Chapter 32
Rohan, January the 27th, 3019
On the morning of their third day Hadleigh, Éomer awoke to an empty bed. He frowned but his worries were immediately put to rest when Lothíriel entered the room, a tray carefully balanced on her right arm. "I thought we could have breakfast in bed", she said with a tiny smile and offered him a cup of tea and a portion of porridge
"What a splendid idea, love".
Sitting by his side, Lothíriel nibbled on a slice of buttered bread and stared pensively out of the window. The past couple of days she had been quiet and distant, always spending her time either sitting alone in the tavern or – when her leg allowed it, walking around the village, her eyes always fixed on the ground and her brow twisted in a pensive frown. She did not complain if he tried to keep her company, but rarely spoke a word to him – or anybody else for the matter. Then, in the evenings, she'd sneak in bed and snuggle against him, the hold of her arms around him never easing throughout the entire night. The healer had assured him she could make the ride to Aldburg, but when offered the possibility to go home, Lothíriel had unexpectedly declined. More than that, she had insisted they remained in Hadleigh, and stressed more than once that when she said they, she meant the two of them, as well as all of his men. He had found her request unsettling, the notion that she might be scared of returning home and would rather stay there, heart-wrenching.
"What do people in Aldburg know of Albeam?", she asked.
Éomer's head jerked up. "What do you mean?".
"Do they know he's the one who abducted me and Beyrith? Do they know he was spying on us?".
"No. After we determined he must have been the one who took you - and in view of the fact we had no idea who his accomplices were, we decided to keep the information confidential. Only a handful of people know - Gárwine, Runhild, Eofor, Ides and a couple of guards who were on duty the morning we discovered you were missing".
Lothíriel sipped on her tea. "Good. And you said you instructed Gárwine to send a rider to Edoras to inform Lady Aldwyn of my abduction".
"I did", Éomer said hesitantly, feeling like his wife had suddenly started speaking in riddles. "Why do you ask?".
"Because I have come to the conclusion that the only way to survive the next months, is beating Grima at his own game. And I have a plan what our first move should be".
Éomer was unsure whether being relieved by her cold calmness, or rather worried. "I'm not following you, Lothíriel. What are you speaking about?".
When she turned to look at him, there was a bitter grin on her face. "Let's start with what we know for sure. Albeam was in Grima's service, he was the one whispering information in his ear and he was the one who hastily left town last year after I tried running away. Furthermore, we know Grima was unaware of his involvement with Trewyn and their plan to sell me to the Dunlendings. When Albeam abducted me, he surely knew it was only a matter of time before his absence would be noticed and his involvement in my disappearance surmised. Given his and Trewyn's plan was to get back in Grima's good graces, I think it is safe to assume he destroyed any evidence in his possession that might have been compromising for the Wormtongue – letters, assets and whatnot. In theory, this leaves us empty handed. Unless", she said and paused briefly, "we tell the people a different story".
Éomer had no idea what such story would be, but he was starting to understand some aspects of Lothíriel's strange behaviour. "Is this why you insisted none of my riders should leave Hadleigh?".
"Yes", she admitted, "if we are to do what I am about to propose, secrecy is paramount. I couldn't risk one of your men to return home and blurt out the truth about Albeam – what his plan was, how he died, and so forth".
It bugged him tremendously that she had not told him, but said nothing. "What's your plan?".
"I asked Éothain this morning, and he told me it will take us about three days to get to Aldburg – what between the snow and the wounded. He also assured me that a swift rider would need half the time to cover the same distance, that he'd need one day to get from Hadleigh to Edoras, and another day to get from Edoras to Aldburg. Is that true?".
"Sounds about right".
"Then here's my plan. You'll dispatch a man to Edoras and instruct him to seek Lady Aldwyn. I shall write her a letter to inform her about what has really happened and what we will pretend that has happened, namely: we'll change Albeam's role in my abduction, while keeping everything else intact. We'll say the man kidnapped me and that his plan was to deliver me to the Dunlendings and then quickly return to Aldburg, where he was to resume his duties in the hall and ensure his and Trewyn's plot would be successful. Furthermore, we'll say his intention was to inform Grima right away, so that he'd be ready to intervene once Éomer of Rohan had fallen. However, his plan was disrupted when a violent argument sparked between Trewyn and the Dunlendings. Things got out of hand and both Albeam and Trewyn were killed. Lady Aldwyn is to make sure this tale accidentally gets to Grima's ears, together with the reassurance that we are both in good health and on our way home, where we are positive we'll find enough evidence of treason to make our move against him".
"And how is that supposed to help us?".
"Here comes the second part of the plan. You are to dispatch a second rider, this time to Aldburg: he's to inform Gárwine to keep an eye on Albeam's house – which I assume he has by now already discreetly searched".
"You want Grima to send someone to clear the place of any incriminating evidence", he realized.
"Yes".
"What then?".
"We take note of the people involved, we tail them, we make sure we know everything about them - their movements, whom they speak to, how many times per day they go to the latrine, if needed. Lady Aldwyn once said it would have been useful for us to find out more about Grima's spy ring and the way it works. This is how we'll do it, Éomer: one by one, we'll find his snitches and instead of removing them, we'll use them to our own advantage, we'll make sure the right type of information gets to their ears and, subsequently, to Grima's ones".
"You think he'll fall for it?".
"He fiercely opposed my marriage to your cousin. He tried to get me killed while we were on our way to Edoras. He tried to turn me against you. He tied to kill me another time last autumn. He failed each time and to make it worse, we rubbed it in his face when we turned the votes of the Council against him so that we could get supplies from Dol Amroth. I think my presence in Rohan is slowly turning into a nightmare for him and he won't underestimate the threat posed by Albeam's death. We need to change the way we do things, Éomer, and if we want to take Grima down, then we need to play his game, without letting him know we are playing his game".
He put down the porridge, his appetite lost. "Is this what you've been mulling about these past two days?".
