#so we need to settle on myne’s hair color

[brideofedoras]

Myne Owne Hertis Rote

Disclaimer:  Image found on Google (Eomer’s helmet and sword, Guthwine).

I only own my OCs.

Word count: 4000+

Rating: teen (for now)

Warnings: mentions of injury and pain, underaged drinking, mentions of the attack

Part Three (with links to parts One and Two): https://brideofedoras.tumblr.com/post/188864457893/myne-owne-hertis-rote

Part Four!  Happy reading!  

“Rochiriel,” Éomer switched the reins to his left hand, reaching down to squeeze her thigh through her skirts.  “Edoras lies up ahead,” he smiled when she peeked over his shoulder to see the city in the distance, less than an hour’s ride away. “We are almost home.”

Rochiriel smiled wearily.  “I am glad,” her voice was strained as she dropped her forehead to the cool leather covering his shoulder blade.  

“Are you feeling well?” Éomer frowned, tightening his hand on her leg once more.  “Rochiriel, do we need to stop?”

“Éomer, is everything all right?” Alldred rode up abreast of them.

Éomer spared his friend a glance before returning his attention to the young woman behind him.  “Rochiriel, answer me, are you feeling all right?  Do we need to stop?”

“No,” Rochiriel shook her head.  “I can make it, my Lord, I can make it to Edoras.  We do not need to stop.”

“Like hell,” Éomer growled.  “You are in pain, Rochiriel, and you have not uttered a word about it!”

“I did not wish to burden you with a delay,” she whimpered into the leather and metal of his armor.  

Éomer looked over to Alldred.  “Take the men and ride on ahead,” he said.  “Rochiriel needs a respite.  Tell Lady Daewen that her daughter is safe with me, say nothing of her injuries.  Have Godwine send one of the royal healers to her house once we arrive.  And find the boys responsible and bring them to the Golden Hall.”

“Yes, sir,” Alldred nodded.  “Anything else, Éomer?”

“If Rochiriel’s mother needs anything, please see to it.”

“Yes, my lord,” Alldred reined his horse to alert the men.

“Éomer, no,” Rochiriel whimpered into his shoulder. “I can make it!”

Éomer shook his head.  “You are in pain, Rochiriel,” his voice was firm as he reined Firefoot aside. Keeping a firm grip on Faelan he threw his right leg over Firefoot’s neck and dismounted.  He quickly and carefully placed the wolf pup on the ground before turning to place his hands on Rochiriel’s waist.  “Down we go,” he murmured before lifting her down and against his chest.  Once he helped her to a soft spot to sit he turned to fetch the mead from his saddlebags.

Rochiriel dashed away the tears slipping down her pale cheeks, whimpering in pain when she forgot about the wound under her left eye. “Éomer, you have been away from home a fortnight, I do not wish to delay you a moment longer!”

Éomer kneeled before her.  “A moment longer, a day longer,” he shook his head and pressed the skin into her hands.  “It matters not if you are in pain, Rochiriel.”  He brushed his knuckles against the back of her hand.  “Drink up, love.  We will return home when you feel up to riding.”

Rochiriel knew she would not win this argument.  Éomer is right, I hurt too much to ride.  She lifted the skin, taking a few very healthy drinks.  

She was mortified when an unladylike belch erupted from her lips and caused the marshal to chuckle.  She stared at him with wide eyes.

“I believe you shall be able to drink some of the men under the table before long, love,” Éomer teased, smiling at her now. “You very well could win the next drinking contest.”

She shook her head.  “No, Éomer,” she sighed.  “I do not like mead.”

“We always have ale,” he chuckled.  “And wine.”

“I will stick with wine,” she smiled half-heartedly.  “If ladies drink, they drink wine.”

“If I had any wine, I would offer it to you,” Éomer conceded.  “But for now, all I have is the mead.  It will loosen your muscles and ease your pain.”

“I will not be fit to ride, Éomer,” she felt a pleasant warmth spread through her.  “What will you do with me if I cannot sit on a horse?”

“Then you shall ride in the saddle, and I will ride behind you,” he promised.  “Perhaps riding in the saddle will help you relax.”

