Chapter Eighteen – Love Comes Softly

His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.

Song of Solomon 5:16

All day long, the falling snow kept Lothíriel's eyes tethered to whatever window was nearest. It was almost as captivating as the glimpses she caught of her husband out of the corner of her eye. Returned as he was from so many weeks' absence, Éomer was naturally much occupied with affairs of Rohan. Lothíriel was included in his councils, but found that her concentration— usually steadfast and faithful— seemed to have fled with the turn of the season. Or perhaps the return of a certain Rider of the Mark.

When Éomer finally declared he'd had enough of official business, Lothíriel broke with the rest of the councilors and went to stand by the window. She separated the shutters with chilled fingers to get a better look at the newly-dressed valley, now utterly white and silent. Still the snow fell, thick and cold, and she wondered that there could be so much of it.

"You had almost disguised yourself as a true-born Rohirrim, but till now," said Éomer with a chuckle, coming to stand beside her.

Lothíriel looked over at him, then smiled and blushed. "Aye," she replied, laughing a little herself. "I must seem a child, I suppose. But it is whiter even than Tillion, Éomer! And only yesterday there was naught of it to be seen."

Éomer's chuckles grew deeper. "Come then, snowbird. If your fascination is so complete, then you must have a closer look."

He took a mystified Lothíriel by the hand, and led her first to her chamber, where he charged Emeí with seeing she was properly clad for winter riding, then waited upon her in the hall. Before she was quite certain how it had come about, Lothíriel found herself riding through the pure and bitter sea of snow, the king at her side.

At first they did not speak. No other sound could be heard throughout the valley except the soft, muffled pawing of their horses' hooves, and it seemed as though speech would have broken the enchantment. Lothíriel held out her gloved hand to watch the thick flakes fall upon it, studying each small star perch bravely on the kidskin before melting away as if it had never been.

Finally, she could not help it, and burst out asking, "Does it ever stop?"

Lothíriel was quite sure Éomer's booming laughter could be heard all the way to the distant mountains. On the other hand, they were so perfectly enshrouded by the elements, that she felt as though they were utterly alone, and that no one would ever hear him laugh again but for herself. "At times I wonder that myself," he replied, pulling Firefoot to a halt. "I daresay you'll ask that question again before the season is over, but not nearly so hopefully. Winter is a cruel and strange mistress. As beautiful and deceptive as an unfaithful woman."

Lothíriel turned to look at him with speculative eyes. "And how much experience, Éomer king, have you had with unfaithful women?"

"Éomer king has none at all," he replied staunchly, grinning. "As to the time before that, there are some things the Queen of Rohan ought not to know."

"None at all, then," Lothíriel laughed. "And if I really wanted to know, a simple missive to Ithilien would be all the effort required."

"The gods protect a man caught between the wiles of his sister and his wife," said Éomer, then dismounted in one fluid motion.

Lothíriel would have followed suit had she not been certain he would come around the far side of Tillion to assist her. She craved his nearness, as silly as it was. Yet there was nothing silly about the flush of warmth she felt when he'd lowered her to her feet and then lingered with his hands at her sides a moment longer than necessary, staring solemnly into her eyes. Then he took her hand and began to lead her away from the horses.

Giddy did not begin to describe what Lothíriel was feeling. Even the cold added to her happiness, finding the chinks in her armor of wool and fur to prick her skin and remind her that she was alive. She couldn't remember having ever felt so awake, and her vision seemed even wider and clearer than it had that day on the sea, when the curse of the East had broken and the winds had surged for joy. But not even the pristine beauty all about her could have compared with that day had it not been for the beacon of warmth that clasped his hand with her own. At that moment she felt she could have done anything, and if she stumbled, Éomer of Rohan would catch her as gently as a lark on a breeze.

A joyful laugh broke from her chest unbidden, and she likewise broke away from Éomer's hold, running forward with her arms spread wide and spinning as fast as she could, as she and her brothers had done on the sea foam when they were children. Then, as she'd been longing to do all morning, she stopped, and lifted her tongue to the sky to taste the falling snow. It was cold and soft and made her laugh again when she'd tasted it.

