Thank you so much for all your encouragement, especially for your comments, you make it difficult for me to get the idiotic grin off my face! ;-)

Well, for all those who are getting impatient: From now on all the different odds and ends (like in sub-plots) will be woven together and you will be able to understand all the different allusions in Éomer's internal monologue and the hints on some nasty events in Lothíriel's past, though I'm afraid that you will have to have a bit more patience till the "Blessing" will become clear; but it certainly will, I promise.

Chapter 11

Éomer was not sure what had brought him up to the battlement, though he recognised a fluttering longing deep inside for a breath of fresh air, an untrammelled view and a moment of privacy. The first step had been made, and he knew that it had been by far the easiest part of his undertaking. If Imrahil had been surprised by his request, he had concealed it well. As well as he had not at all concealed his gratification with what the King of Rohan had to pledge.

The sky had already darkened, the sun setting faster than in the emnets of the Mark, but the sea still glowed with some strangely dimmed light, like a memory of the day's blaze. Except for the guards on the look-out posts the paved area seemed empty and only when he had walked around the base of the look-out turret did he notice the woman standing near the parapet. Her back was turned towards him but he immediately recognized Lothíriel, erect and proud, yet entirely forlorn, looking out over the bay. He hesitated, for a split second convinced she could hear his pounding heart, and then walked up to her. As he came to stand beside her, she addressed him without turning her head towards him.

"Tonight's festivities have been called off." A wry smile twisted the corners of her lips, while her eyes stayed grave. "As it would have been a shame for the already prepared food to go waste I have ordered it to be distributed to the soldiers and servants."

"That no doubt will be a very welcome addition to the keg of ale the stablemaster ordered to be fetched the very moment he learned of Mardil's death," Éomer replied, keeping his voice as level as possible.

"Oh, did he?" Though she didn't turn her face to him, he could see the smile spreading over her face. "Dear old Morion. Well, some people at least will feel like celebrating."

"And you, Lothíriel?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I've wanted to see him dead these last five years, and I certainly felt a rush of satisfaction when he foundered ... but I had always imagined I would feel different, once he was dead."

"Like what?" His voice was low, full of concern.

"More joyful, triumphant … but I merely feel … relieved, as if I finally have finished a vexatious task." She turned to look at him.

He took her right hand in both of his large ones and stroked the bandaged wrist gently with his calloused forefinger. The wet rope, twirled twice around her wrist, ripping skin and flesh ... blood mixed with sea spray trickling down her outstretched arm ... Her proud figure at the prow of the boat, raising her voice to Osse …What had made her desire that man's death in such a vehement way, ignoring pain and danger?

"You prayed for him to try that manoeuvre." It was a statement rather than a question. She simply nodded and pulled her hand out of his fingers.

"Yes, and I would have gladly paid with my life for my prayer granted." Her eyes went back out to the bay. "I'm sorry, Éomer, I was reckless and endangered your life. We escaped from crashing into the reef ourselves only by a hair's breadth. I simply stopped thinking, once the idea had got hold in my brain. I was so sure he would be mad enough to try the manoeuvre, and the shallows being so near ..."

"Well, as it is, Amrothos understood immediately what you were up to and approved of it. So who am I to chastise you. I don't know anything about boats."

"That's just the point. Elphir wanted you to be on board with Amrothos and me to keep us from risking our heads. He expected us to be responsible, to care for your well-being, not to involve you into some pirate charge. Amrothos knew the risk, you didn't know in what danger I put you."

Éomer looked down at her serious face and shook his head. "Nay, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, I knew of my danger before I stepped aboard. I did not take that oath idly: It's make or break. Your face was plain to read and your brother I've seen fighting on the Pelennor. If there was any chance to kill that scum off you would go for it. And I have to admit I am impressed by the way you did it."

"You are?" She raised an enquiring eyebrow .

"Yes," he nodded. "You see, we train our warhorses to give battle as keen as our riders, and many a foe has been trampled to death by a charger defending his master, but I didn't know the people of Dol Amroth used their boats as weapons."

She nodded. "We certainly do. But as any sharp weapon in incautious hands a boat can be dangerous to an unwary sailor."

"So we were in danger to sink?"

She nodded. "We certainly were, and not only at Aeglir Caragon but aswell before, when we overtook Mardil. That's the reason I climbed outboard. I tried to adjust the balance point. As a matter of fact Amrothos' sloop is rigged a bit strongly, which makes her fast on the one hand but on the other she's always on the brink of capsizing." A sudden grin spread over her face and she added: "Just reacting like some skittish horse."

