As Far As The Heart Can See

Chapter 4
“Almost a Truce”

Ósle and Alden had only just reached the entrance to the great hall when a rider of the King’s Guard appeared in front of them.
“Are you Ósle the healer?” he questioned. She nodded and he bid her to come with him. She excused herself from Alden who stood rather dumbfound and followed the guard across the hall. There at the other end stood Leof with the King and his Marshal. Ósle swallowed hard once and, upon being announced by the guard, curtsied.
“Théoden-King requested you to look at his and Lord Éomer’s wounds once more,” Leof explained and her eyes widened. Yet, she nodded and bowed her head.
“I already sent Freyda to prepare. You should find all you need within the King’s quarters.”
“As you wish,” she replied and met the old healer’s gaze. Was it her imagination or did she see a mischievous twinkle in his eyes? Yet, his next words assured her that she had seen correctly.
“And please, hold your temper, Ósle.”
Her eyes widened even more in pure shock and outrage. How dare he say that in front of the King? And – more importantly – in front of the Marshal? He surely must know exactly why Leof had said it. How embarrassing.
Leof then excused himself and the young healer shot a look at his back which could have killed an Orc. Her hands balled into fists and she pressed her lips firmly together to keep from shouting after him.
“Shall we then?” She heard the King’s gentle voice. Ósle turned to face him, her seething anger slightly lessened, nodded and followed him out of the hall and down a corridor. The young Marshal fell into step with her, a rather amused expression on his face.
“Am I correct in assuming Leof knows?” he asked. Ósle bit her lower lip, the anger returning. Putting on a sweet smile, she threw him a sideways look.
“I know not of what you speak, my lord,” she replied demurely.
“Did you tell him then?” he continued not reacting to her response. Ósle’s hands had meanwhile reached a state of bloodlessness from clenching them too hard. Didn’t he see she already was beyond angry?
“No, I did not.”
“May I ask how he heard about it then?” he pushed on clearly not seeing or not caring.
“No, my lord, you may not,” she replied icily.
To an extent he surly had a right to know. But Ósle was quickly loosing the grip on her temper. She drew a deep breath and chose to ignore him. Yet his next words made it impossible.
“Or did you loose your temper with Leof, too?”
Abruptly she stopped, grabbing his arm to keep him from walking on and turned to face him. Her cheeks were flushed and she shot him a glare.
“What part of ‘No’ do you not understand? If you proceed to bother me with questions you have no right to ask in the first place then I suggest you find another healer to tend to your arm. – Because I then cannot guarantee I won’t hurt you.”
With that she turned and followed the King into his chamber.


Éomer stood rooted to the spot. Her words had been straight to the point. And he also knew that he might have taken his banter a bit too far on her expense. And she clearly deserved an apology.
Yet, the way she had spoken flustered him. No one had yet dared to speak to him thusly. But she did and dared.
A sly smile crossed his face. She would make one hell of a wife. And after a pause he admitted to himself that he already envied the rider he had seen her with.
His smile faltered slightly. There definitely was something about her. She was of gentle and kind nature, caring for others more than for herself and yet, did not hesitate to speak her mind if necessary.
He shook his head. In less than a day she had managed to infuriate him, to let him see reason, to make him smile and to forget all his trials and tribulations – at least for a while.
She was a jewel and he was intrigued.
Still not completely understanding what he just found out, Éomer set his feet to work and entered his uncle’s chambers.
The young, dark haired healer was already redressing the King’s leg and once finished looked up at the King.
“The wound should be fully healed in a few more days, my lord.”
Théoden nodded and stood, motioning for Éomer to take the seat who hesitated. His gaze was fixed on Ósle who just then got to her feet and faced him.
Their eyes locked. Neither spoke but they held each others gaze.

