Chapter 9
The Hornburg, 28th December, 3019
Éomer awoke shortly before dawn.
The night before, after Lothíriel had retired to her own room, he had spent a long time lying awake in his bed, mulling over and over about her words.
About Imrahil and Théoden. About his last months in Edoras and that permanent, suffocating sensation that had been constantly following him. About the way he knew he had detached himself from everybody around him. About how good it had felt to be riding again Firefoot on Rohan's beautiful plains, the noose around his neck loosening a little for the first time in what it felt like ages. About how excited he felt at the simple thought that yet another ride was awaiting for him on the morrow, having him wryly considering that maybe Lothíriel's enthusiasm was infectious.
And for the first time, the full awareness that he did not want to be any longer in that dreary, grim place he had built around himself, had come to him. An awareness that scared him and gave him courage at the same time. For he knew he needed to move on, just: he wasn't sure how to do it.
Éomer snapped up from the bed and shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He tried to focus on the upcoming ride and purposefully made himself ready and headed straight to the Great Hall.
All the men of his party were already sitting at the table, gingerly eating their breakfast. Only Lothíriel was missing. The room fell silent as he took his seat and, as silly as it was, in that moment it suddenly came to him: for months he had been trying to take all the burdens on himself, to put all the problems of the Mark on his own shoulders. But in doing so, he had in turn become a burden himself for all the people around him. For Gamling, who had been trying to support him in every possible way, while at the same time trying to keep up with his awful temperament and sudden outbursts. For Éothain, who might have turned into a mother hen ever since becoming Captain of the Royal Guard, but was nonetheless his best and oldest friend: with the exception of the ride from Edoras, he couldn't even recall the last time he had spoken to him, while he knew the man had tried to approach him so many times. For Birthwyn, who had probably realized what was going on well before anybody else, maybe even before himself. For Éowyn, even though luckily the happiness for her upcoming wedding had saved her from the worse of it. For Aefre. For Lothíriel. For everybody, really.
His mind went back to Théoden's open smile and he took a deep breath: "Gamling, Éothain, is everything ready for departing?".
The two men diligently nodded. "Yes, Éomer King".
"A real pity the weather won't be as nice as on the way here, isn't it?", he asked lightly, pointing at the window and at the dark sky.
Gamling briefly stared at him but whatever he had been thinking, he hid it well. Éothain, on the other hand, was too cheeky to feign indifference and looked at him with raised eyebrows. Éomer braced himself for some saucy remark, but was spared by the arrival of Lothíriel. Needless to say, she looked excited and overly-energetic. Not even the prospect of a wet ride seemed to be able to undermine her mood and just as to prove him right, her enthusiasm quickly spread across the table.
As everybody started heading outside, he took the chance for a last quick chat with Erkenbrand, ensuring that the Marshal of the Westmark knew that his liege appreciated his work, his efforts and his support. Chances were that he wouldn't be able to visit again the Hornburg before Éowyn's wedding, but he knew he was leaving the Westfold in capable hands. The older man laughed warmly and clasped his shoulders, and together they made their way to the stables.
Most of his riders were already on their horses and he was surprised to find Firefoot already saddled and waiting for him. The ride from Edoras had calmed him down and apparently a brave stable boy had managed to make him ready. Éomer quickly checked on him but found everything to be in order. A few steps away, Lothíriel was already mounted on Sparkler, gently patting his neck. His eyes shifted on her legs and, frowning a little, he approached to her.
"Is the horse to your liking, Princess?".
Her face lit up: "Yes, my Lord! He is strong but gentle. I already love him!".
Behind him, a couple of guards chuckled at her cheerful declaration.
"Your stirrups are too short, Princess", he said, pointing at them.
She immediately turned serious and looked down at her foot: she stared at it for a few seconds, then at him, then again at the foot. He chuckled himself and gently took her foot out of the stirrup, noticing a light blush spreading on her cheeks. He fixed the length of the stirrup and put her foot back in, then did the same on the other side. Once he was satisfied, he looked up at her: "Better?".
Once again, she looked at her foot, first one, then the other: "I suppose?".
"Trust me, by the end of the day, you would have felt the difference on your legs and especially on your knees. This will be more comfortable".
She still had a doubtful expression as she regarded her legs: "I guess you are the expert, my Lord".
More giggles came from his guards and he glared at them over his shoulder. They immediately turned serious and diligently took a few steps back, pretending to be suddenly very busy with something on their own saddles.
"You can call me Éomer".
A deeper blush spread on her cheeks and for a moment she seemed taken aback: "Oh, yes, my L…I mean, Éomer. Then we shall dispense of the titles. You can call me Lothíriel!".
