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By the Sea.
Chapter Eleven: Awakening.
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A week had passed since her father had brought Éomer back to Edoras. In that time her eldest brother Elphir, a gifted healer in his own right, had done the best he could to stabilise her husband's condition, along with the aid of the Royal healers at Edoras. She had learnt from her father that Éomer had not woken since he had been found wandering the plains of Rohan—that had been almost three weeks ago and Lothíriel was beginning to grow nervous. It was almost a blessing in disguise that Éomer would awaken for short intervals during his first week at Edoras, allowing the healers to feed him give the wounded King much needed sustenance and strength from the food and water.
His condition had been grave; cracked ribs that needed to be bound regularly, in hopes that they would knit and heal. A dislocated shoulder that had been set back in the village and lashings upon his back and chest that would undoubtedly leave permanent scars to his body. But the most worrisome injury he had received were a series of blows to his skull and face. Upon first sight, Lothíriel had been horrified by the damage he had sustained to his face and head. His nose had been broken and his eyes were no more than two puffy slits that looked terribly painful set inside his bruised face.
She had felt so helpless when the healers informed her that it would be best for her to leave the room, to allow him privacy as they healed his wounds and for her to subdue her discomfort at seeing him thus... She wished that she could have done something—anything that would ease his pain. Though she was glad that he was in a healing sleep and unable to feel or comprehend the damage that had been done to his body. At least there was some relief for the mighty King.
Over the next few days after Éomer's arrival at Edoras, his advisors made inquiries to many of the warriors that had been part of Éomer's company, about how their King could have been captured in his own tent and subdued by the orcs, and how he was taken away without being noticed; they wondered how Éomer managed to escape from the fell creatures' clutches, for it had surely been a miracle that he did, especially since he had been in such a dire condition when he had been found. In the end, their questions remained unanswered and deep inside, they all knew that only Éomer could provide them with the answers. And that would only happen once he regained his strength to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time.
"You should be resting, my daughter."
Lothíriel smiled sadly as she shifted in the cushioned chair that had been placed bedside her husband's bedside. "I am not tired," came her reply. Her father stood quietly beside her, his hands behind his back.
Once the healers had done all they could to aid Éomer during the day, Lothíriel found herself sitting by his bedside during the endless hours of the nights so that she could see to his needs, if he had any.
Her days were filled with council meetings, as she supervised her husband's advisors in their tireless efforts to secure the safety of their country. A countless number of trade agreements with neighbouring lands had to be signed and put through the process of official stamping; she had to admit that the advisors were not lacking in wisdom.
Already, they had started to secure the borders of Rohan with more soldiers who supervised the coming and goings of people and materials along the borders. She knew that such tightening of laws at their borders would concern the people of Rohan and affect the merchants' trade, but it had to be done for their safety. During the former King's reign, such laws had been relaxed under a certain individual's insistence. Gríma Wormtongue was his name; an unsavoury character who had fled Rohan soon after the arrival of Gandalf the Grey. Lothíriel was certain that he was one of the many reasons that contributed to the orcs that had found their way into the land of Rohan.
A heavy hand upon her shoulder reminded her to the presence of her father.
She was eternally grateful that he had remained in Edoras, even though she knew he only travelled to Rohan to pay his respects to his sworn son's tomb before making his way back to Gondor and Minas Tirith for talks about the river trade agreements. Lothíriel knew that her father would inform the King of Gondor about the condition of her husband, but in the end she had still sent a message to the great King, if only to ease his mind; she knew that he and her husband had become fast friends in a time of much darkness and doubt. Their friendship and brotherhood had eased Éomer's troubled heart considerably.
"Why are you still awake, Ada?" She sighed and added teasingly, "Tis far too late in the evening for an old man to be wandering the halls."
Imrahil chuckled wryly. "I believe that it is my duty to question you on such matters, daughter."
"I cannot leave his side," she looked down at the slumbering form in the large bed. He seemed so small and vulnerable... It broke her heart to see her husband injured to gravely.
"Were he conscious, I am certain that he would wish for you to rest, given your condition."
"Give me a moment longer Ada," Lothíriel yawned, "I will retire when I am certain that he is comfortable."
