The next morning, Lothíriel woke and found that Éomer was gone. He must be tending to Firefoot, she thought to herself, stretching leisurely in bed before sitting up. She and Éomer had made rather passionate love last night—and she suddenly worried that the guards outside might have heard them.
"Goodness," she said softly, touching her warmed cheeks. It was likely—there was only a tent between them and the men standing just outside. Oh…how was she going to look anyone in the face after last night!
She heaved a heavy breath and tossed the blankets and furs off herself, standing up and stretching again. She quickly fetched her dressing gown, and donned it, before she sat on a stool and unbraided her hair, and set to brushing it. She had no mirror with her, except a small one that was little help with her long, thick tresses.
When Elfleda arrived, the girl was was a chatterbox as always, and helped Lothíriel dress and do her hair. "There now," Elfleda said, grinning at Lothíriel and admiring their work.
"Will we be setting off again soon?" Lothíriel asked.
"After breakfast, and after we pack up camp," Elfleda said. "We'll be making many stops along the way to Aldburg—farms and villages and the like. We're heading off course to one today, or so the men say."
"Ah," Lothíriel said, smiling. That was a pleasing thought. Though she was greatly eager to see Aldburg, she was pleased that she would get to meet more of Éomer's people. It was difficult to consider herself much of a queen when she'd been cooped up in Meduseld for all these past months.
And after the debacle of Éomer and his Eored riding out to rescue her when she stayed too long away from Edoras, she was reluctant to ask for permission to travel on her own volition to visit more villages, farms or homesteads.
Lothíriel peered into the tiny mirror, before handing it to Elfleda. "I do suppose it would take less time to get to all our destinations if we didn't have a fussy Gondorian princess to tend to," Lothíriel jested, standing up and walking towards one of the chests.
"You are an Eorlinga Queen," Elfleda reminded her, "Not a fussy princess of the south."
It was true, although Lothíriel wondered if any others in these lands considered her as anything more than a foreigner. She swallowed slightly—pleased at her boldness at finally telling Éomer that she loved him, but still…she almost wished he had not had to lie and tell her the words back to her.
She could not fault him for not loving her back…he hardly knew her and…he had no real obligation towards her, save that he treat her well enough due to his friendship with her father. She almost felt guilty for confessing to him. She wondered if it had been an unfair move on her part…should she had stayed quiet on the matter so he did not feel obligated to speak the words back to her?
"My lady?" Elfleda asked, worriedly, and Lothíriel realized she had been staring intently and forlornly at the far wall.
"I'm sorry, Elfleda," Lothíriel said, snapping out of her thoughts. "I'm afraid I was lost in thought."
Elfleda frowned, but nodded. "I will go prepare your breakfast," she said. "Do you wish to eat here or with the others?"
"Oh, with the others, certainly," Lothíriel said. "And I need to tend to Baethra."
"Of course, my Lady," Elfleda said, bowing slightly before leaving.
Lothíriel followed her out of the tent, and the bright sunlight of early mid-morning hit her eyes with a vengeance. She shielded her eyes, and gazed around the busy camp. Servants were preparing food, while some of the tents were being brought down and packed up. She felt a stab of guilt again, knowing that, despite already making many stops along the way, her presence made much more work for the travelers. If she weren't here there would be less need for most of the preparations.
She spotted Éomer walking towards one of the fires, where a few of his riders were seated around, eating. She lifted up her hand to wave to him, but quickly brought it down, realizing that he must be wishing to speak to his men, and she did not wish to disturb him.
She heaved a sigh, before heading towards where Elfleda was headed.
She passed by the fire with Éomer and his men, wanting to see him despite knowing she should not try to disturb them. She nodded her head in greeting to Éomer as she passed by, and saw that he seemed surprised to see her, though she continued on before she could guess why.
Perhaps he thought she would sleep more—after all, she did have a habit of sleeping too late in the day at times.
She had only made it a few more feet before she felt someone grab her hand. She turned around and looked up in surprise to see Éomer standing there, gazing at her with a peculiar expression on his face. Looking back at his men, who were watching her and Éomer intently, Éomer then pulled her aside so they could speak privately.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, worried.
