Chapter 26

Lebennin, November the 7th, 3020

Startled, Lothíriel frantically tried to hide from view what she was doing, pushing back into its envelope the precious infusion. But her movements were hectic, her hands shaking, and quite a few of it fell behind the table and on the carpet. Nothing she could do now: reaching for it would only make things more obvious.

By the time Holdwyn and Lamhel's hurried steps had caught up with her, she had barely had the time to push the package inside her sleeve.

Trying to keep as much of the table out of view, she turned and cautiously stood between the two women and the furniture, panic quickly turning into anger: "What's with knocking! Why didn't you knock?! Don't you have manners at all?".

They barely took notice of her words, Holdwyn already stripping her clothes off, Lamhel rummaging into her closet.

"Get out, now!", she shrieked, trying to stop whatever they were doing.

Lamhel didn't so much as raise her head, throwing instead a gown on her bed and immediately moving to choose a pair of shoes. Holdwyn stepped out of her gown and forced it into her hands: "Put it on".

She stared open-mouthed at it, while Holdwyn clearly pretended not to notice the herb's tracks both on the ground and on the table behind her: "Now!", she urged her.

What the…

"Here, Holdwyn. Wear this. I'll look for something to cover your head". Lamhel helped Holdwyn into a gown, one of those she had been wearing often over those past few days, making a quick work of the laces on the back while the girl worked on the ones in front, already slipping one feet into the pair of shoes that had been prepared: "No, Lamhel! I need something with a bit more heel, least Lady Irviniel will notice the height difference!".

Lamhel looked at her through the mirror: "Don't be ridiculous, there is barely any difference between the two of you".

"We are not talking about some dumb-headed soldier, Lamhel. One thing is to sneak in a camp in the cover of darkness, another is to fool Lady Irviniel. Find me some better shoes!".

Lamhel thoughtfully nodded and did as bid, while Holdwyn came back to her and started to remove her nightgown: "Come on, Lothíriel. We need to get you out before Lady Irviniel shows up".

Damn it!

She pushed away Holdwyn's hands: "You two, I'm telling you: if you think you can drag me to the market or to have a fun ride, or whatever else you are planning to do, you are sorely mistaken. Get out of my room and be happy that I will have my morning walk on the beach: alone!".

Holdwyn sighed, clearly exasperated by her reticence, but before she could manage to say anything, Lamhel pushed her unceremoniously aside and took her by her shoulders: "Listen to me, Lothíriel: I know you'd rather have us leave you rotting in your misery, but what if…", she bit her lip, as if she was trading carefully her words, "what if I told you that there is an explanation? One you ought to hear out before letting yourself being consumed by your stupid, absurd guilty conscience?".

Before she could even realize it, she had shoved her back, once, twice: "Stupid!? Absurd!? And what would you know about it, eh? What would the noble Lady Lamhel know? What have you ever done in your life to know it? Nothing! Always wagging your tail after your father, you've never dared taking a decision on your own!".

She would have pushed her again, hadn't Holdwyn stepped between the two of them, her hand smacking her squarely and loudly on the cheek.

Suddenly, the twitting of the blackbirds and the sparrows was the only sound filling the room and, for a few long moments, nobody moved. Holdwyn's cheeks were red, her teeth gritted, the veins on her neck popped out: "Did you even hear what she just told you?!", she hissed at her.

Lothíriel held her cheek, incredulous: "What…".

"She just told you that there is an explanation for everything that has happened and all you choose to hear, is that you have a foolish, insane guilt. Which, for the record, is true".

She looked back at Lady Lamhel, confused, befuddled: "What…what explanation? What are you even talking about?".

Holdwyn sighed, frustrated, looking back towards Lamhel as if in search of reassurance: "For Éomer's behaviour, Lothíriel! An explanation that has nothing to do with what you did".

Blood froze in her veins and she backed off, shaking her head: "No…no, I know why he…".

Negation.