Éomer laughed. "Sure enough I felt her bucking when we struck the channel. And at that moment I would have preferred not to be dangling outside." Turning serious, he added: "You should not have risked your hand."

She merely shrugged. "And you should not have climbed outboard. I should not have told you to. You had never done it before, it was quite dangerous to try it for the first time in such a situation."

"And what if I hadn't?" He tried to avoid looking at her bandaged wrist.

Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes: "We would not have been able to get enough speed to overtake him."

"So it was useful and worth it." Willing his voice to sound even, he leaned his back against the stones of the parapet and faced her. "There is no battle without risk, and the Rohirrim know that quite well. You seized the obvious opportunity, knowing your enemy's weakness... no Rider of the Mark will blame you for that."

"Yet they would surely not approve of my jeopardising their king's life." Staring out over the bay again, she brushed a wayward strand of hair out of her face.

Éomer shrugged. "They don't know. But still they would understand, knowing the thrill of battle running through their veins, blending out any thought save the will to kill." He looked down at his hands. How could he make her understand?

"Did you know I nearly got my entire army hacked down, because the battle madness took me on the Pelennor when I believed my sister Éowyn slain? But for the arrival of Aragorn, Arathorn's son we would all be dead." Lifting his head he took in her features. Finally he spoke again. "I was lucky, Lothíriel, and so were you."

"Yet I have not thanked you for your support."

He bowed his head in acknowledgement. "There's no need for it, as I merely served as ballast, as Amrothos didn't fail to point out I would, and did little to forward your revenge. I'm just grieved that I was not able to prevent the things that made you long for it all these years."

She turned her back to him and he saw her shoulders rise as she sighed deeply. "How come you believe in my right to want him dead, to even kill him myself, to wish him a slow and painful death?"

He felt his breath catch and was embarrassed at the hoarseness of his voice when he finally answered. "I don't know about any details, Lothíriel, but I sensed your fathomless hatred. There are still many things I do not understand, as this day surely has given me a lot to think, but I don't need to know them to feel that you have any right."

She slowly turned, and though her body still radiated tension, her face was totally calm now, her grey eyes, darker than the gathering dusk, looked at him with plain graveness. How different she was, with her black hair and that dark grey eyes, and yet, how much she reminded him of Éowyn.

He took her hand again, cold, small but firm, with strong, slender fingers. "Lothíriel, I have a younger sister I would like to pamper and guard, yet she is strong as tempered steel and might well outmatch me in endurance... it's the same with you and your brothers. Whatever made you thirst for that man's death gave you as well the strength to accomplish it, and I know they are proud of you ... and so am I. Whatever he did to you, you avenged yourself like a true shielmaiden." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Maybe Gondor's nobles judge differently in such a case, but I'm a barbarian of the North, and I admire your attitude." Rising her hand to his lips, he brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

She blushed, smiling that wonderful contradictory smile, while she never lowered her eyes. He felt his heart rise. Now for it! "Lotíriel, there are more differences between Rohan and Gondor ..." He did not know how to proceed, just wanted to wrap her into his arms, hold her and protect her against anything that might come up. He wanted her to trust him. "Lothíriel, I spoke to your father, I asked for his permission to..." Wrong! The very moment he said it, he knew he had blundered.

Jerking back her hand, she stared at him coldly. "You spoke to my father! I see. It does not matter what I think. There does not seem to be too much difference between Rohan and Gondor anyway!"

"You got me wrong." Leaving the parapet he stepped closer. "I just wanted you to be sure that I'm serious, after you had been hurt by that ..." The display of fury that shot over her features for a split second, before she regained her mask of aloofness, silenced him.

When she finally spoke, her voice dripped with contempt. "My Lord Éomer, I thank you for your concern, but I certainly do not wish for your pity."

All of a sudden, something in him snapped. "Pity?"

With one step he closed in on her, grabbing her by her shoulders. "Pity? Woman, are you mad? No Rohir would pity you, let alone I, who have seen you act like a true warrior. Any Eorling would be proud to call you his wife. How can you dare to belittle yourself, just because you have lain with a man? Who cares if you are a virgin, safe some impotent Gondorean pansy? You are the Princess of the Realm, you are intelligent, you are brave, you are beautiful, how can you doubt that any entire man would but want you at his side?"

She blinked, but regaining her composure at once, she lifted her chin in a challenge. "And because of all of that, you my Lord have decided to propose to my father." She snorted. "The only thing that is missing now in this farce, is you telling me that you love me after one day's acquaintance."