She looked over at Éomer, and for a moment her smile faltered, not out of distress, but in wonderment. The affection in his gaze was so strong it made her breath catch, but he must have realized it, for he smiled in return encouragingly, and Lothíriel broke out in a grin. "Race you!" she cried, and bolted off in the direction of Edoras as fast as possible.

She had no intention of reaching the city, of course, nor had she any intention of winning. Even had she wanted to, it would have been foolhardy, for unlike on the beaches of Dol Amroth, here she had no native advantage. Still, she raced as furiously as her unsure footing would allow until she sensed Éomer's longer stride not far behind her. She wasn't sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn't the sting of something small and hard striking fast at her side. Surprised, she lost a step and tumbled, still laughing, to her knees, a ball of snow lying now with deceptive innocence at her side.

When Éomer came to tower over her in triumph, she put her hands on her hips and looked up at him with feigned cheek. "You cheated."

"I fear, my lady, you never specified any rules."

"Is that your only excuse?" Lothíriel asked, laughing as brushing wet, clinging slow off her sleeves. The words were form only, for she couldn't possibly have been indignant if she'd tried. She looked back up at him expectantly.

He knelt down slowly, his eyes full of playfulness— but something else as well, something like delicious lighting. "And," he said with equal deliberation, holding her gaze, "I'm the king." This last was lower, deeper, more private, and made Lothíriel forget that she was supposed to be cold.

He half leaned forward, she half pulled him down, but in that moment all else was forgotten but the taste of wine and the smell of stark winter eclipsed by bursting passion, long-repressed.

"Éomer," Lothíriel whispered when she was able to catch her breath. This close, this quiet, this alone… it was just such a moment that she'd been watching for. He made no reply except to pull away, questioning with his eyes. It was an oddly gentle query in such a moment, as if he sensed that what she wanted to say went far beyond the intoxication of a heated kiss. And so he waited, expectantly, until her lips uttered the words that had been clamoring for freedom for far too long.

"I love you too."

They did not stay much longer in the snow.

Year 3016 of the Third Age

There were signs of an ugly storm approaching. The air was bracken, and the clouds felt closer than a mere overcast. The usual evening hour was replaced with an otherworldy, edgy anticipation. Éomer even felt a chill beneath his armor that had no place in late summer.

Yet none of the foreboding seemed to affect Théodred, who had ridden out beyond the rest of the éored after a camp had been built. They settled in the lee of a hill that would somewhat protect the men from the oncoming storm if the wind didn't change too drastically. Éomer could barely see his cousin through the murky half light that began where the glow from the fire died.

Théodred's return from his southern journey had been joyful, though strained as it always was. Éomer felt he had not yet properly gotten to greet his kinsman, as life in Edoras had become a ritual pageant of kinds, where one misstep or misplaced word could have unforeseen consequences. Gríma Wormtongue had not been so happy at Théodred's return. Éomer found it likely that the conniver wished the prince would meet some unfortunate mishap along the roadside in his travels, but always he returned home safely.

They had taken the éored away— together— before the king could be persuaded to do otherwise It was a brief a chance to speak, to plan, safely away from the city with none of Gríma's sway to interfere. He would see that they were kept apart— he always did. He especially did not like having Théodred at court. Yet Éomer's heart accused him of cowardice for leaving Éowyn behind. He would not remain away long.

He purposed through the camp, half-listening to the conversations of his men, troubled and uneasy, but his true attention was with the wayward Théodred. Something of his return had been different this time. He carried a secret, but Éomer sensed it was not the sort that destroyed lives. Rather, he sensed hope. It was a mark of their brotherhood that Éomer perceived it. He only hoped that Théodred would be willing to share. Hope was something Éomer had long not tasted. He mounted Firefoot and urged him into the darkness.

A flash of lightning illuminated Théodred's pensive silhouette as Éomer approached. He was staring west, and as Éomer joined him, he pointed without preamble at what held his attention. "Do you see?" he asked. "Though the darkness trembles and quakes and demands with all its power, still it is the light that draws the eye against all others." Éomer perceived the break in the clouds, where a valiant shaft of dying sunlight had managed to pierce through. Théodred looked over with a wise smile. "It is she who chooses to sleep. They have not conquered her. She will come again as she has always done."

