A/N Well, at least I got this one out slightly quicker than the last
chapter... heh... Right. I've upped the rating for the chapter, because of
something that happens. I can't tell you what, it'll ruin the plot. Anyway,
thankies to rabid cow, my beta, and all you people who reviewed! I was
really surprised, just then, when I realised I all ready had 27!!
~~~~ I'LL BE MISSING YOU ~~~~
Returning from Lothiriel's chamber, Eomer's breeches felt incredibly tight. And there was nothing he could do about it... He scowled. Making his way towards his bed, however, he espied a bottle at his desk. Forgoing the luxury of a goblet, he downed most of the bottle quickly. It felt better; much better. As the night drew on, the bottles grew in number, and less in volume, until around Eomer collapsed into bed in the early hours of the morning.
Later that morning Eomer woke to sunlight filtering through his unshuttered windows. He wondered vaguely why the servants had opened them all ready, but looking at the sun, he saw it was well past noon. Swearing colourfully, he leapt from the bed. He was more than fashionably late for the council! It was just a small meeting he had called so he could speak and listen to his scouts and captain's reports, but it wouldn't really do for the king to be late for his own meeting.
Throwing on some sort of tunic and pants combination, he sprinted from his bedroom with just one boot on, displaying his wide vocabulary of colourful language.
Hopping into the keep, he made quickly for an inner chamber which doubled as a conference room and an armoury. It probably wasn't a good idea if arguments broke out, he mused as he crashed in ungracefully.
"Good morrow," he mumbled from the floor. The assembled nobles and wise men stared at him incredulously.
"My Lord... Are you well?" asked one nervous captain.
Picking himself up, Eomer did his best to look dignified, motioning for everyone to sit as he did. Unfortunately, his attempt at dignity was marred when he nearly toppled from his chair at the sight of a sniggering Lothiriel skulking around behind a sword rack.
"You are all aware of why I called you here, are you not?" he said, trying desperately not to make a fool of himself. Many of the nobles here and seen great wisdom in Wormtongue's words, and still believed Eomer unfit to be King. It was imperative that he didn't give them any opportunity to mock him.
"Yea," there was a general murmur of acknowledgement.
"There is nothing to report. A vandal or two has been stealing some of my chickens, though(" a portly, richly dressed old man complained.
"My men discovered a small band of Orcs, but we got rid of the devils quickly. That foul race shall not trouble our borders for some time," said one young man, looking proud of himself.
"Eowine, you have done well. I'm sure there were no casualties?" asked Eomer. Eowine was rather touchy on the subject of Orcs, and scowled, for whilst he strongly supported Eomer, his young wife had been killed in one such raid, and he believed instant, brutal action should be taken against such creatures.
"None, my Lord. I would that others took such care when protecting their land..." he gave a pointed look to the chicken-protector, whose land his family had been on.
"We do as we can," said a veteran soldier, giving Eowine a look which clearly said 'Drop it.'.
"Yes, your betters know how to manage their land," laughed a middle aged Lord, a rather pompous landowner from the south.
"You have clearly shown that you cannot! I think proper defences should be built!" he looked around wildly for some support, looking increasingly worried that no one else thought so. Seeing this, Eomer felt a stirring of pity for the boy. Eomer himself often felt this way, trapped in a room with your own ideas and your own thoughts but surrounded by people unwilling to hear them.
"I think Eowine is right. But it would be far too costly. We'll discuss this at a later date, I think. WE can think between now and then," stated Eomer diplomatically.
There was a murmur of assent, and people began to filter out. Eomer, however, stayed in his seat. He had no patience, now, for jousting or feasting, or even drinking, usually one of his favourite hobbies.
"My Lord?" a nervous voice at Eomer's elbow broke into his train of thoughts.
"Yes?" Eomer turned, to find that the voice was in fact Eowine, who was looking just as uncomfortable as he sounded.