She had spent the last two months trying to delete from her mind any memory that was even remotely connected with him while, at the same time, tormenting herself with the remorse for all the things that she had done. And when it had become unbearable, when memories had threatened to overwhelm her, she had turned to anything that could take her mind off: wine, liquor and, especially, the healer's potion.

To even think that things might be different, was enough to shake her core. And she wasn't sure whether she could handle it: "Get out, please. Leave me be, I can't…".

Holdwyn took her by the shoulders and shook her: "Look at yourself, Lothíriel. You think learning that things aren't as they look, will make you feel worse? How would it even be possible?! I decided to stay with you until spring because I thought, I hoped, that I could help you. And now, I'm not even sure whether you will make it until spring! Bema, I'm not even sure whether you will make it until Yule! After every strike, you have always fought back: after Gamling's death, after uncovering the evidence of Lord Arondir's culpability, after finding out Éomer's King was battling for his own life, after he awoke… But over the past few weeks you gave up, you...you are letting yourself be consumed, you are letting yourself die, Lothíriel! I wake up every morning and find another piece of yourself gone from this world, and I can't do anything to stop it, to stop you. When Lamhel came to me yesterday, I was reluctant at first. But then I realized we had nothing to lose at this point, I realized things could not possibly get any worse. That if there is one chance we can give you, it's this one".

Lamhel's eyes were watery as she stepped forward and rested a reassuring hand on Holdwyn's shoulder: "We have organized everything, Lothiriel. We can give you a few hours before Lady Irviniel will eventually realize our deception and send out guards to scout the area. By then, you better be back or far enough from here that they will not catch up with you".

"I often walk to the harbour, in the morning. Guards are used to see me passing by: cover your hair, and they shouldn't question you. Meanwhile, I will take a stroll on the beach: Lady Irviniel will think it's you and won't question your whereabouts. If she does, Lady Lamhel will be here and will try to invent something".

"Once out, head South through the forest but stay clear of the main road, least you might cross some of your aunt's guard and raise suspicions. There is a ruined Elvish watchtower, not one hour on foot from here: you think you can find it?".

Her head felt like it had been reduced to pulp and all she could do was nodding, unable to process what was going on.

"Good. I've raided the kitchen and collected a few leftovers and something to drink. In any case, even if Lady Irviniel doesn't realize what's going on, latest by sunset we will tell her and have somebody coming. Now: let's get you ready".

Lothíriel slogged through the forest, dragging one feet after the one. Sweat trickled down her forehead and she could feel the fabric of the gown glowing to her back, her hair sticking to her neck.

How long had she been walking? She should have already reached the tower, it wasn't that far.

She knew the place well: as children, it had been her and Amrothos' favourite spot. Whenever visiting their aunt, they would always spend entire afternoons playing there: Amrothos pretending to be a valorous Swan Knight, atop a majestic stallion which, in their representation, was normally just a stick collected in the woods. Her, playing the ruthless Corsair: she would wrap her head in some black scarf, sometimes cover her pale skin in mug and dirt, not caring one bit about the scolding she was to receive once back at the palace.

It felt like a thousand lifetimes had passed since then.

She stopped, leaning with her hands on her knees and trying to catch her breath: there was no way she was going to make it to the tower that way. She surreptitiously looked around: the main road was far enough and, from what she could tell, nobody else was dwelling in that part of the forest.

She got rid of the damned scarf and used it to dry off her wet skin: it was November, but felt more like August. Temperatures had been incredibly warm that autumn, and while on the beach there was always a gentle breeze offering some relief, in the cover of the forest the air was terribly still.

The pine needles cracked under her feet and she was dismayed to realize that she had already drunk most of the water Holdwyn had given her.

She didn't know why she was there. She didn't know what kept her going. Or maybe she did, but preferred not to think about it. Holdwyn was right: in a rare moment of lucidity, she had found herself agreeing that, whatever awaited for her at the tower, she didn't have much to lose.

Death. That was maybe the only worsening to her situation that could happen. And honestly, at that point, dead or alive seemed to hardly make the difference.

