Work Text:
TA 3002, Meduseld, Edoras
Éowyn, daughter of Éomund and Théodwyn, was going to be a shieldmaiden someday. Shieldmaidens weren’t meant to be frightened of anything, the little girl told herself as she slipped past Maegden’s room and went in search of Théodred. But she wasn’t afraid of something, she added. She was afraid for someone. Théodred needed to be protected from the Dwimmerfolc that lurked in the forest - in the Dwimordene. What if they should come for him this night, the Ælfniht, when the magic of the wood spread far and wide to ensnare hapless men?
She crept on slipper-shod feet through the drafty halls, and at last, reached the door. Unguarded, of course, she thought in disgust. The men were down in the feasting hall. Grimacing, she pushed on the door. It was a very heavy door. But, though she was only seven (and a little on the small side at that), she eventually won her fight with the door and made her way to her Theo’s bed. He was gone, of course, but someone had to protect his room from the Dwimmerfolc. It might as well be her. She curled up on top of Theo’s coverlet and wrapped her arms around his pillows.
It was much later when Théodred finally made his way from the feasting hall, as always accompanied by Éaldric. Having long-since outgrown the scariness of Ælfniht, the tales told ‘round the fire were still entertaining, and Éaldric was one of the best at spinning out new tales or adding on to the old ones. They were still discussing the latest yarn Éaldric had spun, and chuckling over their memories of when they were, oh, about Éomer’s age and first permitted to stay up late enough to listen to the tales, when they entered Théodred’s room. Éaldric ran into Théodred as his milkbrother stopped dead in the doorway.
Before he could voice his objections, he caught Théodred’s signal, a ‘be quiet’ finger placed to his lips. Éaldric followed the direction of Théodred’s gaze and shook his head slightly as he saw Éowyn curled up asleep around Théodred’s pillows. “Should I get your Faeder?” he asked quietly.
“Maybe,” Théodred replied, his voice as quiet as Éaldric’s. “Not yet.” He crossed to the bed, gently shaking his young cousin awake. “Éowyn, love? What are you doing here?”
“Wasn’t asleep, Theo,” Éowyn protested with a jump and a wide-eyed look that showed she had, indeed, been asleep. She stifled a yawn and bit her lip. “Mer says the Dwimmerfolc come from Dwimordene on Ælfniht. Had to protect your room so they wouldn’t try to take you. You’re important, you know, not like us. You’re the Ætheling.”
He sat down, pulling her into his lap. “Ah, my little Shieldmaiden. No one is coming to get me. The Dwimmerfolc haven’t left their wood in ages. Mer didn’t tell you that part? I’m as safe as can be, especially while my little Shieldmaiden is here to watch over me.” A moment later, he frowned, something occurring to him. “Why was Mer even telling you these tales?”
Éowyn shrugged slightly, frowning too. “Because it’s Ælfniht, I guess?” she offered.
Éaldric sat down next to Théodred and Éowyn, wrapping an arm around the little girl. “And he told you about the Dwimmerfolc? What about the good tales? The bonfires, and the Lost Mearh?” The Dwimmerfolc stories were generally reserved for after the littles were sent off to bed, when those that were left were old enough not to take the stories too seriously. Those who knew that the Dwimmerfolc were only ever a danger out by the Dwimordene itself, and even then not in living memory.
“It’s just a tale, sweetling,” Théodred added. “They’re all just tales. Is this why you’ve been looking so tired at breakfast all week? Have you been worrying about tonight?”
Éowyn nodded. “I’m sorry, Theo. I know Shieldmaidens ought to be brave, but…”
“You were very brave,” Théodred assured her. “You came here to protect me, even though you were scared. I’m lucky to have you as my shieldmaiden.”
Éowyn smiled. “I love you, Theo. You’re going to be my sweordbroðor and I will be your shieldmaiden, and we’ll fight for Rohan together. Won’t we, Theo?”
“We will,” Théodred said, squeezing her lightly. Silently, he caught Éaldric’s eye and nodded slightly.
