Chapter 14

Edoras, 22nd February, 3020

Éomer stared at the empty plate on his desk, desperately looking for a surge of inspiration, for an idea about what to write to Imrahil. How do you tell a father that while under your own roof, somebody had tried to assassinate his only daughter, most probably in collusion with her handmaid?

As the image of Lothíriel crawling towards Gamling, shaking, blood drenching her face, came before his eyes for the umpteenth time, he crumpled the paper in front of him and tossed it into the fire.

Bregdan was supposed to have departed for Minas Tirith three days earlier, but snow had blocked the way. He could have left earlier that morning, but he had told him to wait for another day, hoping that Lothíriel would be feeling up to talk, hopefully drawing some light into an otherwise inexplicable situation. But Birthwyn had reported that Aldor had found her as well as she could have been and that she was probably going to rest for the whole day.

He sighed, taking another parchment. He could not delay informing Imrahil and Aragorn any longer.

"My Lord?". Éomer lifted his eyes and found Maegwen looking hesitantly at him.

"What is it, Maegwen? Is Lothíriel fine?".

"Yes, yes, my Lord!", she hurried to say. "Actually, she insisted that she wanted to get up. We tried to convince her that it wasn't a good idea, but she would hear no reason. She went to her room, my Lord. Herubrand and Walda are with her and so is Birthwyn, but we thought you would have wanted to be informed".

Cursing under his breath, he pushed back his seat and stood up, striding towards the western wing, closely followed by Maegwen. How can she want to have anything to do with that room?

When he arrived, he found Herubrand and Walda standing on each side of the door. They gave him a quick nod and let him in.

Lothíriel had changed into one of those Rohirric gowns that he had seen her wearing for the past month and a half, her hair had been freshly braided and the bandage on her head changed. She did not look as pale as when she had awoken in the morning and seemed to be walking around without big problems. She stood in front of her desk, her eyes fixed on it, the fingers of her right hand gently touching the surface.

She made for walking around it but something caught her attention and she dropped on the floor, reaching with her arm for the small gap between the desk and one of her chests. As she managed to grab whatever she had spotted, she helped herself up with a hand on the desk but nevertheless wavered, closing briefly her eyes and leaning on the surface of the table. Afraid she might faint, Éomer hurried to her side, one hand on her back, the other holding her arm. But it seemed to be only a fleeting spell, for she soon opened her eyes, looking down to her hand as she slowly opened her fingers.

A small red pawn, in the shape of a fox.

"Ever since Yule we have been playing, you know? But I have never managed to beat him, never even got close to it". She sighed deeply and closed her hand around the tiny fox: "I guess I'll never be able to do it, now".

She swallowed, her jaw clenched, her small fist almost shaking, and Éomer knew she was trying hard to keep herself from crying again.

She shrugged and put a couple of steps between them, stopping in front of a pair of chests, one piled with parchments on the top of it, before turning back to him. Her eyes were on the floor and he could see the wheels in her head restlessly turning: "I don't understand, Éomer. I have tried to make sense out of what has happened, but I simply don't understand. Why would Andes want me dead? Why did she say those things? Who was that man?".

So here we are. "What things, Lothíriel? What did she tell you?".

"You have never known when to give up. But giving up on what? She had been my maid for over a year. My older maid was her aunt and recommended her to me. Andes had been enthusiastic about finally being able to leave her small village in Belfalas and move to Dol Amroth. I have never forced her to do anything she didn't want. On what should I have given up? I was more than ready to leave her behind in Minas Tirith, I would have accepted it gladly, but instead she decided to come to Rohan. She decided!".

"Why would you leave her behind?".

"She has…had a man, in Minas Tirith. She had been reserved about it and never told me who he was. But I had expected her to decline the invite to come to Rohan with me, for I had thought that she would not have wanted to be parted from him". Lothíriel quickly glanced behind her and sat on the top of one of the chests, eyes still on the floor.

"Do you think this man might be involved into this?", he asked her.

