My first attempt a a 4+1 fic.
1.
The first time he noticed was the Eve of your mother's wake.
As was tradition, members of the Royal family would attend the in the circumstance of a noble's death. You sit int the corner of the room, staring dazed at the covered body on the bed.
Èomer quietly makes his way over, though you don't raise your eyes you speak, the words suprising him.
"I didn't like her all that much."
He is jolted by your tone, the same as one might use when discussing an ill fitting horse shoe, or a dry season that creates such agitating dust in a mane.
You glance to him with an odd smile. "I suppose that is a dreadful thing to say, my prince. But really, she was always such a stickler for etequite and how a 'proper lady' should act that I think I'm owed it."
You take a gulp of your whiskey, the burning feeling not registering in your facial expression, a feat that causes a half smile to quirk at Èomer's mouth. "You are allowed honesty, I think, My lady."
You shake your head, "My mother's died, yet still she's pushing me. Lovely isn't it? I'll finally have to be the Lady of the court she allways wanted me to." You let out a small breath of laughter. "Wouldn't she be appalled if she saw me, tipsy and chatting with the prince as if i were a pig farmer haggling over a price..."
You sit up straight and stare at the bed again, so suddenly that Èomer startles. "Yet somehow I think I will miss her,she was all I had left." Another sip passes you lips -lips that Èomer really shouldn't be thinking about with such detale as he is- and you sigh. "They all leave."
Èomer fears for the faraway look in your eye, and seeks to comfort you. "I know I am not so great with words as prehaps my cousin, the crown prince is, but I do remeber the dispare I felt when I was told of my mother's death. And though our circumstances are not the same, and I would not dare assume to know your thoughts, I would have you know this,"
He places a hand comfortingly on your shoulder, but you jerk back with an almost terrified expression.
"Forgive me Lady Y/n, I meant not-"
You shake your head furiously. "No, no my prince. You offer me no insult." You give another halfhearted smile. "I just... I've never liked being touched."
His expression is doubtful, but he gives an nod of agreement regardless.
Before he can say aught else, a paige whispers that the king is looking for him and he departs. Hearing you mutter to yourself as he leaves.
"They always leave."
2.
The second came not for a while, indeed it was not until two years later.
On this day he watches as you are locked in a mock-fight with Èowyn, though with the ferocity of of the strikes it hardly has more fight than mock.
Still he can tell that you are lightening your blows, cautious of Èowyn's recent illnesse. Your opponent is disarmed, and you send her for a rest. Her fatigue must indeed have been great, Èomer realizes, for she departs without (much) hesitation.
The small crowd begins to disperce, befire you call to the remaining training Rohiram for another match.
None seam elated at the prospect, though one calls out a "I'll show you my sword, just name the time."
This of course gains a hearty laugh from his friends, and, to Èomer's shock, a smile from you. Though is does have a-
"I do belive it is more or a dagger, and would shatter dear Êliott."
-malicouse look. His thoughts finish, as the smirk on his face grows, whilst the red shade of the man increases.
Before the debate can escalate, Èomer steps forward. "I will spar with you, Lady Y/n."
The sharp nod is all he needs to begin shedding the outer wearof his cloth, leaving himself in a (rather thin) tunic. One of Êlott's friends gives an apriciative whistle, and Èomer hopes he isn't imagining the flustered manner, and aversion of eyes from yourself.
Taking the ready stance the two of you make eye contact, just before you begin weaving patterns through the air with your swords. You vaguely take note of the numbers being called around you, bets to be won or lost, all depending on the outcome of two people... A power play that has you grinning.
Èomer twists his swords arm, causing your grip to loosen slightly. The scowl you send him only causing a smile to grace his distractingly handsome- wait no.
No no no.
That is not the direction you thoughts need to go.
Although he is one of the most sought after man in Rohan, and the gosip around the pubs could fill three rowdy drinking songs.
A loud yell comes from the, now much larger, circle of people, and you jerk at the close proximity, giving Èomer the chance to semd you sword to the ground. On instinct, you reach for the weapon while it is still in the air, successfuly catching it, but sending yourself to the ground.
Imeadiatly Èomer offers you a hand up, and as there are far to many people watching to deny the prince, you accept; but jerk back as soon as you stand.