Éaldric understood. He dropped a kiss on the top of Éowyn’s head, then stood up and slipped out the room, heading for Éomer’s room. He rapped sharply on the door. “Éomer. Let me in.”
Éomer got up and yawned, stretching, catlike, before he tumbled out of bed and made his way to the door. He favoured Éaldric with a winning smile. “Hullo, Éaldric.” His cousin’s milkbrother was a sometime ally and usually friend, so he didn’t expect anything was wrong.
Éaldric’s frown probably disabused him of that notion rather quickly. “With me, if you please.” He strode off down the corridor, not troubling to shorten his stride to make it easier for Éomer to keep up. He loved Éomer like he was his actual cousin, but he was particularly protective of Éowyn.
Éomer scrambled to follow and ran down the corridor before catching up with Éaldric. His lanky eleven-year-old frame, not quite beginning to take on the coltish look of adolescence, did him no favours in that department and he was gasping by the time he could match Éaldric’s stride. “Not funny, Éaldric,” he muttered.
“You’re right, it’s not,” Éaldric replied. Instead of turning down the corridor that went back to Théodred’s room, he headed the opposite direction, heading to Théoden’s chambers.
Éomer gulped and hurried to catch up. “Erm, Éaldric? This is the way to Uncle Théoden’s room.”
“I know,” Éaldric said. “That’s where we’re going.” They stopped before Hama, who was guarding Théoden’s door still.
Éaldric didn’t have to say a word. Hama took one look at the pair of them and shook his head. “One moment.” He vanished into the inner chambers for a moment. Éaldric leaned against one wall while they waited, arms folded across his chest as he looked at Éomer.
“I didn’t do anything!” Éomer protested. “Éaldric, I promise I didn’t!”
“Interesting. Éowyn’s pretty scared considering you didn’t do anything.”
Éomer frowned. “Why?” he asked plaintively.
He didn’t remember. He honestly didn’t remember. Éaldric knew what Éomer avoiding looked like, and this wasn’t it. He shook his head, if anything more irritated by the fact that Éomer didn’t even have the decency to remember terrifying his sister--though Éowyn was usually pretty good at hiding terror. “Éowyn. Dwimmerfolc. Ælfniht. Anything sound familiar?”
The colour drained from Éomer’s face. “Erm…” He blushed hot, the returning rush of colour overwhelming. “Sort of? But Éaldric, I didn’t mean anything by it, everyone tells those stories.”
“In the feast hall! After the little ones have gone to bed! Bema’s sake, Éomer, she’s only seven. You only heard that story yourself this year, maybe last if any of your friends are a bit older than you.”
Éomer was saved from the rest of Éaldric’s fury by the arrival of Théoden, who looked distinctly unimpressed by being called to deal with an errant nephew when he hadn’t yet been to bed. “Éomer?” he asked as Éaldric stepped back slightly, out of the way. Just in case.
Éomer had opened his mouth to defend himself just before Théoden’s arrival. “Theo was--” He broke off and bowed to his uncle. “Fair even, my lord,” he said formally.
Théoden waved the formality aside. “Not this late, Éomer. What is going on?”
“Éaldric’s mad with me, Uncle Théoden,” Éomer said.
Éaldric bowed slightly as Théoden’s attention turned to him. “Éowyn’s been scared this past week by the tales of the Dwimmerfolc, my lord.”
“Where did… Éomer?” Théoden asked, catching up on the implication.
“I didn’t see any problem with telling her, Uncle Théoden,” Éomer protested. “Theo told me them when I was six.”
It was too late for this sort of thing. “Where is Éowyn?” Théoden asked Éaldric.
“Théodred’s room,” he said. “She thought the Dwimmerfolc would try and kidnap him tonight.”
Definitely too late. “Come, Éomer,” Théoden said. “Let’s see how your sister is doing.”
Éomer sighed and dutifully followed Théoden, thinking how it wasn’t fair at all that he was in trouble when he had even waited a year longer than Theo had, because Wyn was a girl and it was better to wait.
