Chapter 37

In the end it took two more days till the roads were in a good enough condition for the courier to leave with a fair chance of reaching the junction near Aldburg in a day's ride. And they were already well into February when a messenger rode into Edoras, a packhorse in tow that carried two small but solid- looking caskets.

Éomer received the man in the hall, dinner being just finished, and all eyes were on the caskets that were put on one of the long tables. Bowing low, the messenger handed him two letters, a smaller one, sporting Aragorn's star and a quite large one, rather a folder, with Prince Imrahil's signet.

Éomer felt his stomach cramp. So this was it, the moment he had to face what fate would deal out to him. He felt light-headed and needed a moment to regain his equilibrium before standing up to leave for his rooms to read Imrahil's missive, so he reached for Aragorn's letter and opened it, his stony face not giving away his agitation.

It was but a short note in the tongue of the Mark, some of the runes leaning in strange angles as if Aragorn's hand had not been too steady when writing.

Éomer, dearest friend and brother,

I know how you must fret, not having been with us, as we faced the enemy on the banks of the Harnen. And it grieves me not to have had you at my side on the battlefield and neither at the celebration of our victory. But at least some fuel for celebration I can provide. These flagons hold the finest Harondor brandy I have ever tasted – and you know I have had quite some years to do so. Share and enjoy!

Your brother in arms, A.

Looking up from the letter, Éomer met the curious looks of the people assembled in the hall, and an idea hit him that would provide him with an opportunity to read Imrahil's letter undisturbed. He motioned to Frithuswith. "Send for the mead cups."

Rising, Éomer walked over to the caskets and ordered two of the present to pry them open. In each one was a dozen stoneware flagons, carefully wrapped in straw, the stoppers sealed with wax. Easing the seal, he pulled the stopper of one and filled one of the small cups a servant had fetched at Frithuswith's order. The brandy had a slightly oily consistency and its rich, heady aroma caressed his nostrils. Slowly he raised the cup and sipped the brown-golden liquid, thoroughly rolling it on his tongue. He had tried quite a variety of brandies, Théodred having favoured the southern liquor, and at Cormallen he had emptied more than one bottle together with Aragorn, Imrahil and Erchirion, but this certainly was by far the best he had ever tasted. Nodding his approval, he passed the cup to Eáldread. The old counsellor first sniffed the cup before drinking and then smacked his lips appreciatively.

"What a drink! Certainly this is the liquid gold of the south."

Taking a bottle in each hand, Éomer turned to Éothain and gave him one. "Take it, and keep it to drink to your child's health, once it is born." Handing the other to Frithuswith, he raised his eyebrows. "This one you had better store, in case one of our Gondorean friends should visit us. And the rest..." He turned to the crowd in the hall. "This is truly a kingly gift, and we shall drink to the health of our victorious Éoreds. Frithuswith, distribute the brandy."

A roar of approval swept through Meduseld, and soon every eye was focussed on the women who poured the aromatic liquor, and after raising his own cup in a toast to the Mark, Éomer left the hall.

ooo

He got to his study with nobody save the guard at the door to the royal quarters noticing him. A candle was burning on his desk, and pulling it closer for better light, he opened Imrahil's letter. There were four letters in the envelope, each one sealed separately, one with Imrahil's signet, the swanship of Dol Amroth and three more sporting Lothíriel's. He stared dumbfounded, and not knowing which one to read first, he reached for Lothíriel's letters. Each of the beige envelopes bore a date, written on the front in greenish ink: Ringare 28th, Narvinye 5th, Narvinye 12th. Had she written the letters on these days? He decided he might get further information from Imrahil and therefore opened that letter first. Bracing himself to face the inevitable, he started to read.

Dear Éomer,

Arriving in Minas Tirith from Pelargir, where I collected my wife and Amrothos,

He stopped reading, closing his eyes for a short moment. She had stayed at Pelargir! He felt something close to panic rise inside him. Lothíriel had stayed in Pelargir, even after her family had left for Minas Tirith! Pulling himself together, he started to read again.

Dear Éomer,

Arriving in Minas Tirith from Pelargir, where I collected my wife and Amrothos, I was more than surprised to find not only a letter you had lately sent to my daughter but also three letters Lothíriel had written to you during her stay in Pelargir. Enquiring why the missives had not been forwarded, I was informed by the custodian of my town house that I, as the princess' father not being available to confirm my consent, he had thought it fit and proper to withhold the correspondence until my return.

