Year 3016 of the Third Age
Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, was astonished in late September to receive as his guest Prince Théodred of Rohan, but more so when the intent behind the prince's visit was disclosed.
"It is my joy and honor—" he began, raising a glass and addressing his court at banquet that evening, "— my very unexpected honor—" he added, looking at Lothíriel amusedly, causing everyone to laugh, "—to give my blessing to this union. May it be fruitful and prosperous, full of long love and joy. To Dol Amroth and to Rohan!" His cry was echoed by the court, and Lothíriel's smile was almost as bright as the light in her eyes.
"It is good to have something to celebrate," Imrahil continued privately after everyone had taken their seats and the court was distracted by the banquet. "We have had precious little but dark news from all parts of the world of late." He smiled fondly at Lothíriel. "Though it will be heartache to send you so far away, daughter." He looked at Théodred. "When mean you to marry, my lord? Though I mean to have some say in the matter," he added with a chuckle.
Théodred was less mirthful. "Alas," he said rather wistfully, "I fear our marriage may not take place for some time," he said, looking at Lothíriel with sadness.
Lothíriel returned the gaze, puzzled. "My lord?" she queried. She had assumed, with her father's blessing, that the wedding would take place within the year, likely next summer. At least she had been planning as much in her own mind.
Théodred's eyes alternated between her and her father as he spoke. "The darkness you have spoken of, Imrahil, has touched Rohan in very evil ways. I would rest much easier if Lothíriel were kept safely in Dol Amroth until the danger has passed."
At once Lothíriel sensed the formation of a battle line, with the two men she loved most in the world allied against her on the opposing side. "And how long might that be?" she asked carefully.
The men exchanged grave expressions. "I do not know," Théodred confessed. "It may be for some years."
"Years?" she echoed, perhaps too quickly, but there was no use hiding her surprise at his casual use of the word.
"Daughter," Imrahil interjected, "if the prince thinks the situation too dangerous in his own country, perhaps it is best if you—"
"Father," she began in gentle protest, "danger will always be a reality of life. I would not let this evil triumph over us by denying us our happiness for so indefinite a time."
"There will be war, Lothíriel," Théodred argued, his voice rising ever so slightly, but Lothíriel's own ire was beginning to be piqued.
"There will be war everywhere," she challenged, catching the two men in her gaze. By now, she could sense the eyes of her brothers and Adlóriel upon them, quietly and surreptitiously. "You think I am ignorant of this?"
"But Dol Amroth is far safer than any city in Gondor. This you know," Imrahil said.
"And there are other dangers," Théodred continued. "I would not bring you to Edoras now, were all the armies of men on my heels."
"And am I only to be queen of Rohan in times of ease?"
"What I speak of is of a singular, sinister sort."
"But why will you not tell me what it is?" Lothíriel asked. Though she did not shout, the hardness of her voice had by now caught the attention of nearly the whole room.
"Daughter—" her father tried to begin again.
"No," she cut him short. She took a quick, frustrated breath and rose as calmly as her agitated state would allow. "Pardon me, father. I require some air, if you please. And if my opinion matters not in this conversation—" she began, but did not finish. A moment later, she turned and walked stiffly out of the room, shoulders tense.
Lothíriel knew from pride and instinct that Théodred would follow. The evening breeze carried the tang of salt, and whipped her skirts more forcefully than she'd expected. A storm was coming, and the wind did nothing to sooth or lessen her frustration.
She did not weep, not even in anger. To do so would have been both cowardly and indolent, and she'd always despised women who used tears to manipulate men. Her mother had taught her as much.
"Lothíriel."
She turned, eyes accusing. He'd practically come on her heels. "You said that in Rohan you do not believe in protecting a woman through ignorance," she said. "You said that, Théodred."
"I did," he confessed.
"Then why will you not tell me!" she implored, raising her voice to be heard over a sudden gust of wind.
"A man's ideals become less clear when it comes to those he loves most," Théodred said, as quietly as their surroundings would allow. Lothíriel was strangely pleased that he did not bother denying his hypocrisy.
