Unforgotten

Quiescence dominates the room, and it seems like an eternity to me until Éomer tears his stare from my eyes, turns a bit away from me and lets his gaze shift over the wall instead. I can’t take this uncomfortable silence any longer, and since he doesn’t seem to have the intention to play the gracious and talkative host, I raise my voice myself.

“Your sister lopeloped wonderfully,” I say, observing him out of the corner of my eye. He pretends to be looking at a painting on the wall, but I can see that his gaze is agitated.

“Already the last time when I met her she seemed very charming to me. But now... She has turned into a real beauty,” I add when he doesn’t respond. "The man who will take her as his bride one day can consider himself very lucky.“

Direct hit. His head snaps back to me, and his eyes... oh these brown, blazing eyes, how I could lose myself in their depth... Even now as they seem to stab me.

“The man who deserves the permission to propose to my fair sister has yet to be found,” he hisses in a low but dangerous voice that almost makes me grin, but Iage age to control myself. He has risen to the bait and I would lie if I said that it’s not satisfying to know that he is against an espousal between me and his sister. I only have to convince myself that this circumstance is caused by the emotions he feels for me, and not the ones he feels for the Lady Éowyn...

“But you didn’t ride to Rohan just to find entertainment in the admiration of my sister’s countenance, I assume?” he then says somewhat gruffly. Maybe he noticed that I am showing him up a little. I shake my head curtly, feverishly trying to think of the right thing to reply. This would be the perfect opportunity to tell you the truth; to confess to you that I was thinking about you all the time and that whenever I came to Rohan during the last eight years I had been secretly hoping to see you again. With your question you smoothed the way of genuine truth, so to speak, but in the end I am too fainthearted to strike this path. I don’t want to believe it, but I am actually afraid that you will reject me. Strange, how this deep affection that I feel for you makes a coward of me.

~ ~ ~

Impatiently I wait for his answer. Seconds that seem to me like decades pass with torturing slowness.

“Denethor sends me to discuss our strategies of warfare,” he tells me after this uncomfortable pause. “We have to consider alternatives. We lose too many men. It cannot go on like this.“

I feel an unexpected sting in my heart. Frustrated about his response that was by far not what I would have desired to hear from his mouth, I tighten my gloved hands to fists. Oh no, you won’t get away so easily, Boromir. We still have to settle old scores.

“We could busy ourselves with that matter this very evening and shape some ideas that we will present at the official council meeting tomorrow,” I suggest, very much paying attention to my own voice and making sure that it comes out coolish and formal. “Unless you are too exhausted.”

One of his brows rises ny bny bit as he answers quite ambiguously, “For things of such importance I am never too exhausted, Éomer.”

I feel heat surge to my cheeks. “Very well,” I say quickly and swallow a little clumsily. “We will meet in half an hour in the mapping room. I assume you know the way.” I don’t wait for his answer but turn right away and rush out of the hall, hoping that he didn’t notice my blush.

~ ~ ~

The room is empty when I enter it only a little time later. While I wait for him I study the spreading and formations of the small figurines, flags and other markings that are strategically positioned on the huge map of Middle-Earth. The map is stretched over a massive table, similar to how we have it in Minas Tirith. Apart from that, the room is pretty scant of chattels. There is an impressive fireplace in which a fire is blazing, and some beautiful weapons are mounted to the wall, but that’s all that catches my eye. But I don’t have the opportunity to look around more thoroughly, since it doesn’t take long until he arrives as well.

The very second Éomer enters the room, I find myself looking him over very thoroughly, from head to foot. Rid of the heavy, bulky armour he doesn’t seem as broad and muscle-bound as I had thought at first, but he is not at all lanky. Without doubt the wide, ornate sleeves of his light, magnificent shirt cloak strong arms, and the slight, uncreased swell in the front of the shirt allude to a well shaped and exercised chest. All dirt has been washed off of him, and his clean, fresh face now reveals his young age. And his hair... No longer tousled and partly pulled back into a ribbon, so that it won’t restrict him. Loose and open it flows over his shoulders, darker and – I guess – not as silky soft as the hair of his sister, but not less full and thick. While he approaches me I notice that it is still moist from the washing, and when he finally stands next to me, the discreet, fruity and soapy scent that clings to his not yet dried hair fills my nostrils.

It strikes me in an instant that all this has to be more than what he includes in his normal procedure of cleaning himself when he returns home. He has... spruced himself up. And even more than a little while ago I have to admit that he has grown to a very handsome young man, although I almost think that I liked him a little better when he was weary, sweaty and dirty. Hm. Who knows, maybe I will have the opportunity to let him sweat again, to exhaust him and leave dirty marks on his body...