Éomer stared at the letter, his head swimming. How many days had his letter been held up at Minas Tirith? Had Imrahil opened it? Nervously he scanned the next lines.

I have to admit I sometimes find it rather demanding to keep my composure and am convinced that a display of some Rohirric temper would have done me good at that moment, though it might have had severe consequences for my custodian's physical integrity.

It was as if he could hear Imrahil speak these words: Witty, sophisticated Imrahil, skilled warrior and accomplished diplomat. Rohirric temper! Éomer snorted. Certainly that nitpicker of a custodian deserved a kick up his arse. He read the next lines, and his heart missed a beat.

I have already sent your letter ahead to Emyn Arnen, to where Lothíriel went directly from the Crossings of the Poros, where I met her upon my return from the Harnen.

He blinked, and read the sentence again. No doubt: not only had she not stayed at Pelargir, she had not even been there. Why for Béma's sake had she gone to the Crossings of the Poros? Eagerly he read on.

I do not know what induced her to travel to the Crossing in the first place, but I learned that she at least did so with the acquired prudence, turning up there on the 13th of Narvinye accompanied by four mounted guards in the livery of Dol Amroth and demanding to be led to Marshal Elfhelm. I met her there a sennight later and was utterly surprised, not only at her being there but also at finding the men of the entire Rohirric forces from the captains to the kitchen boys her champions.

Éomer shook his head like a wet dog to clear his mind, but all he could think of was her, Lothíriel, proudly riding into camp. What a woman! No wonder the Riders had been impressed. Only somewhere in the back of his mind the nagging thought formed that it would near to impossible now to explain an annulment of the engagement. He did not want to think of it, not with the image of her glory before his inner eye. The next lines caused him to stand, his chair toppling over backwards without him even noticing it.

Marshal Elfhelm told me she won great appreciation and renown by making a speech to the troops in Rohirric upon her arrival, but after a short exchange with the Marshal King Elessar assured me that I did not really want to know what she told them. Seeing the spark of mischief in his eyes, I chose to believe he was right, though there is no doubt that whatever she said earned her the wholehearted admiration of your men.

His eyes on the letter, reading the last passage over and over again, Éomer started to pace the room. She had spoken to the Éoreds like a true queen. And in Rohirric! And Imrahil wondered why every single Eorling present had been smitten! He found it hard to calm down enough to go on reading, his fantasy occupied with what she might have said, how she might have said it, her poise, her voice, the noise and smells of the camp, her black hair flying in the wind... He shook himself and went on reading.

Instead of crossing at Pelargir, the Rohirric troops took the old Harad Road via Emyn Arnen and crossed the river at Osgiliath, which is much more convenient for the horses with the bridge having been rebuilt. As Erchirion rode with Marshal Elfhelm's troops, I deemed it fitting for Lothíriel to accompany him to Emyn Arnen whereto she desired to go, and where she will stay in the care of her cousin and your dear sister.

Amrothos is in a rather poor condition, his left thigh bone having been broken during the ship wreck. He was taken directly to the Houses of Healing from the Harlond. We only hope that he will not lose his leg.

My lady wife sends her regards, hoping you have not been too uneasy at not getting any news from your bride.

Till we meet under happy circumstances I remain, with fatherly regards,

Imrahil of Dol Amroth

Éomer stared at the letter, unable to believe what he had read. His mind boggled. She had not received his letter yet. Imrahil did not know about it. She had not stayed at Pelargir to meet Radhruin. And he could imagine her so vividly - riding into the camp at the Crossings, holding a speech that inspired his men. His queen. But what would she do if she got his letter? Those pages of desperate rambling, written in the heartfelt urge to protect her, to spare her loss and grief?

Reluctantly he opened the first of her letters. It contained a description of her voyage to Pelargir which had not been too smooth due to rather stormy weather, and the information that she had got more detailed news about Amrothos' and Radhruin's actions against the corsairs. All in all it was a clear and objective report, save for the last lines that expressed her wish for Amrothos to be found and her longing to be with him, Éomer, whom she named her husband in the closing sentence.

The second letter was much shorter, thanking him for his letter he had written before Yule but stating at the same time that she was too uneasy to write anything sensible as the news seemed too dire and the forces that were assembling south of the Harnen were more numerous than expected. She was plainly worried, but still her calculations concerning the approaching battle, the movement of the troops, the deployment of the Rohirric reserves from Anorien were deliberate and showed her knowledge and strategic abilities. As in the first letter, only in the closing lines her anguish shone through in a violent regret not to have given in to passion that afternoon in the shade of the plane tree.

