Théoden gazed at the mound. The funeral had been over for an hour now. He felt that if he looked long enough, he could absorb the fact that …omund was not coming back. He was sure, on some level, that …omund was gone for good. That level was completely ignored by the rest of him, which was screaming that they'd found the wrong soldier and buried it. That they'd made a mistake. It still hadn't come up with a good reason why this unknown soldier would be wearing …omund's armor.
It hadn't been a great day. The weather had been terrible and he'd had to spend it all outside being reminded repeatedly that there was a chance if he'd just paid more attention, he could have stopped this death at least. If Theoden had offered to give …omund the extra riders he'd said he might need to seek out the orcs he'd been convinced were stalking his lands. Instead Theoden had told Eomund that it was merely paranoia and sent him on his way. The last time they'd spoken hadn't been pleasant. It had been nearly hostile, despite attempts on both sides to end the fight and just make up. But Théoden had refused to admit that …omund might not be overestimating the orcs and …omund had refused to back down on hisbelief that Théoden was just refusing to acknowledge them. Each had hoped the other would break before it was time for …omund to leave again.
"You absolute great fool, …omund," said Théoden, sitting down in the wet grass. "You couldn't just let them run or wait until you had more forces to back you up? You didn't consider that there might have been more?" He glared at the mound, imagining …omund defending himself.
"But they might have escaped if I had! And they'd taken some of our horses! I told you I was right!" …omund defended himself in Théoden's head, waving his hands everywhere as he spoke like he always had.
"Was it worth dying? Just to prove you were right? Leaving your children and wife behind? And me?" Théoden replied to it silently. He had noticed a shadow behind him a bit ago and decided that maybe speaking to shades of dead men was not the best way to inspire confidence in a ruler.
"Is that what all this is about?" …omund glared, looking amazingly like Elfhild in that moment. He and his sister had always closely resembled each other with similar fair features and matching facial expressions. Théoden had used to deliberately rile Elfhild up just to see her frown like that. He'd done the same to …omund. "I didn't die just to abandon you. This wasn't about you."
Théoden looked up at the sky and banished …omund from his mind. In that last sentence …omund's voice had changed to Théoden's and he wasn't going to allow himself to fall into self-pity.
He had, as these things went, terrible luck. First had been Elfhild, a beautiful creature he had killed. They had said she had been sickly to begin with and that her pregnancy was solely responsible and it had not been his fault that her body couldn't have handled it, but he knew he'd been responsible for that. Then there had been …omund, so much like his sister it had hurt Théoden.
…omund was dead now too and Théoden was sure there had been some way for him to stop that.
Near …omund's mound was that of Théoden's older sister, killed a month before this when she had gone too close to the borders. Farther down was his mother, who had finally given up on her illness a year earlier.
There were getting to be very few people left.
Behind him, Gríma coughed discreetly.
"You're going to catch your death out here, your majesty. At the rate we're going through people, your son will be on the throne by next week." Théoden didn't turn around to look but could nearly feel Gríma's crooked smile. His advisor had yet to give up in his attempts to lighten the mood that seemed to have settled on Edoras. Théoden was beginning to suspect a slight madness on Gríma's part. He seemed to have decided that his true calling in life was to be a jester. Théoden wished Gríma would just go back to trying to teach Théodred to write properly. His son was more interested in riding and fighting then learning the basics of anything, and Gríma's new distractions weren't helping any.
"Hardly. Some days I feel I will be the only one left. I wish to stay a bit longer. He was my kinsman," said Théoden, dismissing Gríma.
"Unfortunately, sir, you are needed. Your sister has had a relapse and wishes to talk to you." Gríma bowed apologetically.
Théoden sighed and gave the mound one last look before getting up and walking alongside Gríma back to where he'd tethered his horse.
Gríma talked excitedly of various things while they rode back, attempting to keep Théoden's mind on different things. Gríma was a slight thing, especially compared to Galmod, the giant of a field marshal who had been his father and had died alongside …omund. Théoden winced, having forgotten to ask Gríma about that.
"Your sister," Gríma started, warming up to what had become his favourite subject of late to complain about. Théoden knew he shouldn't indulge him in this, but he couldn't see the harm in letting Gríma blow off a little steam. At least, he sometimes thought he had found a reason but it scrambled out of his thoughts as quickly as it would come. "Your sister," Gríma continued, "thinks I am her maid. She thinks I am there to cater to her and make sure her blankets are properly tucked. I would appreciate it if you told her she was incorrect in this notion. Everytime I have tried I nearly lose an eye to whatever she throws at me that time. I think by the time her time with us is over there will not be a single breakable object left in all of Rohan because it would have been flung at my skull and broken against the wall!"
Théoden carefully schooled his face into an expression of seriousness, trying not to snigger at the look of pure annoyance that covered Gríma's face as he related this news. If Gríma wasn't trying to be a clown he was slipping up and showing how young he actually was. But Théoden had needed a trained scribe and there Gríma had been and so far he hadn't turned out to be a disappointment.
