A/N: Once again my grateful thanks to everyone who has taken time out to not only read this story but send me a review. I adore writing, but it always makes me smile when I know that people are enjoying what I do. So, we're drawing towards the end now, but there's still a cliff hanger or two awaiting…
Chapter 30 – Damage repairs
Eowyn had wanted to speak to Faramir immediately. She desperately needed to explain herself. Instead she had been swept along by the eored, who seemed to feel the need to watch over both herself and Eomer. Only now, almost half a day later, was she able to make her escape.
It seemed very strange to walk alone through the halls of Meduseld. It frightened her to realise how quickly she had grown accustomed to being accompanied everywhere, watched by a dozen eyes, being forced to guard her every word. She had once told Aragorn she did not fear death, but only a cage. A shiver ran through her at the thought of how close she had come to such a fate.
With a determined sigh she set such thoughts aside. Eomer was returned. The throne of Rohan was once more his. And she was again free to pursue that which her heart desired. If he would still have her.
She stepped into the main hall and drew immediately to a halt as she saw her quarry. He was standing with his back to her, warming his hands at the fire that burned in the middle of the hall. His shoulders were slumped, and even from behind he looked tired. Discouraged.
"Faramir?"
He stiffened at the sound of his name, but did not turn. Slowly she moved to his side. She didn't look at him, but instead held her own hands out to the warmth of the flames. And suddenly flinched at the memory of emerald green visions. Of Eomer being beaten before her eyes. Of hatred and frustration. Her voice was soft when she spoke, the pain of the past few days held in check. "Faramir, you have to understand that everything I did, it was for Eomer. To keep him alive."
He glanced at her, and then turned his attention back to the fire. "Then Aragorn was right. He told me as much. Said it was the only thing that made sense of your actions."
"But you did not believe him?" She had feared as much. Faramir had suffered so much emotional abuse in his past, what else was he to do but imagine her rejection of him was real. Perhaps even in some way deserved. He didn't answer her question. Simply stared at the fire. "Faramir?"
"Was it really the only way? Did you not trust me to help?"
It was more an accusation than a question, and she flinched. "I did not trust myself." That got his attention. He turned, his expression quizzical. She sighed as she tried to find the words. "I tried to keep you away from Edoras, not because I did not believe you would come to my aid, but because I was afraid that if I was forced to choose…" She stopped, could not even now bring herself to say the words. Faramir refused to help her out, though. He simply waited for her to continue, the hurt in his eyes cutting deeper into her with every passing moment. "You know that I love my brother. But were I forced to choose between Eomer and Rohan, then ever would I choose Rohan. It would be what he would want, what he would demand of me. To do otherwise would dishonour my love for him. However, if I was forced to choose between all that was good and right for Rohan and the man that I long to call husband... May the gods forgive me, but I do not know that I could have made myself choose Rohan over Faramir of Ithilien."
"Eowyn…" he began, and then he simply shook his head and pulled her into his arms. All the doubts that had plagued him, even after Aragorn had told him of his suspicions that she was protecting Eomer with her actions, melted away like winter snow. She loved him. More than her brother. More than her country. Perhaps more than life itself.
"Can you forgive me?" she sobbed. "For protecting myself? For trying to protect you?"
"Eowyn, Eowyn," he murmured. He placed one finger beneath her chin and tilted her head upwards. "Do you not know that I would forgive you anything? Even unto death?" Slowly he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. "I love you. I did from the moment I first laid eyes upon you and I will until eternity itself comes to an end."
"And I you," she replied, moulding herself against him and lifting her head to cover his mouth with her own.
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This was a most unsatisfactory state of affairs. For the past two days, Lothiriel had barely laid eyes on Eomer. If she did not know better she would think her father's hand behind her frustration. It certainly seemed to be no coincidence that every time she and Eomer managed to be in the same room, one or other of them would almost immediately be summoned away by some pressing duty that could not be ignored. However, common sense told her that she should've expected such a turn of events. It was inevitable that Eomer's immediate attention would be focused on the many needs of his kingdom. And on top of the aftermath of Ceorl's attempted coup there were the frantic preparations for his sister's wedding. Eowyn and Faramir had been quick to point out that there was little sense in Rohan's guests returning home only to turn around and journey back to Rohan for their union.
It was the wedding, or rather the wedding gown, that was keeping her busy now. However, as daylight began to fade, Lothiriel finally admitted that her longing for Eomer's company was not going to be salved by logic any longer. If nothing else she wished to see for herself that he was recovering from the injury he had sustained fighting Ceorl. Having satisfied herself that progress on Eowyn's trousseau was going at a satisfactory pace, she put the final few stitches into the piece of intricate embroidery she was working on and went in search of him. A few discrete questions soon revealed his location, but on learning where he was and why, it was with some trepidation that she went to meet him.
