Chapter 29
Aldburg, December the 19th, 3018
"Éomer? What are you doing in there?".
"What does it look like? I'm writing a letter – to Éowyn, in case you'd want to know".
Éothain appeared to be puzzled. "You are writing a letter. Sitting on a dirty bucket. In the stables' most hidden corner. Surrounded by horses' dung".
"Best place in all Aldburg".
"Does this have anything to do with Lothíriel and the preparations for your cousin's arrival tomorrow?".
"Let me think", Éomer said staring at the roof, "two days ago, she threw a fit because the whiteness of the linens on the bed where Théodred will sleep did not match that of the pillow cases; yesterday, she almost kicked Ides out of the hall when she discovered the poor girl had not thought about appointing someone to act as my cousin's footman during his stay in Aldburg; and today, she has spent the entire morning interrogating Altor about Théodred's food preferences and making plans for each and every meal that will be served during the entire Yuletide's festivities".
"So, in other words, you're hiding from your wife".
"You're damn right! And I don't intend to leave this cubicle until this madness has ended!".
Éothain was beyond amusement. "The great Éomer of Rohan reduced to a terrified fugitive by his better half. I thought I'd never see the day!".
"If you feel so cocky, then why don't you go to the hall and offer Lothíriel your help?".
"Because I happen to be fond of my own skin. Seriously though, why is she stressing herself so? I mean, I can understand Théodred being the Prince she'd want to make a good impression. But he's also family and surely, she must know he's a most humble, approachable man".
"You think I haven't tried to tell her?! Want to know what the answer has been? A paperweight flying straight at my face! I swear, even Runhild and Endien are avoiding her these days. The only one who seems unaffected by her hysteria, is Beyrith!".
Éothain grabbed a stool and sat next to him. "Hang in there, Éomer", he said patting his shoulders "by this time tomorrow, your cousin will have arrived and I'm sure that will put an end to Lothíriel's misery".
"Let us hope", he muttered.
The stables were especially busy that day. All the stalls were occupied and about twenty horses had been accommodated in the outside paddock. There was a constant coming and going of stable hands and errand boys, which was making some of the steeds – and especially Firefoot, quite nervous: his head was regularly sticking out from his box to glare at whoever dared disturbing his rest and he had taken an obvious dislike to his next door neighbour, a beautiful stallion Wíddig had walked in earlier that morning. Liver chestnut coat, powerful hindquarters and a well-arched neck, the horse had caught the eye of many around there – Éothain included: "What a magnificent animal. Are you sure you want to send him to Dol Amroth?".
Éomer stifled a grin. He had been asked that question at least a dozen times already and while his answer had always been a resounding yes, he was actually not sending him to Dol Amroth: he was sending him to Erchirion. Lothíriel's brother had come to Rohan riding Tallagor, a splendid dark bay stallion who must have surely been the pride of the Amrothian stables in his younger days, but who was now nearing the time he'd be sent enjoying his well-earned retirement. Éomer knew Erchirion would soon be in need of a new mount, and who better than a Rohirric purebred to carry the son of the Prince of Dol Amroth into battle? "I'm sure, Éothain. He's part of the last group of steeds we'll be sending for this year. There won't be more until next spring".
"What of the supplies?".
"Already dispatched to where they are needed the most. The councillors who voted in favour of the deal have received their share and the last load of barley - which is expected any day now, will remain in Aldburg to ensure the city is well fed throughout the winter. I wonder if Grima sees the irony of it: he lured Erchirion in Rohan with the purpose of getting him and Lothíriel killed and bring the East-mark on its knees; instead, he ended up saving us all from starvation".
"I'm sure he does. He must be livid…".
"He is and make no mistake: those supplies have costed us far more than just a few horses".
"Meaning?".
"Meaning Lady Aldwyn might have succeeded at getting the deal approved, but in doing so, she has compromised her position: Grima has put men after her and is making sure she won't be able to get anywhere near the councillors in the future. Whatever leverage we once had, is now lost and the only pair of eyes and ears we can still count on inside Meduseld, are Éowyn's ones".
"That why she's not coming for Yule?".
"Yes. I tried to convince her to join Lady Aldwyn and Théodred and come to Aldburg for a few days, but she does not want to leave the King's side. And as much as I hate knowing her there all alone, I reckon is probably for the best that she chose to stay. I miss her though and once Yuletide is over, I shall accompany Lady Aldwyn back to Edoras and spend some time with her".
"Sounds good. Assuming Lothíriel will have come to her senses by then, will she join you?".
"No. I won't take her anywhere near the Wormtongue unless absolutely necessary".
As expected, his words were met with a sigh of relief: "I'm glad. I feel like every time she leaves Aldburg, something bad is bound to happen! What have you gotten her as a Yule's gift?".
Éomer put down the quill and grinned dumbly. "A fur cloak".
While in Caerdydd, he had found a trader who had in stock some of the most gorgeous wolf's pelts he had ever seen. And the moment he had laid eyes upon hem, a picture had formed in his head. One that involved a very scarcely clad Lothíriel, wrapped in luxurious furs, lying beneath him. He had bought every last one of them and as soon as they had returned to Aldburg, he had given them to Wilrun's mother and instructed her to make a cloak. He had collected it the day before already and well, suffice to say he had not been disappointed with the final result!
"I know that face, and I think I better not enquire about it", Éothain sniggered, "I shall be on my way now –Háca and I agreed to help at the barracks today. Do you want me to bring you some food before I go?".
"No", he said pointing at the little bundle hanging by the stall's door, "I came prepared to make it throughout the day".
Éothain's booming laughter echoed in the stables and true to his intentions, Éomer did not leave his hideout until after dusk. He invited himself for dinner at Gárwine's place and then joined some of his riders at the Green Gate. He didn't stay for long though and when a couple of hours later he retired to his room, he was not surprised to find it empty and silent. He rekindled the fire, tossed an extra blanket on the bed and while he waited for Lothíriel to join him, he snatched the Twilight Tales book she kept on her nightstand and opened it on a random page. He was still busy reading when she barged into the room, shut the door closed behind her, marched towards the bed and then let herself flop face first onto her pillow.
"Fine. I'm a little nervous about your cousin's arrival", she finally admitted after days of stubborn denial.
"Really? Who'd have thought…".
She growled and kicked him in the shins. "Sarcasm does not help".
Éomer put the book away and straddled her. He started rubbing her back and if there ever was a doubt over how stressed she was, the number of knots and tense muscles he found would have surely dispelled it. "Better?".
"Slightly", Lothíriel grunted into the pillow.
He turned her around and pressed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I've said it a thousand times and I'll say it once more: there's absolutely nothing to be worried about. You'll win Théodred over just like you won everybody else over. Actually, you already did".