She tried to walk a few steps but her head was spinning and her legs felt like jelly. Reluctantly, she checked on the food that Holdwyn had packed for her: there was some ham, some aged cheese and a couple of slices of dark bread. Just the idea of chewing on the spicy meat felt revolting, but she knew she had to eat something if she wanted to reach the tower, and so she stuffed her mouth with the cheese and forced it down with the last few drops of water.

What had Lamhel said? Not one hour on foot from here. Indeed, from what she could remember, the tower really wasn't that far from the palace. Was she really proceeding that slow, or had she got lost? She shook her head: no, that was impossible. Had she headed the wrong direction, she would have either come across the road or ended up on the coast. Or, in the worse case, back to her aunt's residence. No, the direction must have been right.

She kept going and by the time the tower finally came in sight, she felt utterly exhausted. Right then, the only thing she could think of, was throwing herself on the soft grass growing inside the ruins and sleep until the next day. She knew she wouldn't be able to do it, but it was still a nice thing to dream about.

Not much had changed since the last time she had been there. In fact, she doubted people would often happen by the tower. Vegetation covered the most of it and a couple of trees sprouted from its collapsed roof. She looked around, searching for the stone that Amrothos had always pretended to be his imaginary throne when, suddenly, she realized that not everything was quite like she remembered.

There were traces spread around, as if somebody had been camping there. An extinguished fire, the peel and core of some fruits, a rugged cloak hanging from the branches of a dead tree. A thick blanket had been roughly rolled up, presumably to be used as a pillow, and behind the corner she could glimpse what seemed to be a saddlebag. She looked more around, her eyes quickly scanning the environment, until they found something from which they could not possibly move away.

With trembling steps she walked to the centre of the tower, her shaking fingers brushing the hot, golden hilt of a sword she would recognize among thousands of others.

Gúthwinë.

Her first thought, was that she was hallucinating, that because she hadn't been able to drink her potion that morning, she was having a withdrawal. Problem was, she felt more lucid in that moment than she had been in weeks, if not months. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, she could hear the grasshoppers inhabiting the forest and enjoying that prolonged summer, she could smell the salt in the air.

How could a hallucination possibly feel so real?

She tried to lift the sword: it was heavy, and she was weak. With some effort, she managed to unsheathe and, holding it with both her hands and using all the strength she could muster, she lifted it and looked at it, at its familiar engravings. Her eyes slid along the length of its polished blade, until she saw a reflection.

The reflection of somebody standing right behind her.

She winced, Gúthwinë falling from her hands and clattering loudly on the stones, bouncing dangerously close to her feet. She whirled around and the moment she met those dark eyes staring back at her, she instinctively covered her face with her hands, her head shaking.

"Lothíriel…".

She could hear his footsteps and immediately started to retreat, to walk back: "No, no, no. You are not here".

"Loth…".

"You are not real…go away…please…".

She continued her retreat until her feet stumbled on Amrothos' throne. And the moment two warm hands caught her before she could fall, she realized it: this was not a hallucination. This was not a twisted byproduct of her herb's dependence.

No: it was happening for real. This was what Lamhel and Holdwyn had sent her there for.

She had spent the last two months haunted by the knowledge that her recklessness had condemned him to spending the rest of his life on a chair, to never being able to walk nor ride anymore. The image of him, lying in his bed in Meduseld, had flashed in her mind every night before eventually succumbing to the effects of her potion.

And now, there he was. Calling her name, standing in front of her eyes. Standing.

"Don't touch me!".

Lothíriel's shriek filled the air, causing a couple of sparrows to hastily fly from their nests.

She pushed his hands away and retreated further away from him, until she had reached the crumbling wall of the tower. Eyes wide, mouth gaping, she looked at him up and down, as if she could not believe her own eyes: "How…how's that possible…how can you be here?".

Willing to calm her down, Éomer raised his hands in front of him, feeling at the same time like he was being stabbed by a thousand knives, like he had fallen into dark waters and suddenly realized there was no air left in his lungs.

What have I done?

