Memories of a King

Empath: the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner; also: the capacity for this.
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His people were well – for now. Elfhelm had reported that the Rohirrim were beginning to rebuild their homes and plant what crops could be salvaged into scorched earth. Weather anything would come from the stoicism of his people Eomer did not know, but they had to have hope. What they could not grow themselves before the coming wintering months Gondor would supply. This first winter would be hard, but the Rohirrim would survive just as they had done for generations. Just as they had done under Théoden King though the king’s mind was often not with his people. That thought gave the young king some hope, but it was fleeting. Eomer had a lot of things to come to terms with now that he was king and the weight of them was crushing his broad back. It was too much to bear at times and he felt inadequate to take the throne; but there was no other choice. He would just have to swallow his own fears and worries and focus on his people, several groups of which were in attendance with him now upon Cormallen.

His eored and their families were with him at Cormallen, those that were not in the healing houses of Minas Tirith. Even some of his uncle’s old advisors and their families had joined the eored and himself at the celebrations. The uneasiness Eomer got from a few of his uncle’s advisors did nothing to help calm his nerves. He had survived the treason of Grima, fought in the many battles for the freedom of Middle Earth, had lived through the assault on the Black Gate, but how would he do when confronted with those that had long sought to destroy his family and himself? Surly they would not be plotting against him now, not with Grima out of the way and especially not with a strong ally in Aragorn and Gondor. But who knew what went through people’s minds when the thought of absolute power possessed them. What were they capable of and how far would they take it to achieve their means? How strong would he be if indeed an attack did come? Was he even fit to rule? No one had opposed him, so far. Eomer pushed those worries back into the shadows of his already burdened mind. As he paced in his tent he knew that Rohan was well represented in Gondor; minus the few advisors that sent chills down his spine. And this was good since Rohan would be relying heavily on Gondor’s generosity for a while. Again his thoughts brought up something else that was eating at him. Relying on Gondor did not bother him. What ate at him was the question of weather his people would survive the wintering months, even with Gondor’s help. His thoughts drifted to other things now and an overwhelming sense of dread came to him. He had to get out of his tent for a while and knew where he would go.

Eomer’s heart was heavy as he walked toward the fire where a few of his eored and their Gondorian brothers-in-arms had gathered for impromptu revelry. If only Eowyn would have found it in her heart to attend these festivities then he would not feel so alone. What was running through her mind he feared to guess? Had she forgiven him for his harsh words, for his doubt of her? He had only meant to protect her, and he had failed. Thinking back over the past few months he realized it was not the only thing he had failed at. He had failed to keep Theodred, Rohan’s proper heir, alive. He had failed to rid his uncle of the foul influences caused by Grima. He had failed to protect those he had sworn an oath to. He had failed his eored. Everywhere he looked he saw his failure and now he was king! Eomer wanted to dismiss that thought, wanted to throw off the yoke of kingship but he could not. There was no way out for him now. Faced with the daunting tasks he wished he had been allowed a heroes death. His courage was on the battlefield, not ruling Rohan.

His men greeted him warmly as he walked up, offering him mead and meat. The Gondorians, mostly Swan Knights since the revelry this time was in Imrahil’s encampment, gave the king the utmost respect giving up the best seat at the fire to him. Everyone respected and looked up to Rohan’s young king but that did not ease Eomer’s soul. If anything it only made him more restless to be able, due to position, to command such an audience when he did not even truly know his own self.

Lothiriel and Erchirion were drawn out of their tent by the revelry around the fire. Looking out upon so many friends, Swan Knights and newfound Rohirrim companions, merrymaking made the prince and princess’ heart light.

“You should join them brother,” she said as she felt Erchirion’s urge to take part in the festivities.

“I do not wish to make this gathering a formal affair.”

“A formal affair? Do you really think that highly of yourself brother,” she said mischievously? “It would become a formal affair if I attended but they would recognize you as one of their own and not the middle prince of Dol Amroth.”

“I prefer my sister’s company tonight,” he said sincerely. He had been worried about her change in demeanor for the past few days and had wanted to observe her to see if he could catch what was out of place.

They sat obscured in the shadows, not wanting to bring the party to a formal level by the princess’ presence, and watched. When Eomer showed up both siblings took a keen interest in him.

“Have you ever seen such sadness, such guilt and doubt in a man before sister,” Erchirion asked? “I am not half as aware as you and yet I sense Eomer’s dark moods.”

Lothiriel turned an inquisitive eye to her brother.

