And In The Dawn Save Them

Chapter 20 : Insomnia

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I think this was one of my favourite chapters to write, short but intense! You can feel the electricity in the air! I hope you'll enjoy it!

She knew she had to get up early the next morning to get dressed, get her hair done and help Eowyn get ready, but she found it hard to fall asleep. The wedding could have ended tonight, with a beautiful dance and her one-to-one with Legolas, that would have been more than enough for her. And if he had tried to go further this evening, she would not have shied away... the summer weather and the softness of the celebrations were conducive to love.

Unable to fall asleep, she put on her dressing gown and went to fetch some water from the kitchens and some fresh air from outside. All the rooms were full of sleeping guests, so she slipped as quietly as possible into the corridors.

When she reached the kitchens, she helped herself to a large barrel, and didn't realise that she wasn't alone: when she saw a figure on the other side of the room, she was startled and spilled water all over her hair and dress. Stifling an elven curse, she looked around for something to wipe herself with.

"I didn't know that elves could swear too."

When she looked up, she could see the person speaking more clearly: it was Éomer.

He had a glass in his hand and was wearing a linen tunic and light trousers, which he had put on under his royal robes during the day, so he wasn't in nightwear. Unlike Alcara, who didn't know which way to turn.

"I'm not the only one who has trouble sleeping," she says to hide her embarrassment. "It's hot tonight."

"I've had trouble getting to sleep for weeks now," replied Éomer, leaning against the stone wall and watching her with his perpetually inquisitive, bright green eyes.

"You have a lot of responsibilities now that you're king, and that's only natural."

"Yes, surely," he replied tersely.

There was a long silence between them. Éomer was still staring at her intensely, and Alcara couldn't understand why he didn't move, why he didn't say goodbye, why he let this unease build up. Looking away, looking for an excuse to leave, she finally broached the problematic subject:

"I'm ready for the dance tomorrow," she said casually, playing with a wooden spoon put on the table.

"So much the better," he replied as simply as ever, which began to annoy Alcara. "I hear you've been practising a lot," he finally added, looking at the glass in his hand.

"Indeed, how did you know?" she asked, intrigued.

"All I had to do is listen to you talk at feasts," he replied, still looking at his glass. "You shout it from the rooftops."

Alcara, offended, retorted:

"I didn't know that the King of Rohan was interested in my topics of conversation. Nor did I know that you could hear me speaking from the podium, when you must have far more important matters to discuss with the great and good of this world."

As she spoke, she didn't realise that she was spinning the wooden spoon harder and harder, eventually knocking it to the floor.

Éomer went over to her to pick it up. As he stood up and placed it back on the counter, he looked at her and whispered:

"I have ears everywhere."

He was very close to Alcara now. A little too close, even. Through the tunic, she could make out the well-defined muscles of his arms and torso, smell his sandalwood scent, see in detail his sun-tanned skin and the golden blond shades of his beard and hair. The fine plaits of his hair were adorned with small, simple jewels of gold and ivory.

"That's a beautiful pendant," he remarked, looking down at her neck.

She had kept it with her, without realising.

"It's a present," she explained. "It was my birthday today."

Éomer stared into her eyes again. His attitude was very enigmatic for Alcara, because he didn't let any emotion, good or bad, show. With the same phlegm, he turned back to the counter, poured some wine into his glass and handed it to her.

"In that case, happy birthday."

Alcara hesitated for a moment, then took it without drinking. The situation completely baffled her, she didn't know what to do and felt her pulse quicken. Sighing, she finally said:

"What's your game? Are you still suspicious of me, or are you wishing me a happy birthday as if nothing had happened?"

Éomer seemed a little surprised by her question, or her reaction, and as if he had realised the situation, he sighed and moved away from her, taking another glass and filling it with wine.

"Won't you answer me?" she added, beginning to lose patience. "As usual, you ignore me and despise me?"

He drank his glass of wine in one gulp and, without looking at her again, put it down and headed for the exit.

"I don't despise you. See you tomorrow for the dance. Have a good night."

And he left the kitchen. Alcara felt furious and held back a cry of rage: he really was beyond exasperating, incomprehensible and moody. Was he deliberately trying to throw her off balance? To see through her, as if she were a second Grima Wormtongue?

As if in defiance, she dropped the wooden spoon again and emptied her glass of wine into the carafe. She didn't need him to wish her a happy birthday!

A moment later, she returned to her own room, still as angry as ever with him. But suddenly she remembered what Faramir had told her, and she didn't know what to think:

"Do you think he despises you?"

Doubtful, she left her room and ran to her laboratory. On the table, the little egg had disappeared, but in its place lay the bandage she had put on Éomer's wrist, carefully folded.