Éomer had not been mistaken about the swift onset of winter. Two months after he and his companies had departed, the valley plains began to be encrusted with thick frost each morning, and Emeí assured Lothíriel that the snows were not far behind. For Lothíriel, the bitter chill was particularly difficult to bear. Her homeland, so far to the south, boasted far warmer winters in comparison, with very little snow, and certainly nothing that caused Lothíriel to stay buried beneath the covers in the morning, reluctant to emerge until the fire had been banked and she could feel its heat. After many long mornings spent thus, she finally yielded to her pride and began sleeping in Éomer's vacant chamber.
She tried to assure herself that this action was only because of the cold. The fact that the room beckoned as a place of comfort and warm memories, and that she had secretly been desiring to return there all along surely had nothing to do with it. After all, the windows faced full east, allowing the sun to stream within each morning, capturing what little warmth was to be had. The fire was larger, and closer to the bed, and burned longer into the night. On the other hand, she could not for the life of her to convince Emeí or any of the other ladies to share the chamber with her, being that it belonged to the King, so the bed itself took quite some time to warm up. She found, however, that with a bed to herself no one had any objections to her sleeping with Froilas, so the pup became her clandestine nightly companion.
The first night was strange. Although Éomer had been gone for many long weeks, the flickering shadows mingled with firelight upon the ceiling kindled memories that heated her more completely than any bedfellow could have done… except the one who had caused them. The memories were not unwelcome. Strong arms, confident hands, beautiful tenderness… her king had certainly made an unexpected impression.
His scent lingered in the bedclothes. There were touches of him scattered through the room. Spare clothing and armor. Scattered maps and reports pertaining to Rohan. A currycomb and a bridle tossed idly onto a chest beneath a window. These last caused Lothíriel to smile, and she brushed her fingertips over them, remembering the grace and motion of the horse and rider they belonged to.
Then there was the most lasting memory of all. Tentative fingers brushing her hair. She had lain stock still, sensing his breathing and his presence, for some reason unwilling to intrude upon his reverie. Callused fingers with gentle intent, and then a whisper, a confession of love, so unpretentious and heartfelt. How had he not heard the way her heart had suddenly sped up inside her at these words? These words that now ran through her waking thoughts without ceasing, and carried into her dreams themselves. When had Éomer of Rohan quietly stolen away a piece of her heart? How had it come upon her so completely unawares?
Lothíriel was put in mind of the morning glories that grew upon the walls of her father's castle. Each dawn they were tightly closed, hidden from the world, refusing to exhibit their beauty. Then, with a simple touch of the sun, they would open, eagerly and swiftly, utterly changed and transformed. That was how she felt now. With a kiss and a touch and an absence, Éomer had become her sunshine, and now her face was turned toward him, and she could barely think of anything but his return.
When he returned, she resolved, she would confess to him all these things— this healing in her heart, this love she now realized she carried for him. It was so different from her love for Théodred, like sleeping embers rather than a heated flare, embers being turned and coaxed into a strong and lasting fire. It was neither better nor worse— simply different. It had come upon her softly and slowly.
Had she refused Éomer's suit, would she ever have had the chance to discover it? She found this question strangely frightening, and she chose not to dwell upon it, but was grateful that her choice had been made as it had. There were other fears more worthy of her attention. The days continued to grow colder, and still Éomer had not returned. She watched for him every evening from the pinnacle of the golden hall, facing longingly to the east until the stars shone, either clear or veiled by clouds.
On one such night, the clouds were particularly heavy and dark and brassy. Lothíriel shivered with Froilas at her side until at last Emeí came out to find her, worried and scolding.
"You must come inside now, my lady. I have your meal hot and prepared. You must keep warm or you will get ill. You are unaccustomed to our winter."
Lothíriel sighed regretfully towards the distant horizon once more and allowed herself to be led away. As they stepped around the corner, Emeí turned to scrutinize the clouds of her own accord. She paused, studied them thoughtfully for a moment with knowing eyes, and took a deep, testing breath. "It will snow tonight," she said at last.
They resumed their way indoors.
Five days on the road from Minas Tirith, Éomer's men expressed a wish to press for Edoras with all speed, forgoing a fifth night of breaking camp. He could understand their desire for haste. In cold this bitter, a bedroll was little more comfortable than a saddle, and the horses had been well-rested in Gondor. Éomer too was anxious to be home, eager to bundle away for the duration of the winter, eager to lay eyes upon his wife. And so he had easily agreed to their request.