Imrahil shook his head at his daughter's obstinacy. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss upon her head, "You are more stubborn than your mother," he cast his eyes down to the glowing profile of his daughter, silently watching as the dim candle light flickered upon her fine features.
Lothíriel took his hand from her shoulder and held it tightly, "A fine compliment, if any."
They laughed quietly.
Absently, Imrahil straightened the shawl upon his daughter's shoulders, "You remind me of her," he commented sadly.
"Is that such a bad thing, Ada?" She said softly, leaning into his hand as he stroked her hair.
"Nay, it is a blessing. Your mother was a good woman."
"I know."
Silence settled between the father and daughter as they looked at the wounded figure on the bed. Finally, the oppressive atmosphere became too much for Lothíriel and so, she spoke the truth of her mind, "I fear for him..."
"He is a warrior at heart, he will survive this and become stronger."
"I am certain that he will heal from his physical wounds but... what of his mind? Orcs are not known for their gentle nature; they must have degraded and abused him in the worst way possible. How will he recover from that?"
"You worry needlessly," her father assured, "He will be fine. After all, he has a devoted wife by his side at every free moment she can spare."
Lothíriel almost winced at his words. Devoted wife? How could she tell her father that she had been anything but a devoted wife! She had refused, time and again, to believe that she loved the Rohan King more than she cared to admit. She had been foolishly frightened that he would not accept her after her confession in the first few months of their marriage. Lothíriel knew that her father would be livid that she had expressed such truthful feelings to her husband.
It was her duty as a Princess and now, a Queen to rule by her husband's side and support him in all matters of court life. But she had selfishly pushed him away and it was he that supported her in the end. And she would be in his debt forever. Was this love she felt? This constant fear for his safety, the fear that he would be too broken to accept his role as King... The fear that he would not acknowledge the child growing within her... She longed to see his smile, to see his warm brown eyes twinkle with mischievous glee as he teased her for the umpteenth time. She enjoyed his sly comments and missed them greatly. But above all, she missed him.
Beneath the folds of her loosely flowing gown, her unborn child kicked against her stomach as if in agreement with her thoughts.
'You must awaken, my lord,' she thought to herself, 'So that I may earn your trust once more and love you the way you deserve to be loved...'
Imrahil bit back a yawn and silently squeezed Lothíriel's shoulders before turning to leave the room that was situated in the Healing Halls.
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The Marshal of the East-mark swirled his silver goblet of ruby wine as he sat across from his old friend and comrade, a lieutenant of the King's éored. The dreary weather on the outside of the tent did not detract from the warm glow that emanated from within. Their tents had been lined with stately furs and other trappings of comfort, due to their station, but Elfhelm felt slightly guilty for swanning about in luxury when he knew that his men did not have items such as insulated animal skins on the floors of their tents.
"A toast to our victorious efforts!" Éothain said, raising his own goblet. Though he would have preferred a tankard of ale, the wine was delicious in it's own right. "And to the safety of our land," he added stoutly.
Elfhelm raised his own glass before taking a small sip. "We have been successful in our endeavours, my friend. The Eastern borders are secured and the trade posts have been set up, all of which are running fairly smoothly. We shall return to Aldburg at first light and dispatch messengers to Edoras to inform the Queen and the King's advisors of our triumph; I trust that you will wish to join them in delivering the news?"
"I would," Éothain replied readily, "Have you any word from Lord Erkenbrand about the status of the Western borders?" He questioned with interest.
"They have secured the borders and are patrolling the land west and north of Edoras for any orc encampments that may have been overlooked. We are lucky that the battle of East Emnet aided us in the eradication of the fell creatures..." He trailed off and glanced down at the floor of the tent, "It is a miracle that the King was found in the Westfold by villagers and brought to Edoras by Prince Imrahil. We should have been more thorough in our search for him..."
"Aye, Rohan has suffered far too many tragedies to lose another King. It would not have boded well for the country," Éothain remarked solemnly.
"Indeed."
Éothain observed a foreign look upon his friend's face. "What is it? What troubles you?"
Elfhelm started as he was pulled away from his thoughts, "Nothing."
"I have known you for far too long. Will you not speak your mind freely to an old friend?"
