Chapter 10: Mend

Ithílwyn awoke in a strange bed, her nose detecting foreign, but pleasant scents in the air. A part of her was intrigued by the familiarity of the smells, recognising herbs she had used before, but also the presence of new scents pricking her curiousity. She looked up at the beams of the ceiling, knowing by the difference in architecture and aesthetic that she was in Mundburg and briefly she wondered what plants grew here, and what new things she could discover if she were to alight from her bed and walk around.

Yet, she felt tired. Her limbs weighed her down on the bed, and her mind was plagued with guilt and worry. She shut her eyes and sighed, wanting to sleep until she no longer existed. There was a void inside her, and she had so much sorrow within her. It was an illness, and it had consumed her wholly. The old Ithíl had departed, and she was terrified of the uncertainty ahead. Her life with Éomer had been reduced to nothing but a bittersweet memory, yet her heart ached to think of him, for she loved him still. It hurt her to have left him so abruptly and with so little display of emotion or affection for him, for she had not the capacity within her to do naught but be engulfed in sorrow, though she knew that he would benefit from her absence. Thinking about Éomer was painful, and she curled on her side and cried herself to sleep.

Her time in Mundburg passed but she was little aware of it's passage. She laid in bed as surely as the sun rose and set. There were moments when she stared at a point in the horizon for hours, though she was not truly looking at anything. And there were moments when her grief overcame her and she sobbed under the covers, her body wracked with emotion. The weight of her guilt combined with her self-loathing was tearing the fabric of her soul seam by seam in excruciating torture and there seemed to be no relief, no cure to lift her out of the heavy darkness.

Though there were people who cared for her, she registered them not for there seemed a dissonance between her mind and her body. It felt as if they were two separate entities drifting further apart. Ever her mind dwelled on the morbid thoughts of shame, guilt, worthlessness and painful memories, dulling her senses, and she rather felt as if she was looking on her own body, now a shell without a soul. She could glimpse out of the corners of her eyes that someone was washing her, combing her hair and patiently spooning food in her mouth yet she felt not the dampness of the cloth nor the taste of the food in her mouth.

It was not long ere she began to grow afraid of sleep, for she often dreamt of the horrors of that cursed night in parts, forced to replay scenes in vivid detail every time she closed her eyes: the force with which she was dragged into the stables, her mouth gagged with a damp, dirty cloth and a sack over her head. In her dreams she could feel the revolting, oily taste of the cloth, the harsh material of the sack rubbing against her face as she tried her hardest to scream, helpless and gripped with terror, the sickening sound of a fist connecting to her abdomen, cruel laughter echoing in her ears accompanied by the merry music from the hall, the tip of the glass vial forced between her bruised lips and the bitter concoction pouring from it. Often she woke up in cold sweat, terrified and shaking from the nightmares but she was all alone, and the only comfort she drew was that her husband would no longer have to contend with a wife like her.

She did not know when the hallucinations began, but she often entertained visions of a child while she lay in bed, delirious. It manifested as a bundle wrapped in cloth, breathing, healthy and very much alive. She also glimpsed visions, of her husband with a stern and disapproving expression cast at her and at other times, he gazed upon her so tenderly and with so much affection that her heart ached. The other face in her reverie was that of her mother's, illuminated by the fireplace in their cave, singing her songs about the elves and telling stories of ancient Númenor. And because she was all alone in her sorrow, she began to whisper to those she loved most in her life: the mother she had lost, the child stolen from her and the husband she had left behind.

One night, as she lay in bed, she noticed the stars shining brilliantly through the drawn curtains. She turned her full attention to the radiance and began to drift off into the nebulous place where her visitors arrived so that she may communicate with them, though they never responded. As she waited for anyone to apparate, she began to hear the faint sounds of a young child crying. Startled, she gripped the sheets tight, every muscle in her body tensed. Uncertainty seeped into her mind, for she did not want to leave the comfort and security of her bed, yet what if it was a child? What if it needed help? She could not abandon it, not after what had happened to her. Without realising it, her body and mind merged as one form and she stepped onto the floor for the first time since she had entered the City of Kings and gingerly put on her cloak. With a deep breath, she opened the door and followed the noise.