"How?".
"Need you ask?".
Lothíriel puffed her cheeks, looking utterly adorable. "Rationally, I know you are right. It's just that Théodred is like a brother to you and I… I want him to like me!".
"And you think ensuring the linens and pillowcases on his bed are the same shade of white will be paramount to succeed?".
"Well, it might help. One never knows…".
"Théodred and I are much alike, Lothíriel. Do you think I'd notice such thing?".
"I think you'd barely notice whether your bed has linens".
"Precisely. Stop fretting, dear: you have planned a beautiful Yuletide festival, the hall looks splendid and everybody in town is excited about the next twelve days. And that's what Théodred will see when he arrives tomorrow: a city that is being looked after by someone who cares deeply for it, a city whose people look up at their Lady with the upmost respect and admiration. Trust me, that's all that will matter to him".
"Not how his cousin feels about the aforementioned Lady?".
"Oh, he knows about that already. He knows all too well".
Lothíriel snuggled a little closer and Éomer let his hand glide over her arm, her side, brush her hip before moving down to caress her thigh. Feeling a familiar tightening in his groin, he tilted her chin up so he could kiss her senseless and take all her stress away. But when he looked down at her, he found her nestled in his warm embrace, peacefully asleep.
"I think your wife does not like me!".
Éomer looked up. By his side, Lady Aldwyn sipped on her tea, totally unperturbed by his cousin's distress.
"I'm serious: I think she does not like me!".
"Perhaps you should stop being so… flirtatious", Lady Aldwyn said in a most casual way, her eyes never lifting from her steaming cup.
Théodred's eyes bulged out: "Flirtatious?!".
His voice was unusually shrill, and Éomer found it difficult not to burst out laughing. "You're trying too hard to flatter her. And you are always on her heels".
Lady Aldwyn nodded in agreement.
"I'm not flattering her, I'm just giving credit where due!", Théodred defended himself.
He was obviously upset and while the whole situation was undeniably amusing, Éomer could understand the way his cousin felt. The exact moment his party had entered the city the evening before, Lothíriel had gathered all her anxiety, multiplied it by a hundred at least, and then hid it behind that stern façade that he knew all too well from the first months of their marriage. The welcome she had given his cousin had been etiquette-wise impeccable, but also icy cold, made of stretched smiles and few polite words. Théodred had sensed her anxiousness and unfortunately, he had reacted in the worse possible way: he had switched into his prince charming mode, started flooding her with compliments, insisted she should show him around, never missed a chance to sit with her for a merry chat. It was a tactic that would work with most people, but definitely not with Lothíriel because - as Éomer had come to learn the hard way, the harder one tried to pull her out of her shell, the further she withdrew. With her, it was way better to simply say what you have to say, and then give her the time to get comfortable with it.
"You need to let her be, brother. Since I told Lothíriel you'd have spent Yuletide with us, she has worked non-stop to ensure everything would be impeccable for your arrival. At times, I made fun of her for how stressed out she was, but truth is, I felt the exact same way when Erchirion was here. Which is why I know in this very moment, Lothíriel is likely berating herself for failing at getting along with you. I can assure you her aloofness has nothing to do with her not liking you, Théodred, it's just her own personal armour, the one she puts on when she feels uncomfortable. And nothing makes Lothíriel more uncomfortable than too many compliments".
Lady Aldwyn winked proudly at him, while his cousin grew pensive. "That might explain how she and Éowyn got along", he pondered, "I mean, I doubt your sister ever paid Lothíriel half compliment…".
There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by a loud, roaring laughter. "That's actually true!", convened Lady Aldwyn, "because Lothíriel may not do well with compliments, but under that miss-perfect-princess appearance, she hides quite the temper and if provoked, she can be a force to be reckoned! Did you know the people have taken to call her the Lady of the East-mark?".
Éomer smiled, his heart bursting with pride. "I know. It started after the fever outbreak in Caerdydd and spread like wildfire. Even in remote villages, folks now often approach me to inquire about the Lady of the East-mark's well-being and offer small gifts for her. The first has been a bracelet made of a braided scarlet thread. I gave it to Lothíriel over two months ago, and she has yet to take it off!".
"Have you given a thought about taking her on a tour of the East-mark?", asked Lady Aldwyn.
"I have. Lothíriel would love to visit our lands – especially the Eastemnet, and the people would love to see her. But I'm reluctant, I fear I'd put her in harm's way. With Meregith and Trewyn gone, she's safe here in Aldburg and by all means, I'm not saying she should never leave the city", he tried preventing Lady Aldwyn's wrath, "only that we need to be extra cautious".
"You are right", she agreed. "Speaking of Trewyn, what's with her father? Is he still riding in your Eored? Can he be trusted?".
Éomer sighed: that was indeed another thorny subject. "I'm positive Torfrith knew nothing of Trewyn's involvement with Grima. But after she fled the city, I was not sure whether I could trust him to come to me, should his only daughter reach out to him for help. So, I removed him from my Eored".
"It was the right call, Éomer.
"I know, but that did not make it any easier anyway. Torfrith is a good man, has been riding by my side for many years. He did not deserve what happened and in all honesty, I'd have taken him back now that I know Meregith and Trewyn are no longer a threat. But he and his wife have essentially retired to private life: they moved into a small house located at the feet of the watchtower, they have a little garden and a few animals and rarely ever leave the place. Many in town would rather see them gone and especially in the first weeks after Trewyn's disappearance, there was a lot of… anger, distrust. Things are a bit calmer now, but it's a situation that saddens me nonetheless".
The frown on Lady Aldwyn's face was one Éomer did not like. "How did Meregith and Trewyn manage to spy so effectively on us?".
"What do you mean? Meregith being the housekeeper, she knew everything going on inside the hall. And Trewyn likely took care of seeing her messages delivered".
"Yet her name was not on your list".
"Which list?", Théodred asked.
"When Lothíriel run off, within a matter of days Grima had already been informed about it. I knew we had a mole, so I put together a list with the names of all the people who had left Aldburg in the hours after Lothíriel had gone missing. I gave it to Lady Aldwyn and asked her to find out whether any of those people had been seen in Edoras, but…".
"… but they had not, and Trewyn's name was not on his list anyway. I believe she left Aldburg in disguise and met with one Grima's thugs somewhere out of Edoras".
"Were there strange movements those days?".
"Plenty", confirmed Lady Aldwyn, "and I'm thinking it might be useful for us to learn more about Grima's spy ring and the way it works. The Wormtongue may no longer have snitches in Aldburg, but he has enough planted everywhere else in Rohan and if we were able to identify them, we could chop off his legs – or at least shorten them".