It was now well past midnight, and the fields and gullies around him were becoming increasingly familiar. Éomer knew every mile of his country, but the hills and plains around Edoras he could have navigated with his eyes closed. Within half an hour, the city would be in sight. He wondered for the first time the prudence of arriving at this unseasonable time of night, but dismissed the notion, deciding that it would be a good means to test the alertness of his sentinels.
The clouds were pregnant with snow. He could smell it in the air, and knew it wasn't likely that they would reach Edoras before the first flakes fell. Just as well that they had ridden ahead, then. A snowstorm might have delayed their journey even further.
He reflected on the success of the campaign as his eyes strained ahead for a first glimpse of the darkened hall, though he knew he wouldn't be able to see it yet. As he'd predicted to Lothíriel, the starving, feral orc bands had been easy enough to drive back, but they'd had to drive them far. The chase had been long and wearying, but at last Faramir had determined the distance sufficient to keep Ithilien safe for the winter.
The respite in Minas Tirith, though brief, had been enjoyable. Éowyn was aglow with a new radiance, one that caused him great wonder. He hadn't thought it possible that she would show greater happiness than he'd seen in her on her wedding day, but now he was proven wrong.
He'd confided to her how things fared with Lothíriel—all the awkwardness, the distance, then the burgeoning friendship, and the recent, unexpected developments which gave him hope. These had caused her to smile. "I do not see how she will not come to love you, brother, in her own time. You must have patience."
"Is there nothing more I can do?" he'd asked, insistent. "Is there nothing more I can say to her? You know I am not a man of idleness, Éowyn, I—"
She'd stopped his lips with a firm hand. "Patience," she repeated, smiling. "You have done enough. You are yourself, my wonderful and noble brother. Believe me. It is enough."
Her words troubled him, not because he did not understand them, but because he did not know from whence she had such certainty. He finally determined that it was one of those mysteries concerning women he would never understand.
It had been good to spend time with Faramir and Aragorn, as well. Between them, the two men had been solidifying their plans for the fortification of Gondor's wildest borders. Aragorn was determined that the peace they'd fought so hard for would not be foolishly taken for granted. When Éomer had expressed his desire to bring Lothíriel to Gondor for the birth of the child, the suggestion had been met with enthusiasm on all fronts.
As enjoyable as the time had been, however, the imminent threat of winter and a longing for home had pressed Éomer and his companies to make for home, and they departed a mere two days after arriving in the White City. Now they found themselves with less than a league to go, and despite the nighttime shroud, Éomer could recognize the familiar hulk of Edoras in the distance. He smiled and urged Firefoot onward, hastening the pace as the first flakes of snow began drifting down from the clouds above.
Lothíriel sat up with a gasp when the sentinel's cry pierced the silent night. For a moment she sat in the middle of the bed, blinking into the darkness, so out of sorts that she didn't notice it was freezing. Then the cry came again, distant and urgent, but she could not make out the words. From the corridor without, she began to hear sounds of the hall awakening, and hastily clad herself in Éomer's large, heavy dressing gown. She opened the door to a dim and rushed scene of Éomer's men, rushing about, some still half-dressed in nightclothes. "Éothain," she called when she spotted the captain.
He turned at the sound of her voice and hastened towards her, nodding his head. "My lady," he said, "I was going to send someone to advise you."
"What is going on?" she asked with concern.
He smiled. "Éomer King returns, my lady. His éored approach the city gates even now."
Lothíriel's eyes widened in surprise and delight. "Éomer," she whispered to herself with a smile. Then, realizing that Éothain probably expected a less fanciful reaction, she pulled herself together and became queen. "Stoke the fires," she ordered, tightening the sash around her dressing gown with confidence. "I'm sure you'll wish to get to the stables. Is Gaerwyn awake?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Good," Lothíriel nodded. "She and I will take care of things here. See to the king."
The next little while was spent making frantic preparations, trying to make the hall ready to receive two dozen cold and hungry riders. All the while, Lothíriel's senses were racing faster than the wind, and her stomach seemed to have taken flight with them. She didn't understand why she should be so nervous.