Éomer heaved a breath, torn between admiration and fear. Béma, if he was going to lose that woman! Opening the last letter he found that it only consisted of some lines, and reading them he felt the world around him drop away and his breath catch in his throat. Swallowing hard, he read the note again.

Éomer,

I'm writing this, already dressed for riding. Amrothos is believed to be imprisoned at Ethirlond, but it is not sure if he is still alive. Nothing is sure now, and King Elessar himself has taken command over the Éoreds stationed at the Crossings to lead them into Harondor. Erchirion informs me that parts of the replacement from Anorien have already arrived, and should the situation escalate further he expects you to come south and take the command over the Rohirric troops.

I will ride to the Crossing of the Poros, and should there be war, and should you ride into battle, I will meet you there, for I will not let you go to war unblessed.

Yours, body and soul

Lothíriel

ooo

He woke, and he wished he never had. His mouth felt dry, and he wondered if his tongue had turned into a foot rag over night. Groaning he turned over to his side, but though he felt the touch of the pillow under his cheek, the sensation of turning did not stop. Reluctantly he opened one eye only to close it again immediately. His bedroom seemed unnaturally bright, and the beams of daylight were stabbing his aching head like incandescent daggers. His teeth started to chatter, and he pulled the blanket higher, only now noticing that he was covered in cold sweat. What the heck had happened to him? Why was he feeling so utterly miserable?

"Good morning, Éomer King. Amongst the living again, are we?" Éothain's jovial voice echoed like a Haradric war-drum through his poor head, and he wished he could hide under the pillows.

"Shut up and sod off." His voice came out in a hoarse croak, earning him nothing but a booming guffaw from his friend.

"Oh my, the king is feeling a bit delicate, is he? Open your eyes, Éomer. You can't veg out all day."

"All day?" Carefully Éomer made a second attempt to open an eye. "How late is it?"

"Around noon."

Éomer could see Éothain now, sitting on a stool by his bedside and watching his hung-over friend and king with a broad smirk. "How's your head, Éomer."

Éomer closed his eyes again. How was his head? Several expressions came to his mind, ranging from aching to feeling like a squashed pumpkin. He tried to sit up, and sank back into his pillows with a groan. The entire bedroom was dancing around him, causing his brain to pound. The shivering grew worse, and he vaguely felt another blanket being put on top of him, before he heard Éothain walk to the door and talk to someone in the corridor.

"I have ordered some mint tea. You need to drink, Éomer." Éothain's voice was more serious now, and after a while the captain of the guard repeated his question. "How's your head?"

"Crappy. Like a mûmak sat on my face." Actually it felt as if said mûmak was still sitting there, but he did not want to go into details.

"Are any of your teeth loose?"

"Eh?" Éomer blinked, and then passed his woolly-feeling tongue over his teeth. Everything seemed to be all right and he said so. Did Éothain really breathe a sigh of relief? Éomer felt too groggy to be certain. And he found it strange that his face was aching... to be precise his chin. But then he was aching all over. His left shoulder, his hip, all seemed stiff and bruised. But the only thing that really surprised him was the fact that he was not feeling sick in the slightest.

Sitting down again on his stool, Éothain cleared his throat. "Éomer, what do you remember of last night?"

Last night? He remembered vaguely that he had been drinking with the men in the hall. Drinking that stuff Aragorn had sent. Brandy from Harondor. Excellent stuff. But what did he remember? "We were in the hall... nay, I remember, I took the last two flagons and went down to the barracks to have a round with the guards there." Béma, he must already have been dead-drunk then, as he did not remember if he had ever arrived at the barracks.

"You certainly did. And then?" Éothain's voice was wary.

"Dunno. The next thing I remember is that I seem to have woken up, though I'm not too sure about that." Another attempt to sit up proved futile, too. "Béma's balls, I must have been quite screwed."

Éothain nodded. "Pissed as a newt. We had to carry you up to Meduseld on a stretcher."

A stretcher! Éomer groaned. "Why didn't you just leave me to sleep it off in the barracks?"

"Because you were not in the barracks when you passed out."

"Not in the barracks?" Éomer was sure he would not like to hear what was coming next.

