Aeres (Heiress)

Chapter 2

Éomer opened his eyes. Sunlight overwhelmed his sight; a blurred figure closed the shutter. Instinct raised a hand to his brow as shield. This small motion taxed an exhausted body beyond its limit and unconsciousness again claimed him.

On waking flickering candlelight cast shadows through the darkness of a room he did not recognize. Training surfaced and his muscles tensed, preparing for action be it offense or defense. Without moving head or body, his eyes roamed the space. His hands explored the firm surface where he laid, shoulders and head elevated and supported by a thick softness.

A woman sat in a nearby chair. Hearing the change in his breathing, she smiled and spoke. Neither her face nor language were familiar. Instead of forming words his parched and irritated throat croaked. Propping on elbows he pushed up and forward. Winded and sapped of strength he sagged onto the bolsters.

Laying aside needle and thread, she moved to his bedside. Placing a hand on the small of his back and the other on his chest, with gentle motion and touch she helped him sit straighter. Reaching across his shoulders she hooked a hand under his arm, supporting him while fluffing the pillows, then settled him against them. From a nearby table she offered a wooden bowl. "Dwr. Slotian."

Wary of the offering, he waved a gesture conveying 'No' and shook his head. She sipped from the mazer, then placed it in his palms, her own covering his tremoring fingers as he clasp it. When his grip steadied she pulled back. His dry mouth absorbed the first cautious sip. The next swallow trickled cool water down his throat soothing its roughness. His third gulp emptied the bowl.

Her right hand rested on her chest. "Seren." It's index finger pointed to him.

". Son of Éomund."

"ay ... ow ... mr ... sən ... ov ... eoh ... mund." After his affirmative nod, she raised a hand with palm facing him and said, "Aros." This sounded like an instruction.

He watched as she poked at the fire burning in the tall, wide, and deep hearth, coaxing it higher; added small logs hissed and popped before coloring the flames a deep blue. Her fingers rubbed dried leaves over a silver cup, crushing them into a powder before pouring in steaming liquid from a copper pan resting on hearth stones. A wooden spoon drizzled thick honey into the brew. From a cauldron mounted on the other side of the fireplace she dipped rich broth ladling it over thick slices of bread. Returning to him, she sat on the edge of the bed and held out a bowl.

Enticing aroma and sharp hunger overrode prudence, and he eagerly accepted the food. But his hands shook from the effort of balancing the dish in one hand and managing a utensil with the other. Reclaiming both, Seren held a spoonful of broth near his lips. He accepted needs must and swallowed the mouthfuls she fed to him. Her pleased smile felt like a reward.

Food and water proved a balm, his hand didn't quiver when holding the cup. Its contents tasted floral with sweetness tempered by hints of lemon; the brew's lavender scent calmed. Sated, drowsy from warmth and tea, resettled on the linen sheets, laying on his side, huddling under threadbare quits. As his eyes closed, he heard a soft voice say, "Cwsg, Ayowmr sen ov Eohmund, Rydych yn ddiogel."

And was unsure whether a phantom or fingertips brushed against his cheek.

ooooo

When Éomer woke light did not blind. Shinning rays streamed through open door and windows on this rare sunny midwinter afternoon. Fresh air swept fuzzy cobwebs from his head. His hand smoothed over the soft tunic he wore. Its matched companion lay at the end of the bed and in neat folds. Testing strength, he swung legs over the side of the mattress. There were no ill effects. Feeling buoyed by this first success, he donned the pants and stood. His head spun like a whirligig set in motion.