CHAPTER FOUR
Lothíriel murmured sleepily and stretched her arms up over her head, eyes still closed. She curled her toes and rolled onto her side to bury her head into the pillow. Maybe she could snatch more sleep, if she just found the right position…
"Lothíriel," someone hissed.
Lothíriel shrieked and flailed back, banging her head against the wall. "Ow!" she cried. She cracked open her eyes.
Æmma was hovering over her, her long blond braids dangling over her shoulders and brushing Lothíriel's blankets. "Are you alright?" she asked.
Wincing, Lothíriel rubbed her head and nodded. At least she wasn't bleeding. But her head was pounding in more than one place. Did she drink so much last night?
Forget that—what was Æmma doing in her room? And where was Zamîn? Her bedfellow was nowhere to be seen.
Lothíriel scooted back and frowned. "It is early yet," she began, but Æmma waved her protestations aside.
"Lothíriel, I have heard of no change in my circumstances," Æmma said. "I don't know what got into you last night, but I think I have it!"
"Have what?" Lothíriel ran her hands through her loose curls and pulled her shift down to cover her knees.
"The solution! You should marry Éomer instead of me!" Æmma sat back, a proud grin on her face.
Lothíriel blinked. "Um."
"Yes, it's perfect!" Æmma crowed. "He doesn't mind you at all."
"What do you mean?" Lothíriel rubbed her temples.
"You made him laugh, and you weren't even trying. And he asked you to dance even after you turned him down!"
"Wha—you were eavesdropping?"
"Of course I was." Æmma rolled her eyes at Lothíriel's wounded expression. "This is my whole life we're talking about, Lothíriel. And you're making very little headway."
"There's still plenty of time," Lothíriel argued. "I'll figure something out."
"I told you," Æmma said, "I have it. Isn't your father trying to make a match between you and Éomer anyway?"
"I—I don't know anything about that!" Lothíriel crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.
Was her father angling for a betrothal between her and Éomer? Amrothos had hinted at Imrahil planning something of the sort yesterday. She hadn't wanted to believe it, but perhaps it was true. And it wasn't as though she could fault her father in his choice. Éomer was the best match anyone could hope for. Rank, valor, and looks…
The looks, especially. Lothíriel had always know brave, noble men, but none had ever been so handsome. Maybe she just had a strange preference for bearded blondes with broad shoulders and large, powerful hands. And bright, keen eyes, and—
"Lothíriel."
Lothíriel flinched, face hot. She drew up her knees and grabbed her toes. All of those thoughts were flighty fancies. She pushed her shallow musings aside. "I said I'd help you get out of it, Æmma, not that I'd get myself entangled instead! Why don't you just tell Éomer to cancel the betrothal if you're so desperate to be rid of him?"
"Have you not met my father?" Æmma snapped. She crossed her arms and tossed her head. "He'd have me on a pike if he learned I ruined his plans. No, it's much better if you do it yourself. You did promise. You swore!"
"I did," Lothíriel said. "And I won't go back on my word." She sighed and rested her cheek against her knee. "But I don't see why you're so against the betrothal."
Æmma snorted. "You wouldn't. You have three brothers." She took in Lothíriel's bafflement with a sigh. "Don't you know? I'm my father's heir. If I marry Éomer King, my inheritance is on the line. How can I be mistress of my father's lands if I am busy tending Meduseld?" She leaned forward and grabbed Lothíriel's hand. "Do you know how rare it is for a woman to inherit?" Lothíriel shook her head, and Æmma forged on. "I want to be my own mistress, not just a wife. Is that so terrible?"
"Of course not," Lothíriel blurted.
To be your own mistress! That was a fate that Lothíriel had never considered. It was impossible for her. Three brothers and one nephew stood in her way, not to mention her politically-minded father. Imrahil would never settle for letting Lothíriel have her own lands. She had been raised her whole life to adorn some man's table and keep his household. It might not be Valar-ordained, but Æmma's opportunity was as close to a miracle as any trick of fate.