Éothain smirked. "No. Having emptied the better part of those flagons, you got the glorious idea to ride to Gondor and went over to the stables to saddle Firefoot. Luckily one of the lads was there besides old Beric and ran over to alert me when you turned up. Beric managed to keep you from entering Firefoot's box, for he feared the cantankerous bastard would keep anyone from stopping you, once you had got into the stall."

"I wanted to ride to Gondor?" Éomer did not remember anything, but even in his hung-over brain he found it quite plausible after reading those letters last night before he had decided to join in the general booze-up in the hall.

Éothain nodded. "When I turned up, you told me you wanted to go to Gondor, give Aragorn a piece of your mind, kill Radhruin of Pelargir and then ravish Princess Lothíriel who you claimed to be waiting for you at the Crossings of the Poros."

Éomer stifled a groan. "Who else heard me say so?"

They were interrupted by a servant entering with a mug of tea, and with Éothain's help Éomer finally managed to sit up. Leaning against the headboard of his bed, he carefully drank the tangy tea in tiny sips, before repeating his question.

"Oh, well, I don't know who you had been talking to before, but in the stables it was only me you spoke to. I was afraid Firefoot might cause trouble once you opened the door to his stall and so I sent everybody out."

Handing him the empty mug Éomer grimaced. "I see. And when did I pass out?"

"Oh, that was when you stumbled, trying to take the saddle off the rack in the stable aisle."

Éomer passed his hand over his throbbing jaw. "And I fell right on my chin?"

Éothain shrugged, his expression absolutely deadpan. "Quite a coincidence, isn't it?"

"Bastard." Grinning was painful due to the maltreated chin, but the grin still played around Éomer's lips as he slumped back into his pillows, already half asleep again before his head touched them.

ooo

In the end it took him until the early evening to be in a state to rise without feeling wobbly and shivering, and supper was the first meal he felt able to face. Ignoring the curious glances as he entered the hall, he took his place on the dais, surprised by the fact that he was not only tolerably well but actually hungry. He did not stay in the hall after the meal though, but returned to his rooms, eager to read Lothíriel's letters again.

Entering his study, he at once spotted the documents someone had put on his desk while he has slept off his hangover. And then he stopped in his tracks. On top of the pile he was expected to peruse and sign lay a beige envelope. Rushing to his desk, he picked it up. Lothíriel's hand! The courier must have arrived in the afternoon. Slowly he sat down, staring at the letter. Only one day after Imrahil's letter had arrived... she must have written immediately. He felt his heartbeat blasting against his ribcage. Slowly he opened the letter that held his fate, his future, his life. And then there was nothing around him but what she had to tell him.

Éomer Éomund's son,

I have your letter in front of me and my brain still refuses to comprehend what my eyes read. How can you come up with such an idea, such a proposal? Mind you, if you were a Gondorean I would think it a cleverly constructed attempt to sneak out of an engagement that no longer pleases you.

But alas I know better, know you to be true and open-hearted, noble without falsehood and conceit. Oh, Valar, I only hope that my anger lasts long enough to finish this letter to you, to give you a piece of my mind because sensing the pain hidden behind your words I feel torn and wish I could rush to your side. And yet I am not sure if I would caress or kick you. Probably both, you incredible man.

You believe to have done wrong? You feel guilty because you did not listen to Frithuswith who warned you beforehand? Truly it is bitter to realize the enemy you fought and killed were children, and I understand that the boys' death disturbs you greatly, as well as the thought that perhaps others starved due to your stubbornness and wrong decision. Éomer, I cannot take this guilt from you, as much as that grieves me, and I know you would not ask anything like that from me, but I wish I could. But I can stand by you and help you carry this burden.

Do not try to gainsay me. What would you do if it were the other way round? If I felt devastated? How did you behave on the battlements of Dol Amroth when I cried my guilt of Alcarien's death into your tunic? Do not tell me now that I am a woman and it is a man's task to protect his wife. Yes, if I were attacked by a villain, be it man, orc or vile beast, I would be grateful for your greater bodily strength, for your skill with spear and sword. But this is not about bodily protection, this is about care and understanding, about partnership, trust and love.

Éomer, you have no right to send me from your side if you would not leave me out of your own will were I in your position. And if I understand your letter correctly you do not admit anything like that, quite the contrary. Do you deem my love for you weaker than yours for me? Have I ever given you reason to think me weak and fearful?