"It's just her way of showing affection. Unless you haven't been phrasing your oh-so-reasonable requests as politely as you could?" said Théoden with a tone of blissful curiousity.
"I am perfectly polite!" Gríma protested. "I wouldn't show disrespect! In front of any of you, at least," he said, grinning crookedly once more.
Théoden pulled his horse just close enough to Gríma's to allow him to pat Gríma on the knee. "She'll learn who the servants are and who my errand boys are soon enough. Don't you worry."
"Errand boy?" Gríma glared and then yelped as his horse bolted from being too close to Théoden's.
Théoden cantered behind at a polite distance, making a mental note to ask one of the stablemasters to have a quick word with Gríma over how to properly train a horse. Before he broke his neck at any rate.
Besides, it was easier to plan how he would face his sister properly without Gríma nattering on in the background.
"The thing is, sir, she seems to have made a decision about something. It doesn't seem like a pleasant one either," Gríma explained after they'd finally arrived and re-tied their horses. "Of course, you're supposed to already know this but you spent the entire day staring at a pile of dirt and the former shell of lord …omund..." Gríma trailed off, getting the sudden hint he'd gone a bit further then he should.
"Don't you have my son to teach? Along with my sister-son and daughter while they're here?" Théoden raised an eyebrow.
"So I do. Best of health to your sister." Gríma bowed quickly and raced off.
Théoden pushed open the door and poked his head in. A nurse tending to his sister gave him a glare like he was an evil spirit come to take more of Théodwyn's life. The nurse blanched when she realized who she'd been glaring at. Théodwyn waved happily from the bed, looking to be in perfectly good health except for the grey tones around the side of her face and an unsteady hand as it waved.
"May I speak to my sister?" he asked the nurse politely.
The nurse scurried out without answering much beyond a squeak and a nod.
"Have I burned down her home or something?" asked Théoden, sitting himself beside Théodwyn. "Because I'm sure I didn't do anything to get that particular look of terror. Maybe I ran over her garden once."
Théodwyn grinned at him. "Or you had her put in the stockades for cold hands on patients."
"Entirely possible! Now," he said, grabbing her hand and ignoring the various stabs of guilt screaming at him. "What did you want to see me about?"
"…omer and …owyn. I'm getting worse, as you should know unless you've been under the fool impression I'm about to make a miraculous recovery. And with …omund gone I don't really feel I'll get better. He was..." She trailed off and her face closed before she forced herself to continue. "When I die, I'd like you to take them in. Our sister already volunteered, but I wish for you to do it. You, unlike her, are not a scholar. I want my children to be warriors."
Théoden blinked. "Both of them?"
"Yes. I would...appreciate it if you trained …owyn as a shieldmaiden. I'd already begun before I got too weak to continue. And …omund had carried it on a bit past that." Théodwyn ducked her head and examined her blanket. "I wanted her to be like mother, you see. It would do us well to continue that tradition, in any case. Please, Théoden? Will you take them and do as I ask?"
Théoden remembered …omund telling him about that once. A bright tale of his pride over his children back when Théodwyn had first been bedridden. Théoden quickly derailed his thoughts before he went to the conclusion of that memory. He steadfastly refused to think of it in front of his sister. His guilt when she spoke happily of …omund was enough. He wanted to apologize to her desperately.
But how do you apologize for bedding your sister's husband?
"Well, what's your answer?" Théodwyn said.
"Huh?" His head snapped up.
She rapped him on the head. "Will you take them in and train them or not? I swear father was right some days. There really isn't a thought in there," she added teasingly.
"Ow. Yes. Like my own. Although it might do me well to pay them more attention than that." He smiled. "Any other demands to make of me?"
"I'll come up with something. Now get me back my nurse. I hunger." Théodwyn brushed her fair hair from her eyes. "And I can interrogate her to find out just how many days you kept her in those stocks."
Théoden smiled and went off in search of the nurse and then Gríma. He had to give Gríma the grand news that he'd be dealing with Théodwyn's children much longer then he had previously thought. Already Gríma had started wearing bandages over his hands from all the bites …owyn was giving him. Whatever possessed her to do that to him was a mystery but Théoden was willing to bet it was just the impulse most people felt upon meeting poor Gríma.
Gríma, he reflected, was going to have a fit when he found out. Watching his reaction would prove to be an excellent distraction from his own current mire of guilt. Besides, if he ignored it long enough it might go away.
He had a kingdom to run. He didn't have time for this sort of thing.
Fin.
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Fell Deeds Awake by Rosencrantz
Story notes: Firstly I wish I'd taken more time to name this sucker, but there you go.
Secondly, thanks to my beta readers. Nani, Finabair, Fatima, Michelle and Kielle.
Heavy inspiration for bits and pieces of this courtesy of this article - http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/tolkien/49877. Mostly the bit about Eomund being Elfhild's little brother. Also, concept of Galmod being a field marshal came from Darkriver and his Eomer/Theodred fic.