She turned to look out over the bay. The horizon could not be seen, only a massive, roiling pitch of grey. "I do not want to wait forever to marry you, Théodred. I will go mad with the uncertainty."
He stepped near. She could feel his breath atop her hair. "Then I will marry you here, and now, if that is what you wish. If only you will stay here where it is safe."
Lothíriel paused a long time, still and frozen, continuing to stare at the raging sea. It was tempting. So very tempting. But she'd always believed there was a time and place for pride, and this was one of them.
"No," she said firmly, finally looking him in the eye. "No, I will not become queen of a country I have never seen, nor of a people who know me not, and live safe as you say while they must tremble in the shadow of war."
His eyes filled with strange respect as she spoke, though he seemed sad. "But you will stay?" he finally asked.
"I will stay."
He took her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. "The agony will be great for me, as well, my love. But you have become my ray of hope in these dark times."
"Théodred?"
"Yes?"
"What is this evil that haunts your eyes and your spirit? Why will you not share it with me? What is it that befalls Théoden King?" His eyes widened in surprise, and she added, "Yes, I know they are nearly one and the same."
A moment of hesitation seized upon his features, but finally they closed once more. "You do have a right to know," he said at last. "But Lothíriel, please do not make me tell you. For my sake if not for yours. Let it be as a gift to me. I would be most grateful."
There was very little Lothíriel could do to fight against such a persuasion. Her love was young and her willingness to please very great. And so she yielded, and together they resumed their places at her father's table before the rain fell on the castle of Dol Amroth.
But the ache in her heart did not go away.
Lothíriel awoke shivering, partly from the cold, but partly from restlessness. She sat up quickly, disoriented in the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to remember where she was and how she'd gotten here.
A midnight breeze rippled on the heavy, coarse fabric of the tent where she slept and she remembered in a rush— she was in a campsite somewhere in the middle of the Rohan plains, and it was freezing.
"Lothíriel." The sound of Éomer's voice a few feet away in the darkness startled her, and she turned towards it reflexively. He must have come after she'd fallen asleep. She could not see his face, only a shadow more sharply congealed than its surroundings. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No— nothing," she stammered, and reached down for the nearest of her blankets, wrapping it around her shoulders. "My dreams were uneasy."
"Why?"
Éomer's tone was distant, formal, and precise, as it had been for all the course of this strange day. Indeed, he had hardly spoken at all. Lothíriel was not sure how to conduct herself around him, but she had the feeling she wouldn't know until they arrived at the place where he was taking her. He would not tell her where, and neither would he allow his men to do so. All she knew was that they rode west, every so often bearing gradually northwest as well. The only landmark of note that she knew of in this direction was Isenguard, or what remained of it.
It was very hard for Lothíriel to make the confession that spilled from her lips at Éomer's question. "Before I slept this night," she began slowly, carefully searching for each word before speaking it, "I remembered the night I was formally betrothed to Théodred."
"It must have been a joyful time."
Still distant. It was as if the progress they had made over the past few months had been washed away.
"It was," she said. "But we also quarreled."
"Why?"
It was so easy for him to utter that one small question, Lothíriel decided, with something close to annoyance. And so difficult for her to answer. "He would not tell me why he feared bringing me to Edoras."
This time the silence was not awkward, but full of a strange, mutual understanding. "I promised to tell you," Éomer said at last. By now, Lothíriel's eyes had tuned themselves to the moonlight, and she could see him a little better.
"You did," she affirmed, nodding vigorously.
He sighed heavily. "It is not so long a tale, in reality," he at last confessed. "His name was Gríma, son of Galmod, Wormtongue of Rohan." Éomer's voice carried an echo of severest betterment, and a chill shivered through Lothíriel.
"I have heard of one they called Wormtongue," she said quietly, "but is not much spoken of."
"It wouldn't be. Those of us who witnessed his corruption would do all we could to forget it, though perhaps that is not altogether wise. I would loathe for it to happen again."
