Author's note: This is a response to my first review : ) - This story was meant as a one-shot... simple and to the point. Some might find it 'too fast', but that's how I meant for it to go. : )
We Will Heal Together
The night was warm, the sky clear. All around the city of Minas Tirith, men and women were in high spirits. And there was much to celebrate; the falling of the evil Lord Sauron and the return of their new king, Elessar. For long, the races of Middle Earth had been dispersed in all four corners, some confined in magical places, thus becoming mere legends. But this epic battle, the War of the Ring, it had brought them together, had united them to fight a common enemy.
Men, Elves, Hobbits, dwarf and wizard reunited beneath one roof, it made for quite a festivity inside the Great Hall of Feasts in the City of the Kings. Whether they were nobles or peasants, healers or cooks, handmaidens or servants, all were in attendance. There was much dancing and merrymaking as the talented harpists from the city of Dol Amroth played enchanting music, and there was ale and refreshments in abundance.
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, his crown set upon his head, sat on his throne. Ever calm and poised, with a small smile gracing his lips, he felt a sense of complete peacefulness. And by side, his beautiful elf lady Arwen was a sight to behold. Serene and beyond beautiful, she would offer a gentle smile to whomever would dare look into her deep, clear blue eyes. She was the new queen of the United Kingdom, a new hope for its people.
Aragorn placed a gentle hand on her forearm which rested elegantly on the arm of her throne, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. Smiling tenderly, he turned his attention to the hall and, with his head, gestured toward one of his new friends, a loyal and true ally. And then softly, he spoke, his voice heavy with sorrow.
'Of all the happiness felt here tonight, there are still some who will need time to overcome their grief.'
His elf queen nodded.
'Eomer is strong. He will be a good king. But he is frightened. He is still young,' she replied.
Aragorn lightly squeezed her forearm with his hand, and rose to join his brother-in-arms. He approached the future Lord of the Mark, his hands clasped behind his back, greeting the people as he passed them.
'I seem to remember you enjoying yourself at celebrations, my young friend,' Aragorn started as he stood beside him. Eomer made no response. 'Why stand here alone tonight?' he asked. As he waited patiently for Eomer to answer, he glanced at him.
Eomer averted his eyes away from Aragorn's, as if trying to hide something.
'Speak your mind, Eomer,' Aragorn urged. Eomer sighed audibly, and took a swig of his ale before answering. But he still did not look Aragorn in the eyes.
'Not too long ago, I was a marshal, riding for my King, my uncle,' Eomer started. 'Now that man is gone, and my marshals will be following me,' he finished. Aragorn glanced at the dancing couples.
'What troubles you?' Aragorn inquired, and Eomer took a long, deep breath.
'When I return to my homeland, I will lead my people as I promised my uncle,' he stated. 'I will do my duty. And I will, to the best of my abilities, restore what Saruman has destroyed,' he continued, and paused.
Aragorn glimpsed at him from the corner of his eye.
'But?' Eomer lowered his head and shook it a bit, and looked at Aragorn for a fleeting moment before settling his gaze on his sister Eowyn, the White Lady of Rohan, slayer of the Witch King. She was looking lovingly blissful, dancing with the Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor.
'I do not know where to start,' he explained. 'Eowyn was always the diplomatic one, attending council meetings with our uncle, making decisions, organizing," he continued. Aragorn knew very much what the young king was thinking.
'Eowyn will be leaving Rohan for a very good man,' he said. 'A man who loves her, who has healed her heart and eased her despair,' Aragorn assured Eomer, and Eomer surprised Aragorn by responding with a slight smile before replying, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
'When I thought I had lost her on the Pelennor Field, nothing else mattered,' he replied. 'I felt alone, empty.' He paused, and Aragorn nodded. 'Seeing her so joyful, finally free of torment,' he continued. 'I will not deny her a wonderful life. '
'You are not alone, Eomer,' Aragorn reassured him. 'You will have your marshals, your captains, me..." he paused, placing a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder. Eomer cleared his throat, and looked at Aragorn. Again, he smiled slightly.
'Go,' Aragorn kindly ordered him. 'Get another mug of ale, dance with young maidens, enjoy yourself,' he insisted. Eomer somewhat nodded, and then made his way to a table where his Riders were partaking in a drinking game.
As Aragorn stood and watched, he was joined by another. Prince Imrahil, Lord of Belfalas, had been standing nearby and overheard the two new king's conversation.
'Now that you have brightened up the young Rohir's mood, maybe you could use your charms on another,' he suggested, and Aragorn glanced at him, urging him to elaborate. The prince simply gestured toward his daughter with his head.
Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth stood alone near a marble pillar. To all present, she was the true image of a Gondorian Princess, but the expression on her exquisite face reflected how she truly felt. Her hands meticulously buried in the folds of her pale blue dress, she avoided eye contact and her eyes were empty.
'We have tried everything,' Imrahil explained regretfully. 'None of her three brothers were able to convince her to dance,' he added. 'And she will not speak of what is troubling her,' he continued. 'She has seen things... things her young eyes should not have seen.' His voice was pained. 'I regret. I regret asking her to come to Minas Tirith, to lend a hand in the Houses of Healing. I regret I could not protect her from the effects of war,' he concluded as his voice broke. Aragorn looked at him compassionately.
'You could not,' he said. 'Do not despair. She will overcome this. She has a strong mind, and a strong heart. A daughter of princes, warriors. She will prevail,' he added and Imrahil nodded, his eyes tearful.
