Chapter 2
3012 3rd age, June
Éomer stepped into a garden. Riots of color in the sunset assaulted him along with the low buzz of insects and a thick perfume from the flowers. There was a narrow curved path in front of him, and he followed it, ducking under branches from a small tree, and stepping over vines that had escaped the confines of the border to crawl along the path.
"Over here!" He looked up as Thìri called to him. She was standing by the railing, looking out over edge, waving him to come forward.
"I thought you might like to see a better view of the sea…I don't think I've shown you before, and I've come to the Riddermark so much more often…" Her voice trailed off as he stepped up beside her and looked on the sun setting west over the sea. The sea sparkled with deep blue, pinks, yellows, and reds shimmering along the trailing edge. Ships were lying peaceful in the harbor and the seawall looked a blinding white flecked with yellow and orange along its top edge. He grinned appreciatively.
'"This is beautiful." He let his eyes wander over the view, taking it all in slowly, after a moment he added, "although, I have seen a moonlit view like this once before," remembering the first time he saw her.
She frowned in confusion, "You mean you've been to the sea before, but only passed by in the night?"
He shook his head and let out a low short laugh, "No. It was actually the first time I met you. You were but a babe in the cradle, and you were in a room with a window that faced the sea."
"You saw me when I was a babe? You must be very old."
Éomer laughed again at her frank bluntness, "I am not that old. I have only seen one and twenty summers."
"Oh! That's how old my brother Erchirion is. I guess that's not so old, it's only nine years older than me."
"Thank you for that allowance, Thìri."
She grinned at him, "It's actually Lothìriel. But you can still call me Thìri."
"Lothìriel." He raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, it was too long of a name for me to say when I was little, but my real name is Lothìriel."
"Oh. Why didn't you-"
"Formally speaking I am introduced as Princess Lothìriel of Dol Amroth, although my father rules over more than just Dol Amroth. But I get so tired of having to be formal all the time."
Éomer tilted his head to peer at her, "Wait. What?"
"I think it's boring that we always have to use titles-"
"No, go back to what you were saying about your father."
"Oh, my father, Prince Imrahil, rules over more than just Dol Amroth?"
"Yes, that. So…you live in a castle, in Dol Amroth with your father who is a prince…" His voice started to trail off and she continued.
"Prince Imrahil who rules Dor En Ernil for Gondor. And my brothers live here too, of course."
"Of course. How many brothers do you have again?"
"Three. First is Elphir, then is Erchirion, then Amrothros. And we do live in the castle here most of the time, but we spend a month or two at our house in Gondor every year so Father can take care of business with Uncle Denethor."
Éomer shook his head to clear it. Fate had thrown him into what felt like a waking dream with a princess, whose father ruled almost a third of Gondor, then the import of what she had just said hit him. "Wait, you go to your house in Gondor to visit…Denethor?"
"Yes, my uncle. He's the Steward of Gondor. I prefer seeing my cousins though. I wouldn't mind if we didn't see uncle at all, he's grumpy." Éomer smiled bemusedly at hearing someone call the haughty and sarcastic man grumpy.
"Yes. He's always seemed that way to me too. Although I could never say that of course."
She looked shocked, "Of course not. I can not say it either. Except to Amrothros and Erchirion sometimes. But not to Elphir, he is too proper." Placing her hands on the rail she jumped lightly up, settling in, swinging her legs back and forth over the drop.
Éomer leaned on the rail and regarded the young girl, "It feels like you probably should have told me all this before."
"We've never really had this long before. It's only been a few minutes at a time." Her voice trailed off in thought before she added, "I wonder what changed…"
"When you figure it out, let me know." Éomer smiled, "And how to get into this in the first place."
She smiled brightly at him. "But then-" her voice stopped abruptly, and she frowned, "I think this is goodbye for-" And just like that she was gone.