Éomer felt hurt, but there was something in her stance that let him hesitate. She was tense like a bowstring, and though she kept her shoulders squared, he felt the slight tremble she could not suppress. She had been caring and friendly to him, so what was it that made her hit low deliberately? What was behind this mask of cold pride and condescendence? Slowly taking his hands off her shoulder, he shook his head. It was of no use to lose his temper, she had a right to know his mind... his heart.

"No, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, I will not deceive you. I don't tell you I love you, but this I tell you: I would like for us to come to know each other, and if you can bring yourself to allow me to do so, I'm most willing to learn to love you."

She stared at him, her eyes wide open, without saying a word, looking for once nothing but young and vulnerable. Ever so slowly he raised his hand and softly smoothed an errant strand behind her ear. "Lothíriel, I didn't propose to your father or fixed anything. I asked his permission to woo you. It is entirely up to you, if and when you can bring yourself to accepting me."

Swivelling around, she turned her back on him, straightening her shoulders, falling back into her normal bearing. Yet her voice was shaky, when she finally spoke: "But you don't know … "

Sensing her confusion and uncertainty, he moved closer, lowering his mouth to her ear. "I don't need to know more than you are willing to tell me. And be assured, Lothíriel, that whatever you tell me, it will not stop me cherishing you."

An evasive step brought her to the parapet. Positioning her hands carefully side by side on the stone, she breathed deep. "Do you really think I laid with ... that ...?"

What to say now? Éomer felt like climbing a steep and craggy mountain path, where every step could end in disaster. But he would not build his ... their future on soft words and considerate lies. "I'm not sure." He cleared his throat before going on, his eyes on her set shoulders. How he longed just to pull her against his chest.

"I have the feeling, that there is something I don't grasp. As I said before, there are many reasons why no man would throw away a chance to marry you, and especially not such a vain airhead as Mardil … but then it could be that you refused to have him, after ..."

He hesitated at her snort. "Are you joking? What chance would I have stood? Éomer, this is Gondor! I'm the Princess of the Realm, as you pointed out yourself, not a washerwoman's daughter. If I had lain with him, I would have had to marry him."

"Well, you mentioned he was married."

She slew round like an angry serpent. "You dare to think I would fall for a married man?"

As much as he appreciated the glow her wrath brought to her face, he did not like being at the receiving end of that furious stare.

"Not if you had known him to be married. But even then ... Lothíriel, I can't imagine your father and your brothers would have let the scum live, unless there is something ..." He shrugged, his voice petering out. He had the nasty feeling that there was much more than just a lost maidenhead behind her abysmal hatred, even considering the difference regarding a woman's virginity in Gondor. She would not hate anybody like that without a profound reason.

For a short moment they stood in uneasy silence, till suddenly, to Éomer's utter dismay, her shoulders sagged, her body shivering nearly indiscernible. "It's all my fault." Her voice was a mere whisper, her eyes brimming with tears.

He had his arms around her before her first tears ever fell, her hands clenching his tunic, her face buried in his chest, while her whole body shook with violent sobs. Holding her close, he tugged her head under his chin, murmuring softly in his mother tongue, crooning senseless words, that for ages had soothed children and horses alike in the Mark, pouring comfort and peace into frightened hearts.

Her sobs finally turning into hiccuping sounds, she wiggled herself out of his embrace and snuffled, looking totally embarrassed at the wet spots on his tunic. Searching her sleeves for a handkerchief she finally gave up.

"Sorry, it's not ladylike, but I have to blow my nose." Saying that, she turned away and soundly blew her nose, using her fingers in the simple but effective way any rider knew. Despite her sadness and his urge to soothe her, Éomer could not help a grin. Pulling down the hem of his sleeve, he approached her, and when she raised her head again, he tenderly dried her flustered face.

"I'm making an idiot out of myself." Her voice still shaky from crying, she resolutely pulled herself together. Waiting patiently, he stood near. He had promised her that she would set the pace, yet his patience cost him dearly. Had this been a start? Would she come to him at all? His fierce lady, with her hair flowing like a meara's night-coloured mane?

"I... I've never talked to anyone about it." Her voice was scarcely audible but clear and accentuated.

"Lothíriel, he is dead. Don't let him have any sway over you. Fight the impressions he left and cast him out!" He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, reluctant, afraid to scare, where he wished to ensure her.

