A/N: A very Merry Christmas to everyone - readers and reviewers. Here is the final update for this year. The next update will be in the second week of January as I'm going away for the Christmas break and don't know that I'll have any internet access. To make up for that, this part is a bit longer - and a bit sappy towards the end especially for all you romance lovers. Well, it is Christmas after all. :-)
Chapter 25 – A Sacrifice of Love
The sun was past its zenith and Eomer had just finished sharing a rather fine lunch with Lothiriel - bread, cheese and smoked ham, prepared and packed by Breda before they departed that morning. So far they had journeyed without incident. Indeed, the road to Edoras had been all but deserted. Now, however, he frowned as he watched two riders approach. He could tell from their bearing that these were no farmers returning to their holdings with their thoughts on their wives and a hot meal. They rode as though they owned the Mark, a sign either of youthful exuberance or, more worryingly, arrogance.
Slowing the horse, he kept his voice low as he addressed Lothiriel. "Remember not to speak. Your accent will give you away." She nodded. "And try not to look so tense," he added, noting the stiffness of her shoulders. That earned him a Gondorian insult that bought a smile to his lips.
The riders were almost upon them now, and Eomer saw that they were indeed youngsters. The elder of the two sported a few wispy hairs on his chin that he no doubt liked to think was a beard. The other had not yet achieved even that. Eomer fixed what he hoped was an expression of idle curiosity on his face as he hailed them. They drew to a halt in front of the cart. Neither returned the greeting. Instead the younger of the two addressed Eomer curtly. "I would know your name and the business that takes you to Edoras," he said.
Eomer bit down on the urge to snap that citizens of Rohan were free to travel where they wished and without answering to ill-mannered youths. "My name is Anlaf," he said, and then jerked his head in the direction of the sacks of grain in the cart. "We hope to trade our fine barley for new tools."
"Barley," the youth said contemptuously. He urged his horse forward, stopping again when he was beside Eomer. "You travel all this way to trade barley?"
"There are no finer metal workers than those in Edoras," Eomer replied. "The distance is worth it for tools that will serve a dozen winters." The youth didn't reply to that. He peered into the cart, clearly looking for something other than sacks of grain. Eomer pretended not to notice. "Have you two gentlemen travelled from there? We would be glad of news."
The rider didn't reply. Instead he nudged at his horse and trotted round to the far side of the cart where he stared at Lothiriel. "And your name, woman?" he demanded. She kept her head down as Eomer answered for her.
"She has no voice. Has been mute ever since orcs attacked the farm and…" Eomer lowered his voice as he adopted an air of tragedy. "We had a child. The orcs…" He shook his head as though unable to continue.
The tale had its desired effect. The rider gave an embarrassed cough and inclined his head in a brief show of respect. Even a callow youth knew better than to treat a grieving mother with contempt. "I am sorry for your loss. Be on your way now."
Eomer nodded and reached for the reins. Too late he realised the movement revealed the splint on his left arm - no doubt a telltale sign for any who had been given his description by Selred. He glanced up, hoping the rider had not seen it. Damnation. The young man's eyes flicked from the splint to Eomer's face. Realisation sparked, and Eomer saw the rider's hand drop to the hilt of his sword. "Whatever you've been told, boy, it is a lie. I advise you not to draw your sword against your king."
"You are no king," the lad snarled. "You are nothing but an impostor attempting to steal the throne. First Marshall Ceorl…"
First Marshall? What was happening in Edoras that Ceorl had managed to lay claim to such a position? Eomer glared at the youth. "It is Ceorl who would take that which is not rightfully his," he said. "He is a lying thief who cares naught that he has sent you out to die."
"Liar!" The boy's eyes were wide with zealous excitement. "The First Marshall desires nothing but to see evil scum like you driven from our lands. Your head will be mine, villain." Metal hissed against metal as he drew his sword.
"No," Lothiriel cried. "Listen to him. He speaks truth."
The boy ignored her. Digging his heels into the flanks of his horse, he moved into attack.
There was no time to think. Eomer flung himself into the back of the cart, retrieved his own sword from its hiding place amongst the grain in one swift move, and then threw himself at the rider, knocking the youth from the saddle. They hit the ground hard, rolling in a tangle of limbs. The thunder of hooves warned him of the approach of the other rider. Kicking out hard, he broke free and scrambled to his feet just in time to block a bone-jarring blow that had been designed to remove his head from his shoulders. The horse galloped past, its rider struggling to rein it back in order to turn for a second attack. The young man was on his feet now too.
