Thank you to all my reviewers once again. All of your words have been greatly appreciated and have helped this story update quicker. However, I am still terribly slow. For this chapter, keep in mind that I have altered one of the folktales of how the Arabian horse was founded to fit this story. I hope you all enjoy it. A word of thanks to my reviewers:
quizabella: I know if I were Lothíriel, all of those jealous women would definitely keep me on my toes! Who knows what kind of things they may pull! I am so ecstatic you like it, and I hope this chapter continues to bring you enjoyment.
BoromirDefender: I think this chapter will make you happy, for the importance of the necklace is shown here. Glad you have enjoyed thus far! Here's more for you.
MexDev: Thank you! Hopefully, they will love each other in the end, but I dunno your idea of being trapped in a loveless marriage sounds like a twist on Romeo and Juliet that I may like to explore someday… :)
merrymagic: At times I wish I could truly step inside stories, but I fear that is not possible, yet. Who knows what our scientists will next discover, though. Thank you, I'm glad you like it.
starnat: Yes, that kiss was extremely close! Maybe next time they can actually get close enough for some contact! Lol, glad you like it up to now, I hope this chapter follows suit.
Katzilla: Yeah, I feel bad for poor Éomer too sometimes…though you are right, Lothíriel is beginning to adjust. I hope you enjoy this chapter update, you have no idea how many times I have changed the occurrences!
Deranged Teen: Yours was probably the first review in history saying the descriptions were 'over the top'. Can I take that as a compliment? Thank you for your praise as well, glad you like it.
Princess of Ithilien, Axa, Caz-10-5, Taima1, wondereye: Thank you all so much for your kind words. I appreciate it so much, and I am so glad that you are finding entertainment in my thoughts. Here's the next chapter, and I hope that you enjoy it just as much as the last.
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The feast had ended several hours prior, and it was morning already. Lothíriel was already gone from the King and Queen's chambers, drawing no doubt, and Éomer was dressing in a velvet embroidered tunic and breeches, trying to look as a king should when he said farewell to Prince Elphir and his family, Legolas, Gimli, the hobbits, King Elessar, and Queen Arwen along with those who had accompanied them.
All nobles inside Meduseld attended the meal that broke the fast, even Amrothos though he complained of a dull throbbing deep inside his head. Éomer grinned, knowing well of the nasty hangovers the Rohirrim ale left those unaccustomed to it. He had drunken his share the past night but did not feel the aftermath. The meal was pleasant, though Éomer's Queen looked downcast, her eyes misty from displeasure at having to say farewell to a part of her family that she would miss sorely.
When the meal was finished, all around people came to watch the departure of the men and women who were to leave. The horses were standing elegantly across the fields of green, shining in the afternoon sun. Aragorn and Éomer exchanged a few words before they left as Lothíriel was kissing her brother's cheek and hugging Nienna and Alphros tight.
"I thank you, for coming," Éomer said to Aragorn. They clasped hands briefly. "Know that Rohan's walls will forever open welcomingly to you."
Aragorn nodded. "And Gondor to you whenever you wish the journey."
Beaming, Éomer laughed, "Was it that long my friend? I did not remember it as long as you make it to be."
The twinkle in Aragorn's eyes returned and he shrugged. "It was not as long as the first time I ventured here, nor as short as the journey we made during the War of the Ring. Anticipation seems to make things long while dread short and you know I did not dread coming here to celebrate with you and your Queen. However, it will suffice to tire my men and me until we are greeted by the warm feast that welcomes us home."
"May your way home prove to be the shortest yet, and the feast the best. Are there any provisions you still need? I would be happy to supply you with anything," Éomer said. Aragorn shook his head.
"Nay, friend, but I thank you behalf of my men and myself for your hospitality and festivities. You have brought happiness over my men who had been growing restless by the peace that these lands still behold," Aragorn said with a smile.
"Béma be praised for the peace, let us hope it lasts forevermore," Éomer said. Aragorn nodded. His horse, Brego, was brought to him and Aragorn smiled, stroking the silken nose with tender fingers.
"We must leave, though I apologize, for if we wish to reach the location where I have chosen to be our first campsite before dark," Aragorn said. Éomer nodded.
"I wish you a dull trek, if only the mere thought that excitement may mean bad tidings," he said. As Aragorn mounted Brego, Arwen steered her horse beside his, looking elegantly poised side-saddled on her horse of brilliant white. Éomer inclined his head, "My lady. I thank you both on behalf of my wife and me for attending our wedding."
After Lothíriel kissed her brother's cheeks, hugged Alphros so tight he was fearful she would break him in two, and embraced Nienna, they too mounted their horses. After a moment of silence, Lothíriel joined her husband as Aragorn called for the riders to begin their journey home. The riders of Dol Amroth would part with the Gondorian riders at the border of Rohan in a few days' time.