She squeezed Æmma's hand. "As you wish, so it shall be. I will not let you down, Æmma. I gave my word, and I will keep it."
Æmma kissed her hand, her large eyes shining. "Thank you, lady. Thank you."
. .
. .
Around eleven o'clock, Lothíriel and her mother headed over from the guest house to wait on Éowyn. Lady Aeardis looped her arm in Lothíriel's as they meandered down the garden paths.
Lothíriel smiled absently at her mother, but soon enough a frown pulled at her lips. Æmma's plight still weighed her down, and no new solution had presented itself. Seduction and marrying Éomer herself were impossible. She had enjoyed herself very much last night, talking and dancing with him, but a half-hour's conversation and two breathless dances were a silly foundation for a marriage.
Besides, she didn't want to marry Éomer. Æmma's predicament was unfortunate, but Lothíriel was hardly about to enmesh herself in the drama any further. With all she'd heard of Lord Aldor, getting in his way would be about as wise as—well, not quite as unwise as marching alone to the Black Gate, but not far off. Lothíriel had promised to help Æmma. She hadn't promised the skin off her back.
"You've been quite distracted lately, Lothíriel," Aeardis said, cutting through Lothíriel's muggy thoughts.
"Have I? I beg your pardon, Naneth." Lothíriel squeezed her mother's hand.
"Oh, I think I understand." Aeardis smiled slyly. "There's certainly more to occupy yourself with here, among such company, than at home."
"Well, it was a wonderful wedding. Faramir couldn't have chosen a more lovely bride, either for beauty or goodness." Lothíriel sighed wistfully. If only that was the only thing on her mind!
"May the Valar bless them with many children," Aeardis said.
"Amen," Lothíriel said automatically. Now there was an appealing thought. Lothíriel dearly loved her nephew Alphros; the prospect of more children to dote upon brought a smile to her face.
"And Valar willing, you shall have your own someday soon," Aeardis continued.
Lothíriel laughed. "Well, when the time comes, I shall do my best. Although if I end up with three unruly boys, I may give up!"
"Now, now," Aeardis said, lips twitching. She paused to pluck a flower from a willow tree.
Lothíriel smile faded as she waited for her mother. She'd found Æmma under a willow tree, and in that matter she had no cause for joy. A good lady's future was on the line—not to mention Lothíriel's honor. Why oh why had she sworn to help? Had she always been so foolhardy, or was it just the air in Ithilien?
Aeardis spun the flower between her fingers. "The wedding was indeed lovely, but there are other things and people to occupy your time now," she said.
"Yes indeed." Lothíriel bit back a sigh, but her mother gave her a knowing look.
"Sighing," Aeardis said, "is a sign of a preoccupied mind." She smiled archly at Lothíriel. "But I hope these are for a happy cause."
"I hope so, Naneth," Lothíriel said earnestly. "There's hope in all things, isn't there?"
"Just so, Lothíriel. Just so."
Aeardis patted Lothíriel's hand, and the two of them continued to the main house. Lady Éowyn was waiting for them.
. .
. .
Lothíriel sighed and dragged her finger through the dirt. She was lying on a wooden bench under a willow tree—the same bench that she'd found Æmma crying on yesterday morning. After luncheon was served in Lady Éowyn's solar, Lothíriel had managed to slip out without either her mother or Aunt Ivriniel stopping her. She could hardly believe her luck. Usually, one—or both—of them would call out to her just as she was nearing the door. Today, though, they had been deep in a hushed conversation. As Lothíriel was inching for the door, her mother had even shot her an indulgent smile. It was as though Aeardis wanted Lothíriel out of the room.
Whatever the reason for her mother's laxness, Lothíriel was grateful. It was impossible to think in there, what with Æmma giving her significant looks and Frikka smirking, not to mention Éowyn's attempts at poise while her whole bearing sang out her joy. The whole room had seemed to be trying to distract her.
Now, though, she could fully appreciate the bind she was in. Æmma and Éomer's betrothal was set to be announced in only a few more hours, and Lothíriel had no idea what to do about it.
