Chapter 25
3019 April, Minas Tirith
After many long days on the road, they finally saw the White City basking in the bright afternoon's light. It had been a trying journey, especially with Lothíriel's shifting moods, which was not helped by how uncomfortable she often felt with the various changes her pregnancy was slowly causing in her body. She lost her temper with Amrothos almost every day, and one night she felt so miserable she sobbed until her brother appeared on her side and stroke her hair until she fell asleep. Rationally, she knew it would get better once they reached their destination and especially if she should meet Éomer there, but it wasn't much of a help on the days she woke up feeling wretched or she was sore in the places she hadn't even known existed in her body.
Consequently, their first glimpse of Minas Tirith made her want to weep in joy. There it was at last! After so many months, she was back in the world of her childhood, even if the last time she had properly entered the city had been when she was still a small girl. However, here she wouldn't have to pretend anything or hide her identity.
Lothíriel glanced at her brother, who was staring at the city with vague relief as well. He was probably just as glad to be here as she was. At least, he wouldn't be stuck travelling with a moody pregnant woman any longer.
"Do you think Father is in the city already?" she asked him hopefully, remembering that last sight of their sire she had taken when her exile had begun. How long ago it seemed now! The girl who had slipped away that night had vanished indeed – perhaps she was still wandering on the plains of the Mark, searching for salvation. At times during their journey, she had even wondered if Father would recognise her at all.
"At least he promised to get here as soon as he was able", Amrothos said and shrugged. He then looked at her, his eyes briefly resting on her midsection which had started to swell more noticeably, and he frowned, "What are you planning to tell him?"
Lothíriel sighed. She rather hated knowing this was sure to shadow her reunion with Father. How many times she had imagined it during her exile? It had always been such a joyous, relieving scene in her mind. But as soon as Father realised she was with child... well, there would be no song and games then.
"It depends on whether he has a stroke when he sees me or not", she muttered wryly and shook her head. "I'll just have to hope the honest truth is good enough for him. There simply is no right way to reveal something like this."
Worrying her lip, Lothíriel went through the possible outcomes. Was it a fool's hope to wish all he had seen of late would make it easier for him to accept what she had done? That his regard for Éomund would yield some pardon for her and Éomer? Maybe a promise of another grandchild would overwhelm him enough to distract him from outrage.
"It was his idea to send me to Rohan in the first place. So he can't be very angry, can he?" Lothíriel muttered and looked down at her hands, which gripped her reins.
"Don't worry, sister. You are his only daughter, and he was always softer on you than me or our brothers", Amrothos said to her comfortingly.
"But it still leaves Éomer. Even if everything goes all right with Father, I will have to see the father of my child and explain to him why I treated him like garbage", she said, cringing as she spoke – even now, her mind kept shifting between hope and dread when she thought of meeting him again. He could very well still be furious with her and refuse to listen to anything she had to say.
"Lothíriel, what little I got to see him after the battle, he seemed rather decent to me. He was very polite to our family. I think there's a good chance your confrontation will be perfectly pleasant", Amrothos reassured her. Then he continued, wearing a slight smile now, "And if you ask me, that little horselord which is making you so grumpy these days might just plead your case for you."
The princess made a vague sound in response as they rode towards the city. Her brother had told her of a great battle before the walls of Minas Tirith, but signs of it had been cleaned up remarkably well: there were no bodies remaining on the vast fields, but she saw the great mounds, marking the sites where the fallen were buried. However, many burned homesteads remained still waiting for the mending hands, and gazing at the city she could see where the siege engines had hammered it. She shivered as she tried to picture Amrothos' descriptions of how the fields had been crawling with Enemy's armies, possessed of the single purpose of tearing down the City of Kings. It all sounded like a living nightmare. And to think Éomer had been here, riding over these fields and at last gaining victory with Lord Aragorn and Imrahil her father! Deeds worthy of songs had been done on this field indeed.
On their way towards the fifth level of the city, Lothíriel saw additional signs of the battle, but more than that her eye was drawn to people. She knew in last few years, Minas Tirith had been in serious decline. Making the city fair and prosperous had not been Lord Denethor's priority when there was a constant threat in the east, and Father had once said the capital of Gondor housed now so few compared to the days of glory. However, it looked like the ending of the war had injected new life and hopefulness into the very stones this settlement. The marketplace they passed by was full of bustle, common folk crowded at stalls and wells and went by in their chores, and here and there they saw children in the middle of their games. It was a hopeful picture indeed, and Lothíriel felt her mood lighten a bit. Only a year before now, all this would have been next to impossible.
They passed through the city quickly enough and her mind grew more uneasy again as they reached the upper levels. It was in good part because if Father was in the city, then she'd be seeing him very soon. But it was also because even with her hood and cloak, there was a chance she would be recognised by other members of nobility who, according to her brother, had started to return to the city as soon as the battle was won. It would be enough of a sensation that she was alive; she didn't even want to think of the stir in the society once it became clear she was pregnant. Even if Éomer should return this very day and they were married tomorrow, there was no hiding the fact the child had been conceived outside wedlock. They were not even formally betrothed, which might have earned her some pass.
We're going back to Rohan after all this. It's not going to matter there, she told herself. As long as she and Éomer knew what was what, everything else was insignificant.
Like the most noble families, the town house of Princes of Dol Amroth was located on the fifth level of the city. Lothíriel did not remember much of the place, and there was chance she wouldn't even have found her way without Amrothos. A small, slightly hysterical part of her mind suggested her to go running now while she still had a chance. Surely Father would be furious with her? Oh, Elbereth, he would probably kill her!
"Don't worry, sister. It's going to be all right", said her brother gently, having noticed her growing anxiety.