Perhaps it was the time of night—the unexpected return, the joyful anticipation, the energy that everyone shared. Ceremony was set aside and conversation was animated. When Éomer finally entered his hall, it was not as a king but as a soldier, talking and laughing loudly among his men, their happiness evident and their spirits high. Still, Lothíriel noted how his eyes began searching as soon as he'd set foot over the threshold, and did not stop until they found her. He gave her a small, private smile, and a nod, which she returned warmly before he turned once more to the men around him.
She tried not to be jealous as she helped the other ladies attend to the tired riders. Jealous of the men who held her king's attention. Jealous of the wives who would get their husbands to themselves as soon as they all headed home. Still, she knew it would not be long before the tired company parted ways, so she held her peace.
At long last, Éothain managed to drag the last of the men out the door, and Lothíriel sent a yawning Emeí back to bed. Then she returned to the king's chamber, only to find her husband staring, puzzled and head cocked, at the languid form of Froilas snoring loudly in the middle of his bed. He heard Lothíriel's footfall, and turned. "Have things fallen so far in Rohan that a man cannot even come to his own hall and find his bed unoccupied?" he asked.
"Froilas!" Lothíriel called, clapping her hands loudly, even as she laughed. The dog made a snuffling noise, yawned, and turned over, but she did not wake up. "Froilas!" Lothíriel tried again, but to no avail. She looked at Éomer with apologetic eyes. "I'm afraid I have spoiled her, my Lord."
He grunted. "Well, she will just have to be taught who is king, won't she?" he said. He reached down, gathered the dog in his arms, and set her gently on the floor, whereupon she immediately woke and began jumping excitedly on him, yipping, and licking his hands.
"Froilas, be quiet!" Lothíriel tried, but she was laughing so hard by now that she didn't really expect the animal to even hear her, let alone obey. Instead, she ran to the pair, hauled the dog gracelessly away and shuffled her out the door. "You stay out there until you can calm down," she whispered warningly. Froilas only panted hopefully and yipped a few more times as Lothíriel closed the door in her face.
Éomer was sitting on the edge of the bed now, reaching down to pull off one of his boots. Lothíriel rushed forward. "Allow me, my Lord," she said shyly. He paused in surprise, then studied her with interest as she deftly relieved him of both boots, setting them neatly beside her. When she'd finished, she looked up with a quiet smile. "Welcome home."
"And why was the dog in my bedchamber?" he asked softly, studying her face.
Lothíriel blushed and lowered her eyes. "Your pardon, my Lord. I allowed her, in order to help keep me warm at night."
He was quiet a moment. "You slept here?" he finally asked, an odd catch to his voice.
"Not at first," she admitted, and rose to her feet. "Do you wish me to go?" She turned to head toward the door, but stopped when he reached out and grasped her hand.
"No," he said. "Please stay, if you like."
She met his eyes, and found in them a childlike hope that almost made him seem fragile, were such a thing possible. Slowly, she nodded.
As Éomer continued to prepare himself for bed, Lothíriel kept up a running conversation for his benefit, although it was mostly one-sided. She could see his exhaustion more and more with each passing moment, but it was exhaustion of the body only. Clearly, he was happy and relieved to be home. There was something else there, too, a serenity in his countenance as he listened to the sound of her voice, an expression that was entirely too contented to just be listening to her trivial chatter. He was glad to be with her again. And as strange as it was, Lothíriel couldn't help but feel she was giving him something back after all he'd done for her. Was this what it would be like, to take care of him as a wife, not just as a queen? She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so utterly happy.
Lothíriel was half-tempted to spill forth all the feelings she'd been realizing in his absence, but something held her back. She knew, somehow, that tonight was not the time. She would know it when it came. She could only hope it would be soon.
When at last he had finished, Éomer blew out the flickering candles and lay down on the bed. Lothíriel lay down too, and he drew her wordlessly into his arms. She did not object, but welcomed them, letting out a sigh of contentment, and she realized that somehow, inexplicably, he already knew.
Replies:
CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur- Thanks! It was a joy to write.
Deandra- Thank you for all your reassurances about redundancy. LOL And how can I complain about fic rec's? Thank you so much.
EruntaleofRohan- It's probably the most romantic chapter I ever wrote in my life, so I suppose the association is fitting. Thanks!
smor- Snog. What a perfectly gregarious word, you know? But also fun. Thanks for the review.
LothirielofRohan- Sorry about no quickie update, but thank you for your appreciation of the romance. I'm glad to know full disclosure doesn't appeal to everyone.
