A/N: Warning of self-harm, suicidal thoughts. I know this gets put on a lot, but if you do have these thoughts, please reach out to someone. I don't follow this advice well either, but I am trying to learn to seek help from good friends. I'm sorry if you've been having it tough mentally, but there's help out there. Hang in there, you sexy, precious, gorgeous creature you, we're going to make it through.
Chapter Seven
Murmurs
Éomer woke up with a gasp, chest heaving and sweat pouring down his forehead. He turned to his right but that side of the bed where his wife laid was empty, the sheets crumpled. Where was his wife? He walked out of his chambers and approached the guards on duty outside the royal quarters . "Have you seen the queen?" he questioned urgently. The guard shook his head, "Forgive me my lord, I know naught of the queen's whereabouts. She oft disappears during the night." Éomer exhaled disappointedly and rubbed his tired eyes, feeling the familiar aching of his temples. "Listen here, the next time Queen Mildred leaves the royal quarters in the middle of the night, tell her to go back to her damned bed."
Weary from carrying the burdens of the Mark in his shoulders, he grumbled at having to search Meduseld at an hour where he should otherwise be wrapped in slumber. A brief recollection of his ghastly dream returned, displaying in a flash a cursed image of Ithíl, writhing in some invisible pain, screaming silently as she stared at him with sunken eyes, hollow and lifeless, void of emotion. Shuddering at the memory, all weariness was put aside as he returned his attention to searching for his missing wife. Éomer soon realised that he had scarcely seen hide or hair of his wife in the past few months. If it were not for often pointless meetings with his advisors, nor the many travels he had undertaken in the past few months, he might have had a glimpse of Ithíl, or at least a morning where he had time to take his breakfast with her. Béma, he could not remember the last time he shared a meal with her.
There could only be one place his wife would find solace and he strode hastily towards the library. Upon opening the door, he heard a sharp gasp. "Who's there?" came a loud whisper. Only Ithílwyn would respect the library's silent sanctity, even at the threat of being attacked. "Ithíl, what are you doing here, at this hour?" he asked softly before taking in her appearance. She had been crying, and in the dying firelight he saw how thin and gaunt she had become, the image of his nightmare reappearing to haunt him. "You should be asleep," he murmured, stepping closer to her.
"So should you, there is a council meeting tomorrow morn, and you need rest."
"How do you know that?" She shrugged and turned away, a sanguine smile on her face though her eyes were plagued with sadness, as they always were. The Ithíl that he remembered was not so melancholic, and yet she always appeared so as of late. "Morning council meetings are a frequent occurrence when you are King of the Mark. Go, get some sleep, I promise to join you soon."
"The guard said you slip away during the night as frequently as I attend those morning meetings. And it is plain that you have been crying. Have you been here all these nights, crying?"
Ithílwyn turned away, sniffling as tears pricked her eyes. "I did not mean to wake you," she said, her body hunched as she sobbed silently, her back turned to him. He walked to her, feeling her flinch as he put her arms around her trembling body and felt as if his heart had cleaved into two. The bones of her shoulder peaked through her nightdress. "Ithílwyn, forgive me, I did not know."
"You were not supposed to," she whispered, sighing. She freed her arms and wiped her face with the sleeves of her nightgown. "I feel better," she said, putting on a brave smile, walking out of the library. It was a weak attempt at misleading him from thinking all is well. He remained silent until they returned to their bed, where Ithílwyn got into bed and turned her back towards him without a glance in his direction. "Goodnight Éomer, she said in a small voice and snuggled deeper into the furs, still sniffling. He crept up beside her and brushed the hair of her face, seeing the tears painting a narrow river from her cheeks to the tip of her chin. He kissed her on the cheek.
"I know that above all else, that you loathe the thought of being a burden to me. But I am your husband Ithílwyn, I swore it in front of my forebears and I would do so again because I love you, and always will. Ithílwyn, it breaks my heart to see you, with such sorrow in your soul. Will you not speak with me? I wish to comfort you and take away your fears, allow me that privilege." Ithílwyn rose from the bed in anguish, briefly meeting his eyes to warn him sternly. "Do not follow me" she cried out, and ran out of their room, sobbing. He cursed under his breath as he heard her cry out "Please let me go!" and remembered his previous orders. He strode out and grabbed her, lifting her up and bringing her back to bed. "Stop," she wailed, attempting feebly to escape his grip. "No, Ithílwyn, you stop," he ground out, trying his hardest not to raise his voice at her. "You need to sleep, more than I do. Please, stop crying. I will have the council convene in the afternoon. We can go for a ride, just us and our horses. We can have a picnic if you would like, and there we can talk."