Lothíriel rested her head on his knees and waited for him to continue. "He was blessed with a gift of words," Éomer said. "A brilliant scholar, an orator. He could have done great things for our people, but his heart and spirit were as frail as his body. In my mind, I believe it was envy that first drove him to darkness. Envy of the glory of the éohere, of the great ride. He was sickly in his childhood and so was barred from these things. So he sought a form of twisted revenge, perhaps without even realizing it was revenge.
"Gríma allowed him to be swayed by the enticements of Saruman and become a spy against his own people. With evil draughts and even more poisonous words he stole the mind of my uncle, turning Théoden king into a mirror of Gríma himself— feeble, sickly, weak of mind.
"Then he began to rule Edoras from behind the shelter of the throne. They were dark times, Lothíriel. Fear and confusion were our masters. We understood not what had befallen the proud and mighty Théoden, once a shining example of strength and valor. But we loved him still and did not wish to betray him. The double-speaking worm had been subtle, and it was some time before we realized the full extent of his treachery.
"I do not believe Théodred feared for your life in keeping you away. But he did fear for your joy, and the unrest you might have suffered if you came to Edoras in those times."
Lothíriel was amazed. "So the king's vexation was not of natural cause," she said, voicing her sad wonderment. "A dark circumstance indeed."
"There is more," Éomer continued, his voice even blacker than before. "With his eyes and his steps Gríma haunted the life of my sister, making her a prisoner in her own home. And I could do nothing to help her," he spat into the darkness. "I knew not what to do but ride to battle and try to defend her from afar with my sword." The pain and regret in Éomer's voice stirred Lothíriel's heart with sympathy. "I should have been there more," he said at last. "Théodred was right to keep you away. I would have sent Éowyn away if I could, but she was bound by love to my uncle and even I could not break that bond.
"This is why Théodred told no one in Rohan of your betrothal. Gríma never knew of it. Could never hang it over our heads or use it in any way to influence Théodred. And though we did not know it at the time, neither could he have informed Saruman."
"I am sorry, Éomer, that you were all forced to endure such a trial."
"Had it not been for Gríma," Éomer said slowly, and turned to look at her, "Théodred might never have died."
Éomer's tale caused Lothíriel's heart to mourn, but despite the pain, she found in the mourning a strange healing release. It was a comfort to finally understand the mysterious secret of her beloved that had been so long kept from her. She was silent for an hour afterward, lost in her own thoughts and reflections. Éomer seemed to sense her need for solitude, and did not speak.
But when the night grew colder, and her shivers stronger, he wrapped her silently in his arms, warming her both with his body and the comfort of another grieving, healing soul.
Replies:
katemary77- Not soon enough of an update, I know. But I do my best.
lsoa- You certainly know your Rohan history, my friend.
Moryan- Thanks for all your compliments, not only here but in my Star Wars stories. I hope your vacation was enjoyable, since I guess you'll probably not get to read this until you come back.
Lady ot Rings - A thousand thanks for your patience with the updates. You have no idea how appreciated it is.
wondereye - Imrahil hasn't been back since the wedding, no. And he certainly won't come now. It's almost winter. But I imagine he'll try to visit every few years. She is his only daughter, after all. But he does have his own country to run.
hannah - Hope the wait wasn't too terribly long.
Esawian - Thanks.
Blue Eyes At Night - LOL! I think that was about my reaction too.
Jazzcat - You do know you can post anonymously if you want, right? Then you won't have to search desperately for an unposted chapter. I think you must be out of them by now. LOL. Not that I'm complaining, mind. Your reviews are tons of fun. To answer your question, this is purely book canon, as shall become evident in the next chapter. Théodred's age is another indicator. However, Karl Urban has much to do with inspiration, so the movie gets its own kudos too. ;-)
kati58 - Yes, yes. I'm still addicted to fanvids. Well, I'm not quite sure how to cure myself, to be honest. But eventually I get guilty enough to tear myself away and write for a while, as you can see. But fear not. The story won't go on forever!
smor - She's not nuts, she's… confused. Yes, confused. ;-) The Amelia revision is going splendidly. I'm alternating working on it right along with everything else and it's about 2/3 done, I think. I'm so happy with it, and when it's finished I'm going to repost it in regular installments whilst I begin working on its sequel.
