1 day before coronation
Éomer had been planning this moment for a week. He and Éowyn had found the thicket and the clearing, and he knew that would be the place. He'd waited so long for this moment with Lothíriel he'd nearly missed it, having just two days before he must be headed back to Rohan.
Éomer had used his best men to scout the area, scouring every inch of their ride to make sure that they were safe. Faramir had also sent Ithilien Rangers to scout, and they were accompanied by Legolas. Éowyn had asked Faramir and Legolas for him, as he suspected that the Steward would ask far fewer questions if such a request came from Éowyn. Éomer suspected that Faramir was as protective of Lothíriel as Éomer was of Éowyn. He did not say this, but the bruises they put on each other while sparring had spoken loudly enough.
And here he now was. In the moment he'd waited all this time for, kissing the woman he loved. Finding that all he wanted to do was pull her closer. Taste her. And her eyes and her hands said she felt the same. Éomer had wanted to kiss Lothíriel since their first date, when she looked up into the sky in the Citadel. But he was always afraid. What if he pushed her too hard? What if she was just trying to please her father? What if Éomer inadvertently made Lothíriel feel hunted, as Éowyn had been? Every night he thought about meeting Lothíriel's lips when she leaned in to kiss his cheek, and every night he dithered. Éowyn had been nothing but patient with his frets (though frankly, letting her and Faramir's sleeping arrangements go unremarked was payback enough…). Finally, the overwhelming need to touch her had broken past his fear. He had fallen in love. It overpowered everything else. Feeling her hands on him, her mouth as enthusiastic as his own exploring those new sensations. He thought that kissing her once would leave him sated. But no, kissing her once made him want to kiss her again. And Valar, when Lothíriel touched him, he thought he would break apart so good it felt. But in that same moment, he felt fear. He saw that night in the stables, he heard Éowyn's screams. He saw the look in Gríma's face, the desire there. He wondered if the look in his own eyes looked like… that. It made his stomach twist. He knew those feelings were waiting for him when he finally touched Lothíriel. And they hit him like a tidal wave.
He'd frozen for a second, but Lothíriel had helped him find his bearings again. They kissed, and he felt her hands boldly on him. Her nails on his neck transmitted a pleasure throughout his body. He never wanted to let her go. But the echoes of Éowyn's screams haunted him.
"Éomer," his name in Lothíriel's voice broke him out of the moment, for he heard Éowyn crying his name after he'd thrown down the Worm, after the guards had grabbed him and started pulling him away from his sister, still huddled in the corner of the stall, nearly broken.
Instead of pulling him in again, Lothíriel stepped back the slightest amount. Had his terror ruined it? Had she finally given up on him? Perhaps that was for the best. Lothíriel deserved someone who was not hindered by fear, nor driven uncontrollably by desire. Éomer worried he was both. Then Lothíriel took his hands in hers.
"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."
She understood.
She had seen it all in his face. She knew he was being haunted by his memories of Éowyn's violation. And the warmth and love that came from her voice… stopped him. The visions of their children and their laughter in Meduseld came back, replacing the echoes of terror and Gríma. She understood what stayed his passion, and she seemed to even understand what had frozen him in the paradise of their first kiss.
Éomer was sure he wanted to marry Lothíriel. But somehow it went beyond that for him. He wanted her for her mind as much as for her beauty. He wanted her for her humor as much as he wanted her for her soft curly hair. He wanted her for her intuition as much as he wanted her for the softness of her skin. He wanted her for her ability to just get him as he did for the shapeliness of her breasts. It was intoxicating. He would woo her, and he would consider no other unless she said no.
But deciding he wanted to marry her was far different in practice than in his dreams. He had watched Éowyn rot from the inside out being stuck in Edoras. He understood her suicidal misery was in part because of Wormtongue's poison, but it was also because she could not escape. It was a place so pressing that she had to defy her uncle and her King and disguise herself as a man and seek death, simply to escape. A noble woman was the thrall of either her family or her husband. She was not free to seek joy of her own, even with the most permissive and loving of husbands. Éowyn's light shone brighter the closer she got to Ithilien. Éomer knew because he had ridden there with her. He had not told her why he had done it, but he wanted to see. He wanted to make sure that Éowyn would be happy to be tethered to that place. Faramir would never force her, but to be free of force and to be tethered were different.
Éomer would not see Lothíriel tethered to a place she did not love either. When he saw her ride Surefoot, the bay he had procured for her, he did not watch her motions, but her face. He wanted to see her on that horse, to make sure that riding with the breeze in her hair brought her pleasure, because any queen of Rohan would be expected to sit a horse often. When he saw the joy on her face, he wanted to stop her right then and kiss her. Because he got to see a love of riding take root, and he knew he would get to nurture it and see it grow. He wanted to also nurture in her a deep and abiding love of Rohan, as he enjoyed. So that should he ask her to marry him, asking too that she tether herself to Rohan, she did so for the joy of the place as much as for the love of the man.