She gave him a bright smile and nodded eagerly her head, her small hands holding tight on Sparkler's reins. Éomer looked at her and thought that in that moment, she looked amusingly adorable. To him, she seemed like a living contradiction: just a few hours before she had stood in his room, refusing to leave when he had told her to, giving him enough food for thoughts to last him until spring. And now there she stood, her cheeks flushed and amusing half of the Hornburg with her thrilled moods.
A soft laugh escaped him: "Very well, Lothíriel. Then let's get going".
He walked back to Firefoot and noticed Gamling looking at him through narrowed eyes, Éothain by his side with a smug grin on his face. Good grief, I know that look!
He gave them his deepest frown and mounted Firefoot, leading the party out of the Hornburg.
The peaks of the White Mountains kept hidden behind a thick veil clouds for the whole day. Even so, every now and then a ray of sun would make it through and enlighten a patch of green grass on the endless plains of Rohan, painting a breath-taking contrast with the dark sky above them. So beautiful.
He had expected a wet ride but in the end, they made it dry until dusk. The mood stayed merry throughout the whole day and they all enjoyed the ride, Lothíriel more than everybody else, that for sure. Looking at her, easily chatting with each and every of the riders in his guard, he had been forced to admit once more that Gamling had been right: she was truly Imrahil's daughter. Graceful, nurtured and poised like any Gondorian lady. Easy-mannered, friendly and good-hearted like any of the members of the Amrothian's family.
He decided to stop for the night in the same spot where they had camped on their way to the Hornburg. Once the horses had been taken care of, they all started to quickly mount their tents, fearing rain would start pouring on them from one moment to the other.
He was taking care of his own accommodation, when suddenly he heard Firefoot and the other horses neighing.
Instinct took over: his right hand immediately reached for Gútwinë's pommel while he ducked to retrieve his shield. In unison, they all turned towards the group of trees standing between them and the mountains. With the sun already set and the sky dark with heavy clouds, visibility was somewhat limited. Éomer sharpened his senses: he could see a storm approaching and, for the split of a second, he dared hoping that the horses, with their sensitive hearing, had merely been spooked by the sound of some distant thunder. But instead, they kept nervously whinnying and he knew something was lurking between those woods.
He quickly glanced at his men. They were spread around him, alert and ready.
While waiting for Walda to mount her tent, Lothíriel had been probably trying to avoid getting in the way of their organized camp, for she stood slightly apart from the main group, Herubrand by her side. He exchanged a look with him and the man understood immediately: he gave him a quick nod and pushed Lothíriel further behind him, shielding her with his own body and slowly retreating. Walda was slowly moving back towards them when the first orc rushed out of the woods, quickly followed by others.
The tense silence was broken and the sounds of the fight filled the air. Steel clashing against steel, Éomer advanced and slew a first orc. He turned just in time to raise his shield and protect himself from a strong stroke aimed at his back. A cursed uruk-hai. He evaded a second blow and swung Gútwinë at the foul beast, who swiftly jumped back. But now, his short, broad-bladed sword put him at disadvantage: Éomer knew it and charged angrily at him, swinging Gútwinë from below and before the uruk was able to recover from fending off the stroke, a second one cut his head clean off.
Éomer turned to the centre of the battlefield: no more orcs nor uruks were coming out of the woods. He counted only five still alive and his men were making a good job out of them. It was just a matter of moments before they would completely dispense of them.
But then, he noticed something: even though Herubrand and Lothíriel had retreated further from the trees, an orc had anyway managed to reach them, his lifeless body now lying at Herubrand's feet. Walda had been engaged with the others and hadn't managed to get back to them. In the confusion of the fight, two uruks had managed to pass the main group of riders and were now sneaking on Herubrand and Lothíriel, probably thinking that a man and a woman would make an easier target. But Herubrand was no ordinary rider: they engaged him together but he stood his ground and before Éomer could reach him, he had knocked out one of the uruks by bashing him forcefully with his shield and run his swords through the other. When Éomer finally caught up with him, it was already over. All he could do was to sheath his sword and, grabbing one of his knives, finish the first of the two uruks, who was still lying on the ground, stunned.
As quickly as the fight had started, it ended.
Éomer looked up, frantically searching for Lothíriel, a cold fear that some other uruk had managed to sneak to her before anybody could notice it. But he immediately saw her, standing a few strides from him, eyes wide and as pale as a sheet. He could see that she was trembling and quickly hurried to her side: "Lothíriel!". He cupped her face with both hands and looked at her, up and down, checking for wounds. But she looked fine, there was no blood staining her clothes.