Ithílwyn eyed him for a few moments, staring out of bloodshot eyes. Then she began to show more composure, but she shook her head at his suggestion. "You cannot do so, we can talk at dinner," her voice small and uncertain like a child's. "If that is what you want," he replied, trying to meet her gaze as he allowed her the freedom to decide. She averted his eyes and nodded silently, slipping under the covers quietly. He felt her flinch when he tried to comfort her, but he did not hear her cry until he fell asleep.
When he woke the next morning, she was gone. The day passed by quickly, there was always work for the king of a country in need of rebuilding and he looked forward to having dinner with his wife if only to avoid the papers he had been staring at for an immeasurable amount of time. As the sun set, he wandered off to find Ithílwyn to see if she would be willingly propositioned into taking a stroll with him in the gardens. It was pathetic that he never took the opportunity to praise her for her efforts in restoring beauty to Meduseld's gardens.
He found her in the solar, but halted before entering as he heard conversation. He peeked and spied Aethelwyn consoling her. He stopped in his tracks as he heard the younger woman whispering "They are fools to speak such, you cannot listen nor pay mind to such nonsense. Come, my lady, let us find the king and report these vile men. I am certain he will find their transgression great enough to warrant severe punishment."
"No, the king is busy enough. Besides, they are probably right in their assessment of me. I am childless, and perhaps I am cursed for having Dunlending blood in me. Either way, you must not breathe a word of this to the king, I will not permit him to suffer more grievances on my behalf. Do you understand?"
Aethelwyn choked back a sob. "My lady, please. Your grief is consuming you, can you not see? I fear you will wither away until there is naught left but a husk. My pledge, my affection is for you, my lady."
"And how deeply do I appreciate your care, dear Aethelwyn, but even you can see that there is no place for me here. I will serve my king till my last breath, as I swore to him but then, should death come and release me from this existence, I shall gladly welcome it, and be happy. Now, you go home and give this basket of tarts to your sisters with my love. I will see you in the morn." Éomer left, feeling conflicted and disturbed after hearing his wife talk in that manner. There was something evil afoot, and he knew not how to cure his wife of her ailment.
He feigned bumping into his wife a few moments later. "Ithílwyn!"
"Éomer!" she exclaimed, blinking her eyes rapidly in surprise.
"Now that we have met, shall we go for a walk in the garden? I have some news for you."
"Oh, yes" she replied, and Éomer found some pleasure at seeing her so flustered, perhaps because he recognised that facet of her. She blushed lightly as he took his hand, and he made no mention about how pale she appeared. She took his arm as they walked toward the garden. "Lord Aragorn wrote to inform that he will be visiting in a week's time with the Lady Arwen. They intend to visit Helm's Deep, so we should expect them to remain for a while. It will be lovely to see them, and to have their presence with us for an extended period is even more joyful."
Ithílwyn nodded, making a small and polite comment on how pleased she would be to have Lady Arwen's companionship and said little else. Éomer looked upon this quiet, sorrowful Ithílwyn and remembered that it used to be her cheering him up, and now that it had come to him, he found that he did not have anything to say to lift her spirits. He complimented her on the garden and she praised the efforts of the gardener and he grew frustrated and sad that she would not accept his compliments about her. He plucked a flower and placed it in her hair, trying to charm her with a smile but her eyes were faraway, in some dark shadowy place that he could not reach. His heart sank deeper and wondered how he could have allowed such darkness to fester within his beloved, that she seemed so devoid of life and joy.
"My wife, I pledge my blood and flesh before you. All of my being belongs to you, and I will protect you, serve you, comfort you all the days of my life. Tears I shall wipe away, and your heart I shall fill with joy. My soul is yours, as yours as is mine and we shall not be parted, not by suffering, not even by death."
He looked down at her, remembering the vows he made to her and guilt washed over him. She took the flower out, shaking her head slightly and placing it on the bench. "I look foolish," she commented in a small voice.