"It's not a bad idea. Worth a try at least".
"Agreed. But you need to be careful, Lady Aldwyn: we've already asked a lot of you, and I don't want you to get yourself into even bigger troubles on our account".
Edoras' most famed shieldmaiden reached out for his hand and gave it a crushing squeeze. "Whether I keep on helping you or not, it hardly makes a difference, Éomer. Grima knows where my loyalty lies, he knows he can't buy me like he bought the King's councillors. I've anyway been branded an enemy of the crown, so I may as well act as one. Still, I'll be careful and if he tries to take me down, I'll be sure to have something sharp at hand, so I may rip his guts open and bring him down with me".
Just the type of thing she'd say!, Éomer thought. Hearing a chorus of children's voices outside, he stood and offered Lady Aldwyn her cloak: "Enough with the bitter topics. Yule Log is about to start. I know you two had hoped Lothíriel would be your chaperone for the day, but perhaps you don't mind me taking her place?".
"Has the Prince exasperated your wife to such an extent that she has decided to avoid us altogether for the rest of our stay?".
"No, not at all", he chuckled, "Perhaps you've heard of Dúnor - the boy she saved from those wargs. He has been living in Aldburg together with his grandparents, who are old and would rather avoid spending hours in the cold just to burn some logs. Lothíriel promised Dúnor they'd do it together, so I hope you'll excuse her if she can't be with us".
When they left the hall, the sun had just slipped behind the snow-capped peaks of the White Mountains. Darkness was settling over the city but on that day, its veil was going to be pierced by the light of twenty-one fires scattered throughout the streets, marking the beginning of the Yuletide's festivities. Tradition wanted the people of Aldburg to meet in front of the hall, where they could lift a drink from one of the large bowls filled with wassail. Once their bones had been warmed by the strong, spiced liquor, they would embark on a walk that would bring them to each of the twenty-one fires, so they could toss a log into their growing flames. Along the way, people would ger their cups refilled and by the time they had returned to the hall, many – especially among the younger ones, would be already drunk and reeling, and the city so bright and glowing to be spotted miles away. There, in the square facing the hall, the last and largest of the twenty-one fires would be lit up and kept burning for the hole duration of the Yule's festivities, a good omen for a thriving new year to start soon.
In what appeared to be the most magical Yule Log's celebration Éomer could remember, a light snow started falling on the city, coating their clothes and the thatched roofs of the cottages in a soft, pristine blanket. It was the first snowfall of the year, which caused quite some excitement among the children and – needless to say, ruthless snowball fights. One projectile missed his face by an inch and much to his astonishment, Éomer observed Lady Aldwyn kneeling in the snow and making ready to join the battle. Before he knew, he and Théodred were both covered in snow, while she was very conveniently hiding behind them. "Using the crown Prince and the Third Marshall as human shields?! Lady Aldwyn, I expected nothing less of you!", Éomer laughed once the fight had subsided.
"I shall hope so!", she gloated and true to her reputation, she disappeared inside a nearby tavern and re-emerged moments later, carrying three – filled to the brick and unusually large, cups of wassail: "We're barely halfway through and need to keep warm!", she declared.
Éomer gladly wrapped his fingers around his cup. He was wearing no gloves and the snowball fight had left his hands half-frozen. Not far ahead, he spotted Lothíriel approaching one of the fires, carrying Dúnor on her back. The boy's arms were locked tight around her neck and whatever he was telling her, he appeared to be very excited about it.
Lady Aldwyn placed her hand in the crook of his arm and nudged him: "She's good with children".
Éomer had to laugh because I'm not very good with children had been Lothíriel's exact words the day she had confided him she'd have liked to meet Dúnor, over half-year earlier. Now, those two were joined at the hip! Of course, he knew where Lady Aldwyn was getting at with that observation, and was not upset about it. Indeed, he had found himself thinking about it increasingly often during the past weeks, and discovered his heart was torn between guilt and hope. Guilt because if he looked just beyond their doorstep, he realized they were living in such uncertain, dreadful times that perhaps bringing a baby into such world would be selfish and inconsiderate. Hope because just the idea of watching Lothíriel growing heavy with their child, of a baby boy – or girl!, to enter their lives and turn them upside down for the next foreseeable future, was almost more than his heart could bear.
Éomer halted and gently removed Lady Aldwyn's hand from his arm. "Would you excuse me for a moment?".
Lothíriel had put Dúnor back on his feet and was gazing intently into the crackling flames in front of her. She gasped when he emerged from the crowd and whisked her in his arms for a kiss that could have not waited a moment longer. Someone around them cheered, others hooted. "Éomer?! What are you doing?", she laughed and Bema was she beautiful, with her cold-coloured cheeks and dazzling smile!
"Can a husband not kiss his wife?".
"He can", she said, kissing him eagerly back and not caring one bit that they were standing in plain view of the entire city.
Would his cousin mind if he tossed Lothíriel over his shoulders, rushed her back to the hall and not come out of his room until the next morning?, Éomer wondered. Would their people mind? Did he care about them minding anyway?
"Gross". Someone was not amused by his display of affection, clearly.
"Excuse me?".
"I said: gross". Dúnor's face was the one of someone who's just about to retch.
Lothíriel was already shaking with laughter – like pretty much everybody else around them, and knowing his moment of passion had just been ruined for good, Éomer straightened up and hands on his hips, he looked sternly at the young boy: "Let us have this conversation again in about ten years, and we shall see whether you'll still think it gross!".
"We can have it in fifty years, Lord. It'll still be gross".
"I'll take note", he scoffed.
The Yuletide's festivities flew by so quickly, Lothíriel could hardly believe eleven days had already passed since she had welcomed Prince Théodred to the hall.
Sitting on the steps of one of the hall's side entrances, she looked up at the starless sky above the city and smiled. Since she had arrived in Rohan, she had come to like winter. There was something about the way the earth and the sky changed compared to the warm season, that just resonated with her. She could spend days watching the storms rolling over the plains and she was fairly sure that even in twenty, thirty, forty years, she'd still squeal in delight at the sight of snowflakes caught in her hair.
On the morrow a new year would begin and eleven months to the day since she had first stepped into the city she now called home, Lothíriel looked about and realized there was so much she was grateful for, so many reasons to consider herself blessed.