Éomer blinked a few times, before speaking slowly. "No. But…are you alright?"
Surprised by his words and unsure what he might think could possibly be wrong with her, she said, "I am fine, my Lord. I am just curious as to why you have pulled me aside," she nodded in the direction of his riders. "I did not mean to interrupt your breakfast…I hope you did not take offense to—"
He gave a small, awkward laugh. "No, no, Lothíriel," he said, cupping her face with his hands. "I was merely worried that you were upset, is all. You walked by so coldly I thought I had upset you somehow."
She stared at him, before she felt her face flush with embarrassment. "I—I apologize, my Lord," she said, stepping away from him and quickly curtsying awkwardly as she tried to think of what to say to calm his worries, and to calm her own panic.
After all, she did not want Éomer to be unhappy with her, and if he thought she was being 'cold' to him that may destroy what little progress they've made in their marriage…
"I just…I didn't want to disturb you," she said. "You seemed to be in conversation with your men."
Éomer visibly sighed in relief. "Thank Bema," he said. He took her face in his hands again and kissed her heartily, and behind them she could hear his riders whistle when they saw.
Blushing intensely, Lothíriel grinned at him when he drew away from her, before swatting his hands away in a mock scolding manner. "Not here," she whispered, but she could not help but beam at him.
"Come," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her away. "Let us get my Queen some breakfast."
Lothíriel closed her eyes.
I am honored to be here, she rehearsed. Or…perhaps that would sound disingenuous? It was an honest greeting, but if the villagers did not believe her, they might mistake her and think she was mocking them. She felt panic rise in her throat again, and almost hurled her breakfast down Baethra's side. She opened her eyes again, and looked forward towards the farmstead ahead of them. They were one the outskirts of a village—a small one, but no less important than Edoras.
How was she to greet her people? She had gotten slightly out of practice, for it had been a good few months since she had been introduced to new people en masse. Now, she worried she had somehow lost touch with all her years of diplomatic training. What if she said something wrong? What if they hated her? What if they already hated her? What if they hated her so much that Éomer would decide he had to send her back to Gondor?
She put her hand to her mouth, gagging slightly on her own anxiety.
"My lady?" Elfleda nudged her horse nearer to Lothíriel and Baethra. "Are you…alright?"
Lothíriel swallowed hard, imploring her stomach to settle.
If she became ill in front of her people…goodness, she loathed to think what they would think of her then.
"I am fine, Elfleda," Lothíriel siad. "I'm just a bit nauseated."
Elfleda's eyes widened slightly, and she looked around wildly. "Are you sure?"
"I should think so," Lothíriel replied, amused.
Elfleda looked increasingly interested in this revelation, but did not speak any more on the subject. Instead, Lothíriel directed her own thoughts inward, trying to find the perfect greeting for the village elder. How was she going to convince the people of Rohan people that she was worthy to be their queen? Elfleda always assured her that her dowry saved Rohan and its people, but would the people like her on that basis alone?
She doubted so—after all, she was sure they would have rather their king marry one of their own, dowry or no.
Another fit of nausea hit her with a vengeance, and she fought back a visible and audible gag. A few heads of nearby men and soldiers looked her way. She smiled nervously at them, nodding slightly in their directions, before staring ahead, her cheeks flamed with humiliation.
They passed by a few pens with sheep, pigs and goats kept inside them, before they entered the village itself. Children ran by, and Lothíriel smiled to see them so uninhibited and joyous.
When they reached the village center, Éomer put up his hand and their traveling party slowed to a stop. It seemed most people in the village had come to greet them, or at least, to see them. Lothíriel swallowed again, hoping that would not vomit in front of all these people.
Éomer dismounted, and much to Lothiriel's surprise he came to her first, smiling up at her and grasping her waist with his large hands, before aiding her out of her saddle. He beamed down at her, before offering her his arm.
She gratefully took it, and let him lead her to the village leader, who knelt to the ground along with the other villagers. She was thankful that Éomer was greeting his people with her at his side—it would give the illusion of a mutually loving marriage. That at least, she thought, would hopefully assure his people that this was a good match.
"Éomer King," the village elder said, bowing low, before he slowly rose to his feet. "We thank you for gracing us with your presence."