You believe you displeased the gods, fear that they will punish you, fear that my nightmare will come true? Éomer, the danger to miscarry, the threat of a child to die is there for every woman, for every parent. Should we all stop bearing children therefore? The Rohirrim call childbirth the women's battle... what would you think of a warrior who shunned battle fearing death?

You say I told you on the beach of Tol Cobas that I was willing to agree to an arranged marriage, to marry a man I did not love because I wanted children. Éomer, yes, that is what I said, but that was before I realised what it means to love and to be loved. Yes, I want children more than ever, want to experience the miracle to bear them, to give birth to them, to nurse them, but more than anything I want them to be your children, conceived in love and passion.

And do not your people believe that strong passion will result in strong and healthy children? Where is your faith in Rohirric tradition now? Or do you doubt my passion for you? I for one cannot doubt yours for me, reading between the lines of your letter.

You say you failed and the gods will punish you. If they do, how can I leave you to bear their wrath alone? And yet you say that they still are merciful, sending us our nightmares to warn us. Are you sure about that?I do not believe that every dream we have is Valar-sent, but that dreams rather rise from the depth of our troubled minds. But given the Valar sent them: why are they a warning? If you believe that the gods are that cruel as to punish a father's sins striking his offspring, why then do you not believe them cunning enough to send us these terrible dreams to test us? Us and our love and confidence in each other?

You tell me that due to the changed marriage contract you have no right to set me aside or divorce me, and I certainly thank the Valar for that, because you are an overprotective bonehead. How heartily do I agree with your sister in that judgement! And to advise me to leave you! Éomer, you overly noble idiot, I truly love you, but I am fuming with rage. What a condescending attitude! Mind you, I know that you did it because you love me and feel responsible for me and want me to be happy. But how can I be happy without you?

And to suggest I should turn to Radhruin because he is a reliable man! Éomer, he no doubt will become Gondor's Admiral General, he may be noble, handsome and admired by many due to his deeds during the war and now at the mouth of the Harnen, but are those reasons for me to choose him or do you rather think about him choosing me?

What am I, Éomer? An expensive piece of jewellery that can be handed over into another man's keeping? An extraordinary mare that can be put to breed with a different stallion? I esteem Radhruin as Amrothos' friend and as a skilled captain, but I am no ship for him to navigate and command!

He never cared for me, I was never more to him than his friend's sister, his proposal nothing but submission to his father's wish. You say that you see the political problems that will arise through an annulment of our engagement, that you feel bound in duty to your country and your people but that you would never allow politics to destroy my happiness. For Radhruin there is no difference between marriage and politics.

Do you know how he pushed through his negotiations at Ethirlond? How he convinced Lord Aerandir to ally himself with Gondor and acknowledge King Elessar as his liege lord? He offered to marry one of Lord Aerandir's daughters, to assure him of Gondor's help in case of further threats from Umbar or Harad. Said lord has three daughters, and it goes without saying that Radhruin, the admired admiral to be, left it to the father to choose which one should be given to him in marriage. What is such a marriage but an exchange of hostages?

Oh, their engagement and more so their wedding will be splendid spectacles and affairs of state, and he certainly will perform his matrimonial duties and beget an heir on her, probably stopping any intercourse with her once she has born a son, and most probably she will be thankful for that. O Uinen have mercy! I feel like taking a rolling pin to thump some sense into your skull!

Éomer, this is Gondor: I told you so before. And there you came, opened the bird's golden cage and encouraged it to fly, only to come back as soon as the wind blows hard to tell it to go back into its cage because freedom can be dangerous and painful? No Éomer, I have felt the wind under my wings, I have tasted what true emotion might be, be it tender love or searing passion. I will not cower ever again, I will not shrink back into protected submission! And even if the Valar should have decided my downfall, I will laugh into their faces and willingly accept my fate if I have you at my side.

You say you did not talk to anybody about your proposal that I should annul our engagement, and well you did. For I never will agree to such a self-torturing folly. But I tell you this: as long as your heart is true I will be able to bear what may come, no matter how bitter it might be. Open your heart to me, Éomer let me come into your dreams again, let me touch your soul, and let us stand side by side, facing whatever fate the Valar may deal out.

Lothíriel, who you called your wife

He sat, staring at the letter in front of him, and only when the letters started to blur did he realise that he was crying.

Annotations:

Ringare: (Quenya) approximately our December

Narvinye: (Quenya) approximately our January

Many thanks to Lady Bluejay for helping me with the language, and to acacia 59601 for letting me use her swear-words.