_OOOO_
3013 3rd age, January
Éomer rubbed his face tiredly, then looked around. Was this Thìri's -no Lothìriel's- room? It was as large as three of his bedrooms put together. A canopy bed with filmy flowing curtains stood against the back wall, centered in the middle between two large windows facing East towards the sea. Off in the corner was a comfortable looking chair and divan with a low table in front. A floor to ceiling bookshelf filled one wall, and books, shells, and trinkets were scattered around. Paintings of seascapes hung on the wall and -he was surprised to note- two tapestry's of the Riddermark, showing Éorl the young with Felarof and one of Aldburg with the mountains in the background. A small sigh struck his ears and he turned to look for Lothìriel. Nothing. Moving forward slowly, and feeling like an intruder, he peered around. Still nothing. "Lothìriel?" he called softly. There was no answer, but a slight movement caught his eye. Looking toward an archway he hadn't noticed before he saw it led out onto a balcony. He walked over towards it, "Lothìriel?" She turned, her eyes looking red. "Éomer…" she paused and rubbed at her eyes, "I don't think I called you…"
He shrugged, "You must have, for here I am. Are you ok?" He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, peering into her eyes. She dropped them and turned back towards the view.
"I," she swallowed thickly, "I will be."
"What happened?"
"Elphir is getting married."
"Shouldn't that be a happy occasion?"
"Yes." She added nothing more.
He began to feel a bit of frustration, really all he had wanted this night was sleep. Taking a breath, he continued the conversation. "So why is it not?"
"Because. She does not like me or approve of me." She swung up and onto the edge of the balcony, resting her chin in her hand and looking moodily out.
He stepped a little closer, "Maybe you should not be on top of the ledge? That's quite a fall."
"It is a dream. I can't get hurt anyway."
He frowned, irritation spiking, "Lothìriel. I-"
"Why do you call me Lothìriel now? Why not Thìri? I told you that you could."
He closed his eyes and huffed a breath, sending a short prayer up-Bema, help me!-
"Because you are not just any girl, you are a princess and-"
"Well, I'm tired of it! I don't want to be one any-"
Éomer snapped, "Quit it, Lothìriel! The world is bigger than you and your petty concerns." He dropped his head with a groan as she stared wide-eyed at him. Straightening again after a moment, he rubbed a hand over his face again, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that."
She spun around so her back was to the sea, and he had to restrain himself from pulling her off the ledge. "It probably is true, though it feels big enough to me," she said in a subdued tone, the petulance from a moment ago gone, "What's wrong?"
Éomer leaned on the railing avoiding her eyes, "Why do you think something is?"
It was her turn to snort, "Oh, come on, Éomer. You've never spoken like that before, and I know I've been more irritating than this."
He sighed, and stared unseeingly out, "It's probably not something you should hear."
"Please? Maybe it will help if you can talk about it some?"
He rubbed his hand over his face again. "Alright." There was a brief pause as he collected his thoughts. "I know I told you that they made me a Captain?" She nodded. "Well, this past week I got my first chance to lead my men by myself after a smaller band of orcs that had branched off the main group with some prisoners." His voice thickened a bit and he fell silent, she waited for the long moments it took for him to regain speech. "It. I cannot speak of all of it. But they turned back and thought to trap us, we overcame them, but not in time. It was not a pretty sight, Thìri. They had killed the prisoners shortly before we got there." His stomach twisted, remembering the gruesome scene, anger rose again. "If we had been but half an hour sooner," his voice broke and he fell silent.
Lothìriel slid off the ledge, he didn't turn to look at her. "Éomer, I-"
The knocking started and the vision began to fragment around him, for a brief moment he felt her hand upon his and then he awoke.
_OOOO_
3013 3rd age, June
Éomer stood on the hill outside Aldburg. The grass around him cropped short from the sheep and goats that had grazed this way the week before. With brisk strokes he brushed the dust from the shining coat of his father's horse, Helmfast.
"Mae geovannen, Éomer!" He turned to see Lothìriel behind him.
"Westu Thìri hal," He greeted her back, "It's good to see you to-" he paused, "tonight."
She laughed as the sun shone down on her, her eyes sparkling as she answered, "Yes, it is very pleasant to see you this night." She stepped up next to him, "Is this your horse?" She held out the back of her hand as Helmfast turned his head to inspect her. He snorted softly before nudging it. "Sorry boy, no treats today," she murmured lifting her hand to pull at his forelock.
"No." Éomer felt a fist clench his heart, as he was hit with the realization of Helmfast appearing to him, "No. He's not mine."
"Who-"
Éomer shook his head, "Not yet, Lothìriel." She looked at him questioningly but stopped. The query still unasked.
"Come sit with me," he commanded as he flopped onto the grass.
"Do you ever ask anymore? Or has being a Captain started to go to your head." She raised an eyebrow as she settled beside him.
He frowned, "I'm not rude, Lothìriel."
She turned her head away laying it on her knee, "It was a joke, Éomer." He grunted in response.
