Chapter 4: Waiting

October -

Several days later, Lothiriel stood on the shining white stone premise of the castle, watching the man she was to marry ride away with his company of men down the marble-paved road that wound through the city, which stretched out for perhaps a little over a mile before her. She could not help but feeling a little frightened as Éomer rode away, as if now the reality of her situation was starting to sink in. In a little less than two months, she would be traveling the same road to Rohan.

The two had spoken only a little after that day on the beach where their future had been determined. With time to think, Lothiriel understood now a little better why she herself had felt compelled to accepted him. Even more than she had felt bound by honor to accept when faced with his selflessness towards his country, she had felt compassion. His life was tragic, and yet she saw he was bravely trying to soldier on as best he knew how. He was trying to rebuild his country, lead his people, heal them, even if he could not heal himself. And he needed her to help him. Lothiriel could not help but feel honored, now, upon reflection, that she had been chosen. Her life of late had felt to her stuck in monotony, meaningless. Thus, a small part of her was beginning to look on this marriage as an escape, a chance to bring purpose to her life again.

But overall, she was petrified, first of being queen, and then of being a wife. Her heart skipped a beat when she thought of marrying Éomer, and not in a way that was pleasing. Rather, it was as if a hand squeezed in her chest. She saw life with Éomer as difficult at best. Perhaps they would learn to adjust, maybe even come to depend on each other. Maybe a quiet affection would bloom, a friendship, but neither would be first in the other's heart. Any dreams Lothiriel had of being loved by her husband – and of loving him in return – now seemed to her very unlikely.

The night before had been a banquet honoring the betrothal. Never in Lothiriel's life had there been a night of more forced smiles and half-hearted merrymaking, at least at her table. She had been seated, of course, next to Éomer, almost on display, she felt, and there were no words to describe the awkwardness between them. While they had certainly been able to speak somewhat freely on the beach, in the company of others, their conversation became stilted.

When the dancing began, she had of course been expected to dance at least one dance with Éomer. Her face hot, she had placed her hand in his and gritted her teeth in a pasted-on smile that she could feel wavering with every step. She had been surprised to find that Éomer moved with considerable grace, given his height and muscular frame. She had vaguely wondered what it would be like to dance with Éomer under different circumstances, as lovers. It would be quite a bit different, she imagined. When the dance had ended, he had squeezed her hand and met her eyes briefly, his expression characteristically unreadable, before Amrothos whisked her off to dance with him, the first in a succession of other partners, eager to dance with their princess.

And now Éomer had gone, leaving her to say her goodbyes and make preparations to wed him. But how did one prepare to marry a stranger? How did one become a queen? How did one say goodbye to a place and to people whom one loved so dearly? Lothiriel did not know.

---

November -

Back in Rohan, Éomer found himself on an edge. He would wake up in the early hours of the morning, his heartbeat quickening, feeling as if there was something pressing on his mind that had to be taken care of, but unsure of what it was. And then – collapsing back onto his bed in defeat - he would remember that he was King, and that Lothiriel would be here within a month, in early December. They would marry in yet another, in the first month of the coming year.

There were dreams too, but then in his sleep there were always dreams, mostly haunting. There were desperate images of battle scenes, punctuated by the screams of orcs and dying soldiers and, tangled up in everything, shifting visions of his sister Éowyn lying broken in the healing houses, of Breya fading into blackness, and now of Lothiriel, her eyes full of tears as she gazed at him against a backdrop of stormy sea.

Éomer dropped his head into his hands as he sat in the Golden Hall one troubled morning, waiting for reports of displaced refugees in nearby villages as well as those in Edoras. Many peasants, particularly those from the villages closest to the borders of Rohan, had been displaced by raids and attacks by orcs and Wildsmen. And these refugees were the lucky ones – many people had died. The situation was both tedious and troubling to Éomer, for there were currently too many people trying to live in too small a space, and without sufficient supplies or provisions.

"Éomer King?"

He raised his head. "What is it, Éothain?" he asked his friend and steward, more gruffly then he meant to.

"Nothing. Are you all right?" The man said rather awkwardly after a moment. "I am concerned about you, my friend."

"Oh, I am fine," Éomer muttered. "I have a headache, is all." He leaned back in the throne and let out a breath. "How does one learn to become a king when all one knows is how to ride horses into combat?"

"You are a natural leader, sire," Éothain replied. "Must I really assure you of that after all this time?" He sounded exasperated.

"I can lead men in battle," Éomer countered. "I can take up my sword and cry out a brave oath, raising the fighting spirits of my soldiers, certainly. But that has hardly any relevance here, when I must figure out how to save my people from starvation and rebuild my country. "

"You are not alone, sire," Éothain said, laying a hand on his friend and commander's shoulder.

