Chapter 28
There was noise in royal chambers they had not heard since the death of Thengel King, Théoden's father. By that time his wife Elfhild had already been dead for two years, and he had still been grieving; he had not been a homemaker, and the chief thing he had brought into these rooms was quiet and regret.
But now there were voices talking and laughing and clatter of dishes as his family broke their fast. Fondly, Théoden watched his sister-son conversing with Éowyn and Lady Lothíriel keeping an eye on Elfhild, lest the little one spooned her porridge into other places than her mouth. Elric chattered away cheerfully, and the princess commented every now and then on something he had said. Sometimes, Éomer would turn to look at them, and he'd smile to himself; to see him so happy made Théoden glad, too.
Éowyn watched them too, but her expression did not speak of the kind of fondness Théoden felt. Instead, he saw something sad there on her brow... and something lonely. And how could he blame her? She'd have deserved happiness just as well, but all of it seemed to have fallen on her brother.
Théoden was distracted from these thoughts when there was a knock on the door, and a guard said the mistress of kitchens had some business with Lady Éowyn. She excused herself and the Princess went with her; Éowyn had already started to familiarise her with running the royal household, which would be her duty in the future. Briefly Théoden wondered what would be Éowyn's fate when the day came that Éomer became the King... after all, there could be just one Lady of Meduseld.
Elric went along as well, evidently to see if Gimli the Dwarf would be willing to give him some lessons with axe. This left Théoden with his sister-son and Elfhild. Carefully Éomer lifted his little daughter in his lap as she had already finished her breakfast. The child made happy, cooing sounds at her father and with a laughe he gave her cheek a bearded kiss. Seeing him there smiling at his daughter made Théoden remember another man, not looking entirely different as he supported his first-born child on his knee... almost 30 years before this day.
Éomund had been just as proud of his son, and loved his family just as fiercely.
"What is it, Uncle?" asked Éomer, having noticed there was something on the King's mind.
"Just remembering. Sometimes you remind me so much of your father", Théoden said gently and the feeling of bittersweetness washed over him. There were still times when it was hard to believe Éomund and Théodwyn had been gone for over 15 years.
The mention of his father turned Éomer's expression sober. He too missed the man, perhaps now more than ever. The prospect of kingship was a burden to him, even if he was bent on fulfilling his duty to the Mark.
"I wish he could have lived", said the Marshal quietly, looking down at his daughter. Elfhild had noticed the change in tones and was watching her father solemnly.
"Faer", she said; she had yet to learn to pronounce the word properly. Nevertheless, it brought a sad little smile on his face.
"Aye. I wish that too", Théoden agreed softly. "I knew him, sister-son. He was like a brother I never had. And I know he'd be proud of you, just as I am. I rest easier seeing all this life around you, knowing the future of our line is secured."
"For now, at least", said Éomer, watching the little girl in his lap with melancholy eyes. "I look at them and know how easily they could be taken away – or how easily they could lose their own parents. Just like Father... and Mother."
"I don't think your fate is same as your father's. Nor is your wife fragile the way Théodwyn was. Seeing the two of you I know you must survive. You will survive and you will see many a blessed day beyond these troubled times", Théoden said gently.
"You speak like you don't expect to see them yourself, Uncle", said his nephew, frowning as he spoke.
"Sister-son, I am already blessed for living to see the day when you are smiling again, and you are loved, and there are voices of children echoing in these halls", Théoden told him and offered his heir a fond smile. "I merely wish your sister might have her share of happiness. I worry for her sometimes..."
"I do too", Éomer said softly. He looked at his daughter again, as if Elfhild's face held an answer to all questions. He continued, "She has spirit and fire for so much more than just tending to the family of her brother. I wish I knew how to help her."
"Perhaps the help has already revealed itself, even if we haven't yet recognised it", Théoden said thoughtfully. He smiled, half to himself, and murmured, "Even night must end eventually."
His sister-son nodded quietly. He remained silent for a while, lost in his thoughts. But then a more practical look came to his face.
"Speaking of my family, I was thinking... my old chamber is getting kind of small. Well, it always was so. But with Lothíriel and Elfhild around..." he said tentatively; the poor young man was still hesitant to ask things of his uncle, as if the shadow of Wormtongue still loomed over them. Théoden smiled, however.
"Of course. You should be found better lodgings anyway, as you're my heir now. If you're going to stay here with your family, you should indeed have more comfortable chambers", he agreed and thought of what available space there was in the household. Elfhild could probably settle in the royal nursery, which had been empty for decades. But where to place the heir to the throne and his wife the Princess?