Her path led her a short distance out of Edoras, and the sight that met her eyes tugged at her heart. Eomer was sitting alone atop a small grassy mound, staring out across the plains. He had his back to the two guards that watched over him from a discrete distance, and also to her approach. The guards bowed politely as she drew near, but neither spoke, apparently not wishing to disturb the respectful silence that such a place seemed to demand. Taking care to tread softly, she began to creep up behind him, hoping to surprise him.
"Lothiriel." He spoke her name without turning to look at her.
Disappointed at being discovered, she pouted at his back. "How did you know it was me?"
He twisted round, a gentle smile on his face. "A man can always sense the presence of the woman he loves."
She laughed softly even though she knew the sentiment to be nonsense. Taking the hand he held out in invitation, she settled on the ground next to him. "Such sweet words," she said. "Now tell me the truth."
It was his turn to laugh. Drawing her close he buried his face into her hair, and drew in a deep breath. "The breeze carried the sweet scent of lavender to me." He grew serious again. "I've missed you. My advisors have barely given me five minutes peace since my return. I was beginning to despair of us having any time together before the wedding tomorrow."
He claimed to miss her, yet he spent his time sitting alone beyond the walls of the city? All was clearly not well with him. Her fingers moved gently over his upper right arm, feeling the presence of a bandage beneath his sleeve. "Is it healing?"
"'Tis little more than a scratch, and look…" He pulled up his left sleeve, revealing his forearm. "I am free of the splint at last."
Gently, she reached out and brushed her fingers against the bruising on his arm, evidence of how hard he had been struck by Ceorl's sword, of how close he had come to being severely injured, perhaps even killed. Embarrassed he tugged his sleeve down again, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and gazed out across the plains again.
Her own attention was drawn to the two neat lines of burial mounds in the foreground. One for the first line of kings, and another for the second. Of the latter she knew that the fresh tombs at the end belonged to Theoden and Theodred. Eventually a new line of mounds would be created, but she hoped that would be many years from now, for the first of the third line of Rohan kings was currently sitting by her side. Now, though, her gaze drifted to another fresh mound that was set some distance to the side of the royal tombs. This, she knew, was the reason Eomer had come out here. What she did not understand was why he lingered.
"It was a nice gesture," she said, shivering slightly in the chill breeze. He turned to her, puzzled. She nodded towards the new mound that had been created for the unknown man who had briefly been mourned in Eomer's place. "I understand it is the rarest of honours to be buried so close to the kings of Rohan."
Eomer's expression turned dark. "It scarcely makes up for a life that was stolen from him. Killed because he was unfortunate enough to be of my height and build and colouring."
She felt the tension in him. Felt his anger. His frustration. And suddenly she understood what had kept him amongst his forefathers. "Eomer, it was not your fault."
"No?"
"No," she said firmly. "And you do no one any favours sitting out here brooding over that which cannot be undone." She felt him stiffen at the sharpness of her words, but she was unrepentant. Eowyn had warned her that he had a tendency to lapse into melancholy. Well, maybe in the past that was so, but no more. Not while she was around to watch over him.
"So many deaths, Lothiriel. When the war ended, I had hoped that Rohan would be spared more trouble. Instead of which…"
She cut him off impatiently. "We honour the dead in the way we live our lives, Eomer. You know that as well as I. And as king you have more opportunity than most to see to it that those who have fought and died for Rohan are honoured by making their country prosperous and ensuring that their widows and children do not go hungry or cold." She met his gaze with a vehement one of her own. "You will be a good king, Eomer. I am sure of it. Aragorn is sure of it. Elfhelm, Eothain, all would agree with such a sentiment. And so do your people. Do not mistake the evil greed of Ceorl and those he blinded with spells and promises of coin as a voice against your rule." She brushed a strand of hair from his face and repeated herself with as much authority as she could muster. "You will be a good king."
He sighed heavily. "The crown was never something I desired nor sought, but since fate seems determined that it should rest upon my head, I can but try to be such." Once again his gaze drifted across the plain, but then he turned back to her. "Lothiriel, this is perhaps not the place I would've chosen to raise such a subject, but there is one thing that I need above all else if I am to stand any chance of succeeding at such an endeavour."
"And pray what might that be?"
He glanced away, drew himself up as though he was preparing to face the Black Gates of Mordor afresh and then once again met her gaze. "It is you by my side. As my wife and my queen." He studied her face, his expression uncertain. "What say you, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth? Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
Heat rushed to her cheeks. How could he possibly doubt her answer? Had she not already offered herself to him? Did he truly not know how much she loved him? "Yes," she managed to say, barely able to squeeze the word from lungs that were suddenly breathless.
