As it happened, the world already awaited the king and queen of Rohan when they arrived home. In fact, it was almost on their front doorstep. Emissaries from Gondor had arrived the previous evening, and had been anxiously awaiting Éomer's return.
"King Elessar has requests aide to his forces in repelling the remaining orc bands pestering the borders of Gondor, my lord," the first of the messengers relayed. "Our forces are stretched thin, our men exhausted, and winter will be soon upon us."
Lothíriel studied her hands, suddenly unsettled. "I was under the impression that the threat had passed," she reflected quietly, half to Éomer, half to the messengers. She knew it was an assumption many of the people also shared.
Éomer paused, then said. "The forces of darkness are resilient," he said simply.
"Yet you are not error, my lady," the second messenger assured her. "The greatest of threats is passed. As for these orcs, they are both tired and starving. My Lord Faramir's men keep them constantly on the run, but they have been at it for many weeks. The king hopes it will be a simple matter for the Rohirrim to strike at them with fresh strength and destroy them or drive them back."
"Drive them back to where, sir?" Lothíriel asked him.
"To Mordor."
"And when they strike again?" Éomer prompted. "I agree it may be a simple matter to push them far back enough for the winter, but they may spend the season in rest, as will we."
"There are plans," said the second man. "The king will guard towers to watch the Black Gate, and ensure that nothing foul may escape."
When the messengers had departed for repast, Lothíriel joined Éomer on the parapet, following his line of sight to the mountains which faced East, to Gondor. "You must be concerned," she said, "for your sister. Ithilien is so close to Mordor."
He nodded. Then, to her surprise, his face brightened. "But Éowyn is in Minas Tirith now, for her protection."
Lothíriel shared his smile. "That is relieving. Although, I understand that if any woman is capable of defending herself, it is my lady Éowyn."
He laughed warmly. "To my constant dismay, yes. Her initiative over the years has cost me several years off my life."
"But does it not put you at rest, my lord, to know that she is capable of holding her own should the need arise?"
"I suppose it does, but she has always had an eager thirst to prove herself. My wish was that she had not been so keen."
"It is strange then, that she would so easily comply being sent to the city," Lothíriel observed.
"It might seem thus, where it not for the fact that—" he broke off, that strange smile again overtaking his face.
"Yes?"
He looked at her, eyes bright. "She bears a child, Lothíriel," he said with a proud smile. He pulled a crumpled letter from his pocket, and passed it over. "This letter from Éowyn came along with Aragorn's entreaty." Lothíriel took it eagerly, anxious for news of her friend.
My dearest brother,
The autumn wanes, and so comes to a close my first summer in my new home. Do not fear for my happiness, brother. I know I have assured you of it many times, but I know your tendency to worry over me. Know only this: though winter may be coming to Ithilien, it no longer has a grip on my heart. I am more happy than ever I have been, and only want your face and the winds of Edoras to make it perfect. But certain good things must be sacrificed for others to make way for new.
I fear I must forestall a visit home, for something has transpired which will ensure my presence in Gondor for many seasons. In the spring, my Lord Faramir's house will be blessed with a son. He reminds me everyday that this child might as likely be your sister-daughter, but I feel in my heart the child is a son.
There is so much more to say, but I have not the time to set it to paper. The messenger will leave for Rohan within the hour, and I will depart for Minas Tirith, where I will wait out the winter until Ithilien is better secured. I hope that your travels will bring you here soon.
Please extend my love and greetings to my new sister.
All my love,
Éowyn
Lothíriel read the letter with mixed feelings of joy, guilt, and envy. She was thrilled for her friend, but looking once more at the look of joy and pride in her husband's eyes as she returned the letter, she was overcome by acute shame. It had been almost half a year, and still she had not come to Éomer's bed. He deserved a son of his own, and her continued diffidence was denying him that right. Watching Éomer put the letter back in his pocket, she kept her face a smooth mask with which to hide her inner turmoil.
"Lothíriel," he said, suddenly catching her gaze and holding it. He really did have striking eyes, she noted. "When the guard towers are ready to be built," he said, "I will offer the use of Rohan horses to aide in their construction. I hope by then it will be time for the child's birth. Would you—?" he paused, and tilted his head a little. "Do you think you would like to accompany me on a journey there?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed, rather more enthusiastically than she intended. "That would be lovely, Éomer. I would dearly love to see my lady Éowyn again. And perhaps my father, as well. Could not— " she hesitated, then plowed on. "Could not I come with you presently?"