The obvious came to his mind then, but momentarily Théoden hesitated. He has barely been laid to the grave...
But then, Théodred would not mind it. In fact, he'd probably insist on it.
"You could claim the Prince's chambers", he said softly. Éomer looked sharply up at that, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
"Really? Isn't it... I mean, wouldn't it be painful for you?" he asked, searching the face of his uncle. Théoden sighed.
"It will be painful until the day I die, my dear sister-son. Perhaps you understand, considering what happened to your wife... the worst pain is burying a child, and I would not wish that agony even to my worst enemies", he said slowly. It was hard to manage the cold stab that always came when he thought of his son. Nevertheless he went on, "Éomer, we desperately need to move on. We need healing and life. Moving your family to Théodred's chambers is not going to tarnish his memory, not when he'd himself be happy to see that we continue our lives. If a shrine to his memory is to be build, then it should be in our hearts, not in any chamber of Meduseld. That is not how Eorlingas remember their dead."
The younger man looked more or less convinced then. He nodded solemnly and said no more. But later that day Éowyn asked Théoden to see if there was anything he wanted from Théodred's chamber before the women began the work of preparing it for new inhabitants. Painful it was, like he had told his sister-son, entering and seeing the room that had been Théodred's... his son had left the chamber tidy for his return, but no one had been here since he had fallen, and over the furniture there was a faint cover of dust.
Yes, it did hurt, but even more Théoden knew this phantom ought to be driven away. Life was what these halls needed, especially after the gloom and foreboding that had ruled here with Wormtongue.
Ever so gently, he picked up a ring from the table by the neatly made bed, and he recognised it right away: Elfhild had asked him to give it to their son. He had fulfilled that request on their son's sixteenth birthday – an eternity ago now, it seemed to him. Why it had not been in Théodred's hand when had ridden for the Fords of Isen, the King wasn't sure... unless his son had somehow known he was riding for his fate, and had left the ring here on purpose. The piece of jewellery had been a prized possession of Théodred, and one he had meant to give to his own wife.
But that time had never come.
Théoden closed the ring inside his fist and cast down his eyes, fighting back the sorrow that would tear him apart. Regret and grief and longing for the face of his son pierced his heart once again. Oh, my son...
He sighed and cast about on more look. The room would be aired, the hangings and linens changed... new objects would be brought here, and new life. The sound of little Elfhild's laughter would turn the night into dawn. And perhaps... perhaps in this room would be born an heir for the Mark.
"You may rest peacefully, Théodred, for your burden is now on the shoulders of your cousin. Perhaps mine will be his soon, too..."
Perhaps it is not so long now that I'll see you again.
Lothíriel did not feel very comfortable about the prospect of moving to Prince Théodred's chambers. Though she certainly understood the practicality of it and appreciated the promise of more space, it somehow didn't feel right to claim those rooms that had been Théodred's. It was like invading some space one should have left untouched.
But Théoden King himself had suggested it, and if he approved of it, then it seemed like they could not really refuse. She had voiced out her doubt, but he had gently picked up her hand and given her a sad little smile.
"Meduseld is the house of living and of sun, not of the dead and night", he told her in a soft voice. There was little she could say against that, and so by afternoon a troop of women was working to turn the room into a dwelling of those who were alive. As Théodred had divided his time between Edoras and the Hornburg, there was not really so much left of his belongings here: just some clothes, couple of old and worn books, and other small every day objects like that.
"It still feels wrong, as if he was going to return any moment", Lothíriel said quietly to Éowyn.
"I know", answered her sister-in-law. She offered the princess a sympathetic look. "It'll start to feel like home, sooner or later. All it needs is new memories."
"It's not just that", Lothíriel said, lowering her voice. She hesitated before speaking, but then decided Éowyn deserved the truth. "Prince Théodred was... well, he was regretful that it was your brother who wed me."
That was an implication clear enough for Éowyn, but the older woman didn't really seem too surprised. She just nodded.
"Aye. That he was", she agreed softly.
"How did you know?" asked the princess. She felt some surprise that her sister-in-law already knew this, though she had never spoken of it and was certain Théodred hadn't either. Then again, perhaps she should not have let it astonish her so. There was usually more going on with the White Lady than she gave on.
A faint smile appeared on Éowyn's face. It wasn't really happy kind of smile, but then again none of her expressions really were so these days.
"Because I know my family, and I knew him. When you have been among the people of this House as long as I have, you learn to read them... and you understand that hiding their emotions is not their greatest strength", she said quietly. "I never commented on it, though. It was obvious he was trying not to show it."
