White Blood ➵ LotR/Lord of the Rings

xix.

Chapter Nineteen
Rohan

Loving Thorin Oakenshield had been a midsummer's dream: a fleeting moment, held for a moment before it turned to smoke in her hands and dissipated into the air, having disappeared for the rest of time.

Their time together had been brief, but all the more precious for it. Their quiet moments together, always stolen out of sight of the Company, were close to Ninimben's heart: the way the moonlight illuminated Thorin's weathered face that night in Laketown, the warmth of his body as they stood closer than was strictly necessary, her breathy laugh of joy and disbelief when he kissed her for the first time that night, and then some more, hands held discreetly and stolen looks.

The warmth they'd shared chilled when they arrived at Erebor and the dragon sickness drove them apart, but it'd sparked back to life just in time for Ninimben to bade him farewell and let him pass with their love still intact.

What she felt around Eomer was different.

Eomer wasn't fleeting, wasn't far away. He wasn't a passing eve but the large expanse of the afternoon, warm and bright and comforting, leaving Ninimben feeling like she was walking in constant sunshine. It was light when her world was dark, encouragement when she needed it; it was shared laughter and inside jokes and good-natured teasing. It was forgetting the weight Ninimben felt pushing down on her shoulders, even if only for a few minutes. It was late-night discussions about Orc movements and burning candles while poured over maps, planning strategy and picking out patterns. It was frequent embraces and casual arms over shoulders and playful jabs to the sides.

It was different, but so similar. Ninimben only knew that since she'd met Eomer, she'd become more comfortable around him than anyone. They balanced each other. Looked out for each other. Joked and sparred together and spent most of their time together. It was something new, but so familiar that at times, her chest ached.

And it was during dinner one night when a mis-coordinated reach of his hand sent most of Eomer's dinner down his shirt and froze, staring at it like a foreign object, confused, before joining in the delighted peals of Eowyn and Theodred's laughter, his cheeks flushed red and looking so ridiculous, but so full of life and passion, that Ninimben's heart jolted in her chest and she finally realised.

Realised that maybe she was falling in love again.

That her heart was being won over by someone who was not Thorin Oakenshield.

That she still loved Thorin, and would likely to continue to love him for the rest of her days, but sometime since she'd arrived in Rohan, enough room had been made to let Eomer in, too.

And Thorin was dead, and one day, Eomer would be, too, and her heart would be broken all over again.

Maybe she was falling in love, and Ninimben didn't know if her heart could take it.

And so she shut it out, and instead engrossed herself at the task at hand.

It didn't stop her gravitating toward Eomer.

*     *     *

Ninimben's heart thudded in her chest, but it wasn't from nerves.

Eomer and his company of Rohirrim approached, their horses' hooves kicking up clouds of dust. She slunk back behind Aragorn as the horses reached them, then circled their small group until they were surrounded on all sides. She smiled to herself, expression hidden by the folds of her cloak.