The Marshal sighed in resignation, "I was merely contemplating your words. The death of the King would not have boded well for our country, but can you imagine what burdens would be placed upon the Queen? She would be grief-stricken and I am quite certain that the King's advisors would wish for her to retain rule over Rohan until the heir to the throne comes of age." Elfhelm was afforded a frown from his comrade.
"Why should that trouble you...?" Éothain trailed off as he discerned the look upon his friend's face. "Ah. You... Care deeply for the Queen?" His words were carefully spoken, and he was glad since Elfhelm glanced at him sharply.
"I am not judging you," Éothain insisted hastily, "But—are you certain it is wise to harbour such feelings?"
Elfhelm did not respond.
It was all the incentive Éothain needed to speak his next thoughts, "You believe that you are in love." The pained expression upon Elfhelm's face was all the confirmation that was needed. The sullen warrior exhaled loudly as he leaned back against his chair, confused as to how his friend could have fallen in love with—"You realise that your feelings are akin to treason?"
Elfhelm inhaled sharply and nodded, looking at the remaining contents of his goblet. "You will speak of this to no-one." It was not a question, but a command.
Éothain nodded seriously, "Is this the reason why you have sent all reports of the Eastern borders through messangers, rather than going to Edoras yourself these past few months?"
"It is. I have distanced myself from the... Situation, so as not to further this problem."
"A wise decision," Éothain said thoughtfully, pondering upon the irony of it all, "I have known you for many years, my friend, and not once have I seen such an expression marring your face. Years of avoiding female company and you finally decide to choose the unattainable. Congratulations, I would not have thought it possible."
Elfhelm could not help but chuckle at Éothain's comment and the absurdity of his current dilemma.
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The council meeting had been going on for more than two hours and Lothíriel was beginning to grow restless in her seat. Two weeks had passed since her father journeyed to Edoras... Two weeks since her husband had only woken a handful of times, incoherent to his surroundings, but still giving hope to his people and Lothíriel that he would heal swiftly and all would return to as it should be.
She had insisted on keeping the council meetings in the small library room that connected to Éomer's own chambers in the Healing Halls. It was done so that she could be near to him should he awaken... But she knew that she had insisted because she worried constantly for his health and during the few breaks that were granted, she was always leaving the meeting room so that she could check up on him, much to the pleasure of Éomer's advisors; it showed that their Queen cared deeply for his recovery. Which, of course, was preposterous as she truly wished for Éomer to heal quickly so that she could know for certain that he was safe at last. Safe and away from the danger of dying...
"Lord Elfhelm has informed us that the Eastern borders are now secure," said the familiar voice of an advisor, "Lord Erkenbrand is also on the verge of clearing the Western lands completely of any dangers that may pose a threat to Rohan."
Lothíriel nodded, her face impassive. "What of the trade agreements? I understand that some of the neighbouring countries, save for Gondor, were not pleased to hear about the tightening and restrictions of our laws."
"They have accepted them reluctantly," the grey-bearded advisor replied. "They know well the penalty for smuggling goods across the border."
"Good," she was pleased that everything was in order. "We must make an example of those who do not adhere to our laws."
"Well put, your highness," another, slightly younger, advisor praised.
Lothíriel resisted the urge to grimace. Instead, she inclined her head to the younger advisor. She knew that out of the ten men, some of the advisors were more attention-seeking than the others; it was the younger ones that vied for her approval much more and the elders that spoke with wisdom, content to remain in the background. Her husband had done well to secure such trust-worthy men as his advisors. Even if some were a tad more annoying than others.
"I believe that—" Lothíriel halted her speech as the doors that connected to Éomer's chambers began to open.
She scowled, wondering who would dare to interrupt the meeting without even knocking on the door. A sudden thought came to her; who would be entering the room from the King's chambers in the Healing Halls?
The room was silent as the doors slowly opened, only to reveal her husband standing as naked as the day he was born, leaning wearily against the frame of the doors with his right arm in a sling.
Lothíriel and the men gaped at the sight before them.
He was awake and well enough to stand! The Queen of Rohan's joy was short-lived as she realised that he wore no clothes as he stood in the doorway; his raw and heavily scarred body in full view for them all to witness. From the facial expressions of the council men, she could tell that they were clearly embarrassed and shocked by the King's unclothed condition especially at the sight of his battle-scars. But Lothíriel could only see something else... Something in his eyes that reminded her of a childish innocence and vulnerability.