She looked up at him and he had his answer before she even continued: "I see no other possibility. She didn't have friends in Dol Amroth, nor in Minas Tirith. The only person she was seeing regularly during our last weeks in Gondor, was this man. I thought her to be insecure about the fresh relationship, but maybe there were other reasons to keep his identity a secret. But this does not help us anyway, for I have no idea who would want me dead".

"I take it you don't believe this mysterious man to be your assailant".

"No, no. She would have reacted different upon seeing him dead. Instead, she was so…so cold, so calm. In fact, I hardly recognized her…".

"What's with the merchants you have met over the last year? Could there be anybody who resents you?".

"No, I don't think so. Nothing out of the ordinary trading, though…", she seemed to hesitate and made for chewing on her bottom lip, winching as she was remembered of the cut.

"Though?", he urged her.

"Since we arrived in Rohan, Andes started to ask me about how the trading was going, if we had been able to close any deal, which merchants we had contacted…at first I thought it strange, for she had never asked before. But then I assumed that she was getting bored here in Rohan and that maybe she had decided to learn more about trading…I never told her more than she would have anyway learned by simply living in Meduseld, I give you my word on that, Éomer!".

He shook his head and sat on the chair by the desk, resting his elbows on his knees: "You need not to tell me, Lothíriel, for I do trust you".

"Her letters. She sent a letter with every courier. Now I understand why…".

"Why she has always been so adamant about delivering the letter at the very last moment", Birthwyn finished the sentence for her.

He shifted his eyes from Lothíriel to the housekeeper, each looking at the other in mutual understanding.

"Yes. She has always claimed that it was so that she could write more about her days in Rohan, but the truth was probably another. She didn't want to risk anybody in Meduseld to read its content", Lothíriel concluded.

That had him snapping up from the chair: "Has Andes given a letter to the last courier?".

Lothíriel nodded at him, looking confused: "Yes, but that was a few days ago…".

"I ordered Bregdan to wait until the conditions of the roads would have improved a bit. And this morning I held him back in the hope of being able to give your father some further details about what has happened".

It took Lothíriel only a fraction of a second to assimilate what he had just told her and then she also snapped up, the quick movement clearly not agreeing with her condition. Éomer and Birthwyn hurried to her side but she made sign that she was ok and raised her grey eyes on him.

"I'll go pick up the letters. Wait for me in my study, Lothíriel".

Lothíriel felt a wave of nausea raising from her stomach as she read the content of Andes' long letter.

…I have made contact with your man…we have agreed on a plan to be carried out in a few days…the Princess' deliberate actions at forcing her interests on you will be avenged…in this forgotten land, the only thing that keeps me alive is the dream of the days to come. Of the mornings we will wake up in each other's arms, of the afternoons we will spend watching the sun setting over the Anduin as the ships leave your docks, of the evenings we will spend celebrating your success…If everything goes according to plan, in my next letter I will deliver you happy news and we will be one step closer to be finally reunited…I am counting down the days …my Love…

She could feel Éomer's dark eyes fixed on her as she stared at the paper, her hands shaking. Eventually, she had to put it down. She tried to calm herself but couldn't. Her nails dug into her palms, while her mind run to the chain of events that had led her to this. The war. Taking over Erchirion's role. Deciding to ensure additional supplies for Dol Amroth. Meeting Gamling on Minas Tirith's wall on a cool autumn's morning. Finding herself speaking to the very same merchant he had spoken to. Spotting the chance to shine a light on her skills. Finding out about Rohan's troubles. Riding to Pelargir and back.

Had she acted hastily? Had she been unreasonable? Had she used her station as a leverage to her own purposes? Was this all her doing?

She brought a hand to her mouth, the other clenching at her stomach. Éomer was immediately by her side, rubbing her back, one hand resting on her knee. He had big hands, strong hands, hardened by a life spent holding onto his horse's reins, onto his sword. She couldn't feel his skin through the thick fabric of her gown but even then, she could tell it was not a soft, smooth hand. A scar run between his thumb and his index finger, witness of a minor battle's injury maybe.