She wandered past the halls, the cold floors chilling her feet as she wondered why she did not think to wear slippers, yet the infant's cries amplified in her ears and spurred her on, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she walked. Even if her baby could not be saved, this one could not die, no that she could not allow. This was her chance at redemption; her last duty before she could depart the world in peace.

Listening intently, she continued to locate the source of the crying infant, nearly stumbling over steps in the dark of night. "Where are you?" she cried out, her voice hoarse from months of anguished weeping. At that moment she spied a young child, about three years of age, standing at the other end of the hallway and sucking on his thumb. Despite her terror, she smiled at the sight and beckoned for him to come to her. He smiled cheekily, his teeth glinting in the dark and toddled away. She pursued him, bumping into an oddly positioned alcove and having to steady herself on a piece of tapestry, surprised that one so ungainly and uncoordinated could move so briskly. The child's blond curls acted as a beacon for her, and she was guided past the sleeping guards which she had not noticed as her full attention was given to the runaway child. she ran, picking up her skirts and dashing across the concourse where the child had led her to. Her heart was beating at an accelerated pace, for there was a sense of familiarity about this child as she drew closer to him.

He giggled as he evaded capture, playing a game with an equally delighted Ithíl, though she was trying in earnest in her attempt to return him to his bed. Then he fell, stumbling over the grass and falling onto the ground. She rushed immediately to him, scooping him in her arms and soothing him by patting his back and stroking the back of his head. As his sobs receded, she pulled away to sneak a glance at him, wiping the tears of his ruddy cheeks and kissing him on his nose. He stopped crying and looked at her intently with his dark eyes, a mixture of green and brown, so much like..."Mama," the boy called, his small fingers brushing a tear she had not noticed had fallen. "You have your father's eyes," she whispered, pulling him closer into her embrace, pressing his small frame into hers in hopes of soldering them into one entity, that they might never part.

"My baby," she cooed lovingly, torn between trying to remember his face and peppering him with kisses she never had the opportunity to give. She combed through his wispy blond hair with her fingers, cuddling him close, savouring the warmth from his skin, the clean powdery scent that lingered on his clothes, the weight of his chubby body in her arms. He reached out to nuzzle in her neck, and her heart swelled to bursting, filled with joy at having her child with her. This was all she longed for: her child, the one taken from her. With a delighted sigh, she realised that her baby was here, and in her arms. Perhaps growing restless at being held, the boy wriggled and squirmed. Ithíl set him down reluctantly, missing the feel of her child as he placed his little feet on the ground and began running off again. He smiled cheekily at her as if to issue a challenge and continued toddling away. She laughed, the sound so foreign after all this time submerged in sorrow and took off after him, longing to hold and kiss her baby again. As she lunged forward, she felt a vice around her waist pulling her backwards. She sucked in air at the force of the motion but regained her senses and kicked wildly, her arms flailing about as she tried to injure the one who held her.

"Please," she begged, seeing her child going further and further away, "please," she pleaded desperately, her voice hoarse and unfamiliar. Knowing that her pleas were falling on deaf ears, she steeled herself and fought with all her strength until she broke free and stumbled away from her captor.

"Mama," her son called, his small hand waving to her, asking her to come to him. She sprinted towards him with both arms reaching for him as she ignored voices shouting behind her, determined to be with her child. And then she was lifted up in the air, strong arms around her frame, pinning her arms to the side. She kicked and jerked her body side to side but she was too weak and her energy had depleted. Her baby stood away from her, pouting and looking at her with a forlorn expression. She was abandoning him again.

"No!" she cried out loud, wrenching herself out of the tight grasp, but she was firmly held in place.

"Bring her away from the edge," a gentle voice instructed. She opened her eyes and looked down into darkness, the wind blowing wisps oh her hair in multiple directions. How had she not seen that they were on the edge of the concourse, staring directly down at the lower levels of Minas Tirith, She whipped her head, looking for her child to warn him not to go near the precipice but she saw him not.

"No, no, no, no," she shrieked, fighting and aiming her kicks at her captor despite how weak and frail she felt.

"Hold her head steady, do not hurt her," another male voice spoke, also gentle in his instruction.

