Hiya prospective readers! As the summary says, this is a sequel to my previous work, Reel Around the Sun. While I do recommend reading it for a sense of characterization and such, it's not completely necessary. I think (and I could by wrong), that this story can stand alone or as a continuation of any interpretation of Eomer and Lothiriel's courtship.
For your "FYI", the children are Aoife (7 years old), Ebba (5 years old), and Elfwine (6 months at the start of the story). No, Elfwine is not the eldest. Yes, he is the heir, and yes, it is because he is male. I figured that since that is how inheritance worked in medieval times it would be appropriate to assume similar customs for Rohirric culture. I'm fairly certain I haven't read anything to suggest otherwise from Tolkien's works.
Lastly, I just want to mention my totally stupendous beta, PI-Valkyrie-exLorien, for her amazing help and support.
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It all began with a letter. Mud-stained and crumpled, it was presented at the king's high table by a mangy looking scout, who bowed shortly to his king and then swept out back into the inclement weather, the pounding rain swallowing his form. A gust of cold wind whipped through the hall, settling on the royal family with a dark sense of foreboding for the parents, and met with indifference by the warring children.
"Mother, Ebba spilled beans on me! This is the last clean dress I have!" A thin wail began to rise from beside her, and Lothíriel turned quickly.
"Of course she spilt her beans on you, Aoife, I would do the same if I had a bossy older sister that found it fitting to narrate my every move. Keep your comments to yourself, and I am positive she will cease upending her dinner onto your lap. And Ebba," their mother added, effectively wiping the smirk from the younger girl's face. "Food belongs on your plate, not on your sister." The two girls glared at each other before resuming eating.
"What is it, dearest?" Lothíriel asked in a hushed voice, turning towards her husband. The noise of the rest of the diners in the hall had grown once more upon the departure of the mysterious visitor, and once the curious eyes had been drawn from him, Éomer had opened the letter to scan its contents. His mouth had hardened in the way it always did when he was thinking, and she worried for it. He did not answer, nor even seemed to hear her. She waited patiently for another moment, then said, "Éomer."
He jerked as if drawn from a trance, and turned to smile at her before folding the letter and tucking it into his tunic. "The news is not good. I shall tell you after the little ones are in bed."
She could not help rolling her eyes slightly. Her curiosity was unbearable when kept in suspense, and if he spoke quietly enough, their daughters certainly would not notice as they were far too distracted with each other. And little Elfwine, seated on Éomer's other side, was too young to understand speech any way. As if to prove her point, he began squealing in his impatience, banging his small hand on the table. "Might you return your attention to your son then?" she said.
Éomer was unimpressed by her stern tone, merely giving her a cheeky grin before spooning more mash into the boy's mouth as he had been doing before the letter arrived.
Still, Lothíriel could not help but worry. It was in her nature to do so, though she disguised it diligently. She smiled at little Elfwine as best she could, who looked back at her with the love-filled eyes that sons always gave their mothers. She made sure Aoife and Ebba tried everything served to them without using any of it as weaponry, and saw that Éomer's plate was filled once emptied, for tonight he was overly distracted. She ordered the sweets served once the guests had finished with the meal. Being November, it was far too late in the year to entertain any party from far away, but the usual court, as well as shifts of servants, ate in the Hall. Refusing any sweets for herself and dividing a serving in two for her daughters, Lothíriel waited anxiously for Éomer to end the meal. She gazed across the Hall, unfocused, and tallied what threats there had been that might cause the king to be so disturbed. She did not notice that she was jiggling her leg, as she often did when she was not paying attention, until Éomer placed a large, warm hand on her thigh.
"Relax," he said, his voice filled with concern. She smiled tightly at him, unable to soften her posture even with his melting brown eyes coercing her, so very gently, to let her anxieties go. It was so very unfair that he could do that! She squeezed his hand, but did not respond.
Soon, though it felt like days later, Éomer stood and she was able to motion for the servants to begin clearing the tables. Many of the other guests followed suit, casually yawning or joking as was perfectly acceptable for a 'family' dinner. Lothíriel took the proffered wet cloth from a servant and wiped little Elfwine's face, who was immediately hauled up by his father. Aoife and Ebba waited patiently for their turns to be cleaned, but ran off giggling as soon as they were deemed fit. Lothíriel sighed, and held Éomer's hand to stand.
"I am sure the sun has already set," he said to her as they walked together towards their chambers. "Impossible to tell in this weather though."