Tears pricked Lothíriel's eyes as she watched a half of her family and heart ride away from her, and she never imagined the pain in her heart to be harsher. Later, she would need to watch her own father ride from her with her remaining two brothers! By the stars, how could she do it?
Éomer could feel the tension in the air radiating from Lothíriel and wished to place his arm around her waist to help ease her anxiety. However, if he did it, it would only add to her fretfulness, for she still did not trust him, as he would have hoped. Yes, everything outside the walls of Meduseld were beginning to return to normality, but inside the anxiety was at an all-time high, making Éomer realize there were other battles to fight than those involving swords and bows. There were battles to win over the heart.
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Before sunset, Lothíriel was still melancholic. Forleaswyn and Éowyn decided to take her for a walk to cheer her spirits, though it was terribly hard for Forleaswyn to walk in her current state. Their walk was long and winding through each of the outdoors passages and gardens, ending in the stables.
Lothíriel looked around her once they were inside the stables of gold, and it took all of her propriety not to gasp in wonder. Each stall was adorned in golden etchings along the front; a nameplate with the horses' name near the door opening to inside, and on the nameplate was an etched picture of the chosen horse. To the right of the stalls held the horse's blankets for cold whether, all green and gold for Rohan, and a halter and lead, the colors the same. The barn was enormous, housing many horses, and each horse was so beautiful, though each was different in color and in shape.
"It is beautiful, is it not?" Éowyn pondered as she lingered beside the stall of Firefoot and watched him eye her with a lust in his eyes for food or perhaps a long, hard ride no doubt. Lothíriel nodded, as her eyes traveled the length of the barn with bewilderment.
"Is that your horse?" Lothíriel asked as Éowyn gave Firefoot a handful of some hay that sat beside his stall. Éowyn and Forleaswyn laughed while the magnificent gray stallion bobbed his head, prancing in his stall, and whickered as if joining in the laugh.
"Of course not!" Éowyn said, not noticing the blush creeping onto Lothíriel's cheeks. "Firefoot is Éomer horse; he allows no other to ride him. Is he not a handsome steed? I have tried many times to ride him, and have failed each time, though I have lasted longer than any other."
The gray stallion snorted and pawed, as if showing off his abilities and grace. His eyes were dark and they were very mysterious though they held no aggressiveness, only a challenge.
The three women continued their walk and Lothíriel saw a petite horse that she immediately fell in love with. The horse's profile was dipped, its eyes large. The coat a glistening dark gold, the main and tail a brilliant yellow. The back was short, making the legs and neck look long and graceful. Truly, this was the most beautiful horse Lothíriel had seen.
"That horse," Lothíriel said, "is beautiful. What is its name?"
"She is a mare," Forleaswyn said, "and her name is Aefentid, Rohirric for evening. My husband and yours deemed it fitted her, as her coloring matches that of the sky when the sun sets."
"Éomer owns her?" Lothíriel asked, her fingers longing to touch the tender nose but she was fearful the mare would bite her or shy away.
"Yes," Éowyn spoke, "she is one of his favorites. Though he fears he may need to either give her away or sell her, for he does not want two green horses in addition to Firefoot and if he is to own Rastus, she must go."
Lothíriel looked somber for a moment. "It is a pity."
"Aye, but I am sure a family will take her in and love her just as well as she would be here," Éowyn said. After gazing longingly at Aefentid once more, Lothíriel turned and stood beside Éowyn and Forleaswyn.
They began to walk once more, exiting the barn and closing the doors behind them. Once the doors were securely shut, Éowyn began to walk once more, but Forleaswyn stopped her with a weary look and she placed one hand on the base of her back, her face grimacing faintly. Éowyn looked at her concerned, and then exchanging a glance with Lothíriel, they stood on either side of her.
"What is wrong?" Éowyn asked. Forleaswyn mustered a smile.
"I am not feeling well suddenly, please, could we rest?" she asked. Éowyn and Lothíriel smiled and nodded, sitting on the bench that lined the walkway.
However, after only a moment of sitting, Forleaswyn sharply breathed in, her hand flying quickly to her stomach. Her eyes were beginning to fill with tears and she looked to Éowyn fleetingly. Éowyn looked beside herself with anxiousness and Lothíriel looked as if she did not know exactly what to do, her hands were beginning to shake with wariness.
"Forleaswyn! What is wrong?" Éowyn urged. Forleaswyn's eyes, by now watering, closed.
"At first I thought it was just the babe kicking, but now I am not sure. Think you it is time?" she asked low. Éowyn jumped up and hauled her friend to her feet, linking arms and issuing orders out quickly.