"I'm sorry for what happened to him", Lothíriel said quietly, looking down. "Perhaps Éomer could have gone to help him, if we weren't-"
"That's nonsense. The wizard Saruman is the one at fault, no one else. I heard of what happened from Marshal Elfhelm and he assured not even Éomer could have helped Théodred, sad as it is", Éowyn said briskly. She patted the princess' shoulder, "You have to stop blaming yourself for these things. Wizards and snakes and shadow in the east... it's all larger and more terrible than any mortal man."
"You're right, of course", said the younger woman softly. "It's just not so easy to come in terms with what happened."
"Of course", Éowyn said, her tone turning gentler. She looked like she'd have said something more, but suddenly there was noise from outside... a noise to to fill all their hearts with a sense of apprehension.
"The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit!"
From the fateful announcement things rolled forward on their own weight. The air in Meduseld was electrified, and the tension was rippling to each corner of the Mark. War, far greater than the struggle that had taken place in Helm's Deep, was about to begin.
Éomer was buckling his gauntlets when Hrodgar appeared at the door. The old man's face was unmoving but his black eyes were bright and sharp.
"You wanted to speak with me, Lord Marshal", said the soothsayer quietly.
"Aye. That I did", Éomer answered, studying the face of this strange man who had somehow become a part of his world. He had not expected such a thing but happenings of late had convinced him it was not bad.
After a moment of silence he continued, "You have stayed with us for a while now, but we have not really spoken properly... aside from the threats I made to you when I thought you might wish harm to my family."
Hrodgar lifted his eyebrows but said nothing, and the Marshal went on, "I see now I have judged you wrongly before, and I stand corrected. I am thankful for everything you have done for my family."
"I do what I must", Hrodgar said simply, his voice and eyes betraying no emotion or thought.
"Indeed?" asked Éomer with a faint lift of his eyebrows. "Still, my wife trusts you. Perhaps she somehow knew all along that you would not abuse that trust. Is it safe to believe you will not do so in the future either?"
"Quite safe, my lord", said the soothsayer quietly. "Truth is I would not want to return to the life I had before. Turns out I have grown accustomed to people... or just your wife and children, Marshal."
"You regard them your family too", realised the younger man with some surprise.
"The closest thing I can ever have, yes", Hrodgar admitted, looking away.
"I see", Éomer said, his voice softer this time. He took his sword then and buckled it on its place by his side. He considered the man before him for a moment more before speaking again, "I am going to leave them in your care, Hrodgar. I hope you guard them as well as you have so far."
He sighed then and closed his hand around the hilt of Gúthwinë. There was something comforting about the feel of the weapon, as if it somehow made him invincible. But that wasn't true, of course.
"I haven't spoken of it with my wife yet", he murmured, frowning as he spoke, "but I know it is uncertain what should happen once we ride for Gondor. I have no idea if I will survive. Therefore, in case I should not come back alive, I ask you to look after my wife and children. Can you do that for me?"
"Of course", Hrodgar said quietly, bowing his head. But when he looked up, it seemed to Éomer there was a smile on the man's bearded face. He said, "I do think you will return, my lord. I have no foresight but I don't believe it was coincidence that your cousin died. He had to make way for you. Of Eorl's line none is more like him than you are, son of Éomund."
Hearing those words the Marshal sighed.
"You shouldn't speak like that, Hrodgar", he said resignedly.
"Hrm", was all the soothsayer said. He nodded at the Marshal, "Good luck, my lord."
"Thank you. I have a feeling all of us will be needing it."
Amrothos was humming half-audibly to himself as he packed his saddlebag, stuffing things in with no consideration for anything that even vaguely resembled order. He didn't seem too worried about what was happening in Edoras – in fact, the whole prospect of war did not dampen his mood.
"Well. I'm surprised to find you without your lady wife", Lothíriel commented, leaning against the doorframe. Really, past two days it had seemed to her that Amrothos and Elswite had grown attached from the hip and paid no attention to other things than themselves. Most of the time, they were giggling at something like a pair of air-headed courtiers.
"I asked her to go and see if my saddle was ready. I had to get some buckles fixed, if I mean to get to Gondor without the saddle falling apart under me", he said cheerfully.
"So you'll ride for war too? Is that wise, what with your injured leg?" Lothíriel asked doubtfully. No matter what he had done as of late, she didn't like the idea of him leaving with Rohirrim. After all, Amrothos had been around ever since last winter and his high spirits had helped to keep on going.
"Oh, don't worry about it. Master Cyneric said it's healing just fine and it shouldn't cause me any trouble", he answered, waving his hand nonchalantly. She frowned.
"What of your newly wedded wife?" she asked. That at last made his carefree countenance falter slightly.