"We are honored to be here," Lothíriel blurted out, before she could stop herself. Everyone looked at her, including Éomer. Her face blushed fiercely at this blunder. But the man merely smiled appreciatively, and Éomer looked down at her with approval. Perhaps it was no so much of a blunder, she hoped.
"You must be Lothiriel Queen," the man said, bowing to her. "We are eager to show you our village."
She nodded her head in acknowledgement, smiling earnestly at the man, "I look forward to it." She looked apologetically at Éomer. She had not meant to talk over him—or speak before he had a chance to address his people, but found that he was looking at her with almost a look of pride.
"Hadama," Éomer said, addressing the man and patting Lothiriel's hand, which rested on his arm, "I am most happy that you have finally met my wife—is there a place where she could rest until you are ready to give her a tour of the village? She has had a long journey and I want to make sure she is well rested before we set off again this afternoon."
Hadama bowed again, nodding his head. "This way, my Queen."
Lothiriel's cheeks burned again—and gave Éomer an anxious look look as he lead her after Hadama, Elfleda and two guards following them. "This isn't necessary," she began, quietly. She was thankful, no doubt. She was exhausted, and secretly pleased that Éomer had recognized that she needed some rest and quiet…but to make everyone have to accommodate her…she already worried that her traveling party resented her helpless ways. The villagers also resenting her…would be too much for her to bear.
"Do not worry," Éomer said, affectionately. "I have many things to discuss with the village leaders. And you don't look well. You should get some rest before we head out again."
She nodded slowly, frowning and wondering how 'ill' she looked for even Éomer to realize it. They reached a house and an older woman and a woman a few years older than Lothíriel stepped out of it. They bowed low, and Hadama spoke in Rohirric to them, before he turned back to Éomer and Lothíriel and the others. "This is my wife, Fjreja, and my daughter, Rama. They will take care of her highness while we discuss matters."
Éomer nodded, before kissing Lothiriel on the cheek, surprising her greatly, and sauntering off after Hadama, Éothain and a few of his own guardsmen following him. "Oh," Lothíriel said, a little breathlessly, touching her cheek. She was becoming increasingly and pleasantly aware that Éomer was not afraid of public displays of affection—something that was both foreign and welcome to her.
She gathered her composure, and walked up to Fjreja and Rama. She curtsied, "Thank you for giving me a place to rest. I apologize for burdening you."
Fjreja smiled, before she and her daughter bowed again. "It is our honor," she said, in a strong accent, but fluent common speech. "Please come inside our humble home, my queen."
Lothíriel followed her inside, and found a quaint, homey house practically filled to the brim with drying herbs and plants. "Are you healers?" Lothíriel asked, surprised, before she could stop herself.
"I am a midwife," Fjreja said, smiling at Lothíriel.
"Oh?" Lothíriel sat down in a chair that Rama motioned for her to sit in. It was the nicest and most comfortable chair in the large room that spanned most of the living quarters.
Elfleda stepped into the house after them, closing the door behind her. The guards stayed outside the entrance to the home. Elfleda grinned at Fjreja and Rama, before hurrying over to Lothíriel, and kneeling down and whispering urgently into her ear, "Why not ask her to help you?"
Lothíriel turned her head to gaze at Elfleda scrutinizingly, wondering what Elfleda could be wondering.
"With your…nausea," Elfleda whispered, her eyes wide and her expression intent.
"Oh," Lothíriel said, looking over at Hadama, before looking back at Elfleda and frowning. She supposed a midwife was a healer as well, and might know how to help someone with nausea caused by nervousness. "I have been feeling ill all day," she said. "I'm afraid it's getting quite severe."
Fjreja raised her eyebrows.
"And her monthlies are late," Elfleda blurted out.
"Elfleda!" Lothíriel hissed, her cheeks burning.
Fjreja laughed gently, before walking over to Lothíriel. "Do you mind if I examine you?" she asked.
Lothíriel nodded nervously. She was now sure she knew what Elfleda was insinuating, but she herself couldn't dare to hope for news of pregnancy. After all, it was far too…too…too good to be true, if she was pregnant.