“Perhaps,” Rochiriel agreed, taking another healthy drink before offering the skin to Éomer.  “I feel terrible for drinking your mead and not sharing.”

Éomer’s brow quirked up.  “I do not mind,” he said softly but accepted the skin.  He took a small drink at her expectant look. “You need it more than I, and there are more in the cellars of the Golden Hall.”

“Then we had best hurry back to Edoras,” Rochiriel giggled.  She hiccupped, eyes growing wide as she covered her mouth.  She giggled again as she blushed.

“I believe that is enough for you, young lady,” Éomer frowned, taking the skin and securing it in the saddlebag once more. “How do you feel?”

“I feel nothing but warmth,” Rochiriel sighed, a drunken smile bowing her lips.  “A pleasant, tingling warmth all throughout my body.”

Éomer groaned.  “Up in the saddle with you,” he lifted her into his arms and swung her up into the saddle.  Rochiriel curled her fingers around the pommel, giggling again as she watched him pick up Faelan.  The wolf pup plopped across her lap.

Éomer adjusted Rochiriel’s skirts and his cloak before he swung up behind her.  He slipped his left arm around her waist and reached around her to take the reins in his right hand.  She soon relaxed against his chest, numb to the pain along her back.

He held Firefoot to a steady walk, hoping the jostling of each step would not further injure her back.  He knew his armor could not be comfortable rubbing up against her wounds.  

“I want to go fast, faster,” Rochiriel giggled after a while, craning her neck to look up at him with bright blue eyes. “Please, Éomer, can we go faster?”

“No, Rochiriel,” he shook his head.  “I cannot make Firefoot run fast without you or Faelan falling off.”

Rochiriel pouted.  “You spoil my fun,” she muttered.

He chuckled, tightening his left arm around her waist.  “Perhaps someday when you are healed I will take you for a ride and we shall go as fast as you please.”

She sighed, laying her right hand over his. “I would like that very much, my Lord.”

“Rochiriel, you’ve known me your entire life, there is no need for you to be so formal when speaking with me when we are alone,” he said softly.  He preferred to be addressed by his name and not his title.  

“Éomer,” she sighed his name, brushing her hand over his gloved one.  “You are a good man.”

Éomer blushed, unable to respond.  Her soft touch sent heat through his body, strong, intense, unlike anything he had ever felt from a woman’s touch before.  And it was all wrong.

It felt right, but at the same time he knew it was wrong.  Rochiriel was still young, a woman of sixteen years.  She was his sister’s best friend, his friend.  She was injured, and dammit she was intoxicated.  

He had not meant for her to become so drunk from the mead, he had only hoped to take the edge off her pain, as had Alldred the night before.  Alldred.  Of course, he must have given her some before we broke camp.

Éomer was going to have a time explaining to Rochiriel’s widowed mother why her young daughter was drunk.

“I dreamt of this once,” Rochiriel sighed. “Riding with you like this…”

His eyebrows shot up.  “Did you?”  Inwardly, he groaned.  What the hell are you doing, Éomer? Encouraging her to tell secrets while she’s drunk?  

“Aye, my Lord,” she sighed again.  Happy.  Breathy.

Do.  Not. Encourage.  Her.  

He gritted his teeth, that breathy sigh getting to him in the worst way.  He wanted to hear that sound again, he wanted to be the reason for that sound.  

Under better circumstances, when she is healed, sober, and a little older. Stop thinking about it, Éomer.  

Sixteen was not too young, it was not unheard of for young women Rochiriel’s age to be involved with men, whether the men were their age or twice their age.  Éomer had nearly ten years on her, a reasonable age gap.  One that would not bother him under any other circumstances.

However…  She was Éowyn’s closest friend.  He had ridden patrols with her father before Braedon died.  Hell, he had known Rochiriel since she was a babe.  He had taken it upon himself to work with her on her riding skills while he worked with Éowyn, feeling he owed it to her father… as Braedon had died saving his life.

“Tell me about your dream?”

You are a stupid man, Éomer.

Her fingertips danced over the back of his hand, and he suppressed a shiver.  