"Of course I'm not happy to leave her behind. But this war... it's not something a man can just turn from. I can fight, better than most if I may say so. And more than I don't want to leave Elswite I hate the idea of our homes burning. I'd like to make her safe. Have a place to return to, you see. And, if I can, try to help to create a world where she could be free instead of being locked up in stone fortresses, and where my own children could grow up without fear", he said slowly. It was kind of surprising to hear him talk like that; with Amrothos, it was easy to forget that under his light-hearted countenance there were some deeper and darker currents.
Without a word she went over to him and wrapped her arms about her brother. He returned the embrace.
"It's all right, sister. I can take care of myself", he gently reassured her.
"I know that, Amrothos", she mumbled and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry for how I screamed at you back in the Hornburg. I just thought you were acting irresponsibly."
"You don't have to apologise for that. You're probably right about the most things you said... it's true, Uncle won't be happy with me when he hears. And it's going to take some work to figure out everything. I don't suppose the King had a need of a captain? But I'm sure everything will turn out fine", he said and smiled again. Lothíriel snorted.
"It probably will, knowing you. No matter what insane things you do, brother, you always land on your feet", she said. Amrothos grinned.
"That's very true", he agreed, patting her shoulder. "Sister, I... I'd like to ask a favour of you. If it wouldn't bother you too much, could you perhaps talk with Elswite sometimes? She's really worried of how the rest of our family will react to meeting her, and... well, she has been really excited about this thing so far, but she's only starting to realise what it means that she married a prince."
Lothíriel sighed. This was just the kind of thing she had been worrying about.
"I'll do what I can", she told him. After all, it wasn't like there was changing this thing now. "But you must understand she's entering some uncertain waters. There's no telling how she'll be received in Dol Amroth."
"I know that. And that's why I'm thinking maybe we'll settle in Rohan for good, if I can find ourselves a livelihood here. And anyway I'm not sure Elswite would be too happy in Gondor", Amrothos said, scratching at his chin thoughtfully.
"Yes. I maintain these wild northern madmen fare much better here under the sun of Rohan than in Gondor", she agreed. Perhaps, if Amrothos stayed for Elswite...
Perhaps her family could be just that much bigger.
"You'll be all right here?" he asked then.
"Of course. I'm a woman of the Mark now", she said. "It's you I'm worried about."
"Well, maybe I'm a man of the Mark too", he pointed out and winked at her.
"You certainly are daft enough", Lothíriel chortled. "Just take care of yourself while in south. And if you see our father or brothers, give them my love."
"That I will do", Amrothos promised. Then he grabbed her into yet another hug, and in that show of brotherly affection she finally felt that concern he had been hiding so far.
"But I want to go too!" Elric exclaimed as the horses were being prepared in the courtyard; the King and his men were about to ride for Dunharrow, and ladies of the household would come along to send men on their long way east. Elric, however, along with Ceola and Elfhild, would stay in Edoras. Éomer could not remember when he had last seen such an uproar fill this place. Aside from Helm's Deep, it was years now since his uncle had last ridden for war.
"We talked about this already. You have to stay here with Ceola and your sister", Lothíriel told the boy patiently. For some reason, Éomer had stopped to observe the two, though he had meant take care of goodbyes quickly. He had never liked saying farewell to his kin... he had already taken leave of Elfhild, which had been quite painful, and the girl too had seemed to understand her father would not be returning very soon.
And now he had to go through the same thing with his son.
"I want to come! Please, let me come with you!" Elric argued. His eyes were very bright and there was a flush on his cheeks, and for a moment Éomer even thought he might sneak after the company when they had gone.
"I know you want to come, but your father wants you to stay here. You must listen to him now, Elric", she told him firmly. Strange it was, to see how much the relationship between the two had changed. Though in years they were only eight years apart, it was more often that Lothíriel acted mother-like towards the boy than not.
"But Lothíriel!" he complained in frustration. "You can talk to him, tell him-"
"Tell me what, son?" Éomer finally asked, announcing his presence. His wife sensed this was something best left for him to deal with, and she turned towards her mare to secure the saddle.
"I know why you'd like to come with us to Dunharrow", he said evenly to his boy. "You mean to do it so that you could join the Riders when we leave for Gondor – in secrecy, if need be. I forbid it, Elric."
"Father, I can fight! Just like I fought in Helm's Deep!" Elric said heatedly.
"I know that, my son. And you did very well – Amrothos has told me how brave you were. You will be a fine warrior one day, but this is not that day. You're not ready for what we are about to face... in fact, I don't think many a grown man is ready for it", Éomer answered. No, he couldn't let his son dash into a peril like that. He's so young...
