing else. Still he is tense. Still the fiery rage of battle dances in his eye. "You are victorious my love." she smiled. "You are victorious." she repeated.

Rowan reached out to him, lifting his face. All fire and rage has left him. In the firelight, his eyes glisten with tears. Though tired, she brought her face close to his, resting her brow against his. "It is alright." she murmured gently. "You need not hold back from me." Éomer's shoulders begin to shake. The tears slid slowly down his cheeks. He gasped for breath he had not known he was holding, whimpering. He reaches up and held his wife tightly about the waist. "Sshhh. It is alright." Rowan whispered. She held his head gently in her hands, kissing his forehead. Slowly she leaned back, bringing the pair of them to the floor once more, lying on warm soft furs. She rested Éomer's head upon her chest and she held him as he weeped. She murmured to him, stroking his hair. 

They lay there with him for a long time. The silence only being disturbed by his pained gasps of breath, sometimes whimpering, and Rowan's hushed consoling. They both stay that way until he becomes quiet, holding one another.

"Morwen." Rowan called. The old woman entered the room, staying out of sight and seeing nothing. "Yes My Queen."

"Bring a bowl of strong ale, a bowl of hot water and some gut thread."

"Yes My Queen."

Rowan helped her husband to a sitting position. Gently, she pulled the linen shirt over his head and wrapped a fur about his shoulders. He is still quiet, shoulders slumped and his head hung low. She ran a hand gently over the bandage on his forearm. Slowly she unwrapped the bloodied dressing. The cut is deep, but not too deep that it would not heal. 

"I will need to sew your wound my love" Rowan said softly. Éomer does not respond. Rowan heard Morwen setting the bowls on the tables behind her. She leaves. Rowan worked deftly, cleaning out the wound with the ale. Éomer hissed at the stick but he did not flinch under her. She then crossed to the table and removed an athelas leaf from her family box, a wedding gift from the Healers of Gondor. Rowan let the leaf soak in the hot water as she began threading the wound closed. She bounded the wound properly, the leaf resting against the stitches. When she finished Éomer took her hand. He brought the palm of her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. 

"What would I do without you?"

"You'd be dead.." Rowan scoffed and they both laughed.