Éaldric trailed behind them, but he was as quiet as Théoden, confining himself to glaring at the back of Éomer’s head and thinking about what an idiot Théodred was. Or had had been. Probably still was, because this was Théodred.
The door was still open, and Théoden didn’t bother to knock, walking into the room where Théodred was still cuddling Éowyn, who appeared to be finally drifting back to sleep.
Gently, Théoden gathered her up from Théodred’s arms, holding her as he sat down next to his son. “Éowyn?”
Éowyn woke with a start. “Uncle Théoden?”
He brushed her hair back out of her face. “I’m sorry for waking you. Éaldric said that you were worried about Théodred earlier?” he asked, tactfully not saying ‘scared.’
“It’s Ælfniht. And Theo’s the Ætheling, I had to look after him,” Éowyn explained. “He’s my sweordbroðor and I’m his shieldmaiden.”
Théodred couldn’t help a little smile as he reached over to ruffle her hair, and even Théoden couldn’t help a bit of a crinkle around his eyes. “That was very brave of you. Why were you worried about him on the Ælfniht?”
“Uncle Théoden, don’t you know?” Éowyn blinked. “Mer told me all about it, how the Dwimmerfolc walk the land and they take away the ones they like best back to the Dwimordene. And I guess they would like Theo best, because he’s the Ætheling and everyone likes him best, don’t they?”
“Did you ask Éomer to tell you about the Dwimmerfolc?” Théoden asked.
Éowyn nibbled at her lip. “He told me Theo told him some really good stories about Ælfniht, so I asked him and he told me lots. There’s the one about Felaróf who rides with Eorl on his back every Ælfniht, and the one about the lord of the Dwimorberg and then he said the one about the Dwimmerfolc.”
His voice and hands were still gentle for Éowyn, but the look he gave Éomer was sincerely disapproving. The tale of Felaróf and Eorl riding again was standard children’s fare, but the story of the Paths of the Dead and of the Dwimmerfolc were best saved for those old enough to distinguish fact from fantasy, and ancient fear from current threat. “I’m sorry you were scared, little love,” he said, rubbing circles on her back. “Would you like to sleep here, where you can keep watch over Théodred tonight?”
“I’m not scared, my lord,” Éowyn said, lifting her head up, her grey eyes sparking with seven-year-old dignity, and offense at having said dignity wounded. “Yes, I would like to remain with my lord Théodred tonight.”
Théoden hid his smile. “My apologies, lady Éowyn. Of course you were not scared.” He kissed her brow and released her to snuggle back up to her cousin. “Sleep well, sweetling.”
“Béma guard your rest, Uncle,” she replied.
Théoden stood as Théodred got her settled, and gestured to Éomer. “Walk with me, nephew,” he said. His voice was quiet still, but it was unmistakably a command. “And Théodred, if you’d attend me before breakfast tomorrow.”
Théodred looked up from Éowyn and nodded. With that settled, Théoden led Éomer from the room.
“I’m not scared, Theo,” Éowyn informed Théodred around a yawn, as Éomer followed Théoden.
Éomer did his best to keep pace with his uncle, not wanting to think about what Théoden would have to say to him. It wasn’t his fault, really, he reflected. He’d waited until she was more grown up, after all.
Théoden led them back to Éomer’s own rooms, which was undoubtedly a relief for the lad. At least it meant that Théoden was not intending to use anything other than his hand, or possibly Éomer’s own hairbrush, which was a good deal less fearsome than Théoden’s or Maegden’s. Théoden sat on Éomer’s bed, eyeing his nephew. “Éaldric said that Éowyn’s been fretting over this for a week?” he asked. “When did you tell her these tales?”
“She asked me last Sunnandæg, Uncle,” Éomer said honestly. “Just this last. Six days, not quite a week.”
“You told her, and then did you do anything between then and now? Tell her they were just tales? Make sure she wasn’t having nightmares over them?”
Éomer fidgeted. “I didn’t think she would have nightmares, Uncle. Theo told me them when I was six and I didn’t have nightmares.”