"Please, Father", Elric entreated and the desperate note of his voice nearly broke his heart. "Let me come with you."
"Elric, you must do as I say. I can't take you along this road, my boy. You have to stay here and support your aunt and Lothíriel. There is much important work here to do as well, and they'd probably be thankful if there was someone to care for Elfhild while they're busy", Éomer told his son. He reached for the lad's shoulder and leant down closer, "And if something happens to me, I need to know you will be here to defend them."
Tears welled in Elric's eyes, but Éomer pulled the boy into a hug and held him tight. "I promise we'll ride together some other time. But first you must learn to obey."
Elric let out a low moan and his shoulders fell; the Marshal knew his son's defiance had broken. Still, the boy answered the hug tightly. He just barely heard the lad's voice when he spoke.
"Just come back, Father. Don't let them kill you", he mumbled.
"Of course, son. Watch over everything while I'm away, dear boy", said Éomer, though he had no idea if he could keep that promise... and eerily he was reminded of a day so long ago now, when he had said goodbye to his own father. Hadn't the man said something like this too? Perhaps his own fate wouldn't be so different than Éomund's... still, he tousled his son's hair and gave him a smile.
But now the moment of departure was at hand. Realising he had taken almost too long with his son, Éomer nodded at his wife – they still had a little more time left in Dunharrow – and strode to oversee the preparations.
When all was set at last, the King's steed shot forwards, and beside him rode his heir and trusted men, and the great gathering followed. Down the green hill of Edoras they rode, out of the capital of Rohan, and towards Dunharrow. As they rode forward Éomer cast one last look towards the seat of the Kings of the Mark and wondered if he'd see this place again.
When they arrived at late afternoon, there already was a bustling camp standing in Harrowdale. Before the evacuation of Edoras for Helm's Deep word had been sent to each corner of the land to muster Eorlingas, and by now there were already six thousand riders waiting for the King's orders. Up in Dunharrow there was already lodgings ready for the King and his household, where they headed. The rise was a slow one, but the place commanded the lands around it leagues away – it was no wonder Fréalaf Hildeson had chosen this as his last defence.
Once he had surrendered his own stallion to a groom, Éomer made his way to the side of his wife. Lothíriel was still mounted, studying the place with that thoughtful look on her face like usually when she forgot herself in the middle of her musings. Placing a hand on her thigh brought back her attention and she smiled at him. That smile seemed to go straight into his heart and tear it: soon he'd ride away again and leave her behind. With melancholy he wondered if in a future there was a day he would not have to take leave of her like this... or if partings was all this world had in store for them.
"Help me down?" she asked, blissfully unaware of his thoughts. He nodded and carefully lifted her by waist as she took support from his shoulders. As he lay her down a great need to kiss her came to him, and without a further thought he pressed his lips on hers.
When he pulled back, she was breathless and flushed and her eyes shone. Oh, she was beautiful.
"What was that for?" she asked. Éomer managed a weak little smile.
"You are quite lovely, dear heart. It just overcame me", he said softly and gave one more kiss to her brow. Forcing himself to sober up, he said: "There should be a tent for us here somewhere, I think Éowyn might know. I suggest you two go and get settled down... I'll see you later."
"Of course, dearest. Go and plan your victories, my Marshal", she told him with a smile.
Victories... I hope you are right about that, my dear.
The look on Éowyn's face was stern and somehow even cold as she supervised the preparations of food for the King's Company. Lothíriel had always admired her effortless efficiency: with one hand she saw to the meal and with the other arranged the King's saddle and reins to be cared for before the journey. As the mistress of the King's household she was in charge, but she had asked Lothíriel to stay close. After all, there was a time coming when these duties would be hers... if the war could be won, that was.
When most urgent things had been taken care of Éowyn offered they sit down for a bit and take a quick bite of food. As the two women were enjoying their bowls of hot stew with some dark bread, Lothíriel glanced pensively at her sister-in-law.
"Is something wrong, Éowyn? You have been very quiet today", she spoke at last. Indeed, ever since they had ridden from Edoras the older woman had been trying to hide this troubled look. Something was obviously on her mind, and she felt it was more than just the prospect of war.
"It's just all this anxiety", Éowyn answered, not looking up from her meal. "It is hard to bear."
"I know", sighed the princess. Suddenly she didn't feel so hungry anymore. "Well, I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later..."
"Aye. I hate not being able to do anything", said the White Lady. A frown creased her brow and in her eyes there was a strange light. She continued, "I hate it. Why should I sit here waiting for the doom to fall? I could wield a blade too."