"Here Lady Mildred, have some draught to soothe your throat," the female voice spoke in a melodic tone as her cheeks were pushed to open her mouth. 'Not again', Ithíl thought, defying the restraint on her, 'My baby," she moaned, her voice coming out gurgly as she swallowed some of the draught and choked on the rest. She spluttered, bending over as she coughed to clear her airway. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw her son walk away, his eyes glistening with tears his steps taking him further and further until he dissipated into the wind.

"Come back, come back," she shouted, but her plea was reduced to a hoarse, rasping whisper. He dissolved into the wind before her eyes, and all the strength in her body dissipated, sinking against her captor. While she was screaming and fighting internally, her body was not responding, hanging limply as more draught was poured into her mouth. While it tasted clear like spring water, and mildly sweet, she was haunted by the memory of being forced to drink an unknown liquid. She had lost her baby once, now she was about to lose him again. And then her consciousness began to drift away, coming into harmony with her lifeless body. As she blinked, trying to keep herself awake, all she could see was the bright moon, beaming it's silvery face at her. Then darkness came over her, and she saw no more.

She woke up with a gasp, sitting up straight in bed, her hand clutching her chest as she filled her lungs with air. Her throat hurt and felt arid. Her eyes took time to adjust to the brightness enveloping her and she held her arm up to shield from the painful luminance.

"Lady Mildred," a soft voice sounded, and Queen Arwen's face came into view. The elf queen was radiant, enshrouded in light but her grey eyes were full of concern as she gazed down. "Do not fear, you will not be harmed while you are under the protection and care of the King of Gondor and Arnor," she added, squeezing her hand gently. Beside her stood King Aragorn, nodding his assent to the queen's declaration. Like his wife, he bore an expression of worry on his face, his shoulders stooping as if bowed with care. She realised that they had been worried about her, and as it sank into her knowledge, she felt equally guilty for causing an inconvenience to the King and Queen of Gondor but also gratitude, that she of all people was a recipient of their affection. She was loved, still and the realisation caused her to sob, for she had believed all this while that she had not been worthy, forgetting that love is given freely and that one may be loved even if it was not wanted.

Surely she did not deserve it, but she was glad to receive it all the same. "Thank you," she paused to sniffle, "for your concern," she added, and mustered a small, but sincere smile. The king and queen smiled, seeing indeed that she did mean what she said. "Forgive me, I did not mean to cause such a disturbance," she said, bowing her head, quite unable to look straight at the two sets of piercing grey eyes staring back at her.

Queen Arwen laughed, and the sound brought some much needed levity to the conversation. "I think you bore the brunt of it out of all of us," she replied, putting a bowl into Ithíl's hands. "Here, drink some medicine. It will bring some relief to your throat and perhaps also to your heart." She tried to lift the bowl, but her arms mutinied against her will, far too exhausted from the resistance she had put up the night before. Queen Arwen noticed her discomfort and brought the bowl to her lips. "I forgot that you would be tired, you held your ground against two of our guards, a most impressive feat. Between you and Lady Éowyn, half the men in Gondor will likely believe all women from the Mark are shieldmaidens. They would be careful to underestimate you, and your countrywomen," the king spoke, bemused. She blushed, noticing that the queen nodded her head subtly in agreement.

She blushed at his praise, but her muscles were aching too much to admit that it had not been foolish of her. "From the accounts given by the guards and the maidservant who assisted Queen Arwen, you were calling for a child," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, but his eyes were still soft as they beheld her. Ithíl nodded her head, as she was fed more medicine.

"My son," she croaked, her throat feeling uncomfortable prickly.

"It seemed you had a dream, perhaps a vision last night," he added, and she could sense how uncomfortable he was as well.

No, it wasn't a dream, she refused to believe it.

Yet in her heart, she knew that it was. She had been clinging on so desperately for a shred of hope, that somehow he had emerged from the grave and lived. In the light of day, she saw with painful clarity that she had hallucinated the deepest desires of her heart to take corporeal form. Queen Arwen reached out to comfort her, but she flinched from the touch, her emotions raw and vulnerable. She drew her knees to her chest and without awareness of her own actions began rocking on the bed, her eyes pressed deep against her knees to prevent her from crying.