“I dreamed I was in the Golden Hall with Éowyn for my birthday.  She had given me a beautiful dress… it was white with blue trim and a black sash with blue stitching…  She told me to put it on…” she turned her head, resting her cheek against the leather of his armored chest plate.  “After I put the dress on, Éowyn and I walked from her room to the great hall, and you were there with Theoden and Theodred.  All three of you stared at me… and you…” she giggled, sighing another dreamy sigh (he groaned out loud that time, he really wanted to be the reason for that sound).  “You walked up to me and took my hands in yours and you told me, ‘this blue matches the color of your eyes’… and you took me riding on Firefoot.  Like this… but I wasn’t hurt and we didn’t have little Faelan,” she stroked her fingers through the drowsing pup’s fur.  “We rode out to the vale where the roses bloom, and you kissed me…”

Éomer’s arm tightened around her waist.  “What was it like?”  His voice was low, deep, husky.  Have you lost your mind?

“It was beautiful,” she whispered.  “The way your hands cradled my face and curled into my hair, the way your thumbs brushed over my cheeks… the way your eyes looked into mine…  Your eyes change color with your mood,” she went on.  “They were the color of warm honey with flecks of green and gold, so beautiful…  And you whispered my name before your lips touched mine.  Soft and gentle…” She trailed off before a violent hiccup shook her frame and startled Faelan.  

Éomer quickly steadied the pup as he swallowed hard. If I were to kiss you, that is how I would do it, he thought once Faelan settled down.  

She drew in a deep breath, exhaling it shakily. He frowned at how sad that breath sounded.  

“Riding on Firefoot with you is like part of that dream coming true.  Only I know I could never turn the head of a young, handsome marshal of the mark.  My family has no standing.  It is a wonder I am even friends with Éowyn… and you.”

The sadness in her voice got to him.  “No standing…  Rochiriel, why would you say that?  You’re the granddaughter of the Steward of Gondor!  The daughter of a former marshal of the mark, and Éowyn and I have been friends with you for a long time.”

She nodded.  ��Grima… he told me.  He said that you took pity on me after Papa was killed,” her voice took on a bitter tone.

“No, Rochiriel,” Éomer sighed heavily.  “My father died when I was eleven years old, my mother soon after.  Your father died when you were ten.  You cannot take pity on someone when you were once in their position, Rochiriel.”  He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm the anger he could feel building within at Grima Wormtongue’s mindgames. “Why were you talking to Wormtongue?”

“He cornered me yesterday,” Rochiriel answered quietly.  “Éowyn and I were hoping to finish embroidering the tunic I had made for your birthday.  A beautiful tunic…  Hama had just let me into the Golden Hall when Grima grabbed my arm and dragged me into a dark corner.  I… I thought he… he was…”

Éomer took another deep breath.  “Did he?” he could not keep the harsh tone out of his voice.

Rochiriel shrank in on herself, pulling away from him. “N-no,” she whispered shakily.

Éomer tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest once more.  “I am not angry with you, Rochiriel,” he managed somehow to lighten his tone. “Rest assured I will have words with Wormtongue when we get home.”

She shook her head.  “No, no, please,” she pleaded, gripping his left hand.  “It’ll only make it worse, he watches me all the time, he follows me when I visit Éowyn.  Theoden no longer notices…  And you are always gone, either on patrol or to Aldburg…”  

Éomer clenched his teeth together.  Grima Wormtongue is a dead man if he dares to lay a hand on Rochiriel again.  Or Éowyn, if she does not geld the bastard first.

“Mama is going to have my hide, isn’t she?” Rochiriel asked quietly as Edoras loomed ahead over the Snowbourn.

“My mama skinned mine a time or two when I was a child,” Éomer chuckled.  “Whoa, Firefoot!”  He reined in the horse when the dapple quickened his pace upon reaching the river’s ford.  “Walk, my boy.”  

The big horse snorted and shook his head in displeasure, drawing another chuckle from the marshal.  “We’re ready to be home, too, Firefoot,” he sighed.  “Your mother will be glad to have you home, Rochiriel,” he told her, tightening his grip on the reins when Firefoot again tried to break out into a gallop.

“I’ve never been away from home overnight like this before,” Rochiriel admitted.  “She must be disappointed with me.”

