1 day before coronation
"Please tell me what you have planned Lothíriel," Faramir moved his rook. They were playing chess with more than pieces.
"In due time cousin," Lothíriel grinned, taking Faramir's rook with her bishop. He would see that she'd left that piece unguarded, ready for the taking, and she wondered if he would take the bait.
"Éowyn won't tell me either," Faramir took the bishop, he was distracted, "I have half a mind to command Pippin speak!"
"You would not do that to the poor Hobbit," Lothíriel scolded, "Do you trust me?"
Faramir looked up at her, and Lothíriel nearly laughed. His eyes said it all. There would be no spoons during coronation. All co-conspirators received their instructions on small pieces of parchment. All had burned them, per her instructions. Faramir had not managed to crack any of them, and he was turning desperate.
"Can you at least tell me who is in on it?" Faramir pleaded. This was far too fun.
"Exactly who you suspect, and perhaps one or two you do not," Lothíriel replied, "...Have you been sleeping cousin? It is not usually this easy."
"Better than any other time in my life Loth," Faramir smiled involuntarily, "Just please tell Éowyn and the Hobbits that spoons should not make an appearance during the actual coronation."
The game was on now. Faramir had let something slip, and was offering a quid pro quo. Information for information. Lothíriel decided to extend the chess game.
"Odd how we never see you in the afternoon when Éowyn comes to call," Lothíriel moved her pawn, "Games often are the more the merrier, and no cousin, I would not disrupt such an event as a new King."
Faramir paused, and studied her. His face was impassive, though so much so it was clear that he had wiped emotion from it to keep her from knowing the reaction her words had caused. Had they..? Something told her no. Without prompting, her own cheeks reddened as she thought on Éomer.
"New Kings indeed," Faramir grinned, damn, he noticed. Faramir moved his own pawn, he was extending the game as well. But Lothíriel knew more.
"Éomer gets a bit testy when he drops me off at my door," Lothíriel spoke, putting her own mask on in their battle of wits, "It is clear that he is keeping a secret."
She knew what the secret was.
Color started to come to Faramir's face. It was rare to see him blush. Faramir exhaled.
"Do you want it plainly?" Faramir asked, rare indeed.
"Yes cousin," these were not their regular tactics.
"Éowyn and I have had trouble sleeping our whole lives. Made worse by our cursed shadow sleep. The only time I have slept peacefully since… since before I can remember is when she is with me," Faramir willed Lothíriel to understand, "I guard over her sleep during the night, and she guards over mine in the afternoon."
Faramir's admission was somehow both purer and more scandalous than Lothíriel had imagined. Éomer knew that the Steward was in his sister's room. But he also knew Faramir and Éowyn were keeping their vows. No wonder he turned sour the moment he walked by the apartment those nights they strolled through the city…
"You lit candles," Lothíriel replied, impressed, she moved her pawn to take Faramir's.
"So, spoons... Hobbits, Éowyn, you, your brothers," Faramir was studying her, "Oh no."
Faramir seemed to realize how substantial the spoon conspiracy had become.
"What cousin?" Lothíriel fluttered her eyes while Faramir rolled his.
"Éomer too, and Imrahil." Faramir replied.
"And Gimli, and Legolas," Lothíriel grinned. She would keep the last participant a surprise.
"I want in." Faramir leaned across the table, throwing the full force of his gaze at Lothíriel, "Put me down for… a bottle of Ithilien wine."
"Wait… hasn't Ithilien been without vineyards for.." Lothíriel started.
"70 years. This is old wine, wine that Denethor had hoarded away. I found it," Faramir interrupted, "Now. Tell me the when."
Lothíriel looked down at the chessboard, and realized Faramir had also checkmated her. It had been a long time since he let her win, but she now understood he had always been holding back.
"Are our matches of wits to you as our matches of chess cousin?" Lothíriel had to know.
Faramir laughed, "No Loth, our wits are as well matched as ever. My fiancée has just been teaching me some new tricks."
Lothíriel laughed heartily, "Coronation dinner. Watch for Imrahil's signal, for he will start the game."
Faramir nodded conspiratorially. He was lighter, as if his discovered happiness had illuminated something deeper inside him. The hopeful boy too quickly replaced with the thoughtful and melancholy man. It was a wonder.
"I fear this must be our last game Far," Lothíriel spoke, "I need to go home and get ready…"
"A King?" Faramir raised an eyebrow, Lothíriel's cheeks gave her away.
"If you must know, yes. He is taking me riding. He was flabbergasted that I ride sidesaddle," Lothíriel replied, the excitement was in her voice even as she tried to hide it, "So he is teaching me to ride as a Shieldmaiden would."