"Still," said Éomer, puzzling Théodred's peace, "the storms of the sky bring life of their own. The storms of men bring only despair and destruction."

"Aye," said Théodred. "But men have their sunshine, as well. Rising or setting, the darkness cannot blot it forever. Of that I am certain. Even would this darkness take us all, Éomer, I doubt not that someday goodness would be restored."

"You speak in lovesick riddles, my friend," said Éomer, allowing himself to smile. "What change is this that infects you so?" Théodred had always been an optimist, but there was that madness in his eyes— Éomer knew it well, and couldn't believe he hadn't recognized it till now.

"I have found a light, my brother. As light and clear as the spring rain itself. I know it is foolishness, yet I cannot but confess that love gives me hope."

"And does your sunbeam have a name?" Éomer asked. Even now, it could not be helped but to tease. Like all such men, however, Théodred neither noticed nor cared.

"Lothíriel," he replied.

Éomer was surprised. "The daughter of Prince Imrahil?" he asked. "Is she not a child?"

"A merry child she was, but no more. She is a woman of unrivaled grace, Éomer. As fair as the stars, with the wisdom of a king and a heart like the sea she loves so well. I intend her for the throne."

This time, Éomer actually faltered slightly in his surprise, causing Firefoot to shift anxiously beneath him. "Much more than a passing fancy," he observed, already pondering the good and ill potential of this new development. "Will Théoden king approve your choice, think you?"

"Aye, that he would, were he himself." At last, Théodred showed signs of sadness. Then he looked at Éomer again with determination. "But you must understand my full meaning, Éomer. I intend her only for a throne that is whole. She is far safer in Dol Amroth for however long it takes. And we must speak of this to no one but Éowyn." There was urgency in his gaze.

"I agree," Éomer said. "Rohan is a prison to its own, at present, let alone foreigners."

"We will keep fighting, Éomer. And I will pray one day you will meet Lothíriel and share in our joy. On that day, I will have achieved what many seek and few ever find. And I will count myself blessed."

"In the meantime," Éomer said, "the fighting is still before us. There is much to discuss. And you must rid yourself of that betraying countenance if you wish to protect your lady."

Théodred chuckled, and Éomer grinned. It was good that despite everything, there was still laughter to be had.

And love to be found.

Late in the night, the king and queen of Rohan were wide awake. In a sudden bout of hunger and inspiration, Éomer had stoked the fire to a roaring blaze near midnight, and Lothíriel had padded through the chilly hall to pilfer food from the larder. She was amazed that Froilas's noisy snuffling hadn't awoken the entire household.

Now she sat in her shift by the fire, wrapped in the biggest, warmest blanket from the bed, and toasted bread on the flames with the luxury and convenience of a long toasting spear. Éomer sat beside her, licking his fingers after a last bite of hot ham, and Lothíriel reflected on what a beautiful and bizarre day it had been. Here they sat, impulsive as children, eating light fare by the fire when the rest of the world was sleeping sagely. It had begun playfully too, with a race and a kiss in the snow, but what had come between had not been the doings of children.

She found that the memory of her time with Éomer did not now make her blush, but instead filled her with peaceful warmth that reached into her very spirit. It was far more than the pleasure of the body, for she knew that to be as fragile and temporal as youth itself. Far more meaningful was the implicit giving and receiving of trust. Lothíriel was grateful beyond expression for her husband's patience. Had he not allowed her the time he had, she knew their joy would have been sullied by uncertainty. Her only marvel, looking back, was that it had taken her so long.

"Tomorrow," Éomer said, spearing his own bread and setting it to neighbor Lothíriel's, "I shall have to resume my kingly behavior." The look of distaste on his face caused her to laugh. She couldn't believe he wasn't freezing, even this close to the fire. He was only wearing his breeches, and set a pace back from the blaze. His legs were propping up his elbows, making him look pensive as the flames danced in his eyes.