"We must get you to your midwife, it very well could be time now! Come Forleaswyn walk quickly! I wish not for this babe to be birthed on the path to the barns," Éowyn said, near hysterics.
Forleaswyn let out a low groan and with wide eyes she turned to Lothíriel who was trying not to look as anxious as she felt. "Go find Éothain! He is in the sitting room with Éomer as we speak. Oh, Lothíriel, please hurry!"
Lothíriel nodded and grabbed her skirts and ran the rest of the way into Meduseld, to the only sitting room that she remembered the way, praying it was the right one.
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Éomer and Éothain sat in the common sitting room, the curtains let halfway down, dimming the sun that was setting, and its rays were level with the horizon, parallel to the window. They were both holding a mug of ale, speaking of the common happenings of the day, nearly forgetting that the once equal brothers-in-arms were now a captain of the king's éored, and the king himself. It was odd for them both to realize their status differences, though Éothain was anything but envious of Éomer, he realized their standings made their friendship alter if only slightly.
"Éomer, do you plan to work Rastus this night? 'Tis exceptionally fair weather, I deem," Éothain said as he sipped his ale and leaned back in the large chair he sat in.
"I have not taken Firefoot for a ride in several days; perhaps I should ere he becomes too jaded and finds pleasure in harassing the stable hands. It has happened before, do you not remember?" Éomer asked with a twinkle in his eye as he smiled and chuckled.
Éothain nodded. "Béma, you would think Ceorl had never had a horse kick him!" Laughing, he added, "Everyone has had their bad days; he should have counted his blessings Firefoot kicked him in the chest and not the head for he surely would not have had the capability to pack up and leave so quickly!"
Grinning despite the seriousness of the fact, Éomer said, "Ceorl was a bitter young man, I half believe he deserved the kick. I would have done it long before if I were Firefoot; the man barely knew how to pick out their hooves let alone cinch the girth."
"That is why, my friend," Éothain advised, "your steed and you get along so splendidly. It would seem to me – and Éowyn agreed when I told her before – that the two of you share thoughts – if not a brain itself."
Shaking his head in amusement, Éomer said, "My horse is far more stubborn than I, Éothain, I assure you."
"Aye you are extremely yielding," Éothain said. "Is that why you were the youngest member to join the éored, when everyone including myself told you to wait until you were of age?"
"When they accepted me," Éomer insisted, "you immediately finished your training to join me, Éothain!"
"It 'twas not me who lied and said I was not stubborn." A wicked smile spread across his face as Éothain said these words, "You are even stubborn trying to prove you are not stubborn!"
Throwing his hands into the air, Éomer appeared irritated, though the grin catching his lips gave away his jesting. "I am proud, aye, a fearless and valiant warrior of Rohan aye as well. But only a touch of stubbornness is in my blood."
Éothain had more words to exchange good-heartedly, but it was then that the doors burst open, to reveal a white-faced Lothíriel. It appeared she had been running, for she was winded and breathed harshly as she fled inside. Éomer stood immediately, setting down his mug and striding to her side at once. Éothain remained seated, however, thinking the situation did not involve him – or at least hoping it did not. It took Lothíriel a few moments to catch her breath, and in them, Éomer pressed her for what was wrong.
"Éothain," Lothíriel gasped out finally, "it is time!"
"It is time for what?" Éothain persisted, standing as well and shortening the distance between them.
"Forleaswyn – it is her time to give birth to the babe!"
Some color drained from Éothain's cheeks, though a smile tugged at his cheeks. Éomer clapped his friend on the back and beamed. When nothing was said, Lothíriel spoke.
"Think you that you should go to your wife in her time?"
"Yes – yes, of course," Éothain said at once, half bewildered. The two men followed Lothíriel out of the sitting room and idleness and down hallways to the precious ceremony bringing a new life into the world.
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The two men sat outside of Éothain and Forleaswyn's chamber; the midwife would not allow them inside, as it was traditional that the father-to-be would not see their son or daughter's birth. It was not a particularly strict tradition, but a tradition all the same, as old as the building they lived inside. They had sat in the chairs for a good hour at least; Éomer was beginning to feel drowsy as Éothain stood and began to pace once more.
"Sit, my friend," Éomer called, stretching his stiff legs and leaning his head back on the top of the chair. An agitated Éothain nodded, turning to pace one last length before he eased himself back into the chair, his face troubled.
"How long think you it lasts?"
"What? The birth?" Éomer asked. Éothain nodded as his friend shrugged. "I would not know. I do not remember when my mother had Éowyn, and have not attended other births. Are births of children similar to births of horses?"
Éothain's eyes narrowed in jest. "Are you comparing the birth of my son to a foal?"
"Are you so sure it is a son and not a daughter?"
"A daughter would not be so large, nor would it cause my wife such pain. I am sure it is a son."