She was badly shaking and it was only then, that he noticed she was gripping a dagger in her right hand. He searched her eyes but she was still staring intently at the two dead uruks behind him. Gently, he covered her right hand with his: for somebody so small, for somebody trembling so, the grip on the dagger was surprisingly strong.
She gasped, as if suddenly realizing that it was over and that he was in front of her. She raised her eyes on him and then looked down to the dagger in her hand, immediately releasing it. Éomer gave it a quick look: it was a rather simple but elegant, deadly weapon, the hilt engraved with a swan at the top of it. He passed it to Herubrand and returned his attention to Lothíriel.
"It's alright, Lothíriel, it is over. I am sorry for what happened, I am sorry you had to witness this…".
She lifted again her big grey eyes, tears threatening to spill, and stared at him for a moment before throwing her arms around his neck and hiding her face against his armoured chest. He circled her with his own arms, holding her gently but tightly, waiting for her to calm down. Over his shoulder, he signalled to his men and they promptly started cleaning the ground from the bodies, while three riders entered the woods to ensure they got them all.
When he turned back to Lothíriel, he realized that even though she had already stopped crying, she kept holding on him, breathing heavily. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and started moving his hands in slow circular motions on her back. Gradually, he felt her relaxing and mumbling something unintelligible: "What did you say?".
"It's not your fault that it happened, Éomer. You don't need to apologize".
He immediately tightened his hold of her, deepening his nose into her hair, breathing deeply in her scent as he closed his eyes: "I know".
The sound of somebody coughing had him twisting his neck. Gamling stood a few steps away and, while looking at Lothíriel with a mix of concern and relief in his eyes, he pointed at something with his head: Walda had very quickly mounted her tent. He nodded and returned his attention to the woman in his arms: "Lothíriel, your tent is ready. Will you lie a bit while we prepare the camp?".
She gave a small sob and slowly released him. Reluctantly, he let her go and put his hands on her shoulders: her eyes were red but she wasn't crying nor shaking anymore. She sniffed up her nose and gave him a small nod but as he made to pick her up and carry her to her tent, she stopped him: "I'm fine, Éomer. I can walk. I would rather to, actually".
Éomer smiled inwardly. Never judge a book from its cover.
He offered her his arm and they started to walk towards her tent. They were almost there when she suddenly stopped and released the hold on his arm, moving purposefully towards Herubrand. He couldn't hear what she told him, but the rider gently smiled at her and bowed his head, before Lothíriel surprised him with a quick, tight hug.
She then walked back to him and finally they made it to her tent. He held open the flap as she stepped in: "I will call you when supper is ready, Lothíriel. Just lie a bit".
With Lothíriel safe and unharmed in her tent, Éomer released a deep breath and passed a hand through his hair. He walked to Éothain and was immediately briefed and informed that, apart from a few superficial scratches, his men were fine and the scouts had found no sign of other creatures in the area.
Lothíriel tried to lie in her tent and calm her nerves.
Everything had happened so fast. She had been asking Herubrand about his son, when a tense silence had fallen upon the camp. Everybody had seemed to be frozen on the spot, all facing the same direction, their hands already on their swords. Éomer had looked back at them and given some silent order to Herubrand, for he had pushed her behind his large frame, stepping further from the woods. She hadn't really believed they would have been attacked until she had seen the first creature running towards them.
At first, she had felt so astonished by what was happening, that she hadn't even been afraid. Not even when an orc had reached them, for Herubrand had made such a quick job out of him, that she had barely had the time to realize what was happening. But then, right when the fight had seemed to lose momentum, she had suddenly realized that two of the bigger creatures were striding towards their direction. And when Herubrand had shoved her aside and launched himself at the first beast, then she had felt utterly terrified. Somewhen, she had taken out of her boot the dagger that her father had given her: almost paralyzed with fear, she had observed Herubrand knocking out the first creature and then swiftly killing the second. She had felt unable to tear her eyes off those foul beasts: their nose was flat and their skin dark, their mouth wide and their eyes slant. More than ten thousand. That was what Déorhild had told her: more than ten thousand of them had besieged the Helm's Deep, less than nine months earlier. The mere thought of it, was an horror far beyond her imagination and yet in that moment, she could think of nothing else. She hadn't even realized that Éomer had been there until she had felt his big hand on hers.
His eyes had looked so different from the gloomy ones she had gotten used to: they had looked as alive as ever, wide and full of anger, fear, concern. His warm hands had cupped her face and she felt ashamed that she had cried herself out on him but on the moment, she could not have helped it.
Lothíriel curled up under the blanket. Outside, she could hear the men moving around, presumably dispensing of the carcasses and preparing the camp. She heard the cracking of the fire and soon she perceived the last light of the day fading away, the sky turning dark.