Lothíriel pulled her toasting spear toward her and pulled the piping hot bread— now quite brown— off the end with delicate fingers. She was careful to lay the spear on the flagstones and not the fur throw rug before she spoke. "A least you slept the evening away," she commented. "You won't be too tired."

"You mean we won't be too tired, councilor queen."

"I'm staying abed," she returned, eyes sparkling. She popped a hot pinch of toast into her mouth, chewed and swallowed for a moment, then added, "I have determined I am not inclined to be a councilor tomorrow."

"I have determined that you have a tongue with enough cheek to rival a hobbit's," Éomer observed with a wry grin, "when you've a mind to show it." Lothíriel smiled sweetly and continued eating her toast until he asked, more seriously, "May I ask you something?" He turned his toasting spear slowly, the near end of which was resting atop his knee. The bottom half of his bread slowly began its way to matching the crisp top.

"Certainly."

"When did you first determine that… that you loved me?" The words came out awkwardly, and he avoided her eyes with intent deliberation.

Though she had pondered the question long and hard herself, Lothíriel was quiet a very, very long time before replying. At last she said, "Not with certainty until you had gone, my lord. But before that there were many little bits and pieces that I was too blind to recognize."

"With me it was different," he said, still staring intently into the fire. "There was nothing so easy in the world as to love you, Lothíriel."

Humbled, Lothíriel said nothing in reply. Instead, she asked, "Do you ever wonder how things would have been between us had Théodred lived?"

Éomer grinned. "You would not have seen much of me," he said. "Théodred would have run me to bits with affairs of lordship and responsibility." More thoughtfully, he added, "I expect I should have gone home to live in Aldburg after Éowyn was wed."

"But we should have been friends, I think."

He finally looked at her then, and smiled. "Yes, I've no doubt of it. Very good friends. It would have been a wonderful thing to see, a Rohan under Théodred's rule. It makes me almost ashamed to be so happy just now."

"Joy comes from unexpected places," Lothíriel supplied wisely. "Or so it was that Éowyn told me."

"Did you not believe her?"

"I believed… but I did not expect. I was determined to find contentment, but contentment is not the same as joy."

"How do you mean?" Éomer asked.

"Contentment," she began slowly, choosing her words with care, "is the mark of a wise and disciplined mind. It is an acknowledgement that bleak or difficult times all too often outweigh the good, and that to live life naught but longing for the good is to watch it waste away in wishes. To be content is to find the small portions of peace amidst trial.

"Joy, however," she continued, "is a gift, bestowed sometimes without merit, but not to be stubbornly thrown away. As I almost did," she added softly. For a moment she shivered, the memory of the darkness she'd so recently escaped chilling her more than the winter night. She had tried to build a prison with walls of self-enforced solitude.

Éomer's toast had long since browned, and he pulled it out of the crackling flames slowly. Yet he seemed no longer interested in it, and set it aside without much thought. At last, he said, "Dwell not on things unrealized, Lothíriel, neither dreams lost nor fears escaped." His voice was subdued. "Such is a pastime of folly. You have triumphed greatly in the greatest of battles, with valor and courage. Truly you are fit to be the queen of Rohan, for you are a victorious warrior." He looked at her, his dark eyes bright with pride.

Lothíriel gave him her brightest smile. "And you my healer. Is not that strange?" Leaving the confines of her warm blanket, she edged to his side and put a hand on his careworn face. "No longer fear for me, Éomer, son of Rohan. My heart has found healing and love at your hands— my king, my beloved, and my friend."

He said no more, and all else was forgotten as he drew her warmly into his embrace, kissing her with the familiarity of a thousand years for all it had hardly been more than a day. The heart of the songbird sang in triumph inside her, fierce, joyful, and wild, with a music heard only by its makers.

The song had been discovered by many and counterfeited by none. It said that sometimes love is the wonder of a sudden storm in springtime, but sometimes it is a small seed, nurtured with care, devotion, patience, and time. Its full beauty is a reward not realized until the husbandman one day turns to see that, without his realizing it, he has grown the rarest and most beautiful of all flowers.

Sometimes, love comes softly.