"I do not think so," although his wife appeared but a shadow of her former self. "Well if you are not going to utilise that flower's beauty, then I shall wear it," he huffed after a silent pause and placed the flower in his hair. To his delight, a genuine smile of amusement bloomed on Ithílwyn's face, her eyes lighting up. His wife had returned.
"You look lovely, my lord," she teased in a quiet voice, a corner of her mouth turned up.
"Of course, why if I should simply bat my eyelashes at the stable man, he would be so taken with my appearance that he would let all of the king's prized horses go" he said, putting on a singsong, high pitched voice and swaying his hips suggestively. Ithílwyn snickered, and hid her face from him. "Goodness wife, if I have already tired you out as a woman, imagine how exhausted you would be when I show you my …" he leaned in to whisper in her ear "... manhood." She swatted at him, a deep blush on her cheeks that immediately aroused him. "You silly man," she said, giggling as he pulled her close into a hug, surrounded by a trellis of pink and red roses. "You beautiful woman," he murmured, looking deeply into her eyes, hoping to sear his sincerity into her belief, willing all his happiness to be imparted to her so that she would not be sad, that she would find happiness here with him. She looked away, the blush growing deeper as he kissed her deeply, caressing every inch of exposed skin. "Oh Ithílwyn," he groaned, somewhat satisfied to see her hair messy.
"I think dinner will have to wait," he groaned, pressing her body close to him as he kissed her again. She responded passively at first, but his patience was rewarded when she felt her hands creeping up his back and then cradling his face as he kissed her breathless. He lifted her in his arms and was concerned at how light she was, but he put that thought aside, sensing that she was watching him carefully, assessing whether he truly wanted her.
He carried her past the servants, and any nobleman or noblewoman in court, kissing her affectionately as he made his way to their chambers. "Good woman, the lady and I will be dining in our chambers tonight, and we shall need extra supply of food. We are famished, in more ways than one," he remarked saucily, turning to wink at his wife and was rewarded when her face flushed crimson.
"What are you doing?" she hissed, though he did not suspect any disapproval his behaviour on her part.
"I am merely informing everyone how much I adore you, and how much I want to be inside of you," he murmured against her neck. "Oh Ithíl, the effect you have on me," he groaned softly, "now I have to be quick lest they witness proof of my desire for you." She hit him on the chest at his crude words, but she smiled at him, and he knew he was forgiven.
He stared at her the rest of the way, searching for life in her eyes, but all he could see was his own reflection in them. She cupped his cheek, and rubbed her thumb over his cheek, gifting him something precious: her smile, genuine and borne out of affection for him. He never had cause to doubt her love for him, and wondered if she would be happier if she did not mistrust his proclamations of affections. He kicked the door aside and called out to the guards not to permit anyone save the maidservant bearing their food.
Laying her gently on their bed, he went to bolt the door shut. "There, now we will not be disturbed," he muttered, taking his shirt and trousers off at the same time. His wife glanced approvingly at his naked form, and he spied her biting her lip in desire and could not resist smirking at her as he clambered over her to place a kiss on her lips. Suddenly, she drew back, a look of horror on her face. "What's wrong?" he questioned, looking over her cautiously. "Did I hurt you?"
Ithíl shook her head, but pointed at the curtains, letting the golden beams of waning sun filter through the room. "Pl-please close the curtains," she stammered, gulping for she knew it was an odd request for her to make. He stared at her in confusion, "Éomer, please," she pleaded, sinking lower under the furs. He nodded and went to draw the curtains. He returned to the bed, and sensed that she was more relaxed in the darkness.
"Forgive me," she whispered guiltily.
He shook his head, "Did I, do you wish for me to stop? I do not wish to make you feel uncomfortable."
She stared at him, uncertain of how to respond. "I do not think so, that is to say, I do want you, I always do," she said shyly, lowering her head. He lifted her chin and smiled reassuringly at her and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, watching her eyelashes flutter when he drew back. "That is good to hear," he whispered, kissing her along her jaw and neck. "I will not do anything that you are uncomfortable with," he promised and was relieved to see her nod.
"Can you look away?" she said breathlessly. He obeyed and heard her rustling under the sheets, followed by a thud when her dress hit the floor. "Éomer, could you slip under the furs?" Again he nodded and pulled the furs over him, noticing that she kept a firm grip on the furs. She was preventing him from looking at her body. "I do not want you to touch my body," she whispered nervously, her fingers twisting, "just my hands," she said, looking away, afraid to meet his gaze.