"Lothíriel?".
"Yes, Éomer, I come".
She rubbed her eyes and opened the flap of the tent. Éomer smiled down at her and walked her to the fire. She took place between him and Gamling and was soon served a bowl of steaming stew. She wasn't feeling particularly hungry but she wanted to avoid Gaming fretting over her, so she forced herself to finish her portion. She would have liked to stay up and listen to him telling some story, but her eyelids felt so impossibly heavy. She wavered and felt Éomer's big hand on her shoulder.
"Gamling, I'd suggest our Princess to retire, but I'd rather avoid doing another poor job like last time. How shall I word it again?".
Gamling was barely stifling a laugh: "Princess, we will all retire soon and a long ride awaits for us on the morrow. Feel free to retire and get some sleep".
Éomer cleared his voice: "Princess, we will…", but she cut him short.
She briskly stood up and strode to her tent while muttering under her breath: "Seems to me you have forgotten a couple of orcs here!", which made the group roaring in laughter.
The sounds of the camp woke her up.
Lothíriel pushed the blanket aside and sat up. Looking down at herself, she realized that the night before she had fallen asleep in her riding outfit, which now looked evenly creased. She shrugged her shoulders: whatever.
She brushed her hair, braiding them in a long side tress, as she had always done since arriving in Rohan, and stepped outside of her small tent. A sound splash had her looking at her foot and she realized that it must have rained for the whole night, for the camp was now literally swimming in mud. I haven't heard a thing…Valar, I was REALLY tired.
All the other tents had already been dismounted and only hers had been left standing. Sparkler was being saddled at that very moment and she spotted Gamling talking with Éomer on the other side of the camp.
Herubrand was sitting on a rock next to her tent and greeted her with a smile: "Good morning, my Lady".
"Good morning, Herubrand".
He made place for her to sit next to him and passed her something to eat. Feeling somehow groggy and dazed, Lothíriel nibbled her breakfast in silence, only occasionally glancing at the guard on her side. As soon as she had finished eating, she saw him shifting and taking something from his belt: "I believe this belongs to you, my Lady".
She took the dagger from his hands and looked down at it, sighing deeply: "My father gave it to me when I first started to take care of the trading for Dol Amroth. I had always guards with me, but he wanted me to have a weapon, even if a small one. He had Elphir training me for weeks, until I was able to decently throw it and could more or less confidently handle it. But to be honest, after yesterday, I am not sure I would ever be able to put those lessons into practice".
Herubrand put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze: "Then I shall make sure you will never need to, my Lady".
Regardless of the rain and the cold, the rest of the ride to Edoras went on smoothly and the mood was once again high, for the riders were happy of going back to their families and getting to celebrate Yule. However, despite the long, deep sleep, Lothíriel felt oddly numb and kept to herself for most of the time. Éomer and Gamling rode next to her, occasionally making some remark, but otherwise they luckily let her be.
In her head, she thought again and again about the events of the last night. She knew it had been just a small skirmish, and that awareness unsettled her even more. If such an insignificant encounter had been so terrible and horrific, what was to live a life at war? To live a life where everyday was like that, probably worse?
It was ridiculous, really: she was part of a family of warriors and so many times she had looked at her father and brothers riding to battle, everytime knowing that there was a chance some of them might not return. And yet, she had needed to come to this distant land, surrounded by this good people, to start understanding what war was really about. Glancing quickly back to Éomer, she wondered how he had managed to deal with it for most of his life. She wondered how much a man can take, before inexorably breaking.
It was well past dusk when they finally caught sight of Edoras and at that point, all Lothíriel could think of was her nice, small, warm room. Warm, very warm.
Author's notes: short but hopefully dense chapter. We are back in Edoras but things are looking quite different compared to when we left it. Lothíriel has definitely had chances to see past Éomer's gloomy façade while at the same time being confronted with the reality of war and its consequences. Éomer, on the other hand, has at least gained full awareness of his situation and has understood that he needs to do something. Where will they go from here, remains to be seen! :)
solar1: Thanks! I'd say there are two factors at work: on the one side, Lothíriel is definitely wise, wiser than the average twenty years old girl. On the other side, the fact that she is the daughter of a Prince has given her the chance to get acquainted with aspects of ruling that other people might neglect or underestimate. Hence the wisdom.
Rubandepluie: thank you so much! That you like my characterization and plot means everything and I will only add that the real plot has yet to unfold. Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!
MissCallaLilly: let's hope he stays away as I doubt anybody would miss him! ;)
Tibblets: I feel your finally. Glad you liked it!
AHealingRenaissance: see, he's not that hopeless! :)