"Aye, that I am not," Éomer agreed after a time, his heart lightened marginally, but it quickly sank again as he remembered. "And there are all these damned preparations to make before Lothiriel comes, on top of everything else."

Éothain grinned as if amused. "You speak as if her coming is a funeral, sire."

Although Éothain spoke in jest, Éomer thought that the exaggeration could almost be the case, but he said nothing other than, "You need not call me sire, Éothain, after all these years. In fact, please do not."

The other man seemed to be fighting back a smile. "Very well, if you are certain." He paused and cleared his throat. "The men and I cannot help but wonder, is she very pretty?"

Éomer shrugged. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Do you mean to say you did not notice?"

Opening his mouth to retort, Éomer closed it again. "Aye," he said quietly. "Quite lovely, I should say, although her nose is a bit too strong for conventional beauty."

"Well, perhaps she will melt that stony heart of yours and lift your spirits some, sire." Éothain bowed as Éomer glared at him. "Begging your leave."

Éomer watched his insolent friend depart from the hall and he called, "I would not count much on it." But the great doors had swung shut.

------

Time had passed, seeming to creep along and yet then gone too quickly, and Lothiriel was to travel to Rohan in a week. She fixed her eyes on herself in the mirror, wondering at the change in her reflection. In the last month or so, her cheeks had lost some of the girlish roundness that had remained in her cheeks even at nineteen, but she could not attest to whether this was the cause of her lack of appetite as of late, or simply because she was finally growing up. But what really startled her was how her eyes seemed to her lately, frightened and nervous, undermined with faint shadows. She had not been eating much, nor sleeping, and it scared her.

Get a firmer hold of yourself, she said inwardly. Even though you are dreading the passing moments, there is no reason to worry yourself to death. She vowed to try to return her habits to normal, for otherwise she feared she would lose any control over herself.

Ninniach was busy combing out her mistress' hair that evening, a task that in itself sometimes took a quarter of an hour. Lothiriel smiled at the girl, who for as long as she could remember had been a companion as well as a handmaiden. When they were younger, they had played together as any two sisters, but as time had passed and they become young women, propriety had deemed it necessary that their easy friendship continue only in private, and even then, there were times when Lothiriel became the noble and Ninniach the maid.

Ninniach smiled back. "How are you this evening?" she asked as she deftly and gently worked the brush through a particularly nasty snarl.

Lothiriel shrugged. "I am as well as can be expected," she said softly, and Ninniach, finished with her task, put down the brush and looked at Lothiriel in the mirror.

"Well, I know that you are dreading the coming weeks," she said frankly. "But - forgive me – aren't you at least a little excited at the same time, or at least curious? I know that, were I a little braver and in your position, I would want to see Rohan."

"Well, I am curious, but I would as sooner stay here. I do not know how I will ever call be able to call Rohan my home, when my heart is here," she replied. "And you are going to see Rohan, aren't you? You're coming with me." Ninniach would not meet her eyes, and it was as if a cloud had descended over the girl's sweetly delicate face. Lothiriel's mouth opened as she realized she had never even considered the question. "Aren't you?"

Ninniach took a few moments before responding. High color was in her cheeks. "Well, of course I will if you order it of me," she replied timidly. "It is not my place to refuse. And were things different, I would be glad to go. But please," she said, clasping her hands and gaining strength from some hidden reservoir. "Do you know what you would be requiring of me? Must I really leave my family, my life, my - " she stopped herself, blushing over whatever she had been about to say. "My home?"

Throughout this speech, Lothiriel stared at her, dumbfounded, and then, without thinking, she snapped, "Well, if I can do it, you certainly can."

Ninniach stepped back as if she had been slapped, and curtsied low. "Milady, I was not thinking. Forgive me," she said, her eyes cast down. "But…"

"But what?" Lothiriel said impatiently, then closed her eyes in regret. "You are forgiven."

Ninniach raised her eyes. "There is something that I need to tell you, something that I have not known how to say." All of a sudden, Lothiriel realized that her friend, though shaken, was somehow finding confidence within herself. She looked different, almost as if she was glowing. There was a light in her eyes that had not been there before.

"What is it?" Lothiriel asked, turning to look directly at the girl.

"I am with child," Ninniach answered after a moment, her tone serious but somehow serene. "And the father, Àerandir, is someone who I love very much, and who loves me in return. He has asked me to marry him, as soon as we can find the time. I did not tell you of him these past few months because we did not want anyone to know until we were certain what we felt was lasting – our families are very close friends and if things did not work out between us we did not want to strain their relationship – but then all of a sudden we were sure. I wanted to tell you then, but then you became engaged to Éomer and I did not think it fitting." She ducked her head. "And then I thought I was with child, but I could not know for sure until very recently."