"Yes", she muttered under her breath, "It would be poor taste to murder a pregnant woman, wouldn't it?"
"He's not going to murder you. Just remember to breathe", Amrothos told her firmly. He looked ahead then, and a faint smile touched his face, "Ah, here we are now. There's the gate of our town house."
Lothíriel managed only a low groan at that. But there was no avoiding this, and she had to see Father sooner or later. And postponing it would only make things worse.
At Amrothos' request to be allowed to enter, the gates were swung open and the company rode into the small courtyard. Lothíriel's heart hammered away as she gazed about herself, her eyes already seeking for one familiar face she had been missing and now dreading. Any moment now Father would appear, summoned by one of the servants of the household...
Amrothos reached for her waist to help her down, placing her on the ground carefully as though he was afraid she'd break. Though he was not entirely untroubled about how this situation had turned out, she felt he was secretly glad to become an uncle again – and to get Rohirric relatives through her.
The princess stretched her limbs, stiff from the long hours of riding. No matter how her reunion with Father would turn out, she was glad for the prospect of a hot bath and getting to sleep in a real bed tonight.
And then her brother called out: "Father! Over here!"
She turned sharply, her eyes seeking frantically... and then she saw him at the doorway of the house! There stood her father at last, staring at her and Amrothos. He was mostly the same as she remembered, but there were new lines on his face and a breath of frost in his dark hair. Months that had passed had not been easy on him, either, and in his eyes there was some new sadness she hadn't seen before. And she remembered the night she had last seen him; how tight he had held her hand, and how long he had hugged her before lowering her into the boat with her knights... his voice when he had told her to be careful and come back alive.
Tears were already flowing down her cheeks, and she cried out: "Father! Father!"
She was running now, hastening to meet her sire after so many long months. Oh, Elbereth! She had got to live this moment after all!
In tearful joy she threw her arms about her father, and at first she was too beside herself to notice how stiff his reaction was. But eventually it occurred to her he wasn't hugging her in the same fashion, nor was he telling her anything like he had missed her or that he was glad she was back. So eventually she pulled back in growing alarm and looked at the face of her sire.
And there she saw that mortification and horrified surprise she had dreaded as she had thought of this moment. He had already realised his innocent little daughter was not quite so virtuous anymore.
"Father, I can explain", she said quickly, but those words did not seem to even occur to him.
"Lothíriel, who did this to you?" he asked her loudly, and the question made her heart sink. Of course it had been a foolish hope to wish Father wouldn't react like this. But then, maybe he'd relent like Amrothos had relented?
"Please calm down, Father. It's not as bad as you think", she told him, trying to keep her voice soft and gentle, but it seemed to have no impact.
"Daughter, answer me immediately!" he almost shouted, making her wince. This was even worse than she had dared to imagine!
"It's Lord Éomer's child", she said, growing concerned when she saw his eyes bulge. Yes, a stroke was a possibility here! So she hurried to add, "I swear, it's not what you think! He didn't force me in any way! Yes, we were lovers, but I didn't plan to get pregnant, and we were going to get married! He was supposed to travel with me to Dol Amroth and ask for your blessing. I know how this looks like to you, but please, try to understand."
It didn't come out at all like she had meant. It even sounded bad to her own ears! For the longest time, Father just stared at her. His face was white as bone, but his eyes were dark and thunderous. She suppressed a sigh, knowing this would not be easy or pleasant.
Then at last he moved. He gripped her by shoulder and pulled at her, motioning to get into the house.
"Inside. Now."
Father did not speak another word before they had reached his study. It was an airy space in the second floor, with a view over the city and the Pelennor fields. While it was smaller than his official one back in Dol Amroth, it didn't lack any of the comforts.
Once Father had her seated and poured himself a drink, he flashed her a stern glance.
"Explain", was the only thing he said, and so Lothíriel began to talk. She described the long months of her exile, the loneliness she had felt, and her growing affection for Éomer. She spoke of the nights spent in her beloved's chambers, of the promises they had made to each other, and the reasons they had justified their actions to themselves when they had started their affair. Through her story, Father remained by the window, staring out and occasionally sipping his drink.
When she fell silent, he said nothing. Father stood still, his eyes fixed on whatever it was outside he had kept glaring at. One might even have wondered if he had forgotten about her presence, but Lothíriel made no such mistake.
"Father?" she asked at last, her voice soft and gentle, "Father, I understand if you are disappointed and angry with me. But please, do not blame Éomer for anything. He was always good to me and he truly loved me. He was my friend and companion when I had no one else, and from the start he put my safety before his own needs and happiness. I believe we can figure this out once he returns to Minas Tirith. We can still fix this."
"You, daughter", Father spoke at last, his tone colourless and heavy, "are not going to fix anything. You are going straight south on the first ship that leaves from Harlond."
"No!" she exclaimed, jumping up on her feet. "Father, I have to be here! I need to see Éomer! If you'd just let me talk to him -"
Her sire turned around sharply, and he spoke loudly over her words: "You have seen enough of him. You have talked enough."
She fell silent and stared at him, her eyes desperately trying to find some warmth and compassion in his. But it was in vain.
"Father -" she tried, but again he interrupted her.
"How could you be so foolish and naive, letting that man use you like you were no better than some common wench?" he asked angrily, and his eyes blazed in a way she had never seen before. In a life before all this, it might have frightened her. But now Lothíriel found she was afraid of very few things.
"He did not use me! If you think Éomer is like that, then you don't know him at all! And he would never have touched me if I had not asked him to!" she snapped back at him.
"Then why didn't he tell me the truth? Why did he keep this secret?" Father demanded to know, making a vague gesture at her belly.
