OoOoO

The springtime sun shone warm and fair on the plains of Harrowdale, yet no happiness was to be found in the hearts of Eldarion and Éowyn. They sat astride their horses - Éowyn on Snowfire and Eldarion on Greyhame - and gazed out toward the hilltop city of Edoras. To the south, the great mountain, Starkhorn loomed tall and ever-clad in snow. The mountain seemed to Eldarion much like the lady Éowyn in that moment; cold and pale, seemingly so close and yet o so distant.

Éowyn sat long and silent in the saddle, gazing at her homeland. The knights whom had escorted Eldarion and Éowyn to Edoras from Minas Tirith hung back a respectful distance, the banners of Gondor and Ithilien slack in the still air above them.

At length, Eldarion chanced to speak to Éowyn. "They'll be waiting for us."

Indeed, the distant sound of a horn from the gates of Edoras reached them across the valley. The Rohirrim had sharp eyes indeed, to pick out a party as small as theirs upon the vastness of Harrowdale.

Éowyn let out a long breath, then nodded. Picking up SnowFire's reins, she urged her horse onward toward Edoras. As they passed beneath the city gates, the horns of Rohan blew loud and clear, welcoming their White Lady home even as the nation prepared to bid farewell to its king.

OoOoO

Lothíriel and Elfwine came out to welcome them on the steps of the Golden Hall, and bittersweet was their reunion. Éowyn embraced Lothíriel first, and the two women held each other close for a moment longer than usual. Then she turned to Elfwine. The young heir apparent to the throne of Rohan was a boy no longer, it seemed. Time and grief had wrought the final work in shaping Elfwine into a man. Taller than both Éowyn and Lothíriel, Elfwine stood broad of shoulder and firm of face. He wore dark clothes embroidered about the collar and sleeves with golden knots, and upon his belt hung his axe, well-notched from years of use.

"Elfwine...your father was so very proud of you," said Éowyn as she reached up to embrace him. "And he loved you, so very much."

"I'm glad you're here, Aunt." Elfwine had to bend over slightly to allow Éowyn to reach him. Although he tried to smile, the redness of the Third Marshal's eyes betrayed his grief.

Eldarion found himself at a loss when he and Elfwine were face to face.

"Elfwine...I..."

Elfwine was quick to cut Eldarion off with a tight hug though. He was strong, and somehow Eldarion almost wondered if it were himself that were being comforted by such an embrace even more than Elfwine. Rather than say anything, in that moment when words simply were not good enough, Eldarion held his brother as close and long as he could.

When at last they broke apart, Lothíriel led them inside the Golden Hall. Fires burned in the braziers and central pit, and folk clad in cloaks and gowns of black mingled here and there, speaking in soft voices. The throne of the king sat conspicuously empty, and Eldarion couldn't help but feel his eyes drawn to it. Éomer had been a mighty man, valiant and brave in all things. His fame as a hero of the War of the Ring was legendary all throughout the south of Middle-Earth, and now that fame would pass into history. One by one, they would all begin to pass into history, Eldarion thought sadly to himself.

Rather than linger in the main hall, the four of them sought a more private antechamber in which to gather. There a small measure of gladness came when they found that Gimli had already arrived from the Glittering Caves at Helms Deep.

"Come here lass," said Gimli, rising stiffly to his feet with the help of his cane. He took Éowyn's hand and kissed it. "It's good to see you, even on an occasion like this. Your uncle and brother often said that your smile was one of the rarest and most precious things they ever beheld. It would sore grieve Éomer to think that he was the cause of its absence today."

Éowyn shook her head and sank into the offered seat beside Gimli. "Even more grieved am I that death should have found the House of Eorl so soon after our uncle. Lothíriel, your letter spoke briefly of Éomer's death, and yet I still do not understand how it could be so. He was still fit and hale, a strong man with many years of life yet before him!"

The pain on Lothíriel's fair face was such that Eldarion's heart ached for her. She wore all black, even a long veil that trailed from the golden circlet of her crown to cover her hair. She hung her head, and a single tear fell to drop into her lap.

"He was...and yet he is gone. Even now Éomer lies in repose, ready to be interred beside his uncle and cousin within the burial mounds before the sun sets. He..." Lothíriel took a steadying breath before continuing. "He arose that morning as if it were any other. We were glad, he and I, because we had agreed to steal an hour to ourselves that morning to go riding in the hills. Even when discussing taxes with his advisors over breakfast, Éomer seemed in high spirits. When we rode out from Edoras... A golden vision he seemed, the wind in his hair and the rising run before us. He laughed and called me 'starling', as he used to when first we met. I thought in that moment that we might be young together forever."