He looked at her sadly. "I wish you could. But my plans carry me straight to the field of battle, and I have no intentions of lingering in Minas Tirith any longer than necessary before returning. Winter comes hard and fast in Rohan. I would like to precede it, if I can."
She hadn't really expected him to say yes, so her disappointment was mild. "Very well, my lord."
Any further conversation was forestalled by Emeí, who bustled into the room with her usual cheer. "Oh!" she exclaimed, upon finding the King where she hadn't left him. "Your Highness," she said, giving a quick and perfunctory curtsey. Then she strode over to Lothíriel, a thin volume in her hand. "Is this the one you spoke of, my lady?" she asked, extending it.
As the day progressed, Lothíriel felt increasingly unsettled. Éomer, his marshals, and the Gondorian men were making hasty plans for several battalions of the éohere, to make for Ithilien the following morning. Whenever Lothíriel thought of her husband's departure, she felt a strange, inexplicable sadness. This feeling was subtle, but consistent.
That night, as she lay awake and restless in her chamber, she determined the reason. As she tried to imagine life at Edoras with Éomer away, she began to realize how much she'd come to count on his presence here. He was a constant, if nothing else, and her friend, if nothing more.
He should be more. He was her husband, and a good man. He was strong for his people, and just. She enjoyed watching him ride— he was like poetry. So fluid. She liked it when he gave her those small smiles, like one they'd shared earlier today, when Emeí had amused them with one of her stories. Kind eyes, like smoldering coals, intent and piercing, yet sometimes they would spark just so...
Lothíriel blushed a little, and smiled into her pillow, glad that no one could see her now. Emeí and the other maids were sleeping soundly, leaving Lothíriel to ponder her restlessness in solitude.
She would miss those things. She would miss him. Since the Fords, she was strangely free from her fears— of loneliness, of loss.
No, she would not miss him because he would leave her alone, but simply because he would be gone.
Do you love him?
She sighed, and turned over again, thinking hard. She didn't know yet. But there was something different about this uncertainty. Something easier about it than there had been before. Now it was tinged with hope. She'd always believed she could not love him as she had his cousin, but truthfully, she'd never given the possibility a real chance. Perhaps in fact she could. It was possible to learn to love, wasn't it?
With a suddenness that surprised her, she sat up straight in the bed, a wild determination suddenly springing up inside her. She slid off the bed quietly, so as not to wake her companions, and felt the softness of the deer-hide throw under her feet. Everything was dark and silent, giving her the feeling she was the only waking person in Edoras. Yet, somehow, she knew this was not so.
It was only a short walk to the king's chambers. She knocked on his door as quietly as she dared, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest. She only hoped he was alone. It wasn't that late, and he and his counselors might well still be planning the journey.
The door edged open. "Lothíriel?" Éomer asked quietly, opening it a little wider and stepping out to her. "What is it? Is something wrong?"
"My lord, I..." she swallowed, suddenly paralyzed.
"Yes?" he prompted, still clearly concerned that something was wrong.
"I just wanted to tell you that... I wish you did not have to go away," she managed, in a small voice. She made an intent study of a knothole in the doorpost and would not meet his eyes.
He reached out and gently touched her cheek with his hand. "I wish that too," he said quietly. Then he pulled her into a soft embrace. Lothíriel relaxed against him, and something seemed to break inside of her. Was it relief? For just a moment, she felt utterly safe and unafraid. She buried her face in his shoulder and sighed a long and heavy sigh, which seemed to drain a good portion of her tension.
They stood like that for several long moments. When she finally looked up, her stomach flipped a little, for she met his eyes, and found there a hunger she'd never before seen. It was terribly strong, yet it did not frighten her. He seemed to be bearing the weight of a terrible internal struggle, his desire to have her and his desire to respect her at painful odds. She thought of her newfound resolve, and met his gaze with long, steady calm that she hoped would give him assurance that words never could. When at last he gently lowered his face to hers, she made no move to discourage him.
It felt strange to kiss him. After so many months of polite, superficial marriage, awkward was really the only way to describe her initial reaction. She didn't really count the first time, as panic had overridden everything else, but this time she would not allow it. She was nervous, certainly, especially when his hands slid up her back and entwined into her hair, till he found her shoulders and gently coaxed her closer.