"You'd rather have me mulling about Albeam cracking my skull open and Zarn wanting to rape me?".
"No!", he yelled, "Bema, woman, how can you even say such thing?"
"It will happen again!", she spat out, her face flushed in anger, "Let's face it, Éomer, we've been lucky so far: lucky that the orcs who assaulted us last summer did not excel in ranged combat, lucky that while on your way to the Eastemnet, you met a herdsman and managed to return to Aldburg before my brother and I could leave, lucky that a child accidentally overheard Albeam and Trewyn's conversation and was thus able to point you to the right direction. One day, we'll run out of luck. One day, the arrows will hit home. And I don't want to be there when that happens, I don't want to see you slain like your father before you, I don't want…".
Seeing the tears welling in her eyes, Éomer instantly caught her in his arms. "I'm sorry, love, I'm s…".
"Don't!", she stopped him, her trembling fists pushing resolutely against his chest, "Don't say I'm sorry, don't apologize. You've saved my life more times than I can even remember. There's nothing more precious to me than the life we've built together, and I will not see it taken from us from!".
She spoke each word slowly, her eyes ablaze with such fierce determination, that Éomer thought she looked like the incarnation of Rohan in those difficult times. Battered and bruised, but not defeated. Proud and strong. Beautiful and untamed. She was the hope evil strived to suffocate, the light they needed in order to keep on fighting. "Tell me what you need me to do".
"Speak with your men, ensure they know what they are supposed to say, and what they are not. Dispatch the two riders and saddle the horses: we are going home", she instructed him.
When three days later they entered Aldburg, Éomer observed Lothíriel's expression going from horrified to angry at the sight of the charred remains of Albeam's cottage. Once alone in his study, she leaned with both arms on the desk, the corners of her mouth barely twitching.
Grima had taken the bait.
At his fifth ale, Amrothos declared he'd pay for everyone's drink. At his seventh ale, he initiated a brawl by tripping over a stranger and soaking his filthy tunic in pork stew. At his ninth ale, he draped a tablecloth around his waist and improvised a sultry dance while standing over the counter. Now at his eleventh ale, he was delighting the customers of one of the city's worst establishments with his nightingale voice. Except he was no nightingale but rather a crow or perhaps a chough, and the crowd was not amused by his performance.
"Alright, alright. Sheesh, it's not every day you get the chance of being serenaded by a Prince. You folks are really unappreciative of my talent".
The innkeeper refilled his mug and dragged him outside. "You've drunk enough for today. Get lost, boy".
"I am the Prince Amrothos!", he bellowed to the door of the tavern as it snapped shut on his nose.
Ah well, at least his mug was full! He only needed to find another place where he could continue celebrating before he run out of the precious amber liquid, and all would be good. He clambered on his feet and slumped on an empty barrel. Scanning the surroundings, he tried to remember where the closest tavern was – or better said, the closest tavern from which he had not been banned yet. That posed quite the challenge: innkeepers were normally keen on having him, but only until the sixth and seventh drink. Then he'd become a nuisance and quickly find himself sitting with his bony butt in the mud.
It was a cruel world filled with cruel people, really.
"Think Amrothos, think…".
A woman brushed past him and for some reason, he found himself studying her features more attentively than he'd normally do in such circumstances. What a pretty lass, he thought. Hadn't he been so wasted, he'd have… hold on! Amrothos leaped on his feet: "Hey, you!".
The woman halted. She glanced briefly over her shoulder and obviously recognized him, for she gasped and all of a sudden, she was running down the pier.
"What the…". Amrothos dropped his mug and rushed after her.
The sun hadn't set yet and the streets were packed with people. The woman managed to sneak through the crowd relatively easily but alas, the same could not be told of the big, drunk, clumsy fool that he was. He bumped into people. He bumped into horses. At some point, he even bumped into a pole and could only hope no one had witnessed the undignified way he had crashed face first into the ground. The collision somewhat cleared his head and he resumed the chase with renewed vigour. When he saw the fugitive turning into a side alley, he grinned and instead of following her, he headed towards an outrageously long flight of stairs. He somewhat regretted his decision half-way through, when his guts started to twist and cold sweat trickled down his forehead, but he was too close to victory to stop.
Surprisingly nimble for a man who had drunk eleven ales, he climbed a stone wall. Unsurprisingly ungraceful, he landed on the street on the other side. "Got you!", he exclaimed victoriously, his forefinger pointed at Míririen's horrified face.
For a moment, he feared she'd smack him.
"Why…", he said waving his arms around, "… did you…", he raised a hand in front of him, the other moving quickly to cover his mouth, "…ale…", he only managed to say before turning around and emptying his stomach into someone's backyard. He was sure she'd be long gone by the time he had appeased his churning guts, but luckily for him she did not move – he'd surely die, if he had to run after her again. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic and tried to give himself some semblance of dignity. "I apologize for that, I wouldn't have drunk that much if I knew I was going to chase a damsel throughout half of the city".
Míririen looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Hardly the first time I meet someone who can't to hold his liquor".
Ouch. In one of the few occasions he had managed to get Erchirion to speak about her, he had told him she could be sassy. He just hadn't expected to find himself at the receiving end of her sarcasm! "I'd introduce myself, but you obviously know who I am", he told her with his most charming smile, "I take it my brother has told you about me?".
"You're quite cocky for someone whose tunic is covered in vomit and boots in horses' manure. To answer your question: no, your brother hasn't told me much about you, but earlier this year I saw the two of you together in Pelargir".
It was a good thing the alley was dimly lit, because Amrothos was quite sure Míririen had just managed to make him blush like a little girl. He walked towards a trough and splashed some ice-cold water on his clothes. The whole vomit and manure situation did not improve one bit, and now he was also freezing. Nicely done, Amrothos! "Anyway", he tried changing the subject, "what brings you to Dol Amroth?".
"Business".
He gave her a pointed look. "Business you say… that why you run away the moment you saw me?". Ah, one point for Amrothos!
