The summer waxed longer and hotter under Arien's sun. The wheat and barley grew thick and plentiful, and serenity seemed to flourish along with them. Lothíriel came to enjoy best of all the washing days, down on the broad, grassy banks of the River Snowbourn, a little ways away from the city. When the washing itself was finished, the women let the sun sap dry their day's work upon the warm rocks, and went swimming in the cool, brown river water. It did not take long for Lothíriel to decide that she infinitely preferred river bathing to sea bathing, a revelation that came as something of a surprise. But then, she reflected, she'd always hated the taste that saltwater had left in her mouth, despite her best attempts to avoid it.
"I think," she said contentedly, as she finally extricated herself from the water one sunny afternoon in late August, "that we should have washing every day." She'd spent the last quarter of an hour floating lazily and serenely on her back, blocking out everything around her but the warmth of the sun on her face and the blissful feeling of weightlessness. Taking a seat beside Emeí, she began wringing out her hair. Soon enough it would be time to gather up all the clean clothes and get ready to leave. She would need to be dry enough herself to accompany them back.
Emeí merely giggled a reply, but Gaerwyn, sitting a couple of feet away, frowned slightly. "You will not enjoy it so well in the winter, my lady. Everything must be done indoors, the water becomes icy before long, and drying everything near the fire is exceedingly slow."
Lothíriel couldn't help but scowl as she shook out her hair. "Well, it is not yet winter, Gaerwyn," she snapped without looking at the other woman. She knew that she should probably regret even the slight display of temper, but she found she did not. From the beginning, the housekeeper had harbored an air of a quiet sullenness and resentment, but lately it seemed to be worsening.
"Yes, my lady," Gaerwyn replied impassively, and said nothing else as the women gathered up the day's washing, loaded it into the wagon they'd brought, and began their trek back to the city. Lothíriel's good mood, however, was decidedly sullied, and she pondered the incident the whole way home.
Home was even less peaceful when they arrived. Lothíriel was taken aback by the sight of the hall, a quarter full with loud, arguing men, all clustered around something in the middle that she could not properly see. Bewildered, she set her basket down in the middle of the floor and was trying to decide the best way to assert her authority among such rowdy subjects, when an irritated, roaring voice made itself known above the others.
"By the fords, man, stand aside! I am no suckling babe that you need hover over me like a puttering woman!" Lothíriel's eyes widened at the sound of her husband's voice and narrowed just as quickly, taking slight offense at the latter association.
By this time, a few of the men had noticed the newcomers, and Lothíriel seized the chance to take control of the situation. "What is going on?" she asked, putting her hands questioningly on her hips and taking in several of their gazes at once. She kept her voice calm and authoritative.
Reluctantly, the men stepped aside, Éothain last of all, to reveal the hunched form of Éomer sitting precariously on a bench, clearly in great pain. Instantly, all pretensions of coolness fled Lothíriel's features, and she rushed forward in concern. "What happened?" she demanded of Éothain, trying her best not to sound accusatory.
"The new stock, my lady," he began awkwardly, "King Elessar sent us many of those smaller, southern horses captured from the Haradrim during the war—"
"I know that," she interrupted, glaring at him pointedly.
"Well," he continued, still looking most uncomfortable, "they are not quite so steadfast as our own. Perhaps it was an effect of new surroundings, or—"
"I was kicked," Éomer grunted through gritted teeth. He looked at Éothain. "Just say it."
At this, Lothíriel instantly surmised the reason for all the awkwardness and hesitation, but she decided not to worry about the ridiculousness of wounded horseman's pride just now. "Where?" she asked, though from the way Éomer was clutching his midsection, she was fairly certain she knew.
"In the stomach and the ribs, lady," supplied another rider quickly, earning him a reproachful look from the king.