"You do not want to fight me, lad," Eomer warned, circling away from the young man's blade. He glanced over his shoulder, was relieved to see that Lothiriel had taken refuge on the far side of the cart. For now she was safe, but it was still two onto one. It was kill or be killed unless he could make the boy see sense. "I am your king. Your oath of loyalty is due to me, not Ceorl."
"You are a filthy lying coward," the boy said, spitting at Eomer to show his contempt.
Eomer shook his head in exasperation. "Listen to me. I'm trying to save your life here."
"It is your life you should be concerned about, scum." He lunged, sword sparking as it met Eomer's blade. He was young, but someone had trained him well. Given time he might've been a good swordsman. There was no time, though. Eomer parried a thrust. Then another one. The boy was stronger than he looked and fueled with zealous hatred. Thrust. Parry. Thrust. Eomer gave himself up to his instincts, leapt to the left as a misjudged attack left his opponent wide open and without even thinking sank his blade deep into flesh. The young man was dead before he hit the ground. Damn it. Damn it all to hell.
"Look out!" Lothiriel yelled.
He swung round. Saw the other rider was nearly upon him. Hit the ground shoulder first, rolled and came up on his feet. The rider was reining his horse in, his back to Eomer. Open. Vulnerable. Eomer didn't even hesitate. He simply drew back his arm and threw his sword like a spear. It whistled through the air and then embedded itself into the skin and bone with a sickening squelch. The rider arched backwards and then collapsed sideways from the saddle. Eomer strode over to him, pulled his sword from the body and kicked the youth onto his back to check he was dead. Lifeless brown eyes stared up at him.
The adrenaline rush of battle deserted him as rapidly as it had come and he sank to his haunches, his blood-covered sword hanging limply in his hand. Two dead Rohirrim. One barely more than a boy. Would the killing never end?
"Eomer, are you wounded?" Lothiriel was at his side in a moment. Concerned eyes scanning his face. "Are you well? You look so pale."
He managed a weak smile that was no doubt more of a grimace. Forced himself to stand. It was more than despair at taking the lives of his own countrymen that troubled him. The sudden exertion had left him feeling nauseous and dizzy. Damnation. How could he hope to retake Edoras if a brief skirmish with two relatively unskilled swordsmen drained him so thoroughly? Lothiriel slipped her arm around his waist, taking some of his weight.
"You are not yet strong enough for such as this," she hissed, giving voice to his fears.
He pulled away from her, frustrated. He gestured to the dead with his blood-stained sword. "It seems I am strong enough to kill two lads who have not seen enough summers to tell the difference between truth and lies."
She flinched at his bitter tone, but rallied almost instantly, her concern for him overcoming any other interest. "That is not what I meant, as you well know." She reached for him, but he backed away.
"Do not fuss, woman. I am well enough."
That earned him a glare. And deservedly so. It was a poor lie even to his own ears. To his relief, though, she let the subject drop, turning instead to the bodies. "What are we going to do about them?"
He swallowed hard, fighting the nausea. Decisions. Why were there always decisions to be made? His body was demanding rest, but he knew that he couldn't give in to that. Neither could they afford the time needed to give these men a decent burial. "Take the saddles off the horses and turn them lose. They'll find themselves new masters."
"And the bodies?"
"Leave them."
"Eomer!"
His anger flared. "We have no choice, Lothiriel. Even if I had the strength for it, the ground here is too rocky to dig."
"We should at least drag them from the road."
"No," he said. "Others will assume they fell victim to bandits if we leave them." The distaste of his plan added to the roiling of his stomach, and he turned away, clutching at the cart for support. He would not vomit. Not in front of her. Not again.
To his relief, she did not speak again. Moments later, as he finally got his body under control, he heard the slap of leather against wood. Glancing up he saw the first of the saddles was now sitting in the back of the cart. He gave a brief nod of approval and forced himself upright. He could not afford to be weak now. Giving a low whistle, he summoned the other horse and swiftly removed the second saddle, depositing it next to the first. The bridles joined the saddles moments later, and then he gestured across the grassland, telling the horses to leave. They eyed him curiously, then both kicked up their heels and galloped into the distance. The final task was to clean the blood from his sword, which he did with a grim determination, desperately trying not to think that the story he had told earlier of a woman losing a child had just become reality for two more of his people.