"Well, I... I wanted to say thank you. For sticking up for me just now. Not a lot of people agree with me, I know. But when Hildelorne died... I thought: 'No one should have to go through this, it has to stop!' I just think - I just think we should do something, that's all. And the let- someone-else-do-it attitude in the council is just not enough... Thank you, any way," Eowine faltered, trailing off.
"You're quite welcome. I do agree with you, really. But everyone expected that Theodred would be king. I have a lot to live up to. Theodred was great man," said Eomer.
Eowine smiled, bowed politely, and left them chamber swiftly.
"He was, wasn't he?" said Lothiriel, coming out from behind the rack.
Eomer narrowed his eyes. "You shouldn't be here," he said, bad temperedly.
"You shouldn't be king!" she told him, her voice laced with venom, and exited the chamber.
Sighing, Eomer rubbed his temples. Eru, that last statement had hurt. She had no right to say things. Tangwystl would never... But there was no use thinking about Tangwystl. She was gone. Forever.
~*~*~
In a small village, on the isolated outskirts of Gondor, Tangwystl wasn't thinking along the same lines. Airan was growing at a tremendous rate, and seemed to want to prove so by being awake every hour. Tangwystl needed a break, and he needed a father terribly. She needed his father too. For a while, she mulled over what had happened between them.
It wasn't like he had had a choice... If she had but drunk the special contraceptive drink, none of this would've happened.
So it was her fault, really. She had brought this upon herself. She, and her son! Her breathing became heavy. She had done this, and now her world was crashing down around her. She fell to her knees. It was too much, it was all too much. It was because of her. Eomer didn't want her. She should've been better. She should've drunk the potion, she shouldn't have left, she shouldn't have insulted the queen!
So many things she shouldn't have done, shouldn't have said... shouldn't have lived. Yes, that would work. No one needed her any more. She just clung onto them. The whole court had thought she was dim. They'd all laughed behind her back, when she'd gone. Calling her a whore. And she was. How could she have never seen before?
Casting around for something, for anything... She saw the silver dagger on the table... shining... It hurt... But she'd show them. She'd hurt herself more than they could hurt her. Anything they could do to her, she could do to herself tenfold. And it felt so good, to know she could be better than them...
Tears stained her face, and crimson stained her wrists. Airan was crying, and she couldn't hear him anymore. She wouldn't hear anyone any more. She couldn't even hear the scream when a maid noticed the red rushes. She didn't hear them take Airan away. She didn't hear the messenger sprinting away with a letter to the king.
She didn't hear, a week later, Eomer quietly entering the burial ritual, swathed in a cloak and talking little. She didn't hear him cry. She didn't even hear it when the coffin lid closed.
~*~*~
After Tangwystl's death, Eomer was incredibly dejected. Tangwystl had left a void. He'd thought it was bed when she was living away, but now, he could feel himself bleeding.
Lothiriel wasn't quite as happy as she had expected to be. With Tangwystl dead, there wasn't anyone to antagonise. Feeling annoyed at the loss of her best victim, this time for good, she decided to go for a walk.
Walking alone in Edoras was actually quite safe, the Horse-Lords being an honourable lot, really. She rather missed the strict social frame and blatant sexism of Dol Amroth.
She made for the caves below the city, vaguely hoping for a guard or two to sulkily ask her to turn back, then pointedly ignore her when she refused to. Unsurprisingly, there were none. She began to explore these the inner catacombs, rather fancying the thought of getting lost. These thoughts were dashed, however, when the she encountered Eowine, the boy from the council.
"My Lady! One could get lost in here!" he warned her, running to catch up.
"Why, then, do you wander here alone?" she asked him, privately thinking he should practice what he preached.
"I have known these caves since my brother and I explored them as children. I could find my way out with my eyes closed!" he boasted laughingly.
Lothiriel arched an eyebrow. "Really? Off you go, then!" she smiled, and watched him expectantly.