Deftly, Lothíriel circumvented Éomer's protesting fingers to pull up the hem of his shirt, only to wince at the sight of a couple of very large, swelling, dark purple bruises. In several places the skin had broken, as well, and the bleeding areas looked decidedly unhealthy. "Emeí, fetch some hot water and bring it to the king's chambers," she instructed quickly. "Gaerwyn, find the healer in the village, tell him of the king's condition, and do anything he requires of you. Bring him here. The rest of you," she took in all the riders with her best queenly gaze, "go away. This puttering wife is going to take care of her husband. Go!"
She put Éomer's arm over her shoulder and began helping him hobble towards his bedchamber. He was a very solid man, and broad, but fortunately he was still able to bear most of his weight on his own. She noticed that he did his best to stifle his grunts of pain and staggered breathing, and could not hold back a small smile of amusement. Nothing short of the Valar themselves would likely ever separate the Rohirrim men from their silly pride.
Once Éomer had been settled in the large bed, Lothíriel stripped him to the waist and pulled off his boots, wrinkling her nose at their smell before she set them by the door. She didn't have very much experience tending physical injuries, so until Emeí brought the water, she could do little more than glance helplessly at Éomer's purpled chest. While she waited, she attempted to start a fire in the grate— something she'd never tried before. After three failed attempts, she let out a loud sigh of frustration.
Behind her, she heard a pained chuckling from Éomer. "A valiant attempt, my lady," he said, "but I'm afraid there is not enough—" here he paused to take a deep breath, "—kindling in there to really keep anything going."
She made a face over her shoulder before returning to him with flint and tinder in hand. "That would matter little," she confessed, "as one would require a proper spark to light any sort of kindling in the first place." She looked helplessly at the tools.
He chuckled again, and she returned with a slight smile, at least until his face suddenly pinched in a gasp of discomfort. Then she frowned. "Try not to laugh or talk too much," she instructed. "And don't touch that!" she added, snatching his hand away from where it had been heading towards his wound.
"Why is it," Éomer asked, resuming a broad smile, "that even the gentlest and mildest of women become as great warlords when attending the sick?" His expression could hardly be called anything but fond, and Lothíriel blushed slightly.
"This is embarrassing for you, isn't it?" she asked, changing the subject. She raised her brows at him appraisingly. "The First Marshall of the Riddermark being kicked by a horse?" Her voice lowered to a scandalized tease.
It was Éomer's turn to scowl. "So you do have a tongue, I see," he commented wryly. "I confess I had begun to wonder." Lothíriel did not reply, so he went on. "Yes, I fear this will be the inevitable subject of jokes and tavern stories for some long while," he said resignedly. He glanced back at her, eyes twinkling. "No doubt I'll now go down in the annals as Éomer the bungling."
She smiled and shook her head. "Nay, my lord. Already they call you Éomer Eadig. Blessed king of peace and prosperity." She cocked her head. "And I believe it is a title rightly fitting."
Éomer did not reply for a moment. He sobered and looked thoughtful at these words, and she could see that he was not displeased. Then, he held up his hands, indicating that she should give him the flint and tinder still grasped in her own. Curious, she complied. "Strike it like this," he said gently, demonstrating. "With a firm hand, and always tilted away from your face."
"I see," she said obediently, nodding her head. Then she pulled the tools back from him. "Now give me those before you set your own bed ablaze."
When Emeí finally came with the water, Lothíriel did her best to begin washing Éomer's cuts until the healer arrived. Seeing as how he hissed and winced and grunted throughout the entire process, she was more than willing to turn him over to another's care.
The healer determined that, in addition to the bruises, Éomer had suffered a couple of badly cracked ribs and would need a couple weeks of bed rest at least. After everything had been thoroughly cleaned and mended as best as was able, Lothíriel helped the healer bind the king's tender chest. The healer also gave Éomer medicines to ease his pain and to help him sleep, and within half an hour he was breathing much more serenely.