“I have not embraced anything Lothiriel.” He wanted to make sure that she was not misunderstanding him. “Though I can not help but to feel things strongly sometimes I have learned to block them in the rare instances they do come. Besides it would not take an empath to see how the king suffers, he wears it like a mantle.”

Imrahil’s children were sitting at the flap of their tent watching those around the bonfire. The fire illuminated Eomer’s features and her brother was right, the king of Rohan was deeply troubled and wore it to where anyone who cared about his fellow man could see it. His eyes were filled with sadness and completely lifeless, the forced smile on his lips looked like it would break at any moment into the oft seen frown. He was not yet 30 Lothiriel guessed and yet his face was lined with worry making him look much older. So sad too because she thought he could be quiet handsome if he would just relax and smile once in a while. But his duties would never allow for him to relax; not until he confronted his past, learned from it and looked forward to his future. Which Lothiriel knew he would never do on his own. She sighed a little bit at her last thought.

She turned back to her brother. Eomer had depressed her heavily but Erchirion had annoyed her greatly by speaking of their special ability as a curse. They were descended from elves, so of course they would have some residual awareness of things around them. Erchirion was just being daft now and Lothiriel was keen to put him in his place.

“It is not a curse brother. Not if handled wisely,” she was quick to add. Erchirion had created doubt in her mind now. “Father has it, Faramir uses it, Alphros seems to be developing it so why would you not have it?”

“I do not want it,” he said hastily! “Look at how much strife and grief it has caused Faramir, how many troubled nights you have experienced from it. No, I am not strong enough to wield this empathy.”

She looked at him blankly, “No you are not strong enough brother.” Then awkward silence as each turned back to watch the crowd before them.

Softly she said, “And I am beginning to believe I am not strong enough either.”

Erchirion looked at his sister, not believing the words she just spoke. “You are jesting with me. You have developed you skill for almost two decades. I do not know of anyone, not even in the tales of old that has used it and controlled it as well as you.”

“I struggle to control it of late brother. They are so many voices, so many emotions running through everyone all the time now that I get confused, even sick.”

“War has made us all fatigued sister dear, you are no exception. I do not know how you still manage to get up in the mornings after spending all day guiding our people through their nightmares. But you do and for that our kingdom is grateful.”

He had no idea how difficult it was for her to guide their people after the war. Though she did not see the war firsthand and had not even stepped foot into Minas Tirith until after the final victory she had seen every horror her people saw. She had experienced it through the eyes of battled hardened soldiers who had to hew down the enemy, be they foul beast or fellow man. Heard their anguish when they had to leave their brothers-in-arms bodies bloody and broken upon the fields where they fell. Felt their fear and pain when it was their time to take another’s life. Lothiriel had heard the sounds of flesh tearing, smelled the stench of gore, felt slippery blood on her body and knew that those sensations would never abate from the memories of the victorious warriors. But it was not just the soldier’s experiences that she had experienced. The enemy had orders to leave nothing untouched and they had followed their orders flawlessly until the very end. What the civilians of Minas Tirith had to endure through the beginning of the battle to the end was horrifying and as the princess helped molested women and children deal with the emotional toil she had become weak. All the crimes against humanity she witnessed them as if they were happening to her. She felt the pain, humiliation, terror, dread, hopelessness, sorrow, and death that her people went through in Minas Tirith. It was a testament to the human condition that people still could function after living through such difficult, horrifying times. And she would have to continue to function as well. Her people would not break and neither would she.

Erchirion saw that his sister had gone into her own deep thoughts and let her stay there a while before he asked, “Are you ready to retire for the night sister dear?”

Shaken out of her memories and thoughts she offered him her hand. Helping her up he put a protective arm around her as they started back inside the tent. He had always felt it his duty to protect her when he could. Not so much protection but offer her support when she needed. And he sensed that she needed his support now.

“I think I could go to sleep now,” she said giving one last look back toward the fire and the brooding king. “I do hope he finds himself before it is too late,” she thought to herself. Tomorrow she would speak to her father and see what he thought about allowing her to help Eomer, if she could, find his way.

Loridrea’s heart skipped when she saw the king step out of his tent and walk away. Where was he going? She had patiently waited for her chance to introduce herself for days and he was walking away from her! Not wanting to loudly call out to him and draw attention to herself she decided to follow in his footsteps; observe him from afar while she worked up the courage to greet him so informally. Her father had suggested that she might be a suitable match for the king and with his words her imagination ran rampant with possibilities! It was highly likely, since she was the daughter of one of Théoden’s most trusted lords, that she should have the opportunity to be Rohan’s queen. She had convinced herself that no one else would be able to claim such heritage among her people as she and therefore was assured queenship.