She looked at her own hands, slowly opening her fists, red marks showing on her palms. Delicate, elegant hands, of a Princess who had never known a day of hard work, who had spent her time pampered in her father's palace, caring for petty things and constantly seeking attention. Had it been that, that had brought her to take over Erchirion's role? Had it been that, that had made her so stout to maybe overstep her boundaries?

"Breathe, Lothíriel", Éomer spoke in a soft voice.

"It's him: Lord Arondir", she managed to say.

His hand paused for the split of a second, before resuming his gentle strokes. But she could feel the tension being emanated by his body: "How can you say that?".

"If I have to think of one person who might resent me more than others for having had the worse in a deal, that would be him. And I know for a fact that Andes frequentation with her mysterious man started immediately after I came back from Pelargir, right when Lord Arondir arrived in Minas Tirith to meet Gamling and sign the contract".

"That's a bold assumption, to conclude it was him just because of a fitting timeline. She might have met somebody else, some other merchant…I remember Lord Arondir well enough from the celebrations at the end of the war. He would never want to have anything to do with a maid, not in a romantic way, that for sure".

"There's more, Éomer. Do you remember how we managed to close the deal? I acquired the dock that he so desperately wanted, and sold it back to him at the condition that he would have accepted Rohan's offer for the food provisions".

"And you think that it would be a reason for one of the richest men in Gondor, belonging to one of the most ancient and respected noble families, to try to kill you? You? A Princess? To go as far as to snare your handmaid into a supposed romantic liaison, risk regular correspondence with her and hire a killer? As much as I have always disliked the man, even before he refused our offer with his unreasonable requests, I don't think he would…".

"The dock, Éomer. The dock I bought and sold him back, lies on the mouth of the Anduin, practically looking over the see. His house in Pelargir is right next to it, for they share a border. We did not manage to find out what type of trade he wanted to start, but he was clearly up to something… the afternoons we will spend watching the sun setting over the Anduin as the ships leave your docks…", she grabbed again the letter, pointing at the lines she was talking about, but she could see that Éomer still did not believe her.

"How many houses have a dock, in Pelargir?".

She sighed impatiently: "Many, but they are small docks, for private use. The way she writes, as the ships leave your docks, it must be a bigger facility, Éomer…". She stopped herself, breathing deeply. Losing her temper would not help her convincing him. And all his objections were sensible but somehow, she knew it, for too many pieces were suddenly clicking together.

Lord Arondir had not wanted to sell to Rohan and for a man of business like him, that could only mean that he had a better buyer. A better buyer, or somebody he had already promised the stocks to, somebody he did not want to cross. She had no idea who this somebody could be, but she had forced Lord Arondir to give up, presenting him with the choice: either the food provisions or the dock. Dock that both her and Faramir had understood to be of paramount importance for him. They had thought his wealth to be faltering, perhaps as a consequence of the long war, and that the dock was the key to allow him to keep his status and his wealth. A haughty, proud man like him, would not take it lightly to be put in an uncomfortable position, even less at the thought that a woman had cornered him. She might have put him in a difficult situation, and he might have decided to take revenge, promising who knows what to Andes, using her to gain knowledge of what was going on in the Mark, maybe thinking of taking revenge on the Rohirrim as well, since they were the reason she had fought so hard to get the deal closed.

Andes. She had thought her a friend, confided in her. Tricked by her interest in trading, she had offered her to come along in her next trips, so that she could have learned more. And meanwhile, she had been planning to kill her. She had been observing her, thinking of the best moment to do it. She must have known that Herubrand and Walda would have always been next to her outside of Meduseld, and so she had probably advised the killer to do it indoor.

But there had been things that she had not confided to Andes, such as meeting Gamling and Birthwyn in her room, late at night. She didn't know why she had kept it a secret from her. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Andes had never warmed up to the place, nor the people. And that missed confidence had saved her life. And taken Gamling's one in exchange.