Silence reigned for a few moments before she tried again, "I'm glad we've been able to meet more these last few years."
He snorted, "You mean you're glad you figured out how to call me."
"Is something wrong?"
He shook his head, but then sighed, "I think this might be lessening our rest. I don't know what these dreams are, but I feel as if I'm getting half the sleep I need on the nights we meet."
She sighed, "Oh, I'm sorry I'm bothering you."
"Thìri. That's not what-" Éomer stopped. It was what he meant, wasn't it? He shook his head his thoughts feeling muddled and ran his hand through his hair and over his beard.
Lothìriel looked up at him, her shoulders hunched a bit as if bracing for a blow, and muttered low, "I can stop coming. If you'd prefer."
Éomer squinted at her, "Did you say?"
"Nothing."
He startled as she jumped up.
"Can we ride him?" She motioned to the horse. Éomer climbed to his feet too.
"He's a warhorse, Thìri. Not one of your-" He stopped as she poked him in the ribs.
Her eyes were flashing "I know that. But this is a dream, right? Even if something happens. It's a dream. Please, Éomer?"
Éomer rubbed at his beard, "Fine. You can ride behind me but hold on. I don't want to see you get hurt. Even in a dream." Her eyes shining once more Thìri flung her arms around him in a quick hug before waiting for him to mount.
"One more ride, Helmfast," he whispered as the horse nosed him. Mounting quickly, he reached down and grabbed Thìri's hand helping her scrabble up behind him. Starting at a walk they rode over the cropped ground until Thìri begged to go faster. Her arms felt like a small band of iron around his middle as they cantered up a hill and he could hear her laughter echoing behind. Helmfast slowed as they reached the top and turned off to the right. Éomer felt the wind go out of him, and without saying a word dismounted, pulling Thìri off as well.
"Why?" He looked into Helmfast's eyes as if he could read the answer. He felt a faint sense of sorrow as Helmfast nudged him towards two stone markers set next to each other on the ground.
"Éomer. Where are we?" Thìri tried to catch his eye.
He shook his head not looking at her.
"Who's horse was that?"
He turned to see Helmfast trotting away, fading into nothingness.
"He was my father's."
He watched feeling as if ice were coating his insides as Thìri walked forward to the markers and traced her fingers over them.
"These are your parents' graves." It was not a question.
He nodded anyway, his throat too thick for words.
She turned towards him, eyes full of sorrow.
"I'm sorry. Sorry that they're gone."
He turned away, "There is nothing for you to be sorry for." He heard her steps coming towards him, felt a feather light touch on his arm, and for a moment resisted shrugging it off.
"You comforted me when-"
He did shrug her off then, and turned to face her, eyes hard. "I don't need comforting. This should never have happened." He flung his arm out, pointing at the graves, "Orcs and the evil that spawned them should never have existed let alone had their evil press this far." Anger welled up in him and he paced in a tight circle,
"Éomer, you can't-"
"I can't what! My father and mother died at their hands and I will not rest until every orc that dares cross the Riddermark-"
"You can't live for revenge, Éomer!" She snapped, eyes flashing anger and pain. He stopped pacing and stared at her.
"Fight for the living. Not the dead. If you fight for the dead it puts you too close. To them. You're becoming reckless, Éomer." Her eyes burned into him, but he hardened his heart against the searing conviction in her voice. She softened and held out a hand towards him, "You can mourn for your parents and-"
Sorrow and rage warred within him and he bellowed, "No more!" as he took a step towards her. He saw her eyes glisten, and a lone tear slide down her cheek, saw the fear flicker through compassion as he towered over her, and then she was gone. And he was standing alone on the hillside facing his parents' grave.
His heart clenched as his mind raced, anger slowly giving way to regret.
She was gone.
He had scared her.
His mind went in circles. She was gone. He had scared her, and she had left.
Left him.
And?
And, she was right.
A pounding sound echoed throughout the dream, and he watched as it shattered around him in now familiar shards.
"Captain Éomer! The Third Marshal has called for the èored, orcs have been sited past the village Eastlen and we are to ride."
Éomer flung himself out of bed, "Tell him I'll be there shortly." His shoulders slumped as he began putting on his armor, his esquire raced into the room to help him chattering excitedly about the scouts' words, but Éomer stayed silent; his mind still circling around the dream then trailing back to the tension that had been building in their recent meetings; Replaying his every cross word and irritable feeling.
Will she come again?
_OOOO_