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By the Sea.
Chapter Eight: Surprises.
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Lothíriel deftly slid into the fur covers of the large bed. She settled herself comfortably upon the feathered mattress and quietly watched her husband stoke the excited fire within the hearth. The evening had gone by so quickly, that it had been nothing but a blur of well-wishers offering their blessings as the people of Edoras toasted to the King and Queen and their unborn heir.
The occasion had been joyous and loud, and Lothíriel felt her spirits lift at the sight of the nobles and warriors enjoying themselves heartily at her expense. The news of her pregnancy had spread throughout the city of Edoras as the evening drew to an end and her husband had already dispatched notices across the realm to inform the people that in nine months, an heir to the throne would be born.
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips... When Éomer had first announced the news to his advisors, in the privacy of his council room, she swore that she heard a collective sigh of relief from them; the line of Rohan's Kings would be carried on. Secretly, she wondered how they would feel if she bore a girl-child.
At that thought, a wicked grin twisted her mouth.
"Why do you smile so, wife?"
"No reason," she lied, watching him discreetly as he joined her beneath the heavy covers. The nights in Rohan were always so cold and harsh... She expected nothing less. Lothíriel was glad for the added heat of the fire and her husband's warm body.
Éomer turned on his side to face her, "Did you enjoy the feast?"
"I did," came her glib reply. "It was wonderful. The people of Rohan certainly know how to indulge themselves in revelry," she hid a yawn beneath her hand.
"As do the people of Dol Amroth, if I remember correctly," Éomer retorted.
She snorted indelicately, "Nay, Rohan indulges far more." Another yawn escaped her lips.
"I think you are mistaken! I was there at our wedding in Dol Amroth and it was far more raucous than the feast we had this evening. Gondorians claim to be reserved in such functions, but I would have to believe otherwise."
Lothíriel frowned mightily, "Must you always have the last word?"
"Aye, I must!"
The newly crowned Queen was sorely tempted to hurl one of the rich pillows at his smug face, but she felt too tired to retaliate. She refrained from such unbecoming behaviour and simply pulled the covers around her tightly.
"Are you cold? Do you wish for another coverlet?" The concern he felt was evident and she hoped that he would not treat her as though she were breakable during the later stages of her pregnancy.
Lothíriel could not even form a reply as her eyelids slowly drooped down to encase her sight from the vision of her husband. Her last thought was that she did not feel uncomfortable with his presence in the bed as he lay beside her. In fact, she felt quite safe.
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A single rose blocked the vision of the rolling plains of Rohan from her window. Lothíriel looked at the flower with fascination, trailing her eyes along the delicate red petals that reminded her of the softness of velvet. Her gaze ran along the hand and arm that held out the blossom, and finally came to rest upon her husband, looking slightly nervous and incredibly put out. She bit back a smile and took the offered rose, raising it to her nose as she watched the Rohan King shift uneasily in her presence.
"I thought that you would be tied in meetings with your advisors?" She asked absently, brushing the petals of the rose against her nose.
"I was..."
Her arched brow rose fractionally, "Then why are you here with your wife? Does the sight of grey-bearded men not appeal to the King of Rohan?"
Éomer let out a bark of laughter, casting his eyes down to her rounding stomach. "The sight before me is far more appealing than you will ever know."
Lothíriel blushed, a crimson flame spreading out across her cheeks from the quiet compliment. "You are avoiding the question."
He waved away her words, "We shall speak of that later. For now, I wish to show you something."
"Oh? What is it?"
"It is a surprise," he took her arm and eagerly led her out of the library.
She allowed herself to be carried away from her safe haven, laughing quietly at his un-kingly behaviour. If only his advisors could see him now!
In the past few months, the library had been a relief for Lothíriel. It was her sanctuary from the constant fussing of the ladies in her court and the noble women that offered unwanted advice as to how she would feel throughout the pregnancy, and what she should do to remedy the situation. She took it in her stride for two months before she grew tired of their constant nattering.
As ever, she did not see her husband during the day as his political duties did not permit him that simple luxury. But in the stillness of the night, when all was silent and tranquil, they would sit in their chambers and discuss their days in great length.
As the months rolled by, Lothíriel gradually felt her heart soften and warm towards the Rohan King. He was a generous listener and found no trouble in dealing with her nonsensical complaints about the day as she slowly learned to run the basic upkeep of the household from Feger, the housekeeper and her third closest confidant next to Elfhelm and her husband.