Shallindra - I've been… around. Lazy, true. But around. I write slowly these days. I do apologize if I seem inattentive. I do appreciate all you wonderful readers.
Iluvien - But whatever can you mean? They are together, aren't they? faceinnocent. Yeah, okay, I'll shut up. LOL
Tracey - Oooh, a cubicle! That's funny. Reminds me of Dilbert. LOL. Yes, more research. Speaking of the leatherwork though, I think I finally had an idea how to tie off that plot element in the last couple of chapters, which is good because I didn't want it to dangle forever…. Oh, and I'm sure Éomer appreciates your advice.
Elwen of Lorien - They are going to… mysterious place to the west. Actually, if you skim some of your fellow readers' speculations, it's pretty easy to determine.
MexicanDevil-RoadCrew - Okay, let's just get one thing straight. Éomer does not have a bit on the side. LOL. No self-respecting paragon LotR man does, imho. But your first guesses were pretty spot on.
Terreis - Gaerwyn just liked being the boss before Lothíriel came along. LOL. She'll get over it eventually. And kree-ing your muses was the funniest thing I'd heard all day when I got your review, I'll have you know. (wipes tears). Once, in a stage production of 'Miracle on 34th Street' my friend David accidentally said Christmas Kree instead of Christmas Tree. My friend Tirzah and I were giggling hysterically (and silently from the wings).
Ramarama - This is the whole reason I had to show what a fun and wonderful guy Théodred was through flashbacks. So that the readers could at least to some extent sympathize with Lothíriel's emotional paralysis.
Eokat - LOL. Yes, I think they're closer than everyone seems to believe. Really, have my readers no faith? ;-)
Alora - Thank you. Kisses are tricky things to handle in writing, sometimes.
Peachy Papayas - You sure nailed it with the 'one step forward, two steps back' analogy. In fact, Lothíriel rather does the same in this chapter, as you might have noted.
fandun - Well, I can't object to a review that quotes the Bard, though I might have preferred a less vicious quote. (shields face) I'm sorry! I'm sorry! LOL And ooh! Dalliance. Cool word!
Faerchithiel - Writer of Rohan… (snicker) That still gets me. Moving on, as best I can, I assure you. It's really, truly getting there.
EruntaleofRohan - I think it's finally dawned on Éomer that Lothíriel never had the closure that most people benefit from with a formal funeral or memorial. She was in Dol Amroth for all of that, whatever they might have done in Rohan.
Estel la Rodeuse - Yes, Éomer's practically achieving sainthood with her, I know. LOL
Banui Rochon - Welcome to this, eh… plodding little tale. LOL. And you're snitch-and-snitch-back system with your dad sounds very familiar to us around here. My dad and I have a similar system. Aye, Loreena is one of my favorites. The live album is actually the only one I don't have.
starnat - Hmmn. I wouldn't say Lothíriel feels nothing. She does feel something and this confuses and frightens her, and makes her freeze up.
Randirien - Well, I always appreciate reader ideas, believe me. In this case, I know what's going to happen in my mind, so it was unnecessary, but thank you all the same. The line about the tree was cute.
jennieren - I'm glad the style grew on you despite your many attempts to get my fic started. LOL. I'm no one to talk. I still have never managed to finish reading the Silmarillion.
camlann - Thank you and welcome!
LothirielofRohan - All your individual reviews were such a treat, thank you! And your problem about nonexistent men is one we all share, yes. LOL. And don't feel bad. Most of us want to smack Lothíriel upside the head too. ;-)
Katya - Road trip. Heheee!
Angel St. Mathew - Thanks for your wonderful compliments, and sorry that the 'very soon' part of the update didn't really pan out. LOL
A/N: Well, you know the drill. Sorry it took so long, and I daresay it will take so long again next time. At least you're forewarned. However, I can promise this story's near completion. Four, perhaps five more chapters and an epilogue.
Until next time!
Saché