Wordlessly he climbed back into the cart, waited for Lothiriel to join him. Her hand curled over his as he reached for the reins.
"Let me guide the horse for a while," she said.
He turned, intending to deny her, but when he saw the compassion in her eyes, the words died on his lips.
"Please, Eomer. I know you cannot bear a woman's fussing but let me at least do this."
He did not dare to speak, fearing that if he did so, too many words would spill from his mouth. His fears. His concern. His dismay at what he had just been forced to do. Instead he merely nodded and let her take the reins - and with them, just for a little while, the responsibility that weighed so heavily upon his shoulders.
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Aragorn! Eowyn's heart leapt as he strode through the door. Tall and rugged, he still looked more ranger than king and it was difficult to remember all that had passed since last he had been at Edoras. Her pleasure in the moment was swiftly destroyed by a hiss of disapproval from Ceorl.
"Where is the honour guard?" he demanded in an angry whisper. "Does nothing go according to plan in this accursed place?"
She didn't reply. Aragorn was advancing down the hall, his gaze pinning her like a speared orc. A few yards behind him came the first wave of his entourage, apparently hurrying to catch up with him. She recognised some of the faces. Knew them to be men who had fought beside him during the war. All were armed and all would react instantly to any command given by the king. Did she dare reveal the truth to him now? Would he be able to stop Ceorl before he could command the archers above her head? Or was it better to trust that another, less dangerous, opportunity would present itself over the next day or so?
And then she saw him.
Faramir.
Her stomach did a sickening drop, battling with the instinctive joy she felt at the sight of his face. He too was trailing some distance behind Aragorn, looking as though he'd rather be entering the Gates of Mordor. Somehow she managed to get to her feet, her initial reaction giving way to frightened anger. Foolish, foolish man. How could he do this to her? After all she had risked to try and protect him, he was walking right into the heart of the serpent's lair. She sensed Ceorl moving closer. He leaned in, whispering malevolently into her ear. "How kind of the Prince of Ithilien to grace us with his presence. Speak so much as a word out of turn and I will see to it that the floor runs red with his blood."
No. She could not bear the image that flew into her mind. Damn Ceorl. And damn the fates for such ill-fortune, for no matter what was at stake, she knew she could not bring herself to place Faramir's life in jeopardy.
Aragorn was almost before her now. She forced herself to smile. Forced herself to be calm. "Hail, Elessar, King of Gondor. Welcome to…"
She didn't get to finish because, instead of stopping at the foot of the raised platform on which her throne was positioned, Aragorn simply walked up to her, gripped her by the shoulders and pressed his forehead to hers.
"Eowyn," he said. "Let not titles and stations come between those who grieve."
Her breath caught in her throat and a shiver ran through her as she saw the raw pain of loss in his eyes. How could she not tell him that she believed Eomer still lived? And yet… It was too complicated. Her head was spinning as she tried to calculate the result of each possible action. It was like staring at a chessboard in which any move she made might result in the deaths of those she loved. "Aragorn, it is so good to see you" she replied, closing her eyes as she leaned into his embrace. His lips brushed against her ear as he hurriedly whispered, "You do not stand alone."
Her eyes flew open. Did he know? Did he suspect? Before she could say anything, he released her as swiftly as he had snatched her up and glanced around the hall. "I expected to see Eothain in attendance today."
Ceorl stepped forward and gave a brisk bow. "I am afraid Master Eothain is away with my eored tending to the duties of the Mark."
She spoke into the silence as Aragorn's eyes raked Ceorl from head to toe and then back again. "This is Ceorl. First Marshall of the Mark."
"Your Majesty." Ceorl bowed again.
"First Marshall of the Mark." Aragorn slowly repeated out the title. "A position that no doubt brings a heavy burden."
"I serve as best I can," Ceorl replied.
"But not with your eored," Aragorn observed, once again glancing around the hall.
Ceorl's eyes narrowed. "The queen needs me here."