The picture Lothíriel painted was a poignant one, and it clearly touched Éowyn and Elfwine deeply. Éowyn sat as if carved from stone, her pale white hands clasped tightly in her lap. Elfwine's shoulders sagged further and further with every word, and Eldarion laid a hand on his arm to comfort him.

"Then, without word of warning, he stopped and left me to ride on alone. When I realized that Éomer was no longer at my side, I turned and rode back, thinking perhaps he wished to speak to me. The closer I came though, the more clearly I could see that something was deeply wrong." Lothíriel wept as she spoke, but bravely continued on. "His face... Never in all my days will I forget his dear face. He sat as one transfixed, as beholding something both too beautiful and too terrible to withstand. All colour left him then, and he clutched a hand to his breast. Even as I called out his name, he pitched sideways in the saddle and fell to the ground. Not a word did he speak, not even when I knelt at his side and begged him to tell me what was wrong."

Now Lothíriel could go no further, and it was Elfwine who took up the remainder of the tale. "They had ridden out beyond the hills, and no help was within sight nor call. Mother could not carry Father, not alone, but she was able to kneel his horse and secure him sideways to the saddle. She brought him home, but...but there was nothing to be done. By the time I was called in from the fields, Father was already fading fast. A sudden malady of the heart, his physicians called it, but I would not believe it. It was not until Father...until he reached out from his bed to caress my face, that I knew he was dying. Less than half an hour later, he was gone."

When Elfwine finished speaking, Éowyn bowed her head. Then she looked up, and a strange light was in her eyes.

"I would see him, if I can."

Gimli nodded. "He's in the middle hall, off the west side of Meduseld. The folk of Rohan are taking this chance to say their goodbyes before the funeral this afternoon."

Éowyn rose and, with one more embrace for both Lothíriel and Elfwine, she left in search of her brother. Eldarion thought to go with her, but decided against it. Éowyn was a private woman, poised and guarded with her emotions. She would want to say her final farewells to Éomer alone. Instead Eldarion sighed and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and looking down at his hands. Then he remembered.

"Lothíriel, Elfwine...I also bring word from my father. That he cannot be here today grieves him to no end, and he wanted you to know that, as brother in bond and deed to Éomer, he offers you both whatever support you may need in the days ahead, as well as all of his love."

Through her tears, Lothíriel smiled. "We understand completely why Aragorn could not leave the White City. You'll be sure to tell him that, Eldarion? Tell him also that Éomer was a man of action, and never one to stand on ceremony. That your father attend his funeral would have mattered far less to Éomer than the good times our families have spent together over the years. Be sure to say as much to your mother and sisters as well, when they return from the north and Harad."

"And as for Legolas..." added Gimli "I do wish the lad could have had the chance to be present for Éomer's send-off. Would have been a nice way to end things, considering how they got off on the wrong foot and all."

To their surprise, Elfwine chuckled then, soft and low in his throat. "One of Father's fondest memories of you Three Hunters, actually. Before then he had always thought elves to be untrustworthy creatures, full of hidden intent and intrigue. That one should point an arrow directly at his face and threaten him in full view of his Riders came as an utter surprise."

Eldarion couldn't help himself; he gave a little laugh at that too. "Father had only just become comfortable enough to trust that you and Legolas had moved past your previous quarreling. To be picking fights with the Riders of Rohan immediately upon crossing the borders of the Mark was decidedly not what he had in mind that day."

"Aye, poor Éomer!" said Gimli with a little smile sideways at Lothíriel. "To be riding in his own backyard and stumble across three trouble-makers such as us!"

"One of the happiest stumbles he ever made," said Lothíriel. "That day was the beginning of a new dawn in Rohan, as well as the beginning of friendships that Éomer treasured all his days."

"Aye, as did we," said Gimli. "As did we."

OoOoO

The people of Edoras gathered on the hillside outside Edoras as the sun was just beginning to cast long shadows over the walls. They lined the path from the city gates, hundreds upon thousands both rich and poor alike. Most still remembered the days when the wolves of Isengard preyed freely upon the Westfold, and mourned Éomer as the king under whose watch the land at last knew peace once more.