Memories of curling up by Theo’s side in his elder cousin’s bed surfaced, but Éomer told himself they had nothing at all to do with trouble sleeping. Five years had a way of obliterating the things Éomer didn’t want to remember.
“And that is something I’ll be discussing with Théodred tomorrow,” Théoden said. “But whether you expected it or not, I do expect you to pay attention to your sister, especially if you’ve recently told her stories that could be very upsetting.”
“I didn’t know they would upset her, Uncle!” Éomer objected.
“Really?” Théoden asked. “Dwimmerfolc coming out and taking people from their beds and vanishing with them? You don’t think that could be upsetting?”
“It’s just a silly story! It’s not as though we haven’t seen people be taken by something worse, and never come home again!” Éomer snapped. “Never wake up again…” His chest heaved and he wrapped his arms around himself. Faeder...Moder…
Théoden pulled him into a hug, ignoring any attempts to pull away. “Shh. I know, Éomer.” He stroked the young boy’s hair, holding him tightly. “I know. It’s fine, I’ve got you.” Bema, would he ever know what to say to not trigger those memories in his sister’s children?
“I love you, Uncle,” Éomer said miserably. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so...stupid, I guess. I really thought it was all right.”
“I know you didn’t intend any harm by it,” Théoden said gently, rubbing Éomer’s back. “But you have to think about these things. Éowyn has Théodred and me, but she’s always going to look to you first. You need to protect her, not give her cause to fret."
“I didn’t mean to, Uncle, I promise,” Éomer said earnestly. “I’m sorry. I truly am. I just...I didn’t think, I guess.”
“And that is why we’re here,” Théoden said. “Someday, you will learn to think before you act. Let this help that day come sooner.” With an easy, practiced move, Théoden smoothly turned Éomer over so the boy was laying across his lap. He left Éomer’s breeches in place. This lesson would be neither long nor hard, but he was still capable of imparting sufficient sting through cloth.
The young Lord of Aldburg wrestled with his urge to squirm off his uncle’s lap as he was positioned. He bit his lip, then thought better of it and bit the inside of his cheek instead, where Théoden wouldn’t see. He hoped. It hurt, but it gave him better focus and Éomer didn’t want to make an idiot of himself by crying. Eleven year olds didn’t cry during a spanking. He was sure of it.
“I had best not see blood in your mouth when I permit you to rise, nephew,” Théoden warned, familiar with Éomer’s stubbornness and pride. “‘Twould displease me greatly.”
Éomer released his cheek and buried his face in his crossed arms. “Yes, sir.”
Théoden patted his back. “As I’ve told you before, there is no shame in crying during a spanking. None shall think less of you.” Turning his attention to the business before him, he started the spanking with a goodly swat before Éomer had a chance to respond.
Éomer yelped and jerked slightly under Théoden’s attentions, wrapping his fists around his coverlet. As the spanking continued, he thought longingly of Beorn, the stuffed bear he had brought with him to Meduseld, but he was too proud to admit he still slept with Beorn. Théoden, though, had a perfect view of the toy which had been his own familial name-day gift to his nephew. The formal gifts from the King had been much more sumptuous, given in expectation of the young heir’s inheritance of Aldburg and as was proper for a minor prince.
With the hand not occupied scalding Éomer’s bottom, Théoden casually knocked the boy’s stuffed bear closer to him, well within reach should Éomer wish to hold onto it. “You’re old enough to learn to think before you speak,” he scolded lightly, letting his hand do most of the talking. His voice was just something else for Éomer to focus on, another way to internalize the message.
The young Lord of Aldburg scooped up Beorn when he was sure his uncle wasn’t looking. He buried his face in the bear’s fur as he shed his tears, and his chest heaved with sobs he did his best to stifle. Eleven year olds shouldn’t cry, he thought miserably. Especially not young lords. Especially ones who were princes as well - and even if Uncle Théoden hadn’t taken him in, he was one because of his Moder.