“No,” Éomer shook his head as they crossed through the north gate.  “She won’t be, I promise,” he assured her, reining Firefoot toward the small thatched houses at the bottom of the hill in Auld Town.  He stopped in front of one with beautiful yellow flowers in the yard. He slid off his horse before scooping up Faelan and setting him down.  He was carefully helping Rochiriel out of the saddle when her mother rushed out of the house, hands wringing her skirts with worry.

Daewen cried out her daughter’s name when Éomer lifted Rochiriel into his arms.  “What has happened?” she demanded, coming closer and frowning when her daughter giggled out a nervous greeting to her mother.

“I will explain in a moment, Lady Daewen,” his voice was strained as he shifted his stance to accommodate a suddenly-giggly Rochiriel.  The girl tended to giggle when nervous, and being drunk made it worse, he realized. He glanced down at the little wolf at his feet.  “Come, Faelan.”

Daewen gasped when she saw the wolf pup. “What’s this?”

“Your daughter saved his life,” Éomer answered shortly at the same time Rochiriel cooed, “My little wolf!”  He grunted when the young woman tried to shift around in his arms.  He tightened his fingers against her knee.  “Would you hold still, Rochiriel, before you cause me to drop you!”

Rochiriel went still.  “You would not dare to drop me, my Lord,” she sighed, reaching up to touch his bearded jaw.  “You are far too noble to do such a thing.”

“Is my daughter drunk?” Daewen gasped disapprovingly.

“Milady, I will explain,” Éomer nodded his head toward the house.  “Once I have lain her in her bed,” he grunted when Rochiriel went slack in his arms, hopefully from either the mead or exhaustion.

Daewen heaved a great sigh before gathering her skirts and turning toward the door.  “You are to explain everything.  Captain Alldred was quite vague when he came earlier to inform me of my daughter’s whereabouts.”

“Aye,” Éomer nodded.  “I did not wish to worry you with details until you were able to lay eyes upon your daughter.”

At his words, Daewen turned, a grateful smile warming her paled face.  “And I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Éomer.”  She led him into a smaller room near the back of the little house.  “What happened?”

Éomer crossed the small room to the bed tucked up against the wall, bracing his knee on the mattress to steady himself before lowering Rochiriel’s limp body onto it.  “She rode out yesterday morning, after…” he trailed off, unclasping his cloak from her neck and shifting her onto her stomach.

“What happened in the Golden Hall?” Daewen demanded. “Rochiriel would not say before she took off for the stables.”

“Grima Wormtongue,” he spat the name out.  “He watches my sister and your daughter despite repeated warnings from Theoden, Theodred, and myself.”  He closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a slow, deep breath before pushing away from the bed, purposefully not telling her what Rochiriel had confessed.  “Rochiriel rode further than she intended and happened upon two boys beating the wolf pup.”

Daewen sucked in a sharp gasp, looking down at the little wolf who was whining at the bed.

Éomer stooped down to lift the pup onto the mattress where he promptly curled up against Rochiriel.  “Your daughter valiantly defended Faelan and was injured in the process.  I was scouting for a good nooning place when I found them.  We have cleaned, treated and stitched both Rochiriel’s and the pup’s wounds, have provided food, a bedroll and the mead to ease her pain.”

Daewen’s eyes slid shut in grief as she sank onto the mattress by her daughter’s legs.  “How severe are her wounds?”

“They require salves and medicinal tea,” he answered. “Alldred believes she will have scars.” He reached out to place a comforting hand on Daewen’s shoulder.  “Your daughter is very brave, Lady Daewen,” he assured her.  “She protected the wolf pup from those… boys… and would have stood up to me to defend Faelan if I had not quickly bonded with the pup before she regained consciousness.  I regret that I did not happen upon the clearing a few moments earlier, and I regret that Rochiriel imbibed more mead than I intended.  She did not tell me of her pain as we rode this morning until I forced it out of her.”

Daewen nodded.  “She is as stubborn as her father,” she sighed, stroking her hand over her daughter’s arm before hesitantly touching the pup.  She smiled upon feeling the soft fur of the now-sleeping wolf.  

“Aye, she is,” Éomer smiled fondly.  “Braedon was a good man, and sorely missed among the eored.  He would have been proud of her.”