She was loath to turn back to her first plan, but nothing else came to mind. How else was one to break a betrothal but to get in the way of it? And how could one get in the way without some clever manipulation?
Even supposing she could manage it, how would she manage the fallout? She didn't want to be the cause of Éomer's unhappiness. Æmma seemed to think the whole situation was due to her father's scheming, but what if Éomer loved Æmma? The thought twisted her stomach unpleasantly, but she couldn't dismiss the possibility entirely. Éomer might have been lovely and charming last night, but he had spent at least as much time with Æmma.
Hadn't he?
Quiet footsteps registered, and Lothíriel bit back a groan. Was she to have no peace at all?
"Good day, Lady Lothíriel."
Lothíriel's eyes widened at the voice and she sat up quickly. The blood rushed to her head, and she blinked rapidly. "King Éomer," she said. Her vision was spotty, but she could still make out his looming form and braided hair.
Once her vision cleared, she finally looked Éomer in the face. His concerned expression rendered him almost tender.
"Are you well, my lady?" he asked.
"Mm!" She smiled tightly. "It's nothing. I only sat up too fast."
"Ah, yes." Éomer's lips twitched. "Do you mind some company? To ease your recovery, of course."
Here she was, trying to think of how to sabotage his betrothal, and he wanted to keep her company? Nienna grant her patience!
But there was no refusing a king.
"I would be honored," she said, much more graciously than she felt.
Éomer bowed. For a minute, he hovered awkwardly, and then Lothíriel remembered her manners.
"Please sit," she said. She scooted to the edge of the bench, leaving more than enough room for him. This seat had likely been made for a couple, but that was hardly her goal. She was only here to figure out how to help Æmma. But she still didn't know how, and so she was left watching Éomer out of the corner of her eye, trying to figure out what to do.
After everything she'd seen last night, and after Æmma's ridiculous assertion that she should marry Éomer herself, there was no way she could carry through with her original plan. Éomer might be the handsomest man she'd ever seen, but she could never face the embarrassment of facing him after all was said and done. They had gotten along so well last night! He had laughed; they had danced; she had been swept away in his arms. But if she were to try and trick him into breaking his betrothal…
No, it wouldn't do.
She frowned at Éomer, and realized with a start he was staring warily at her.
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered.
Éomer smiled apologetically. "It is forgiven." He leaned back on his hands. "I know why I am studying you, but what are you looking for?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it. He was studying her? Why, for Elbereth's sake? He had scarcely noticed her before last night, and now his blue eyes were fixed on hers, expectant and curious.
Oh, he had asked her a question.
"I was wondering—" She paused, unsure what to say. Her father and brothers might trust Éomer on the battlefield and in the council room, but in the matter of Æmma's future…
Éomer nodded and leaned back to look up at the willow tree. "Have you ever made a hasty decision that you regret?"
"Oh, yes." She heaved a sigh and picked at the dirt caught under her fingernail. A hasty decision indeed—if he only knew! "But decisions alone can usually be changed. It's when you make a promise that you're well and truly stuck."
"Do you think all oaths are an evil?" Éomer asked.
"Of course not!" She sat up, indignant. Her promise to Æmma might have been badly done, but one foolish pledge did not speak for them all. "Why, anyone who saw Faramir and Éowyn—I mean, Lady Éowyn—last night would know that many are blessed. There's the Oath of Cirion, and every other true bond of friendship."
"I do sometimes wonder if your cousin will question the wisdom of his choice when Éowyn gets in a stubborn mood," Éomer mused.
"Well," she said, "he'd be one to complain! Is he not the most stubborn man in Gondor?"
"Perhaps," Éomer said, smiling. "But in all seriousness, I would not care if he was, so long as he loves her and treats her well. And he does."
Lothíriel grinned, suddenly relieved. How could she have doubted Éomer? Didn't he have a sister? And was he not a good king to all his people, not just the men? Éomer was a man she could trust with anything. A great weight lifted from her, and she turned to look Éomer in the eye.