"Maybe he's more decent than you give him credit! Maybe he actually thinks he should talk to me first, instead of acting like Í was merely goods that cannot speak for itself!" Lothíriel furiously said, growing more hurt and disappointed by the second. The idea of seeing her father again had been what had got her through the painful days early in her exile, but now that the moment had finally arrived, it was bitter and hostile!
He slammed his drink on the desk, sending almost half of its contents splattering the parchments and scrolls on the table.
"Yes, maybe! Or maybe he is having a laugh about it right now, spreading the tale of how easy it was to disgrace a princess of an ancient line!" he yelled, his face almost exactly that same shade of purple that Amrothos had sported when first hearing about her pregnancy. The look in his eyes was nearly mad in anger, and she knew then he wasn't going to hear anything she had to say.
He spoke a bit more calmly then, "You have indeed disappointed me, Lothíriel. Don't you realise what you have done to yourself? To your family? Thanks to you, your kin will be the common laughing stock of Minas Tirith!"
"... you sent me there, Father. You told me to flee into a strange land and expected me to endure all of it on my own after a quiet and sheltered life among my family! You didn't even provide me with a promise of when I could come home! I was alone! I had lost everything I knew and held dear! And Éomer was there for me, he comforted me and made me happy again! Don't you judge me for loving the person who made my life worth living once more!" she angrily said to him, and once more tears filled her eyes. But they were cold, bitter tears, and all she could feel was rage at how unjust all this was, how she couldn't get one moment of reprieve. What had she done to deserve these struggles that did not cease?
For a moment, Father stared at her, and she dared to hope maybe he saw her point of view after all. She lifted her hand to reach for him, but then he shook his head and stepped away.
"All the same", he said in a firm, toneless way, "I'm sending you away immediately. Your aunt will take you to our villa, where you'll stay until the child is born. I will meet with your... paramour and try to sort out this mess."
"Father, please", Lothíriel whispered now, her earlier outburst already growing cold. "I have to see him. I need Éomer."
Prince Imrahil's face remained stoic, his eyes stern. And with a crushing feeling, she realised nothing she could say was going to change his mind.
"My decision is final. You will leave Minas Tirith first thing tomorrow."
Another day was nearing its end at the fields of Cormallen, close to the river Anduin. It was a fair place, full of blooming of the spring, and the wood was filled with fragrant smells. If one cared to leave the camp and its sounds, one would hear the soft whisper of wind in the leaves and see the glimmer of the last rays of the sun on the fresh green of new season. In such a fair place, it was hard to believe the land of Mordor was only a short march away.
Listening to the reports of his captains – consisting mostly of small brawls and other equally menial matters – Éomer was wondering if he should just dismiss the lot and make his way to the banks of Anduin. He kept returning there, restless and uneasy; there was no quiet or peace at the camp, where people were always around him, asking for this or that, wanting to give reports or just test his character as the new king, and he could scarcely hear his own thoughts.
The war was over. It had been the fragile hope of Men, that one day there would come a time without the Shadow. Often this hope had seemed like a foolish and unlikely thing, and many bitter days he had lived just waiting for the worst to happen. And yet, here he was, living at the other side of the war. The Enemy of the free peoples was defeated. In the mornings, when he woke up in this tent at the fields of Cormallen, Éomer still had to remind himself there were no battles to plan or strategies to negotiate with the other captains.
With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and tried to concentrate on the words of his lieutenants, though it was not easy to keep his focus. How could he worry over these entirely mundane things when even now, he kept waiting for something horrible to happen – perhaps a night raid by orcs, or the surviving Easterlings ambushing them... on the wilder moments, he went as far as imagining that by the aid of some secret device, the Dark Lord had been able to return, and his armies would descend on the Host of the West with vengeance. When hope had been so fragile for so long, he was afraid to trust it.
Eventually, Éothain dismissed the captains of éoreds camped here at Cormallen. Éomer paid only brief attention – he was too busy rubbing his forehead against the beginnings of another headache. Aragorn had already told him those would surely cease if his fellow king wasn't so tense and anxious all the time, but he had yet to figure out how to do that.
"I take it you didn't listen to a word of what was being said?" his captain asked, not even trying to hide his displeasure.
"There was something about a fist-fight and someone nearly drowned in Anduin after getting too drunk", Éomer muttered and leaned back his head.
His second in command pursed his lips and regarded him with a frown.
"The men would appreciate it if they knew their king cares. Just... try to relax for change, will you? Try to take joy in this. The war is over", Éothain attempted half-heartedly.
"Aye, it is. But the war ending doesn't just make everything better. Éothain... when we go home, you'll have your family waiting for you. But what do I got?" Éomer asked darkly. Indeed, how to savour the peace, even if he wanted it? How to be at peace after a lifetime of war? It was more easily said than done, and he had forged himself like a blade for far too long to know how to unravel himself. To become soft, to find those parts of himself that were not grim or sharp or angry, had been miraculously easy with her, but she was far away and the calm that had existed in her presence had been falsely made in the first place.
"You still have your life, and you have Rohan", his captain tried.
"Indeed! I have a realm of burned homes, and everyone is waiting for me to fix it! Aren't I just the luckiest bugger?" said the younger man, grimacing as he spoke.
His friend looked frustrated and he made a helpless gesture with his arms. He looked a bit like he might just want to hit his liege-lord over the head with the basin nearby. And who could blame him? Éomer knew his moods of late had not been easy to deal with. At least, it had seemed to help at first when he had explained the affair with her to Éothain, which apparently had helped his friend to understand what was going on. But the truth could get him only so far, and the captain's patience was not endless.