Behind her, the celebrations were fast approaching their pinnacle. The music in the hall was loud, the sound of stomping feet deafening, the mood as merry as it could be. Some brave souls were dancing barefoot in the snow and among them, she noticed were Eofor and Ides. She had long suspected there was something going on between her guard and the maid, and the passionate kiss they were sharing said it all. Lothíriel was not upset about it: they made a beautiful couple and seemed very happy together. And as per the hope she had once cherished that Runhild and Eofor might have ended up together one day, she had come to understand that it was awfully misplaced. Eofor was a fine young man, but he was too… accommodating. Runhild would be much better suited with someone able to keep up with her temper and actually, she had the feeling her friend had found someone. In the past few weeks, she had been strangely secretive and Lothíriel was fairly sure a sweetheart was responsible for all the times she had excused herself and disappeared for hours. And the fact that she would not tell her about him, had led her to believe this was not just another dalliance, but rather something way more serious.
"Mind if I join you, Lady?".
Lothíriel scooted over to made place for her guest. After an initial bumpy start, her relationship with Théodred had settled into a smooth, pleasant sailing and she could see why Éomer liked him so. The Prince was - quite simply, one of those persons who are impossible to dislike.
"What are you doing here all alone?".
"Enjoying the night. And the cold. And also trying to clear up my head after way too much ale!".
"I was under the impression Gondorian ladies preferred wine to peasant, vulgar ale".
"They do. But I am no Gondorian lady, and so I shall drink plenty of vulgar ale tonight".
Théodred laughed and raised his mug: "Cheers to that!".
"Éomer says you'll be leaving tomorrow at first light".
"That's the plan, yes. It has been a delight to be your guest, but it is time for me to return home".
"Then before you go, I shall take the chance to apologize for my behaviour when you first arrived. I was… awful, really. You were trying to put me at ease and in response, I barely spoke to you at all".
"No need to apologize. We both love Éomer and that we got to like each other and become friends is all that matters. I shall actually thank you, Lady: this has been the best Yule I've had in many, many years, and I'm so glad I let my cousin convince me about celebrating it here. Normally, this time of the year I'd be either in Edoras or at the Hornburg and trust me, none of them could have ever lived up to this", he said looking around, his eyes lingering on the evergreen and holly wreaths that hung above the porch. They had been embellished with cones and berries and together with the many coloured candles that decorated almost every corner of the hall, they gave the place a festive, cozy look. Each of them had a meaning too, as Lothíriel had recently discovered: the evergreen symbolized life and rebirth, the holly hope, the wreaths the wheel of the year, the candles the light and warmth of the sun. And the beautiful Yule Log tradition that had opened the festivities eleven days earlier, was a custom that dated back to Rohan's forefathers. The fire in front of the hall was to prevent evil spirits from coming in and it was believed that the longer it burned, the faster the sun would come to warm the earth. Everything about Yule in Rohan had a strong, intimate connection with the land itself, with its history, its people. It was a celebration of life and love, which to the Rohirrim were one and the same for they lived in such a passionate way, that Lothíriel knew those plains had become the only place she'd ever feel alive.
"I'd love to visit the Helm's Deep one day", she said, "and I'm sure I'd not find it as disappointing as you suggest".
"The Helm's Deep is a sight to behold, Lady, but what you and Éomer have accomplished here is something more. Perhaps it's because I never started a family, or perhaps it's because I've always felt like a part of me would always belong to Edoras, but the Hornburg has always felt like a half-home to me. What you have built here on the other hand, is whole, is beautiful. I'm glad, you know?".
"What for?".
"For not marrying you".
Lothíriel hesitated. "Me too", she admitted, eventually.
"Éomer told you about it?".
"Yes. He said your initial plan was to strengthen the alliance between Gondor and Rohan by marrying me yourself, and that Grima opposed it on the ground that the future Queen could not be of Gondorian stock".
Théodred nodded. "At the time, many endorsed his objection. With our countries growing apart, the people of Rohan have become more isolated, more hostile towards foreigners. But you have swept that hostility away like a wind of change and the more I look at you, the more I see you and Éomer are kindred spirits, destined to be together".
Lothíriel felt tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. Staring at an undefined point on the black vault above them, she placed her hand on Théodred's. "Thank you, Lord".
The Prince planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand. At the sound of tolling bells behind them, he grinned: "Do you know what that means?".
Lothíriel leaped on her feet, excitement taking her quickly over: "Is it gift time?", she cried.
"It is, and I've been asked by Éomer to tell you he's waiting for you in his study".
"Then I shall fetch his present!", she announced.
"Summer Finding!", Théodred yelled while she was already running upstairs.
Lothíriel halted. "What?".
"You said you'd like to visit the Helm's Deep. I suggest you come for Summer Finding".
"The spring equinox? What a lovely idea, Lord!". Unable to tarry any longer, Lothíriel run up flight after flight of stairs. Her leg had been bothering her those past few days, what between the Yule Log, accompanying the children of the orphanage carolling through the town and too many evenings spent dancing until the night was the late. But it hardly mattered now: she had waited so long for that moment, that she'd reach Éomer's study crawling on all four if necessary! She stormed into the solar and took the chest she had hidden inside one of the cabinets, then headed back downstairs. When she entered the study, she found Éomer waiting for her, sitting on his desk, his lips twitched into one of those smiles that would always make her knees turn into jelly.
"Have I already told you look ravishing tonight?".
"Just about a dozen times. But I won't mind you telling it some more", Lothíriel laughed and to be honest, that was one of those preciously rare occasions in which she herself had felt ravishing. Even though the biting cold would have demanded to wear something warmer, she had opted for the red dress Cynerith had made for her the previous summer. Beyrith had fixed her hair in a loose braid in which she had entwined multiple golden ribbons and when she had looked at herself in the mirror, Lothíriel had proudly – and perhaps a little vainly, thought that she looked beautiful indeed. And well, the way Éomer had kissed her and almost ripped her clothes off when he had laid his eyes upon her, had done the rest.
"Very well then: you look absolutely ravishing, dear. Whoever bought that fabric, must have surely been a man of taste…", he told her with a smug grin. "You weren't cold, were you?".
"No. What between the fire, the ale and the dances, I almost regretted not wearing something lighter".
"Lighter like a certain blue, silk dress?".
Lothíriel nudged him. She had never worn her mother's dress in Rohan but she had once showed it to Éomer and made quite the impression - obviously! "Are we here to talk about ladies' fashion or to exchange gifts?".
"My apologies, dear. Who goes first?".
"You will, if you don't mind".
From behind the desk, Éomer pulled a large package and asked her to turn around. Something soft and warm was placed on her shoulders – a cloak, she realized. And not just any cloak, but rather the most stunning one she had ever seen. It was a deep mahogany – which matched perfectly her dress, with silver fur draping her shoulders.
"Do you like it?".
"It's beautiful, Éomer". It was more than that, but the right words were eluding her.