Éomer took himself to a single knee. Lothíriel's eyes grew wide, searching him for the meaning of his gesture. All would become clear.
"Lothíriel, please come and stay in Rohan with your father," Éomer's voice had lost its nervous stutter. He was sure of his ask.
Lothíriel had not broken their gaze, considering him. He wondered how much she could read in his eyes. Did she know that he had fallen in love with her? That even before the kiss that nearly undid him, he knew he was in love? Did she know that thinking of her eyes and her light could stay the dark feelings of doubt that so often stalked his mind?
"What awaits me in Rohan, Éomer King?" Lothíriel asked.
"A promise," Éomer replied, how much should he tell her? Everything.
Lothíriel's eyes grew more intense. Éomer's insinuation had not gone unnoticed. But he could see, she wondered why he chose a half measure.
"Lothíriel, I've fallen in love with you. I think about being with you night and day... " Éomer could feel the blush coming on, but he knew he must continue, honest, "I feared kissing you, because of the haunting memories that tie my desire to my near failure to protect my sister. Yet our first kiss will be one that I will remember for the rest of my life. It made what was a feeling before a certainty. I want to be with you. But…"
"But…?" Lothíriel's eyes were inquisitive, but also… there was worry in them.
"I watched my sister languish, trapped in Meduseld with my uncle. Hunted by a man seeking to claim her. Fearing the cage closing in on her," Éomer continued, it was getting easier saying it all out loud, "She decided to take her own life rather than live in that cage."
"So I come to Rohan… to await you?" Lothíriel was testing him, he recognized.
"No… no, not at all," Éomer felt the red of his face darken, "You come to Rohan to see if you will fall in love with my land and my people, as much as me."
Éomer finally had to break their intense eye contact. He would tell her the last.
"My own mother… she… she fell in love with my father to the exclusion of everything else," Éomer could feel the tear coming to his eye, "When my father died, she just… stopped. We tried so hard to bring her out of her sorrow, but she was gone from us. It took her a year, but she died because she did not have enough love left in her heart for her children. Éowyn and I were orphans when I was but 12 years old. Even if someone had love in their heart for me, I will never want to see another suffer as my mother did. As… Éowyn and I did… watching her… fade away."
"I… did not know about your mother Éomer," Lothíriel spoke, then did the most extraordinary thing. She fell to her knees, so that she and Éomer were face-to-face, then she leaned into him and kissed him again. He expected the hunger and desire to flare up, along with fear, but this kiss to his lips was tender and loving. Healing. Éowyn's screams did not invade it. Lothíriel closed her lips, then used her nose to caress his.
"I will come to Rohan with my father. And I will meet your people and your land," Lothíriel brought her hand to Éomer's cheek, and caressed it.
"I will wait for you to say yes," the words erupted out of Éomer, "I will consider no other as long as you are considering… Rohan."
Lothíriel laughed rapturously, musically. He loved when she laughed, "My dear King, you have asked me nothing yet, save to visit a land I have always wanted to visit."
"Well… I will ask you," Éomer's tone was serious, "I love you, that will not change. But I won't before you understand completely the tether you agree to let bind you."
"You are protecting me from the fate of Finduilas," Lothíriel replied, stroking Éomer's cheek gently, "I love you too Éomer."
Lothíriel pulled Éomer in for a hug. Éomer was not sure when in his life he had felt as he did now. She loved him as he loved her. And she understood him. He was safe with her. He desperately hoped that Lothíriel would love Rohan and its people as much as he loved her.
Lothíriel then kissed Éomer, full of passion yet again. She nudged him down, so that he was on his back and she was on top of him. He tensed, worried Éowyn's screams and Wormtongue's desire would again flood him, but it did not. Instead he looked up at Lothíriel, and he saw it in her eyes. Desire. There he lay, Lothíriel's legs around him, utterly in her thrall. Her control ignited something inside of him, a confidence and joy in their touch. He took his hands and placed them on her waist, wondering if it was the right thing to do. The smile on Lothíriel's face answered his question, and he felt his face light up to match. Lothíriel bent back down and kissed him again, using her tongue to rake Éomer's teeth. Éomer closed his eyes and took in the sensation. Her weight upon him relinquished him from control and his desire became hers. Éowyn's screams in the stables did not come back to haunt him.
"The ghosts have left your eyes," Lothíriel stroked Éomer's hair.
"They may leave my eyes, but ghosts do not leave my mind," Éomer sat up, Lothíriel still on his lap, and faced her.
"Our time runs short," Lothíriel stroked Éomer's cheek, "Tell me your sorrows Éomer."