"I would not speak such thoughts until it is certain, how foolish you would look calling your daughter 'large and one who causes pain'," Éomer advised, "I know you had no sisters, but if I were to use those adjectives upon Éowyn, she would undoubtedly become offended and irate."
The truth to these words sent Éothain into his pacing, and Éomer closed his eyes, the hour was late and he was exhausted. For yet another hour, they stayed like this, by now Éomer was asleep and Éothain was beside himself, near breaking through the door to see what was happening. The speaking quieted for a moment, making Éothain's ears strain in anxiety, and footsteps echoed to a stop near the door. It opened ever so quietly, only a crack, allowing the petite form of the raven-haired Queen through. She turned and shut the door, the gauzy green fabric of her shawl she wore slipped off one shoulder, and she fixed it as she turned.
"The contractions are growing greater," Lothíriel said. "Though there are signs that the birth will not take place for yet a few more hours. Forleaswyn is in great pain, she wishes you inside with her be there a tradition or not. The midwife thinks it is best as well."
This sent a scowl upon Éothain's lips. Cursed be upon him for making her endure such horrible pain! Such a beautiful woman, his wife, he would have to watch tears in her eyes. It must be great pain if she wished to overlook traditions for Forleaswyn had honored all traditions of Meduseld to an exasperating extremity.
"And you, my lady?" Éothain asked. Lothíriel eyes drifted to her sleeping husband.
"The midwife and Éowyn tell me to sleep. They tell me to have Éomer to sleep as well; it is no use to have us all exhausted of the morrow," Lothíriel informed. Éothain nodded. After Lothíriel opened the door vaguely for Éothain, she said, "If we are not back ere the babe is born, send for us."
Nodding, Éothain slipped through the door and closed it after him. Lothíriel turned to wake her husband, if only to find that his dark eyes were open, and he was looking at her with tender eyes – or perhaps they were sleepy eyes, Lothíriel mused. Whichever they were, they were handsome, and Lothíriel felt a blush creep onto her cheeks. "Did you hear…?" she asked.
"Yes. Let us go to our chambers for the night, I am very tired." Éomer rose, offered his arm for Lothíriel who accepted it gracefully and the pair walked to their room, the moon at its highest peak for the night, the stars glittering through the windows faintly lighting the walls of the corridors.
Lothíriel touched the beloved gold and emerald necklace she given by her husband around her neck with her free hand, and Éomer noticed. Smiling, he said, "I am pleased you like the necklace. It is a tradition of Rohan for the Queen to own it, since Éorl made it for his wife."
Not knowing it was as valuable as it was truly, Lothíriel pondered upon the story that could be behind its greatness. Éomer longed to tell his wife the story, but was unsure, for if she did not ask him to tell it to her, perhaps she did not want to hear it. He pressed this fact for though he was blunt, he wished her to ask him of it.
"There is a fine story behind it as well."
Lothíriel's eyes caught his for a brief moment. "Would you tell it to me?"
They were the words Éomer had hoped she would say. Nodding, the grin on Éomer's face was hard to erase when he began his tale. "There is a tale that Béma had a herd of horses every color and size in the West. For four days' time, he allowed none of his horses to drink water. Not one drop of water allowed upon their tongues, swollen from thirst, and each was nearly ill from dehydration. On the fifth morning, he opened the gates to the wells, and the horses galloped to the water in blind thirst, their bellies aching for the water. Then, he blew upon the horn that called for war. None save six of the horses remained to help their lords in what they thought was to be a war. These six horses, four mares and a stallion of pure white and one bay were of the best bloodlines and strength in both their knowledge and heart. Béma separated them from the other horses and bred them, creating the master-horse race of the Mearas.
"The six horses that make up your necklace are the six that began the Mearas' bloodlines. Each one crafted after the horse's rumored appearance, and the emerald in the middle surrounded by gold stands for Rohan, where the Mearas now reside. It had been before Gandalf rode Shadowfax that only the Kings of Rohan could ride the Mearas. That is why the Queen wears the necklace representing the story of their race's birth."
"What a beautiful story," Lothíriel said softly, her hand stroking the emerald stone on the necklace that looked so perfectly with her beautiful golden skin that it could have been made for her. "I am honored to wear it."
The two walked inside their chambers and Éomer shut the door behind him. Before Lothíriel could leave the room, he said, "And Rohan is honored for you to wear it."
A pleased blush crept onto the Queen's cheeks and her hand strayed on his arm. After a moment, Lothíriel left him with a mere coy smile, and left to change into her nightgown. Éomer, thoroughly pleased with the reaction that his words called, for once felt as if his actions and the consequences that followed were purely pleasurable. It would be a serene night for the newly wed couple, alas not for two of their friends.
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