He started kissing her neck, nipped her ear gently. "I think you'd look even more beautiful, if you were to wear it with nothing else under…", he teased her, his voice a low purr. He pressed her harder against his body and it took Lothíriel a considerable amount of willpower to turn around and take a half-step back.
"I'll make love to you until dawn, Éomer - with and without cloak. But first, I want to give you my gift". She removed the garment from her shoulders and stowed it carefully away. As she opened the lid of the chest to retrieve her presents, she realized she was starting to feel nervous and didn't even know why!
Éomer seemed enthralled by her coyness, but the very moment his gaze turned on the heavy object she had put in his hand, his expression changed completely. He frowned, his fingers brushing the engraved hilt as if he knew he had seen it before, but could not quite remember where. Then, his eyes widened and in one smooth movement, he unsheathed the blade from its scabbard: "Father's dagger".
So he remembers it!
"Where? How?", he asked.
"I found it in the cellars. It was completely rusted, so I brought it to Herufred's workshop for restoration. He could salvage the hilt and did a great job at bringing it back to its original splendour, but told me the blade needed to be re-made. So, I sent the dagger to Edoras and – through Lady Aldwyn, to the master blacksmith Théoleth. His great-grandfather had forged this dagger for Thengel King over half-century ago, and I thought he was the only one I could entrust this job to. We exchanged many letters in the past two months. The blade is entirely his doing – of course, but I provided him with the design of the engraving".
"You did?".
"Yes", Lothíriel said proudly. Never before had she taken on such task and it had taken her many attempts before she had managed to come up with something worthy of the man who would have wielded that weapon. An intricate pattern now emerged from the base of the blade as if sprouting from the golden hilt, growing eventually into the head of a roaring lion that resembled the one depicted on Éomer's seal. She had made plans for a fitting scabbard too, but changed her mind when she had realized a more simple and sturdy design would have better fitted the purpose of the blade.
Éomer swallowed hard. "Father used to carry it always with him. I remember whenever mother caught him carving wood with it, she'd tease him and tell him this blade was far too noble to be mistreated so…".
"He used it to carve you wooden toys. Like little Fréawine, for example".
At the mention of that name, Éomer's head jerked up. "How do you know?".
"Gárwine told me. And Fréawine confirmed it". From inside the chest, Lothíriel produced what she had first thought to be a horse. Upon closer inspection however, she had noticed his short legs and bulky frame and realized it was actually a pony. The tip of the tail was broken and, on its belly, Eomund had engraved the name of his son's first beloved mount.
Éomer's eyes were misty as he took the toy from her hands - gently, as if it was the greatest treasure. "I thought it lost. I was five when father gave it to me and for the following six years, I never parted from it - I think for some time, I might have even taken him to bed with me! The day mother died, I… I tossed him away: I was angry, thought I needed to be a grownup and grownups don't play with silly wooden ponies. That was the last time I saw Fréawine".
"He too was in the cellars, and I believe we all agree he deserves a place up here".
Without warning, Éomer pulled her into a crushing hug. He did not speak a word, but there was no need for it anyway.
"I have one last thing for you", Lothíriel said. She handed him a thin, leather-bound book, one he did not seem to recognize: "Your mother wrote it", she explained, and his features hardened instantly.
In spite of what many believed, Éomer had never fully managed to make peace with the loss of his mother. In those few rare occasions he had spoken about her, his voice had been a turmoil of longing, anger and pain. Like he loved her. And he missed her. But he could not bring himself to forgive her for having abandoned him and his sister.
"They are children's stories, Éomer, the ones she used to come up with to put you and Éowyn to sleep. Somewhen, she must have collected them in a book. There are even notes here and there: she wrote which one you liked the most, changed the ending of some after your wish. They are beautiful and I… I think you should read them".
Éomer rubbed his eyes. He walked to the shelf hanging above the hearth and there, between a pair of richly engraved silver goblets and an ancient sword held on a rack, he placed both the book and Fréawine. He observed them silently for a long while and when she hugged him from behind, it was as if her touch had roused him from a deep slumber. He turned around and cupped her face, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that left her breathless and dazed: "I love you more than words can say", he spoke and something in his warm, dark eyes, swept Lothíriel away.
Hands tugging at each other's clothes, they stumbled back until she was sitting on the desk, her skirts up, her hands fumbling impatiently with Éomer's belt. She pushed his breeches down, wrapped her legs around his waist and tangled a hand in his hair.
"Then show me", she murmured against his lips.
The exact moment his ship had docked at the harbour, Erchirion had already been half-way down the pier. He stopped by his aunt to borrow a horse and as quickly as the insanely crowded streets allowed, he made for the Eastern side of the town. Many among the lesser nobles and merchants had taken up residence in that neighbourhood, and he had not been surprised to learn that that was also where Míririen lived, in a pretty house with a small garden which appeared to have been sadly neglected. The grass was taller than it should have been, the hedges overgrown, and a carpet of withered leaves covered the pebbled paths around it.
Erchirion had expected a maid to come opening the door, but it appeared luck was on his side. "Good morning, Míririen".
He could not say whether she was happy to see him, but she was definitely surprised. "Lord? What are you doing here?".
The answer to that question was rather simple. After Yule, Erchirion had spent two entire weeks sailing up and down the waters of Belfalas and each and every time he had spotted the Mouths of Anduin in the distance, he had tried to come up with a reason to justify with his men why they really needed to head for Pelargir. Alas, something had always come up to ruin his plans until finally, the day before he had managed to take the helm of his ship and guide it past Tolfalas and towards the harbour city. Some among his crew had raised an eyebrow at that unexpected stop, but none had complained because they were all more than happy to get the chance to put their feet on solid ground and spend the night in some warm inn instead of their freezing cabins. However – Erchirion realized, he could hardly tell Míririen he had spent the past three months thinking about her and sailed there at the first chance. "I have business to attend to in the city, and thought I'd drop by to see if you are busy".
Míririen stepped outside and closed the door behind her silently. She seemed uneasy, so he supposed her mother must have been home.
"I'll be sailing off tomorrow, but I'm free today and already quite ravenous. Would you like to have lunch together?", he proposed.
"Didn't you just say you have business to attend to?".
"I… already took care of it. Yesterday".
"I see". Míririen looked uncomfortable, and he wondered whether he should have better sent word ahead to inform her of his arrival.
"If you already have plans, that's quite all right. We can postpone to another time…".
"Why the horse?", she asked.
"Well, someone once told me about a tavern called the Laughing Heron. It's located nearby the swamps - in case you'd want to know, and I have long wanted to try their famed shellfish…".