"Yes?"
She nodded. "I would be honoured to be your wife." A broad smile cut across his face, and then his lips were on hers and she found herself pressed against the soft ground, the weight of his body on hers as arousing as his kiss was passionate. It was quite some time before either of them were able to speak again, and she suspected that he was cursing the presence of the guards as much as she was. When finally she found her voice, she was glad to see that the dark weight of responsibility had lifted from him. That it would soon return, she did not doubt. Many difficult days still lay ahead for Rohan. Right now, though, she was determined to make the most of his lighter mood.
"So," she said, pulling strands of moss from her hair. "Is this what you consider to be wooing me properly?"
He kissed the end of her nose and then sighed wearily. "I have had a very long conversation with your father on that subject."
"And?" Her heart sank at the prospect of her father insisting that they waited an acceptable time before marrying. An acceptable time in Dol Amroth would be at least a year, possibly two.
"I told him that the Rohan way of taking a wife involved nothing more complicated than publicly agreeing to share a bed and raise any children that come from such a sharing. He in turn told me of the many rituals of courtship, most of which seem designed, as far as I can tell, to drive the groom mad with frustration."
"Not just the groom," Lothiriel muttered.
Eomer leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. "However, I believe your father and I have come to a mutually acceptable agreement."
"That being?" Hope surged afresh.
"A brief…" He hesitated, clearly seeking the right word. "Engagement. No more than three turns of the moon. And then a three-day wedding ceremony with as many rituals as you wish to inflict upon me."
"My father agreed to that?" She was astonished.
Eomer smirked, and then added with an innocent air. "He seemed to think that I was getting the worst part of our bargain."
"What?" Outrage flared, but was almost immediately followed by laughter. She lowered her eyes. "I suppose I have not always been the most… docile of daughters."
"He loves you very much," Eomer said, somewhat contritely. "I believe his comment was merely a way to save face while agreeing to a marriage that some from Dol Amroth might consider arranged with unseemly haste."
Lothiriel smiled. "My father is a wise man."
"Particularly when it comes to understanding the impatience of the King of Rohan?"
"Not just the king," she replied, leaning in for another kiss. "But also the future queen."
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The Golden Hall was decorated with wild flowers and bathed in the golden glow of the midday sun. Standing beside Faramir, Lothiriel's attention was not on the interior décor, however.
"Do you not know it is uncouth to stare open-mouthed, cousin?" Faramir asked, amusement lighting up his face.
Feeling slightly foolish, Lothiriel pressed her lips together. However, she did not take her eyes from the object of her admiration. Bathed, groomed and dressed in clothes of emerald green embroidered with golden thread, Eomer, King of Rohan, was without doubt the most handsome man she had ever encountered. Her lips curved into a smile as she watched him walk the length of the Golden Hall, moving past both herself and Faramir to take his place in front of the throne. What was more, he was hers - heart, soul, and once her father's engagement period came to an end, body too. That thought sent a shiver of excitement through her, and she could not help but feel a pang of envy that this was Eowyn's wedding rather than her own.
A fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of the king's sister, and Lothiriel was presented with the perfect opportunity to exact her revenge upon Faramir. "My, my, cousin, do you not know it is ill-mannered to stare open-mouthed," she said with a soft laugh.
"Is she not the most beautiful woman?" Faramir replied, as Eowyn slowly approached.
"Beautiful indeed," Lothiriel replied honestly. "And I have never seen her look so happy." With that she fell silent, for Eowyn was now standing before her brother and Faramir was beckoned forward to take his place at her side.
The ceremony was a simple one. Promises made to one another. An emerald ribbon tied around their wrists as physical evidence of the union of two hearts. And then some bizarre ritual in which Eomer swatted Faramir around the face with a horse's tail and, according to Elfhelm's whispered translation to Lothiriel, threatened to castrate him if he ever dishonoured Eowyn in any way.
She stared at Elfhelm in amazement, but the man seemed perfectly serious. With a sigh, she filed away the information as something to quiz Eomer about later. It was all very different to the three days of formality and ritual that would bind her to Eomer. She glanced over at her father and wondered what it would take to obtain his consent for a Rohan wedding. Then she remembered he had already agreed to an engagement that was scandalously short by Gondorian standards and decided it best not to re-open negotiations.
Moments later the ceremony was over. Faramir gave his new wife a chaste kiss on the cheek. In response Eowyn looked somewhat bemused. She leaned forward and whispered something into his ear. Colour rose up Faramir's cheeks, but then he grinned and pulled Eowyn close for a passionate kiss that had all the Rohirrim whooping with delight. As the kiss continued Eomer raised his eyebrows, and then with a laugh he left them to it.