It was slow at first. Slow and savoring. Months of restraint on his part and timidity on hers still lay unspoken in the air, and she got the feeling he was holding back, not wanting to overpower her. Éomer, King of the Mark, was a man of great strength on so many levels, but he was master of that power. He controlled it. And now he controlled it for her. The thought was thrilling.
The longer she encouraged him, however, the more passionate he became. Her senses began to get heady. Love or no love, she was still a woman, after all, and the desire could be every bit as strong.
Fortunately, for Lothíriel, she was his wife.
"My lord," she whispered, breaking off to meet his gaze. "Éomer."
His breath was fast and hot so close to her face. "Yes?" he asked, his voice thick. Even now, she could see sudden disappointment lighting up behind his eyes. She was quick to reassure him with a smile, though a resulting blush made her look away for a moment. "Well," she said softly, looking around at the empty corridor, "do you not think we should go inside?"
That caught him by surprise. He too looked around, noting the open doorway and stifled a sudden laugh, which was no mean feat, considering the way his voice tended to carry. Lothíriel giggled in return, and soon they were both laughing like children, desperately trying to keep it quiet. This went on until she didn't think she could breathe anymore, until he kissed her again, and then, for a moment, she did stop breathing.
"Are you sure?" he asked her quietly when he pulled away again.
Customary inward inhibitions threatened to overtake her for half a heartbeat, but she stubbornly beat them down. They had no place, and more than anything, for the first time, she wanted them to just go away.
"Yes," she whispered, keeping all traces of hesitation from her voice, or anything that may have been mistaken for it. "Yes, I'm sure."
He said nothing else, only reached down to pick her off her feet, lifting her into his arms as though she were as light as a newborn fawn. Then he carried her into the room and shut the door behind them.
The early morning air carried with it strong traces of autumn chill, as the winds from the mountains came whipping over Medueselde. The valley below still lay in shadows; the sun had not yet crested the surrounding peaks, but a glowing ring of light hovered over everything like a golden halo. Soon, the beams of light would penetrate the valley, and the Golden Hall would shine— a thing of beauty worthy of a poet's song.
Éomer often found himself awake and vigilant at this hour, awaiting this special moment of the day. Sometimes he would ride out early, to see the Hall from afar. Sometimes he would watch from the threshold of the Hall, marveling at the vision of his ancestors, when they had conceptualized the building of their country's great seat.
Today he watched from his wide chamber window.
Clad only in light breeches, he paid little heed to the chill. It would pass soon enough, and his thoughts were occupied with warmer things. Fresh, beautiful, and very warm things.
He turned for a moment from the window, glancing back at the slender form lying asleep in his bed— the peaceful figure of his wife. He'd been doing it nearly every minute since he'd awakened, feeling a need to reassure himself that she was really there, that the previous night had not been a fantastic dream his weary mind had conjured for itself.
She seemed, somehow, even more beautiful this way than she did waking. Perhaps it was because the sorrow she carried with her was temporarily lifted from her face. She appeared content and at rest.
He had loved her long, this Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. It had begun as compassion, for his heart shared in her mourning when she spoke of his cousin. That much they had always shared, even from the beginning. Théodred had been like a brother to him. The course of his life had completely shifted everything he'd ever envisioned for himself. He should have been Théodred's marshal, his right hand. Instead, he found himself sitting upon his cousin's throne, married to the woman his cousin had loved. It had not been easy on either of them.
The awkwardness of this situation had long held his feelings at compassion only. Before long, however, compassion began to slowly grow into a deep, intense respect and admiration. He began to see in Lothíriel the same strength he'd always recognized in Éowyn, which had not at first been evident, for it manifested itself very differently. Éowyn's strength had always seemed like a stream after heavy rainfall in spring— rushing, frothing, swift, and determined. She had longed and succeeded to affect her surroundings, to change things, to initiate. Lothíriel, on the other hand, was a deeping pool— quiet, steady, teeming with life and hidden depths.
Admiration had progressed to friendship, and friendship— with rather alarming speed- to love, at least on his part. Clearly solely on his part, for though they had formed a tentative connection of sorts, her hesitance was still evident in everything she did. He began to ache for her love, but he could not compel it.
It had almost been a relief, this request for aide from Aragorn. He would be eager to help both the king and his newfound brother, eager to occupy his hands and his mind with something other than his lonely heart. Though there was plenty still to be done at Edoras, Lothíriel's proximity there kept her almost constantly in his thoughts. The idea of perhaps escaping her by means of distance was appealing, though part of him had doubted this would be successful.