"I will put Elfwine to bed directly. He did not sleep very soundly this afternoon, as his sisters seemed intent on raising hell through the corridors."
"Lothíriel!" he cried, nearly shocked enough to cease their path. "It is most unlike you to curse!"
She only nodded uncommitedly. "I am sorry. I have been exhausted by the day." His hand tightened on hers for the briefest moment, and she saw that his brows had drawn together. "But I am not so tired that we cannot counsel tonight," she added.
The uncommon darkness from the rainstorm made their bedchamber pitch black, but the sound and smell of the rain through the open window comforted Lothíriel. The children had been put to bed, and Éomer was away on an unknown errand. Faced with more as yet undue worrying, she rang for her maid and prepared for bed, this night electing to brush her own hair and sending the maid away once she was undressed and robed. One, she thought, drawing the brush through her tousled curls. Two. Three. Four. Every night, one hundred brushstrokes. It comforted her, as routine always did. Forty-six. Forty-seven. Forty-
The door opened, and so on edge was she that she spun around, brandishing the brush as one might a knife towards Éomer as he crossed the threshold and shut the door behind him. He only raised his eyebrows at the sight of her. "Will you challenge me armed only with a hairbrush?" he asked.
She huffed and did not answer, returning to her attention to the gilded mirror where she sat. "I expect you might share with me your secrets, now that we are alone," she said, unwilling to be drawn into any bantering.
"You are never one to forget, are you?" her husband had already divested himself of his vest, and sat to remove his boots.
"No, I am not, as you are well aware. Stop attempting to distract me."
She was granted a flitting smile before his last boot fell to the floor with a thunk and he leaned back in his chair, now solemn. "The Dunlendings have amassed in the Westfold. The letter was from Erkenbrand, informing me of his concerns about his eored's ability to contain any threat. Though no fighting has broken out," at this he gave Lothíriel a pointed look. "He wanted me to be aware, and send any extra riders that are available."
She was quiet for moment, still counting and brushing diligently while she digested this information. "How many Dunlendings are there?"
"Erkenbrand is unsure. He estimated between five hundred and a thousand."
"A thousand!"
"A high estimate," Éomer said. "It is unlikely." Silence followed, as each returned to their preparation for bed. Lothíriel finished her brushing and braided her hair back before washing her face and cleaning her teeth, but her husband, with less to do, was done before her and was waiting in the big oak bed.
"You are last," he told her as she shrugged off her velvet dressing gown, draping it neatly on her chair. She stuck her tongue out in a show of bad humor, but took a final turn around the room to extinguish the candles before climbing into bed beside him, undoing the ties on the curtains and pulling them shut. "Did the children go to bed easily?" he asked.
"Well enough." She tucked herself in and yawned. Éomer had not relaxed, remaining outside the bedclothes, laying on his side and watching her.
"Are you very worried?"
Lothíriel thought for a moment. "Should I be?"
He brushed a finger along her cheekbone before answering. "I do not know."
"I will probably worry then."
"I wish you would not."
"Then perhaps I will not."
He was getting annoyed, his brows drawing together and his cheek ticking. Even though she did not like antagonizing him, and her grouchiness was simply inexplicable, she could not help but smiling at how handsome he was. The few times that he was not looking at her sappily, or joyfully, or pleasantly, she was reminded of his past as a soldier. It was attractive to her to know how powerful he was, though he was so meticulous in his manners. Underneath him, she felt small and feminine, which had been a new feeling for her after their marriage. Being tall the entirety of her life and actually ungainly during her youth, the novelty of feeling like a woman thrilled her. She did not realize that she was staring at his lips until they rose at the corners.
"You look positively hungry, my dear. Would you like a taste?"
Lothíriel lifted herself onto an elbow and kissed him tenderly before pulling away and looking at him thoughtfully. "A taste only. If my rest is delayed further, I might find myself nodding over breakfast in the morning."
"A taste it shall be then, for I would not deny my wife anything under the sun."
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A knocking began to stir her from her dreams, and Lothíriel flopped over in bed, trying to ignore it. She kicked Éomer once, but he did not respond. The woes of being a light sleeper, married to one that would not wake for anything! The knocking came again, louder, and now that she was beginning to awaken, it startled her into full consciousness. She lept up and tumbled over Éomer, climbing over him to find herself tangled in the velvet hangings, which fell from their securements in the ceiling to the floor with a FLUMP!
The poor man that had knocked was poking his head in through the door, and was now mightily embarrassed to see his queen standing in a pile of fallen curtains, disheveled from her askew nightgown to her nest of hair.