"My Lady! It was said in jest alone. I didn't mean it," he said, slightly alarmed.
"Then do not make hollow promises," she told him, inspecting a stalactite*.
"I would not presume to again, My Lady. You have taught me a valuable lesson," he bowed.
"Then I have not wasted my breath," Lothiriel fought back laughter. This young man was irrepressible, and his jovial nature was unfortunately rubbing off on Lothiriel.
"Many things are wasted on me, My Lady, but this time, I think not!" he smiled happily.
"How old are you? Act your age, not your horseshoe size!" she laughed.
"Ah, but my mighty stallion needs magnificent twenty nail shoes! And last time I checked, my birthday is not 'til Yule!" he grinned.
"Then you should consider maturing!" she smiled at him.
"Are you going back to Meduseld, My Lady?" he asked, with utter politeness.
"Why yes, I am," she said, playing along.
"Then 'tis my duty to accompany you!" he held out his arm. She giggled and grasped it firmly.
"Oh, sir, it would be a pleasure!" she beamed.
"The pleasure, My Lady, is all mine," he bowed low, and kissed her hand. She was so beautiful. Like a fey, from some unearthly paradise. His eyes misted over just looking at her.
"My name, sir, is Lothiriel," she said, looking at him. Eomer was handsome, yes. More so than the tall, slightly gawky Eowine, but didn't have nearly as much life. While Eomer was all dignity and kingship, Eowine was passion and life and... about to kiss her! Lothiriel leant into the kiss. It was wrong, so very wrong, she was married! So why was she liking this so much, she wondered.
The same sort of thoughts were running through Eowine's head. He shouldn't be doing this. His captain, his king! And if Lothiriel didn't taste so good he would've pulled away.
Unfortunately, she did taste good.
~~~~
A/N Gosh, this is getting harder every day! I need my plot to return. And I need that pesky muse too. I'll have to use Draco if he doesn't come back. Yes, I know, Draco's my Pottermuse. But I might need hundreds of muses and reviews before I get my head together. I think I'll got make a plot outline, because I like this story. I don't want to forget it... Again.
*Stalactites are the ceilingy ones. Yup.
~~~~ I'LL BE MISSING YOU ~~~~
Returning from Lothiriel's chamber, Eomer's breeches felt incredibly tight. And there was nothing he could do about it... He scowled. Making his way towards his bed, however, he espied a bottle at his desk. Forgoing the luxury of a goblet, he downed most of the bottle quickly. It felt better; much better. As the night drew on, the bottles grew in number, and less in volume, until around Eomer collapsed into bed in the early hours of the morning.
Later that morning Eomer woke to sunlight filtering through his unshuttered windows. He wondered vaguely why the servants had opened them all ready, but looking at the sun, he saw it was well past noon. Swearing colourfully, he leapt from the bed. He was more than fashionably late for the council! It was just a small meeting he had called so he could speak and listen to his scouts and captain's reports, but it wouldn't really do for the king to be late for his own meeting.
Throwing on some sort of tunic and pants combination, he sprinted from his bedroom with just one boot on, displaying his wide vocabulary of colourful language.
Hopping into the keep, he made quickly for an inner chamber which doubled as a conference room and an armoury. It probably wasn't a good idea if arguments broke out, he mused as he crashed in ungracefully.
"Good morrow," he mumbled from the floor. The assembled nobles and wise men stared at him incredulously.
"My Lord... Are you well?" asked one nervous captain.
Picking himself up, Eomer did his best to look dignified, motioning for everyone to sit as he did. Unfortunately, his attempt at dignity was marred when he nearly toppled from his chair at the sight of a sniggering Lothiriel skulking around behind a sword rack.
"You are all aware of why I called you here, are you not?" he said, trying desperately not to make a fool of himself. Many of the nobles here and seen great wisdom in Wormtongue's words, and still believed Eomer unfit to be King. It was imperative that he didn't give them any opportunity to mock him.
