Chapter Eight: A Queen for Rohan
And so the day passed. There was an abundance of food, a supply that did not stop flowing even as the sun began to sink low on the horizon, spreading pink and orange rays of light across the plains of Gondor. Drink flowed freely, music never ceased, and only when the sun had disappeared, giving way to the moon and a glorious blanket of stars, did the dancing stop for the night. The women of the castle remained in the Great Hall, sharing gossip, tending to their children, and whispering of their loved ones while the men moved to the inner courtyard of the palace, their celebrating only having just begun.
The courtyard was immense, just as large as the Great Hall but without the distraction of tapestries and pillars. The entire courtyard was covered in grass, and servants rushed to move tables and chairs to the courtyard, placing them on all sides of the lawn but never in the center. The center was reserved for tournaments and competitions.
The night began with a drinking contest, and while Eomer did not participate in the contest himself, he found himself cheering on his men as he also enjoyed a mug of frothing beer. He was impressed by the drinking skills of the Hobbits, surprised that such small people could tolerate so much alcohol. Merry and Pippin started in to dance, and their dancing was accompanied by the men singing, deep, rich masculine voices loud with gusto and pleasure. Eomer sang along with them, allowing himself an evening to enjoy before the more solemn matters were to happen in the days following.
There were archery tournaments, followed by wrestling and combat. Eomer stood with the other men, cheering on the competitors and antagonizing the losers. Despite one's grief and uncertainty, it was impossible not to be lighthearted when others were cheering and were excited. Even Aragorn, usually so reserved and thoughtful, was cheering on his men and entering competitions.
It was late into the night when the swordfighting tournaments began, and Eomer found himself agreeing to join a competition, the beer having lightened his spirits and the company having filled him with boyish excitement. He watched, amused, as others fought, everyone laughing and applauding and some even placing bets. He learned quickly that there were high stakes being placed for his upcoming battle, most of these bets encouraged by his men. It filled him with pride. His men knew he was wounded, the backs of his legs still burning, and yet they had enough confidence and loyalty to risk money for him.
Three of his men helped him into armor as his tournament drew closer, and he had a few minutes to test his new armor and to practice with the broadsword that he had chosen. The broadsword was heavy, requiring two hands to properly hold it, but Eomer had been trained with broadswords, and so the weight of the weapon did nothing to daunt him. After a few practice bouts with the Rohirrim, he was prepared to step into the designated battle area of the courtyard.
His accomplice was also prepared. He was smaller than Eomer, but he handled his lighter sword like a champion, and Eomer knew not to understimate the size of one's opponent. As soon as the call was cried, the match began, and Eomer advanced on his rival. He was surprised to see that the man wasted no time, instead raising his sword and charging Eomer with swift feet and astonishing flexibility. Eomer scarcely had time to raise his sword before his challenger was near him, swinging his own sword and bringing it crashing against Eomer's. Eomer blocked the blow and then stepped forward, forcing the other man back and drawing cheers from the Rohirrim.
Several minutes passed, and with every moment, Eomer became more and more impressed with his rival. The man knew Eomer's weaknesses, and Eomer was stunned by pain when the man suddenly swung low, catching the back of Eomer's legs, hitting his wounds. The king of Rohan groaned in pain, mustering all of his strength to remain standing and on his feet. The fleeting pain made him lower his guard, and he was hit once across the helmet and another time across the arm before he regained his composure. Now he was just mad. This crafty swordsman was making him look weak in front of all of his men and great leaders of other lands! That was not acceptable!
He charged the smaller swordsman, broadsword raised high, and he brought his sword down, nearly catching the other man on the helmet, but before the sword could make contact, Eomer's rival spun out of harm's way, bringing Eomer's sword slicing through air. The stranger's footwork was flawless, and Eomer carefully watched for weaknesses as they battled. He could find none. He was going to have use his size alone against the skilled warrior.
