The evening air about Cormallen hung heavy with serenity and contentment. Peace was something that Éomer of Rohan had known little of in all his years. From the day his father's broken body had been borne home to Aldburg, he had somehow understood his life would be one of hardship. He had been fighting battles of the sword and of the mind for so long that the celebration ongoing about him seemed as though it were a dream. Or perhaps he was finally emerging from a nightmare into a long-awaited reward. He was eager to embrace this possibility.
The King of Rohan's tent was pitched near the center of the encampment, west of Aragorn's, and he stood without, noting the brightness of the moon and wondering how Éowyn fared in Minas Tirith. The muffled sound of minstrels could be heard from the pavilion beyond the pitch where the lords' tents were gathered. Every evening there would be lit lanterns, hung upon poles, surrounding the pavilion, and a great feast would be laid out, and the evening would be spent in tales and wine and pleasing conversation amongst the heroes of the war.
Éomer had spent the afternoon hours in the company of his new holbyta squire, teaching him how to better care for his pony and the king's horse in the manner of the Rohirrim. Éowyn had not misjudged the character of Meriadoc Brandybuck, no matter his stature. The halfling was not only clever and valiant, but well-named, for he was truly merry, in both heart and countenance. They spoke of many things. Merry's homeland, his journey, his love of Théoden and Éowyn. In turn, Éomer told him many glorious tales of Théoden King, and the memories were good, and in this way the king and the halfling assuaged the grief they both so strongly shared.
At length, Éomer had released his charge for the evening, knowing that Merry preferred to spend as much time as possible with his kinsmen. The Ringbearer was still recovering from his weary road to Orodruin; Gandalf confided that he might perhaps never fully recover. He spent most of his days and nights at rest, typically waking for a few hours in the evening. Éomer certainly did not grudge Merry the time to visit.
Before the night was out he would join the others in feasting and in song, but first Éomer had his own visit to make. Éowyn was not the only lady upon whom his thoughts had dwelt of late. By now, word would have reached Dol Amroth of Sauron's fall, and the Lady Lothíriel would have learned of Théodred's death, if she had not known beforehand. Éomer found that his heart grieved for her. Though he did not know the lady, he knew how much Théodred had cared for her.
"She is as fair as the stars, Éomer, with the wisdom of a king and a heart like the sea she loves so well."
Their love had come swiftly, and now would linger only as a memory, a flickering candle quickly snuffed by the ravages of war, forgotten against the luster of grander tales. Even now, Éowyn and Éomer were the only ones among the Rohirrim who knew of the betrothal, for Théodred had been wary in those days of yielding any sort of information to the potential manipulation of Gríma Wormtongue. By that time, the serpent had already wedged his poisonous bars of deceit and suspicion within the court of Rohan, and Éomer and Théodred had been increasingly helpless to thwart him.
And so Éomer felt a strange sort of kinship with the lady. Separated though they were by mountains and miles and a lack of acquaintance, she must be suffering a grief that surpassed even his own. Never in his most vivid nightmares had Éomer allowed himself to fear the loss of both his uncle and his cousin. Théoden, lord and father, and Théodred, closer than a brother, dearest of friends. Not until these newfound days of peace had Éomer fully realized the void that the loss of Théodred's friendship would leave within him.
Strangely enough, the friendship newly formed with Prince Imrahil had also lent itself to thoughts of the lady. If she was anything like her father, than Éomer could easily attest how she would be worthy of any man's admiration. Imrahil had become a close friend, mentor, and confidant. Éomer had expressed to his friend the many uncertainties about rulership he suddenly found thrust upon him, uncertainties he was unwilling to display to any but a peer. Aragorn, perhaps, would have been willing to help, but he was much preoccupied with larger matters. Imrahil's advice was encouraging and sound, and Éomer knew the ties between their realms were being forged with great strength.
It was Imrahil he now sought. He proceeded with confidence through the camp, pausing occasionally to greet one of his men or some other comrade, assuring them he would join them for the festivities, or commenting on their progress of the past few days towards Minas Tirith. He was not surprised, upon arrival, to find that Imrahil had yet to vacate his own tents. Couriers upon swift-footed steeds brought news to and from the city every day. They reported that Lord Faramir was recovering from his wounds. Soon he would be released from the Houses of Healing and assume governorship of the city, but until such a time it was the standard of Dol Amroth that still flew above the Citadel, and Prince Imrahil was kept informed of the preparations being made within. His son Elphir had ridden ahead to supervise in Imrahil's stead.
Éomer's eyes found the prince as he ducked quietly within the doorway of the tent, returning the respectful nod of the sentry. Imrahil stood before a small, rickety table, surrounded by advisors, a scribe, and the most recent courier. "Have a portion of the soldiers' barracks converted into temporary quarters for visitors," he was saying, tapping two fingers on a section of a map spread out before him. "And issue a request to those who dwell in the city, encouraging them to entertain guests at their discretion." As he spoke, the scribe transferred his instructions to parchment with confidence.
Imrahil looked up then, and noted Éomer, standing patiently by the doorway. He gave a knowing smile of greeting, and turned back to the courier. "That will be all," he said with finality.
The courier nodded respectfully. "My Lord," he replied.
Imrahil stepped away from the table and approached Éomer, greeting him with a soldier's embrace. "Éomer King," he said. "How fares the camp of Rohan this evening?"
"As always, the noisiest, the smelliest, and the rowdiest, my Lord," Éomer replied, causing Imrahil to laugh heartily. "How fares the realm of Gondor?" he returned, sending a knowing glance and a wry smile towards the table.