Faramir stepped forward. "And naturally the queen's needs come before all others." He bowed to her, but the bitterness in his tone was like a slap across her face.
She longed to reach out to him. Longed to explain herself. Instead she had no choice but to play out the role she had cast for herself. "I am surprised to see you here, Lord Faramir."
He met her gaze then, his pale blue eyes glittering dangerously. "My affection for your brother remains unchanged by recent events, my lady. I would not dishonour his memory by failing to show due respect."
"For that I am grateful," she said. The pain in his eyes almost undid her, but she refused to look away. She deserved to feel his hurt. Deserved whatever anger he might choose to flay her with.
"Your Majesty," Ceorl said. "Our guests have travelled a great distance. No doubt they are eager to refresh themselves. May I summon the steward to show them to their accommodations?"
"Yes." The word was little more than a whisper, emotion almost stealing her voice from her. "Please do." She sank back onto the throne and watched with apparent passivity as her royal guests were led away. Later she would find a way to reach Aragorn and tell him the truth. As for Faramir… she could only pray that he would find it in his heart to forgive her. However, as he reached the doorway he turned to look at her one more time. The coldness in his eyes was like a shaft of ice piercing her heart. As he stepped from view she could not prevent the escape of a tear.
Ceorl stepped in front of her as the hall emptied. "You did well," he said, beckoning to two of the guards. "Escort her Majesty back to her chamber. See that she does not leave it unless I am there to accompany her."
She rose with what dignity she could muster. "Do you really believe you can still get away with this foolish plan?"
"Had you asked that of me yesterday, I might have said no. But now, Lord Faramir has so kindly come to my aid."
"You may still have a hold over me, but what of Eomer?" she goaded.
He grabbed her wrist and gave it a vicious twist. "Even if he still lives, your brother will not get within ten leagues of Edoras. Of that you can be sure." He released her suddenly and jerked his head at the guards. "Get her out of my sight."
"He will come," she hissed as she was led away. "And when he does, he will bleed you like the pig you are."
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Night was beginning to fall when Elfhelm saw the lights of Edoras glowing softly in the dark. He and Erika had pushed both their horses and themselves hard during the day. The strenuous ride had been worth it though. With luck, the last part of their approach would go unnoticed. It was rare for anyone to approach the city from this direction. Most people would have joined the northern road long before drawing this close. Another couple of leagues and they would be at the base of the hill. There they could camp and then, in the morning, circle round to the main gate and attempt to seek entry along with the daily ebb and flow of traders and craftsmen.
He slowed his horse to a walk, and glanced over at Erika. She was staring at Edoras, her face a strange mixture of wonder and concern. Apparently conscious of his look, she turned to him and smiled wearily.
"Long have I dreamed of seeing the Golden Hall. Never did I imagine it to be in such strange circumstances."
"If the gods look upon us with favour, I hope soon you will see it in all its glory - with Eomer once again on the throne where he belongs."
"That is a day I treasure a great deal," she replied.
They walked on in silence for a while, the pinpricks of light growing ever closer. Then, in the shadows that lay ahead, Elfhelm thought he caught sight of movement. He shifted in his saddle, one hand dropping to the hilt of his sword as he tried to focus on whatever it was. Erika turned towards him, her eyes wide, clearly sensing his unease. He pressed a finger to his lips, indicating she should remain silent, and then he reined in his horse. Standing silently side by side in the dark, they studied their surroundings.
Nothing.
With a shake of his head, he nudged his horse on once again.
"Elfhelm!" Erika suddenly cried out his name.
He turned just in time to see her being pulled from the saddle. A figure appeared at his side, clearly set on attempting the same with him. He kicked out viciously. Was rewarded by his attacker's cry of pain. Then, with a roar of outrage, he drew his sword and wheeled his horse around intent on slaying whoever it was that dared lay a hand on Erika. Immediately three men stepped across his path. He blinked as he saw the White Horse of Rohan emblazoned across the metal of their shields. Had it come to this? Was he to fight those who had once stood beside him in battle?
"Master Elfhelm?" A second voice, this one male, shouted his name as he hesitated. Hooves drummed against the soft ground, and suddenly a mounted rider appeared out of the dark, close enough for his face recognisable.
"Eothain?" For a moment he didn't know whether to rejoice or cry.