"I see…" Faramir's grin was insufferable, despite understanding the affliction that was being in the presence of the golden siblings.
"Have a nice nap cousin," Lothíriel smirked.
"I will. And you have a good ride. Perhaps if you tire him, he will have fewer blows awaiting me," Faramir laughed, "Loth, I am so happy for you. For you both."
Lothíriel smiled mildly. She thought Éomer was falling for her, but he was so… reticent, as if he was afraid he might break her if he touched her. She was getting frustrated by it, and had let doubts leech into her mind. Even in one so plain spoken, what if he was continuing to woo her to keep up appearances with her father?
"Tell me your sorrows Loth," Faramir broke her concentration, and she realized that she'd not masked her face while she worried.
"Please don't tell anyone Far," Lothíriel sighed, "But… when I speak to him, when I laugh with him, I am so sure that we feel the same way for each other. But then I move to touch him, to bring him closer to me, and he tenses and withdraws…"
Éomer called upon Lothíriel nearly every day. Éomer was the one who finally assented to Lothíriel's desire to learn to fight back. He took their sparring lessons seriously, and was a good and fun teacher. She loved walking with him through the city, still often using their disguises of Hemling and Andawel. His stories moved her, and his self-effacement and honesty were not just refreshing, they were addictive. Éomer was someone Lothíriel did not need to wear her mask around. Seeing him brought energy to her, when so often speaking to nobles sapped her. So why did he not want to touch her?
Faramir put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "He loves you Loth. I am not sure when he figured it out, but it was early. He's asked Éowyn a thousand questions about love. About what it feels like for a woman to love a man. She's been assuaging his fears. Though the bruises I wear are a sign they've not all been assuaged."
"...Fears?.." Lothíriel asked, and caught Faramir looking sheepish, "Explain cousin."
"You know the cause Loth," Faramir said, "Éomer's hesitancy is from Éowyn's experience with Gríma Wormtongue. He meant to kill all heirs to Rohan save Éowyn."
"And then…" Lothíriel understood. The fury blazing in Faramir's eyes only confirmed her suspicions.
A man in Rohan had tried to claim Éowyn. Lothíriel and Éowyn had spoken of this at length. Éomer had alluded to it from time to time, but she had never connected his anger and shame about Éowyn's experiences with the worries that women were afraid of men. Lothíriel could feel her gut lurch. Éomer was terrified of his desire, for fear that it brought pain. He was afraid that with desire came conquest, and with conquest, would come Lothíriel's fear of him. Their nightly routine of a kiss to her hand and a kiss to his cheek had been lovely, but not enough. Lothíriel knew what she had to do.
"Thank you Far," Lothíriel walked to her cousin, still stiff from his own anguish, "I promise you, I will not let Gríma haunt Éomer's dreams."
She pulled Faramir into a tight hug, willing her own love into him. He was so special to her. She was glad now, in the new Dawn, to look upon her cousin and see him changed. His happiness was now apparent upon his face, a secret light that had always been burning and just needed the right kindling. It was time for Lothíriel to set Éomer's heart alight, and make it clear at last that she was not afraid of his desire. One final squeeze to her cousin and Lothíriel was off. She needed to re-braid her hair and to change. A King awaited her in the stables.
Lothíriel surveyed her clothes, and decided to be bold. She chose a set of breeches to wear under a wide-set skirt, and a comfortable bodice that allowed her to breath, but provided support. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she smiled. With a kiss to her father, who was in his study, Lothíriel was off. She certainly did not tell Imrahil that a riding lesson was not all she had planned.
As she walked down through the city and to the stables, Lothíriel took a deep breath. The city was electric with the anticipation of the King. The tension had been building since the new Dawn, and was going to break at the coming coronation. Lothíriel liked the man Aragorn, but she found him distant. He may have been a Ranger in the North, but his attitude was distinctly elven. She definitely preferred a different King.
Lothíriel finally saw the stables come into view. She paused. She was always one to act first and think second, and liked that about Éomer too. But… was this too far? Too bold? No. Lothíriel's instincts told her that it was not. Faramir's words only further confirmed it for her. Their riding meant privacy, so Lothíriel thought it was now or never. She would pull Éomer in, and she would kiss him with all the hunger that she felt, to see if he felt the same. It was time for all to be laid bare.
With that last thought, she propelled her feet forward and walked into the stable. Éomer was there with a handsome bay gelding, stroking its nose. When he heard her, he looked up. Something in his eyes looked strange - strained. Lothíriel studied it. Their familiarity had grown over the course of the month, and for the most part, Éomer no longer looked nervous about calling on her. This moment though was different. Why was he wearing such an expression?