Breathing deeply, she finally spoke again. "I will talk to you, Éomer, but ... don't touch me, just let me talk."

He nodded, feeling an ice-cold lump clog in his stomach. Whatever it was she had to tell, he would hear her out, yet the prospect of being a mere listener, unable to act, caused his muscles to cramp. Moving one step away, she looked out over the bay, and after a while started to speak: calm, concentrated and with a low but steady voice.

"I never laid with Mardil of Edhellond or any other man. It wasn't me, he ensnared, but it well could have been. I just was lucky to have a caring family ... brothers who loved and protected me, and who would step up to defend me. Had I been lonely, receiving no consideration ... Who knows."

Fighting down her agitation, she remained silent for a while before she continued.

"Alcarien was the companion of my childhood, and I dearly loved her, though she was quite my opposite, so mild and soft-spoken ... the daughter of one of my father's knights. Her mother, hailing from Edellond, was one of my mother's ladies. We were educated together, being of the same age, I having no sister and she being her parents' only child. She was not particularly bright, yet so sweet-tempered and always eager to please that she even managed to curb my wild traits."

Again it took her a while to calm herself, but though her voice trembled slightly, she proceeded in her story.

"When she was fourteen her father died, supporting the Steward's army in Osgiliath and her mother returned with her to her people in Edhellond. We seldom met but wrote each other regularly and I came to witness all her sorrow and loneliness, having not only lost her father, whom she had loved dearly, but also all her friends and acquaintances here in Dol Amroth."

Anxiously watching her, Éomer noticed the slight tremble of her chin, the nearly indiscernible quivering of her lower lip, but she plodded on.

"And then her letters started to change. She told me about her being introduced into society on her fifteenth birthday, how crestfallen she had been, being nothing but a lower nobleman's daughter, living at the mercy of her mother's relatives. It had obviously been then she had come to catch Mardil's eye, and she had felt utterly happy and flattered being asked to dance more than once."

Only the knuckles of her clenched fists revealed her agitation, but as she continued to speak, her voice became bitter and cold.

"What resistance can a lonely fifteen-year-old innocent mobilise towards the assault of a handsome and experienced man, who wraps her in compliments, promises marriage to her, even hands her a ring as a token of betrothal? How is she to know that she is a mere toy to his desires, her innocence just some spice added to increase his perverse appetite?"

She stopped, her breast heaving. The feeling of being useless, unable to help, made Éomer grit his teeth. Though he knew now, that the princess herself had been safe from that vile swine, his bile rose at the story he anticipated. Lothíriel never turned her head, and having regained her equilibrium, she continued.

"Soon her letters were full of him: his looks, his politeness, how he played the lute for her in the garden of his father's mansion, how skilled a sailor he proved himself when they went for sailing trips on the bay ... and the fool I was, I read it as happily as she had written it, not realising what was behind all this."

The bitterness and self-accusation in her voice caused Éomer to intervene. "Lothíriel, you can hardly blame yourself for not seeing through the schemes of a villain at the age of fifteen."

She shook her head. "No, certainly not. But I should have felt alerted by her demanding me not to tell anybody about it. As it was, I simply was delighted by the highly romantic proceedings and truly believed he would marry her as soon as she was sixteen, that being the normal minimum age for a girl to wed in Gondor. The first time it struck me as being odd, was when she visited for the Spring-Festival. All she could talk about was him, and she showed me the ring he had given her, promising to marry her, but she made me promise not to tell anybody, because she had sworn to him not to do so. He was 25 then, and being the Lord of Edhellond's third and youngest son, had established himself with the help of his father as some quite prosperous tradesman and I could not think of any reason, why an engagement should be kept secret. That didn't make any sense, and I should have acted then. I should! True, she was very young, but she was of a good family, and her grandparents, though not being rich, would doubtless provide an adequate dowry for her. I told her so, but all her reactions were in eager defence of him, so I let it be."

She suddenly turned to him, and Éomer nearly flinched at the wild distress in her eyes. "If I had spoken up that time, if I had intervened, the worst might yet have been prevented. I was an idiot not to listen to my doubts, it is all my fault, I should have acted earlier."

He reached out a hand to her, but choking her sobs, she shook her head. "I have to finish this first."

Throwing her head back, she drew a ragged breath and then, to Éomer's utter amazement, continued, her voice again calm and aloof, as if a different person was speaking.

"It was when I came to know him, that my brain finally started to work. Seeing him dancing and flirting at Elphir's wedding. I despised and mistrusted him from the moment I set eyes on him. I told Alcarien in my next letter, but to no avail. Her answering letter was less open than usual, and I started to have serious misgivings."