"Aye, my Lord." Eothain twisted round in his saddle and barked into the night. "Stand down. This is no foe."
Elfhelm reined his horse back, aware the creature was now ready for battle, its muscles bunched beneath his legs. He calmed it with a few gentle words before turning his attention towards the waiting rider. "By the gods, Eothain, are you trying to scare us all to death?"
A chortle rose up at him. "That horse of yours has ever been as skittish as a colt, my friend."
Erika's voice sounded in the dark. "Take your hands off me, you scum."
Elfhelm leapt from his saddle and strode to the far side of Erika's horse. He was just in time to see her pulled roughly to her feet. "Let go of her," he growled, his sword aimed at her captor's throat.
The man immediately backed away, raising his hands in surrender. "Forgive me, my Lord. My lady. I meant no harm."
A growl escaped Elfhelm's throat. Eothain reached out and laid his hand against Elfhelm's blade, gently forcing the weapon down. "Don't be too hard on Jerling. We have had reason to be suspicious of those we do not know of late."
Elfhelm glared at Eothain, then drew in a deep breath. This was his friend. A man he had frequently trusted with his life. It was time to let go of the insecurity of the past few days. Time to learn to trust once again. He thrust his sword back into its sheath as the adrenaline rush of battle drained from him. "Are you alright?' he asked Erika. She nodded, brushing at her skirts in an indignant manner. He turned back to Eothain. "It is good to see you, but pray tell me what you are doing skulking around the nether regions of Edoras in such a manner?"
"I would ask the same of you," Eothain said with a soft laugh. "But since you voiced the question first - We are camped here on the orders of King Elessar. Far enough from Edoras that none can see us, yet close enough that he can call us should he need us. We prefer that news of our presence does not reach the Golden Hall, hence our rather enthusiastic intention to stop your progress. Another half league and you would've ridden right into our camp."
"You are under the command of the King of Gondor?" Elfhelm was shocked. "What ill has befallen the city that men of Rohan are answering directly to Gondor?"
"That is not easily answered," Eothain replied. "For perhaps there is no ill at all."
"Do not talk in riddles, Eothain. You know I have no love of them. Tell me plainly, how fares the Lady Eowyn?"
Eothain raised an eyebrow at the choice of title. "The queen is rarely seen, and when she is, she is not herself. They say the loss of her brother has driven her mad, and perhaps they are right. Why else would she appoint Ceorl as First Marshall?"
"She did what?" Elfhelm exclaimed. "That scoundrel. I will see him on the end of my sword if I get but half a chance."
"There are many who would cheer such an event," Eothain said. "With each passing day he grows more powerful. I fear his ambition knows no limits. Some are even saying that he has set his sights on the throne itself."
Elfhelm snorted. "And there you have the truth of the matter."
Eothain eyed him curiously. "What do you know of it, Elfhelm?"
"Far more than you can possibly imagine. I have a tale to tell that many would believe to be the ravings of a man who has drunk too deeply of the ale barrel."
Now it was Eothain's turn to snort. "We have lived through many strange days. I do not believe anything can surprise me."
"No?" Elfhelm allowed himself to smile in anticipation the reaction his news would elicit. "What if I was to tell you that the king lives?"
"The king?" Eothain stared at him blankly.
"Aye." He waited, letting the rider figure it out for himself.
Disbelief was tinged with hope as Eothain spoke again. "The king as in… Eomer?"
Elfhelm felt his own throat choke as Eothain stood before him, battling with tears of joy. He slapped the rider on the shoulder. "I swear upon all I hold dear. Eomer lives. And even now he is journeying to Edoras to take back that which Ceorl would steal from him."
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She could so easily have lost him. Again. How many times was that now? She had leaned against him in the cart as they journeyed on, needing the solid feel of his body against hers. Needing the physical proof that he was still breathing, still living. Although she knew the deaths earlier in the day pained him, she could not truly bring herself to feel the same way. What concerned her more was how many other men lay between them and Edoras? These two had been little more than boys, skilled enough with weapons for their age, but no match for Eomer. Tomorrow could be different. It was comforting to think that there were none who could best Eomer with a blade, but it was unlikely to be true. Especially given his weakened state. What if the morning bought two battle-hardened foes. Or three. Or more. To have come this far, to have overcome so much… her heart had began to pound in her chest. The nightmare of losing him overwhelming her again, as it had several times during the afternoon.