Daewen blinked away her tears.  “I do not have what medicines she needs, Éomer,” she changed the subject, her brow furrowed with worry.

“Do not worry, I have asked for a healer to come tend to Rochiriel upon our return,” Éomer shook his head. He held up a placating hand when Daewen opened her mouth to protest.  “I will take care of everything, milady.”  He moved toward the door.  “I will return later with my sister to check on Rochiriel.  I take my leave to see to my horse, and to see to those… boys… who brought pain and suffering to your daughter.”  He tipped his head and left.

Éowyn was standing by Firefoot’s stall in the stable when he led the horse into the building.  “How is she?”

“She passed out from exhaustion, she is resting,” Éomer answered.  “Rochiriel received several deep lashes and drank a little too much mead.”

“Godwine brought Theolaf and Eosolaf to the dungeon,” Éowyn told him.  “I cannot believe they would do such a thing, Éomer.  They are bullies, they are mean-spirited, but to attack another person?”

 “They did,” his jaw tightened.  “I bore witness to their actions, sister.  If I had not arrived when I did…”  His voice faltered and trailed off, his eyes tracking to meet his sister’s.  “They would have killed her, Éowyn, had I not stopped them.”

Éowyn’s eyes widened as she sucked in a pained gasp.  “Why?”

“No one but those little bastards know, Sister,” he shook his head.  “I should send someone to look for Rochiriel’s horse—“

“Godwine found Brecc, a league from where you stopped to tend to Rochiriel” her voice dropped, hesitating before continuing.  “He had broken his leg.  They had to put him down.”  

Éomer walked away from the stall, stalking to the furthest corner of the stable, empty of horses, before slamming his fist against the wall.  Pain blazed through his knuckles and up his arm as he cursed.  He braced his hands against the wall, hanging his head as he struggled to rein in his anger.  The soft touch of his sister’s hand on his armored shoulder made him stiffen, but he did not shrug her off.

“They dragged Brecc out of sight so Rochiriel would not see,” Éowyn told him sadly.  “Godwine wanted to know what you want to do with the horse…”

“Rochiriel will be devastated,” he growled.  “I remember when Braedon gave Brecc to her.”

“She loved that horse,” Éowyn leaned into Éomer when he turned and pulled her into a tight hug.  “I will go out with Godwine to fetch Rochiriel’s tack, and a lock of Brecc’s mane…  We must tell her, Éomer.”  She leaned back to look up at her brother.

He shook his head.  “For now, she rests.  We will check on her later.  I want to see those boys.”

Éowyn silently helped her brother attend to Firefoot, brushing him down, giving him fresh water and food.  As they left the stable and headed up the stairs to the Golden Hall, Éomer spoke up.  

“Is Wormtongue giving you trouble?”

“Nothing I cannot handle,” Éowyn answered.  “His words, his looks, his touches are unwelcome… and I will geld him if he ever lays a hand on Rochiriel.”

Éomer’s smile was grim.  “I will kill him if I catch him harassing either of you.”

  Éowyn was alone when she paid Rochiriel and her mother a visit before supper time, a basket of food on her arm.  

“Lady Éowyn,” Daewen embraced the king’s niece warmly.  “Tis good to see you!”

“My Lady Daewen,” Éowyn hugged her mother’s old friend.  “The sentiment is the same.”  She pulled back, noting Daewen’s frown as the older woman looked out the door behind her.

 “Where is Éomer?”

Éowyn’s smile faded.  “He sends his deepest regret for not joining me,” she said softly, catching Daewen’s hand in hers.  “My brother is not pleased with the punishment Uncle has given the two boys responsible for Rochiriel’s injuries,” she dropped her voice to a low whisper.

Daewen gripped Éowyn’s hand.  “What was the punishment?”  She kept her voice low as well.

 Éowyn peered through the doorway into the house.

 “Rochiriel is resting still, in her room,” Daewen whispered, reaching back to pull the door shut.  “Eowyn, what was the punishment?”

“A fortnight in the dungeon,” Éowyn shook her head in disgust.  "Two weeks punishment for nearly killing a woman, for torturing and killing animals."