Thankfully – for them both, perhaps – there were sounds at the entrance to the tent, and Aragorn entered, wearing a soft smile on his face. No longer arrayed in the shabby array of a Ranger, he appeared more like the king of Isildur's line. With the passing of the Ring, it seemed like he had also been freed at least of some of his many cares. And though the time Éomer had known him was short, he already felt like a bond had been forged between them to last for the rest of their lives.
"Thank Béma you're here, Lord Aragorn. Please deal with him", Éothain grumbled and headed out, muttering under his breath.
Aragorn lifted his eyebrows as he watched the captain leave the tent.
"Is something amiss with him?" he asked his friend, who had got up to pour them drinks.
"Nothing much – except the fact he thinks his king is an irritable ass", Éomer replied wryly and handed a glass of wine to his fellow king. Aragorn accepted the drink and took seat when the younger man gestured him towards a free chair.
"Do you want to be dealt with, brother?" Aragorn asked delicately, making Éomer snort as he too sat down.
"Well, I suppose you should, or he's going to be disgruntled with both of us", he said and sipped the wine. He was not particularly fond of this drink, though he had tasted it before in Meduseld; Uncle had always liked wine better than ale. It probably had to do with his father Thengel, who had tried his utmost to emulate a Gondorian lord. Many still lived who remembered that time, and he knew there would be concern among them if Éomer too would fancy the ways of the south over those of his own people. Indeed, in coming days, he would have to prove himself in many aspects. And he had no idea if he was up to that task.
"The war is over, Éomer. It's not wrong to take joy in that", said the older of two kings gently.
"Aye, but we both know there will be new wars. There are generations upon generations of hate between your realm and Sauron's allies in east and south. And they won't forget the Pelennor fields any time soon. Moreover, too many orcs fled the battlefield alive. We haven't seen the last of them yet", said the Rohir, frowning as he spoke. Oh, he knew well those wars wouldn't be like the one they had just won. The end of Sauron was also an end of an Age, end of many things good and evil and fair and dark. For better or worse, Rule of Men was now dawning. And if he wished to thrive, to find meaning, Éomer knew he would have to transform himself into a man of peace.
"Of course", Aragorn allowed, cradling his glass between his hands as a crease formed on his brow. "But it's not a concern for now. We'll face it when it comes."
Isildur's Heir looked up then, meeting Éomer's eyes, "Is that what troubles you, my friend?"
"If only it was just that!" said the young king of Rohan and shook his head. "Aragorn, what am I going to do with Éowyn? How should I help her?"
Thinking his sister, he felt even more troubled. He had asked her to join him at the fields of Cormallen, hoping that the general mood of hope and joy here would snap them both out of the things that weighed on their minds. Not to mention, he ached for the face of the one person he had left in this world. However, she had declined the invitation, making him wonder if she was still very weak from her injuries. Indeed, what should he do to aid her? What could he do? Even now, he trembled at the memory of the despair in her eyes. What if it drove her to seek death again? And with that idea, guilt returned as well. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Why hadn't he done anything?
Why this, why that. One might think the fates owed you some answers.
"I do not think you need to be so worried about Éowyn. She was on the mend when we last saw her, and if you ask me, her final healing may be closer than you think. The Lady of the Shield-arm is strong and she will emerge from what is ailing her", said his friend steadily as a faint smile visited his face.
"All the same", Éomer said at length, slowly unravelling all that troubled him, "a part of me doesn't want to go home after all this. Because when I do, Rohirrim will be expecting me to heal our land. There are so many women and children who will never see their husbands and fathers again, and so many people have lost their homes and livelihoods. You saw it yourself – the Mark is bleeding from all the assaults we have suffered, and even if I could do it, it would take a lifetime to mend everything that has been broken by Isengard and Mordor."
"There's your new war, Éomer", Aragorn said gently. "You are a defender of Rohan, are you not? But you don't have to defend it alone. You know you can count on my help and support, whatever the coming days will bring. Gondor owes Rohan a heavy debt and we shall pay it. If you need grain and timber and livestock, you only need to tell me so. Prince Imrahil's fiefdom, especially inland, has fared well past few years – he should be glad to send anything you need for rebuilding. After all, he owes a personal debt to you after you sheltered his daughter and kept her safe."
While mostly his words were comforting, Éomer was not entirely consoled. Mentions of her never sat well with him these days.
"I wonder if he's so glad to help when I tell him something that might just send him and all three of his sons after me with vengeance", he muttered darkly.
"Why would they do that? I got the impression you were in very good terms", Aragorn pointed out. Narrowing his eyes, and making the necessary connections right away, he inquired, "Does it have something to do with his daughter?"
Éomer rubbed his face with his free hand, trying to decide how he should answer his friend. Once more, he had to wonder at his own recklessness. And yet it wasn't like he didn't know what he had been thinking when he had first touched her; at the time, it had made so much sense. He hadn't known things would turn out like this, nor he had guessed the sheer magnitude of the war. There were so many things he hadn't been able to guess and imagine when the princess had put her spell on him.
Knowing he could trust Aragorn's discretion, he cleared his throat and briefly explained the affair. While his friend already knew of her staying in Rohan, the part about her being his mistress he had not told anybody before now except for Éothain. While at times he had felt like spilling out everything would surely be a relief, until after the battle before the Black Gate there had been to much for him to worry about, and presently he didn't even know where he stood with her. It was really not the time to go confessing anything – except his closest friends, whose wisdom might help him to figure out what to do.
"So, not only has she posed as a servant of your household, she was also pretending to be your mistress – which she eventually became in practice as well", his friend concluded when the younger man had finished his explanation.
"It sounds even worse when you put it like that", Éomer muttered and he just knew Imrahil was going to declare war on Rohan. "For the record, I did mean to marry her. But now I have no idea of what I should do with her. I don't even know if she wants to see me again."