Replies:

Jazzcat - Er… (hides). Yeah, I posted in my LJ after I wrote the chapter because it was easy and I was too lazy to write reviews that night. Then I got swallowed by a new fandom and disinclined to work on stuff. Heh. But you have spurred me into action. I have seen Kate and Leopold once. It was sweet, but for some reason I was never really in the mood for it again. Though I do remember my favorite part being right at the end when she called to her brother that she loved him before jumping down into the time swooshy thing.

Raider-K - Lothíriel has always been in my mind a reflective, composed sort of character. Which I guess is why all the fanfics portraying her as a firebrand came as something of a surprise to me. A personal preference, of course, but there you have it. Thanks for the review.

smor- I'm sorry that the snowball thing worked out backwards than your thought. It's surprisingly difficult to keep romping in character when you've been writing your characters mostly dignified for… sixteen chapters.

Tracey - You know what's funny. I'm really more of a cat person myself. Not that I don't like dogs, I'm just kind of indifferent to them in general. Of course there have been specific loves, like our old sweetheart golden retriever, JJ, but she wouldn't have left much room on my tiny twin bed. LOL. Lothíriel and Éomer, however, both seem like dog people, so…

Jaffee Leeds - I dear goodness. Is it sad that I looked at your user name and first thought it was 'Jaffa'? Yeah. Too much Stargate! LOL. In any case, I'm always glad to find someone new enjoy my story. And your lucky in that I'll only be torturing you for one more round of waiting. I've been stringing along these other folks far too long as it is.

fandun - Wow, that's the grandest of all compliments to be sure. Um? Thanks! LOL I always hope canon authors/ creators would approve of my work.

Dark-Sylph - Haha, many have threatened to do as much to Lothíriel since the beginning of this tale. Sometimes even I have done so in secret. But I hope the resolution has made all the drawn out previous stuff worth the wait. And it's always pleasing to know someone appreciates a clean story.

Peachy Papayas - I know, I know. Shamefully overdue, as always. Yes, he's home, and things are finally looking pretty tidy. Hope it wasn't too easily resolved for you! LoL

Blue Eyes at Night - Hehe, I think Froilas is more the type to think, "Hey, why'd you wake me up from my— oooh, dust mites!" so she's probably not going to be out for vengeance anytime soon.

Frigg - Yay, a delurker! Thank you for your very kind review. Sometimes I think I go overboard with the gigundo prose, so I'm glad somebody enjoys it. Hehe.

Maddy051280 - No, Froilas is certainly not the greatest of sentinels. Note my review to Blue Eyes (points up). LOL

Estel de Rodeuse - My skills at longevity started and ended in the middle chapters of this story. Whenever I feel like I haven't written for long enough, I just read the first chapter. It's only one scene! Mwuahah! No, seriously, though. It's not my intention to write short chapters on purpose. It's just that I write what the chapter needs and sometimes it doesn't take much. Thanks for the review!

Linnath - No news on the website. I think the Youth Company's getting off to a slower start than my directors anticipated. And I just know it's going to slip my mind after I'm done posting this story. If you're still interested, send me an email roundabout March or so. I should have more information then, because that's theoretically when we'll be gearing up for auditions.

Elwen of Lorien - Their present course definitely seems a smoother road from here on out.

wonderye - A little more happiness, yes. ;-)

Moryan - You do realize you wrote about a 1:9 ratio of this story to LCS, right? LOL It's making me laugh. FMN is slower going right now more because I'm trying to plot out the big action sequence(s) and those always take longer because they're not as interesting to write. As always, the spunky reviews are awesome!

Aranel Abeille - Hehe! I love the morning glory metaphor too. I was excited when it dropped into my lap. I don't tend to see as many morning glories around here (Ohio) as I did when I lived in NC.

lsoa - The snow-romping was inspired by my love of watching people who have never properly experienced snow do so for the first time, and also for a time I stood in some really gorgeous snow with a boy I was half-mad in love with and it felt very magical. (Alas, he was oblivious to me in that respect, but it was still nice).