"Yea," there was a general murmur of acknowledgement.
"There is nothing to report. A vandal or two has been stealing some of my chickens, though(" a portly, richly dressed old man complained.
"My men discovered a small band of Orcs, but we got rid of the devils quickly. That foul race shall not trouble our borders for some time," said one young man, looking proud of himself.
"Eowine, you have done well. I'm sure there were no casualties?" asked Eomer. Eowine was rather touchy on the subject of Orcs, and scowled, for whilst he strongly supported Eomer, his young wife had been killed in one such raid, and he believed instant, brutal action should be taken against such creatures.
"None, my Lord. I would that others took such care when protecting their land..." he gave a pointed look to the chicken-protector, whose land his family had been on.
"We do as we can," said a veteran soldier, giving Eowine a look which clearly said 'Drop it.'.
"Yes, your betters know how to manage their land," laughed a middle aged Lord, a rather pompous landowner from the south.
"You have clearly shown that you cannot! I think proper defences should be built!" he looked around wildly for some support, looking increasingly worried that no one else thought so. Seeing this, Eomer felt a stirring of pity for the boy. Eomer himself often felt this way, trapped in a room with your own ideas and your own thoughts but surrounded by people unwilling to hear them.
"I think Eowine is right. But it would be far too costly. We'll discuss this at a later date, I think. WE can think between now and then," stated Eomer diplomatically.
There was a murmur of assent, and people began to filter out. Eomer, however, stayed in his seat. He had no patience, now, for jousting or feasting, or even drinking, usually one of his favourite hobbies.
"My Lord?" a nervous voice at Eomer's elbow broke into his train of thoughts.
"Yes?" Eomer turned, to find that the voice was in fact Eowine, who was looking just as uncomfortable as he sounded.
"Well, I... I wanted to say thank you. For sticking up for me just now. Not a lot of people agree with me, I know. But when Hildelorne died... I thought: 'No one should have to go through this, it has to stop!' I just think - I just think we should do something, that's all. And the let- someone-else-do-it attitude in the council is just not enough... Thank you, any way," Eowine faltered, trailing off.
"You're quite welcome. I do agree with you, really. But everyone expected that Theodred would be king. I have a lot to live up to. Theodred was great man," said Eomer.
Eowine smiled, bowed politely, and left them chamber swiftly.
"He was, wasn't he?" said Lothiriel, coming out from behind the rack.
Eomer narrowed his eyes. "You shouldn't be here," he said, bad temperedly.
"You shouldn't be king!" she told him, her voice laced with venom, and exited the chamber.
Sighing, Eomer rubbed his temples. Eru, that last statement had hurt. She had no right to say things. Tangwystl would never... But there was no use thinking about Tangwystl. She was gone. Forever.
~*~*~
In a small village, on the isolated outskirts of Gondor, Tangwystl wasn't thinking along the same lines. Airan was growing at a tremendous rate, and seemed to want to prove so by being awake every hour. Tangwystl needed a break, and he needed a father terribly. She needed his father too. For a while, she mulled over what had happened between them.
It wasn't like he had had a choice... If she had but drunk the special contraceptive drink, none of this would've happened.
So it was her fault, really. She had brought this upon herself. She, and her son! Her breathing became heavy. She had done this, and now her world was crashing down around her. She fell to her knees. It was too much, it was all too much. It was because of her. Eomer didn't want her. She should've been better. She should've drunk the potion, she shouldn't have left, she shouldn't have insulted the queen!
So many things she shouldn't have done, shouldn't have said... shouldn't have lived. Yes, that would work. No one needed her any more. She just clung onto them. The whole court had thought she was dim. They'd all laughed behind her back, when she'd gone. Calling her a whore. And she was. How could she have never seen before?
Casting around for something, for anything... She saw the silver dagger on the table... shining... It hurt... But she'd show them. She'd hurt herself more than they could hurt her. Anything they could do to her, she could do to herself tenfold. And it felt so good, to know she could be better than them...