"I… thought you were a prowler!".
"You just said you recognized me from when you saw me in Pelargir".
"In that case I thought you were a prowler and a Prince!".
He laughed heartily. "You know what I think, Míririen? I think the news of Erchirion's injury broke in Pelargir. I think you were worried and decided to come here to find out how he was doing. Earlier today, one of the maids working in the palace informed me that a woman had approached her and offered coins in exchange for information about my brother. I think you are the woman and judging by the flustered but rather unconcerned look on your face, I'd say you have already found out that Erchirion has regained consciousness and that he is well on his way to make a full recovery, and are outrageously angry that I smoked you out so brilliantly".
Míririen opened her mouth. Then she closed, turned around and walked away. In three long strides, he caught up with her. "Well? Nothing to say for yourself? No longer keen on giving me a taste of that attitude of yours?", he taunted her.
It was the wrong thing to say.
"Fine, mister wiseass!", she snapped, "You are right, I was worried sick and could not bear to sit and wait, so I came here! But do not fret: I'll be leaving on the morrow, so no reasons to concern yourself with my presence in Dol Amroth!".
Amrothos was briefly surprised by her choice of words – really not what he had expected from a lady! Seeing her watery eyes however, he instantly regretted his teasing. His friends and family knew better than taking him seriously, but she didn't and was obviously distressed. "I'm sorry, Míririen. I did not mean to offend you and in hindsight, I reckon I should have thought of writing you in my brother's place".
He stifled a grin when he saw her staring at him with wide eyes. "Yes, I know Erchirion promised he'd write you. In fact, I know for a fact he had a letter ready for you, but never managed to send it out. I should have known you'd be worried for him but to be honest, the past week has been… difficult. I could barely think of anything that wasn't those bloody Corsairs and my brother who could have died any moment".
Míririen chewed nervously on her lower lip. "I heard you were with him when it happened, that the two of you were lost at sea for days…".
"Right the first, wrong the second - we were rescued after a few hours. Gossipers always have a knack for exaggerating tales, don't they?".
"Even so, it must have been horrifying".
"It was. I…", Amrothos started before trailing off. He didn't want to indulge in bitter memories, and Míririen could surely do without knowing how close to death he and his brother had come. He offered her his arm and smiled: "Come with me".
With a groan, Erchirion stretched his neck. Someone was whispering in the corridor – his brother, if he wasn't mistaken. Right on clue, he heard his father calling him: "Amrothos? What are you doing here? I thought you said you wanted to celebrate down at the harbour".
"Ah, yes. I did, I did. But I was… tired and decided to retire early".
Erchirion snorted. The sun was more likely to rise on the West and set on the East, than Amrothos to retire early from one of his wild nights. The rascal was up to something. "I came to check on Erchirion before retiring, but he's asleep already", he heard him saying.
The door opened and a cloaked figure was unceremoniously shoved into the room.
"Shall I call a healer to check on him?".
"No!", Amrothos almost shrieked and hastily closed the door, "There's no need for that, we should simply let him rest until tomorrow, that is all".
His father sounded unconvinced, but let his brother talk him into leaving nonetheless. When the sound of their steps had subsided, Erchirion looked incredulous at the woman in the room. This time Amrothos had really outdone himself! "I… think you can leave now. His room is one the upper floor, third one on the left".
"Your brother has the manners of an orc", the stranger said as she lowered the hood of her cloak. Light brown hair with blonde tips. Blue eyes with golden flecks. Lovely dimples.
Erchirion's breath itched. "Míririen?".
"Hello princeling", she greeted him with a sheepish smile.
For a moment, he thought he was hallucinating. Or dreaming perhaps. He tried to pull himself to a sitting position, and immediately Míririen stepped forward, pushing him firmly down onto the mattress. "Don't! Amrothos said you are not supposed to exert yourself. Lie down or I'll leave!", she warned him in her usual no-nonsense tone.
Strands of her hair brushed his nose and Erchirion breathed deeply in her sweet scent, his mind drifting back to a sunny morning by the swamps, to a hefty lunch and soft kisses. Instead of fighting to stand, he wrapped an arm around Míririen's waist and dragged her down with him: "It's good to see you, captain", he murmured in her ear. She melted in his embrace, her head nestled against the crook of his neck, her hands hovering awkwardly above his chest as if she was afraid to hurt him. When he tilted her chin upwards, she hastily wiped the tears off her cheeks. "Why are you in Dol Amroth?", he asked.
She laughed softly. "Your brother already forced me to spill the beans, so I suppose it makes no sense to lie. I came because I was worried for you".
He traced her lips, enthralled. "Did you?".
"Yes", she sniffled, "when the news came that Prince Imrahil's second son had been wounded in battle, rumours quickly spread like wildfire. Some said you were already dead or would be soon anyway, other that you had lost a leg or an arm or Valar knows what. I… I couldn't stand it, I needed to know. So, I saddled my horse and came here as fast as I could".
"You rode all the way here on your own?".
"I did. I took the Tarnost Pass and…".
"Foolish, silly girl", Erchirion groaned, his hand tangling in her hair, his lips claiming hers in an urgent, heated kiss - the one he wished he had given her that day in Pelargir before they had parted, the one he had been thinking about for the past two weeks. He pulled her closer until she was almost sitting in his lap and stopped then, for although weakened by the arrow and days of unconsciousness, Míririen's presence was awakening his body in a way that would soon become embarrassing for them both. "I want to know everything", he told her, and teased her swollen lips with a soft nip, "How was the trip, when did you arrive, how long are you staying…".
Míririen giggled. There was an adorable flush on her cheeks as she straightened up and tried smoothing her skirt and fixing her tousled hair. "The trip was… exhausting. The first couple of days weren't too bad, but then I started feeling sore – like, really sore, there were parts of my body I didn't even know I possessed, that were aching awfully!", she blurted out, and smiled impishly knowing it wasn't a very appropriate thing to say for a lady. "On the third day, I spotted a group of Swan Knights ahead of me and decided it would be wise to tag along them. Unfortunately, I soon discovered that a Swan Knight's moderate pace is still something atrociously fast for the likes of me and by the time we came in sight of the city, I was thoroughly shattered".
