She'd ignored his letters, all of them spare for the first. In truth, she'd hoped he'd forget about her, or give up, or stop pretending to care. But he didn't, and every now and then she'd find a new letter for her that had been placed discretely amongst the dairy orders. After the first, she'd stopped opening them, and a small pile had began to accumulate on her dresser.
At first she'd intended to respond, but after a week of trying to respond, she found herself unable to write anything that wasn't bitter or angry. Anwyth had told her to laugh more for the sake of her child's health, but in all honestly, Gilraen didn't really care. And that in itself made her angry.
Mostly because she was frightened. Mothers, by all accounts, were meant to be in love with their children before they were born. But there was nothing for this child that had grown in her for six months spare for a dull, simmering resentment. Not only had she wasted six months idly writing about farming, but soon she'd be forced to endure what would be the most painful and dangerous experience that women could endure – childbirth. For a child that wasn't even going to be hers. For a child she wasn't supposed to be having.
She had looked for alternatives, of course. Teas, herbs and potions that would end the pregnancy and set her free – but with each alternative came as many risks as the actual act of childbirth itself, and as stubborn as she was, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Partially from fear for herself, and partially from fear of how Eomer would react to such news – although she assured herself she cared little for his opinion now.
In fact, Gilraen had even began to culminate a plan that would allow her to leave Rohan as soon as possible. She'd feign illness. It could be assumed she'd suffer somewhat of a weak disposition after birthing a child, and with the right wording and symptoms, she could have herself discharged from her assignment and called home immediately. She wouldn't even have to speak to Eomer. She had no intention of doing so, actually.
Which is why she rose in silence and stormed out of the dining room when he appeared, in the middle of the night, at Gorn's door.
"Gilraen!" The farmer had called, shock in his voice. But it was too late. Her hand was on the handle of the door to her quarters, slamming it shut as loud as she could.
She knew that Eomer would come to her door, that he'd chase her, feeling entitled to her time, no doubt. So she didn't even make an effort to sit. Instead, she waited, trying her best to think of what she was going to say to him, how she was going to handle this – but when her door opened and Eomer stood before her, an expression of worry on his face rather than anger, her mind became blank.
They stared at eachother in silence for what felt like hours before he finally moved, striding to her, reaching out. Instinctively, she stepped back, but he was quicker than her, and took her face in his hands. "You're safe?" he asked, searching her face, his eyes wide and full of what looked like fear.
His expression was enough to cause a pull within her chest. No. None of this. She quickly pushed him away. "Of course I am."
"Then why did you not respond to my letters?" He asked. "Six months and no word?"
"I am not obligated to return your-"
"Gilraen, I was worried about you," he snapped. Now his worry was turning into anger. "I thought you ill. Or worse."
"...Gorn would have told you if I were unwell," she replied, deliberately ignoring his other implication. "Surely you know that."
"Gorn has taken my guest into his care. I question if he'd be brave enough to admit he failed in his task."
"Task?" She repeated.
"To keep you safe and healthy," Eomer explained, as though it were obvious. Maybe it was. "Do you think I only brought you here so we could hide you?"
Gilraen stood in silence, suddenly a great deal more uncomfortable. He was right. She hated that. Looking away, she shook her head. "I am fine. You need not worry." Another silence followed, but this one felt difference. Not tense. Awkward. She quickly glanced to him and realised his eyes had set on her figure. Of course. This must have been a shock. "...So is the child," she added, deciding to address it. "It began to kick a few days ago. ...It's been horrifically annoying, actually," she laughed.
"Of course it's full of action," he added, a smile appearing across his face. "He's..."
Eomer trailed off. My child. That's what he was about to say. He knew it. She knew it. He didn't have to speak the words, yet they still hung in the air. "You know this child can't..." she exhaled. "I don't know what your letters say. But this child will never be ours."
"I know," he replied, his voice quiet. "I could have used your help to remind me, though." He paused. "You did not read my most recent letter?" He asked.
"I've only opened the first."
He nodded, taking a deep breath. This wouldn't be easy. He'd hoped she would have at least read his letter. At least he wouldn't have had to tell her in person. He wasn't sure why this was so difficult for him – it wasn't as though she would care. If anything, it would be good news for their situation. A distraction.
"I'm to be married," he announced. "To Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth."
Short chapter this time. Got a bunch of stuff going on in real life and amazingly enough a Lord of the Rings fanfiction based on the concept of shameless wish fulfillment doesn't rank super high on my priority list.
Also, some people getting read mad about a fanfiction. Haha.