-A Forbidden Love-

Scene 11

Éomer took a breath to steel himself as he stood before Lothìriel's sitting room door. He knocked and waited. Footsteps sounded, then Lothìriel's maid opened it.

"Éomer King?" Her maid's voice sounded questioning.

"Is Princess Lothìriel in?"

"Yes…"

"I would like to speak to her alone." Her maid hesitated, then curtseyed and moved out the door. Éomer stepped in shutting the door quietly behind himself. Lothìriel gave him a questioning look.

"Éomer King, what a surprise…I didn't know you had planned to visit or I would have come down."

Éomer walked over to the fireplace and leaned against the stone, running a hand around his collar. "I didn't send word ahead. I. I wanted to talk to you." Lothìriel froze. "I haven't seen you since Yule, and your responses to my letters have always been so short…" he swallowed hard, "How are you doing?"

Lothìriel dropped her eyes as tears formed, "How can I be?" she asked, her voice breaking, as she stood.

"I don't want to talk about it, Éomer. Please. Please, leave me alone." She moved towards the door.

"Wait! Lothìriel," Éomer clenched and unclenched a fist as she halted, he looked into the fire, to speak quickly. "I know he was your husband. But he was my cousin, and more, like a brother to me. You are not the only one who grieves for him, Lothìriel."

Éomer glanced up to see her face go white, her hands clutch at her chest, and he watched in horror as she slowly fell to her knees. He stood stricken for a moment before rushing to her side, dropping to the floor beside her. "Lothìriel! Are you ok? Should I call a healer?" He looked around wildly.

She clutched at his arm, "No! I will see no one."

Éomer brushed back her hair, to look into her eyes, they were wide and frightened. "Let me at least get you to a chair." Slipping his arms around her, he scooped her up and took her to the low chair by the fire, "And a glass of wine." Stepping over to the sideboard, he sloshed out a full glass and rushed back over to her. "Please, Lothìriel, forgive me, I should not have said such things." She looked at him with glassy eyes, her breathing unnaturally quick and shallow.

"Breathe, Lothìriel, please!" He shook her lightly with his free hand and spilled more of the wine,"Oh, Bèma!" She hiccuped out a small laugh at his clumsiness and began to breath more normally as he pushed the cup into her hands. "Here, take a sip." She complied one small sip, then another.

The room was still for a long moment, before she spoke, "You are right," her breath hitched, "I am being selfish in my grief, pretending as if I am the only one who has lost husband or child in this war." He flinched at the reminder of her other loss and cursed himself silently.

"No, I was angry, because I would help you if I could. I want to ease your grief. And it feels like you have put up a barrier against me." He brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear, "Lothìriel. They've been gone almost a year now. I know you sorrow. I know your grief is real. I want to help you."

Tears began to drop from her eyes as she looked up at him, "It feels like I am dishonoring him to let you comfort me."

Éomer clenched his hands, uttering a low oath, "You think he would prefer this?" He gestured towards her, "You think he would want you to mourn him indefinitely?"

She buried her face in her hands, "I don't know!"

Éomer froze.

"It feels like I killed him, like it is my fault my husband and child lay dead, like I deserve it because I did not love him enough." Heart wrenching weeping filled the room.

Éomer swallowed thickly before leaning in to take her hands, "Thèodred would not want you to feel this way." He squeezed her hands lightly, "He told me, you know. Of your conversation." Éomer felt her go still, "He told me of his jealousy and of your words. And," Éomer swallowed again, "I know it wasn't the same, but I also know that you did love him. And he loved you. You must find peace in that, Lothìriel. None of us, not you or I or Thèodred were at fault for how your marriage came to be. And the war and the deaths that followed were not of your doing, none of them were. Thèodred loved you and accepted the love you gave him." Éomer felt her relax slowly. She lifted her head to stare at him with red-rimmed eyes.

"Éomer. I-" He searched deep in her look, then nodded slowly.

"It's ok, Lothìriel." He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, "We will take it slow. Maybe now you will be able to grieve rather than just torment yourself." She dropped her eyes, before nodding in return.

"Yes," she whispered softly, "Maybe now I will be able to grieve. And to heal."