"Poor thing", Erchirion teased her, though he was enormously relieved to learn that in her recklessness, Míririen had been cunning enough to find herself some protectors. "When did you arrive?".
"Yesterday at dusk".
He smiled, for that was the exact moment he had awoken. Was it very silly of him to think that her presence had dragged him out of the shadows of a long unconsciousness? "Why did you wait so long to come to the palace?".
She fidgeted nervously. "I could hardly show up at the door and ask about you…".
With a pang, Erchirion realized she was right. He and Míririen had seen each other but a couple of times and aside from Amrothos, no one knew about her, no one knew that since that night at Lord Thalador's villa, he had had eyes – and thoughts, only for her. "So, what did you do?".
"Well, let's just say I may have tried bribing your staff".
His brows raised to his hairline. "Excuse me?".
"Oh, you've heard me", she huffed, "I spent half-day in front of the palace and approached every single maid I saw leaving the place. You'll be pleased to learn they were all tight-lipped and refused adamantly the coins I offered in exchange for information".
"No, you didn't!", he burst out laughing.
"What else was I supposed to do? Oh wait, I know what: eavesdropping!".
"Míririen of Pelargir. Transgressor of the law. Drunkard. Corruptor. And spy!".
"I did what I had to! I tailed some of the guards and followed them into a tavern, heard them talking about you getting better and wagering how long it would have taken you to get back on your ship. I offered them a drink and learned all I needed".
"And what's with Amrothos? When did you two meet?", he asked, curious as to how his brother had managed to find her and take her there.
"That's a bit of a funny story, actually. After I left the tavern where the two guards were getting drunk on my coins, I headed for the inn at which I'm staying. Your brother saw me. He called me and I…. fled!".
Erchirion blinked astonished. "Why would you do that?".
"I don't know, I panicked! I run as fast as I could and I thought I had lost him, but then all of a sudden, he landed right in front of me. Next thing I know, he…", she tried to say while caught in a fit of laughter, "… he was vomiting on the street!".
It said a lot about his brother's reputation, that he wasn't even surprised anymore to learn of his deeds. "Was he drunk?".
"Totally. I think the run almost killed him! He was annoyingly highhanded at first, but also very kind. He insisted I should visit you and well, here I am".
Erchirion took her hand and kissed it tenderly. Ever since they were children, Amrothos had always been the fool - the one who took nothing seriously, the one who could crack a joke about anything, the one whose life continued as if nothing had happened, no matter the circumstances. He hated that of him: his carelessness, his shallowness, his callousness. But during the past year, he had changed. Months of blood and struggles had taken their toll, he knew he had troubles sleeping and seemed often lost in his own, jealously guarded thoughts. If asked, he'd answer with a laughter - as if any concern for his well-being was absolutely ridiculous. But he was worried for him: there was only so much sorrow a man could drown in liquor, and only so much pain a man could neglect while hiding behind a carefully crafted façade of youthful thoughtlessness. "Seems like I have accumulated quite the debt towards my brother. I'm thinking a lifetime might not be enough to pay him back", he chuckled bitterly.
"He saved you, didn't he?".
"He did. His terrified face as I fell overboard is the last thing I remember. I may have been the one with an arrow in his chest, but I was unconscious while he fought to keep us alive, I was unconscious when we were rescued and taken here, I was unconscious while he stayed by my side, not knowing whether I'd have ever awoken. In a sense, I had it easier than him". He looked at Míririen and let his teeth graze over her knuckles: "I suppose I had it easier than you too, haven't I? I'm sorry I got you worried".
She nudged him gently. "At least you gave me an excuse to visit Dol Amroth. Ever since you told me so much about it, I had been dying to see the city with my own eyes".
"And? Do you like it?", he asked, feeling strangely apprehensive.
"It's beautiful, Erchirion. With all that I was exhausted and worried sick for you, I swear my heart skipped a beat when I first laid eyes upon the Sea-ward Tower and the harbour".
"Trust a sailor to notice the Tirith Aear and the docks before the palace!".
Míririen grinned. "The palace is beautiful too. Intimidating, but beautiful".
He made a big scene of wiping the sweat off his forehead. "I'm relieved! I'd have hated to tell my father we needed to reconstruct the place to match it to your taste! And as for the intimidating part, I'm sure once you get acquainted with it, you will no longer find it so".
"I hope the acquainting process includes a detailed map of the place because if it wasn't for Amrothos, I'd have surely gotten lost on my way here!".
"I'll find you one", he solemnly promised. Propping himself up on one elbow, he caressed her cheek and quickly decided she was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. "Listen, the healer says I should be up and about in a week - maybe less than that. Once I'm out of this bed, I was thinking we could…".
"I'm leaving tomorrow, Erchirion", Míririen shut down all his hopes before he could get another word out of his mouth.
"Tomorrow? But you've only just arrived!".
"I know and trust me, I'd like to stay longer. But it was a long journey to come here, and it will be another long journey to return home. I am… needed in Pelargir, I cannot tarry here", she sulked.
Erchirion had to take a deep breath and remind himself that Míririen wasn't the daughter of some rich nobleman who could afford spending her days idly. What was more, though she had never told him what exactly ailed her, he knew her mother was ill and she surely disliked the idea of leaving her alone for extended periods. He pulled her closer, until the tips of their noses were brushing: "I understand", he sighed, "perhaps another time. There are so many places I'd have liked to show you…".
"For example?".
"For example, the ancient haven of Edhellond, where Amroth, King of Lórien, waited for his love Nimrodel to sail to the West together. I'd have taken you to the narrow path that climbs down the cliffs North of the city and dare you to jump into the blue waters below. I'd have walked you to the top of the Sea-ward Tower and let you ring the bronze bell…".