Tears stained her face, and crimson stained her wrists. Airan was crying, and she couldn't hear him anymore. She wouldn't hear anyone any more. She couldn't even hear the scream when a maid noticed the red rushes. She didn't hear them take Airan away. She didn't hear the messenger sprinting away with a letter to the king.
She didn't hear, a week later, Eomer quietly entering the burial ritual, swathed in a cloak and talking little. She didn't hear him cry. She didn't even hear it when the coffin lid closed.
~*~*~
After Tangwystl's death, Eomer was incredibly dejected. Tangwystl had left a void. He'd thought it was bed when she was living away, but now, he could feel himself bleeding.
Lothiriel wasn't quite as happy as she had expected to be. With Tangwystl dead, there wasn't anyone to antagonise. Feeling annoyed at the loss of her best victim, this time for good, she decided to go for a walk.
Walking alone in Edoras was actually quite safe, the Horse-Lords being an honourable lot, really. She rather missed the strict social frame and blatant sexism of Dol Amroth.
She made for the caves below the city, vaguely hoping for a guard or two to sulkily ask her to turn back, then pointedly ignore her when she refused to. Unsurprisingly, there were none. She began to explore these the inner catacombs, rather fancying the thought of getting lost. These thoughts were dashed, however, when the she encountered Eowine, the boy from the council.
"My Lady! One could get lost in here!" he warned her, running to catch up.
"Why, then, do you wander here alone?" she asked him, privately thinking he should practice what he preached.
"I have known these caves since my brother and I explored them as children. I could find my way out with my eyes closed!" he boasted laughingly.
Lothiriel arched an eyebrow. "Really? Off you go, then!" she smiled, and watched him expectantly.
"My Lady! It was said in jest alone. I didn't mean it," he said, slightly alarmed.
"Then do not make hollow promises," she told him, inspecting a stalactite*.
"I would not presume to again, My Lady. You have taught me a valuable lesson," he bowed.
"Then I have not wasted my breath," Lothiriel fought back laughter. This young man was irrepressible, and his jovial nature was unfortunately rubbing off on Lothiriel.
"Many things are wasted on me, My Lady, but this time, I think not!" he smiled happily.
"How old are you? Act your age, not your horseshoe size!" she laughed.
"Ah, but my mighty stallion needs magnificent twenty nail shoes! And last time I checked, my birthday is not 'til Yule!" he grinned.
"Then you should consider maturing!" she smiled at him.
"Are you going back to Meduseld, My Lady?" he asked, with utter politeness.
"Why yes, I am," she said, playing along.
"Then 'tis my duty to accompany you!" he held out his arm. She giggled and grasped it firmly.
"Oh, sir, it would be a pleasure!" she beamed.
"The pleasure, My Lady, is all mine," he bowed low, and kissed her hand. She was so beautiful. Like a fey, from some unearthly paradise. His eyes misted over just looking at her.
"My name, sir, is Lothiriel," she said, looking at him. Eomer was handsome, yes. More so than the tall, slightly gawky Eowine, but didn't have nearly as much life. While Eomer was all dignity and kingship, Eowine was passion and life and... about to kiss her! Lothiriel leant into the kiss. It was wrong, so very wrong, she was married! So why was she liking this so much, she wondered.
The same sort of thoughts were running through Eowine's head. He shouldn't be doing this. His captain, his king! And if Lothiriel didn't taste so good he would've pulled away.
Unfortunately, she did taste good.
~~~~
A/N Gosh, this is getting harder every day! I need my plot to return. And I need that pesky muse too. I'll have to use Draco if he doesn't come back. Yes, I know, Draco's my Pottermuse. But I might need hundreds of muses and reviews before I get my head together. I think I'll got make a plot outline, because I like this story. I don't want to forget it... Again.
*Stalactites are the ceilingy ones. Yup.