Freja pressed her fingers gently against Lothiriel's breasts, and asked if Lothíriel was sore there, which Lothíriel found to her surprise that she was, ever so slightly. She had not thought much of it over the last week or two—but now that she thought of it, her beasts had been more tender lately. Fjreja pressed her hand against Lothiriel's belly, before asking her many questions about Lothiriel's monthlies and evens some rather intimate questions about her relationship with Éomer.
When she was done asking questions, Fjreja said, happily "It seems your suspicions are correct-you are pregnant."
Lothiriel's mouth dropped open. "What?" she asked. "How?"
Fjreja laughed. "You should have those answers already," she said, gathering some herbs that hung on the wall and beginning to prepare them. "I will make a brew for you for the nausea. You are in the very early stages—and so it is too soon to make any strong claims one way or another…another few weeks and you should be able to confirm without doubt."
Lothíriel looked at Elfleda, before looking back at Fjreja. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Are you really sure? That I'm…" Lothíriel put a hand to her belly, the other at her mouth as her eyes welled with tears.
"My lady?" Elfleda looked down at her worriedly.
"I apologize," Lothíriel said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "It's just…his lordship will be so pleased…as am I."
"It is a joyous occasion," Rama said, smiling, "For the heir to the kingdom to be brought into the world."
Lothíriel nodded. "Please," she said, "Don't say a word to anyone yet. As it's…too early to confirm for sure, as you said."
Fjreja nodded. "I will not even tell my husband," she assured Lothíriel.
Lothíriel nodded, drank some of the tea that Fjreja prepared for her, and chatted happily with the three other women until Éomer came to fetch her.
As Hadama and some of the other villagers and their children gave her a tour of the village, Lothíriel found that she had renewed strength and vigor. She was so relieved and happy that she was pregnant, that all she could do was follow Éomer around like a lovesick puppy, and found herself smiling at him much more than she usually did.
When they found themselves back at their horses, he lifted her into the saddle, and stood by her side for a moment. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"I am wonderful, my lord," she said. "I am so happy to be seeing more of your land and people."
"Our land and people," he reminded her, taking her hands in his and rubbing his calloused thumbs gently over her hands. He smiled at her, gave a little, pleased sigh, before turning to Firefoot and getting into the saddle. A horn blew, and they headed out.
As Lothiriel rode some ways behind Éomer, Elfleda drew her horse closer. "So!" Elfleda said, quietly, excitedly. "What did Éomer King say when you told him the news?"
"I haven't yet," Lothíriel whispered back. "And you can't either. I can't tell him until I am sure."
"'Sure'?" Elfleda repeated.
"Yes," Lothíriel replied softly, so no one could overhear them. "After all, I have heard many times that one can never be sure of a lasting pregnancy until one is at least a few weeks, if not months, along," she heaved a sigh. "I wish I could tell him, but I do not want to give him false hope if I am not actually pregnant. Or if the pregnancy doesn't… In Gondor," she added, for good measure, "One does not announce these things until one is in a later stage of pregnancy."
"But…don't you think he would like to know?" Elfleda asked.
"Oh, I'm sure he would," Lothíriel agreed. "But it is better this way." She looked at Elfleda sternly. "You are not to tell him."
Elfleda pursed her lips. "You southerners are strange," she said. "But I will comply with this order."
"Good," Lothíriel heaved a sigh.
Lothíriel hated to admit it, but she had a selfish reason why she did not want to tell Éomer, besides the cultural expectations she grew up hearing about. She was…reluctant to face the consequences of Éomer finding out they were expecting.
If he knew she was now pregnant…would he even visit her anymore? Pay her any attention? She wondered if he would even bother sleeping in the same bed as her now. After all, his husbandly duty was now taken care of. He had no obligation towards her, and while she was happy and relieved that she would not, at least for now, be sent back to Gondor in shame…
She could not help but worry that Éomer would quickly forget his good graces toward her, now that he no longer had any obligation to her nor any need to pay her any affection or attention.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Thanks for reading! Sorry for all the mistake in this. I just finished writing it and I read through it once or twice but I wanted to post it before I ran out of time today as I probably won't have time to work on this story again for a little while longer :)
See you soon!