"Forgive me, but we were afraid that were you not restrained, you would have fallen. We took responsibility of your welfare, and we would be grieved indeed to lose a friend," the queen continued, but Ithíl remained rocking and the king and queen stared at one another in despair. They remained with her, the queen sitting beside a hysterical Ithíl and the king standing by his queen's side, a comforting hand on her shoulder. When the rocking was beginning to subside, the queen spoke again. "You could have had a vision of the future, perhaps you were granted some foresight." At this conjecture, Ithíl stopped and lifted her head gingerly, staring at the queen with a perplexed expression.

"You still have a future, my dear Mildred. A future with children, a future where joy reigns in your heart. There before your feet lies your path to that joy, and you alone hold the power to decide, to reach and take whatever your heart desires. No one else has the right to tell you otherwise. You could travel to the far edges of Middle Earth and more, visit all the beautiful and exotic gardens, eat strange foods, learn all that your heart finds curious and novel if you so wish. You are not alone, dear Mildred. We are your friends, and your happiness is a pursuit we are pleased to support."

After they had left her to rest, she hid herself under the covers and let her thoughts stew. They simmered and bubbled within her the entire night, and when morning came her bottom lip had swelled as a result of her chewing on it to aid in her contemplation. Queen Arwen paid her another visit, and was surprised to find Ithíl lucid and awake.

Setting aside the medicine on a nearby side table, the queen sat at the foot of the bed. "Good morning," she greeted, smiling warmly. A maidservant followed a while later, and set another tray down. The smell of herbs and spices permeated the air, successfully arousing her curiousity. "This is a stew made mostly with spices from Harad. An ambassadorial expedition will be departing in a month's time. They say it is not so warm in the autumn months," she added. "I might be mistaken, but I think you would find this strange land a welcome distraction. You would not be expected to be presented at court or attend diplomatic councils if you do not wish so. Think of this journey as a holiday," the queen suggested with the slightest hint of cheerfulness. "And you can return by extending your journey through the other regions of Gondor. King Aragorn mentions that Lossarnach holds a festival at the end of autumn, of which the highlight is forty-three different varieties of apples. You could winter in Dol Amroth, it is not so chilly during the day, and they celebrate a week of ocean related contests as is their custom, followed by the Swan Ball the week before springtime. You might have heard from Lady Éowyn that Ithílien is most beautiful in the spring."

"It all sounds like a dream," Ithíl whispered after a long bout of silence.

The queen smiled at her, clasping her hand. "It is a dream not yet made real," she replied, her voice soft and soothing like a balm on her wounded heart. She stared back at Queen Arwen's lovely features, quite unable to believe that such joy could be hers.

"You have been living in your dreams for the past months, you do not need to be afraid of more. All has been arranged, should you decide that this holiday is something you would like, so you need not fear. All you have to do," the queen lowered her voice, "is look at the beauty of the world around you, eat all that your heart desires and savour the simple joys life can give, all at the pace in which you are comfortable with."

After contemplating for a few days, she agreed to participating in the diplomatic excursion, uncomfortable with her feelings of curiousity bubbling through after being suppressed for so long. And excitement seeped through the cracks, causing her to feel quite unlike herself. She realised, later at night, that it seemed as if her old self was beginning to shed, and she wondered what new parts of her would emerge and who she would become.

Éomer alighted quickly, allowing his esquire to see to Firefoot. A guard directed him into the hall and he was greeted by King Aragorn, the queen resplendent and radiant in raiment of pale blue beside him. They embraced as if they were brothers, and indeed they had been brothers in battle. To battle they were off again, quelling an uprising of a band of Orcs near the mountains who had been pillaging and killing. He presented the Red Arrow to the king and bowed his head in allegiance.

"My friend," the king spoke, noting the Lord of the Mark's haggard appearance and deftly concealed his shock, "you should rest. We ride at dawn, and it is nearly sundown. Food will be sent to your chambers if you wish to dine in private, you must be famished for the journey here has been made in haste, and I thank you for your swift response."

"As much as I love you, my liege, I cannot deny that I greatly desired to see my wife, and gladly I would rest my weary body but my heart is restless and solace is yet to be found." At the meaning of his words, the king and the queen exchanged furtive glances. He stared suspiciously at them.

"Come, I will show you to your chambers, Éomer King," Queen Arwen spoke softly, taking his arm and leading him away before he could say a word. "A bath has been drawn for you, and all the amenities you might need have been prepared for you. Although, if you do find that.."