Éomer coughed once before speaking in a timid voice that did not seem to belong to him, "I couldn't find any clothes..."
Rising slowly from her seat, Lothíriel looked to the advisors and spoke quickly, "This meeting is adjourned for today; you may leave until further notice. Please inform Gleawman and send him to the King's chambers immediately."
They murmured in ascent, each one clearly flustered to see their King in such a state of undress—though they realised that he might not have been in the right frame of mind after such a traumatic experience.
As the advisors began to depart from the small library room, Lothíriel clutched her heavily swollen stomach as she waddled towards her husband, all the while wondering what was wrong... He was finally awake, so why did she have such a sense of foreboding? And why were his eyes so free and devoid of recognition?
She pulled her shawl from her shoulders and carefully wrapped it around his injured frame to offer some form of dignity. "Come, my lord," she said quietly, motioning for him to return to his chambers.
Éomer frowned, "Am I to return to bed?"
Lothíriel bit her lip thoughtfully, "You are still healing from your wounds, my lord. It would be best for you to return to your chambers and rest."
"Why are you calling me that? Who am I?" He asked quietly as she guided him into the stately room, "Who are you?"
Lothíriel froze.
She looked at him sharply, "Éomer?"
"Is that my name?" He questioned in a small voice, befitting of a child, "Is it Éomer?"
Her stomach tightened as she helped to lower him onto the bed, "You do not know who I am?" She whispered fearfully.
Éomer shook his head, blinking.
The innocent expression on his face had nearly undone her.
"I think you're pretty," he grinned before growing sad, "But I want my Mama. I remember her. Do you know where she is?"
Lothíriel thought that her heart had stopped beating. What was this madness? What in Arda was happening! She swallowed roughly, "I do not know where your Mama is," she lied.
His face fell, "Oh... Are you going to look after me if you can't find her?" His warm brown eyes were wide with anticipation.
She was beginning to breathe heavily now, becoming short of breath at the anxiety she felt in her heart. "I will always look after you," she murmured to herself, feeling tears prick at her eyes as she sat down wearily upon the chair at his bedside. Lothíriel looked at him as he sat quietly upon the bed, tilting his head as he watched her before breaking out into a large, uncharacteristic smile that spoke of the carefree days of youth, when the burden of duty would have been nothing but a distant dream.
"Do you promise?" He asked tentatively.
"I promise," she choked back a sob.
"What is your name?" Éomer wondered aloud, almost frowning at the brimming tears within her sea-blue eyes.
"Lothíriel," she replied softly, blinking back her grief at the man... No—child that sat in the bed before her.
He leaned close, as though he were speaking a secret, "I like that name much better than my own."
She watched him closely as he chewed at a fingernail from his good hand. And for the second time, Lothíriel could feel her heart breaking as she gazed at the man-child that was her husband. She did not know how, or why, but he had recovered and regained consciousness only to forget his true identity and adulthood. Lothíriel would have to speak with Gleawman to confirm her husband's amnesia and child-like behaviour; if it would be temporary, or if the injuries to his head would leave him permanently damaged mentally... She was not looking forward the healer's conclusions.
Fearfully, she reached out to pull his good hand away from his mouth as he bit at his nails. She firmly held his large hand tightly within her own and furiously tried to halt her tears from flowing down the smooth expanse of her cheeks.
Éomer pulled his hand away from her grasp and reached out to wipe away the glistening tears that slowly formed at the corner of her eyes, "Why are you crying? Are you sad? Mama says that big boys do not cry... But you're not a boy, are you?"
Lothíriel hastily wiped away the remainder of her tears and smiled falsely, "No, I am not. But even big boys are allowed to cry occasionally."
He shook his head solemnly, "I have never seen one cry..."
"And I pray that you do not," Lothíriel leaned closer and placed her palm against his familiar cheek, wishing with all her heart that Gleawman would not tarry in his arrival.
There was much that needed to be discussed.
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Added Notes: Longer chapter for the longer wait! I would like to thank everyone for their constant support, it encourages me in ways you cannot fathom. Please don't hate me for Éomer's condition... :-( I know you must think I'm a loon to do this to him, but I hope you enjoyed the little (or big) twist and had fun (well, ok, maybe not fun) reading this chapter.