Lothíriel found herself speaking more openly to Éomer, unable to hide her thoughts as she would have done only a few months prior. The dreams she kept buried within her heart before their marriage surfaced and she spoke her mind freely, without the fear of being reprimanded or laughed at.
She spoke about her past, her life in Dol Amroth and the stifling conditions of court life; she spoke about times she would secretly listen to her father's council meetings from one of the many private and secret passages of the palace, rolling her eyes and muttering at the complexities of attending to the whims of withering old advisors. He had laughed at this and she felt contentment at his acceptance of her various opinions about court life and politics.
The desire she had felt in his gaze before her confession, slowly melted away to a deeper, more profound affection as their nightly ritual continued throughout the endless days of her pregnancy.
In turn for listening to her constant chatter, Lothíriel hearkened to the fascinating stories about Éomer's past and his life as a Marshal before he became King.
She had been so enthralled by his accounts of small skirmishes and battles with deadly foes, that many hours would pass before they retired to bed. His accounts were much like Elfhelm's, yet there was a lyrical quality to them that she could not place. It was entrancing and wonderful to allow herself to be swept away into the adventure that had been his life; especially during the War. His life had been turned upside down during the dark years, much like hers had been.
However, with the adventure and battle-lust, came the reality and tragedy of his past and the death of his parents that he had to endure at such a young age.
Lothíriel could understandably relate to his hidden pain as she too had lost a parent. Her mother had passed away during the birth of, what would have been, the fifth child to her mother and father. Unfortunately, both babe and mother had perished before the day's end... She had only been five at the time, but the confusion and grief she felt was still tangible within the deep corners of her heart.
And so, she knew how to empathise with the hardened warrior, yet she could never understand the true depth of his pain as she still had one parent that lived and loved her with every breath in his ageing body. as well as three older brothers who cherished her dearly. Whereas the only family her husband laid claim to was his married sister, unborn child and... Lothíriel herself.
It was strange to have the feelings she harboured for her husband, altered so greatly... But the emotions had crept upon her swiftly and slowly, like the lethargic unfurling of tender petals in the dawn, as they caught sight of the first golden rays of the sun. In this same manner, Lothíriel gradually felt that she had uncurled her tightly clenched petals to become a part of his family, and for that she was grateful—grateful that she had something so precious to call her own...
And although there had been much tragedy in Éomer's life, Lothíriel hoped that she had somewhat eased his bruised spirit. Though she was certain that she did not love him yet, she cared for him greatly and would do anything to protect him from the pain of losing yet another family member.
It was with that intent that she listened to his words as he had spoken fondly about his sister Éowyn, and the times of mischief they created at Meduseld. Lothíriel could attest to his affection for the woman that now resided in Ithilien, as they had spoken several times and she found the sun-kissed lady to be fiercely loyal and wonderful in all aspects. She held a tremendous respect for the slayer of the Witchking. Oftentimes, she wished that she had possessed the strength and courage to aid the forces of good that battled the evil around them... But her path had been different. And now, she was married; soon she would be a mother as well as a wife.
But as Éomer endeared himself to her heart, she vowed that never again would she allow her husband to feel the loss of his family. They would remain together and raise their child in Rohan and she would be content with her life—
"Lothíriel?" He looked at her oddly, "What thoughts bear so heavily upon your mind?"
"Nothing," she smiled with reassurance. "Where are you taking me?"
An impish gleam flashed within his eyes.
They were walking through the passageways of Meduseld, in the direction of the King's private halls. She wondered why her husband was being so secretive. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they reached a pair of doors that would lead out to the derelict gardens and courtyard of Meduseld.
During Éomer's uncle's reign and the dark years of the One Ring, the Golden Hall had squandered lifelessly, losing nearly all it's outward beauty... It was slowly being restored to its former glory but Lothíriel could not understand why her husband had wished to bring her to the dilapidated gardens.
"Close your eyes."
She obeyed, simply to amuse his childish whims. The sound of doors opening reached her ears. Éomer's fingers gently grasped her elbow and slowly led her out into the warm, spring sunlight.
"Éomer, may I open my eyes now?" Lothíriel asked impatiently.
She heard him chuckle, moving to stand behind her with his large hands upon her slim shoulders.
"No, you may not."
Lothíriel huffed indignantly at his laughter. He was thoroughly enjoying her lack of control and were she not dedicated, she would have opened her eyes of their own accord.
"... Now—open them now."
She opened her eyes quickly and blinked away the dark spots lingering within her line of vision.
What she saw next, took her breath away.