Eomer was very attractive, even when he was the Marshal of the Mark the women of her village found him very handsome and vied for his affections. Now most of those women were struggling to put their lives back together and Eomer was the last thing on their minds; which only worked out well for her situation. She had been one of the luckier ones; with her father being an esteemed lord in Meduseld during the king’s ill times her family was spared from having their belongings and livestock plundered. This fact had caused some resentment among their neighbors in the village and their talk had bothered Loridrea. But her father was resolute that they had merely been lucky. At least that was what he said when she had found the courage to ask him why they were spared. None of that mattered now, she had been lucky and now she had a purpose to fulfill and the king looked as if he was in desperate need of her company. Loridrea pulled her gown down lower on her shoulders and pushed her bust up making sure the ample cleavage would be seen by the king. Smoothing her hair and dress out she put on the biggest smile she could muster and walked toward him. Her heart beat quickly but she did not hesitate now, her future as queen loomed before her.

“My lord king,” she said as she bowed low before him giving him a straight view down the front of her gown. “You look tired and so sad. Is there anything I can do for my king?”

He was not in the mood for a woman’s charms tonight. Lately he had not been wanting for women at all; there were too many other conflicts to deal with. Why would he invite anymore trouble into his life? And this woman, any woman would be huge trouble. Though something more primal than his rational thought stirred within him at seeing her blatant display of flesh he had to turn this maiden away. He was king now and he could not, even if he wanted to, jump into bed or a relationship with someone at random. The consequences would be too great to contemplate if he messed around with the wrong lord’s daughter.

When would this get easy? What did his people, his advisors, his friends expect of him? Why would no one tell him what he needed to do to quiet his inner demons? Or direct him onto the path that would lead his people to prosperity? The thoughts came quickly and unwelcomed into his mind. That hopeless feeling was coming again. The feeling that he was alive with energy and would explode inside if he did not do something was strong! It was sheer terror and panic that consumed him now! He had to do something to rid himself of this horrible sinking feeling. He sought for a distraction, any distraction to quiet his mind and body. He focused his mind on Loridrea’s sweet voice and pleasant scent and decided that she might be able to help him – at least for now.

Loridrea told herself to remain calm. She was in her lord’s tent and it was well into the night. It was the time where she could be viewed as a whore instead of the future queen by the wrong people but she did not care. All she had to do was spend the night and after that even the king would not be able to dismiss her claim easily. But she did not want to come across as a complete whore and decided to let him make the moves, she would just supply the charm. She began to rub her tiny hands over his tunic and down his thighs.

“This begs to be taken off my king.”

Eomer now had no doubt that she intended only to help herself to him and his kingdom. He turned and caught her hands.

“Nay my lady, I will leave it on.”

He had to think of something to get this maid’s attention. He needed to send her off but desired company, anyone’s company. But he had to proceed with extreme caution as well. Eomer would not allow this whore to claim anything but his most sincere hospitality.

“Since you are so eager to use your hands on my body I can think of another part that would be pleased to receive your touch.”

Yes, that would be acceptable and he would use her as the whore she was coming across as. His queen would be dignified and refined, and would not act so improperly and disrespectfully toward him. Loridrea had lured him away from the merrymaking with seductive gestures and words heard only by him. Yes he had been taken by them then, because he longed to quiet his mind. Now she was just annoying him and his mind still raced, at least there was another sensation in his body besides the one of panic.

She heard her king’s suggestion but did not listen. Her experience with men, especially one as powerful as her king, was small. Right now she would have to focus and think what exactly he meant before she acted. Instead she ran her hands underneath his tunic.

“My battle hardened king; your scars are so many.”

There were many of them now as she ran her hands down his back. His entire back was covered in them, so were his sides and a few on his chest. He felt disgusting with his flawed skin but she focused herself on what this conquest would mean to her tomorrow. He had after all been in many battles; his body was bound to be completely covered with them. She only had to stake her claim tonight she told herself. This thought gave her the courage to follow his suggestion that another part would be eager to receive her touch.

He could not do this! He did not want her and now as both were naked in the pale moonlight he had to stop this! There were too many other conflicts going on in his life right now that even sex with a beautiful woman could not quiet. He could not get hard no matter how Loridrea had applied her charms. At least one thing was working in Eomer’s favor; he was glad for the lack of light in his tent, she would not see his hideously scared body in this light, though he had no doubt she felt them. Now he had added another conflict to his life, one that he had vowed he would not add. Not being able to perform tonight with Loridrea would lead people to question his virility and ability to produce an heir. No doubt this woman would talk and talk loudly of her night with the king and the rumors would begin taking off like wild fire. He got up from his playmate and dressed quickly before her.

