Finally, getting a bath was better than sleeping on a plush mattress—Rowan wanted to soak forever. As soon as she got in, the clean water darkened, but she just laid her head back against the tub's rim, basking in the comfort. When the warm water cooled, she scrubbed herself practically raw, lathered on the scented soap, washed her hair, ducked under one last time to wash off all the soap and bubbles, then forced herself out, but emerged feeling like herself again. A hardened, crusty Rowan Reed went into the water, and a clean, refreshed one came out.

For thanks in saving King Théoden, Meduseld provided a feast for them. Freshly baked bread, soft cheeses, salted pork, roasted corn, cold ale, and even small sweetened cakes. Rowan ate as much as she could, but because their meals had been so minimal for weeks (ever since the Fellowship left Rivendell, actually) her stomach had shrunk, so she quickly became stuffed. Aragorn and Boromir ate like her, Legolas barely eats much anyway, but Gimli gorged himself—he never stopped eating.

Talk around the long table centered mostly on the five hunters' quest across Rohan. With the shake of her head, they spoke only about their mission of rescuing Merry and Pippin. Their goal of destroying the One Ring relied on secrecy. She didn't suspect anyone in the Court to run their mouth, but people talk regardless, and word could reach Barad-dûr. For the plan to work, Mount Doom needed to be unguarded so Frodo can slip in and out; if Sauron learned of their idea, he only needed to watch the volcano like a hawk. Once the hobbit appeared, he could have him killed to regain his ring, then Sauron would have his full power again. There wouldn't be much of a Middle-earth or a Lord of the Rings story then.

King Théoden spoke little, still grieving the loss of his only son and heir. No one wondered why he excused himself early to—what Rowan presumed—isolate himself in his chambers.

Not long after the king left, they all retired to bed. The men shared a room, but because she was a woman—what Wormtongue had tried to belittle her about—she got her own room. She wasn't angry about being a different gender this time, for she could pass out on the bed spread-eagle with no one commenting on how unladylike it was. And she did exactly that. She slept like the dead. If Meduseld had awoken in the middle of the night from an attack on Edoras, she wouldn't have shifted. Rowan became an immovable rock.

Morning brought a clear sky, but the mood within the Court was somber. The funeral today eliminated any chance of laughter or gay talking.

Théodred lay upon a litter with his helm at his feet, his folded hands holding his sword, and dressed in his brilliant armor. His hair was dark, unlike his father's, and his youthful face of strong planes, sharp cheekbones, and a defined jaw made him handsome, even though colorless in death.

The funeral procession started inside Meduseld with richly armored guards as the pallbearers. King Théoden walked behind his son; the Court with Rowan, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir grouped within followed him. They made their slow march to the mounds outside the city through Edoras, with mourners lining each side of the road.

It took a while to reach the mounds covered with simbelmynë. Mourners were gathered near the last burial mound, with two torches on poles flanking the entrance into the dark tomb. Éowyn waited there, dressed in dark green and a gold circle holding back her hair pulled into a low bun.

Slowly, the guards turned Théodred toward the grave and lowered the litter to waist level; more guards approached from the crowds to make lines going in. As the men passed him down the line into the tomb, Éowyn began a lament. In Old English, Rowan didn't know what she said, but the emotion within the song and from her struggling to keep composed meant the song was full of grief. Miranda Otto did a magnificent job of singing it in the Extended Edition of The Two Towers.

The sentiment thick in her voice and mirrored in the looks and voices of the women singing with her choked Rowan up. She could never get through funerals without shedding a tear, even if she hadn't known the deceased. Rowan wiped away the tears and hoped none of the surrounding men had seen—they weren't getting emotional about the song at all. She was weak.

A warm hand gripped her shoulder. Rowan glanced back at Boromir's grim smile.

As Éowyn's song wound to an end, Théodred had been laid to rest, and the guards had exited the dark tomb to slide a heavy slab before the entrance to seal the grave. Once they and the singing finished, a dense, somber silence hung over the gathered mourners.

The aura lingered as all left, heading back up to Edoras. Everyone moved like a sluggish stream going uphill instead of downward, except for King Théoden and a few guards staying close.

Rowan looked back at him, wondering whether she should stay to watch for the children seen riding to raise the alarm at Edoras like in the movie, or let the grieving father be for a while. The children aren't seen by Gandalf until near evening, and the sun wasn't even at its peak for noon.

"Give him time to mourn on his own, Rowan," Aragorn said.

She looked at the Ranger. "Why didn't Éowyn's song touch any of you?"

"We are accustomed to loss."

Silence. "I'm sorry I couldn't control my emotions."

"Do not be ashamed of having a kind soul in a cruel world," Boromir said.

"It reminds us all of what we fight for," Legolas added.

"The ones who have witnessed too much death," Aragorn began.

Gimli finished. "And those who should not."

***

Rowan stood on the terrace, looking at the small figure standing at a mound just beyond the gate of the city. She switched from monitoring the fall of the sun in the sky and scanning the distant hills for an approaching horse and rider. Evening drew near.

Heavy steps stopped beside her.

"He shouldn't be alone," she said.

"Allow me to accompany you to the gate," Boromir said.