Aragorn rubbed his chin thoughtfully, gazing at his glass of wine. At least, he did not seem judgemental or horrified. which was a minor victory in itself.
"You should talk to her before doing anything else, my friend, and clear everything out... make sure there's no chance of misunderstandings. Things should be easier to explain to her father as well, when you know where you stand with one another", said the older man at last and looked up at him.
"Aye. It is the only course of action that makes sense", Éomer said, leaning back his head and already dreading the confrontation in his future. It was also the only right way, if he meant to take responsibility of his actions. No matter what had happened, or how she had revealed her true colours, he had made these promises to her. As such, he had no choice but to offer to marry her immediately upon their reunion, if that was what she wanted.
Leaning his chin in the cup of his hand, he muttered, "I was such a fool, Aragorn. I should have known better. And I did know better... just didn't care when it mattered. Now responsibility demands I should let someone like her become a queen! I have no doubt she'll snatch that chance. After all, it's the opportunity of a lifetime."
"Don't resign yourself to resentment yet, Éomer. Who knows what impact these past weeks have had on her? She may very well surprise you yet", Aragorn said gently. Then a thoughtful look rose to his face, and he asked, "Do you think it's possible you were mistaken? Are you certain there is no chance of misunderstandings?"
Hearing the question, the Rohir frowned. While he couldn't deny it was an attractive idea, he couldn't allow such a sweet, merciful thing to pierce his mind. To think all this heartbreak might have been for nothing...! Quickly he rejected it, reminding himself of that day in Edoras. She hadn't even looked at him. No, it was better to take things as they came, not live in some vague hope that maybe he had got it wrong. Everything that had happened with her had already tried him enough.
"I don't think so", he said at length and took a long gulp of his wine.
"But she is Imrahil's daughter. Somehow I cannot believe any family of his could be so deceitful", Aragorn tried gently.
"Believe me, I didn't see it coming, either", Éomer said and grimaced at the memory. He had been so sure he knew her... but he wasn't infallible. And he had plenty of proof of just how good she was at pretending.
He shook his head and downed the last of his wine. Then he looked at his friend, "Let's get out of here. None of this is going to get better by us fretting over it."
"You are quite right in that, Éomer", Aragorn stated and got up on his feet. With a wry smile, he added, "And Éothain is likely more willing to leave you alone if he sees you having a good time for change."
As an answer, the younger man snorted.
"That is a very compelling motive. The man is a complete menace", he remarked, and together the two kings headed out, hoping to leave their concerns behind if only for tonight.
It was already late that Éomer returned to his tent. He had let Éothain and several of his own Riders to pull him to their company, and quickly he had been sat down near a fire and a wineskin had been pushed into his hand. In the end, he found himself having a rather decent time that night. There was a voice at the back of his mind, and it sounded worryingly much like Éothain: you might want to try that more often.
Éomer shut up the voice by reminding himself he wasn't going to be remembered as a king who drank away his nights while his people were still struggling to survive, but at least for tonight he had enjoyed their hard-won victory over the Enemy. There were long, difficult days ahead if he meant to restore the Mark, which was all the more reason to take joy in this brief time of abandon. There had also been a temptation to take it even further than that – he had seen a pair of women eyeing him appreciatively – but he didn't get drunk enough to discard all reason. As long as he didn't know where he stood with her, he would have to stay away from those ladies who had arrived at the camp soon after the war had ended. Not that it wasn't alluring, and thanks to some of his men who were fond of over-sharing, he had already been the unwilling target of reports on how delightful said company was, but whoring away his days was yet another thing he didn't want to attach to his name. Sooner or later the story about her would become common knowledge, and giving in to such temptations would surely give the tale a delicious spin.
His tent was located at the centre of the camp, next to the one occupied by Aragorn himself. Guards were posted there at all times, and they bowed their heads when he arrived. His esquire had left some candles burning for his arrival and there was fresh water at the corner. Some pieces of portable furniture had been brought for him, and curtains served as walls to divided the sleeping quarters from the main area. Éomer was hardly used to such comforts when camping during some war campaign, but apparently it was required now that he was king.
Having washed away the taste of wine from his mouth with some water, he blew out the candles and made for the sleeping area. After undressing and leaving his clothes on a chair at the foot end of the cot, he lay himself down and sought for a comfortable position. Mostly, the camp had already fallen quiet and the world was still. But his mind was not, and unbidden the thought came: where was she tonight? Was she travelling for Mundburg, or had she already reached the city? He had no idea of what their next meeting would be – if she would be hateful, or try to get back to his good graces. He couldn't guess what version of her she would present him with then, and what would be his reaction to it. Try as he might to keep her away, Éomer couldn't exactly deny a part of him desired to see her – desired her to make him keep his word. Because then, he could have her again. At least at night she would be his once more... Béma, even now he wanted her madly!
That little voice kept muttering on, conjuring the opportunities he'd have once she was in Edoras... mightn't her heart grow softer eventually, if he tried hard enough?
You idiot. Why don't you just go and jump head first in Anduin and be done with it.
Rolling to his side and gripping the edge of the blanket in his fist, Éomer tried to empty his mind and think of nothing. She already haunted his thoughts enough as it was, like a ghost clinging to his steps, and entertaining these ideas was a sure sign of growing madness. So, to distract himself long enough to fall asleep, he recited the family tree of the House of Eorl all the way back to the time of Éothéod in the North until dreams finally claimed him.