Lothiriel did not know how she could have missed it. "You were sick but I thought it was just your monthlies. Quite the opposite, I now see." She brought her hands to her temples. Her head suddenly hurt and she felt like crying. "This changes everything."

Ninniach was at her side kneeling in an instant, burying her face in her mistress' skirts. "Oh Lothiriel," she cried. "Please know I do not wish to cause you pain in exchange for my happiness." She raised her head. "But don't you see? Now I am responsible for the well-being of two, not just one."

Lothiriel nodded. "I do see, of course I do." She stood and raised her friend from the ground up to her level. "And of course you must stay here," she said, clasping Ninniach's hands. "I could not think to ask otherwise of you."

Ninniach's eyes lit up, but her lips remained sober. "I thank you. Please forgive me for not telling you."

Lothiriel shook her head and embraced her. "No, forgive me. For not seeing – everything – sooner." She released her friend. "Now, please, it is getting late and I wish to be alone." She smiled shakily. "Goodnight, Nee."

With tears in her eyes and gratitude on her lips, Ninniach curtsied and left, though not before glancing back to see that her friend and mistress had turned back towards the mirror and was sitting, very, very still.

-----

"I say, sister, you look as if you are on your way to a funeral."

Lothiriel, who was walking listlessly down the corridor that led away from her chamber, lost in thought as usual of late, jumped and spun around to face her brother.

"Amrothos, must you always come out of nowhere?" she snapped, her hands on her hips.

He held up his hands in mock-defense. "I was standing right here, actually, waiting for you. What's with the mourning garb?" he teased, gesturing to her dark, rather plain gown.

"My cat died," she retorted, smoothing her grey skirts with a flounce and moving to walk past him, but Amrothos jumped in front of her.

"You do not even have a cat, Lothiriel," he reminded her, grinning.

"Well, perhaps I am mourning my lack of one," Lothiriel said darkly. "Please let me pass."

"No," Amrothos took her arm and led her down the hall instead. "Walk with me."

Lothiriel rolled her eyes and let him guide her along. "Where are we going?"

"Nowhere. I just wanted to talk with my sister," he said rather sincerely, although Lothiriel saw a flicker of worry or some other hidden feeling pass across her brother's boyishly handsome face.

"You mean, father and everyone made you come talk to me," she confirmed.

He colored slightly. "Well, perhaps they did mention it. but I would have anyway. Lothiriel –" he broke off as she began to walk away quickly and grabbed her arm firmly. "Do not think you can get away with keeping all your feelings hidden from your family any longer. Locking yourself in your room will do no good, and walking away now is not the answer."

Lothiriel, fighting to get away from her brother, found tears starting to well up in her eyes. She turned back to her him, defeated. He took one look at her face and pulled her into his arms. "Oh, sister, " he murmured. "Shhh, it's all right."

Lothiriel buried her face against her brother's shoulder and let the tears flow silently, her shoulders shaking. While she was close to all of her brothers, Amrothos was the one she had always turned to first, perhaps because he was the nearest in age. He was almost like her twin in many ways, a grounded but upbeat nature to her often subdued, dreamer's one, teasing when she was unhappy, mellow and unshakeable while she was passionate and reactive. It was Amrothos who had first been able to bring a smile to her face after their mother had died, leaving four children and a father petrified of raising a family on his own. And now it was Amrothos who saw through her every attempt to maintain a brave face.

Amrothos drew away. "Come on, let us get you outside." He led his sister down the hall and through a dark plain door – a servant's passageway. "You look as if you are starting to wilt for lack of sun," he teased. Lothiriel wiped her eyes and followed, her resolve thoroughly gone.

Once outside, behind the castle and standing on the rocky cliffs that overlooked the open sea, Lothiriel was able to breathe a little freer. She took in the sweetly familiar view, her hair and skirts whipping about her in the strong ocean wind. The city of Dol Amroth was nestled amidst cliffs that rose out of an inlet called Cobas Haven. To their left, far below them stretched the expanse of sandy beach on which Lothiriel had ridden with Éomer that day on which everything had been decided.

That day, the sea had been quite grey, matching the sky. A moist chill of fog had crept in. But today the sea and sky were quite blue, and but for a few clouds, it was quite clear, although still chilly as it was late Autumn. On a day like this, the people of Dol Amroth would be rejoicing, Lothiriel thought wistfully. After all her years, she found herself still enamored of the many guises the sea could take on, changing in an instant from pleasant to angry to playful and back again, but always beautiful in its own right.