Théoden was almost done, but first… He tipped Éomer forward slightly, letting his hand fall several times on Éomer’s upper thighs and the lower curve of his bottom. “No more scary stories. Are we clear?”
“A-ahh!” Éomer yelped. “C-clear, my lord, very clear!” He nodded fervently. “N-no more, I promise!” And, of course, once his forced composure began to slip, he lost it completely and began to cry aloud like the little boy he was, still, sometimes, eleven or no.
“Good.” Théoden helped Éomer up from his lap, pulling the boy into a hug. “Let it out, Éomer. It’s all right. Good lad.” He rubbed circles on Éomer’s back, letting him cry as long as he needed to.
Éomer shuddered and sobbed, clinging to Beorn and crying hard until he could calm himself. He slowly calmed down, his sobs dying to soft whimpers, until he caught his breath. “S-sorry, sorry…”
“I know you’re sorry,” Théoden assured him. “And you are most certainly forgiven. But Éowyn needs to hear those sorries as well, first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” Éomer whispered. “I’ll tell her. Promise I will. I didn’t mean to be so…” He sucked on his lip, not sure of the word he was looking for. “I didn’t mean to scare Éowyn, really I didn’t,” he amended. “I love Wyn more than anything, and I’m supposed to look after her, especially now Faeder and Moder…” He gulped back another sob.
“I know. And you do a good job of looking after your sister, Éomer. You’re a very good brother to her, and Éowyn is lucky to have you.” He brushed Éomer’s hair back from his face. “You just need to remember to think sometimes,” he said, with a small, encouraging, smile.
“I will,” Éomer said. “Well...I’ll try,” he added in a small voice. “I don’t think...I don’t think I can promise to be good forever, Uncle, sir.”
“Probably not,” Théoden agreed. “And you’re wise to know it.” He kissed Éomer’s forehead, then stood. “Get ready for bed, nephew. It’s late.”
"Yes, sir," Éomer responded quietly, dropping his gaze. He dressed for bed slowly, and climbed into bed. What would Théodred think of him now?
Théoden brushed Éomer’s hair back and tucked the blankets tighter around him. “Everything will look brighter in the morning, Éomer. This is not a disaster.”
"Of course it will, sir, the sun will be up," Éomer responded, trying to make a joke, though he felt too sore to really take enjoyment in it. "Thank you, Uncle," he sighed. He was grateful for the reassurance, really.
Théoden tweaked his ear gently. “You must be feeling better if you can give me sass,” he said, but there was nothing more than light teasing in his voice. “Sleep well, nephew.”
Éomer nodded, and it wasn't long before the young Lord of Aldburg was, indeed, sound asleep.
With Éomer settled, Théoden sought his own bed. Théodred would take good care of Éowyn for the night, and in the morning, he could find out just what his son and heir had been thinking five years ago, when he had apparently shared those stories with Éomer to begin with.
Morning came as it always did, the sun shining through the window in Théoden’s bedchamber. He had just finished dressing where there was a knock on the door. With a nod, he dismissed Hama, his guard and sweordbroðor letting Théodred in as he left.
Théodred bowed to his father and King as though they were in the main hall, not Théoden’s bedchamber. He had not dressed formally; he was wearing a plain, undyed woollen knee-length tunic, and loose trews of the same lightweight wool under it, which were fastened with a woven belt. His feet were shod with leather slippers, and while his hair was brushed, he had not braided or ornamented it in any fashion.
Théoden silently gestured to a chair by the fireplace, taking the other himself. He steepled his hands together, thinking as he inspected his son and heir. “You told Éomer of the Dwimmerfolc when he was but six years old?” he asked finally, his voice deceptively mild.
Théodred sat down, meeting his father's gaze. "Not intentionally, sir," he said after a few moments' pause, having had to cast his mind back to the events in question.
"I was unaware that Éomer was listening," Théodred said defensively. "I was recounting the tale to Elfhelm - Cousin Elfhelm, not Daeradar," he clarified unnecessarily. His mother's father had been there, but only to mind the lads did not imbibe too much ale.