All the other places he had meant to mention, were lost amidst the tenderness of their intimacy, of the feathery touch of her hands resting on either side of his neck, of the warmth of her body pressed ever so softly against him. Resting in each other's embrace, they observed the moon rising in the night sky, until Erchirion slowly dozed off. When he awoke some time later, Míririen was long gone.
Sitting in the hall, Endien curled in a ball and sleeping peacefully in his lap, Éomer observed in silence the coming and going of guards and maids. They had been home for a week already and Lothíriel's plan to force Grima to make a move, was going better than he had anticipated: they knew who the man who had searched and burned Albeam's place was, they knew where he had come from, they knew every person he had spoken to while staying in Aldburg.
And thanks to the late attendant's sloppiness, they had also managed to get their hands on a couple of interesting pieces of information.
Before leaving the city, Albeam had burned a whole bunch of documents, but – luckily for them, he had not had the prudence to ensure every bit of paper would be thoroughly destroyed. Gárwine had collected the ashes from his hearth and put together bits of words and sentences. Not nearly enough to move a formal accusation against Grima, but plenty to give them an idea where to continue their search for his rats.
It was now their belief the councillor had men in every village and settlement between Aldburg and Edoras, and that was how Albeam was able to deliver him information so effectively: if something happened, the attendant did not need to abandon his post and ride all the way to the capital; all he needed to do, was heading to the closest village and inform one of Grima's snitches, who'd then take care of relaying the information.
As much as he despised the man, Éomer had come to the conclusions that there were lessons to be learned from the way Grima had built his net of informants so that he'd have eyes and ears everywhere. Neither he nor his cousin had ever thought of doing something like that, and they had paid dearly for their mistake. For years now they had been constantly lagging one step behind, always trying to fix the damage the Wormtongue had done, but never managing to actually prevent it.
Now, thanks to Lothíriel, they were slowly making ready to remedy that.
Éomer mused that there were no words in the whole Middle Earth to express how proud he was of his wife. Just like it had happened after the incident with the wargs, Lothíriel had not let herself be beaten down. Instead, she had risen stronger and more determined than ever, ready to strike back at those who were trying to bring them harm. There was an ounce of bitterness about it too, for he realized how much she had changed, how tougher and more disenchanted she had grown. But her heart was always in the right place, and her strength and courage – not to mention the fact she had saved his life, had earned her the unbounded respect and devoted admiration of the Rohirrim – who weren't exactly folks who could be easily swayed.
Endien stretched her legs and rolled on her back. She looked at him through half-closed eyes, her silent request quite clear to him: rub my belly, so I can purr for about ten seconds before abruptly changing my mind and reduce your arm to a bloody mess.
He obeyed and endured her vicious attack with stoic patience.
When Elfda entered the hall, he looked understandably amused. "The little one has the spirit of a lion".
Éomer smiled and walked his guest to his study. "I'm glad you're here".
"Lady Aldwyn gave me little choice. After I showed her your letter, she packed my things and shoved me out of the door".
He motioned for the man to sit and offered him a cup of water. "How are things in Edoras?".
"Same as usual – meaning bad. Lady Aldwyn can't even leave her house without one of Grima's man tailing her, the King has not left his apartments for weeks, the morale is low. What about Aldburg? The city surely seems to be in a good mood. I'll admit coming here feels… refreshing".
"What happened to Lothíriel – the abduction, the rescue, Théocanstan saving her life, Lothíriel saving mine and me hers, has spurred the people to rally around us. If I were to disclose the names of Grima' spies, I'm quite sure the crowd would lynch them".
"She saved your life?".
Éomer snorted. "Why am I not surprised she forgot to mention this tiny little detail in her letters to Lady Aldwyn?".
"I don't know", Elfda grinned back, "she wrote at length about Beyrith's escape, about Théocanstan and what he did for her, about you saving her from Cedarn. But not one word about her rescuing the Third Marshall!".
"If it wasn't for her, I'd have an arrow stuck in my skull".
"I reckon the reputation of the Lady of the East-mark will soar to unprecedent levels in the next few weeks".
"Deservedly so. She also killed Trewyn, you know? She did everything you taught her: she played the part of the helpless damsel, induced the woman to lower her guard and punched her straight in the throat. One single fatal stroke".
Elfda roared laughing. "There's justice for you. I bet the little viper didn't see that coming!".
"I'm quite sure no one did – Lothíriel included. Since we've returned, I've assigned her more guards and one of her maids has even started carrying a weapon on her".
"Let me guess, the small red-haired devil, what's her name…".
"Runhild".
"Yes, Runhild! Last Yule, she almost trampled me over with her horse".
"Sounds like something she'd do, yes. I've taken all possible precautions, including no longer considering our home a safe place and acting accordingly. But as I wrote in my letter, Lothíriel has come to me with a request I cannot possibly deny her - one that I had been thinking about myself: she wants to learn how to defend herself. We have a master of arms who could teach her, or I could do it myself. But I'm not sure that would be the right approach, hence the reason why you are here".
Elfda's eyes glinted. "Why me?"
"Our master of arms would train Lothíriel like he'd train a shieldmaiden. And I'd probably end up doing the same. But we both know that's not what she needs. You have a… unique set of skills", Éomer said, knowing very well it was an ungenerous way to describe the man sitting in front of him. Elfda was one of the best trackers and hunters he knew, but also so much more than that. In his long years of service for Lady Aldwyn's family, he had accompanied the noble lady and her husband in many of their travels and spent time not only in Gondor, but also in Harad, Dale, Eriador and many other distant lands. He had mastered weapons and combat techniques that were unknown to the most, and while he wasn't the man he'd chose to ride beside him in battle, he was definitely the one he'd pick if he were to enter a room full of potentially ill-intentioned strangers. He was good at reading people, possessed both strength and stealth.