She smiled and without further word, she headed back inside. Taking it as a good sign, Erchirion sat on the low stone wall that encircled the garden of her house and waited for her to come back. Pelargir had welcomed him once again with a beautiful, sunny day: cold - but not windy, ideal to enjoy a short ride and a hefty meal. Míririen took her sweet time to make ready and when she finally showed up, he leaped on his feet and helped her in the saddle of her mare. She was a beautiful animal – if a little old, and judging by the way Míririen handled her, he had a feeling riding had never been one of her priorities.
"I'm sorry I could not meet you at the dockyard last time", he told her as they left the city.
"Please, no need to apologize. I saw you ship leaving and figured something either important or bad had happened".
"And? How did it go?".
"Hm?".
"At the dockyard. You said the hull of one of your boats had been damaged".
"Oh, not good. It would have costed quite a lot to repair and given how old and worn-out the boat was, I deemed it wiser to have it scrapped".
"I see. Did you get it replaced already?".
"Not yet. We have other boats and I'd rather wait for the summer before buying a new one. The crew was not happy, but luckily they found employment elsewhere". Erchirion had the feeling she was not enjoying the direction their conversation had taken and indeed, she promptly tried to steer it towards a different subject: "That's a splendid horse you're riding, Lord".
It wasn't. It was a good horse to be sure, fitting the needs of his aunt – which were rather modest, but far from being splendid. Something about the way Míririen was acting fell off, but he wasn't sure whether he could be blunt enough to ask about it. "Hadn't we agreed on dropping the titles, captain?", he tried to lighten the mood.
Luckily, it seemed to work and after no more than a couple of hours of pleasant riding, they came in sight of the Western edge of the swampland of Loeg Balimur, which extended for many miles both along the coast and inland. It was a mostly uninhabited region and further away from the banks of the river, outlaws had often been spotted seeking refuge. A wealth of wildlife populated the area and though looking around all one could see were endless mashes, the ruins of old settlements and fortification of long forgotten origin were incredibly numerous there.
The village where the Laughing Heron was located consisted of a few small houses and a surprisingly good-looking dock. "Mooring in Pelargir is expensive, fees must be paid to the Guild", Míririen explained, "small fishermen who can't afford to pay, dock here instead and then take their catch to the city on a cart".
When they stopped in front of their destination, Erchirion risked a disappointed glance at his companion. The Laughing Heron looked like a flophouse, one where he'd never stop by unless he had no other choice. He was about to ask whether she was sure that was the right place, but then he saw a half rotten sign on which some not very talented painter had depicted the animal that gave the name to the tavern and refrained from asking. Either way, his bewilderment must have shown. "It does not look like much, I know. But trust me, even a fancy princeling would fall for their food".
Ah, just when he was starting to wonder where her biting wit had gone! "By all means then, let us not waste time and get in!".
"If that's alright with you, I'd rather sit outside".
"Won't you be cold?".
"No, and I brought a blanket with me – just in case".
Erchirion couldn't have been happier of her choice: he doubted the inside of the tavern was a pretty place, but at least outside was a nice porch overlooking the river. A crabby old woman – who was apparently the owner's wife, brought them a pitcher of water and when he asked her about the catch of the day, she gave him a long list of different shellfishes as well as seabream, squid, prawns and octopus. Leaning closer, she also whispered something about a load of lobsters which was about to be sent on its way to Pelargir, and that she could get them one if they wanted. By his side, Erchirion noticed Míririen was undecided, tempted by so many options that she could not choose any. The same applied to him too, so it was clear what he should do: "We'll take one of everything - including the lobster".
"One of everything!? That is way too much f…".
Erchirion raised a hand to silence her. "I'm hungry", he just said.
"Unless you eat for ten people, that is still too much food anyway".
He waved the woman over: "May I suggest you take the order and get back inside before the Lady here forces me to downsize it?".
"You're biting off more than you can chew – literally so!", Míririen pointed out once the woman had left.
"Perhaps. But I've spent two weeks sailing on cold, freezing waters and eating nothing but boiled dried meat, anchovies and hardtack, and I think I deserve a treat. Is that not allowed?".
"It is", she conceded. She stood and walked up to their horses, fetched something from the saddle of her mare. Erchirion thought she was cold and wanted to retrieve her blanket but instead, she returned to the table holding a flask of wine. She sat next to him and glanced furtively around before filling their cups: "Food is great here. Wine and ale, not quite so. But if they catch you bringing your own drink, they always complain", she explained.
"Míririen, I didn't know you were a transgressor of the law!".
His comment earned him a sharp elbow in his side because behind him, the first round of food was already approaching. Two more followed, until their table was so stuffed with plates and bowls that you couldn't have fit a needle in there if you had wanted to. It really was a big meal - Erchirion thought, but Valar, it smelled good! Baked shrimps, grilled octopus, gratinated scallops, sautéed mussels, stuffed squids, steamed razor clams with sweet onions, a few oysters even! And each food he tried tasted even better than the previous one! How come he had never heard of that place?!
In the wink of an eye, half of the food on the table was already gone, only to be promptly replaced by… more food! A beautiful seabream made it to their table and he quickly cleaned it and placed half of its soft, white flesh in his plate, the other half in Míririen's one. She squeezed a few drops of lemon on both portions and popped a piece in her mouth, letting out at the same time a content sigh. "Is the princeling satisfied?".
"I swear, this is one of the best meals I've ever had. The oysters were the only disappointing part, but I guess that's because you have gotten me used to too-high standards. How can this place afford such variety of dishes on their fare?".
"Today is unusually quiet, but normally there's a continuous coming and going of fishermen as well as merchant ships. Food here is not only better but also considerably cheaper than in Pelargir, and the tavern has built quite the reputation throughout the years".
"I find it easy to believe. I just cannot fathom how it took me twenty-eight years to learn of the existence of this place. And don't say it's because I'm a princeling", he warned her before she could speak, "or I'll hoard all the food on this table and leave you with nothing but empty shells!".
Seeing not much food was actually left, Erchirion puffed his chest. He was about to brag about the fact he had not bitten off more than he could chew, when the last course made it to their table. And sweet Elbereth, it was one big course!
"You hadn't forgotten about the lobster, had you?", Míririen asked in the most innocent way.
He had! Two portions of lobster soup and a plate carrying the already cleaned meat of the claws, soaked in a butter and garlic sauce, were placed in front of them. Erchirion was so full he was about to burst, but at the same time his nostrils were filled with such delicious smell, that he just had to keep on eating. By his side, Míririen – who had eaten considerably less than him, seemed to be enjoying tremendously her soup.
Too tremendously, actually.
"What is it?", she asked when she caught him staring at her.