The King looked from one to the other and back, slightly confused but at the same time amused. Eventually he cleared his throat.
“I will leave you then. I will be next door, Ósle. Éomer – I will see you at noon.”
“Rest well, my lord,” she said quietly at which he smiled, nodded and disappeared through a door into the adjacent room.
Still the healer and the Marshal stood and stared at one another. She wanted to look away, to avert her gaze but she couldn’t.
She knew she must have angered him; knew she shouldn’t have spoken to him the way she had. And she knew that it was on her to make amends, to ask for forgiveness although he had started it all. But what remained of her pride would not let her.
It was he who made the first move – literally. He took a step toward her then turned and started to take off his tunic. Ósle needed a moment to register this and blushed once she did. Furious with him and herself she turned to the small table and started scrubbing her hands until they were raw-red.
She heard him sit down in the chair next to her and felt a slight tingle in her stomach. Despite this she did not face him at once but thoroughly dried her hands first. Only then she turned to him and was both relieved and disappointed. He had not taken off his undershirt, only turned up the sleeve. With a small sigh she knelt down next to the chair and gingerly removed the linen bandage from his arm.
“Does it still hurt?” she inquired while inspecting the wound.
“No,” was his gruff reply. Ósle nodded and lightly traced the still reddened skin around the edges of the gash.
“It’s already begun to heal,” she stated mostly to herself. “But I think a scar will remain.”
“One of uncountable others,” he said gently and she was surprised to see his hand cover hers on his arm. Eyes wide she met his and saw his lips curve into a small smile.
“It matters not,” he assured her and she couldn’t help but return the smile.
“Nevertheless I will bandage it again to keep dirt out,” she breathed and started to pull her hand away when his grip tightened slightly. Astounded she found his eyes once more.
“My Lord?” she asked. Éomer took a deep breath, averting his eyes for a moment.
“Ósle,” he started looking directly at her again. A shower ran down her spine when he said her name. It sounded so…good when he said it.
“I apologize for…for my behaviour and for teasing you so.”
“No, my lord. It is I who should apologize. I had no right to speak to you as I did,” she said quickly and bowed her head. What he did next astounded her even more than his apology. He brought his hand to her chin and lifted it to make her look at him.
“That may be so. But I had no right to say what I did and brought it onto myself by teasing you.”
“So we are even?”
“We are,” he agreed and smiled which she returned. His hand lingered on her chin, his thumb mere inches from her bottom lip. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she felt she wanted him to touch her lips, to trace them with his fingers. She knew not where this thought came from but it was there, so very prominently. As an urge, a longing only he could end.
Unwanted her eyes lower to his mouth and a small sigh escaped her.

The smile lit up her already beautiful face and Éomer couldn’t look away. He felt the heat of her small hand on his arm; saw her gaze lower and the faint blush on her cheeks. And when she sighed, parting her lips ever so slightly in the process he was lost. He felt the whisper of breath on his hand which still held her chin and started to lean in, fully intending to kiss her. Yet, as soon as his lips touched hers she pulled away. Her eyes were wide, a shocked expression on her face.
She quickly stood and moved over to the table. Éomer did not say anything but in his mind he could have yelled at himself. Just why had he done that?
With professional accuracy but undeniably quick she bound his wound again and stood.
“I…do…do you require anything else, my lord?” she asked rather flustered. Not knowing what or how to say it, he simply shook his head.
“Rest well, then,” she said and was gone.

Éomer sat in the chair trying to gather what just happened. He knew why he had kissed her. At least he suspected he knew. She was a beautiful young woman. And…the moment had just been so right. But why had she pulled away from him?
And then the answer hit him harder than he thought possible: that rider. Of course, how could he have forgotten so quickly? He had only just seen them outside together.
Was it possible they were already wed? She was old enough to be.
“No,” he spoke out loud and stood from the chair with such force that it toppled over and clatter onto the floor.
In a matter of seconds the door to where the King rested opened and Théoden himself stood in the room.
“Is everything alright? Éomer?” He looked questioningly at his nephew then at the chair and back. Éomer sighed and slightly bowed his head.
“Yes, my lord. I only stood too quickly from the chair. I am sorry I disturbed your peace.”
Théoden-King nodded and after telling Éomer to rest, returned to his room.
With a sigh the third Marshal sat down on the bed, running a hand over his face. While taking off his boots his thoughts drifted back to Ósle.
Exasperated he sighed – it sounded more like a grunt – and balled his hands into fists.
‘No,’ he told himself. Nothing happened and nothing will happen. There were more important matters at hand. He had no use to dwell over a simple woman, as lovely as she might be.