"I am going to miss the sea most of all, I should think," the girl said finally. She looked over to Amrothos. "Well, other than my family, of course. And Nee." He did not respond and she gathered her hair up and tried to tie it behind her, as it kept blowing in her face. "I suppose I have been trying to wean myself of this place by spending more and more time inside and away from everyone."

Amrothos studied her rather frankly. "You dread having to leave?"

She shrugged, stumbling for words. "I dread what I will find in Rohan," she managed. "I dread a life of endless unhappiness in a land far from the home and people I love."

Her brother put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "I doubt that will be your fate," he said. "You will make your own happiness and come to love Rohan, I am sure."

Lothiriel sighed. "And Éomer?" she asked him, shifting so she could meet her brother's gaze. "What of him?"

"Ahh," he said and laughed. "Is it Éomer you fear, then?"

Lothiriel chose not to answer that. "Do you know his story?"

"Yes, to a point," he said. "He does tend to wallow in his own misery a bit, I think, but it is understandable." He studied her face and tucked her hair behind her ear in a brotherly manner. "He is a brave man, and a good one."

"I know," Lothiriel said. "I saw it, and I accepted him because of it. But Amrothos, he is so unhappy and I hardly know him. His regard for me will never be more than cordial."

"He can be quite a good companion at times, believe it or not, sister." Amrothos laughed. "Somewhere behind that dark expression is a quite witty sense of humor. And his heart is gold."

Lothiriel did not quite believe the part about Éomer's humor, but it was not in her to argue. She sighed and took her brother's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Let's go inside. I need to think about packing."

-----

"What did you think of Àerandir when you met him today?" Ninniach asked the evening before Lothiriel left. The maid was folding underthings and stockings and putting them in one of her mistress' traveling trunks. Lothiriel was curled on her window seat, staring out at the sea, watching the sun sink lower and paint its blood-red fingers across the water. She did not want to leave the sanctuary of nothingness.

"Hmm?" she asked, glancing at the maid. "Oh. I thought he had a nice smile, handsome enough. And hopelessly in love with you," she smiled, "as was written on his face and his every movement." She shifted so that she was lying on her side and propped up her head on her hand. "My heart is at peace knowing that he will take care of you always, Eru willing."

Ninniach smiled, a smile that spoke of incredible happiness and gratitude. "Oh, Lothiriel, I am going to miss you so."

"And I you." Lothiriel sighed and looked away. "But I am happy for you."

Ninniach put down the chemise she was had just finished folding. "Perhaps it will not be so bad as you think it will," she reasoned.

"So I have been told again and again," Lothiriel retorted. "By those who have no idea what it must be like to leave one's home and marry a man I do not love. His heart will never be mine, Nee." She flung an arm across her face and rolled onto her back.

Ninniach sighed audibly. "I understand you are frightened, but if you keep this up, you will be unhappy, but it will be because you doomed yourself to such a fate, not because of anything Rohan or Eomer will have done," she said quietly but firmly. "I say this to you because I wish for nothing more than your happiness."

Lothiriel sat up and wiped her eyes. "I know I am acting like a child," she said haltingly. "I know."

Ninniach stood and walked over to her friend, sitting beside her . "Well," she said with a teasing smile, "At least Éomer is such a fine figure of a man. I have no doubt he knows how to satisfy a woman…"

"How can you?" Lothriel gasped and let out a choking giggle. "Nee, you're in love with someone already! And pregnant, no less!"

"That does not mean I cannot look," her friend giggled, and her eyes softened as Lothiriel sobered and bowed her head.

"I do think him handsome, I suppose. If the circumstances were different, I – well – " Lothiriel broke off. "As it is, I am scared. With his heart as it is, with his grief, what if Éomer is indifferent, or rough with me? What if the people hate me?"

Ninniach wrapped her arms around her friend. "How could they hate you? You bring them hope." She paused. "And Éomer? Do you really think he will not respect you and be gentle with you, even if he does not love you? That is for you to answer for yourself, but I do no think he would hurt you, although I only know what I have heard of him."

"Why are you so wise?" Lothiriel asked. "You are the same age as me."

"I know why," Ninniach responded, raising her eyebrows suggestively. "You will soon too." At this, Lothiriel hid her head in her arms, mortified with laughter. "Come on, dry your tears. We have dresses to pack, Princess."

------

[A/N: Sorry for the long wait. With school and dance getting back in session and college apps due, it's been hard to write…

If you're wondering why Éomer and Éowyn and Éothain (etc) all have accents over the E's, it's because I totally meant to in earlier chapters and forgot. I suppose it's more correct. Anyway, I am rambling. Thank you to all who reviewed or story alerted! I hope you'll keep reading. Next: Rohan!]