Offering Èomer a bow, you gather your gear and exit the courtyard, leaving a befuddled blond in your wake, staring after you with an expression later to be described with some rather unsavoury words.
3.
He watches from the corner of his eye, as he always does, as you take another swig of your drink at the bar.
A group of the Rohiram had decided to stick around the pub in the closest town during patrol, and as his sense of honour dictated, he stayed with them. All around the crowded room people were being spun around by their partners.
Except for you, your rarely danced, and as far as Èomer has seen, never accepted such wanton attention as what the man leaning altogether to close to you is obviously offering.
Still Èomer waits a few minutes, knowing all to well from a preper veiw of a particular captain (the poor man never did have children...) how well you can handle the situation.
Yet he can tell that you are tired and wish bot to make a scene, so swiftly navigating the dance floor he arives at you side amd places a comforting, and slightly territorial, hand on your back.
You stiffen, before realizing who he is and his purpose. The moment you relax into his touch is one Èomer drinks up in the manner of a hard pressed horse after water, all the while glaring at the audacious man in front of him.
Said man's face travels through multiple expression before landing on a smirk. "Oh forgive me lord, I did not realize that this pretty lady had a man to look after her. If I may, and no offense meant, you might want to stick closer to your lass." He rakes another glance over you that unnerves you so that you push into Eomer's half embrace. "Though I've a cold bed that could use some warming if you'd care..."
"I do not share. Come, let us walk y/n." The ice in the tone of your prince shocks you, but still you nod and allow Èomer to lead to from the tavern, after turning a corner he releases you and steps to the distamce you usually keep him at.
The lack of his comfort sends a pang through your body, a pang that you shouldn't have. Upset by this your frown, yet say to him, "I can take care of myself. My Prince." The last bit is tagged on, almost separately.
The spice in your voice doesnt seem to bother him, for he just smiles as usual, a strange fondness in his eye. "I know, I do remember captain Hork."
You chuckle at the mention. "Yes, i supose I made rather a spectacle with that one. I usually try to be more dis-" having begun walking, you freez again, having not meant to add on the latter part of your sentance.
Èomer also freezes, his face dark he turns to you. "Usually? How often are you..." Suddenly his face pales. "In the name of- have you been-? Is that why you shy from touch constantly? Tell me who-"
Eye wide you shake your head. "No! No, my prince. It has never gotten so far as that."
He eyes you doubfully, worry so evident that it sends a pang of guilt through you. "I swear Èomer."
The sound of his name on your lips snaps him away. "You've never called my by my name before."
Your cheeks flush and you shift from one foot to the other. "I apologize,"
"No no," he is quick to interrupt. "I am relieved that you have done so."
His smile is contagious, so that it would take a much colder hearted woman that yourself not to mirror the expression.
You chat amicably while walking, and when you reach the outskirts of town Èomer pauses, taking in view of the stars, while you watch the wind softly lift his golden hair. He breaks the silence at last by saying, "Will you tell me why you do not wish to be touched?" His gaze still is locked on the horseshoe constellation, shining its good luck as always.
You are quiet before answering. "I don't think so."
He nods and meets your gaze. "I figured. Do you wish to return?"
You shake your head, "No the air here is nice, and the view is beautiful."
He nods in agreement. "The most lovely I've 'ere seen."
Neither of you look away from the other.
4.
It was suposed to be a regular patrol of the southern borders. Rumors of a small band of orcs had travled to the king, you, having spent far to much time in Edoras, voulentiered to assist.
You have been missinformed and woefully under prepaired for the ambush that awaites you.
The orces are all around you before anyone can react, much less run for the nearest village, which lies a good hours ride away.
The orcs are to close, and doing more harm thab can be returned by horseback. So, reluctantly, Èomer orders for the comapy to dismount. Continuing on foot, you find yourself back to back with Èomer, fighting savagely. You decapitate the large orc, and notice the scroll sticking out of his vest. You shilove it into your own as quickly as you can, and spin around to see an orc aiming its bow, at Èomer.
With a cry you leap in front of the projectile, feeling a pain in your stomach imeadiatly after.
Èyou stare down at the weapon, which has lodged itself in your person and focouse on not falling over.
You hear a strangled cry, later to be heard again on the Pelennor Fields, when Èomer, for that was who cried out, would find the supposed corpse of his sister.