He knew. He knew Lothíriel would have suffered at his words, he knew the situation to be dire, and yet nothing could have ever prepared him to seeing her like that. He should have known: Lady Irviniel's refusal to even mentioning her name in his presence, her fury, her wrath, her insults, her threats. They were big enough clues. And if anything, then Lady Lamhel's sudden appearance, her decision to help him despite what Lady Irviniel had decided, should have washed away any doubt.

Yet, now that he could finally look at her, he felt like no word could have ever prepared him for that sight.

"Oh Lothíriel, please forgive me…", he whispered to himself.

But she heard him. And the moment she did, her expression changed: from shock, stupor, bewilderment, to rage. Her pale, sunken cheeks, quickly reddened and before he could even realize what she was up to, the first stone flew to his direction.

Others followed and by the time he had caught up with her, more than a couple of them had reached their target and hit him. He grabbed her wrists but as soon as he did that, a well struck kick had him almost collapsing on his knees. Somehow, he managed to stay upright and in an attempt to save himself from further blows, he turned Lothíriel around so that he was firmly holding her from behind.

She squirmed in his arms, trying to get free of his hold, cursing him, ordering him to let her go, to keep his hands off her. Instead, he pulled her closer and tighter, until her efforts eventually waned off, until her rage seemed to melt and he felt her lithe body being shaken by an uncontrollable sobbing.

He hid his face in her hair and that moment, it was as if a dam had broken down.

For weeks, he had put all he had into not giving up. Ever since that clear morning, when Éothain had entered his bedroom to warn him of a mysterious rider approaching the city, he had given all he had into trying to give himself another chance. With one single aim: not recovering, nor being able to lead his men into battle again. No, only one thought had been in his mind, pushing him through day after day of painful therapy: to jump atop Firefoot and ride straight to Lothiriel, to beg her to forgive him, to give him another chance.

He hadn't told anybody, no one in Meduseld knew what was going on behind the closed doors of the Royal apartments, for he could not bear it: the hopeful glances, the whispers. Had his efforts proved vain, he knew he wouldn't have been able to face their crushed hopes. Not again.

And even when it had become clear that his recovery would be full, he still hadn't told anybody. Instead, he had sneaked out from the backdoor and rode away, to the only thing that mattered: not himself, not Rohan.

Lothíriel.

Tears run across his cheeks, his sobs merged with Lothíriel's, his legs gave in and they both fell to their knees. He held her even closer to him, crying out all the misery of the past weeks: the anguish at realizing he wouldn't have walked anymore. The angst at knowing he had deliberately caused pain to the only woman he had ever loved, and the only one he would always love. And once back in Edoras, the struggle to keep up with his people's expectations. The bitter anger his household had treated him with, once rumours of what had happened had started to spread around.

And yet, he hadn't told anybody.

Not Éothain, the day he had stepped into his carriage, looking at him like he could barely stand his sight, telling him that he was a shame for them all. Not Birthwyn, when she had barged into his room, yelling like a madwoman, asking him whether he had lost his mind. When he had refused to answer or even acknowledge her presence in the room, she had looked at him, hissing that Lothíriel deserved better than a coward like him.

But even then, he hadn't said a word.

He had taken them all: the insults, the curses, the scorn. For they were nothing compared to how he felt on the inside.

A barely audible mumble brought him back to the present. Still holding Lothíriel to his chest, he lifted his head from her hair: "Lothíriel?".

"Please let me go, Éomer. Please…", she begged him.

Trying to ignore the pang those whispered words caused, he gently released her wrists and observed her as she dragged herself on shaky arms and away from him. She only managed to put a few feet between them before falling back again, her head resting on the trunk of a tree, her eyes closed, her chest visibly heaving, as if she could simply not take any more of that: "Why are you here?".

He closed his hands in fists, trying to resist the urge to go and pull her up in his arms: "I never meant for this to happen, Lothíriel".

Her eyes slowly cracked open, struggling to focus on him: "What do you mean? I…I don't follow you, Éomer, I…". She brought her trembling hands to her face, her head slowly shaking: "I don't understand…".