“My apologies miss, I have other things to attend to tonight. Please dress and show yourself out.” Curt and to the point, even she would have to get the meaning of his words.

He walked out of his tent and took a seat on a stump before a smoldering fire. He put his head in his hands and began to think dark thoughts. A moment later Loridrea was behind him, holding him in her small arms and placing kisses on his covered shoulders and back.

“What troubles you my lord,” she purred? “Did I do something to offend you?” She was not going to give up that easily and she had to know what she did wrong.

He did not desire to talk to her about anything, she was just a failed attempt to quiet his mind but now it seemed that indeed he had invited trouble and she would not leave. It was only now, and much too late, that he realized whose daughter she was. He wanted to rip her father’s head off for his betrayal to his uncle while under Grima’s influence! Her whole family was traitors to Rohan as far as he was concerned and now he had almost slept with her! Almost let her ruin his reputation as king! His anger was intense and he tried to control it in front of Loridrea as much as possible. After all she might be a traitor’s daughter but she probably did not know of her father’s betrayal to his country or king. He feared his control was slipping and he pushed her away, quiet hard.

Lothiriel had been violently awakened by something angry and hateful, not the usual emotions associated with her nightmares. Who ever was experiencing these emotions was a danger and had to be calmed. Quickly putting on her robe she slipped out of the tent and followed blindly the inner voice that guided her. Getting closer she heard a woman sobbing then the voices entered her head, assaulting her from all directions. People were having nightmares and she was hearing them all, feeling them all! The voices persisted and then the emotions attacked her, never had she dealt with such violent emotions before and she felt her resolve draining away!

“Focus Lothiriel, focus,” she said to herself and then one voice grew stronger until it had quieted the others in her head. Her mother’s voice helped Lothiriel find her calm. It was her mother who had imparted her empathy onto her daughter years ago and now she lingered, somewhere in the farthest corner of the princess’ mind. Lothiriel continued her path and came across Eomer and Loridrea.

The woman was not hurt, shaken but unharmed by the king. Lothiriel picked up on the girl’s stubborn resolve and self pity for an instant and then turned to the larger problem. Eomer was the source of hate, anger, guilt, and loathing that had woken her from her sleep. She probed deeply into his soul trying to find the trigger that would make him reasonable to speak with. She could only find bitterness and then it seemed as if he was trying to shut her out! No one had ever done that, a few had tried to no avail but King Eomer was successfully blocking her. The next thing she knew she was penned to the ground by the king’s body, his hand tightly gripped around her neck blocking her air.

She had not even seen him coming! Lothiriel did not panic at the situation; years of training herself to her gift now came in handy. One could not panic when confronted with hostility, one had to counteract it with a counterattack and she knew of one that had been useful in the past. She hoped it would work now. She kept repeating the word, “calm” over and over, feeling it in the depths of her soul, projecting it into Eomer. But it was not working! Lothiriel could only stay conscious a few more seconds and now panic filled her!

What was he doing? He knew he held Imrahil’s daughter forcefully by the throat and he could see her gasping for air. But he could not force himself to let her go. He was killing her and nothing in his soul was stopping him! A voice came to him in his head and the next instant he was standing in a green field, Imrahil’s daughter was standing before him not gasping for air as he slowly choked her to death.

“Where am I?”

“In the East Mark I believe. This is where you are happiest.”

“This is not real, take me back!”

“This is real, real in your memories. Listen to the birds, the wind, smell the grass beneath you Eomer. This is where you long to be and now you are here.”

“You are a witch!” He lunged for her but she simply disappeared.

“I am only trying to help you Eomer. Yet you are murdering me.” Her disembodied voice echoed over the Mark. “Take refuge here for a while.”

It might be have been a sorceress’ ruse but he was feeling more relaxed. The more he relaxed the more he became aware of things around him. It truly was the East Mark! The East Mark from his childhood!

“Eomer let me go,” her voice was whisper quiet. He was aware his limbs were heavy and he wanted to rest.

Imrahil sat teary eyed by his daughter’s lifeless form. Her physical body stilled functioned but her essence was far away, probably with Eomer’s. Eomer had come very close to killing her, but he was now completely catatonic. The prince knew that Lothiriel had taken Eomer somewhere to calm his rage but he had rendered her unconscious before she could bring him back. Lothiriel was lost somewhere with the mighty King of Rohan. A very angry, guilt ridden king whose inner demons Imrahil could not begin to imagine, he knew she was strong and he hoped she would be alright.