Éomer stared long and hard into Elfda's hazel eyes. "I want you to teach Lothíriel everything you know. Every useful skill. Every little dirty trick that might come handy one day. I commissioned a light armour for her – it shall be ready by the end of the month, and a short sword. Anything else you might need, you need only ask our blacksmith and he'll get it done".
"If I remember correctly, last time Lady Aldwyn suggested she should start carrying weapons, Lothíriel said it would be like casting pearls before swine".
"Being abducted and beaten up can make people change their mind".
"How is she recovering?".
"Her wounds have mostly healed, but she…", Éomer paused, unsure how to phrase his concerns, "… she'll need time".
Elfda nodded and stood. "I'll start training her tomorrow already. I'll go easy on her, but I can't promise there won't be… mishaps".
"Meaning?".
"Meaning don't come gut me, if you discover your wife has remedied a few bruises during practice".
Éomer pinched the bride of his nose. "Trust me, I'd much rather deal with such bruises, than with the consequences of her not being able to defend herself, should I and her guards fail her".
Perched on the sill of the solar, Lothíriel stared impatiently at the streets below. Endien was scratching insistently on the door, but she decided to ignore her – there was no way she could let her in, not with so much food at paw's reach!
At the opposite side of the square, she spotted Théocanstan returning from the stables and stifled a laughter when she saw him darting into a side alley to avoid running into Runhild. The narrowly escaped encounter between her handmaid and her guard pretty much summarized the way those two had been getting along: splendidly on the girl's side, awfully on the man's one!
The day she and Éomer had finally returned to Aldburg, after learning the details of her rescue, Runhild had broken into tears and – under Éothain's disgruntled gaze, she had leaped on Théocanstan, locked her arms around his neck and proceeded to sob and thank him for what he had done. She had gone as far as pressing a kiss on his cheek, at which point the poor man had turned as red as a beetroot and struggled frantically to get her off him. When after a couple of unsuccessful attempts he had managed to break free, he had jumped back, panting and sweating, an arm outstretched to keep her at a safe distance in case she'd decide to attack him again.
That was Théocanstan and Runhild's relationship in a nutshell, and because after more than ten days the girl still hadn't gotten over her awe for him, the man was by now so exasperated that unless he was on duty, he'd be willing to do anything to avoid her.
It was – needless to say, hilarious, and it had quickly become a thing for the staff of the household to help Théocanstan in his hurried retreats and cover up for him in case Runhild inquired them of his whereabouts. Just the day before, she had witnessed Ides shoving the man into the pantry and then drag an overly curious Runhild away before it'd be too late. Incredibly silent for a man of his size, Théocanstan had waited for the signal that the way was clear, tiptoed to his room and locked the door behind him with as many turns of key as possible – in fact, she wouldn't be surprised if she discovered he had also piled some furniture against it!
Runhild aside, Théocanstan had settled in better than she had dared hoping. There had been a couple of unfortunate incidents, but otherwise the people had welcomed him heartily in the city, choosing to see him as the man who had saved their lady, rather than the albino who had spent most of his life in isolation. What had not surprised her, was to see him getting along with Gárwine: there was something inherently reassuring about the old rider and she suspected that much like it had happened to her, Théocanstan had instinctively recognized him as a sort of fatherly figure. They spent often time together, Gárwine had showed him around and after Éomer had gifted him a beautiful gray stallion, they had taken to go on regular rides around the city. A bit harder to predict, had been the blossoming friendship between Théocanstan and Beyrith. The two of them would always sit together during the meals and although they rarely ever spoke to one another, they seemed to enjoy each other's company.
To see her maid making a full recovery and Théocanstan enjoying not only his new role, but his new life as well, had helped her healing more than any concoction ever could. Lothíriel needed to believe something good had come out of those horrific days of captivity, or else she did not know how to cope with the painful memories forged in her head.
Finally spotting the figure she had been waiting for, she jumped down the sill and opened the window. Éomer's eyes met hers, and she waved at him: "Come to the solar!".
He winked at her and moments later, the door opened. Endien seized her chance to dart into the room, but she had been expecting it and promptly caught her and returned her to the corridor: "Not today", she mouthed silently, feeling a little guilty as she locked her out.
"What's this?", asked Éomer.
Lothíriel turned around and smiled. "It's far too cold for a picnic at the old watchtower, so I thought we could have one here instead".
She had spent most of the afternoon arranging rugs and blankets in front of the hearth and cooking. Not on her own – she really didn't want to poison Éomer, but under Altor's supervision she had prepared some of his favourite dishes and packed them in several different wicker baskets. She had even collected some flowers and plants so it would feel like they were outside, sitting on the soft grass and not on the hard-stone floor.
She took his hand and kissed it softly. "I know these past days I've been… distant, cold, distracted. And I know since we have returned, you've been delegating all of your duties to Gárwine and Éothain, so that you'd not have to leave me alone. This", she said opening her arms, "is my way to tell you I'm sorry for the way I behaved, and to thank you for having stayed with me regardless of my awful moods".
Éomer leaned over, one hand cupping her face, the other sliding around her waist and coming to rest on her hip. She was glad he did not wave her efforts away with his usual there's no need to apologize, for she had been horribly erratic lately and often vented her angst and anger on him. "The Third Marshall would be lost without his Lady of the East-mark", he said and though there was a tinge of humour in his voice, his eyes were smouldering, his mouth set in a hard line.
She clasped her arms about him and held him as tight as she could, her face pressed against the rough fabric of his tunic. "The Third Marshall should not worry, for the Lady of the East-mark loves him with all her heart and she is going to take care of those seeking to bring them harm". It was a bold thing to say, but Bema, she meant it!
Reluctant to let the food she had cooked with so much care get cold, she stepped back and guided him to sit beside her on the soft blankets. She grinned mischievously as she pulled one of the baskets towards her: "I shall warn you that although I was greatly helped, tonight's meal has been entirely cooked by me".
"Really?". Éomer was understandably surprised – she exceled at eating, but not quite so at cooking!