He had planned it for so long: what he would tell her, the exact words, the precise sentences. He had never been good with speeches, but he knew he needed to get this one right and so he had spent night after night thinking about it. But in that moment, all was thrown down into the sewers: "I never meant…I thought you'd better off without me. I never planned it to go as it did, you weren't supposed to come after me that day…".

"I wasn't…what?".

He sighed, rethinking for the thousandth time about the events of that day: "I had left my squire behind. I had instructed him to wait for you to show up that evening, like you always did, and to deliver you a letter. Another one would have then been delivered to your father…I wasn't expecting you to give up too easily, but I was confident that your father would have kept you from running after me. But nothing went as planned…".

Hauling herself on a nearby stone, Lothíriel slowly stood up, frowning: "What letters? What are you trying to say?".

"I wrote you a letter, because I was afraid I wouldn't have been able to lie to you, were you to stand in front of me. You've always been able to read me like an open book, Lothíriel. How was I supposed to lie to your face, to break your heart, without you realizing what I was doing?".

"Lie?".

"Yes. I collected all the men who might have tried to warn you about my early departure and left Minas Tirith at the break of dawn, sure that I would have never seen you again, that I had broken your heart for good but hoping that, eventually, you would have hated me for what I did and moved on with your life. I knew it was going to leave you scarred, but I still thought it better than spending the rest of your days by the side of a man whom…whom…I had no future to give you, Lothíriel. Not anymore".

"No…you looked at me straight in the eyes and told me you hated me. I-I remember…", she whispered, as if trying to hold onto that memory, as if she didn't want to believe what he was trying to tell her.

"I had spent the first half of that day in that cursed carriage, brooding over what I had just done, over the pain I had caused you. And I hated…I hated it all, damn it! Myself, my broken body, fate for having tricked us that way, for having us believe in a future together just to be denied it…had I been able to stand on my feet, I'd have teared that carriage into pieces! And then you suddenly showed up and so I clung to that anger. I could not explain you why I was doing it, it would have been pointless, Lothíriel. You would have found a way to make me change my mind. And I knew I'd have regretted it, that one day I would have looked at you, while you cared for the half-man I was, and I would have regretted not giving you the chance of a better future".

"It was not your choice! It was mine and mine alone!". Lothíriel's cry seemed to shake the very foundations of the tower, the forest felt eerily quiet: "You had no right to choose for me, you had no right to decide what was best for me!".

"I know, Lothíriel".

"That's why you kept avoiding me in Minas Tirith? You had it all planned?".

He sighed deeply: "That day on the boat, you remember it? You told me that you wouldn't have allowed me to give up, you told me that it did not matter if I was to spend the rest of my days in a chair, for you would have always loved me. That moment…that moment, I knew. I knew that I wanted you to have more from life, more than nurturing a crippled man for the rest of your days, more…".

"And what did you give me, eh? Look at me, Éomer! Come, take a good look!", she opened her arms and took a couple of steps towards him: "You want to know what you gave me? I tell you: I can't stand food, I need potions to numb my senses at day and to sleep at night, because the knowledge that you hated me, that I was responsible for everything that has happened, was more than I was able to stand, more than I wished to stand! And now you show up here, and pretend to take it all back?!".

"I'm sorry, Lothíriel. I thought you'd eventually recover, that you…".

"How long".

"How long what?".

"How long since you've recovered".

"About a week after we arrived in Edoras, an elven healer sent by Lord Elrond rode in. He gave me no guarantee, but he said he might have been able to help me recovering the use of my legs. There were days when it felt like having to learn how to walk from scratches, evenings when the pain in my legs was almost unbearable. I feared the progresses I was making would have stopped some when along the way, but they didn't. And as soon as I felt fit enough, I took a horse and rode as fast as I could to come to you".

For all the reactions he had expected, laughing was not one of them: "So now that you deem yourself fit enough to be at my side, you come here to collect me? How awfully noble of you!".

He took a step towards her but she immediately retreated back, as if his very presence there was something she could not stand.