"But doesn't your uncle want you to stay here?" Lothíriel asked carefully. But though she tried to keep her tone soft, Éowyn still turned sharply to look at her, and those piercing eyes were full of fire.
"Doesn't it frustrate you at all, then? Are you content with always being left behind, and having no say or even a chance in trying to make it better?" she asked angrily.
"Of course I don't like it", said the princess calmly. "I was brought up in the middle of warriors, just as you were. I've never liked it, but I don't see how I have much choice. And now I have others around who depend on me. What I can and must do is just as important."
Éowyn grimaced. She didn't look quite convinced. But then her frown became thoughtful and she glanced at Lothíriel.
"It's not just us three – uncle and Éomer and I – now. There are you and Elfhild", she said, though her words didn't quite sound like she was answering to what Lothíriel had said... but to something else, like an argument the princess was not aware of.
"Of course. And a while ago now I understood that our being here was what your brother needed. He's different now than before – I mean, when I married him. I see it in his eyes sometimes... I suppose it's true what my father once said. Loving someone, and having people to fight for makes you strong", she said quietly then.
"I'm happy that it turned out so for him", Éowyn answered and her voice was surprisingly harsh, "but not all of us can live on light and love."
She stood up, looking cold and angry, and Lothíriel shot up too as she feared she had said something wrong.
"Éowyn, I didn't mean to-" she started hurriedly, but the older woman lifted a hand to interrupt her. Gradually, Éowyn's face became soft again, though her eyes were sad.
"It's all right. You didn't do anything to insult me", she said gently and touched the princess' shoulder. She sighed and looked away for an instance, and when she turned her gaze back to her sister-in-law, a melancholy determination shone in them. "Don't be angry with me for being the way I am or the choices I make. I hope you'll understand some day."
Before Lothíriel could say more, Éowyn turned and went about her way, and there was a cold feeling in the heart of the Princess of Dol Amroth.
Plans for the heavy journey ahead filled most of the afternoon. Aside from him and Marshal Elfhelm and Erkenbrand and their captains, Lord Aragorn was present as well, and Prince Amrothos too. Surprisingly war councils sobered his usually cheerful mood, and he gave useful insights to the outlay of the White City and the Fields of Pelennor that surrounded it. He'd be riding for Gondor too: apparently the injury he had received in Helm's Deep was healing nicely enough. When Éomer had asked if Imrahil would want him to stay in Rohan, the prince had shrugged.
"Well, I think Lothíriel is well off in Edoras. She doesn't need me there and perhaps that's what it takes or her to get used to Elswite. And anyway, as a son-in-law to Lord Erkenbrand, isn't it kind of required of me that I fight for the Mark? I can be of more use on a battlefield than idling my days in Edoras", he said in that familiar carefree way of his.
Éomer had not been able to hold back a chuckle, "In case you're planning to become a man of Rohan, you're doing just finely so far."
For all their counsels it was agreed that nothing much definite could be decided quite yet. For one, riders were still arriving so the final amount of Rohirric spears remained unclear, and a lot depended on what the actual situation would be once they got to Minas Tirith. As the evening fell King sent off his men, for each to catch what rest they could before the long journey ahead. Éomer remained, however, but as soon as it was just him and his uncle, Théoden gave him a gentle little smile.
"Go ahead, sister-son. I know you'd like to share this last night with your wife", he said gently.
"You don't need me here?" asked the Marshal nevertheless.
"I'll send for you, if something arises", uncle promised. His eyes turned soft, "Don't worry, Éomer. You'll see her again after all has been fixed in Gondor."
"You think so?" Éomer said, his voice uncertain.
"Indeed I do. Like I told you before, I believe you will see a new day dawn beyond this darkness. Now off you go, dear sister-son", Théoden urged. The younger man flashed him a smile and complied.
He found Lothíriel sitting outside the tent that evidently belonged to the two of them. It was not far from the King's own lodgings. She didn't notice him at first, for she was in the middle of the task of polishing his saddle. The life in the Mark had taught her some skills she'd never have needed in Dol Amroth.
"I didn't know you could do that", he commented softly as he observed her work. Lothíriel looked up and smiled at him.
"Elric taught me. Sometimes there's idle hours back in Aldburg, when I'm waiting for you to come home... it helps actually. Not to think too much, I mean", she said and as she spoke her expression became troubled and even sad. She looked down at the saddle on her lap. Oh, how he wanted to pull her close and tell her it would be fine! But then, that could very well be a lie.
Gently, he lifted the saddle from her lap to inspect it.
"Good work", he observed. "You're a proper woman of the Mark, dear wife. Soon you'll be shoeing horses."