"Forgive me, Queen Arwen," he interjected, scratching his the side of his forehead rather agitatedly, "but how is she, my wife? I have received no missives from her, and" he paused, feeling his heart constrict uncomfortably in his chest, "I need to know if she is healthy, and happy."

The queen patted his hand gently, "Yes, Éomer King, Lady Mildred is happy and well. She has not spoken much, but she eats all of her meals and does not shy away from partaking in desserts. She spends her time studying in the library or going on excursions. I am told she travels quite extensively, although I respect her privacy too much to inquire of the locations she frequents.

He exhaled deeply, a wave of relief washing over him. "That is good," he commented, his shoulders sagging.

"She is preparing to travel, for quite a length of time, and she has been busy with the preparations."

"Travel?" he questioned, then remained silent as they walked, a multitude of thoughts racing in his mind. "Where to?" he asked, but the queen replied not, casting a surreptitious smile at him before glancing sideways at a door to his right. Then she leaned in and whispered "You will have to obtain that information yourself."

After he was esconced in his chambers, he stripped his clothes off and submerged himself in the tub, endeavouring to remain calm. It had been months without so much as a glance or a word from his wife and at this very moment, she was but six doors away. Every nerve in his body was tense, and he was torn between collecting his composure or breaking her door down and pulling her into his arms. He was leaving at dawn, and the sense of urgency added to his consternation. Dismissing his squire to be alone in his thoughts, he washed himself hastily and put on a clean change of clothes. He took his platter of food, surprised at the vast amount laden on his behalf and opened the door furtively. As he peered out, he spied Ithíl's slender figure and that of a dark-haired man conversing. They spoke briefly and though he was furious with jealousy, he had to admit that their interaction had been completely innocent and proper. He retreated back into his room hastily and tried to calm his quickened heart. He counted as he breathed, trying his hardest not to envision his wife in another man's arms, her body pinned under as he made love to her. Then he realised that he was no longer angry, but deeply saddened at the thought. Could he fault her for choosing another man? Perhaps that was why she had not replied any of his missives. Perhaps she was too ashamed to tell him. He wanted her to be happy, and she had to know that.

He plucked up his courage, not knowing how a simple conversation with his wife could cause him to be so terrified and rapped his knuckles on her door.

"Who is it?" she called out, sounding suspicious of the visitor.

"It is Éomer," he said, biting his lip in an effort to remain calm. He heard the sound of something falling and hitting the ground. "You do not need to see me, I can go if you-" he stopped when the door unbolted and he saw her for the first time in what seemed an eternity. He was lucky that the tray did not slip out of his hands. His mouth was agape as he stared at her, studying her features intently.

"Good evening," she greeted, sounding nervous. "Would you like to come in?" she asked. He stared at her mouth as she spoke, not realising that she had asked him a question. She had reduced him to nothing but a lovelorn fool, and he did not mind it in the least. After an awkward moment or two, he became aware that he had not responded and he nodded his head repeatedly, wanting nothing more than to be with her.

Ithíl opened the door and he stepped into her room, furnished practically. He placed the tray of food down and proceeded to stumble on something hard, falling on his bottom. He noticed she was pursing her lips to keep from smiling, and he burst out laughing. Though initially bewildered, she followed suit, although she was careful to be as polite as she could when laughing at an estranged spouse's clumsiness.

"I apologise, I have been trying to learn about the history of Gondor's principalities. They are very extensive, which explains why there are so many stacks of books here," she said as she lit several candles, illuminating the reason behind his literal fall from grace.

"I thought you might like some food," he said awkwardly, gesturing to the tray of roast quail, stewed vegetables, buttered bread, cheese and some delicious looking pastries.

She smiled sheepishly, "I already ate. Usually, I request that food is sent to the library, I spend most of my time researching there," she explained, barely meeting his gaze. "But you should eat," she added quickly, her cheeks flustered as she cleared her desk to allow space for his tray.

"Are you certain? If you do not wish to see me, I can leave," he asked.

She hesitated, and her indecision pierced him. "No, I think there is much we have to say to one another. And you should not be hungry while we converse about difficult matters." He nodded and sat down to eat, forgetting how hungry he actually was in the midst of his apprehension. As he ate, she collected the books to stack them into one large, formidable pile of books. Éomer was certain he had never read as many books in his lifetime as she did in a fortnight.