Lunair - I think in some ways they always have understood each other. Or at least understood how painful it was for each other, trying to adapt.

geek-chick - Hahaha. Yes, Éomer is larger than life. Normally I would not allow myself to get away with such an indulgence, but Tolkien did it before me, so I say fire away! And I really liked your "details vs. summary" balance comment. I never examined those two different approaches in that way before. I noticed when I'd written perhaps seven or eight chapters that I very often (but not always) tended to begin a chapter with some sort of omniscient description of the climate or landscape, so I decided to run with it, and open the chapters that way when I was stuck for a beginning. I'm only hoping it didn't come off as redundant to some people. Oh well.

skinnyrita - um, wow. Your offer is very intriguing, though I daresay I prefer my Éomer less sticky. LOL. Thanks for the review. ivorybrowneyes - Well, he's right, he is the king, you know. ;-)

Ramarama - Undoubtable charm. Hehe. Some would say irresistible, but she certainly did her best on that score, didn't she?

Iluvien - Oh dear goodness. I hope my snow romance scene didn't shatter your lovely analogy of cold and warm! LOL You make me feel so smart. As I said to Mely when someone else was praising particular "ingenious" editing choices I'd made on a fanvid, I feel like Speilberg being told all his suspenseful Hitchokian filming for Jaws was so brilliant, when in reality it was only because the shark machine was broken. Maybe I shouldn't admit I had no intention of doing any of that cool-sounding stuff, but that would not contribute to humility, so… LOL Always look forward to your reviews.

Eokat - Sorry this wait was probably just as long, but… at least there's only one wait left, eh? Hehe.

Lothíriel of Rohan - Pfft. Melodrama's so not me. (hides new favorite starcrossed lovers 'ship that she's been poring over for the past five days behind back). Um, well… maybe not, but I don't think it would come off as well if I was writing it and not Joss Whedon. ;-)

amylikes2hug - "Real" is one of the greatest compliments a writer can receive. Thank you. :-)

Solemido - Yes, I'm afraid this story is less on the lightness than it is other things. Still, sometimes humor is a point of view. Certainly glad you're enjoying the story anyway!

Sarah - Glad to hear it. ;-)

HobbitKim - Wow, your review was very emphatic. But I'm glad I seem to have made an impression.

Echo Bunny - Alas, no ten chapters. They'd all be rather redundant, I'm afraid. There is, however, one tiny part left to go which I hope everybody will enjoy.

Angelimir - I'm so glad you enjoyed Théodred! He was difficult to differentiate from Éomer, especially with no canon reference to go buy, but I've come to love him just as well as the other two.

katydidnt - Thanks! I love your user name

LalaithElerrina - Sometimes I don't deserve Jazz as a reader. LOL And wow, you thanks for the barrage of compliments. They were sweet.

Deandra - Yes, yes. I was very bad and lazy and held back on the available update. Perhaps sometime soon I'll check out my snow-romping "peer scene" ;-)

A/N: Well, folks, that is essentially the end. There will be a brief epilogue to tag it, but it contributes nothing to the plot, really. I should point out that giving the last chapter the same title as the book and the last line were nods to this book's namesake. Also, there is a strange (and arguable) parallel to this story and the Bible verse at the beginning of the chapter. For those of you unfamiliar with the lesser-known moments of the Bible, In the first book of I Kings, a young wife is chosen for King David to nurse him and keep his bed warm as he's dying. (Okay, yeah, kind of gross on the surface, but I'm pretty sure the nursemaid was the main idea). Her name was Abishag the Shummamite, and many Bible scholars/ historians connect her as the same Shunnamite who was Solomon's great love in the Song of Songs. If one accepts this interpretation (even momentarily), the connections between these three figures to Théodred, Lothíriel, and Éomer, respectively, kind of caused me to pause a moment when I realized it, especially as I was inspired to use the verse beforehand.

In any case, the verse is probably my favorite of all the scriptures concerning romantic love, because passion between people who cannot function as plain friends (either before or after the sparks) just isn't love in my book. It is certainly what I'm searching for in my own private watchings, and part of what I hope this story has had to say.

I hope everyone enjoyed!

Saché