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The chill wind of late morning roared and tore at thick cloaks and faces reddened by the cold on the day of the Winter Solstice. Snow had fallen the night before, and a thin sheet of white covered the ground. The autumn had been fair, brisk but bright, and the people of Rohan welcomed winter with the hopes that the season would be as kind to them as autumn had been.
Watching over the city of Edoras, Éomer felt a rush of pride and relief. He looked over the city of wood from a window in Meduseld, observing the rush and bustle of his people below. Laughter echoed from the city’s center, a broad plaza where many of the Eorlingas prepared for the days of celebration that lay ahead. Their people had diminished much during the War for the Ring, but the people of Rohan were resilient. Éomer had known it, had believed it, but seeing his people laughing again, merry and celebrating like they all had when he was a child--he was overwhelmed with pride.
Éomer was not yet confident in his own rule of Rohan, especially as he’d ascended to the throne under such horrific circumstances and had expected all his life that his cousin Théodred would be King Théoden’s successor instead of himself. But he had placed his trust not in his ability to rule, but in the strength of his people, and he was immensely proud to see such faith rewarded. Despite the horrors that Rohan had endured at the battle of Helm’s Deep and at Minas Tirith, Éomer saw his people grow once more in strength and in spirit. The preparations for the celebration of the Winter Solstice felt like the most damning proof of such resilience. The tents that had sprung up, the wood that had been hauled in for the bonfire, the presents wrapped in the brightest cloths families could spare--it was proof of it all.
The young king felt as though he could feel it all already: the taste of wood-smoke from the bonfire, the sound of Edoras united in song as the stars shone overhead and the winter wind chilled the city. He’d been working with a bard for the last few days in the composure of his own song to share with his people, in the hope that it communicated the gratitude and the love he held for all that lived within Rohan. It was a long tradition of the Eorlingas to share their sorrows and their joys through song, and Éomer hoped to do so that night.
Éomer had been trying not to think of how this would be the first time he celebrated the Winter Solstice without his sister and his uncle at his side. Éowyn had moved to Gondor, to the city of Minas Tirith, and Éomer knew that she had intended to aid in its repair and in the healing of its people. Éomer had been happy for her, truly--it had been a long, long time since Éowyn had been truly at peace, and if Minas Tirith and healing gave peace to her, then Éomer was content. But there was a part of him that ached at her absence. He wished he could consult her on ruling, for they had always matched each others ambition and intelligence. He wished he could see her happy, instead of just know it. Everytime these thoughts turned bitter, Éomer reminded himself--you thought she died out there, alongside Uncle Théoden. She is alive. She is happier there. And while it comforted him, it still stung to think of how this would be his first Winter Solstice in Edoras without her.
Unbeknownst to Éomer, he was not to spend the Winter Solstice without his sister at his side. Éowyn was a few hours of riding away from Edoras, after a few days of fast travel. She was accompanied by a few soldiers of the White City that she had befriended and personally selected to join her on her journey. The people of Gondor did not care for the Winter Solstice themselves, but were interested to witness the celebrations that Éowyn had spent much of the journey describing. Éowyn hadn’t planned to come home for the Solstice, but Faramir had seen the longing on her face when she’d explained to him their traditions of celebration. He hadn’t been able to make enough time to make the journey, but he’d insisted that Éowyn visit her homelands and her people. And, of course, Éomer.
So she’d found herself on the road with no time to send a messenger ahead to alert Éomer of her arrival. Instead, Éowyn would be surprising him without warning. The thought of it made her have to bite back a smile.
Éowyn and her company reached Edoras a little later than she’d hoped to, but to her delight, she did not see the pillar of smoke and the sounds of song that would have signified that she had missed the start of the bonfire. The daylight hours were short, but the day seemed to cling to what little sunlight it had, and Éowyn could still see her home clearly before her. A bell rang out as they approached, loud and clear and lovely, and she laughed at the sound. The bell was not for their arrival, but instead came from the center of Edoras, the plaza where everyone had gathered.
“Perfect,” she told her companions. “It is time for the giving of gifts.”
Éowyn dismounted from her horse with practiced ease, grabbing the fabric-wrapped package from the supplies her mount carried. The fabric was white, with small red flowers embroidered haphazardly onto it. Éowyn was barely able to keep herself from running into the city. It was a place of many memories she wished to leave behind, but it also was the place where Éomer and Théodred and her had lived and laughed and grew up together. And there was a peace about it, as if the city was finally able to breathe after years of suffocation.
And all at once, Éowyn found herself standing at the edge of the celebrations, watching as children shrieked with delight and surprise as they opened their gifts, as lovers hugged each other in delight.
Éowyn spotted Éomer standing and speaking to a small group, cheerfully and kindly but with the kind of distance and authority that a king would be expected to maintain in public, even during celebrations. He wore the crown of Rohan above his brow, and Éowyn felt a pang of grief and pride. He wears it well.
And then she was there, and Éomer was speechless, his eyes wide with surprise and joy and confusion. There were no words. Éowyn set her bundle of fabric down gently and hugged him none too gently.
“Happy Solstice, brother,” Éowyn laughed.
“Éowyn, I didn’t expect you!” Éomer grabbed her shoulders, pushing her to arms length and staring at her as though he couldn’t believe it.
“I hardly expected it myself,” she confessed. “Faramir knew I wanted to visit for the Solstice. He insisted I come, really.”
“I am glad he did.” Éomer smiled at her, a genuine gratitude in his voice. “I want to know everything of your life in the White City, Éowyn. I have missed you sorely, I always turn to ask your counsel before I remember you’re now a princess of Gondor and far from me.”
“And of Rohan, Éomer. I will always come to your aid if you send for me.” Éomer eyes were misty, soft and sad and gentle. Éowyn seemed to glow, her smile so much brighter than it had been just a year ago. “Oh, but enough of that, we will have all of tomorrow and overmorrow to talk of our lives. Now is a time for giving, Éomer, and I carry something for you.”
“Come, come, sit!” Éowyn scooped up the package she’d set down, and Éomer tugged her away from the chaos of the celebrations and behind a small wooden building. “Though I fear with such short notice I don’t have anything prepared for you.”
Éowyn shook her head. “I expected as much, don’t worry at all. And really, my gift to you is a repayment of an old debt.” She handed the gift to him, watching his face carefully.
Éomer unwrapped the package gingerly, as though worried its contents were fragile. The fabric was cast away to reveal a sword, a dull iron gray that wasn’t particularly eye-catching. Along the flat of the blade and the hilt were engravings, intricate and detailed. It was old, and not impressive at first glance, but the longer Éomer examined it, the more impressive the craftsmanship of the blade became.
“You gifted me my first sword during the Winter Solstice celebrations many years ago,” Éowyn said quietly. “When I know it must have been difficult to convince our uncle to allow for his young niece to bear such a weapon. I never figured out how to share with you how much that meant to me, until I found this. This blade I found in the vaults of Minas Tirith’s weaponry when I was helping reorganize the city. It was overlooked by the men of Gondor. But it is beautiful, Éomer, and ancient. Look.” Éowyn pointed to a swirling symbol engraved onto the blade of the sword, near the hilt. “When you tilt the blade just so...”
Éomer looked up from the sword to meet Éowyn’s eyes, his brow furrowed. “It looks like the emblem of our flags.”
“I believe this sword was made when Gondor and Rohan were first aligned.”
“Would that not be during the reign of Eorl the Younger?”
Éowyn smiled. “I assumed that it was time the sword came home.”
“And that you came home.” Éomer embraced his sister once more. “I am so glad you’re here, dear sister.”