"Well? What is it?" she asked, purposefully abrasive to disguise her clumsiness.
"It is an emergency, my lady. The king has been called to council. A message has arrived from the Hornburg."
"Noted. You may leave."
He left, shutting the door behind him in obvious haste. Lothíriel muttered to herself in irritation as she threw on her dressing gown and tidied her hair. Before leaving, she shook Éomer awake as best she could. She explained to him the situation in as few words as possible and made him promise he would get up directly, and then made her way to the hall.
Already several men were standing around a table strewn with papers, and they looked up to see her enter. "My lady," Elfhelm said, gesturing toward her to approach. "Will Éomer King be joining us?"
"Soon enough," she said. "Please appraise me of the situation."
Elfhelm had laid out a map of the Eastfold, and he began to explain the movements of the Dunlendings that had been reported in this second letter from Erkenbrand. Still no skirmishes, but the estimated numbers were around two thousand wildmen. But that was not yet the worst - "A scout intercepted a message," Elfhelm said. "A rough translation showed that the enemy plans to attack us directly at our heart."
A stone-cold grip closed around her heart. "Edoras," she said.
"That is what we believe. Considering their pace…" he shrugged. "They might be here within two days, if they are not stopped."
"I see," she swallowed convulsively. Do not show fear. Do not show fear.
"We wait for the king's command, my lady."
"Well, I am certain -" Lothíriel stopped her thought when she felt Éomer's hand gently squeeze her shoulder. She had not noticed his approach in her distraction.
"I will take it from here."
She turned, taking comfort in his warm gaze. "I can help, Éomer, I already have ideas for -"
Again he cut across her. "Go back to bed," he said, voice low. "Do not worry, this situation is not a new one. We will get it sorted."
"But -"
"You would be useless to our children if you do not sleep."
Oh, it was unfair that he could do that! He had struck right at her weakness, and she bristled. "Very well," she said. "But you must wake me as soon as a decision is made."
"I would not dare otherwise." His smile was infectious, but she was not soothed as she stalked off, head held high, trying to appear unconcerned as she returned to their chambers. Her night was reduced to pacing their bedchamber, worrying and wondering of what would happen. Would Éomer ride out? Had Elfhelm kept some terrible secret from her of drastic measures would tear their family apart? What could possibly be done? She finally lay in bed, pulling Éomer's pillow close to her to draw comfort from his scent as she ran through solutions in her mind. Cut off the wildmen with four eoreds and force them to surrender. Attempt a truce, or negotiate to find out their grievances. Éomer had given them land after the Ring War on the stipulation of peace. Why were the Dunlendings attacking them now?
She must have fallen asleep, for she did not remember the room beginning to lighten from the grey dawn, and when Éomer finally returned she did not need a candle to see his face, or to see the despair that lined it. "What is it?" she said, groping around for her discarded robe that she might rise in the intention of meeting the day.
"Stay," he said, and soon shrugged off his own clothes before joining her, pulling her close to his chest in silence.
"Is it so terrible?" Lothíriel asked, her voice hollow.
"Very."
She tightened her grip on his arms, closing her eyes briefly to compose herself. "What is to be done?"
He shifted, and pressed his lips to hers to stay more questions, and he held her more tightly for every time she tried to pull way to interrogate him further. She finally gave in, and allowed him to coerce her into deeper kisses and more caressing. Slowly she was divested of her nightgown, and his head lowered to her breasts. She moaned, arching her back to press herself to him. She felt the blood beginning to rush, and without any proper deliberation decided to allow this before any horrors were to unfold.
A short time later they were sated, and lay together still entwined. Lothíriel began to run her fingers through Éomer's hair, conflicted between the afterglow and her worry, wondering what she might say to broach the topic. But the decision was not to be hers, for it was only a moment before he spoke.
"You must leave Edoras straightaway."
Her indignant outburst had her on her knees, glaring down at her husband with all the wrath that she could muster while nude. "I certainly shall not! Whatever you have planned, I will not be placed on the sidelines for whatever noble mission you have planned."
His expression had not changed, sweeping his eyes along her body and to her eyes with a wistful look. "I do not wish to be parted from you, Lothíriel, but your safety and that of our children come before my personal desires."
"Fine words," she said. "For you to go die a hero's death."
The only sign of her words affecting him was a slight tilt of his brows. "My death is not part of the plan, Lot. If the wildmen are coming to attack us here, those who cannot and should not fight must be evacuated immediately. Edoras is to be turned into a barracks."