Jazzcat- Your review has amused me, for the polar opposite results of your two prognostications (sort of): Lothiriel's state of waking during Eomer's confession, and Eomer's fate in the battlefield. Nay, my friend. This story has dragged on long enough already. Anyway, I already played the injury card as it is. ;-) However… good call on the other. Mwuahaha.
Rachel Prongs- Ah, he is rather perfect, isn't he? LOL
Moryan- I hope you enjoyed the FMN update, as well. I know my progress on both stories is appallingly slow, but I have my reasons, not all of which are disclosed in full. In any case, thanks for your fun review, as always!
Elwen of Lorien- well, Elfwine has to come along sometime soon. I guess it was only inevitable, eh? LOL. Thanks for the review!
lsoa- It was a little bit of both (long-pondered, long-written). The latter scene, in particular, came from deep, deep inside me. I'm very glad you enjoyed it.
Iluvien- LOL – as I noted earlier, I think wounding Éomer twice in one story would be both tired and exhausting as a writer, not to mention just plain cruel to the poor man. I mean, how many different ways can I torture him? ;-) No, we've pretty much crested the hump of conflict in this tale. On the other hand, I hope this doesn't mean you find the present offering to be an lackluster. It's pretty cut and dry, I guess. Lol
wondereye - I hope Lothiriel's musings were acceptable to you. :-)
Blue Eyes at Night - LOL! Yeah, poor Emeí. Such creatures of habit are we. That was fun review. Thanks!
Lady ot Rings- Thank you! Technically, Lothiriel hadn't accepted her feelings until this chapter, but I think it's very safe to say she was awakening to them.
klaw - thanks!
Linnath- yikes! I totally meant to answer your question much earlier, and then it slipped my mind. We are actually in the Akron-Canton area, and will be performing next summer out of the stage at Kent's Stark Co. campus, probably performing Twelfth Night and The Tempest in rep (alternating) for a good portion of the season. I don't think the website's been assembled yet, but when it is, I'll try to remember to send it to you. Oh, and thanks for the review!
Maddy051280- Yes, yes. I promise I'll finish it. LOL. Bit by grinding bit. Thank you for delurking and for your very empowering review!
twin03 - Alas, if only the title 'twere mine. ;-) Thank you for the fabulous review. Eomer makes writing larger-than-life romance very easy indeed. Lol
Kay50- Thank you, and don't feel bad about not reviewing. I've been there too. Go lazy people! W00t!
Eokat- and waiting… and waiting… and waiting. Well, I hope it was worth it. Thank you for all your consistent feedback. :-)
Tracey- Danke! Tasteful. Dignified and graceful in its implications. I am glad to have such a word chosen to describe my magnum opus of the fic. Hehe.
starnat- it was very much introspective, wasn't it? Thanks
Estel de Rodeuse - Welcome back! Um… two months later? LOL Bad author! Thanks for your lovely comments.
Demeterd- Welcome. I pleased you liked the Lothiriel/Theodred storyline. It was certainly one of my most enjoyable elements of this fic. Also, I liked the point you made about the actual and symbolic shutting of the door. Never really thought about it in quite that light before. And LOL about being a Gondorian chamber maid. I actually had this argument with someone the other day… a great many of my fellow thespians are huge fans of the film Shakespeare in Love, and while I agreed that in all otherwise aspects, it was a great film, there was just too much sex in it for my tastes, and thus I've only ever seen it once. My friend sort of condescendingly said, "I hate to break it to you, but people had sex back then." I was like… yeah, but it's supposed to be special and private. It's not something we need to see. Eh, anyway. Ah, the joys of trying to hold onto standards in these times. LOL In any case, thanks ever so much for your great reviews.
coffeehigh- Thanks! Sorry about the delay on that
Miana - Congratulations, #300! Mmmn. Riddermeat. :-D
A/N: The time got away from me on this one. It seriously doesn't feel like it's been over two months. I've been so wrapped up in… well, everything that I thought it was just yesterday I updated.
I have an inkling that the next chapter may just include some manner of snow-romping, so it should be fun (for the record – any adult who does not occasionally feel the urge to make snow angels or splash in rain puddles has forgotten what it is to live – lol). In any case, the next chapter will also be the last "regular" chapter and feature the last of the flashbacks. After that, I have an epilogue planned that I haven't even divulged to my close cyberfriends, so it should be a treat all around.
Later!
Saché