"What troubles you Éomer?" Lothíriel had learned it was best to speak truly with Éomer.
Éomer's frown deepened, "It is that obvious?"
"I have the skill of reading people, and have enjoyed your company for a month," Lothíriel replied, she liked the honesty they had cultivated with one another, "So yes, I can see your distress as plainly as if you'd spoken it to me."
Éomer nodded, but he had still not made eye contact. What is it Éomer? Lothíriel pressed her mind toward his. Somehow she knew to stay quiet, to let him find his voice and speak.
"Dark memories are haunting me" Éomer asked, Lothíriel nodded, "Well, the night that he almost took my sister… it- it- happened in the stables…"
Lothíriel understood. Gríma Wormtongue, and the prize he had tried to poison his way through the royal family to win. Éowyn had told her about a fateful night when Gríma had nearly killed her. Lothíriel pictured Éowyn's ferocity in that moment, the woman who laughed in the face of Fear. Deciding to die rather than become a humiliating conquest. Éowyn had also told Lothíriel of Éomer's timely but traumatic intervention.
It happened in the stables.
Lothíriel's life had been charmed. The beloved youngest. The daughter that her mother and father had prayed to the Valar for after being blessed with three sons. The smallest and most precious to her brothers, and to her cousins. Lothíriel had never felt threatened by men, because the many men in her life had protected her fiercely. She had never thought about how sheltered, and how lucky, that made her. Not until she met Éowyn. Not until she met Éomer. Not until she saw the damage that being a woman hunted could cause, on both the victim and on the men who blamed themselves for failing to protect her.
"My entire life, I have been the ward of protective men. My father and my brothers, and my uncle and cousins," Lothíriel finally caught Éomer's eye, and forced her gaze and her light into him, "I've never had cause to fear men… and did not realize how lucky that has made me."
The line in Éomer's jaw relaxed slightly as he looked at her. But Lothíriel could tell that his distress was not over. Lothíriel took one step closer to Éomer, all the pieces had come together, "Let's ride, so we can talk more freely."
As if broken out of the dark mists of his memories, Éomer finally looked at Lothíriel. He sized up her outfit, and that familiar red color came to his face. He's pleased with what he sees, Lothíriel smiled.
"Is this acceptable?" Lothíriel let her voice gain back its playfulness, "I would not want to embarrass myself in front of a rider of Rohan."
"Yes," Éomer replied, his lip curling ever so slightly, "You look… acceptable."
Lothíriel laughed. As always, Éomer was leaving the beautiful unsaid. But she heard it there, in the pregnant pause.
"Lead on Hemling," Lothíriel walked the short distance remaining to the King, who kept looking at her.
"You will need to mount," Éomer said, "I can help..."
Lothíriel realized that he was offering to boost her onto the horse. She almost said no and asked for steps, to avoid the embarrassment she predicted would come of this. You will have to do this yourself someday, Lothíriel frowned, it might as well be today. And so she strode forward. Lothíriel looked at Éomer, and put her hands on either side of the saddle. The horse fidgeted, but stayed still enough.
"Now, put your foot into my hands," Éomer looked amused, he was having fun watching her discomfort, "When I push up, swing your other leg over the horse and onto the other side."
"If the ladies of Amroth could see me now," Lothíriel smiled brightly, this must be how he feels all the time walking through the city with me, the thought brought a laugh to her lips.
"You will have to ask Éowyn what the ladies of Edoras are like, but I think that they will prefer to see you can ride," Éomer took Lothíriel's foot into his hand and propelled her up onto the horse.
"So you think I should spend time in Edoras?" Lothíriel studied the King, who had turned that adorable shade of red that he so often did.
"Well… your father after all… is in… is… ambassador," Éomer stuttered.
"There are other reasons I may come visit," Lothíriel replied, honest, "Not the least of which is that this is a far more comfortable way to sit a horse!"
Éomer laughed. Good.
"Wait for me outside," Éomer released her mount's bridle, "I will take you to a place Éowyn and I have found on our rides. It is beautiful, and an easy ride, even for a princess from Gondor."
"Your challenges only make me look more forward to the moment I take you sailing Hemling," Lothíriel replied, and gently tapped her horse, commanding it to walk.
Once she was outside of the stables, she waited. Éomer was not far behind. The two took a leisurely pace down through the city. Lothíriel had noticed that although her legs were not in a ladylike position at all, it sure was comfortable riding a horse this way. She knew she would never go back. Her weapon of words would hopefully go to war against the ladies and men of Gondor who insisted women must ride sidesaddle.