"Yes. Now tell me: what's your favourite pie filling?".
Éomer scratched his chin before giving the answer she had expected. "I liked them all".
"Which is why", she said lifting a large bowl from the basket, "I cooked one of each kind!".
His eyes bulged at the sight of its content. Instead of making one big pie, she had made six smaller versions, each filled with a different stuffing, and Éomer did not waste any time, immediately snatching one and biting eagerly on it: "You don't say…", he gasped, his mouth full, an almost comical look passing on his face.
"'Tis the Hammer Pie, Lord", she solemnly declared, "or at least it's the closest Altor could get to the original – and very much secret, recipe. There's the dried beef, the stewed vegetables, garlic and cheese. I know it does not taste exactly like the one you can get in Edoras, but I think it's good enough".
Éomer was obviously too preoccupied with stuffing his mouth to listen to her explanation. As he popped the last piece of pie into his mouth, he froze: "Did you want some?".
"No", she laughed, "to tell you the truth, I'm not that hungry".
"Why not?", he asked as he gobbled down another pie – this one filled with eggs and mushrooms.
"Let's put it this way: for each spoon of stuffing that ended up into the pies, another one made it to my belly. If I were a cook, I'd probably weigh a ton!".
She poured Éomer a mug of dark ale – his favourite one, and observed him amused as he devoured all the pies. Once the bowl was clean, she set it aside and moved to the next course: "I'll eat some of this, because it also happens to be one of my favourite food", she said and the moment she removed the lid from the copper pot, Éomer caught the unmistakable smell of its content.
"Chicken stew with raisins?".
"And baked onions on the side". Lothíriel placed it between them, handed him a spoon and a slice of bread, and wasted no time in helping herself. It wasn't really the kind of food one would normally bring on a picnic, but she enjoyed eating directly from the steaming pot.
"So, how was your day?", asked Éomer.
"Good. I received a letter from Dol Amroth this morning".
"Erchirion?".
"No, Amrothos".
Éomer's eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline: "Amrothos?".
"It's strange, I know", she agreed, "He has never written me before, I'm actually surprised he even knows what a letter is! But I was happy to hear from him"
"What does he say?".
"Not much. He managed to fill three pages without basically saying anything relevant. The messenger too seemed a little… odd", she said, recalling the way he had insisted on delivering her personally the letter and how shocked and relieved at the same time he had been upon meeting her. She had the feeling there was something the man had not told her, but maybe she was just being paranoid. "I offered him to stay and rest for a few days, but he says he must ride back tomorrow. I spent most of the morning penning a letter to my family to inform them of the recent developments. And then", she said pausing for effect, "I had my first training session with Elfda".
At those words, the frown on Éomer's face was quickly replaced by an interested look: "And? How did it go?".
"Not as I had expected. I had envisioned that at the end of my first lesson I'd be already able to swing my sword, but reality turned out to be a tad more disappointing: Elfda informed me I have absolutely no clue how to hold a blade, so we spent most of the time trying to remedy that. Also, he said – and I quote: there's more strength in the wings of a chick than in your arms and shoulders combined. He wants me to strengthen up, which as far as I understood he intends to achieve by having me doing things such as… throwing stones?".
Éomer chuckled. "I expect starting tomorrow, your arms will be so tired you won't even be able to lift a spoon. But you still want to learn, yes? You haven't changed your mind after only one lesson, I hope".
"I'm more determined than that!", she scoffed, her indignation somewhat ruined by the raisin that fell from her spoon to land with unerring precision into the cleavage of her dress. Lothíriel giggled at her own clumsiness, her mirth growing instantly faint the moment she took in Éomer's intense gaze. Since they had returned to Aldburg, he had touched her at times, but it had always only been in comfort or affection, never intimately. She hadn't sought him either, desperately craving for his presence, but also needing the time and space to deal with the anguishing aftermath of her abduction.
Throwing herself into her work had helped her. Training with Elfda was going to help her.
But now, she needed more than that.
The food suddenly forgotten, Lothíriel leaned forward and kissed him. Éomer's body was tense, like he was appealing to every last bit of self-restraint he possessed not to jump on her. She grasped the collar of his tunic and dragged him with her as she lied back on the soft rugs. Éomer kept his body entirely off hers, his weight resting on his elbows, only his lips touching hers ever so gently. She felt his muscles quivering, his mouth tracing tentatively her jawline to descend on that sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. He held there, his breath heavy. "We don't have to…", he almost chocked.
Lothíriel's lips curved, her heart bursting in her chest. "I've missed you, Éomer", she whispered and brought her legs about him, the familiar weight of his body making her shiver lightly. He groaned, his lips moving along her collarbone and leaving behind a trail of soft, languid kisses. He loosened the laces of her dress without fully unfastening them, just enough so he could pull the hem down and reveal the swell of her breasts under the thin white chemise. And then his hands were there, cupping, squeezing, flickering, the layer of clothing between them making it somehow more arousing and frustrating all at once.
Lothíriel tossed her head back. She had no idea when he had lifted her skirt and taken her undergarments off, all she knew was that his mouth was now trailing up her calf, her inner thigh, teasing her, torturing her, moving so agonizingly slow she couldn't help but whimpering impatiently. He was gone for a moment and her skin tingled in anticipation, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes fixed on the green vault above them, open but unseeing.
And then he was there, his breath warm as he traced her folds, his lips wrapping around her bud. Lothíriel exhaled, her eyes shutting close, her back arching, her hands grasping desperately on the rug before giving up altogether and reaching for Éomer, forming a fist amongst his golden hair, her heels digging into his back. She managed to choke down a gasp when he slid one finger inside her, and then another. But Éomer knew the intricacies of her body better than herself, thrusting, crooking and kissing her until she was moaning and calling his name, her legs shaking and her hips bucking helplessly against him.
Slowly coming back to her senses, Lothíriel covered her face with her hands. Éomer laughed and she peeped through her fingers to see him stretching beside her, looking outrageously smug. "Something wrong, love?".