He dreamed of her again that night, which was not really a surprise. It was like things had been for such a blessed little while – and, to be truthful, how he silently hoped against his reason it could be again. Her sweet smiling face, her light slender fingers disappearing in his hair, the feel of her naked skin under his hands... he could try to fight it during waking hours as much as he liked, but in dreams he was helpless against her. Black is the colour of my true love's hair...
Then suddenly it changed. One second she was there before him, and the next she was gone. But he could still hear her calling him, the way she had on that day when he had ridden with Uncle for Helm's Deep... he had wanted to look at her then – in fact there had been a profound need to see her – but with effort of will he had kept himself from turning.
Éomer startled awake, Wildly his eyes sought for the reason of disturbance, while his fingers grabbed for the knife under his pillow – a habit he was finding hard to break. At once, his gaze fixed on the figure sitting in the chair at the end of the cot... the sun must be rising already as the tent was not entirely dark, and he saw her long hair shadowing her face, her huddled form, and the slight trembling of her shoulders as though she was crying. Immediately he knew her.
He was up in seconds, but when he reached the chair, she had already vanished. Breathing erratically, he fell on his knees by the chair, his fingers tracing the seat as though it might still recall her warmth. But Lothíriel had not really been here. He had just dreamed so...
With a sigh, he fell to sit on the ground, eyes fixed on the chair as if she would appear again. How pathetic it was, that he would so desire the briefest appearance of such a deceitful woman! Yet he couldn't help this, or deny the truth which lived in these dreams and thoughts and the sheer fact he couldn't keep her away. For better or for worse, he still loved her and he still wanted her. And he missed her more than he had ever thought possible.
Wearily he ran a hand through the tangles of his hair, rubbing his fingertips against his scalp. What he had talked about with Aragorn yesterday was true: he needed to clear this out with her. He had to know what she wanted. True, there was a good chance that way lay more heartbreak, but things couldn't go on like this for much longer. He had to find some kind of resolution with the princess, and discover what was the truth. He had to know if what they had shared had been real – if the woman he had loved was just another disguise. For even now he could clearly see her, the one who had willingly come into his arms and laughed with him and made him happier than he remembered being in a very long time. Like a promise of peace and clarity against the brutality of war... she was spring, she was life, and she was hope. With her, life was not merely duty – it was a gift. And he could not go on pretending he did not want her.
Thankfully, it was then Éothain lifted the veil that served as a doorway and peeked in.
"You awake, Éomer?" he asked, and then noticed his king sitting on the ground. "What is the matter?"
The younger man grunted as an answer.
"Nothing. Just slowly losing my mind", he muttered as he lifted himself to sit on the edge of the bed. "Give me a minute, will you?"
"All right", Éothain replied and his face vanished from sight again, leaving his liege-lord alone once more. The light was growing outside now, much to his relief. Éomer knew trying to get sleep again would have been an entirely pointless attempt.
The young king groaned to himself and made for the basin. He washed his face and scrubbed it fiercely, trying to banish her from his mind. Béma, if just a dream of her could undo him just like so, he would have no chance against her when they were face to face once more. How pathetic! He had survived all three of the great battles of Ring War, and a slip of a princess made him utterly helpless and defenceless!
A swim. I need a cold swim.
And so, as soon as he was clothed, he headed out with the rather desperate wish that in the stream of Anduin, the memory of her would be slightly less tormenting.
Farewell, sweet earth and Northern sky...
The ship glided softly from the port of Harlond. It sailed under the colours of Dol Amroth, and while it mostly carried cargo and occasionally travellers, it was fine and comfortable enough to ship the Princess of Dol Amroth away... or to imprisonment, as Lothíriel preferred to think of it. Before reaching Minas Tirith and meeting her father, she had never considered herself truly disgraced. Yes, she had known her good reputation wouldn't be easily salvaged. But she had believed it wasn't entirely lost, if Éomer just agreed to listen to her. However, now as she was being taken away to be hidden in some villa, she truly felt disgraced.
The site of her second exile was not near to Dol Amroth. It was a villa close to the delta of Anduin, passed to her family from her late mother. She hadn't been there since her childhood, and in recent years it had mostly served as lodgings for guards and lookouts watching out for corsairs, hoping to guard Pelargir from attacks. Even so, the villa was apparently comfortable enough, and certainly sufficiently secluded to hide a fallen princess. Or perhaps it was just a part of Father's plan to punish her by sending her to such a location.
Her mood was sullen as she stood at the stern of the ship, her eyes still seeking the city and the northward road. The line from one of her favourite songs kept running through her mind, and she wondered if this was at all like how Beren had felt in leaving behind the one he loved.
Amrothos had offered to come along, but she had declined. What good would it do, anyway? At least by telling him to stay behind, she could ask him to go to Cormallen and find Éomer there. He had agreed indeed and departed for the camp of the Host of the West early this morning. She knew Father would never act as a messenger between her and her beloved. In fact, he would probably have thought it only further damaged things.
Aunt Ivriniel was with her, though – she had arrived in the city only a couple of days ago, and she had been out visiting some friends when Lothíriel and Amrothos had reached their family's town house. If the princess had hoped Aunt would be glad to see her and take her side against Father, she had been wrong. The sister of her sire had immediately agreed with him, scolded Lothíriel for her irresponsible behaviour, and rushed to pack her belongings for the journey south. If this was how her entire family was going to react, Lothíriel was grimly pleased that she didn't have to meet Elphir and Erchirion right away. The former was acting as Father's substitute in Cormallen, while the latter remained watching over Dol Amroth.
She sighed and dug her nails into the wood of the railing. Until the last minute before the ship had embarked, she had kept waiting for an interference. Father changing his mind, Faramir telling her to stay, Éomer appearing windblown from the road and demanding to talk to her... Brithwen had promised to find him and talk to him, but nothing indicated she had kept her word. Was it because she had died in the battle? Had it been only a lie? Or had something kept her from finding Éomer in time? Lothíriel could only guess.
