#zzz's

Tonight though, he found it exceedingly difficult to close his eyes—they were in the middle of the woods on a company “team building” excursion and, even though he did not object to the ambient soundtrack of wildlife and endless, mysterious darkness, he didn’t manage to quiet the roaring within his own skull.

Separated by only two sheets of thin canvas lay the woman of his dreams, mercifully allotted to another department in her daily work routine and thus unable to cost him his job by cruelly distracting him, and he could almost smell her sweet perfume wafting over into the small, damp space of his own tent.

Curled up on himself—for this was the same tent he had been using since he had been a boy much younger and much scrawnier than he was now—Éomer mused about the woman he didn’t dare approach for fear of looking and sounding like an utter fool.

Only a few hours ago, they had been doing trust exercises and he had felt her warm body in his sturdy arms as she let herself drop into his embrace without hesitation—later, when his colleagues had jokingly teased him about his luck, he had immediately laughed it off and pretended as if he had barely noticed the way her form had pressed against his chest trustingly.

It was less pride rather than earnest cluelessness that made him avoid showing his feelings and inclinations too openly—once too often, he had misunderstood people and their intentions in the past and he was now highly reluctant to be caught off-guard.

Surely, she had merely complied with the task put to her. Even if she had lingered a little too long in his hug or if she had purposefully pressed against him just a little too tightly, he would be a self-enamoured peacock for reading anything into that mere possibility.

He was not a bad-looking fellow, he knew, but—compared to her calm efficiency—he ever felt clumsy, uncouth, and foolish. Wasn’t it ludicrous and absurd that his famous confidence deserted him the very moment she walked in, all smiles and soft-spoken jokes?

It was shameful to admit, even to himself, but he really wanted to invite her to have drinks or even dinner with him…if only he had the slightest trustworthy indication of her own willingness to see him as more than just the leader of another department.

She was kind to him—perfectly polite and pleasant—whenever they had dealings with each other but that was not enough for him to truly believe that she would not burst into laughter or recoil in distaste if he expressed an interest in spending time with her outside of work.

The minutes accumulated in beads of sweat on his skin as he continued to chase the peaceful torpor that evaded him stubbornly. Instead, his muddled brain tortured him with recollections of her scent, her voice, and her trusting smile as he had gazed down at her serene face.

Just as he was about to go for a nightly walk to clear his head, a small dot of dancing brightness appeared.

Turning his head ever so slightly, Éomer discovered that the light came from the tent beside his own, dimmed not only by the two cloth partitions but also by a diaphanous piece of fabric the torch was apparently wrapped in.

Nevertheless, he could easily recognise the two silhouettes the flickering glare painted onto the wall of his little temporary abode—one was unmistakably his sister and the other the woman he had an impossible crush on.

Soon, a low, electrifying buzzing resounded—they were talking in hushed voices about Béma knew what!

Try as he might, Éomer could not make out the words that were exchanged between the two ladies, but somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he might have been one of the subjects that were discussed—he knew that fond but mocking peal of laughter escaping Éowyn’s throat much too well not to be taken back to the shenanigans and accidents he had gotten into in his younger days.

She would always cackle at him like that before she helped him put the world back into order.

What terrible trespass or stupid mistake was now laid at his feet?

Mesmerised, he watched the shadow play of his sister sitting—leaning forward eagerly—while the subject of all his desires was speaking animatedly, gesticulating wildly and drawing wide shapes into the immobile air between them.

As their conversation progressed, they grew increasingly tired of keeping their voice down and Éomer could decipher snatches of their conversation—the most betraying being his own name, mentioned at regular intervals—and his fatigued mind tried hard to make sense of the mere glimpses granted thus to him.

“Hush,” his crush cried at some point, plunging forward to clap a hand over Éowyn’s mouth to keep her from bellowing some potentially incriminating statement.

“Never worry,” his sister reassured the other woman with a hint of smugness in her silken voice. “My dear brother is a sound sleeper—he always has been—and so he’ll never know that you fancy him.”

Ah, Éomer thought as his cheeks warmed up and his stomach did somersaults, how fortunate that even the greatest of blessings could sometimes fail.

@fellowshipofthefics Here we have the next one :D

Lots of love from me

@scyllas-revenge here's a bit of Éomer :D

-> Masterlist