"Æmma doesn't want to marry you," she told him.
He blinked, looking for all the world like a startled deer. "What?"
"I found her here." Lothíriel patted their bench. "She was crying, and I persuaded her to tell me why. And—and I promised I would help her." She hunched her shoulders, nervous again. "But only you can do that."
As she spoke, Éomer glanced up and pulled on one of the willow tree's spindly branches until it snapped. He twirled it in his fingers and sighed.
"Do you know why I wanted to marry her?" he asked.
Lothíriel shook her head mutely.
"You had it right last night," he said. "Éowyn is the luckier of us, for she will not be deprived of half so much as I shall be. Your country and mine have their differences, but running a household here is not half so different as she feared. But I have no one to replace her." He crushed the broken stem in his fingers until its leaves crumbled to dust across his thighs. "Any well-bred lady can keep a house, but I loved none as I love my sister. There is no replacing her, I know, but a wife…
"I have known Æmma for years, though not well. Her father has always spoken highly of her, and Éowyn has as well. I believe love could have grown between us. But I thought she was willing."
That made far more sense than Lothíriel had supposed. After Æmma's description of her father, Lothíriel had supposed Éomer had been maneuvered into the betrothal. But his words belied her assumptions. Éomer had been the master of his fate the whole time, and she had underestimated his resolve.
"I understand," she murmured. She toyed with a loose curl and sighed. "What will you do now?"
"I will speak with Æmma," he said.
Lothíriel started. Æmma would be horrified if Éomer approached her! She would despise Lothíriel, and consider her a failure. And if Lord Aldor heard of it…
Oh, why didn't he trust her? Lothíriel's lips quivered; she pressed them together hard. Éomer winced.
"I mean no offense, my lady, but—
"No," she interrupted. She sighed. "I understand. It would be foolish to take my word alone. But please," she urged, "do not let Lord Aldor get wind of it! She is afraid of what he will do if he suspects her of any contention." Éomer raised an eyebrow, and she flushed and looked away. "Perhaps Æmma frets for nothing, but if her worries are well-founded… I would not have her suffer from my meddling."
Éomer studied her carefully, and eventually she turned to look at him.
"You are honest?" he asked.
"Yes. I would not lie to you." She twisted her lips into a halfhearted smile. "I thought you Rohirrim were wise to such things, anyway."
"We are," he said, the hint of a smile on his face. "But I wanted it from your own lips." His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then he looked away. "There is another way to rescue Æmma from her fate. Her manner last night…" He shook his head. "If I can find another bride, I might find a way to excuse myself. And I know of another lady who might suit."
"Do you?" Lothíriel sat up, intrigued. Whom could he mean?
"Aye," he said, "but I do not know if she would be willing."
She scoffed. "I can understand Æmma's reasons. She has the chance to be her own mistress! But if this other lady has no such claim, she'd be mad to refuse."
Éomer raised an eyebrow, lips pressed together with amusement. His bright eyes danced. "I shall take that into account."
Lothíriel blushed and looked away. Had she been too forward? She glanced at Éomer under her eyelashes. He was smiling at her, dimples and all. Not too forward, then. Besides, he must be aware of his attractions; they were too obvious for anyone with sense to ignore.
So who was this other lady? Lothíriel itched to know. Æmma's fate was not secure, not yet. Not until Éomer made his excuses to Lord Aldor, at the very least, and preferably not until he had plighted his troth to someone else.
"So," Éomer said. He sat back on his hands and stretched out a long leg. "Was that the hasty promise you made? To help Æmma?" She nodded; Éomer's lips twitched. "Out of the sheer goodness of your heart?"
Lothíriel quirked her brow. "What do you mean?"
"You saw her upset, and you promised to help her just like that?"
"Well, yes," she said, still confused. Wasn't that the right thing to do? "She told me she was being forced to wed. I didn't even know about her birthright until this morning."