She fought back tears, folding her arms across her chest in anguish. "I cannot agree with this! I understand if you were to ride out, but to send us away!"
"It is to keep you unharmed."
"I cannot - I will not -" She lost control, struggling to release her anger but only succeeding to jumble words through raking tremors. She was spinning into a dizzy haze of disconnect. What was happening? She swallowed a cry and buried her face in her hands, shaking violently.
"Lot..Lothíriel. Calm down." Éomer's strong hands were on her arms, trying to pull them away. Unsuccessful, he finally just gathered her in a tight embrace, rocking her slightly and trying to explain into her hair. "This is the way it must be. You will lead those who cannot fight to Aldburg, where you will be safe and protected by Elfhelm's men. The fighting will not go that far. It is only for a little while, I promise."
"I… I cannot do this alone." Her voice was muffled in his skin, still damp from their lovemaking.
"Surely you can. This is one of those times your iron will shall come into great use."
"I meant," she gulped and turned her head that she might breathe. "I cannot do this without you. I cannot...cannot live without you. You are necessary to my survival as my heartbeat or breath in my lungs. Send all others away, I understand, but please do not force me to leave your side."
"There is no other option."
Do not show fear. Do not show fear. Somehow a semblance of her self returned, and with determination Lothíriel pulled herself from her husband, taking a deep breath and looking upon him with a steely gaze, resolved to do her duty. "Arrange for criers to be sent into town while I dress the children. I will depart with my contingent at noon."
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Their little parade - Éomer in front, carrying Ebba and holding Aoife's hand, with Lothíriel falling behind - was only a part of the chaos that was building near the royal stables. Little Elfwine had fallen asleep soon after he had been strapped to her back, but Aoife was downcast as she stumbled along, and Ebba was sucking her thumb and sniffling into her da's shoulder. They were not the only children upset by the evacuation, evidenced by the wailing scenes around them, but Lothíriel was grateful for teaching them to only show emotion in private for the disheartening effect it had on others that might be watching. Her own pain was compressed and hidden deep inside her chest, but the sorrow of the goodbyes she saw brought about fresh pangs.
"I am sending you on Firefoot," Éomer said suddenly as they walked through the heavy doors. Most of the horses were already gone, but at the very end of the stable the retired war-horse was munching lazily on some hay and ignoring the energetic noises and jumping from the stallion located in the stall next to him. Sunfire, Éomer's current mount, was a brilliant golden color, which matched his fearlessness but also betrayed his youthful vanity. Lothíriel cooed to him a few words before she passed on, and the stallion quieted as she patted his nose briefly. Éomer had opened the elder horse's stall door, barking a few words to Firefoot to coax him out of his gluttonous daze. "He will keep you safe," he continued, putting Ebba on the ground near her mother so that he might saddle the horse. "He knows you, and he knows danger. There is life left in his bones, and he will not hesitate to trample any foes should you be attacked. Or he'll turn tail," he added after a moment. "He has a good instinct for a winning or losing battle."
Ebba was swung up in the front, and Aoife behind. Seeing her daughters' increased fright, and panicking this moment of farewell, Lothriel felt her heartbeat quicken. Her distress must have been evident, for Éomer immediately pulled her into a crushing hug without jostling little Elfwine. "It must be this way," he whispered. "I will send word of the conditions, I swear. Find Elfhelm's sister, as she effectively runs Aldburg herself. Please - please, do not worry yourself overmuch!"
"Huh!" It was a croak, and she was ashamed that her lip trembled as Éomer let her go to stare intently into her face. "I will worry, husband mine, and it will only lessen when you return to me whole and unscathed."
For an unknown reason, he began to laugh, and kissed her brow before lifting her so that she could throw her leg over the saddle. "I will write if I can," he said as she gathered the reins, his hot hand lingering on her calf. Aoife's arm wrapped around her waist, almost hurting. He stepped aside and clicked his tongue at Firefoot, who started before he began trotting out of the stable. Lothíriel turned once more, wrenching at the sight of Éomer's lone figure leaning on the stable post watching after them. Then he was gone, and she was blinded by the sudden bright sunlight. Firefoot trampled down the path to the gates, and lined himself neatly at the front of the growing exodus. Lothíriel sighed to herself, but said aloud,
"We will be safe. Father will see to that."
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I love reviews, but I feel silly asking for them. I would appreciate feedback, in any case, and I'm always trying to improve :)