When Éomer awoke, darkness had fallen. It took a moment for him to recall all that had happened earlier, and he looked around his silent bedchamber, wondering what had transpired while he was asleep. It was easy to see everything, as someone had managed to start a fire after all. Whether or not Lothíriel had succeeded after his tutelage he could not be certain.
Lothíriel...
Only then did he notice her, fast asleep, her head resting on her arms on the edge of the bed beside his arm. Even if he hadn't been able to see half her face, pressed uncomfortably into the crook of her elbow, he would have recognized her, for she was the only person in the Golden Hall who had dark hair.
He shifted slightly, trying to ease muscles numb from inertia, and immediately regretted it. Lothíriel jerked awake with a small gasp, then rubbed her eyes slightly. A moment later, she noticed that he was awake and alert. "Forgive me, my lord," she said wearily. "I had not meant to drift off."
"You should go to bed, Lothíriel," he chided gently.
"And so I shall," she calmly replied, rising to her feet. "But I wanted to make sure you had something to eat first. You've not eaten since midday, if I'm not mistaken."
Chivalry demanded Éomer should argue, but he found himself unwilling to do so, partly because no sooner had the words left her mouth than he discovered he was famished. More than that, though, he was entranced by her quiet, graceful movements about the room. The dim, flickering firelight and hushed evening silence seemed to cast a spell upon him. There was a small cook pot hanging from a spit in the fireplace, which Lothíriel carefully removed with gloved hands and set on a small table nearby. She ladled some of its contents into a bowl, added some water, and brought it carefully to him, cradling it with cloths to ward off the heat of the bowl in her hand. "It's just broth with barley," she said apologetically. "But I wasn't sure how well your stomach would take to something stronger, after such a blow."
"Well enough," he replied, pretending to be affronted.
Lothíriel smiled. "Do you think you can sit up? I would spare you the indignity of being fed by hand."
"Very kind of you, my lady," he said, not wholly insincere. He carefully achieved a sitting position, and Lothíriel put every pillow on the bed behind him before she finally handed him the broth.
"There is water, as well," she said as he gratefully began to eat.
"What time is it?" he abruptly thought to ask between bites.
"I do not believe I was asleep for very long," Lothíriel replied. "It is nearing midnight."
"And how long am I to be a prisoner in my own bedchamber?" he asked, bracing himself to patiently bear the answer. Healers were ridiculously stubborn about their instruction in such things.
"A fortnight," she said with another smile, as if reading his mind.
His reaction was a loud, slow, frustrated sigh. "I never imagined I'd be so annoyed with a horse," he muttered.
"Give them time, my lord. Learning to live as one of the Rohirrim is no simple matter. Were it so, the accomplishment would not be so worth attaining."
"Then if the Haradrim stock adapt as has the Lady of Dol Amroth, we may yet produce the strongest horses ever to grace our plains."
Again she smiled, and he rejoiced at how easily she seemed able to do so lately. "Eat your soup," she ordered. He obeyed without complaint, reflecting upon the change in her today. True, the time they had spent together working on leather craft had been beneficial. He had discovered within her a fervent passion and thirst for knowledge, and as they'd worked, he taught her other things— more of his native tongue and history, amusing stories about his eored that were suitable for a lady's ears, and stories of Éowyn and Théodred. All these things had served to ease the stiltedness that had previously pervaded between them. He felt he knew her better now, and even dared to hope that she considered him a friend.
Not until today, though, had she displayed the kind of tenderness he now enjoyed. His head warned him not to think too much of it. Every woman, he'd observed, possessed a nurturing spirit, patient and concerned, when there were those who needed nursing.
Watching her, Éomer observed several signs of his wife's weariness. He ate as quickly as he could, despite Lothíriel ensuring he ate two complete bowls. When he'd finished, she helped him settle back into bed, tucked the blankets comfortably back around him, and promptly excused herself, promising to check in again first thing in the morning.
He lay awake for some long minutes after she'd gone. Perhaps, he reflected, the next two weeks wouldn't be so tedious after all.