She gave him a teary smile and he put aside the saddle. Then he pulled her in his arms and she melted into his embrace. After lingering there for a while he pulled at her hand gently, and Lothíriel followed him to their tent. With a cot and table and furs on the ground, it felt like a real room. Warm it was too with the brazier at the corner.
His wife wiped her eyes and took a breath, but when she looked at him he could still see the tears glistening in her bright grey eyes. She tried to smile nonetheless.
"Have you had anything to eat? I could go and fetch something, if you want", she offered.
"It's all right, dear one. Come here. I'd like to hold you while I still can", Éomer said softly, and it didn't take more than that for her to dash back into his arms. Oh, the feel of her! He held her tight against himself, realising only now how much this meant.
"It's all right. I know how it feels", he murmured into her hair.
"I wish you didn't have to go. I can't bear it, not again. Not so soon", she answered, her voice full of defeat and grief.
"Dearest wife", he sighed softly, breathing in the scent of her hair. Odd it was to think this could be the last night they'd share together in the mortal world. "I wish I could tell you that all will be well and I'll return in one piece... but I don't know what it is ahead of me, and what darkness I'm going to face."
She let out an unhappy moan and looked up at him then. Stubbornly she rubbed her eyes, like that'd rid her of tears.
"It's stupid, really", Lothíriel said at length. "We've been together for almost two years, and only now at the brink of war do I understand how much I love you. I need more time."
"Aye", he agreed. "A lot has changed since we were wedded, don't you think? And you... you're so different from that terrified thing I wrapped in a cloak."
Lothíriel couldn't help but laugh, though he observed the sound was just slightly hysterical.
"And you're still the same big oaf", she said, but at least she was smiling now. He answered that smile and kissed her then. It went on for a while, but then he pulled back.
"Beloved, if I don't return-" he began, but she pressed a finger on his lips.
"No, don't say it out loud", she pleaded. "I can't... the thought kills me. And I don't know what I would do if you died."
"You'd carry on. For Elric and Elfhild", Éomer answered, as gently as he could. She couldn't argue against that, and so she just closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his.
Though he knew it pained her, he knew this was something he had to tell her. So he continued: "I'd ask you to stay here in Rohan, at least for a while. Raise our daughter well, and look after Elric. A day may come they'll make Elfhild a Queen... or perhaps her son a King. Or if the burden falls on Éowyn... she'll need support. I don't want her to face it alone."
She moaned at that and opened her eyes. Lothíriel looked at him and in the grey depths of her gaze he saw something scared and young.
"It's unfair", she said. "Why do you men get to ride head-first into this danger? Why is it the place of the women to stay behind, and wait for the tidings in fear and anxiety, and then mourn when husbands and brothers and sons don't come home after all? Why is it our task to look to mending our broken families when our own hearts are beyond healing?"
"Because you can do it. Because you're that much stronger, even if you don't believe it. I see the spirit in you, Lothíriel – that same spirit that drove you out to seek freedom before we were wed, and let you survive when you were captured by Dunlendings. As I saw it in your eyes on that night in the stables, I see it now", he told her, cradling her face between his hands. "You will heal. I promise."
Lothíriel did not answer in words. She groaned softly, and then kissed him, kissed with such fire like the world was ending. And perhaps it was – perhaps this was the last night of their lives.
There was tenderness in their embrace they had not shared before, and some of it was because a part of him was still afraid of hurting her. But also it was because of what this night meant, and the road he would have to take when the morning came. And the feel of her, the warmth and the scent of her... her skin, her hair, her hands... he wished to cover every last inch of her in kisses, and take the image of her with him... to death even, if that was his fate.
"I'll return. I'll return to you", he hoarsely promised in the middle of it, when her legs locked about him to keep him close, and the grip of her hands turned almost violent in the desperateness of it.
"You must", she insisted and claimed his lips in yet another kiss, and he never wanted this night to end.
But end it did.
The air of new morrow was cool and biting. This high it was colder than back in Edoras or Aldburg, and emerging from their tent had been unpleasant – it had felt like he was leaving behind something more than just the warmth of what felt closest thing to home now. Just as biting were the news that Lord Aragorn had departed: he had taken the Paths of the Dead, and none knew now what might be his fate. It troubled Éomer as he doubted Aragorn would ever again emerge into the world of the living... but Uncle did not seem too worried because of it. He had faith in the Ranger, which Éomer thought he should share. After all, this man of Dúnedain had brought hope with him.