And so he stopped, and kneeled at her feet instead, the fear that he might have ruined it all, that it might have been too late, gripping and twisting his heart: "I came here to tell you the truth, to tell you that I should have never lied. I came here to ask you to forgive me, if you will. I came here to tell you that I love you, Lothíriel. Words have never been my strong suite, but…".

"Until when?".

He looked up at her: "Until when what?".

"Until when will your words stay true, Éomer? One year? Two years? Five years? Then what? When the next crisis will struck, what will you invent to push me aside once again? For my own good, naturally".

"That won't happen again, Lothíriel. I will not let it happen, I…".

A single tear fell from her eye and run down her cheek, the sadness in her voice almost deafening him: "How many times have I told you, Éomer: you can't control everything. The evening we first spoke about Aefre, you remember?".

How could he forget it. He remembered everything of that evening: her crimson gown, her scented hair, her light steps as she crossed the room and kissed him…: "Of course I do".

"You asked me to trust you. You said you had never lied and never would. And I did trust you, Éomer. Blindly. Foolishly. When you accused me of being responsible for all that had happened, I trusted you. I spent the last months hating myself, blaming myself, cursing myself for being the way I am. And now you come here, and think all can be fixed by kneeling and begging to be forgiven?".

"Lothíriel…".

"No, Éomer. There are things that can't be fixed".

He stared at her, unable to say anything. It cannot end like this. I will not let it end like this! "I know I've wronged you, Lothíriel. But I only did it because I wished to protect you, I wished you to be happy. And if that meant spending the rest of my days never being able to see you again, knowing that you hated me, it did not matter to…".

"Éomer?". Her voice was ice cold: she looked at him straight in the eyes, her face an impassive, undecipherable mask: "I do not wish to hear it. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever".

He scrambled to his feet but she raised a hand in front of her and shook her head: "I will now turn and walk back to the palace, and I don't want you to follow me, I don't want you to try stopping me. If you have understood that you had no right making choices for me back then, the please respect my decision now".

And with that, she just turned and walked out of the tower. He stared at the corner behind which she had disappeared: "Wait!".

She accelerated her pace: "What did I just tell you?".

"I know what you just told me. Just, please: there's something I want you to have".

"We are not betrothed, Éomer. Not anymore. Nor we will ever be again. Gifts would be inappropriate".

But the moment he whistled, she hesitated: "You should keep him, Lothíriel. If not as a betrothal gift, then as a token of Rohan's gratitude, for everything you have done for her and her people. Please".

Lothíriel patted Sparkler's strong neck as they slowly moved down the street leading back to her aunt's palace.

She didn't know why, but he had always had a calming, soothing effect on her. She hadn't ridden a horse for months but right then, atop her old friend, cradled by the rocking of his slow trot, she felt like exhaling in relief.

Maybe she shouldn't have accepted him, maybe she should have told Éomer to ride him back to Edoras. But Sparkler had always been so much more than a betrothal gift. Actually: he had become a betrothal gift just because he had already meant so much to her, and not vice versa.

Sparkler was Gamling's smile. He was the sense of freedom at riding for the first time across Rohan's endless plains. He was the majestic profile on the White Mountains, watching over Edoras and her people. He was the tease with Holdwyn and Maegwen during their rides around the city.

He was everything good that had happened to her while in Rohan.

She pulled Sparkler's reins until he came to a halt: she turned in the unfamiliar saddle and looked at the road behind her, at the past she was walking away from. And then she looked at the road in front of her, at the future towards which she was walking.

Is this all? Am I doing the right thing?

She glanced at the coin filled pouch that Éomer had forgotten on the saddle, a thrill going down her spine, making her feel suddenly very alive.

No, that was not all!

People had always tried to choose for her: Éomer, the day he had deceived her. Her aunt, the day she had decided she ought not to learn the truth about it.

But there were choices she could still make. Paths she could shape on her own.

"What do you think, Sparkler?".

He neighed, shaking his head and stomping his hoofs on the ground: "Thought just as much".

She stirred him to the right and urged him forward, into the forest, away from Éomer and her aunt, from her past and her future.

Away from beaten tracks and into the unknown.