The courtyard and gardens of Meduseld had been fully restored; numerous flowers she recognised from Dol Amroth were planted into the ground accordingly, creating a vast array of colourful patterns that were pleasing to the eye and joyful to look upon. A multitude of aromatic scents accosted her nostrils...
She looked upon the marble statues of past Kings and Queens that had also been cleaned and restored to their former glory, placed in parallel rows facing one another along the stone path that led to the pond at the edge of the garden and courtyard. The statues of the Kings lay to her right and to her left, the ancient Queens stood tall and proud as they faced their husbands. It was such a beautiful sight to behold!
Lothíriel could almost feel herself grow giddy from the surprise that had been bestowed upon her.
"Do you approve?"
His question astounded her. "Very much so! It is... Wonderful; so beautiful! There is no place I have seen that can be likened to it."
Éomer smiled with satisfaction, enjoying the look of awe that graced her delicate features. "Come," he took her arm and led her slowly down the stone path between the looming royal figures that stared at them complacently. The had almost reached the end of the garden as they came upon the final remaining statues of the former Kings and Queens.
Lothíriel noted the statue of her husband's uncle with respect, standing tall and proud with noble grace as he looked above her head to the other statue that stood opposite. The marble woman was cold but beautiful as she gazed back. Lothíriel deduced that it must have been her husband's aunt, Elfhild.
Then, she turned her head and looked further down the path, catching sight of another statue standing beside the King Théoden's. Unconsciously, she took a step towards the prone figure and smiled at the strong lines of the face that stared into the horizon. It was a sculpture of her husband, looking graceful and powerful as he posed regally in his ceremonial armour.
" Tis you!" She exclaimed, reaching out to touch the stone face that resembled her husband so profoundly. Yet, there was something strange. The style of this statue was somehow different to the ones before, as though the hands of the sculptor had been refined throughout the years...
"Aye," Éomer laughed, "It is frightening to see myself resembled thus."
"I think it beautiful," she flashed him a smile.
"You do?" His pensive demeanour was not lost to her wandering thoughts. "Then perhaps you should turn to your left."
Lothíriel's brow dipped. She turned slowly to the line of statues represented by the former Queens. Her eyes widened as she gasped, stepping towards the marble sculpture that had been placed carefully on the opposite side of her husband's. It was of her! The stone-smith had done an incredible job in capturing her likeness, that it was as if the statue was a living, breathing representation of herself. Once again, the sense of familiarity that graced the delicate lines of the stone face, coursed through her veins...
The honour Lothíriel felt, knew no bounds. She turned to her husband, who had been quietly watching her continuing reactions, and pulled him into a tight embrace. "This is your surprise?" She asked softly, pressing close to show her gratitude.
"It was... Do you like it?"
"I am speechless," she pressed her ear against the solid heart beat beneath his tunic. Éomer's warm, comforting arms wound themselves around her waist and accepted her gesture of approval. Lothíriel looked up, tilting her head in thought, "I thought that sculptures were only carved once the King had passed on from the realms of Arda to join their forefathers?"
"In Rohan, we commemorate the living. It is an outstanding tradition that statues of the King and Queen are raised once an heir is conceived, to honour them and the Royal House," he grinned, "We bury the dead Royals within the sacred tombs and keep the statues as a memorial to their former rule."
She laughed, "Rohan has many pleasant surprises!"
"This is not the only surprise," he whispered.
"There is more?" She looked at him in confusion.
Éomer nodded, cupping her cheek gently as he pointed back to her statue.
Lothíriel turned and felt her heart fly into her mouth as a shadowed figure stepped out from the hiding place behind the tall sculpture. She gasped in disbelief at the sight before her. "Amrothos!"
Without a care for propriety, the Queen of Rohan ran, as well as she could in her pregnant state, into the open arms of her older brother. As she was safely encased within his familiar embrace, he leaned down to place a gentle kiss upon her brow.
"Guren linna gen cened, muinthel," he whispered softly, smiling as he watched a crystal tear of relief fall from the corner of her eye.
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Added Notes: Sorry for the wait, it was Bank Holiday and my husband and I decided to take the kids to Devon since the weather had been so good on friday; we just got back. It's a shame the good weather didn't last for very long.
I hope you enjoyed the good times in this chapter, things will happen in the next chapter that I am certain you will hate me for...
cookie: She is 22, thank you for your review! Thanks to everyone that reviewed as well.
Elvish Translation:
Guren linna gen cened, muinthel — My heart sings to see you, sister.