Lothíriel's fingers started to tug at the hem of her sleeves, her gaze was unfocussed, staring out over the fast darkening bay.

"I finally asked Amrothos about Mardil, pretending to be interested in him and it took him just a few days to find out about that man's reputation and my heart sank. It's not necessary to go into disgusting details, but as it was, Amrothos simply stormed into my room, telling me to shun that bastard like foul meat. Amrothos has always been one for wenching, and the Dol Amroth lot is said to have quite a lax view on propriety, as far as propriety goes, but never would any of my brothers beguile an innocent. I then decided to admit him into my confidence and he immediately consulted our parents to ask them try and help in any way they could. Though my parents were greatly shocked they decided the very evening to approach the girl's mother. Without revealing any of their knowledge concerning the affair, they thought to suggest my childhood friend's coming back to Dol Amroth to keep me company and receive the education befitting a young woman of nobility, an offer her mother would certainly not decline."

"That was exceedingly good and wise of your parents", Éomer interjected in a low voice, wishing he could reach out to her with more than just words..

Ever so slowly tears started to fill he eyes. In contrast to her violent outburst before she was calm now and nodding she continued to talk, while the silent tears streamed over her face.

"It certainly was, yet it was of no avail. Merely days after my parents had sent word to Edhellond, we received an invitation. Lord Mardil was going to celebrate his betrothal... to Lebennin's richest merchant's only daughter. My brothers went over to remove Alcarien from Edhellond, but things went from bad to worse as it turned out that she was pregnant with Mardil's child. In her despair and mortification she told her mother about her secret betrothal to Mardil, and her uncle went to confront the lord, but that exacerbated the whole affair only further."

She hesitated, and more pressing then before he felt the need to pull her close, to shelter her, to shut out the cruelty of her tale, but clenching his fists, he abstained as promised, feeling as if his heart was slowly bleeding out.

"Mardil admitted to have lain with her, but swore he had found her no virgin. He said he had only been interested in her, because quite a number of his men had recommended her services, and as a matter of fact he had found her good sport in bed, versed in every kind of wantonness, but as could be well understood, never had promised her anything, the ring being merely a payment for the pleasures she had offered. But as she had done so freely to quite a number of men, there was no proof at all of him being the father of her unborn child. Her uncle believed the scum, as he swore upon his mother's honour, and cast her out."

"But..." Éomer's furious attempt to interject was met by her raised hand.

"Hear me out first, there is worse to come." Her voice was harsh as grit now, and he gave in, hardly able to control his rage, yet totally bewildered. Had nobody seen through these machinations?

"Soon after that, rumours started in the less reputable quarters of Dol Amroth. Some sailors from Edhellond bragging in the taverns about having lain with her, describing her body in such intimate details as were apt to prove their drunken statements. We tried to hide the slandering from her, but you can rather stop the tide than the wagging of tongues."

Éomer stared at Lothíriel's motionless face. That just couldn't be! Gondor, a nation claiming to be the beacon of civilization! That was worse than Mordor! For a split second Wormtongue's pale face manifested itself in his mind, like a mockery of Mardil's handsome luring features. Bema, that scum had deserved to die! Then a second thought hit him: The child! She had been with child! A child meant life, future, even the meanest whore's offspring carried the people's soul, was part of the flame of life that united a people... But this was Gondor... Had she not told him so? Didn't he know himself? Swallowing his rising bile, he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper, dreading the answer.

"Lothíoriel, tell me ...what became of her, of her and the child?"

She turned her back on him, and when she finally answered, her tone was bleak, as if no emotion could comprise the grief and guilt she felt.

"She killed herself months before the child was due, jumping off the cliffs at high tide. When her body was washed up the shore three days later, her mother was sick with grief and shame and unfit to go and identify the corpse. Amrothos and I went. I will never forget her poor bloated body, battered by the breakers, her chaffed skin, her features nearly beyond recognition, the eyes and lips being eaten away by the crabs... Her relatives refused to even attend her funeral." Lothíriel's voice broke.

A whining yell ... choking ... gargling noises ...black hair floating in the swel l... Bema, that swine Mardil had died much too fast! His red fury roaring up like a wildfire, Éomer felt choking on his inability to act, to fight, to throw himself into battle to change this. Squeezing his eyes shut till he saw biting yellow flashes, he tried to regain his balance, to breathe, to open his mouth without roaring like a wounded animal.