What a surprise it had been, therefore, to open his door the previous evening and see her standing there, looking frightened and beautiful in the dim, flickering light of evening torches, bringing with her a confession. She did not want him to leave. She would miss him. A shred of newfound hope blazed inside him and he'd embraced it eagerly, just as he'd stepped out to embrace her, almost terrified that she would flee him.
She hadn't. She had let him in, for whatever reason. He'd read her eyes perfectly. Too long they'd been lonely together, isolating themselves needlessly. It had taken a good portion of willpower to hold back the flood of pent up longing when he had kissed her. She had long seemed to him like a new bird, ready to begin flying, but still needing a measure of guidance and protection. The longer he held her, though, the more he began to realize that his little bird had somehow acquired a new confidence, and that she was far stronger than he'd been giving her credit for.
He still was not assured of her love, and he knew he needed it still, but she had given him hope. Without that, he never would have succumbed to the passion inside him, carrying her into his rooms, into a bed that had been so long a solitary place. Their mutual discovery had been slow, sweet, and tender, and even now he reveled in the fresh memories of her- the softness of her lips, the scent of her hair, the feel of her fingers on his face, gazing up at him...
The rising sun at last conquered the sheath of mountains, spilling golden light into the far reaches of the shadowed hollows, but this time the King of the Mark did not observe, for his attention was once again transfixed by a more novel beauty. At last, he turned and disregarded the vista before him altogether, making his way over to the bedside. He stood there, staring down at her in fascination for a very long time, watching the rise and fall of her quiet breathing and the flutter of lashes against smooth cheeks. At length, he stooped down beside her, almost hesitantly brushing away a few straying strands of dark hair from her face, a gesture he'd longed before to make, but had never dared.
"I love you," he whispered, letting his fingertips linger in her hair a moment before he stood, reluctantly forcing himself to focus on the arduous journey he must undertake within the hour.
He dressed himself speedily, but quietly, and she did not stir. He was very nearly ready to venture at last back into the wider world, when a furious, frantic pounding suddenly jolted him out of his peaceful mood.
"My lord," called a muffled voice from the other side of the door, and he recognized it instantly as Emeí's voice. She sounded quite panicked. "My lord, please, come quickly."
In three strides he had reached the door and opened it, mystified at what could be troubling her. "Emeí, what is the matter?"
She was breathing hard as she replied. "My lady queen," she began. "She is missing, my lord. She was not in her chambers this morning, and no one has seen her. I've searched high and low, my lord, she's nowhere to be found."
Éomer stifled a laugh, for he had the feeling poor Emeí would not take kindly to such a gesture. Instead he smiled a little, hoping to mollify the girl quickly. "Queen Lothíriel is here, Emeí," he assured her. "But please be quiet, she is resting yet. I do not wish that you should wake her."
The girl's eyes widened in unmistakable, unexpected surprise. She blinked a couple of times, and finally managed a small, abashed, "Oh." Another moment's digestion of this news yielded an even more embarrassed expression on her face. "Very well, my lord," she muttered, stepping away. "I'll just be seeing to my lady's wardrobe, then." Without another word, she turned heel and scampered, as if nothing was so important as being somewhere else as quickly as possible.
Éomer closed the door and turned, chuckling. When he glanced back at Lothíriel, he found her awake, watching him sleepily. Apparently, Emeí's outburst had indeed been enough to waken her.
"Good morning," he said with a nod and a small smile, not quite sure what else should be said.
"Good morning," she replied in kind, her voice very soft, and her smile very shy. This was followed by a deep blush, and she turned her gaze away, burying her face in the pillow, despite the fact that she was still smiling. It was endearing that she would still blush, despite the course of the night's discoveries.
He was quick to occupy himself with activity, hoping to dispel her discomfort. At the foot of the bed was a large trunk, and he stepped over, opened it, and pulled out a large dressing gown that he rarely used. "Here is this, if you're cold," he offered gently, handing it over to her.
"Thank you," she said shyly. Her own dressing gown was still a puddle of cloth on the floor beside them, but it was much thinner than he liked for the chill of the morning. He turned away as she robed herself, a gesture not unlike her blushing, he realized. Long habits of modesty made their presence know more insistently in the daylight, it seemed. "You must away soon, my lord?" she asked when she'd finished.
"Yes," he replied shortly. "I imagine the men are nearly assembled by now. Eothain is a capable captain. He's probably wondering what is keeping me."
"I doubt he suspects my interference, my lord," she replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, though she did not look at him.