"Why are you researching the principalities of Gondor?" he asked in an attempt to start the conversation.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ears, flushed from lifting the heavy tomes, reminding Éomer just how lovely she was. "I am travelling," she replied, and I would like to know more about the destinations, just to indulge my curiousity," she finished with a gratuitious smile. His spoon stopped short of his mouth, as his body froze, completely mesmerised by her.

"It would enhance my experieces there, I imagine," she added nervously, filling the awkward gaps with unnecessary conversation, "and hopefully some knowledge of their history and customs might aid in conversing with the local peoples. Books can only help so much; experience however, is always the better teacher." He nodded, and would have agreed to anything she said in that moment.

"You must be excited," he commented, working his way through the bread and cheese, noticing that she was eyeing the pastries.

"A little," she confessed, her gaze still lingering on his tray, "mostly I am nervous, and fearful," she confessed. "The king and queen have been so kind to me, and have graciously offered their protection throughout my travels, I would hate to disappoint them in any way."

"Well, what do they expect of you?"

"Nothing, but I am certain-"

"That you will somehow make a mess of things?" She nodded, flopping down onto an armchair dejectedly. "What do the books say?"

"Hmm?"

"What do the books say about the places you will visit?" Her eyes began to light up as she described the results of her research. She rambled on and though her descriptions of these faraway places were fascinating, he was held captive by her enthusiasm and lust for life. Utterly transfixed, he watched her talk about exotic foods, observing her gesticulating arms and noticing how full his heart was at the sight of her happiness.

"You seem to know so much," he murmured unintentionally breaking her train of thought. She was startled at the beginning, but a small smile formed.

"They wanted me to enjoy myself," she said wistfully, plucking a loose thread from her dress.

"You sound like you are already having fun," he commented, and he was rewarded by the faintest blush blooming on both her cheeks. She stared at him in a rather odd manner and then her gaze drifted down to the pastries. He chuckled, despite himself and pushed the tray towards her. "Take it," he offered, "did you think I would not notice your staring?" Before she could protest or come up with a reason, he took her hand and placed the tart in her hand, then realising he could not let her go. This was the first time he had touched her since spring, and now the autumn leaves billowed outside the windows.

"Éomer," she whispered, her voice laced with pain as she drew her hand back abruptly.

"I missed you," he replied, knowing that his emotions were far more intense than he could describe with words. "And above all that I hold dear, my greatest desire is for you to return, and be with me." He watched her close her eyes at his confession, examined the reluctant expression and swallowed, feeling his heart shattering. "But I realise that more than that, your happiness comes first, and must take precedence over my own wants," he added, brushing away his tears. "You do not know how joyous I am to see you in good health, to see the light in your eyes again. And if you find happiness without me, then that is a fate I am willing to suffer. I love you," he choked on a sob, "so very much, Ithíl, and you should know that you are loved, and will always be cherished by me. I loved you as you were, and will love all that you become, whatever you decide for yourself." She sat still, her head bowed but he knew she was crying as well.

"Do not apologise," he said, and she jerked her head up to look at him, surprised that he had stolen the words from her mouth. "Nothing is your fault," he said tenderly, going over to kneel by her feet. "You have a world to explore, so do not dwell on the past. It is time now to make new memories, happy memories."

"What about you?" she asked.

"I shall be sustained well enough knowing that you are on a great adventure, and having the best time discovering all that your heart desires." She stared doubtfully at him, and he took some comfort that she was pained, perhaps not to the extent of his torment, but pained nonetheless. "So tell me, my love, what do you decide?" he tipped her chin up as tears rolled down her face. Wiping them off with his thumb, he took advantage of the moment to savour the feel of her skin under his touch, watching her fluttering eyelashes as if it were a marvellous tapestry. He let her go reluctantly, still kneeling reverently by her side, awaiting her decision patiently.

"I want to travel," she spoke, glancing down at him guiltily.

"I know you do," he replied in a soothing tone, taking her hands in his to stop them from trembling.

"I do not wish to be queen," she admitted painfully, overcome with emotion. He picked her up and rubbed her back, trying his best to comfort her.