The Gondorian walked with her as he said and left her to pass through the gate of Edoras alone. Rowan followed the winding road to King Théoden unhindered—the guards bowed their heads in greeting. She figured they let her approach the king because she had cured him.

She said nothing to announce her presence—she bet he knew she was there, anyway. His eyes were down on the white flower in his hand.

"Simbelmynë," he stated before tossing the flower to join the others, blanketing the mounds. "Ever has it grown on the tombs of my forebears. Now it shall cover the grave of my son..."

The king took a heavy breath as his gaze traveled up to Meduseld. "Alas that these evil days should be mine and should come in my old age. That I should live to see the last days of my house. The young perish and the old linger."

She stole Gandalf's line again. "Théodred's death was not of your making."

He looked at her. "No parent should have to bury their child." His voice cracked toward the end. The gravity of what he said crushed in on him; King Théoden turned back to the grave with tears in his eyes. Not able to hold back the emotions any longer, he dropped to his knees with his hands covering his face, sobbing.

His outward display of grief got to her. Rowan turned her watery gaze away and took a moment to strengthen her voice.

"No. Death is cruel and unjust, but take comfort knowing your son will no longer suffer and has attained peace... which we all strive for."

Seeing the sun set in the west past King Théoden, Rowan looked to the east for the children on horseback. She watched the horizon for a long time, but they never showed. Her chest swelled from pride—her plan of preventing the battle at Helm's Deep by killing Gríma Wormtongue so Saruman wouldn't know where to attack them worked.

The king wasn't crying anymore, but silently stared at his son's grave. Thinking it was time to go, she turned for Edoras.

"Stay with me," King Théoden said softly behind her. She turned back to meet his red-rimmed eyes. "Please."

He obviously needed someone now, as broken as he looked. She didn't hesitate. "Of course, my lord."

Rowan walked over to him and lowered to sit on her knees. They sat in silence for a while.

"Will you tell me of Théodred?" she asked tentatively.

"He was my only son from my wife, Elfhild. He grew up learning war with Éomer—who he thought of as a brother—and loved Éowyn as a sister. Not only was he a fierce warrior, but he was gentle too." King Théoden chuckled at some memory. "He took in an abandoned kitten once, and it followed him everywhere like a dog until its death. I am proud of the man he became."

"I wish I could've known him."

Their conversation drifted to how she could heal him, so she showed him the Bangle of the Anduin and that Lady Galadriel gifted her with it. Rowan told him her guess that the she-elf had known she would need the bracelet to free him of Saruman's control—she didn't mention Gandalf was supposed to do it.

A familiar, deep rumbling brought her head up; along with King Théoden's. The sound came from the north. Rowan eventually recognized it as galloping horses, and coming toward them. A lot of them.

Looking that way, King Théoden rose, then offered a hand to help Rowan. This didn't occur in the book or the movie. No warning bells tolled from Edoras, so whoever approached wasn't perceived as a threat.

Once the ground vibrated, multiple horsemen crested the hills in the north. Even in the weakening sunlight, their spears glittered and the golden designs on one of the leaders' breastplate and helm shined.

"Éomer," King Théoden said.

He moved away from Rowan so he could be seen and to also greet the two leaders in front of the Rohirrim. She knew the one hidden under the helm; the other was helmless: Gamling—the rider King Théoden sent out yesterday to retrieve Éomer and his horsemen.

Reining in their horses to stop before the king, Éomer jumped out of his saddle, removed his helm, and bent-knee; Gamling just bowed his head.

"It is a joy to see you return to your own." He lifted his head. "But, how is this possible, Uncle?"

"Rise, sister-son. Pardon me in sending you away for trusting my counsellor. Faithful heart may have forward tongue." King Théoden turned to her. "I am whole because of Rowan's gift from the Lady of the Golden Wood."

As he rose, Éomer's eyes switched to her—surprise lit his eyes, which transitioned into pleasure.

"I sensed purpose in you when we met, Rowan. Never would I have thought you would instill such hope in my heart again. You have my gratitude."

His words and his gaze on her again made her blush.

Realizing where they stood, he looked over to the grave and the two almost burned-out torches; Éomer turned back to the king with wide eyes. "No... Théodred?"

The king did not answer, but the grief in his eyes probably told Éomer the answer.

"My lord... I am sorry."

"I was told he was gravely wounded when you found him. Only the power of the elves could've saved him, but Gríma would not have allowed any to seek help. At least he is home to rest among his ancestors."

Éomer's eyebrows rose. "Gríma is gone?" His eyes shot to her, and she could read his question: Did you do this as well?

"Yes. I slew him," King Théoden answered. "Will you return to Meduseld with us, or do you wish for time alone?"

The Third Marshal of the Riddermark walked with them back to Edoras; the guards, Gamling, and the Rohirrim came behind them. Boromir met them at the gate, politely greeted Éomer, but moved in close to Rowan as they headed up to the Golden Hall.

His terse speech toward Éomer now and how Boromir acted protective of her resembled jealousy. And the dark looks he received from Éomer meant the Third Marshal was jealous too. Rowan had caught both of their attentions?

She blushed again.

Surely not.