"Anything you want, my love," he breathed, brushing his knuckles across her cheekbones. She nodded, closing her eyes and he realised how fragile she had become, and tears threatened to spill from his eyes. "I love you Ithíl, I want you to feel how much," he breathed in her ear and kissed her reverently. Then he left and returned with a piece of cloth. "I do understand why, but you do not want me to see you, so would you prefer if I was blindfolded?" he asked. "I want to taste you, and I can close my eyes if you guide me, but if you would like..."
"I will guide you, if you close your eyes," she rushed over her words. "Just taste," she added cautiously.
"Just taste," he promised and swallowed, closing her eyes as he felt her hands guiding his head closer and closer. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, and when he was close, he stuck his tongue out and heard her stifle a moan. Without his hands leaving the bed, he continued to pleasure her with his mouth, lapping at her folds hungrily, encouraged by her cries of pleasure, desperate to prove that he needed her, that he loved her. Her fingers were entangled in his hair as his wife writhed beneath him. She muffled a loud moan at her release with her pillow, calling out his name and gripping his hand. Without pausing, he continued his assault on her, driving her to another release before removing his head from under the furs and going to kiss her again. Her brow shone with a sheen of sweat, but her face was flushed with pleasure.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered, nibbling at her earlobes, and slipping under the covers discreetly. "You need to guide me, Ithíl" he groaned, his voice hoarse with restrained desire. She nodded and reached up to kiss him, her action surprising him. Her thumb rubbed along the top of his cock and he grunted impatiently. She rubbed the tip of his manhood along her clit, whimpering into her pillow. He bit the back of his hand, so close to release despite not having yet been sheathed inside her. He cursed under his breath and Ithíl guided him to her entrance and he pushed forward slowly. He lowered himself on his elbows, hovering over her face, memorising her expressions of pleasure, mesmerised by the sounds that she was making as he thrusted deep within her at a slow pace. The sucking of breath as he withdrew until she was nearly empty, the soft moan when he filled her to the hilt. This woman drove him mad, how could she not see her power over him, her custody of his heart. He brushed her hair aside, looking deep in her eyes, searching for his wife and hoping to lift her up from the depths of her sorrow. She looked back at him and smiled, caressing his cheek. He leaned into her touch, a tear spilling onto her cheek. "Please Ithíl, tell me you can trust this," he whispered pleadingly, taking her hand and resting it on his chest. She brushed his tears away and leaned into him as he drove them to their pleasure.
He turned away while she dressed and went out to retrieve their dinner. She was weary from their lovemaking, but she cast a smile shy towards him. He placed the food on her lap and her eyes grew large at the size of the portions given to them. "Do not look surprised, dear wife. You need strength to recover from the exertion I caused you," Éomer teased and he knew she would have smacked him had she the strength. He cajoled and persuaded with her to keep eating, but decided not to force too much lest her body refuse to accept such an unusually large amount of food.
"This reminds me of Aldburg," she said, smiling lovingly at him. He chuckled and squeezed her hand, watching her head loll sleepily. They did not speak much, but she had fed him some food, and he knew that he had to acknowledge that as progress, although it grieved him to realise how far apart they have grown. Afterwards, he held Ithílwyn close to him as she slept soundly in his arms after she had partaken of sufficient amounts of stewed beef, roasted vegetables and orange cake. He hoped it was sufficient, rubbing her back as he felt the rise and fall of her chest.
He knew their usual coupling was quick, often as a result of his own weariness. Often he would slip in behind his wife, who was rarely asleep. She always welcomed his advances though he finished quickly, he had always ensured she received her share of pleasure, or did he? He had been occupied with ruling the country that he had abandoned his wife. He ran his fingers over her collarbone, the ridges of her ribs, and cursed himself for his neglect. He had made love to her countless times before this and he never noticed. "I love you, I love you," he whispered over and over again just as he had done when he made love to her. He wiped away tears, his chest hurting at the thought of Ithílwyn's suffering and the sight of the wounds on her thighs, inflicted on her own self where she thought no one could see. He saw so clearly now, those lonely nights, the meals she ate on her own as he sat next to her attending to a report, the conversations that were cut off as someone requested for his attention, consoling her when she had begged him to stay in bed for a while longer. Taking a deep gulp of his ale, he rubbed his brow knowing that he had to do better, else he would lose her, in life and in spirit.