He began to watch his own footwork, mimicking his rival's, and it was there that he found a weakness. One solid blow of Eomer's arm to his opponent's armored chest, and the man went down, falling onto his back. Eomer leaped at that opportunity, dropping to the ground as well, using his arms and legs to pin the man. The man was wiry, using slender limbs to slip out from under the Rohan king, but before the stranger could get to his feet, Eomer grabbed hold of his calves, and he went down again. Eomer was not going to let himself be defeated by this small person, and so he continued to work. Every time the rival got up, Eomer was able to get him back down to the ground. He was fast loosening his opponent's armor, and he knew it was only a matter of time before enough pain was inflicted to force the man to stop.
Again, Eomer used his weight, this time to thrust his knees into his opponent's stomach when he stood. The man fell again to the ground, this time with a groan, and Eomer fell atop the man, knees planting firmly in his rival's stomach. The action was hard enough to lurch the unfortunate fellow's body, and his helmet fell back and off even as Eomer positioned himself carefully, pinning the man's arms down with his hands and trapping the man's legs with his own.
Which all would have been very well and good, had his opponent actually been a man.
Fiery green eyes blazed up into Eomer's face as soft, long brown hair cascaded across the grass. All of the cheering immediately stopped, and Eomer could hear his heart pounding violently in his chest. Beneath him lay a hard-breathing, righteously angered, exquisitely beautiful Princess of Dol Amroth. And to make matters worse, Eomer found that he couldn't move. Something inside of his body had frozen, leaving him pinned against her. He could distinctly feel every place where his body was touching hers. Her legs against his, his chest pressing firmly against hers, her breath intermingling with his. He supposed he should have been angry that a woman had been sent against him in battle. His pride should have been wounded; he should have been infuriated that someone would try such a trick, that she would try and deceive him, if this was indeed her doing.
But this was not the emotion that raged through him. No. He had been exerting energy for fifteen minutes now, and his adrenaline was pulsing through him. Every one of his senses was on the alert. He could smell her lovely skin and hair. He could feel her breath on his face and neck. He could hear her panting, wheezing as his body put great pain on her. He could see those green eyes, on fire, though from what emotion he couldn't tell. And he could taste desire for her on his tongue, a longing that he had never felt for a woman. No, fighting with her had not made him angry, had not made him despise her. She had proven herself to be his equal in battle, once again, and he wanted her.
"Lord Eomer, Riders of Rohan," Aragorn's voice came on a breeze, "I present to you your future queen."
"Eomer," Gandalf's voice chuckled, closer than the other voices, though the wizard stood nowhere near the warrior and his fallen rival. "You should get up now. You are hurting her."
His words shook Eomer, and hurriedly, he scrambled off Lothiriel, standing before her and offering her his hands. She took them and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her hands immediately went to her stomach, clutching it firmly as her face paled.
"My lady, if I had known..."
She made an attempt to speak, but then her eyes rolled back, she turned white as a sheet, and she fainted dead away.
"Good lords, Aragorn," Eomer breathed as he carried Lothiriel through the halls, Aragorn at his side and her father and brothers following behind. "You could have presented her to me in a safer manner for her!"
"She held her own against you, therefore earning the respect of your men," Aragorn said, opening the door to Lothiriel's chambers and watching as Eomer carried her inside.
"And what would have happened, had she won? The men would have lost their respect for me."
"We knew you would win," Elphir chuckled as Eomer laid Lothiriel on her fur pallet. "You had size against her."
"I think it would be best if we left him and Prince Imrahil with her," Aragorn said, preventing Lothiriel's brothers from entering the chamber. "They have matters to discuss, and they can tend to her."
He turned then and began walking towards the courtyard, the brothers following. Imrahil closed the chamber door and then turned and moved to the pallet where Eomer was sitting, his eyes resting on Lothiriel.
"I could have truly hurt her," Eomer worried.
"Gandalf would have told us if she was in any danger. Your blow simply threw her off kilter. See, she is already coming to."