In the thick battle though he cannot run to you, instead his eyes with a vengeful fire that Sauron can only dream about, and with berserk rage the rest of the orcs are soon demolished or running for their lives.
One man has died, and your wound is the worst of those left, so Èomer barke out orders the the others, putting four in charge of retrieving the horses, and three for the dead. All of this he says while om his knees next to you,(when had you laid down?) Assessing your injury.
He reaches to you, and your instincts jerk you away, causing the pain to double and your vision to go white.
"Y/n, please?" He sounds heartbroken, or maybe thats the pain talking, at any rate you reach for the scroll from your vest.
"Hey, I'm fine! T-" you wince. "Tell me what this is? It seems important."
Èomer is understandably Indecrulious at this request, but at your insistence enrolls it and scans the words. He stuffs it into a discarded travelling bag, one you recognize as your own, amd slings it over your shoulder. "Me. They were targeting me, and you decide to be the hero."
"They what!?" You sit up ignoring the pain, "How dare they-"
Èomer is at your side. "No, not them. How dare you take an arrow meant for me, how could you do this." The words are harsh, but the tear on his face hits you harder. "I care not uf you hate me more for this, the arrow is to far in to pull out safely. I am going to snap the extra off, badage your other woumds and take you to the town."
"Èomer, I-"
He jerks his head. "No, sorry but I cannot let you suffer further." Swiftly he takes hold of the shaft, and there is a cracking sound. Brief moments are all he takes for the bandaging, working quickly. Gently he lifts you up, before telling the 3rd in command to take charge.
After walking a while you uncleanch your teeth, and speak, only partly conscious.
"I don't hate you, I'm just... Scared."
+5.
The time after you injury is rushed, with the Kings mind over thrown, and the death of the crown prince. Closly followed by Èomer's banishment, you have no time to seek the prince out. Not mentioning that he seems to be avoiding you.
In fact, you do not manage to get close to him until the council following the battle of Pelennor Fields, and then that is a war council, still he does not meet your eyes.
To your room you march, hope resting only on two hobbits wandering evil lands where no one else dared to step, you run through strokes in your head, for no other reason but to stop thinking.
The quaking starts, and the enemie is running.
You wake in the halls of healing with the king of Gondor over you. When your eyes meet he nods sharply and moves on to the next bed.
A green tuniced woman clears you to leave, but when you ask her the whereabouts of Èomer she shaoes her head sadly. "Sorry ma'am, he the one what died in the battle."
She directs you out of the room, patting your soulder kindly after your broken thanks.
A deserted and half destroyed courtyard is where you find yourself, sinking into a bench you stare at the path until it blurs, oblivious to anuthing else.
Until you hear a voice call your name, a voice you know all to well. Neck nearly snapingvat the speed with which you look up, you lock eyes with Èomer. Secondslater you put a hand against his chest, sobing in relief when you find he is solid you grip the fabric and burry your head in it. "Dead. They said you wrre dead."
Èomer seems to snap out of his shock, slightly, "I'm here, I've not died." Hesitantly he wraps his arms around you, allowing you to go limp. You shift to the bench again furiously scrubing at yiur eyes. "Oh dear, I am sorry my Prince, i know your hatred of me-"
"What?" His voice is a growl, sounding just as furious as the day you were shot. "Who has led you to belive this? For no longer will they draw breath,"
You jerk you head back. "You- youve been avoiding me so steadfastly that I..."
"No, no y/n I never could. No matger what you could do, it is not in me to hate you. You said you were afraid, and I never wish for that even if that means leaving you."
You nearly falls over in shock. "Oh Valar, not you. I was never afraid of you and that is what scares me. I feel safe around you, and thats what scares me." You run a hand through your matted hair. "All of the walls I put up... You break them down. I never wanted to touch, to feel, or even be near someone. Or rather I didnt need it."
"Y/n..."
You look back to him and he reaches hesitantly out. You sigh shakelly. "All I want is you, and I dont have the willpower any longer to hold that inside, I'm far to selfish for that."
"Let me be selfish as well then."
He folds you in an embrace, and for the first time in your recollection, you dont dodge away.
Live long and prosper my little vulcan potatoes! 🖖