His wife's expression was grave and unsmiling as she stood beside him, waiting on him as the King and his closest men broke their fast. Éowyn seemed equally grim, if not even more so. But what Lothíriel had said last night helped him see... as a man of action and used to fighting, he could understand it was not easy to stand back and just wait for the doom to fall. He certainly would not have been able to do it, and only now did he recognise what strength it required.
Food tasted ashen on that morning, but he forced some down with the knowledge there wouldn't be many chances for eating properly on the road. He didn't even know now when might come the next opportunity for food and rest. But such was the way of war, and it was long ago that he had hardened himself to endure such challenges.
For all the anxiety in the air, Uncle did not seem as restless as the others. Instead, his blue eyes were calm and single-minded. He soon noticed Éomer watching him and the King offered a gentle little smile. And somehow, in that one look, there seemed to be a promise and conviction, and the younger man was even able to conjure a smile as an answer. Then Théoden looked about and the softness of his eyes turned into determination.
"Well, my lords. I believe it is time", he announced. In orderly silence his company exited the table, and went about their ways: some to see to last minute preparations, others to say goodbye to their wives and families. From the corner of his eye Éomer spied Éowyn slipping out, and almost called after her to bid her farewell... but she was gone then, and a small hand had claimed his own.
Lothíriel followed him quietly outside. She was very silent, like she couldn't bring herself to speak. It was outside that he gathered both her hands in his own, covering them... suddenly, he felt like he couldn't speak either, though there was much in his mind that he'd like to tell her.
She was looking down at their joined hands and the grip of her fingers turned tighter, more desperate. When she looked up at him he could see the tears welling in her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. His dear wife was trying to be brave for him... yet it was obvious how difficult it was.
"Be careful. Don't do anything rash", she said at last, fighting to sound fearless, "Remember to take some rest whenever you can... and don't push yourself too hard. You must take care of yourself. And please, send some words to me if you can."
"Of course, my dear heart", he answered gently. "Same goes for you. Don't worry too much for me, Lothíriel. There are people here who need your care more, and for them you must stay strong and endure."
At that she finally let out that sob she had been holding back, and threw her arms about him. He held her close and buried his face in her dark hair, breathing in that scent for one last time...
"Just... come back. Come back to me", she murmured in a broken voice.
"I will", he promised, for what else could he tell his wife?
One last kiss he gave her, but it was now time to move, and Firefoot was brought for him. The great stallion was tossing his head, restless for the road.
"Ride forth, Son of Eorl", said Lothíriel ever so quietly, and he gave her a smile. Then Éomer knew he had to let go of her, hard as that was, and his fingers passed from hers. He mounted his horse, but his wife reached for his hand. There she placed a wreath, wide enough for him to wear it around his wrist. There was heather and wild flowers from meadow, woven together in elaborate pattern.
"Ride forth, Son of Eorl", she said again, "Ride and fight, so that you may come back home to your hearth and family."
A/N: I'm having a good day so you get an early update. My muse is on steroids.
The board is now set for the Battle of Pelennor Fields. We should get to that in the next chapter, and we should see more interaction between Lothíriel and Elswite. I thought about writing a scene between them in this chapter, but eventually decided to focus on the preparation of war here. Anyway, the conversation between Lothíriel and Amrothos should perhaps answer to the need of exploring this part of the story.
Amrothos certainly is more entrenched in the Rohirric society. He appears to be thinking of settling down in Rohan with Elswite. How Imrahil will react to this will be revealed soon.
Thanks for reviews!
Borys68 - I wouldn't say she was bitchy about Elswite per say. It was more about what Lothíriel perceived as irresponsible, reckless behaviour.
Anyway, like you say, Amrothos has made himself way in Rohan in case he'd like to stay. But we'll have to wait for now to see how that turns out!
Also you're definitely right about Elric. He's way too young for a battle like that.
Sandy-wmd - That he is! And I like writing about him too. :)
Kiiimberly - Wait and see! :)
Talia119 - Yes, it did seem like a necessary slow down after Helm's Deep. But now we're back in business.
Oh, I know it was a bold move to take the story that road. But what can I say? It was really that or killing off Amrothos, I perceived. And the stubborn oaf wouldn't agree to the latter, so... I'm not sure I'll do a separate piece on them, though. I'll try to explore them as much as I can in this story, however.
As for what happened between the two of them, I'm thinking maybe I'll let Elswite tell about it on her own words.
Thanks for pointing out that thing about Dreda and Éomer's relationship. I suppose it's just so obvious for me that I don't remember to explain myself always... I'll try to work on it.
SymphonicPoem - Glad to hear that! :)
1607hannah - So far, so true. :D
A Light in the Night - That it certainly was. It was necessary to make up for their separation, I think. :)
Anonymous - Now that's dedication! :D