An honour guard of six Riders carried Éomer down from the Golden Hall, borne on a bier upon their shoulders. The King of Rohan lay with his hands clasped over the hilt of his faithful sword, Gúthwinë, and it seemed to Eldarion that Éomer was not dead, but sleeping. The dark shadows beneath his closed eyes and the stillness of his breast refuted such wishful thoughts though. Upon his brow he bore a circlet of gold set with three bright emeralds, but this was not the true crown of Rohan. That had been safely stored away back in the Golden Hall, there to await three days hence when it would come to rest upon Elfwine's head.

Immediately behind Éomer's bier, Elfwine and Lothíriel followed. Mother and son were pale yet composed, Lothíriel walking with an arm twined through Elfwine's. Éowyn came next, likewise with Eldarion at her side. The White Lady followed her brother unaided though, and she held her head high and proud even as tears glistened on her cheeks. Gimli had gone on ahead to await them at the burial mounds, the long walk down from Meduseld being too high a demand on his maimed leg.

Slowly, the procession moved, taking the time to allow those gathered along the road to pay their respects. Many sank to one knee as Éomer passed, with murmurs of 'Éadig, Éadig!' reaching Eldarion's ears. Few faces were unmoved in the crowd.

When at last they reached the mounds, one tomb stood noticeably open, it's door a dark maw opening into the earth. Small white blooms of simbelmynë flowered clean and bright upon the mound though, and the light of the setting sun cast some warmth upon the threshold. Here now, between the tombs of Théoden and Théodred, would Éomer rest forevermore. The procession halted, and Elfwine stepped forward to stand between his father and the tomb.

"I dreamt I dwelt in golden halls
With Riders uncounted at my side
And of all who assembled within those walls
That I was the hope and the pride

I dreamt I lived in brighter days
Beyond the reach of shadow's fall
And that the time should come again
When peace would reign above us all

I dreamt my life would be well lived
With family, friends, and honour won
So weep not for me, as now I ride
Beyond the moon, beyond the sun."

Elfwine's song was heavy with sadness, but rang out rich and true even so. Lothíriel came to lay a hand on her son's arm, and together they tucked a handful of simbelmynë flowers into Éomer's hands above his sword. Lothíriel leaned down and, with a kiss to Éomer's cold brow, whispered words only she could hear. Then, with a nod from Elfwine, the pallbearers bore Éomer forward and laid him in his tomb.

OoOoO

The crowd at the burial mounds was slow to disperse, and Eldarion lingered for a time with them. When at last he turned away though, it was to find Gimli waiting for him on the path.

"You alright, laddie?" Gimli asked him, his voice unusually soft for an old dwarf.

Eldarion sighed. "None of us ever thought to be burying one of our parents so soon. My heart breaks for Elfwine." He looked down the road to where Elfwine, Lothíriel, and Éowyn were still lingering around the sealed door of Éomer's tomb. "He is the youngest of us three; myself, him, and Elboron. It should not have been him to bear the burden of a crown first."

"Aye, but it always was going to be Elfwine first." When Eldarion looked at Gimli in surprise, Gimli smiled sadly. "You're forgetting who your father is, lad. Aragorn has some long-lived blood in him, and I don't doubt that he'll still be king for many years to come. The folk of Rohan are less enduring than the line of Númenor. I think even Éomer knew that he'd be the first of us to go."

"Still, not like this. To die in such a way...it hardly seems right. Éomer was not even truly an old man yet. I-"

Eldarion stopped himself, but Gimli seemed to understand. He patted the butt of his cane on the ground and tossed his head toward Edoras.

"Come on lad, let's give Éomer's family their privacy. Your mother and father aren't old yet either, and I promise ye, they won't be leaving us any time just yet. Growing older isn't much fun though, is it? The only way to make way for the young is for us old folk to start saying farewell."

Offering his arm to help Gimli along the way, Eldarion frowned. "You speak of saying farewell, but you yourself are a dwarf, Gimli. You might easily see two hundred years and then some!"

Oddly enough though, the sideways smile that Gimli gave Eldarion was bittersweet. "I fear that, you being your parents' son, will someday discover that an unusually long life is not without its price." They paused on the path, and Gimli looked back one more time at Éomer's tomb. Then they resumed their journey up the hillside, leaving the House of Eorl to mourn their husband, father, and brother.

OoOoO