Replies:
Terreis- (giggles at jealous Daniel) And to think, you made him wary at first. ;-) Thank you on the… seamless weaving. Although this story really has very little, er… conflict, I do try my best to make the flashbacks and the 'real time' events at least somewhat match up. Thanks for the info on Ro-tel. Mely seemed amazed at my ignorance. I hope your Christmas was nice. I'm eagerly anticipating an update of Fellowship! :-D
Lady ot Rings- You know, sometimes the waiting kills me, too. LOL
smor- I thought the tanning stuff was interesting to read up on, as well. Of course, had I been forced to do so for some paper or other, you know it wouldn't have been nearly as interesting.
Spacepirate- Yikes, I've done the Christmas retail bit as well, several moons ago. Hope you survived relatively unscathed. As for future LotR material… well, I had a very scant Legomance bunny (which is more an egotistical point than any other), but it hasn't really gone anywhere. When this story is concluded I'm actually planning a post- Last Battle Chronicles of Narnia story which I'm very excited about, and which I wish to write before the movie comes out.
Eokat- Busy, busy bee, that Lothíriel. I hope her progression with Éomer in this chapter was to your satisfaction.
klaw- Thanks!
Blue Eyes At Night- Thank you. I was rather pleased with the leather twist.
Lirima Tindomiel- (dies laughing) Oh, your review had me laughing and smiling for the better part of the day. I must defend some of my fellow É/L writers and say surely not everyone would have written it that way, but… still. Quite amusing. Thank you for the compliment. I'm glad you like the gradualness. It doesn't seem to be doing much for everyone else… LOL
Aikaze- I have a sneaky suspicion that with enough time Lothíriel can master anything she puts her mind to, but I think music will always be her favorite.
Kwannom- Brazil! Wow!! And I've not a single word in Portuguese to show off. Darn. Well, thank you so much for sitting up in all that state to read my plodding tale. LOL
Tracey - I likewise hope your holidays were enjoyable. I do believe Lothíriel may have gone a whole hour or so without thinking of Théodred in this chapter… at least consciously. She's making progress. Not as fast as Éomer, though. :-P
Leslie Lady of Light- I don't believe many people mind the Théodred/ Lothíriel connection. And thank you for your snippets of marriage details from Tolkien stories. As for my Star Wars fan status… I'm ashamed to say, I've drifted away from SW in general in the past couple of years, being more interested in Stargate and LotR, although I still remain a devout handmaiden enthusiast. Star Wars will always be my first love, though, no matter how much it fades.
Peachy Papayas- LOL- thanks for the compliments. I rarely try to write love-at-first sight scenarios, as I've never even fallen in love slowly, let alone at first sight. I must admit my skepticism, but I have a friend who was engaged to her future husband two weeks after first meeting him, so… who knows? Hope you stick around!
katemary77- Your thoughts concerning the king's appearance are shared of many. ;-) I hope you had a pleasant holiday!
Lacy Elize Thank you, I do my best at courtly manners, though they sometimes feel excessively redundant.
Katya- I don't know why I've always been of the opinion that even the Rohirrim royalty were hard workers. I guess maybe because Edoras in the movie is so dang small!
Lometari- Thank you! I hope your holidays were pleasant. :-)
lsoa- I've a few more flashbacks for you, but they're more scarce than 'real time' stuff, so of course I have to spread them out a bit. Writing as best I can…it's been hectic.
Novedhelion- Yes, when it's put in that light it doesn't seem as bad as it did to me at first. The irony, of course, is that they don't end up getting married! Thanks for your review, and please hang around!
A/N: I didn't do a lot of in depth research on this chapter. Very, very lazy. But I was quite pleased with some of the developmental turns it took. Also, if anybody notices spelling inconsistencies in Gaerwyn's name, I apologize. I changed the spelling to one I liked better, and keep forgetting that I did so. I'm not sure if I've changed them all.
Reviews are my sustenance!
Saché