"Let the feast begin," he shouted. A sentiment that was greeted with cheering by both Rohirrim and Gondorians alike.
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Erika circled the edge of the festivities, feeling somewhat out of place. She had been honoured by Eomer's insistence that she should attend the wedding, but the truth was that she was a stranger to nearly all except the king, Lothiriel and Elfhelm. Both Eomer and Lothiriel were naturally busy attending to the many noblemen and women. She ran her hands down the front of her borrowed dress, one of Lothiriel's, smoothing away an invisible crease. Perhaps she could slip away. For sure no one would notice.
A voice sounded to her left. Turning she found herself being addressed by young man with dark hair and grey eyes. "Garamir of Gondor," he said, introducing himself with a polite bow. "Am I right in thinking that we are suffering from the same calamity?"
She frowned, puzzled by his words. "And what calamity would that be, sir."
"That of being without a partner to sit next to at the meal."
Erika glanced swiftly around the room and realised that most of the guests had indeed begun to take seats at the banqueting table. She had hoped Elfhelm might seek her out, but he was no where to be seen. "I have to confess that I know very few people here," she said.
Garamir offered her his arm. "Then please, honour me with your company."
Once again she hesitated, but it was impossible to spot Elfhelm amongst so many Rohirrim. With a grateful smile she linked her arm through Garamir's and allowed him to lead her to a table.
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Free at last of his duties, Elfhelm was one of the last to take a seat at the wedding feast. Eothain and several other members of the eored called for him to join them at a table that had already grown raucous. He crossed to them, accepting a mug of ale from Eothain, but not taking the seat that was pulled for him. "I was hoping to sit with Erika," he said, glancing around the room. "Have you seen her?" His heart sank as he saw Eothain's embarrassed frown. "What is it, man?"
In reply, Eothain jerked his head towards a table further down the hall. Elfhelm craned forward and felt his world spin away from him. Erika was sitting beside a young man of her own age. It was clear that he was flirting with her. And it was also quite apparent that Erika was enjoying his attention.
"I'm sorry," Eothain said.
"Sorry for what?" Elfhelm replied gruffly. "There's nought between us but friendship. I'm glad for her."
"Elfhelm…"
"A toast," he said, grabbing his mug. "To the happy couple." He frowned as Eothain simply shook his head in disbelief. Damn it. He owed no one an explanation, but apparently offering one would be the only way to put an end to the subject. He knew Eothain far to well to expect the man to simply let it go. He set his tankard down untouched. "Erika is young, Eothain. She has no need of an old man such as me."
In response, Eothain held up his right hand, his thumb tucked into the palm. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Four," Elfhelm replied. "What of it?"
"Just checking that your eyesight is still keen."
"What?"
"I feared perhaps your vision has become clouded since you clearly have not seen how she looks at you."
"Eothain…"
"Enough of this stupidity, Elfhelm. The girl is in love with you. And you with her. Go to her, man."
"Have I not just explained?" Elfhelm felt his irritation notch.
"No. You have given me an excuse, 'tis all. So you are perhaps ten summers older than her…"
"Fifteen. At least."
"Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. What does it matter? The heart has no age, my friend. I never thought I would say this of you, Elfhelm, but I believe it is fear that keeps you silent."
"Your words are unwise," Elfhelm snarled as the truth bit into him. Fear. Oh yes, he was afraid. But not in the way Eothain perhaps thought. It was not fear of speaking to her that kept him silent. Was not even fear of being rejected. In fact it was quite the opposite. He was frightened that, having twice saved her life, she would agree to marry him through a sense of obligation. And that he would not risk. Better by far to love her and let her go free, than to give into his passion and imprison her in marriage that she did not truly desire. Surely could not ever desire given that he was old enough to be her father.
"No, it is you that are unwise," Eothain countered.
"Enough." Elfhelm pushed himself away from the table.
"Where are you going?" Eothain demanded.
"The king tasked me with finding Galwyn." His gaze flicked across the room to Erika. "I may as well leave now. Much as I wish the Lady Eowyn all happiness, this celebration has turned sour."
"Elfhelm!"
He was already striding away. Yes, this was the right thing to do. He would leave now. Serve his king as he always had. And on his return, he would request a position away from Edoras. He knew that Erika had already accepted a position as assistant to the Chief Healer. She, therefore, would remain here. No problem. He could serve Eomer just as well in the Eastern Mark as at Edoras.
Like the seasoned warrior he was, he closed down his emotions. It did not take him long to gather what he needed for the journey north. Resolutely he headed towards the stables.