Tears came as if on their own. Had it really been months already that she had last seen Éomer? That final glimpse of his back when he had ridden for Helm's Deep kept returning to her, haunting her dreams – she had long since lost count of how many times she had relived the moment he had left her. And often there were nights she thought he'd be there next to her, and she could even hear his breathing, but when she reached for her side, she couldn't find him. The intensity of her yearning for him was at times a crippling sensation, choking her as though there was always some heavy weight on her chest. All she had got with him was two months, and some of it he hadn't even been at home. It was not enough. It was like a blink of an eye compared to the lifetime she had dreamed. Had she known it before, back in Aldburg when they said goodbye to each other for the last time... oh, if she only had told him that she loved him!
Lothíriel brushed hands across her eyes, reminding herself crying wasn't going to change anything. Indeed, nothing she could do would change anything. All she could do was wait, now that Father had just brushed her aside, like he thought she had no say in her own life. That was the part she hated the most, she mused: essentially, he was treating her no differently than uncle had in arranging the outrageous deal with Bartas the corsair.
Fishing a handkerchief from her pocket, she blew her nose and took a several deep breaths. She had to trust Brithwen and Amrothos to get to Éomer and deliver him the real version of what had happened. Then he would surely come for her, never mind what Father said or did. She knew the man and how stubborn he could be, and it would surprise her very little if he rode all the way down to the villa, demanding to see her.
The thought had her smiling somewhat, and with that Minas Tirith fell behind once more.
The journey down Anduin was slow and uneventful. Lothíriel did not have much to keep herself occupied, which was strange after months of acting as a servant and having things to fill her day with from dawn to dusk. Often she found herself staring out of her cabin's window, or standing outside and gazing at the banks of the river, thinking of her friends back in Rohan. Was Saethryd still angry with her? What would Aengifu and Derehild say when Lothíriel didn't come back, like she had promised? Did they ever think of her at all, or were they just happy she was gone? She missed the northern land and life back there, people and their songs and the mead and the grass and even the wind. The braids she made in her hair were distinctly Rohirric, much to the displeasure of her aunt, and at least half of the lullabies she sang for her unborn child were those she had heard in Aldburg. And in her heart lived the fear Éomer would not come for her before the baby was born – or, worse yet, he'd never come at all.
Then one evening before they passed Pelargir, Lothíriel was taking a late walk on the deck of the ship before retiring to her little cabin. Most of the time, she kept to herself, preferring solitude to the curious looks of people around her. In a bout of betrayal, she even avoided her aunt most of the time, and thankfully the older woman allowed her the space she required. Perhaps it was also because Aunt didn't know how to fit together the girl she had known and the woman who had returned from Rohan.
She sighed and halted by the railing, staring out into the shadowy woods. The last light of the day was fading and soon it would be night again – another night she would struggle for rest and peace while hoping that when she woke up, he would be next to her.
The ship glided through a wisp of rising mist, momentarily shrouding the bank of the stream like a milky cloak. And then, all of a sudden, she saw a tall figure standing by the river. Long golden hair, a pair of discerning eyes, a stern bearded face that could become so comely when lit by a smile... he stood there fair as the summer, dressed in a linen shirt and faded breeches she had so often seen him using when they were alone. Lothíriel almost cried out his name, but even as she blinked and the ship passed the place he had been standing, he was already gone.
Picking up her skirt, she rushed along the railing and to the stern of the ship, peering into the growing shadows and trying to glimpse him again. But he was gone already, and what she had seen had probably been nothing more than a figment of her imagination, brought here by the effect of stress and yearning. Or, it had been like that night back in Dol Amroth, when Éomer had stood at her door...
Lothíriel frowned as she stared at the now empty bank of the river, falling further behind. Éomer had first appeared to her on the night before Uncle Denethor had arrived in Dol Amroth, and she had thought of him as a herald of fate – signifying the tremendous, painful way her life had changed so soon after the dream.
Uneasy mood took her instantly. She turned again, walking quickly to search for the captain of the ship.
She found him making his rounds on the deck, like he did every morning and night. He was a fairly young man, coming from a long line of sailors, and to her it seemed like he more or less held her father in awe.
"Captain Maethor", she called to him, and the man turned to look at her quizzically. Though one couldn't say they communicated often, she still got the impression he did not appreciate her much more than he would appreciate a woman working at a pleasure house. However, this didn't seem to lessen his respect of her father.
"What is it, princess?" he inquired, folding his hands behind his back.
"Captain, I know you have your orders from my father, and there is no reason you should pay heed to what I say, but I need you to turn this ship around. I have to get back to Minas Tirith", she said, trying to keep the pleading tone from her voice. She knew her chances of persuading him were very slim, and if she told him they needed to go back because she believed she had just seen an omen, he would surely consider her mad in addition to being disgraceful.
Maethor's eyes twitched slightly, and he let out an exasperated sigh.
"You are correct in saying I have my orders, princess. And I see no reason not to follow them. Your lord father was very clear when he told me to take you from the city. He also commanded me not to listen to any fanciful ideas you might bring to my attention", he answered patiently, and at once she felt like being on the brink of angry tears. It wasn't because of the captain; she didn't even know him and after this voyage she wasn't like to see him again. But the idea that her father, so loving and kind and wise as she remembered him, was treating her like an irresponsible child!
"Please, captain. I'm not asking this for fancy. I'm afraid something bad will happen if I do not return to the city right now", she said urgently, wishing to reach for the man before her, as though that might somehow make him relent.
"And what makes you think anything should happen?" he asked and lifted his eyebrows quizzically.
