Storge Part I

Out of all of his sons, Eldred had taken most after his late father, Eomund. It was almost uncanny how he resembled him in his mannerisms, his temper, the boasting laugh-almost everything reminded him of his sire. Yes, Eldred had surely grown into a fine Eorling and Eomer never ceased to boast with pride - albeit at the expense of his dear wife teasing him mercilessly.

Truthfully, he had a special pride for all of his children and tried to not pick favourites but sometimes he could not seem to help himself harbouring a special pride when it came to appearances. Elfwine, his eldest, was as tall as him, far more even-tempered than he would ever dream of being and smart as a whip. Loreth, his eldest daughter, was a trickster, famously clever and a daring beauty with raven hair. Then there was Eldred, the perfect epitome of an Eorling, no traces of Gondorean blood was really evident in his looks safe the eyes of dear mother. His two youngest children, Mariel and Theodred, were a perfect mixture of both him and his wife which he never ceased to point out to her. The queen, wary of her husband's fixation on features had long given up to change his ways.

Yes, the king took special pride in all of his children... yet sometimes he secretly wondered why he never spotted a lass in the company of his boisterous middle son. At first, he thought nothing of it. Eldred was a young hot-blooded male, free to give his affections to whomever he came to choose. Yet as the years passed by and his son - generous and kind-hearted as ever, remained unwed, he started to wonder. When the time came that all of his other offspring was happily married except for Eldred, his heart grew heavy.

It was then at the harvest feast that he would pluck up the courage to talk to his son. Broad-shouldered and handsome as ever, Eldred stayed at the sidelines, always quick to console a maid to look for a different partner. Leaning against a richly-carved pillar he noticed his father's cue to join him in the royal gardens.

"Eldred, is there something you'd like to tell me?" Eomer tried and then broke off. In the shadows, he couldn't make out his son's hardened features.

"What do you mean, father?", his voice sounded flat - so unlike himself. The king swallowed uncomfortably, realising how lenient he had been with him for all these years.

"It is just, I never seem to see you around a pretty lass. Is there a reason..." the last part was almost whispered yet Eldred seemed to pick up the undercurrent just fine.

He drove his fingers through his long mane, his expression desperate to keep something, Béma, there was something.

Eldred sighed audibly: "Béma, I don't know what to tell you, father. I've never been interested in them. Probably never will."

There was a poignant pause in which Eomer tried desperately to gather his wits. "Who is she? A married woman? Come on boy, you can tell me."

Exasperated, Eldred turned away from him, his agony so evident on his face. Then he faced his father again with a fierce determination. "No father, it's nothing of that sort. Never has." He swallowed hard, gripping his green riding cloak for support.

Eomer was now desperately aware of how difficult it was for his son to speak his truth whatever it was.

"You can tell me", he coaxed. Trying his hardest not to lose his temper.

Eldred's green eyes fixed on him, grim with determination.

"I would like to ask you for your blessing... Kunfried and I would like to have your blessing."

There it was... shockingly not that surprising yet hurtful all the same. It was as if lightning had struck his body, gave him the energy to jump to his feet.

"How dare you!", was all he could spat. "Is this some sort of jest? What do you mean giving my blessing."

Eldred seemingly disappointed about his father's reaction rose to his full height. "I think I made myself clear. We would like to have your blessing, it's been my only wish for a long time."

"There is nothing to bless!" Eomer raged. "Son, have you gone out of your mind? There are so many lovely..."

"No!" Eldred's angry voice now matched his own. "Father, I've been trying to tell you for ages, and you go on comparing me to some kind of stallion of the Mark, a maid for each finger. I am not that man you desperately want me to be!"

"You are my son! All I wanted for you is to be happy!", he screamed angrily, egged on by the young man's assessment which truthfully encapsulated his past views perfectly. "Then why can't you see that I am? I am desperately, gloriously happy with Kunfried. Ever have since we were nineteen summers. For crying out loud, father, I'm turning thirty-five this winter. How long shall we continue playing charades?"

Now Eomer was raging his hands through his not so blonde mane, angered by the insinuation of how daft he must have been all these years. "So what.", he spat, eyeing Eldred forcefully, "You expect me to be fine, just like that? You expect me to welcome Kunfried as kin just because you want me to. Have you any idea of what this means? For us?"

Eldred's features were stone-like, it was as if arguing with his father. He looked so much like his father, a true Eorl-

"Haven't you always said a true Eorling is measured by his honesty." His words pierced like shields through him. "Here I am, truthful to you not hurtful. I'm coming to you to ask for your blessing, not your understanding, just that. Why can't you give me just that."

Tears welled in Eldred's eyes. A man of his station, a battle-hardened warrior - it was all he wanted and Eomer was hurting inside to see him suffer. His cheeks were moist when he turned his head sideways.

"I don't know what to tell you, Eldred."

Had he looked up, he would have seen the mixture of hurt and grim acceptance on his face. "Then there's no point staying any longer." And with that, he left the royal gardens. His cloak billowing in the evening breeze. The epitome of a true Eorling, a good man, a hurt son.

As the shadows threatened to swallow the king, he allowed himself to grieve over what he had truthfully lost.

To be continued