"That is your right," he murmured in her ear, hoping that their first embrace after so many months of separation could have been happier. "And it is your choice to make. I will not begrudge you the power to decide what to do with your life. It is your happiness at stake."

"I vowed," she mumbled mournfully.

"So did I, do you not remember, dear Ithíl? And I have failed you, more times than I can count. I have broken my vows, in failing to give you the happiness that was promised. Perhaps we should take a brief reprieve from matrimony, after you have had your holiday. Until then, I would be honoured if you could think of me as a dear friend."

She nodded profusely, and he reached to wipe her tears away once more. "Will you write to me, while you are off on your adventure? I would love to hear about the foreign lands and strange customs you mentioned earlier," he asked, trying to sound mirthful though deep inside he was broken, for he was losing his wife and that the cure for her sorrow was for him to remain distant. "I know you will have much to occupy you, but I wish very much to remain in your company, even if it is only through writing. When you feel ready to discuss our marriage and whether it should continue or," he exhaled raggedly, "cease, write to me, and I will find you. Does that sound like an acceptable proposition?" he asked tenderly, deeply desiring her consent.

"Yes," she whispered, wiping her mucus with her sleeve, staring at him with such sad eyes that he could not bear it.

"Well then, I shall take my leave," he said jovially, secretly wishing for the solace of his room so he could mourn in private.

"Éomer," she called out as he turned to leave. "Do not wait for me," she implored, "I wish for you to be happy as well. I have done as you asked, I am happier now. You promised me when I left Meduseld that you would search for a wife, a suitable wife." His shoulders slumped, remembering his own words.

"You are right, I did make that promise to you, dearest Ithíl, but searching for a wife when my heart is so utterly captivated by another does not bring me happiness. I love you, and I always will."

"You have given me the luxury of time, you should also give yourself that time. I am not forcing this upon you, but I do think that you may come to love another," at the beginning of a protest, she added, "not now, of course, but with time. Please, will you at least meet these eligible ladies and make their acquaintance? I want you to open your heart, you have so much love to give Éomer. And as your," she paused, "friend, I would feel less burdened on my journey if I knew you were also searching for your happiness." He sighed deeply, and acquiesced to her demand. "And you will write to me, to tell me how those meetings go?"

"Only if you promise me the same," he replied after he thought a while. She stared at him, bewildered by his answer. "I saw you with another man earlier, and I also want you to know that you can pursue your own pleasure while we are-, uh, friends. I will not hate you or hold you in any lesser regard, and in return I will try to find another woman worthy enough to take your stead."

"He is a friend," she assured him.

"I know."

"I have not," she began vehemently.

"I know," he repeated.

"I-," she paused. "That is how you feel?" she asked perceptively.

He nodded, though it was much worse. She was asking him to marry another, to bind himself publicly and raise a family with another woman. A woman whom he would be forced to see every day instead of Ithíl. But he said nothing and clamped his jaw shut.

"I know it is a great task, but you need heirs, I do not. It does not matter whether I find another."

He laughed darkly, surprising her. "Yes, but I also know you, Ithíl. You are my wife, and before that, you were my mistress. You will have desires, sensual desires," he whispered in her ear, his voice low and husky. "And it is merely natural that you lust for the pleasures we have shared as a man and a woman." There was deep satisfaction in seeing Ithíl in such a state, her pupils dilated and her breaths short and laboured. "Would it be so wrong to partake of such delicious ecstasy, to feel the release of passion," he purred seductively, his finger sneaking underneath her dress, snaking a tempting trail up her leg. She appeared to be enjoying this game he was playing, so he did not stop, but he vowed that he would, if she made the slightest gesture or sound to indicate her displeasure.

"After all, I have heard you begging for pleasure," he continued, feeling his cock strain with need. His fingers reached her knee, and she wriggled in her seat, causing the hem of her dress to hike higher. "Begging for me to be rougher, faster, harder," he whispered, his breath hot on her skin. Slowly, he massaged the soft flesh of her thighs, feeling Ithíl part her legs voluntarily at his ministrations.

He let out a groan, he had dreamed of this so often when he was alone in Meduseld and now he could smell her, could see her eyes hazed with lust, her legs parted before him. He reached further, and could feel her wetness staining his fingers. "Ithíl," he croaked, positioning himself between her legs, "it is now, you have to tell me now that you do not want this," he warned. But she said nothing, staring at him with that familiar expression of desire and he lapped at her hungrily, pleasuring her with his mouth with great vigour, holding her hips secure as she writhed in the armchair.