Erchirion faced a terrible dilemma. He could either tell her she had a piece of parsley on her cheek and caused what he suspected would be a terrible embarrassment. Or, he could look the other way and allow every person they'd cross from that moment on to see her so. He pulled a handkerchief out his pocket and moved closer: "You have something… on your face".
Míririen froze, her cheeks turning pink, then red, then purple when she saw the parsley on the white fabric. She covered her face with her hands and just when he was about to say something to dispel her discomfort, she started giggling in a way he found impossible to resist.
When the owner's wife came to collect some of their empty plates, she seemed baffled to find them laughing so. "That wine, milady?", she asked staring suspiciously into Míririen's cup.
"Of course not, it's just water", she told her and to prove her point, she gulped it down all at once. "See? No way I could have emptied a cup full of wine that way. It was obviously water!".
It was obviously a lie, but perhaps on account of the enormous bill they were going to be presented with, the woman decided to let it go.
"A transgressor of the law. And a drunkard. Míririen of Pelargir, you are full of surprises!".
"At least I'm not the one who got spooked by a jellyfish…".
"Spooked?! I was viciously attacked! I'll have you know, such crimes are severely punished in Dol Amroth!".
"What you do, put jellyfishes in shackles?".
Oh, but she was cheeky!
Erchirion leaned over. He had not expected things to happen that way, but what between her mirth, her banter and those two dove eyes the colour of the sea on a sunny, golden day, Míririen was just too lovely! His lips brushed hers - gently, slowly. When he pulled back, she looked up at him, wide-eyed, her forefinger tracing his lower lip like she had just discovered she had been bewitched and could not quit explain how it had come to pass. His hand slid up, fingers woving through her hair. She tasted of wine, of salt and wind, and he had not nearly had enough of her! "I lied to you", he whispered between kisses that were growing fiercer and more urgent, "I have no business in Pelargir. I came because I wanted to see you".
Míririen moved closer to him. "I lied too", she said, "last time you were here, I did not see your ship leaving", her hand moved to cup his neck, her lips parted, "I waited for you at the dockyard until lunchtime, but you never came and I was… disappointed…".
Erchirion shouldn't have been pleased to learn Míririen had felt let-down because of him. Yet deep within him, pride surged through his veins for he had spent the past three months thinking of the witty, charming young lady he had met on a beautiful autumn night at lord Thalador's villa, unable to explain what was about her that had ensnared him. And to find out he had not been alone in that inexplicable torment, felt… good, right. "I'll have to set sail tomorrow. It might be weeks before we dock again but when we do, do you think it would be appropriate for me to write you a letter?".
She smiled. "I don't know if it would be appropriate – very little of what I do is. But I'd like very much to read your letters. Does that answer your question?".
It did and for a while, Erchirion was content with simply holding her. He'd have gladly stayed so indefinitely, but it wasn't long until two merchant ships docked at the small pier, pouring a thick crowd of new customers into the tavern. Their leftovers were packed, he paid the bill and shortly after, they were asked to leave the table.
"Would you mind if instead of riding, we walked?", Míririen asked as they headed towards their horses, "I've eaten way too much and need to stretch my legs".
"Walking sounds good", Erchirion agreed and with their horses following closely behind, they set off towards Pelargir. "You don't like riding, do you?", he enquired.
"It's not that I don't like it, I simply never had the need to be good at it. With the exception of visiting places such as this one here, I've rarely ever left Pelargir. And the few times I did, it was always on a boat".
"Have you ever visited Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth?".
"Dol Amroth, no. I was in Minas Tirith a couple of times, but that was many years ago and I remember very little of it. Will you tell me about your home?".
Erchirion chuckled. An entire lifetime would not be enough to convey the attachment, the love and devotion he felt for the place he called home, but he tried nonetheless. Míririen listened attentively to his tales – especially the sea ones, and so taken they both were with their conversation, that it wasn't until they spotted Pelargir's Eastern gate in the distance, that they realized they had ended up walking the entire way back.
The harbour city was infused in a reddish sunset light, a mild breeze was rising from the river. Standing awkwardly in front of Míririen's house, Erchirion cursed himself: they should have said their farewells before entering the city, before finding themselves surrounded by way too many people to afford the comfort of one last kiss or even just a caress.
"I shall be waiting for your letter, whenever that might come, Lord".
"And I shall be looking forward to my next visit to Pelargir, Lady".
Míririen flashed him a sheepish smile and then, she was gone. Erchirion exhaled and after one last look at the building in front of him, he turned around and headed back towards the harbour. "Well, well, well", someone said as he turned around the corner, "seems like our commander has enjoyed a pleasant day trip in the company of a lovely lady".
Kill me. "What do you want, Amrothos?", he barked back, "Don't you have anything better to do than spying on your own brother?".
"Most definitely not - especially since he's been so suspiciously vague on why we needed to make a stop in Pelargir. Was Míririen happy to see your ugly face?".
He snapped around. "How do you know her name?!".
"Oh, I have my sources…".
"You're a snooper! I'll say this only once, Amrothos: mind your own business, and stay out of this", he growled.
"You can hardly expect me to comply, when you are so obviously in need of a good advice". He was walking a half-step behind him, arms crossed behind his head, his lips twitched into a crooked smile.
"I need no advice – especially not from you!".
"You like her", he stated matter-of-factly.
Erchirion grabbed him by the scruff of his neck: "I said: stay out of this".
Amrothos didn't as much as flinch, but looked bloody serious now: "You should have taken a chaperone", he informed him.
Erchirion blinked. Once. Twice. His brother – the one who had had more dalliances than hairs on his head, was giving him courting lessons?! "Rich advise coming from the likes of you!".
"Do not take me for a fool", hissed Amrothos, "the women I hang out with are hardly maidens, let alone wife's material. Míririen on the other hand, happens to be both things".
"Wife's material?! Amrothos, you're getting ahead of yourself!".
"Perhaps I am. All I know is that you've been acting strange lately. During Yule, you haven't as much as looked at one lady. You had us sailing here at the first occasion and disappeared the very moment we docked. I ask around and what do I learn? That three months ago during a fancy banquet at Lord Thalador's villa, a certain prince spent the entire evening in the gardens in the company of a young woman named Míririen".
Blasted tittle-tattle! "Yes, I met her there. But nothing happened and besides, we were hardly alone in the gardens", Erchirion defended himself. Incidentally, he forgot to mention about a certain fishing trip…
"You were today though. And trust me, you were seen leaving the city and returning many, many hours later. Plus, you may have managed to keep yourself from ravishing Míririen when you bid her goodbye, but anyone who has eyes saw the way you were looking at each other. Look", Amrothos said obviously exasperated, "I'm not saying you have to marry her. Only that it's clear you like her and as such, you should thread more carefully because she is the one who has everything to lose from your disregard of the proper etiquette. A dalliance with the daughter of some merchant will hardly tarnish your reputation, but it may very well destroy hers – even here in Pelargir!".