Éomer was still kneeling next to her: "Lothíriel, the inn the letter was headed to, do you know anything about the place?".

"Not much. But couriers only reach a few places in Minas Tirith, the city being so big. It's not unusual for common people to agree to have letters addressed to an inn or something of the sort. And if I am right, I doubt Lord Arondir would pick up the letters on his own".

"Still, I will ask your father and Aragorn to speak to this innkeeper, he might have noticed something".

It was wasted time, of that she was sure. You don't put that much at risk without ensuring yourself a proper cover. But maybe… "Éomer, we shall simply send the letter as if nothing has happened! Have the courier going straight to my father and King Elessar to inform them, and then have him delivering the letter to the inn!".

He stood and leant back against the desk, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on hers: "Yes, that I have also thought myself. And Andes spoke in her letter of one man, so whoever is behind this, he does not know the plan has failed".

Yes, maybe she wasn't going to be able to convince Éomer, nor her father. But they might still manage to expose Lord Arondir. It wouldn't bring Gamling back, but it would serve justice and ensure that nobody else had to go through what they had faced.

Gamling.

The most gentle, caring man she had ever known. They had been almost inseparable for the past two months. Work had kept them together at day, friendship had bounded them at night.

Her mind went back to the stories he had told her in front of the fire on their way to Pelargir. The flames lighting up his features, emphasizing the lines on his face, as he spoke of Éorl the Young, of Brego, of Aldor the Old. She remembered everything of those stories, as if they had been forged in her mind. Through him, so much of the history of Rohan had flown into her, to the point that she thought she knew more about the Kings of the Mark than about the Stewards of Gondor. Through him, she had started to get to know this strange country, to understand it, to respect it, to like it. Maybe to love it, even. Because despite ups and downs, difficulties and struggles, here she had been accepted for being herself, not just a Princess from Gondor. Nobody had ever questioned her skills, nobody had ever judged her based on her rank. Here, she was simply Lothíriel, a capable Ambassador, who happened to be a Princess.

And I'll be damned if all we have achieved is wasted!

The sun was already setting behind the White Mountains when she finally handled Éomer her letter for her father. It had taken several attempts and much wasted paper before she had been finally satisfied with the content of her missive.

Bregdan would leave first thing on the morrow and ride as hard as he could to reach Minas Tirith. He would then immediately seek out King Elessar and her father. The content of their letters would inform them of what had happened and instruct them on what to do. If they wanted to have any chance, they needed to be inconspicuous, for Lord Arondir might have ears everywhere. They would have to be discreet while keeping an eye on the inn, waiting for somebody to pick up the letter. And then they would have to follow the person, hoping he would lead them to his employer.

It was a good plan but Lothíriel could not prevent feeling anxious and impatient, for it would take at least two weeks to hear anything back from Minas Tirith. And there wasn't much she could do meanwhile, if not waiting and hoping that the plan had worked out. But what if it didn't? She knew that King Elessar and her father would be as sceptical as Éomer about her belief that Lord Arondir was behind all of this. And she knew that a man like him could not be accused without hard evidence. Needless to say: Andes' letter was no such thing. So what would they do, were their plan to fail?

Lothíriel sighed and wondered how Éomer was able to live with a constant headache. She rested an elbow on his desk and pressed a hand to her forehead. She probably ought to drink Aldor's medicament and go straight to bed, but her mind was restless. She heard Éomer standing up and walking next to her. As he had already done earlier that day, he kneeled next to her and rested a hand on her back: "Has Aldor given you something against the pain?".

"Yes, he has. But I will fall asleep once I drink it and…I don't know, I can't but think that there might be more that I am missing, more that could be done…", she said, keeping the pressure on her forehead. Her heart was pounding in her chest, as if wanting to confirm her state of agitation, and her breath quickened.

"Lothíriel, look at me". Éomer's tone was soft but firm.