"Éomer," she gasped, gripping his hair between her fingers, the sound of his name fueling him to demonstrate his affection all the more ardently. She tasted so sweet, so delicious that he could not help himself and even after she let out a loud cry, he was reluctant to let go of her. So his fingers found their way inside her, and he nearly chuckled as Ithíl groaned "More."

He began to piston his fingers in and out of her, using his thumb to rub against the pink pearl just above her folds when he was interrupted by Ithíl sitting up in her chair, breaking from the reverie of him making love to her. Terrified that he had violated her against her will, he stopped, drawing back his slicked fingers.

"I want you," she breathed, her cheeks flushed, her hands descending on his trousers and nearly tearing them off in her desperation.

Somehow, he found it within himself to ask her again. "Are you certain, Ithíl? I can-" but she started caressing him, her hands slick with her own release as she pumped his cock. He was lost for words, and he stared at her the whole time, so aroused by the sight of her that it did not take him long to feel the familiar pressure surging for release. Ithíl being his wife, knew him too well, stopping just before he came and smiled saucily at him, taking his hand and leading him to her bed. She pushed him down and straddled him, ignoring his pained groan as she took hold of his cock and eased herself onto his length.

"Oh, Ithíl," he groaned as she began to move, undulating her hips in a punishing rhythm. He bunched up the sheets and bit down hard, fighting to keep his release at bay. Béma help him, but this was the most delighful torture a man could suffer. So he looked away, forcing himself to imagine Ithíl with another man, squirming beneath this dark haired stranger, moaning his name. With each picture, he slashed at his own heart, and he let loose his tears.

"Éomer," she gasped, looking down at him, shaking him from his reverie as she clenched around him, her movements increasing in intensity as the wave of her release ebbed. His name sounded so wonderful coming from her lips, borne out of desire. His arousal renewed, he plunged into her, trying to prolong her pleasure. She shivered above him, moaning as she held onto him, withstanding the force of his thrusts. "Ithíl, did you-?" he questioned, feeling his release approach.

She nodded helplessly, subject to the wonderful sensations coursing through her. With her assent, he flipped her on to her back and kissed her hungrily, devouring her mouth with his as he bucked wildly against her. His hands roamed all over her body, squeezing, kneading. He was like a crazed animal, feasting after enduring a prolonged starvation and Ithíl was a feast to his senses, overwhelming him. She reveled in the pleasure he was giving her, unable to imagine the ecstasy she was experiencing. And with one final groan, he shuddered and fell onto her, his whole weight bearing down on her, though she did not find it unpleasant. He was so still and silent that she began to worry. She called him, but he mumbled unintelligibly and nuzzled against her. She could feel his seed spilling into her, a sensation she had always enjoyed. But now, she thought that it would be good if he found another womb to plant his seed, a fertile one. Tears pricked her eyes but she swallowed her emotions and steeled herself. This was what she wanted, was it not? After a few moments, Éomer regained some of his strength and reluctantly peeled himself away from her. They dressed in silence, and when he turned to face her, she looked so downcast that he wanted to kick himself.

"I have to study," she spoke, not looking at him.

"I am so sorry," he began, spluttering.

"No, no, do not apologise. I loved every moment of it, every moment we have spent I will cherish forever. You have so much to give, Éomer, do not withhold it from someone more deserving than I," she replied, tenderly brushing away the hair from his face.

"And I pray," he paused, overcome by grief, "that you will not refrain from partaking in pleasure because you consider yourself bound in duty to me. You are my undoing, you minx, and you should receive all that you desire. Do not look so sad, my love. Will you not feign some satisfaction from our union, if only to ease the pain this separation will bring? Let me keep that smile of yours in my memory."

She attempted a smile, and he laughed, kissing her on the nose affectionately.

"I love you, Ithílwyn, lady of the forest, slayer of Orcs, mother of my child, keeper of my heart and fairest to my eyes. Farewell," he bade and left before she could say a word, knowing that he could no longer feign that all was fine. He had lost his greatest friend, and he could not recall ever feeling so alone in the world then when he shut the door behind him and wept.