'She needs someone,' Imrahil stated. 'Someone who will feel her, understand her, talk to her and listen,' he continued and Aragorn silently agreed. 'The Lady Eowyn and my dear nephew Faramir... They have found each other, healed each other,' he added, and then he smiled through his tears. 'Eomer and Lothiriel...' he whispered. 'They have to find each other,' he concluded, and Aragorn glanced at him. He smiled back.
'They will,' he assured the old prince. 'They will.'
When Eomer felt he had had enough to drink, and enough stifling smoke in his eyes, he decided a walk in the Court of the Fountain would do him some good. He exited the Hall and slowly made his way toward the stone railings surrounding the citadel, overlooking the city. The wind was blowing softly, and from outside the Hall, he could still hear the ruckus of the celebration.
As he approached, he saw her. Standing alone, her hands placed on the stone railing; the beautiful Princess of Dol Amroth. Never before had he met such a lady. She was enchantingly beautiful, ethereal almost, but her eyes... Her eyes were full of sadness. He had heard her family speak of her sorrow. She had changed after the Ring War, and they could not reach her. Never since the death of their beloved mother when they were mere children had they seen her this way.
It was painful. Heart-wrenchingly painful. Such beauty, such a young mind... Wasting away.
He moved toward her. Slowly. He did not wish to intrude, but he could not deny that he very much wanted to get to know her better. Ever since their meeting the night before... Their first meeting. Eomer would never forget. He had seen her enter the House of the King on the arm of her father, followed by her three brothers. They had walked toward him, and Prince Imrahil had introduced him to his daughter.
Eomer had heard of her great beauty; her long, lustrous raven locks, and her large, beautiful stormy grey eyes. But her eyes... How it had stricken him how they did not reach her soul, did not smile when the corners of her lips had subtly turned upward when she had curtsied.
He remembered how absent she had seemed when all in attendance would engage in friendly conversation, how she had left the food in her plate untouched. How she had retired to her bedchamber as soon as protocol had let her, her eyes shining with unshed tears. He had not slept well that night. He had thought of the princess, had had images of her face and of the color of her dress.
Now she stood before him, her back turned. Her dark waves were flowing freely in the wind, the hem of her dress caressing her legs as it flitted. In the moonlight, Eomer could see streaks of tears on her pale face. He approached and stood beside her, his hands clasped behind his back.
He spoke softly, so as not to frighten her away. When he did, she gave no sign of alert.
'Tell me what you see, Milady,' he whispered. She did not respond, and continued to stare toward the horizon. Eomer did not ask again, but he did not leave her either. He stayed, saw her shiver. Then to his astonishment, she spoke.
'He was not but ten summers old,' she said, barely above a whisper. Her voice was hoarse, deep. Eomer pondered her words. A young boy. She must have treated a young boy in the Houses of Healing.
'Tell me about him,' he urged. Surprisingly, she did.
'His legs had been crushed by a stone boulder,' she continued, her voice still hoarse. She wiped a tear from her cheek. 'An orphan,' she added. Her voice shook. 'His parents killed a few hours before... He was running away...' She paused. 'He had lost too much blood, there was nothing I could do for him,' she whispered, but her voice was becoming clearer.
'Of course there was not,' Eomer assured her. He turned to face her, and she continued to stare into emptiness. 'What was his name?' he asked. She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly through her mouth.
She smiled ever so lightly. 'Elfwine,' she answered. 'Elf-friend,' she explained, and Eomer smiled in return.
'A good name for a strong lad,' he replied, and she murmured in agreement.
'He fell asleep...' she continued. 'And I could not anymore.' She whimpered. 'I left him... I left him to die alone...' and her voice trailed. She turned to face Eomer, and Eomer lost his inner battle to stay away from her. His arms went around her on their own accord, and she fitted perfectly into the crease of his chest. She sobbed without restraint, her tears dampening the fabric of Eomer's tunic.
'No,' he whispered in her hair. 'Not alone. The last thing he saw was your beautiful face. And he died peacefully, in his sleep. Because of you.' She shivered, and he wrapped his royal cloak around her. He held on to her securely as he continued to whisper in her ear. 'Banish those images from your memories... think of the future and all the children who will be born in a world free of evil.'
She pulled away a bit, and stared into his eyes. She searched them, searched deeply into his soul. She had been able to speak so freely to this stranger. Why? Her own father and brothers had tried to speak to her, had tried to reach out to her, but she had held back. She had held back because she did not want them to bear her burden. They had their own worries, their own lives, their own wives. But this young king, this Eomer. He was different. He felt different. She could not explain. She was drawn to him, and she could feel him being drawn to her.
'Why are you concerned?' she whispered. 'What is it about me that makes you heed?' She lowered her head, but he lifted it back with his hand placed gently under her chin.
'Everything,' he answered. He lowered his face to hers, so that his lips touched her cheek, and she trembled. 'Everything about you makes me want to protect you, makes me want to hold on and never let go...' He paused and he could feel her breath in his ear. Her eyes were closed and she had stopped crying. 'I want to heal you, and I want you to heal me,' he continued. He pulled his head back a bit and she opened her eyes. They glimmered with tears, but it was different, Eomer noticed. He saw something else. Hope. And life. 'Come to Rohan with me, be my queen. Start anew. Forget the war, and build new memories.'
A single tear streamed down her face, and he lifted a hand to brush it away with his thumb. 'No more tears, Lothiriel,' he spoke softly. 'Say you will come,' he continued. 'And I will comfort you, take care of you... and love you,' he concluded.
Her eyes glistened, and the corners of her mouth curved upward. 'I will, Eomer,' she whispered. And Eomer lowered his lips to her, sealing the promise.