She turned towards him, lowering her shaking hands in her lap, trying to calm down. He cupped her neck with one of his big, callous hands, and looked at her straight in the eyes, inhaling and exhaling in long, deep breaths. She followed his lead, breathing in and out, in and out, until she felt the shaking of her hands waning.

"I will ask to have some warm tea brought to us. Meanwhile, I want you to sit by the fire and try to calm down, understood?".

She swallowed and gave him a small nod with her head. Immediately, he helped her standing up and walked her to the small sofa in front of the fireplace. Lothíriel sunk into it and leaned her head back: the heat of the cracking fire enveloped her and she soon felt her muscles relax.

Éomer stepped outside of his study: he spoke in a low voice to the guards and came back in shortly afterwards. It looked like their tea had already been on the way, for he was holding a small tray with two big cups.

Éomer carefully lowered the tray on the small table in front of the sofa and took place next to Lothíriel.

The cups were still too hot but the aroma of the chamomile immediately started to fill the air. It was a smell that always brought him back to his childhood: whenever he was sick, cold, or simply restless, his mother would bring him a cup of the infusion and lie in the bed next to him, holding him to her chest and singing him a lullaby until he had fallen asleep.

It was a scent of family, of home, of sweet memories. Instinctively, he searched for Lothíriel's hand, their fingers slowly intertwining together.

Tension seemed to slowly wade from her body and when he glanced at her, he saw her dazing off, her eyes closing, her neck tilting on one side as a strand of hair escaped her braid. He gently brought it behind her ear, mindful not to wake her up. There were circles around her eyes and the he could see a hint of blue on the skin around the bandage on her forehead. Her lip was broken and slightly swollen and even though her body had relaxed, there was a frown on her features.

He knew it all too well how it was: to have a bone tired, exhausted body, which at some point can't keep the pace with a troubled mind. How it was to fall in a restless and useless sleep, waking up more tired than the evening before. And he hated to see Lothíriel having to go through it. Through the anguish and the distress. Through the what if and the why.

He knew that her belief about Lord Arondir's involvement was simply absurd and could only hope that their plan would work out. Even so, it would take time to know it: it would take time for Bregdan to ride to Minas Tirith in the middle of the winter, it would take time for somebody to pick up Andes' letter, it would take time to tackle and interrogate the person, it would take time for Bregdan to ride back. Optimistically speaking: two weeks. Realistically: at least three.

While he wished Lothíriel would take her time to rest and recover, he suspected that the sooner she would be able to resume her duties, the better it would be for her. However, he knew it was not going to be easy. He feared how she would cope about going through her daily routine without Gamling and suspected that things would have to get worse before eventually get better.

His thumb absentmindedly stroke her small hand in slow circular motions as he thought back of the last months. Of the day she had arrived in Edoras, resembling more a half-drowned cat rather than a Princess. Of the way she had stubbornly -and maybe a bit childishly- taken to prove him wrong. Of how uncomfortable and irritating it had been to face her polite façade in the Council. Of how flabbergasted he had been by her first display of enthusiasm, for it had been such a contrast to the poised Princess who had so confidently confronted him about the Yule's celebrations.

Maybe that was really her distinguishing feature: being contradictory. One moment she was dragging her guards around, excited by Béma knows what, and the next one she was speaking with a wisdom he himself lacked. She could befriend Meduseld's maids and regularly hang out with them, she could spend a day boiling linens and obeying the orders of the healers and the housekeeper, and then turn in the blink of an eye into the perfect epitome of the haughty, graceful Princess.

And that was really what she had come to be for him. Somebody he could laugh with, but also somebody he could speak to when things turned serious.

Not that he had spoken much to her, at least not about himself. And yet, he had come to rely on her: on her straightness and sincerity whenever they were discussing state matters -never mind if it had occasionally led to memorable clashes in the Council. On the reassurance of her presence in his study. On her silly childhood stories, so similar and yet so different from his'. On the awareness that after a grumpy day, he was always in for a merciless session of sharp sarcasm and teasing.