"It is entirely possible, as well, that my warrior's inhibitions might have been slightly lowered - and I do mean slightly lowered, sir - by a certain, non-excessive, amount of drink." Which Uncle Elfgar had not helped by drinking along with them. Still, he had not permitted the lads to get drunk any more than his father had.
Elfhelm, and his father and grandfather, had visited for only two short weeks five years back, their visit overlapping with one by Éowyn and Éomer -- though not Théodwyn and Éomund, who had left to attend to some issues in the Eastfold. That explained why Théodwyn had never come to him to complain about her son suffering from nightmares. “When did you find that he had listened in?”
"A couple of nights later," Théodred admitted. "He came to sleep in my bed with me. To guard me from the Dwimmerfolc, he said," Théodred laughed wryly. "My brave young sweordbroðor." The children of Éomund and Théodwyn were more alike than most credited.
Théoden permitted himself a brief, sad, smile. “Their mother had the same trick.” Sobering, he said, “Why did I not hear of this when it happened, Théodred?”
Théodred winced. "I was...rather easily convinced that Éomer was well, my king. I crave your indulgence, if it is in your mind to grant it - at that time, I had little experience of younger children, as Elfhelm and my royal cousins are all my age, or older. I had no experience at all of...of much-younger siblings."
He dropped his gaze, traitorous tears burning his eyes. Oh, Moder, he thought, how different things would be if only...Clearing his throat and scrubbing at his face with a homespun sleeve, he looked back up, hoping his words had not caused his beloved Adar pain. "I... thought it was not needful to trouble you with it. Now that Éomer, and Éowyn as well, dwell here in truth, I am learning quite differently."
Théoden reached over, brushing away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “No, you were not accustomed to being the elder sibling, or even cousin. But just as a I always needed to know when there was something wrong with you, I needed to know that Éomer had been badly troubled by tales he ought not have heard. And perhaps, under the belief that I didn’t need to know, there was perhaps a hope that I never find out?” he asked shrewdly. There had been a period, surrounding the time when Éomer had heard the tales, when Théoden had had to be quite strict about Théodred maintaining a constant low-grade awareness of his surroundings at all times. Even if Éomer hadn’t been quite so young, Théoden would have been displeased that Théodred hadn’t noticed him there.
Théodred’s cheeks flushed. "At the time, perhaps so, Adar," he said quietly. "Afterward, I had put it from my mind so long that I simply ceased to think about it, until it was brought up again."
Théoden nodded, accepting that. He stood. “And now that it has been, let us deal with it as it should have been dealt with then.” He held up one finger. “As I believe you truly didn’t see any need to inform me, I shall not soap your mouth for the truths you concealed. However, should anything of a similar nature happen again, I will not be so lenient.”
"I understand, Adar," Théodred said, grateful for his father's lenience. Théoden was a just King, and fair; these attributes carried over into his abilities to parent his children, born or given. He would never be overly harsh on his children, but nor would he treat their offenses lightly.
Théoden sat on his bed, making sure his hairbrush was within easy reach, then beckoned Théodred over. “Then let us see it done.”
Théodred bowed again. He couldn't help eyeing the brush with distaste, but nevertheless, he went to stand before his father.
Théoden pulled him in closer, undoing his soft belt and lowering his breeches before putting him over his lap, handling him as if he were younger even than Éowyn. “Pay attention to your surroundings, and tell me when something happens, to you or to your cousins.”
"Yes, Adar," Théodred whispered, blushing in shame as Théoden bared and positioned him.
Without further preamble, Théoden brought his hand down briskly, enough of a flick in his wrist to make sure that each swat stung fiercely, each one building on the last.
Théodred wasn't exactly new to being spanked, even by his father, but he was clearly out of practice, he thought. He found himself breathing hard as the sting built in his bottom, and clenching his father's bedcovers. He knew Théoden was just getting started, and the brush had yet to make an appearance; tears threatened, but did not fall.