It hadn't helped that they'd travelled in silence since the fight, each locked in their own brooding thoughts. She could guess where his were focused - Edoras, Eowyn, the day that lay ahead. It was unlikely that he would have been so successful in predicting the path down which her mind had ultimately drifted. Nor would he perhaps have understood the trepidation with which she contemplated such a route, for it was no easy choice, should she dare to turn thought into action.
Now night had fallen and she had to choose. A dangerous path filled with unknowns and risks, or a route that seemed safe and sensible and yet which might cost her more dearly. She gazed at the scene before her. The horse had been released from its harness and was grazing contently a few yards away. The small fire over which she had prepared a vegetable stew for dinner had been extinguished so as not to draw attention to their presence. And the back of the cart had been turned into a makeshift bed. A bed that Eomer clearly did not intend to sleep in. Yes, it was definitely time to make her choice and accept the consequences of it.
She caught at his arm as he moved away, a single blanket wrapped around his shoulders. "There is room enough for two on the cart. My conscience will not allow me to be dry and warm while knowing that you are chilled to the bone."
He shrugged her off. "I appreciate your concern, but do not fret over me. This will not be the first, not the last time that I have slept on the ground."
"Eomer, please, don't be foolish. The night is chill and the ground even more so. It will leech the warmth from your body in no time."
"Lothiriel…"
She cut across him, keen to make him see the logic of what she suggesting. "What is more you are still not fully recovered from the poison. Today has proven that, has it not?" She didn't wait for an answer, knowing the subject was a delicate one. "It makes far more sense for us to share this scant bedding than to not do so."
"Perhaps it does, although I doubt that the Prince of Dol Amroth would be persuaded so."
Her stomach twisted at the mention of her father, too sharp a reminder of all that she was preparing to risk. "What he does not know, can not cause harm. Besides, have you not promised to woo me when this is over?"
"You know that I have, and I mean it with all my heart."
A thrill ran through her at both his words and the sincerity in his eyes. After their sharp words earlier, she had not been as sure of his affection, even though she had told herself not to be so foolish, so self-centred. Her tone softened. "And tell me, do formal declarations and written treaties make a difference to that which has been spoken between us?"
He hesitated, but then admitted to what she had hoped was the truth of their relationship. "None."
"Then please, enough with this foolishness about sleeping on the ground."
Still he hesitated, and she loved him all the more for it. However, there was one card she still had not played. Turning away from him, she grabbed a blanket from the makeshift bed. "Very well, if you insist of spending the night cold and miserable, I will do likewise."
"Lothiriel."
"Your choice, Eomer."
He shook his head in bemusement, and then raised his hands in defeat. "That is more like blackmail than choice," he grumbled, but his lips were fighting a smile and he allowed himself to be drawn back towards the cart. Back towards the bed.
Even though she had spent most of the afternoon anticipating this moment, it felt very strange to be lying next to him. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders and then planted a chaste kiss on her forehead, making it quite clear he intended to do nothing except sleep beside her. She had expected no less of him, which only made her fear his reaction to her plan all the more. The easy path beckoned once again, and for a while she stared up at the stars until the memories of the day once again circled her like carrion eaters. It was as though death itself stalked Eomer, determined to drag him from this life. To take him from her.
"Lothiriel? What's wrong?"
She hesitated, unwilling to voice the black thoughts that clung to her. When it became obvious she could remain silent no longer, she skirted the issue. "Do you think Erika and Elfhelm will have reached Edoras by now?"
Eomer shifted onto his side so he could look at her, his eyes darker than ever in the moonlight. "Elfhelm is one of the best riders I have ever known."
"That does not answer my question."
He did not answer. How could he? The question was unfair, begging him to offer false promises. Something that she knew he would not do. She gazed up at the sky again, the weight of the darkness seeming to press down upon her even more, and then finally she turned to him, searching his face, drinking in his features as though somehow she could seal the image in her heart for all time. Despite dwelling on the subject throughout the day, she found she was still fumbling for the right words, and she mentally rejected a dozen beginnings before finally asking, "Did you know that Erika was promised in marriage before the war?"
"Yes, I did," Eomer replied, puzzlement in his tone.
