Unforgotten

I enter with confident strides, but as my gaze falls upon him, I feel a substantial amount of my composure slip. It is really him. How could I ever have doubted it? This voice… I never could forget it, not in thousands of years. It would be no small feat to forget the ring of the voice that shortly after my eighteenth birthday had breathed whispered words into my ear while his wonderfully torturing and deft hand had pleasured my body which had been untouched before. I can’t remember what exactly he had said to me then; maybe I didn’t get it at that time, either. I wouldn’t be surprised. I had been very thoroughly distracted, indeed…

While I approach them with mixed feelings, I watch my sister handing the son of Denethor back his sword which she before had held in her hands admiringly. He slides it back to the scabbard that hangs at his side. He must have arrived only shortly ago, since he is still heavily armed and armored. When I finally stand exactlyfronfront of them, I cast an annoyed gaze towards Éowyn – she knows that I don’t welcome her uncommon interest in blades, but it will do no harm if I remind her of that one more time.

“Lord Boromir was so gracious to -” she starts a little justifyingly, but he’s impolite enough to interrupt her.

“Your sister has an extraordinary talent with the sword. For a maiden, I mean,” he talks large, and I feel unwanted jealousy brew up inside me when the two of them seemingly share a secret, private smile. He goes on, jesting about how great a warrior Éowyn could have been if she hadn’t been born as a girl, but I don’t really listen. Instead, I just look at his face and hope that it isn’t too obvious that I am practically staring at him. He hasn’t changed much. A few wrinkles here and there that haven’t been there before, especially around those impressively green eyes, and his hair is shorter, but apart from that he is almost exactly like I remembered him. Maybe even a little more attractive, a thought goes through my head, and I force myself to squash it down instantly.

I haven’t said a word so far – I haven’t even taken off my helmet – and I only realise this when his voice finally breaks through to me and he addresses me with formal greeting.

“Hail and well met, Lord Éomer.” Is it possible that his voice is teasing? Or am I hearing things? “And congratulations.“

When I look at him, he adds explanatorily, “For being made Third Marshal of the Riddermark. You can be proud.”

~ ~ ~

Don’t think that I am not well informed about what is happening in my allied lands. That I am not well informed about *you*. I observed your career and development with inappropriate interest and also with contentment, even though it was only from afar. And now that you are standing in front of me I see that you are indeed matured. In your orotund armor you seem to me even taller and broader than I am, and the little bit of your face that isn’t hidden by the magnificent helmet – I see you are wearing a beard now – suggests a determined, self-confident young man. Gone is the innocent youth from earlier days, but I think I could admire the grown-up Éomer even more.

“Thanks,” he says curtly. I wouldn’t have recognized his voice. It’s not like we had talked a lot that day in the past, but you are radiating a steadfastness I wouldn’t have thought you capable of, your voice firm and strong, almost a little supercilious.

“Are you hungry?” Éowyn asks her brother while he takes off his helmet. My lips part subtly in silent admiration as I finally can throw a more thoroug gaze on his countenance. His face is smudgy with sweat and dirt, his tied and from the helmet somewhat flattened hair looks tangled and dry, but even these traces of his toil and hard work cannot belie his beauty.

I could touch you if I only reached out, and the awareness that after such a long time apart we are finally standing together in one room again fills me with bliss as well as sudden unease. By now, my heart pounds and flutters against the prisonbars of my ribs as violently as a panicky bird trapped in a cage too small, but I am pretty sure that neither you nor your lovely sister notice the change that’s happening inside of me.

“No, thank you,” Éomer rejects politely, and something in his voice causes Éowyn to excuse herself for the evening.

“What a pity. I would have liked to enjoy your company for a little longer,” I say and again she smiles. I’m almost ashamed of myself, because if I am honest, I will have to admit that I’m flattering her mainly because I want to see which effects this will have on her brother. At least I can claim that I’m not exactly lying, since I really think of her presence as enriching.

She bows her fair head to me in wordless farewell, a soft gesture that I return cordially, and then pecks her brother on his dusty cheeck. While she hugs you, your gaze meets mine, and for the first time in eight years we look each other deeply and very consciously in the eyes, each of us trying to read the thoughts of the other one.

And then we are alone.