NONVERBAL STARTERS // ⪻ @shicldmaiden ⪼
↳ 👁 Wake my muse up during a nightmare … eomer waking eowyn …. uwu
he sits, a silent guard that keeps vigil for one: his sister. All I have left is Eowyn… muscles stiff from disuse, he sits, but does not move or adjust his position for comfort ; even as weariness blurs his vision, he remains with his gaze set upon her. ever watching for any sign of life stirring. ( oh, but each slight movement from her are so far and few. will she ever fully awaken? ) he does not know, but all he can do is sit and wait.
it has been but a mere handful of days since he happened upon her prone form in the Fields of Pelennor. body bent unnaturally and so, so terribly small and frail amidst the dead, he mistook her for one of their number. he had not felt breath rising and falling from her ; no, she lay still – oh, so very still. how could he not mistake her for lifeless?
and the RAGE that followed…Eomer had been OVERCOME with it.
unseeing: he slew any who were not atop a horse or bore the ally colors.
uncaring: for himself, what more did he have to live for?
( he was now the king of a lonely hall. the sole survivor… ) after the frenzy of his vengeance, grief crept upon him. it swallowed him ; engulfing him into its depths, dragging down into the black. so young to be a king when he was not the true heir, and so alone without his sister to share in their newfound freedom.
Ah, Uncle… I have failed us both. Eowyn lies on her very deathbed… I fear she will join you in the Great Hall… I am not fit to be King of our people if I cannot even keep my kin safe.
burning, his eyes dampen again ; however, he dare not lift a hand. he is resolute in his observance of her. he is unconcerned for any that glimpse his sorrow. all he yearns for is for his sister to open her eyes…
first, it is her fingers that twitch.
second, it is her sudden inhale of breath ; it is sharp, arching her back from the pallet.
then, her eyes open — though unfocused.
his limbs protest, but he surges forth: large hands reaching, grasping for her flailing arms. a shudder passes through her slight form ; firmly, he grips her wrists and draws her forward. enveloping her within his arms, he all but refuses to release her or allow any struggling movements.
lips part, his voice rough from desuetude, Eomer deigns to speak: ❝ Do you finally awaken, sistermine? ❞ he holds her against his chest, and eases back and forth – rocking her within his arms ; his cheek rests atop her golden crown, tears slipping as relief suffuses him. not wanting her to view his anguish, he distracts her with hesitant, shaking fingers gliding through her tangled mane. ❝ Tell me, Eowyn, am I no longer to be the last of the House of Eorl? ❞ Dare not shatter my hope, Eowyn…
She heard his cries in her slumber. Unable to move nor find her lungs to draw breath and breath out words of comfort. Too long had she dreamt of such a worthy end. A sword in her hand and a cry for victory, only to be stricken down by one of Sauron’s most loyal of servants.
The halls would fill of song of her name and heroism and he would remain silent upon his throne. Somber features would look out int he Golden Hall as all sang in merriment of the glory of the White Lady of Rohan. The Lady of the Shield-Arm! Slayer of the Witch King! But that day would not come to pass.
Instead she lay in the Houses of Healing, silent and unmoving. No songs of valor were song, only those of loss and impending doom as the darkness from the East threatened to swallow Middle-Earth whole.
The darkness whispers to her, pulling her down into a heavier slumber. She reaches out for him, but he does not hear nor feel her touch. He fades into the darkness You cannot hinder me. She turns, her sword in hand and her shield upon her other arm. Fear strikes her to her very core. The folly of man stood before her and she was utterly weak. Her king, her uncle, her father lay breathless beside her. Serpent’s mouth peeled open baring fangs coated in poisonous rage. Desiring nothing more than to swallow him whole.
The weight of his mace comes crashing down and she cries out in pain. Weight of boot comes crushing down upon her back only it is not Merry who saves her. It is he, last of her kin comes riding in. His cry is feral and monstrous. Eyes alight with a rage as he charges towards imminent doom.
He falls fast. Her cries fill the battlefield, the last of her line for she was certain to fall next. It lifts her by the face, tormenting her further and forcing her to stare down at the end of her family. Her body is flung and she falls into darkness.
An emptiness fills her. A loneliness she’d never felt. It is all too consuming, stealing her of what little breath remained in her lungs and she continues to fall, further and further into the darkness. There is little hope left now. No light in the darkness to guide her home but a warmth is felt nearby. One that was ever there, reaching out and calling to her.
Breath feels her lungs once more and it scorches her throat. Her eyes search the room about her, but are unseeing. Éowyn bends forth in pain, left arm brought close to her while the other scratches the air, fighting off an nonexistent foe.
He is there, steadfast as always to pull her in close. His touch so familiar she need not see his face to know he was there. ❝ Éomer, ❞ her voice is harsh from no use. Her arm slinks around him so naturally, it had been a thousand times before and brought her comfort in her loneliness.
❝ Ever dark were my dreams. I could not wake from them. His reach --- I could not save him. I could not save you --- ❞ She pulls away from him, finally seeing his face for the first time in what seemed like years. Her body shakes with the fear and anguish he too shared. The loneliness they’d both felt since they were children when their family was torn apart.
❝ Darkness still lingers in me, I fear it will never leave my side. I dare not offer you empty promises borthermine. ❞ She touches his cheek, uncertain still he was not a dream brought forth to torment her further.
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