Author's notes: thank you for the many reviews to the last chapter, folks! As you can see, it's still keeping my motivation (and muse) high! Oh, and mood, of course! :)

This is a part of the story that I have changed a lot compared to my first draft. Originally, I had planned to have Lothíriel riding once again to Éomer, maybe having the two of them meeting halfway. But it did not feel right, to be honest. After all she has done for him, I decided it was high time for him to ride to her.

I realize this chapter might feel confusing and that there are still many pending questions about what exactly happened to Éomer and, even more, what are Lothíriel's feelings after this encounter. All I can say is that answers will arrive, when the time is due.

In this story, Éomer has always been willing to scarify everything just to protect those he loved. At the same time, one of the reasons I had him struggling as a King in the first place, was because he was unable to accept that there were things that went beyond his control. That's why I thought it a likely scenario that he would try to push Lothíriel away, if he believed she wouldn't have been happy by his side.

I thought a lot about how Lothíriel would react to learning the truth. She has been devastated over the past chapters, that's true. But being the woman she is (or, as Doria Nell perfectly summarized it, a free spirit), I just didn't like the idea of her falling back into Éomer's arms and live happily ever after. Hence the final of this chapter, which is a bit of a cliffhanger I suppose.

MissCallaLilly: thanks! The you…I…but what…uh…no…CRAP was exactly the reaction I was hoping for! :D I liked the idea of having Lamhel spotting a mysterious figure, leaving unclear his identity until the following chapter: could it be her father, or maybe a Hardrim, or maybe a certain Rohirrim King…

Doria Nell: I absolutely agree. Healing from such situations takes time and it's never easy. Which is another reason why I decided to have Lothíriel walking away from Éomer, instead of jumping at his neck like nothing had ever happened. Months of pain and suffer can't be easily erased, trust can't be magically restored. IF it can be restored at all, of course. Still: sad, broken-hearted prick is quite a good summary! :D Thank you for your reviews!

Cricket22: thank you so much, you had me smiling like an idiot in front of my computer for a solid minute! It's great to hear I managed to convey the suspense. As I said in the notes to the previous chapter, I had originally planned their confrontation to happen a bit later. However, I decided instead to move forward at a quicker pace and save you another depressing chapter about Lothíriel. I know, this chapter isn't cheerful either, but it just felt right this way. Hope you liked it anyway and yes, I also liked the idea of Lamhel's baby helping her moving on with her life. I guess I needed a little happy note in such dark chapter!

heckofabecca: help I'm not sure, change though…

silverswrath: thank you! Her addiction will surely play a role in the future, one doesn't get rid of such things in the blink of an eye. We will see how she will manage…

AmandaBaker852: here's your conversation. Though I'm guessing it's not really what you hoped for! :o

LittleMariechen: so…was your guess about the hooded figure right? Glad you liked the various POVs, felt actually refreshing to write from the perspective of other characters!

Menelwen: now that you point it out, you are right that Rohirrim girl is wrong :o But actually, it should be Rohirric and not Rohir, for it is an adjective and not a noun! I don't know why but I often do this mistake. I normally realize when I do the last revision before posting, but this one slipped through. Thanks for pointing it out! Yes, I wanted the Lamhel's bit to be foggy enough to leave various possibilities on the table, one surely being the one you mentioned! As per how can she believe him, I think our mind can do tricky things where feeling are involved. In a way, Lothíriel had always felt a bit responsible for many things that had happened, such as Gamling's death. Having Éomer accusing her, when she was already in a fragile state of mind to boot, could have easily made her believe that it really was all her fault. And learning from one day to the other that it wasn't true, it's not an easy thing to handle!

Ireumimwoyeyo: even quicker! :D I'm guessing the tiny bit of hope was linked to the stranger being, in fact, Eomer. Well I'm not an expert of Japanese or Korean tv-shows, but I'll take it as a compliment! ;)

Guest: thank you! I read your review first thing after waking up and it was a great way to start the day! Hope you liked this chapter as well.

Wondereye: and reunion it was. Well, kind of at least…