Once they crossed beneath the last gate, Éomer trotted ahead of her. He looked back at her, and she knew. She was ready. Éomer spurred his horse, and she followed. They took off first at a canter, and then at a gallop. It was terrifying. Lothíriel could feel her muscles strain as she gripped too tightly, and she knew her horse noticed. In a moment, she felt it, the rhythm of the horse, the rhythm of her own body upon it. It was its own sort of dance. It was exhilarating. The bay horse that Éomer had chosen was smooth and gentle, happy to abide Lothíriel's instructions upon his back. Lothíriel let the horse's motions dictate her own, and soon she held her head up and swallowed the oncoming air. She wanted to release the reins and let her arms free, but she was not sure she trusted her horse quite that much yet.
Éomer was not far ahead, looking back often to watch her. She looked at him and saw her joy reflect in his face. What a feeling it was! Unconfined by the rest of the world, racing to the unknown to share a moment with the King who never left her mind. A thicket was fast approaching, and Lothíriel saw Éomer swing toward it. She propelled her bay forward and joined him. The faster they moved, the more her euphoria grew. Finally, Éomer's pace lessened, and both horses slowed to a trot, then to a walk. Éomer ducked his horse onto a well-hidden pathway. They finally came to a clearing. A picnic had been laid for them there.
"You'd planned this," Lothíriel laughed rapturously.
"You think your cousin or father would let us, a Princess and a King, fly away from the castle without escort?" Éomer replied, "Both Faramir and my men have been scouting this area for days. A squirrel could not have passed into this thicket unmarked."
"Are we being watched now?" Lothíriel asked.
"Thankfully no. Hence the feverish preparation beforehand. If harm had come to… to us… Faramir and Imrahil would have killed me…" Éomer hopped from his horse, then walked to Lothíriel.
She swung her leg over the back of the horse and felt her balance shift. Éomer noticed too, and before she knew it, his hands were on her waist, steadying her, and lifting her to the ground. His hands on her body sent tremors of thrill through her. He so rarely touched her, she savored every moment when he did. This was by far the most intimate touch she had ever experienced from him.
When he had put her on the ground, she did not think. It was the right time. Lothíriel stepped in even closer to Éomer, hearing his breathing, smelling the faint smell of horsehair and leather, gazing into his eyes. Lothíriel took another step in. Éomer did not retreat, as if both had been waiting for precisely this moment. It is time, Lothíriel thought, and she stood on her tiptoes and leaned in. Strong hands had found their way to the small of her back, but he did not pull her closer, he hovered on the tip of anticipation, waiting for her. Éomer's face held both fear and excitement, and Lothíriel did not believe she could escape the intensity of his gaze if she tried. She did not want to.
Lothíriel brought her lips to his, and they kissed. It carried the passion of a month of waiting, as they sought to explore the other's lips, the other's mouth, the other's tongue. Lothíriel held the back of Éomer's neck, and felt his hands pulling her closer to him. Finally, when they could share their breath no longer, the kiss ended.
Éomer exhaled, then he went stiff. His hands darted away from Lothíriel, and he took a step back. Lothíriel could see fear in his eyes. Afraid of his desire? That would not do. Lothíriel closed the distance again between them, grabbed Éomer's hands and placed them back on her body, and drew him back in for another extended kiss. This time, Lothíriel's hands wandered freely through his hair, along his neck, to his shoulders. She gave in completely to their passion, to tasting the man she wanted to spend all her waking hours with. The man who made frequent appearances in her imaginings of her wedding night.
"Éomer," Lothíriel sighed the words out.
He stopped immediately, looking at her through eyes full of fire. But there was something else there, some memory that had made its way to the surface that added panic to his expression. Lothíriel's expression turned from desire to concern. So this was what had stayed Éomer's passion so long. She could tell he wanted to keep kissing her, but some memory was haunting their rapture. She stepped back just slightly, and let her hands find his.
"You don't need to tell me the whole of it now Éomer, but if we are to continue as I hope we do, you will eventually need to tell me," Lothíriel projected comfort and hope into her voice, trying to nurture the stricken King with her words.
Éomer finally broke his mind away from whatever memory was haunting him, likely the stables, and looked into Lothíriel's eyes. His look had purpose, and Lothíriel could see the fear subside. Unexpectedly, Éomer then got down on a knee, still holding both of Lothíriel's hands in his own. Éomer then looked up at her.
"Lothíriel, please come and stay in Rohan with your father."