Éomer hummed. He snapped another branch off and began to strip the leaves from it. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked up at her from beneath his brows. "That was a very noble sentiment," he murmured. He dropped the thin branch to the ground and glanced behind them. Determined mischief lit his eyes, and Lothíriel began to turn to look.
But before she could see if anyone was in sight, Éomer put a rough hand against her face, stopping her from turning. Her heart skipped a beat; she opened her mouth in shock. Éomer scooted closer, his knee hard against hers. He slid his hand down her cheek to grasp her chin and brushed her lips with his thumb. She could find no words. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. Only vaguely did she register the sound of footsteps.
Then he drew her to him and kissed her.
Lothíriel squeaked, but Éomer did not pull back immediately. His lips were gentle, and his beard was strange against her face. Her heart thudded in her chest.
She reached out to push Éomer away, but her hands landed softly against his chest and her eyes slid closed. He scooted even closer; their thighs were pressed together now. A hot thrill lanced through her as he cupped the back of her neck with his other hand.
At last, breathing heavily, Éomer broke the kiss. His lips twitched as they stared at each other, and Lothíriel could do no more than catch her breath. Was he laughing? She opened her mouth to ask, but then his hand trailed along the back of her neck and along her shoulder. She shivered; her thoughts floated away like a feather on the breeze.
"Éomer!"
Lothíriel jumped at the sound of Amrothos's voice. Oh no, had he seen all of that? She tried to turn her head again, but Éomer stopped her from looking as he had before.
He leaned in close. His nose brushed her ear, sending another shiver up her spine. "You would be mad to refuse," he whispered slyly. "Are you mad, lady?"
Why—!
Lothíriel pulled back and gaped at Éomer. To use her own words against her! That was a dirty trick.
But did that mean… Was she the other lady?
"Éomer, kindly unhand my sister," Amrothos ordered. He marched over to them. Thankfully, Éomer stood up and stepped back before Amrothos removed him with force. "Lothíriel?" Amrothos sat in Éomer's vacated seat and gripped Lothíriel's shoulder. "Are you alright?"
She blinked at her brother. "I—yes, of course I am." Her gaze strayed to Éomer, who was looking down at her with an unreadable expression. Was she alright, indeed! How could she be anything but well after a kiss like that with a man like him? "I'm perfectly well," she declared.
Éomer smiled at her, a private, heated smile that left her breathless all over again. She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to relax her racing heart.
"Where is your father, Amrothos?" Éomer said. "We have business to discuss."
Amrothos jumped up and crossed his arms. "First with me," he said doggedly. "What's going on here?"
"I would have thought it was obvious, Amrothos," Éomer said. "Were you not urging me to get to know Lothíriel better?" He raised an eyebrow; Amrothos was flummoxed. "Well, you see I have done so. And I pray that she thinks I will suit her even half as well as she suits me."
"Oh," Amrothos said. "Oh!" A grin split his face. "Well then!" He clapped Éomer's shoulder and swooped down to kiss his sister. "Congratulations! What a happy occasion!" He slung his arm around Éomer and led him away. "My father is with King Elessar—I will take you to them!"
Éomer shot a blinding grin over his shoulder at Lothíriel before the two men vanished from sight.
Lothíriel blinked. She opened her mouth, but there was no one left in sight.
"Um," she said, and closed her mouth.
This was not how she had expected her day to go.
. .
. .
A/N: SURPRISE!
MissCallaLilly—Unfortunately I don't think they got the "behave!" memo. Well, maybe it's not that unfortunate... Thanks for the review!
The Solaris—Hahahaha! I've got nothing against beards myself, apart from the itching when they're too short. But I suspect that since most Gondorians (at least the Dúnedain ones) are beardless, beards aren't quite the beauty marker they could be. But the right face can change those opinions :) And yeah... As happy as Éomer must be to have Éowyn happily settled, it's gotta be a bittersweet time for him. It's not a huge distance, but it's still a big change from living in the same halls. Thanks for your review :)
Thanks to everyone for reading, following, faving, etc! I hope you enjoyed this chapter—the next one is the last. Reviews always welcome! I love to hear your thoughts!