Lothiriel's eyes flickered and then opened. Sweat beaded her brow as she turned her head to see her father and Eomer sitting at her side. She made a move to speak, but before she could, Eomer offered her a goblet of water, and she took it gratefully. She took several sips of the fluid and then sat up, waving her father's hand away as he offered to help her.
"I think next time I hold a sword, I would prefer to fight alongside you, rather than against you, Lord Eomer."
"Forgive me, my lady. I could have done some severe damage. I did not know."
"Of course you didn't," Lothiriel laughed lightly and then winced in pain. "No one wanted you to know."
"Are you disappointed, Lothiriel?" Imrahil asked, concerned. "King Aragorn only spoke with us a few hours ago to tell us of his desire for you to be with Eomer. Are you upset?"
"I am," Lothiriel spoke slowly. "I had hoped that I would be permitted to marry for love, after King Aragorn was no longer available to me. I do not mean offense to you," she said hastily, her eyes flickering across Eomer's face. "But I do not love you, and I do not know your people. I should have known that I would not have a choice in my fate, but it is not my opinion that we should be concerned about. Father, I worry what Rohan's future king thinks about having me for a queen. You do not love me," she said, her eyes staring into Eomer's. "I do not blame you for this, but is this what you want? Am I suitable to you and your kingdom?"
"I believe you have proven your worth multiple times, my lady," Eomer bowed his head. "I would be honored to have you as my queen."
"Multiple times?" Imrahil asked, his eyebrows raised. "What other times have you proven yourself, child?"
"She has assisted me in different occasions," Eomer spoke before she could try and come up with an answer. "For that, I am grateful. For that, I willingly accept her as my queen, if she is willing."
"If I am willing?" Lothiriel asked, her eyes wide. "I did not believe I had a choice in this matter."
"I am giving you one."
She bit her lip, and a shot of adrenaline rocketed through Eomer's body again as his eyes were drawn to her mouth. She nodded slowly.
"I would be honored, my lord. I can think of no one else who would be more acceptable."
"Then it is decided," Imrahil said, clasping his hands together. "You must be wed in the morning, to make the return journey to Rohan acceptable. We do not want whispers of scandal surrounding us as we journey to the horse lands."
The prince got to his feet and hurried to the door, bidding his daughter good night and then disappearing, hoping to find Aragorn and arrange for the morning's wedding. Lothiriel stood from her pallet and walked over to the window of her room, gazing out across the starry sky, momentarily forgetting that Eomer was still in the room with her. From his seat by the pallet, he could see her eyes glistening with moisture, and he watched silently as a tear trickled down her cheek and dripped off her chin. Quietly, he stood and moved to her, and he startled her when he reached out and wiped the tear away with a gloved hand.
"Forgive me, my lord," Lothiriel whispered, hurriedly wiping at her eyes. "I have no right to shed tears. I am pleased that I am to be the Queen of Rohan. A woman could not ask for more from anyone."
"You miss your home."
She took in a deep breath, and then more tears began to fall. She raised her hands, to hide her face, but he caught hold of her hands, lowering his face so that he could gaze into the princess' eyes. She tried bravely to stop her tears, but she could not, and she shook her head, embarrassed that he should see her like this. She closed her eyes, trying to hide the image of him watching her, watching her cry like a child when she was only going to receive great blessings. She didn't want him to see her like this. She preferred he see her as the warrior, as another person with a strong interior like he had.
And then something soft touched her cheek, and then her chin, and then her nose, and she stopped crying and opened her eyes. She could find no words as the warrior of Rohan kissed her forehead and then her temple, soothing her heated face with his lips, showing his respect with the simplest of actions.
"Time will make us stronger," he said, rubbing her fingers gently with his hands. "I understand your pain and your fear. This is not how you imagined your life would be, neither is it how I envisioned mine. But give everything some time, my lady, and things will all turn up for the best."
"It is shameful for me to cry. I have not lost loved ones to this war," Lothiriel whispered.
"In losing two of my most beloved friends, I have gained a beautiful woman," Eomer smiled, raising her hands to his lips and kissing them. "Good night, my lady. I will see you on the morrow."