He smiled, "Maybe not yet," he agreed. "But I'm afraid I cannot linger. I must be gone."
She nodded, and looked up to catch his eyes with her own, the words of the previous night still being spoken there. She would still miss him.
He took a hesitant step toward her. He did not feel confident, even now, that any initiative on his part would be welcome. But she did not shy away. He did not embrace her when he kissed her. Her arms were crossed against her body, his at his sides. It was short and soft, almost chaste. It felt to him like a promise. Not a confession, necessarily, but a promise of hope.
I will try, it said.
Hope. It would be his gift during the cold journey ahead, one he was now not quite so eager to undertake, but his heart was lighter than it had been for some long time.
Replies:
EruntaleofRohan- Lothíriel felt release, more than anything else, I think. I think we all experience it at various times in our lives, and it comes in all shapes and circumstances.
Moryan- Forget Me Not is going to come slowly, because it's getting into the actiony part of the story, and I'm traditionally very fuzzy with that kind of writing. LOL. As for sequels, this story will not have one, but FMN may. It depends on a couple of factors.
Jazzcat- Your review is so long, I have trouble what all deciding to comment on. LOL. So I'll jump on this: your feelings on autumn. I have only question. Have you seen the movie The Village? If not, I highly recommend it. First off, it's not a movie about monsters in the woods. I love it and I hate horror movies. LOL. More importantly, though, it has one of the most exquisite soundtracks known to man. And I've always described the music as sounding like autumn. It's… haunting and gorgeous and innocent all at the same time. Honestly, I can't even describe it. You just have to check it out. Even if you're not interested in the film, beg, borrow, or steal the soundtrack somewhere. Thank you so much for your detailed review!
Elwen of Lorien- Yeah, I think a lot of people need that closure.
LothírielofRohan- You seem as though you care enough about Legolas as a character (as opposed to a hunk of Bloomage- lol) that I'm sure your story comes over well.
Deandra- Thanks for the great review! Originality is a terribly appreciated compliment, lol. And it won't be but a couple more chapters before you can read it as a whole.
smor- Well, I certainly hope you enjoyed said quick update. Mwuahaha!
starnat- Thanks. The war changed people and circumstances, that much is for sure.
lsoa- wow, your favorite, huh? Dang. And here I thought it almost felt like a cop-out. LOL Thank you!
CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur- She pretty much ran the gamut, didn't she? Heh. Thanks!
Tracey- No problem. I'm just happy to finally be getting to the best parts of this little tale. :-P
Lady ot Rings- well, you're welcome! I think Lothíriel feels much better now.
KaterineKasdorf- Well, how very nice of you to drop by! The play I just finished was The Taming of the Shrew. I played Baptista, who, for our purposes, we changed to a woman. It was terrific fun. I'm a Bardaholic, as they say, involved in a fledgling little troupe called the Ohio Youth Shakespeare Festival. So far we've done Midsummer, Much Ado, and now Shrew. Next year they will be doing Twelfth Night and the Tempest. I probably won't get to be an actor because I've reached the age limit for "youth" involvement, but I'll probably help direct, which will be fun.
Taima1- By "meant-to-be" did you mean you didn't like the thought of our princess in love with someone else? LOL Well, I purposely kept the identity of the "other" in my summary because I was hoping it'd surprise people. Thanks for checking out the story. I'm glad you like it.
Linnath - Nice catch on the canon line. I was hoping someone would enjoy it.
Ramarama- I want one too. I've always wanted one. ;-)
wondereye- hmmn. Perhaps I should have just gone ahead and called that chapter "closure" huh? LOL. Thanks for the review!
Kay50- Thanks!
Crimson- E'en at hand, my friend! Nice timing. ;-)
A/N: I have a traditional habit of skipping ahead and writing the parts I most want to write in my stories long before they're due, and so it was in this case. This chapter was the first ever to be written, and has actually gone through very little change since then. The scene from Éomer's point of view, has always been a favorite of mine. It was written at a very emotional juncture in my life, and even I can see the influence. In any case, the reason I wanted to bring it up is because it may seem as though some of Éomer's thoughts are a bit redundant, but I just couldn't bring myself to touch it. I'm so used to it the way it is, and hey, this is fanfic. Mwuahaha.
Everyone enjoy! I'm hoping the next update will be in two or three weeks. In the meantime, all you Harry Potter fans have as much fun as I'm planning on having this weekend. (bounces about impatiently). Later!
Saché