Daughter of Rohan [Lord of the Rings | Eomer]

Chapter 1

Things had been changing for a long time, but Hilde knew things had truly changed the day that Théodred was brought back to Edoras barely clinging to life. Hilde had been working in the Great Hall, but the bridle she had been cleaning fell from her hands when the Prince was carried into the Golden Hall. She felt all the colour leave her face when she caught sight of the blood staining his tunic. There was so much of it. Her breath caught in her throat, the threat of panic choking her. Lord Éomer and his second, Éothain, were the ones carrying the King's son, the Marshal calling out for a healer even as he bore his cousin deeper into the Hall. One of his éored separated from the group surrounding the Prince, running from the Hall, likely in search of the healer Fréamund.

Without hesitation, she followed the group, grabbing up cloths and hastily splashing water into a basin as she went. She caught up to the men as Théodred was being gently lowered onto the bed in his chambers. He wore only his tunic and jerkin, the armour he had ridden out in already stripped before he had even passed the walls of the city. Once again Hilde was nearly overwhelmed at the amount of blood the Prince was losing. A piteous moan escaped him with every movement and jostle, and no sooner was he settled onto the sheets than they were soaked red. Swallowing her panic and fear, she set the basin aside, rushing forward with the bundle of cloths. The ragged cloak that Éomer had been using to try and stem his cousin's blood loss was soaked through.

With hands that were surer than she felt, Hilde pulled Éomer's hands and the useless cloak aside, nearly tearing the tattered jerkin away before pressing a new bundle of cloth against the wound instead. She then grabbed the Marshal's hand again and pressed it back against the wound. In seconds it was beginning to bleed through. On impulse, she took Théodred's hand; it was already so cold. He only moaned weakly with pain, completely unaware that he was safe in his home, surrounded by those who cared about him. He looked so young, like the boy from her memories again, not the man he had grown into. She met Éomer's eyes for a moment, his dark green gaze sick with worry.

"Find Éowyn, and tell her what has happened," he said after a moment, his voice filled with the same pain as his eyes. Nodding in understanding, she stood. She paused, though, when the King's nephew reached up to grab her hand, turning her back to face him. Théodred's blood leeched onto her sleeve, but Hilde barely noticed.

"Do not tell the King just yet," he murmured. At the end of the Prince's bed, Éothain looked up in bewilderment, but Hilde only nodded again.

Something was wrong with the King. He was not as Hilde remembered him from her childhood; he was not as he was in years past. Everyone could see it. It began with the arrival of Grima Wormtongue. The unsettling man had schemed and talked his way into the King's good graces...and everyone whispered that Grima was the White Wizard Saruman's servant. Now the King rarely stirred from his throne, looking decades older than the years he possessed. Now it was only Grima he would speak with. Even his son rarely got a word out of Théoden. Éowyn got the closest, with her gentle voice, but that was truly saying very little. It was something that deeply troubled those closest to the King; Hilde's father, Háma, grumbled and worried about it constantly.

It did not take Hilde long to locate Éowyn. She had known the King's niece since she and her brother had come to live in Meduseld, and considered her a good friend. In fact, Hilde rather considered herself the friend of all three of the King's young kin. Théodred she had known longer than she had memory. He had been her friend since they were children, even though she could still whip him with a sword, something he claimed he never liked. Her father had even joked that the King's son was sweet on her. Hilde, of course, laughed off the suggestion, as she truly only saw the Prince as a friend. But she knew better than to think he felt the same. She had known for a while, first noticing it many years ago; the way Théodred would watch her, the way he would sometimes move to touch her hand. She even indulged it for a time, wondering if she did love him, or could love him, someday. But now, as she knew the truth of her feelings better, she did not know how to tell him that her interests lay elsewhere. Now though...well, things had most certainly changed.