She groaned. "I don't think I'll ever leave this room".
"Why not?", he asked, as if he didn't know what she was speaking of.
"Because we have three guards stationed on the other side of that door, and I'm fairly sure they heard everything!".
"With everything I suppose you mean you. I didn't make a sound".
Lothíriel grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him. He didn't even bother to dodge it and let it slam on his face, his amused expression completely unaffected. Her eyes roamed down his body to the strained fabric of his breeches, and she had a wicked thought to just rise and leave him like that. Instead, she stared straight at him and one lace at a time, she finished unfastening her dress. She stood and let it pool around her feet, removed her chemise in one swift movement, not caring one bit about the cold – she'd soon be warm anyway.
The grin on his face now gone, Éomer sat upright and mirrored her movements, loosening his belt and taking his tunic off, his chest heaving in the flickering light of the hearth. Lothíriel kneeled between his legs and smiled sweetly, her hands hovering for a brief moment between them, before moving to her hair, unbinding them just as slowly.
Éomer clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring.
Unhurriedly, Lothíriel wove her hands through her hair, her head tilted slightly back, her fingers tracing the line of her neck and falling down between her breasts. She was planning to torture him a bit longer but when their eyes locked, all thoughts of further teasing abruptly dissolved. She straddled him and let his hands guide her down, the feeling of him rousing a fiery desire in her belly. One had resting around his shoulders, the other cupping his face in a firm grip as if to prevent him to go anywhere, she rocked her hips deeper and faster, until their skin was covered with a fine sheen of sweat and tendrils of pleasure were rippling out from their joined bodies.
Lothíriel collapsed on top of him, spent, panting, her mind blissfully empty of anything that wasn't him. She let out a protest when Éomer laid her on her back and stood, but he retuned soon enough carrying a pile of pillows and blankets. "I say we camp here tonight", he told her with a roughish smile.
It sounded like a great idea and as she dozed off, her body nestled against him, Lothíriel felt… light, happy, the morrow no longer feeling like a looming, dreading threat hanging above their heads.
But of course, it was but a fleeting respite.
The following day, Éomer left Aldburg to lead his Eored against the enemies roaming their Northern lands. Two weeks later, a rider brought the news of Prince Théodred's death and shortly after, a letter came from Lady Aldwyn, informing her that Éomer had been accused of treason and imprisoned.
And once again, the world grew a darker, more terrifying place
Author's notes: here comes a new chapter! Lothíriel had been restless and understandably upset at the end of the previous one, but that doesn't mean she has been sitting idly. Like it happened in the past already, she has found strength in thinking ahead and coming up with possible ways to get back at Grima. She understands they can't possibly go on the way they did until now, passively fighting the man and his spies, and that they have to take the initiative instead – in other words, play Grima's game. To do that, they need to identify his spies, control them and stay put until the time to strike back has come. It's not a game that would bring results in a short time, but Lothíriel doesn't know war is already upon them and rightfully fears it's only a matter of time until either she or Éomer will be taken down by Grima. The fluffy scene wasn't really planned, but after everything that has happened in the past two chapters, I thought those two deserved a moment to find each other again.
As per Erchirion, I had been toying with the idea of bringing Míririen to Dol Amroth, and there she is. She obviously has feelings for him, but her position at the moment is not a clearly defined one: until now, she has only met Erchirion three times and I see her as young and perhaps naïve when it comes to love matters, but also grounded and level-headed when it comes to everything else. Knowing it wouldn't have been appropriate for her to show up at the palace, she simply tried to get information about Erchirion any other way she could think of. Luckily, she stumbled into poor drunk Amrothos…
SwanKnightoftheNorth: it was bumpy but I really wanted to wrap it all without leaving you with another cliff-hanger ;) Canon or not will be soon clear as we are obviously close to the war and as per Erchirion, of course our dear Prince is fine and reunited with his lady – though only for a short time. Really appreciate your comment about characters' portrayal!
Fabi Washu: happy to hear that! Well, with the war fast approaching, big challenges are indeed coming!
xXMizz Alec VoltuirXx: I'm enjoying a lot the Amrothos-Erchirion duo and I'm glad to hear you liked it because as an only-child, sibling dynamic is really not my strong suit! I agree on Théocanstan – hopefully he'll get used to Runhild!
tyskvallkyrja: I liked portraying Théocanstan because he's quite different from anybody else. Perhaps people thought him a little older, but he was still just a child. Unfortunately, we know that in the past people with such condition often found themselves at the receiving end of terrible hatred and superstitions. After what he did for her, there was no way Lothíriel was going to leave him behind and entering Aldburg as her saviour, has helped people – most of them at least, to look past his unusual looks. Yes, poor Éomer's really gonna have a heart attack! As per chapter 16, Théocanstan was planned since the very beginning of the story and I wanted to sneak in a little mention of him somewhere before actually bringing him into the plot. I have fun leaving little hints here and there! :)
Rho67: it was a nasty thing to say but I think it can happen when we are not ourselves (and right then, she obviously wasn't). As you say, what's important is to apologize afterwards, which she did. At this point of the story, if there's one thing Lothíriel (and Éomer) have learned, is to trust and be open with one another, which is why she not only apologized but also confessed him all she had gone through. You are right about her saving him, I just couldn't really fit the praising with everything else happening at the same time. And Lothíriel not really being one for bragging, I gave it space in this chapter from Éomer's perspective ;) There's more to know about Imrahil, but it's not about him not liking Amrothos' thoughts (that's why he was getting frustrated with him being so reluctant to speak). It's more about Amrothos not being any good at opening up and going through a rough time, as Erchirion mentions in this chapter. He's sort of trying to uphold his mask of the young, careless brother, when in reality he's being torn like everybody else. Thank you for your review and also for your comment about the small details - I really get stuck with them sometimes, and it's nice to see them conveying the intended message!