Erchirion stopped dead in his tracks. What was happening? Had the world just been turned upside down? Since when had he become so thoughtless? And even more importantly: since when had Amrothos started to make so much sense? "You are right", he realized, "I've really been acting like a fool, I don't know what took me…".
"Oh, I think we both know what took you, brother"
Beyrith passed her the parchment and bit nervously on her nails. "I-I'm not sure about the last one, Lady".
Dearest sight of my heart,
… so far so good, Lothíriel thought…
show your gentleness trough your love and favour for me.
Ah, there it was! "Just a little mistake over here, you see?". She tapped her finger on the word trough and Beyrith frowned, mouthed it a few times. She took the quill and wrote it again:
show your gentleness through your love and favour for me.
"Like this?".
"Yes, that's perfect! Well done, Beyrith: this wasn't a simple sentence and through is a treacherous word, too similar to trough".
"Trough like the watering place?".
"Yes"
Her maid nodded. "I will remember next time".
"I'm sure you will", Lothíriel said with a smile.
Beyrith had never been taught how to read and write and when shortly after Yule she had expressed the wish to learn, she had decided she could be her teacher. Every evening after supper, they'd spend some time in the solar working on her teachings and if Éomer was away – like that day, they'd often stay up until very late. Lothíriel had found that new endeavour enjoyable and incredibly rewarding: Beyrith was a smart girl, never rushed into giving answers but rather preferred thinking before speaking – or, in that case, writing. Also, she was almost as much of a perfectionist as she was and if she did not like the way a letter on the paper had come out, she'd write it over and over again until she was finally satisfied with the result.
"Would you like to practice some more or are you too tired?".
"Could we finish writing the song – or this verse at least?".
"Of course".
Lothíriel stood and while Beyrith worked on her task, she fetched a shawl. The fire in the hearth had almost gone out but she did not want to rekindle, for they'd soon retire anyway. She was surprised when someone knocked at the door – she had thought everyone would be asleep already, and even more surprised to see one of the hall's attendants entering the room. "Ides has asked me to bring you these", the man said offering her two cups filled with the rosehip infusion she had become so addicted to, "I believe she was… keen on retiring".
"I'm sure she was", Lothíriel snorted, "has Eofor retired too, by any chance?".
"Now that you ask, I believe he has. Only a coincidence, I'm sure…", the attendant declared as he left the room.
Sipping on her drink, Lothíriel sat next to Beyrith and checked her progresses. There were a couple of misspellings but otherwise, she seemed to be doing great and judging by the speed at which she was drinking her tisane, she supposed she enjoyed the deep red beverage almost as much as she did. She appeared to be getting tired though, her hands were getting slow, sloppy almost. "I… don't feel very well…", she mumbled, the quill scratching the paper and ruining an otherwise perfect, faultless verse.
Lothíriel reached out and noticed her sight was blurring. All of a sudden, she felt groggy and so impossibly tired… "I think we should… retire…", she said with great effort. She tried to stand, but hit the ground instead. Something's not right, she thought, but she felt so numb that she couldn't even bring herself to be afraid, let alone call for help.
Not even when the door opened and heavy footsteps approached. Not even when someone picked her up. Not even when she was placed in a space so cramped, she had to curl up. Not even when she heard a snapping sound and darkness crept over her.
Something's not right…
Author's notes: phew, that was a long chapter! Éomer got to meet Erchirion, and I wanted Lothíriel to meet Théodred. And what better occasion than Yule to spend time with your family and exchange gifts with your beloved ones.
I know many in past reviews were rooting for Eofor and Runhild too end up together, but I'll be honest: I never thought they'd work as a couple – for the exact reason Lothíriel explained in this chapter. Whether Runhild really has a mysterious sweetheart and who that might be, we shall see!
Writing about Erchirion is an absolute delight and his storyline will continue throughout most of the upcoming instalments. In case you hadn't guessed it, I absolutely adore seafood and Erchirion and Míririen's meal is pretty much my dream one! :)
With respect to the short lines Beyrith was practicing on, they are taken from a 15th century German song called Dearest sight of my heart / Hertz liebstes pyld.
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: it was. And it was terrible for Éomer to see her coming to such a tragic end. Glad you liked Míririen because I enjoyed a lot writing her character!
Tibblets: lol! Never heard it before but I'd say it's a fitting name!
Fabi Washu: glad you took the time to leave a review! :) Yes, the good thing about Erchirion and Amrothos is that you can pretty much go wherever you want with them, given Tolkien practically only gave us their names and nothing more. Hope you'll continue to enjoy his storyline!
Wondereye: danger indeed!
tgo62: it was honestly another reason for travelling to Pelargir – taking a little break from Rohan. Erchirion's storyline will definitely continue – perhaps not in each and every chapter, but almost, and as you can see he already found the time for more "oysters". As much as Éomer had come to hate Meregith, I doubt you can lose someone who has played such an important role in your life without mourning for her/him.
Rho67: thank you! Betrayal aside, Meregith has had a hard, sad life and even after all she has done, I'm sure someone like Éomer would be devastated to find her killed in such way. Red dress – good timing to ask, I guess? :) As per Erchirion, no commissioning needed as you can see!
ACH: thank you!
tyskvalkyrja: well, with the Fellowship setting out from Rivendell on December the 25th and leaving Moria exactly one month later, I'd say you are right and they are very much on their way! Ah, yes: a breakout handled well has to be everyone's desire nowadays! :( As per Théodred, not sure why you ask that?
Katia0203: I'm so happy to read you liked the Erchirion's storyline, and Míririen was a delight to write! It was a sad end for them both. On the other hand, Meregith was given plenty of chances to redeem herself, but chose not to.
Catspector: thank you! I won't publish a dedicated Erchirion-Míririen storyline, but only because I intend it to be part of this one, so don't worry: you'll keep reading about them! It's silly, but whenever I write of Lothíriel's obsession for keeping the household impeccable, I always picture Monica from Friends and laugh at myself! :) But you are right: she made some worthy discoveries, some of which meant a lot to Éomer as we have seen in this chapter. Grima's grip has loosened, which is why he'll try to tighten it now and the first who paid the consequences was Lady Aldwyn. Luckily, it takes more than that to keep her from fighting for her country. I guess perhaps Meregith and Trewyn had hoped they might get help from Grima, but what was in for him: they had no more use to him, so he probably deemed it wiser to get rid of them.
hirokosoul: oh my, thank you so much! I hope you'll keep enjoying the story and yes, I'm very much updating!