 Daewen snorted in an undignified manner.  “A fortnight in the dungeon is better than no punishment at all,” she grumbled.  “Thank you for telling me, Éowyn, I do appreciate your kinship with my daughter.”

 “Rochiriel is my dearest friend,” Éowyn’s answering smile was fond.  “Just as you were one of my mother’s dearest friends, and I will always hold you in my highest regards, my Lady Daewen.”

 Daewen smiled back, tears burning at her blue eyes.  “You are a treasure, my dear,” she took Éowyn’s hand and led her into her house.  “May I enquire as to what is in the basket?”

 Éowyn grinned.  “I brought a feast fit for a queen,” she said as she set the basket on the table.  “Éomer requested this meal for Rochiriel, to make up for the trout she'd had last night.”

 “Your brother is a good man, Éowyn,” Daewen murmured.  “A noble man.”

Éowyn blushed at the praise for her brother.  “And he would deny every word,” she laughed softly.  She looked toward the back of the room when a door opened.  “Rochiriel!”  Her eyes swept over her young friend, lingering on the wound on her cheek and the wrappings on her left forearm.   

 Rochiriel moved stiffly as she came out of her bedroom, Faelan limping behind her.  “Éowyn,” her smile was strained.  

 Daewen moved to aid her daughter as she walked across the living space.  She carefully put her arm about Rochiriel’s waist, well below the lowest wound on her back.  “Shall I make more of the medicinal tea, love?”

 Rochiriel nodded, easing her arm around her mother’s shoulders.  “Yes, Mama.”  She looked at Éowyn, before looking around the room.  “Where is Lord Éomer?”

 Éowyn gave her a sad smile, “My brother asked me to tell you he regrets that he cannot join us this evening, he does not wish to upset you with the mood that has befallen him.”  She motioned to the basket on the table.  “He requested a special supper and asked for a basket to be delivered.”  She pulled out a chair for her friend when Daewen brought her to the table.  “Éomer promised me he would come visit tomorrow.”

 Rochiriel looked up at Éowyn, her blue eyes filled with pain and sadness.  “Will he?”

 Éowyn took the girl’s hand into hers.  “Aye, little sister.  He will.”  She leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Rochiriel's brow.  "You know my brother could never deny you anything you ask.  He would give you the moon if you wished for it."  She was pleased to see color return to the younger woman's cheeks.  "Now, it is my understanding you saved the life of a wolf pup?"  She released her hands to pull out another chair to sit in.

Rochiriel nodded, turning to look for Faelan.  "Mama must have taken him outside," she murmured as she turned back to face the blonde.  "Eomer promised me Faelan would be safe in Edoras."

"Aye, Little Sister, he will be," Eowyn promised.

 Éowyn nearly screamed when she entered her chambers and found her brother sitting on the fainting couch beneath her window. She pressed a hand to her chest, shooting Éomer a glare.  

“How is she?” Éomer asked as he turned away from the window.

“Rochiriel was very disappointed, nay she was hurt that you did not come to visit,” Éowyn answered curtly.  “She is also in a great deal of pain.”

Éomer grimaced.  “The healer is to be making three visits a day.”

“She is, Leighwyn came to help Rochiriel prepare for bed,” Éowyn assured him, her voice still a touch cold.  She leveled a hard look at her brother.  “Rochiriel believes she has done something wrong, and I had to assure her that your reasons for not coming were due to the foul mood that had befallen you and your desire to not ruin supper with your temperment. I did not tell her what brought on your mood, Éomer.”

He nodded, wincing as he looked away.  “I did not wish to scare her or Faelan with my mood, Éowyn.”

“I know, brother,” Éowyn walked over and sat down beside Éomer on the couch.  “Rochiriel…” she shook her head.  “She was feeling the effects of drinking mead, she was hurting and embarrassed for her behavior earlier today.”

Éomer shook his head.  “She has had a rough time these past few days,” he sighed heavily. “I did not mean to upset her.  I wanted to spare her from my foul mood.”

“You should go see her tomorrow and tell her yourself,” Éowyn advised.  “And pick some flowers for her!  Now, my dear brother, it is late and I am tired.”

Éomer nodded, pushing to his feet.  “Thank you, Sister,” he murmured, turning to walk toward the door.