Éomer Imagine: Hearts Fire.

Éomer Imagine: Hearts Fire. Part Twenty-Six

The ride through Rohan had been significantly more critical and dangerous than Éomer had expected, with the risk of unexpectedly having to avoid high-security checkpoints and guard stations that had been erected in irregular locations, in honour of the recent attacks and struggles with protection. But the detours had given the couple a chance to see more of the picturesque wilds that the mark had to offer, finding themselves able to camp down deep into the majestic expanses of the surrounding forests or gazing upon the feral and disordered fields of tundra that rolled out as far as the eye could see. These parts of the lands had not been touched in years, and it gave the pair a profound sense of comfort to know that they were not going to be disturbed, be it by Théoden's soldiers or travelling orcs if they were to stay this far out in the kingdom.

It was on the third night of riding that Firefoot had been lead to trot upon an inadequate path of dehydrated earth, hidden intensely by a generous gathering of dense pine trees and spindly vines of climbing Hydrangea. The dark clouds in the sky had begun to spit out heavy droplets of rain, the sound of which echoed around them as the trees seemed to move closer together and form a makeshift rooftop to protect the tourists that were admiring the scenery that they held underneath. However, it became too impenetrable to ride through as they wandered on, and Éomer jumped down from his steed and supervised them all forwards for a time, grinning when suddenly before them all sat a charmingly modest thatched cottage, cloaked in an ivy curtain and besieged by an excessive garden of wildflowers and lengthy grass.

"It is beautiful!" (Y/N) gasped, her lover assisting her by carrying her down from the heights of Firefoot and then cradling her in his sturdy arms. "It is just perfect. Why have you not told me of this place before?"

"I have not been here since I was a child. My father would bring us all here to escape the pressures of Meduseld, we were all very happy whenever we came here." Éomer sighed happily, admiringly surveying the view of the house and inhaling the pleasant memories of family life. "...When my parents died, I did not wish to return. I was afraid of what I would feel, or that it would be tainted by sorrow. Perhaps I wished to preserve what I had. And then somehow, in the bustling life of Rohan and then my uncle's role for me as the third marshal, I had forgotten about it."

"And how do you feel?" (Y/N) turned to him, looking him over for a hint of sadness while holding on to his hand. "How do you feel about being back here?"

"Happy." Éomer smiled at her handsomely after a short pause for thinking to himself, nodding to confirm the truth in his words. "I am extremely happy to be back."

The two of them then made their way forward towards the gate, using their booted feet to stomp down into the padded ground as they created a route through the crowded weeds in an attempt to get to front door. Éomer then produced an ornate rusty key from within his travelling cloak, hesitating slightly before he put the key into the lock. "You can always go home if you wish it, you know that, don't you?" The young lord hushed to look at his partner, who was rolling her eyes to the heavens sarcastically and mockingly smirking. 

"Just open the door!" (Y/N) laughed.

The unyielding oaken door defiantly held its place, having become stuck in the surrounding frame while swelling from years of water damage and negligence. Éomer started to kick at it, and then the pair of them began to urge it with the weight of their shoulders until it eventually gave way to reveal nothing but inky darkness within. "Let me get a torch from the luggage..." Éomer mumbled and raced off towards the horse while (Y/N) decided to gently walk inside and feel her way around. 

Adhesive layers of compressed dust had penetrated most of the abandoned furniture and disclosed wood, and any fabric that had been left exposed to the elements had become notably threadbare and worn from insects that had sought shelter from the elements outside. (Y/N) had obviously rambled into the living room, where she let her fingers guide her to discover that a pile of dry firewood lay beside the hearth, alongside a bucket brimming with unused coal. There also sat a luxuriously padded leather armchair, comfortably pierced with metal studs around the seams and armrests. A wooden pew was placed opposite, with an elegantly embellished oak table sitting in the middle, holding dishes and goblets that were ready to be used. But it was as (Y/N) started to feel her way to a wooden stool that she sensed something was wrong, gently allowing her fingertips across the wood to find that the powdery dust that was expected to be upon the seat had been wiped clean away, and instead was a freshly polished surface. The maid nervously glanced around, but could still not see any better than when she had first entered the house. She then felt a shiver run its way up the curves of her back as she began to caress the hilt of an unrecognisable sword and a stack of bags with armour hidden within. (Y/N) froze abruptly, beginning to hear the muffled sound of heavy footsteps from deep within somewhere inside the house.