If he thought back of the last two months, there was no single memory that wasn't somehow linked to her and whether it was a positive or a negative memory, it hardly seemed to matter. The visit to the Hornburg and the night she had hesitantly walked into his room. Yule's celebrations and her mortified embarrassment upon finding out how traditions differ between Gondor and Rohan. The ride back from the fight in the cave and the way she had tightly held him. The realization that he needed her advice and the attempt to visit her while she was sick, only to be quite rudely dragged out of her room by his own housekeeper.

It hadn't been the fear of something to happen to a Princess who was living under his protection to fill his heart as he had been running like a half-naked madman through Meduseld's corridors in the middle of the night. It had been the fear of what he would have lost, of what they would have lost, had something happened to her.

How ironic that him, who had spent the last six months continuously mulling and brooding over Rohan's troubles, over his problems with Kingship, had never spared a thought about what Lothíriel had come to mean for him. How silly of him to take her presence for granted. How selfish of him to take what she had to offer, her wisdom, her support, her laughs, without giving anything back.

Éomer pulled Lothíriel closer to him: if anything, the attempt on her life had at least managed to have him finally opening his eyes. And even though things were as uncertain as they could ever be, he felt himself growing a little bit lighter as a new type of resolve spread through him.

He knew what he had to do.

"Éomer King?".

Éomer snorted, moving into a more comfortable position.

"Éomer, wake up".

Slowly, he cracked open an eye, then the other. Light had faded in his study and a shiver run through his body. He tried to turn to the voice but the right part of his body was blocked. He twisted his neck and found Birthwyn looking down at him: "What is it?", he muttered to the housekeeper.

She gave him a disapproving look: "You can sleep wherever you wish, Éomer King, but I'm not letting Lothíriel freeze on this sofa. She needs a proper sleep in a proper bed" she said, nodding to his right.

Turning, he realized why one side of his body had felt blocked: Lothíriel was leaning on his chest, fast asleep, her legs crossed on one of his own, her arms held tight between their bodies, as if attempting to keep the warmth from escaping their embrace.

Somewhen, he must have fallen asleep and their chamomile stood forgotten on the table.

Éomer tightened his arm around Lothíriel and planted a soft kiss on her head, breathing in the scent of her silky hair and not caring one bit about the fact that Birthwyn was standing behind him. Lothíriel shivered and snuggled up closer to him: carefully, he slipped one arm behind her knees and slowly stood up.

When he arrived in Birthwyn's room, he gently lay her down on the bed and pulled the thick blanket over her. He brushed his lips on her temple and whispered her goodnight, before finally leaving the room and moving towards his own bedchamber, more determined than ever to take the first of a long series of steps.

One he had ignored and postponed for too long already.

Author's notes: when I re-read this chapter before posting, I wasn't very satisfied with it but at the same time, I was a bit at loss as to how improve it. So, for the moment I'll keep it as it is and maybe I'll revise it in the future.

ElvishKiwi: no reason to say sorry, really! :) As I said, yours was an understandable point of view. I am also deeply fascinated by fantasy books such as LoTR and their heroes, but I am also very fascinated by the human nature, which to my opinion happens to be way more complex (though that doesn't mean there cannot be heroes). This is why, while Tolkien will always hold a special place in my heart, I also love fantasy books with a very different approach (right now I'm reading Joe Abercrombie and his First Law trilogy, which is really great though less inspirational than LoTR). I must say that it pleases me beyond words to hear that you have come to like my story, as it means I have managed to convey the depth of the characters and bring them from disagreeable to likable (or maybe the other way round!). Thank you very much for your review and I hope you will continue enjoying the story!

solar1: glad to hear it came as a surprise! Plot twists are always needed! ;)

MissCallaLilly: yes, sneaky Andes! Poor Gamling indeed, I liked him and his friendship with Lothíriel a lot! Let's hope justice will be served!

AHealingRenaissance: I know, I was also very sad at letting him go! :( Let's see if Lothíriel's suspicions are correct or whether Éomer is right about their absurdity!