The Prince made a longsuffering expression. "My nephew recovers swiftly," he said, "and will very shortly assume command, at which time I shall be relieved beyond measure. I have enough troubles overseeing the affairs of my own city. No man of sense would desire to govern a second. I believe my Lord Aragorn takes secret delight in testing my allegiance thus." Éomer gave a chuckle as the two men began walking side by side together, out of the tent and towards the pavilion. "But what brings you here, Éomer?" Imrahil continued.
"A strange and delicate matter," Éomer replied thoughtfully, sobering a little. "One that I would wish to discuss in private."
Imrahil gave him an odd and curious expression. "Indeed?" He turned and nodded an unspoken dismissal to his advisors, who had been following a few paces behind. They gave their own nods in return and took their leave. "Of what nature is this matter?" he asked, and subtly steered them in a different direction, away from the gathering crowd they would otherwise have joined.
Éomer paused, and considered his words carefully before speaking. "Doubtless you are aware," he began awkwardly, "of the agreement which existed between your daughter and my late cousin."
The prince's expression became grave and he nodded. "I had expected you to broach the subject before now," he confessed. "Your silence led me to wonder if you shared knowledge of it."
"There are few in Rohan who do," Éomer admitted. He clasped his hands behind his back formally as they walked. "I am grateful for the guidance you have given me these past few weeks," he said. "I have given much consideration to the duties and obligations expected of me as king, but upon the subject of marriage we have not spoken."
"Marriage is a far more complicated matter for a ruler than crops or boundaries," Imrahil said knowingly. "There are personal considerations that must be taken into account beyond the considerations of one's people." He turned to study Éomer carefully, but held his peace, perhaps sensing that the young king had not yet finished with his thoughts.
Éomer gave a nod of agreement before proceeding. "I would not choose a wife rashly," he said, "but neither would I seek to delay the decision. There is much to be rebuilt and renewed in my country, and the presence of a queen in Edoras would greatly benefit my people, I believe."
"Dependent on the choice, yes," Imrahil agreed. "But what has this to do with my daughter?" His question was that of a father and a leader, not a casual question between friends.
Éomer paused in his steps and gave a troubled sigh. "My Lord, I feel a sense of duty towards your daughter, as though the right to be Queen of Rohan is still hers. If she is willing, and if you consent, I would offer myself in my cousin's stead, and honor the agreement still."
Imrahil's features softened with pity and respect. "You are not responsible for Théodred's death," he said comfortingly. "You need not feel this obligation."
"Nevertheless, I will stand by my word. At the very least, the benefit of an alliance between our two peoples still stands. And the proposal is merely that. I would not pressure your daughter to make any match, particularly one that might very well bring her painful association. I would understand and sympathize if she chose to reject my offer. In fact, I do not expect her to accept, but perhaps it might bring her comfort."
"You are probably right," Imrahil agreed. "But what of you, Éomer? You have declared you do not wish to make a choice of wife in haste. What makes you believe Lothíriel would be the kind of wife you wish? You have never even met her."
"Théodred was more than just my kinsman and captain, Lord Prince. He was as my brother, the truest friend and guide. We endured much together, trying to hold fast the strength of our country when a worm sought to pull it apart. He confided in me often. I know the lady is honorable. I trust Théodred's judgment as I trusted him with my life. In this, my Lord, I have no hesitation."
Imrahil was silent for many long moments as the two men resumed their methodical pace. At last he said, "I have been proud to call you friend, Éomer King. I would be even more proud to call you my son, as I was proud to call Théodred thus. This union would have my blessing and bring me great joy, but as you say, the choice is ultimately that of my daughter. I expect her and the remainder of my family in Minas Tirith. Before you depart for your home, I will advise her of you request."
Éomer gave a formal bow, at once strangely relieved, yet anxious. "Thank you, my Lord."
Replies:
Eokat- Well, I'm glad someone wasn't unaware of his real age. Although it's buried so deeply in the appendices I felt no guilt at not having retained it before. How was I to know it would one day be relevant? hehe
giovanna-scribe- The story of Lothíriel and Théodred will be told by various means as we go along. I hope you enjoy, and thank you!
Tracey- You know, I thought of that too, in retrospect. Théodred's got nothing on Arwen! LOL Also, I think the word endearing is a good choice to describe the first meeting between him and Lothíriel.
lsoa- Yes, actually. According to the War of the Ring books. There are birth years for her brothers, too, if you want to round out those useless notes: Elphir 2987 Erchirion 2990 Amrothos 2994 Lothíriel 2999. So. Good to know, eh? Hopefully, Lothíriel will be meeting Éomer soon. :-)
princess hunny bee- I agree, the practices of older cultures make this match a little more credible. Also, the political considerations. Thank you for your compliments.
Mystikal- The ol' Prince Princess argument, eh? Irrefutable logic, that. LOL ;-)
Katya- Welcome! I certainly hope this story satisfies your expectations. I suppose the level of 'grand and passionate' will all depend upon your specific interpretation. hehe
Spacepirate- I'm rather fond of the emotional resonance of angst myself. :-)
smor- LOL, I suppose Lothíriel has learned a thing or two from her brothers, but she's not overtly a tomboy. This was just the best method she came up with to spy on dad. She sort of hero-worships him.
Angel of the Night Watchers- Thanks. I enjoyed writing the flashback.
A/N: Cool fact I learned for this update: The Rohirrim have their own word for hobbit: holbyta. Many thanks to Melyanna.
Please review!
Saché