Lothíriel bit her lip. What could she even say to him? That she had just seen some kind of a vision of the man whose first appearance had uprooted her and sent her to a strange land far away from home? And that this glimpse might mean it was going to happen again?
"Can you at least let me leave the ship in Pelargir?" she asked in a quiet voice.
"Absolutely not. Your father has left me in charge of your safety, princess, and I cannot go dropping you off any place you like. Prince Imrahil was very clear that I would take you to his villa and nowhere else", he answered patiently, and hearing his words, her heart sank It was true indeed: she was a prisoner.
Without another word, she turned away from the captain and walked, blindly following her feet. She could always jump over the railing and swim to the riverbank... how long would it be that one of Maethor's sailors would catch up with her? Where could she go anyway, a soaked, pregnant woman without friends?
Perhaps Father was right. Perhaps she had done a bad thing, giving away herself so easily and daring to love a man whose world was so different than her own. And maybe he indeed was out there tonight, laughing and spreading stories about the stupid girl who had trusted and loved him with everything she had...
It was then, as she stood gazing into the shadows of the falling night and her mind grew hopeless and grim, that another song came to her. Once she had heard Aengifu humming it, and in her memory, the sound of her friend's voice was clear and sweet:
Sing me a song of a lass that is gone
say, could that lass be I...?
To be continued.
A/N: Here is the new chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. :)
Lothíriel has now come back to Gondor and met with her father. Sadly, Imrahil's shock and outrage rather ruin that reunion, and at the moment he's probably too furious to really listen to anything she has to say. It didn't really seem like to me that he would just accept this situation like that, but I imagine we will be exploring the reason of his outburst later on. Lothíriel's aunt is equally shocked, but I think all their reactions really come from the fact they don't really understand what she has gone through.
As for Éomer, presently he is deeply stressed by everything that has and is still happening. His worry for Éowyn and the knowledge he's supposed to fix everything that has gone bad in Rohan make it hard for him to relax, but there is also his heartbreak and grief which have received no consolation as of yet. I would think it's starting to dawn to him it was a bad idea to leave Lothíriel without talking to her properly, and that plays a part in making him so anxious and troubled. At any rate, he has figured out he hasn't stopped loving her!
You may be wondering where Brithwen is and why hasn't she talked to Éomer yet, but I hope to answer that question in the next chapter! I know the story has been going in a rather painful fashion for many chapters now, but I simply cannot hurry the way this story goes! I must ask you to have patience with me and the tale.
The last two lines of the chapter are from "The Skye Boat Song", a traditional Scottish folk song. I rather like the mood of it and I thought it would suit Lothíriel's current situation and thoughts, though obviously if it were really a Rohirric song, the full lyrics would be different (less sailing, more riding!).
Thank you for reading and reviewing!
Rubandepluie - Well, I'm glad that my update came at the right time! But I'm sorry to hear about your job. I hope you will find something new soon.
outlawwoman - All in good time!
Crime of Passion'06 - More answers here! I hope Imrahil's reaction wasn't too depressing. As for when Éomer will find out and what he'll do... wait and see!
Personally, I enjoy more writing the longer stories, and I hope those are also more "filling" reads, if you get what I mean. Like you said, the simple fact is one can't write stories with this word count overnight.
Woman of Letters - It really has been a lot harder on her than I imagined at the start. We'll see how soon she gets to see him again!
I'm glad you liked Amrothos! :)
eschscholzia - He may not have forgiven exactly, but neither has he been able to banish her from his thoughts and heart. He's still very much in love with her, and now he understands he really needs to find out who and what is the real Lothíriel. As for Brithwen, I will try to answer your question in the next chapter!
Things may indeed get difficult if and when the story about her stay in Rohan becomes public! As for what will happen now that she's on her way south and Éomer is still in the dark, we'll see! And yes, Amrothos really was very tactless!
pulchritudo in omnia - I'm afraid this part of the story simply is like that! I try to get things moving as fast as I can, but there is simply too many threads for me to tie up. Anyway, thanks for the compliment! :)
I hope it was enjoyable to read about Imrahil, though we still have to wait for Éomer to find out. Poor man is in for a surprise!
EStrunk - I would imagine if any of them sensed anything, they probably just thought it was because he's worried for his sister. As for Athilda, she may be more repentant than she shows. She's just very proud and to humble herself like that would be hard for her. And yes, Amrothos did behave rather thoughtlessly!
We still have to wait for Éomer's reaction, but we'll get there eventually! And I will answer your question about Brithwen in the next chapter.
sailor68 - Thanks! :) I hope you liked the part with Imrahil, though it's painful, too!
Guest - Here you go!
Anon - Timeline is a bit tight here, but I think Amrothos left immediately after Sauron's fall and made haste on his way to Rohan, and they didn't waste time while riding back to Minas Tirith. So it's around middle of April right now. More on that in the next chapter!
Laithril - Thank you! I'm glad you think so. :) I will try to talk about Brithwen again as soon as possible, so just wait and see!
Madam X - Happy to hear you are enjoying it! Unfortunately, her return home isn't going as smoothly as she had hoped...
Rachetg - We'll get there - eventually! As of now, he's still in the dark, but he's missing her rather badly.
Rinarwen - Glad to have caused you such sweet pain! :D Oh, it's really not the best of times for our poor man. But as long as he doesn't know the truth, he can't help his bitter feelings - though maybe he now understands nothing in the world can make him not love Lothíriel.
Wondereye - Happy to have surprised you, then! I hope you liked her meeting with her father.
berry-cool - Thanks! I rather enjoyed writing their reunion. I'm anxious to get to the reunions too, but all must happen in its own time!