"It is tragic, is it not, that she never had a single night alone with the man she loved."
"Lothiriel…"
She turned to him before he could continue, and pressed her lips to his in a light kiss. Her mind was made up now. This was the right path. Everything in her screamed that it was so.
"Eomer, what if the fates have decreed that this is the only night..."
She trailed off, her eyes searching his face to see if he understood what she was saying. What she was offering. She had been fortunate during the war. Her father and her brothers had all ridden to battle and returned. So many other women had not been so lucky. She didn't want to become like Erika, forever regretting what might have been. The idea of seducing him frightened her, but she would not let that fear rob her of what might be her only chance to show him how much she loved him.
Eomer pulled away from her, propping himself up on one elbow. "Lothiriel, are you..." He hesitated. Drew in a breath. Plunged on. "You would give yourself to me?"
She nodded, heat burning her cheeks now. "I could not bear it if…" Again she could not bring herself to speak that which she feared.
"If what?"
A tear slid down her face. "If you were to die. Eomer, I would rather know you this one night than live a lifetime of regret that we did not join together because of… propriety."
"Shush." He pressed a finger to her lips. "I have no plans to die tomorrow or any day soon."
"Eomer…"
He leaned over her then, pressing his lips to hers. She opened up to him, welcoming the sweet invasion of her mouth, tangling her fingers into his hair, storing every moment into her memory. Need and desire washed through her, driving away any lingering doubt. No matter what happened in the future, she knew that she would only ever belong to him. Heart. Soul. And body. There would be no other.
But then abruptly he broke away. Rolling onto his back he groaned.
"What is wrong?" she asked, leaning over him so she could look into his eyes. Why did he hold back? Passion and desire stared back at her and yet…
"I cannot take what you offer," he whispered. "Though you pay me the highest of compliments."
"Why not?" Hurt surged through her. She had offered herself, and he spoke now of compliments as though she had presented him some trifling gift of no more import than a child's flower garland?
"Lothiriel, think about it. What if I got you with child?"
"That is a risk I have considered. A risk I am willing to take."
"But I am not." He reached up, catching a strand of her hair between his fingers. "Lothiriel, please believe me, there is nothing - nothing, that would bring me greater pleasure than to make love to you right now, but how can I do so knowing the price you might be forced to pay?"
"It is a price I am willing to pay, Eomer. Do not think I am doing this on some foolish whim. I have given much thought to what may happen. You spoke earlier of my father and you were right to do so. There would be scandal and disgrace were I to bear a child outside marriage. And much as he loves me, he could not allow me to stay at court."
He shook his head vehemently. "No, Lothiriel, no."
"Eomer, listen to me. If the gods will that…"
"No! You don't understand." He caught her face in his hands, frustration flaring. "You say you have thought this through, but you have not. Think, Lothiriel, if our coupling was to leave you with child - my child - then Ceorl would surely find out." Anguish twisted his features, ageing him. "He would hunt you down. Hunt you down and kill you. Both of you."
She froze at that. Stared at him in horror as she suddenly understood why he would not, could not take what she offered. Her hurt and frustration vanished, leaving her drained and shaking. She bowed her head, suddenly unable to look at him. How could she have been so incredibly and utterly stupid? "Forgive me," she murmured. Tears began to flow as she realised how desperately unfair it was. That no matter how much she wanted it, Ceorl had stolen even this one night from them.
The heat of anger vanished swiftly from Eomer, cooled by the touch of her tears as he tilted her face and wiped his thumb gently across her cheek. "Forgive you for what?" he whispered. "For offering me the most precious gift I could ever wish for? There is nothing to forgive."
"I was stupid to suggest…"
"Shush." He drew her into his arms, wrapping her tight, her face pressed to his chest. "It was not stupid. It was beautiful and brave, and I will treasure the memory always. I love you, Lothiriel."
"And I you."
He pressed a kiss into her hair, smiled down at her as she tilted her head to look at him. A second kiss brushed her forehead. A third caressed the tip of her nose. Finally he reclaimed her lips, this time with a tenderness that was filled her with a different kind of joy.
"I promise when this is over…" he murmured.
"I know," she interrupted with a sigh. "You will woo me properly."
Amusement rippled through him. "Aye, as properly as unseemly haste will allow."