Éomer sighed, but the closeness to Lothíriel made him feel light enough to speak. Not in metaphors. Not in stunted sentences. The whole of it. The pain. The fear. The shame. And so it was, the most memorable day in Éomer's life. Lothíriel and Éomer kissed, and laughed. And for the first time, Éomer opened his heart to someone other than Éowyn. He let Lothíriel in. He let her see the pain and the fear. Of his failure to protect those he loved. Of the darkness in his soul riding to the black gate hoping with everything he was that his sister would be whole. He spoke of the 12 year old boy who had just lost his father and mother, who promised that no harm would come to his baby sister. And then how he'd failed. How he could not protect his cousin from the darkness in Isengard. How he could not stop Wormtongue as Meduseld rotted from within. He told her everything about the night in the stables. About walking in then hearing Éowyn scream. About seeing Wormtongue on top of his sister. About seeing red and trying to kill the man. About being thrown in prison on Wormtongue's words and watching the stony resolve of Éowyn harden, knowing that she had to protect herself because he had failed.
About how every time he heard men speak of women in his company, he thought of Wormtongue's hunt. Of the quiet enduring misery of Éowyn at being chased, desired by a man that repulsed her. About the sickening feeling inside of him that women would never want the touch of men, if so many hunted them. Finally, as the sun waned, it was time for them to head back into the white city.
"Éomer, I have only one more question for you," Lothíriel stroked his jawline, "Why did you wait until… today… to tell me all this?"
"Ah." Éomer stuttered, "Because I was scared. I was scared you did not feel about me as I did about you. But I was more scared that the second that I made clear my intentions, you would feel the trap spring and be unable to escape."
"Is this why you do not propose..." Lothíriel's words streamed from her, "You have not asked for my hand because if you do, we are bound. Either I say yes and must fear the fate of Finduilas, or I say no, and you are humiliated."
Éomer nodded. He had not thought of the second part. He was not sure that he cared about the political consequences of her saying no, but he was worried that she would not say no, even if she desired to.
"Yes," Éomer replied.
"Tell this to my father," Lothíriel uttered, "Not because this must become formal, but because this is something he needs to understand."
Éomer was not sure he wanted to sit and explain to Imrahil why he was delaying asking for Lothíriel's hand. He loved her. He would protect her with everything he had and was. Would Imrahil understand? Éomer finally nodded. He would tell Imrahil.
"Rohan sounds beautiful," Lothíriel smiled.
Éomer smiled back at her. He pictured it: those thoughtful eyes, blazing with excitement as they galloped to his favorite spot by the river, to the best places to pick wild strawberries in the spring, to the most magnificent glacier in the snowy mountains. Lothíriel seemed to see his mind.
"I will tell you when to ask me," her eyes twinkled, and she closed the distance between them, giving him a kiss laced with hope.
"And I will speak with Imrahil at the coronation feast," Éomer could feel his breathing quicken in his excitement.
"Please don't ask him while we have spoons hanging off of our noses!" Lothíriel laughed.
"Perhaps I will," Éomer grinned, he most certainly would, "I will not pressure you. I will wait for you."
Lothíriel closed the distance between them again and gave him another kiss. It seemed to him that as long as she took the lead, Éowyn's screams did not echo in his mind. Éomer saddled both their horses, and boosted Lothíriel onto Surefoot. Both then kicked their horses and off they went, racing the setting sun. Éomer rode just behind Lothíriel, and watched as she flew toward the white city. Her joy in riding the horse was apparent upon her face in those brief moments when she looked back at him. Éomer hoped that Lothíriel would take to Rohan as she had to riding.
After unsaddling the horses, Éomer followed their nightly routine, walking Lothíriel to her door, placing the gentle kiss upon her hand and receiving her chaste kiss on his cheek. As he walked back down to his apartment, he let himself hope. Lothíriel's desire. Lothíriel's wisdom. Lothíriel's humor. He wanted her by his side. He wanted her advice. He wanted her abed. He wanted her comfort and her care. He wanted her desire for him. And he would protect her in every way he felt he had failed Éowyn. And he could wait for her. He could wait for her to fall in love with Rohan, as he knew she was in love with him. And the moment she was ready, he would ask her to become his wife.
Yes, Éomer would talk to Imrahil tomorrow. And perhaps he would tell his sister in the morning after Faramir had left. Today had been an interesting day. Today had been a good day. Today he knew he could reach to the stars and pluck one from the sky, for Lothíriel's love was proof of that. He had what Éowyn had. But he also knew he could wait, for he would not let anyone suffer as his mother did, unable to love a land and a people, only a man. Éomer closed his eyes. He saw Lothíriel sitting atop him, eyes blazing with her own desire. He would dream of the raven-haired beauty kissing the whole of him, and he slept that night with a smile.