It had indeed been quite a while since Théoden had found it necessary to spank Théodred. Nearly a year since Théodred had been spanked at all, if Théoden remembered correctly, and then it had been Maegden, and had not appeared to be hard enough to make him uncomfortable at dinner that evening. Théoden continued to swat down, coloring Théodred’s bottom a deep pink before he paused to pick up the brush.
Théodred was gasping by then, and he took advantage of the pause to catch his breath. Tears were beginning to fall in earnest by then. But he knew what the pause meant; it wasn't so much a respite, as a prelude. He buried his face in his arm and tried not to tense.
Théoden tapped the brush on Théodred’s once lightly, a warning. The he brought it down with a sharp CRACK, swats fall in a steady rhythm as Théoden set about covering every inch of Théodred’s bottom.
Théodred couldn't help it. He yelped - and cried. He did his utmost not to bite his lip, or his tongue, or the inside of his mouth, or anywhere he would very much like to in order to silence his crying. Instead he let himself cry out. The brush hurt a lot, especially after so long unspanked, and the indignity of it all somehow seemed to sting more.
“That’s it,” Théoden murmured, slowing the swats, though he didn’t lighten them much. “Let it out, Théodred. There’s no shame in that.”
No, there wasn't. Théodred knew that. His Adar had made it clear. So had his uncles. So had Maegden. But it still felt shameful to be turned over his Adar's knee and spanked like a little boy. Still, that's what his behaviour had demanded, he supposed, as he caught his breath and calmed himself.
“What are you going to do the next time Éomer or Éowyn are upset by something?” Théoden asked.
"T-take care of them better, and tell you," Théodred hiccupped, his tears still falling freely.
“Tell me, yes. I think you’ve done an excellent job of taking care of them, though,” Théoden said, not hiding the pride and approval in his voice. He landed one final swat to each sit-spot, then set the brush aside. “They are lucky to have you.”
"T-thank you, Ada," Théodred whispered. "I'm sorry I let Éomer hear that story. S-sorry I didn't tell you when I found out."
“And you’re forgiven, ion-nin,” Théoden said, rubbing Théodred’s back.
Théodred slowly relaxed and calmed as Théoden comforted him. He might have forgotten just how bad his father's spankings hurt, but he hadn't forgotten how good Théoden was at comforting him after.
When Théodred’s breathing evened out, Théoden said, “Come up here, ion-nin,” shifting to help Théodred rise.
Théodred accepted the help gratefully, and rose, gingerly righting his clothing. He settled on the bed, his weight resting on his hip so as to keep the pressure off his bottom. The bed was very soft, of course, but still, he would rather not sit properly just then.
Théoden wrapped an arm around his shoulders, gently tugging him to lean against him, weight still off of his bottom. “You did very well, Théodred. It’s been quite some time, has it not?”
"A very long time, Adar," Théodred agreed, scrubbing away tears with the back of his hand.
“And as ever, I hope it won’t be necessary again,” Théoden said, dropping a kiss on Théodred’s brow.
"I'll try to be good, Adar," Théodred said, winding his arms around Théoden. "I do try."
“I know. And I’m proud of you, ion-nin.”
"I love you, Adar," Théodred murmured. As he slowly released Théoden, he closed his eyes and attuned his senses to the rest of the room. Outside, he knew, birds would be calling as they made their way South, and the sharp nip of autumn in the morning would be carried on the breeze. But here, in his Adar's bedchamber, the fire was lit on the hearth - his own personal fire notwithstanding - the room was warm, and the scent of attar of roses - the blooms of Imloth Melui, out of season and far from Meduseld - rose from the pillow nearest his head. Blinking, he tilted his head at the pillow. Moder?
A breeze seemed to ruffle his hair, though from whence it came he could not see; Théoden’s room was an inner chamber. The scent of roses grew stronger, and a beautiful face seemed to swim before his eyes.
I love you, too, my son, he heard - from nowhere and everywhere. Suddenly it was all gone, and Théodred found his tears falling once more.