Author's Note/WARNING:
The loss of a child can be difficult to convey. I have no wish to offend anyone reading this story, so you have been thoroughly warned. I drew upon Lothíriel's disposition and actions through my own experiences as I went through my third miscarriage. It's hard to control one's actions when such sorrow is experienced, as you'll see through our heroine's eyes. For me, that moment in my life was a dark time in a dark place. Though soon enough, it was overridden by my joy and utter fear at the birth of my daughter and then my second child two years later. So even though I have no inkling as to how it feels to lose a child whilst giving birth, I know what it is like to grieve for the loss of one.
Once again, you have been warned.
-
-
-
By the Sea.
Chapter Thirteen: Ghost of Meduseld.
-
-
-
There were no tears left—she had none to offer. No words, no thoughts... Nothing. Her heart felt empty and bottomless, like the great caverns of Moria; it was too much! Far too much. She neither wept nor grieved, for she was numb from the continuous lashings upon her shriveled heart. It had been a month since her silent child lay buried in the tombs of her forefathers. A girl. The Valar had blessed her with a girl-child, only to have her taken away by their unseen hands as they choked the life from her. That was how the babe entered the world; silent, unmoving and utterly devoid of life.
Murmured whisperings passed between the people of Edoras.
They said she was cursed. A cursed sea-woman from Gondor that had cast an evil eye upon Rohan and it's Royal family.
Lothíriel knew of their unkind words and she had even started to believe them. Perhaps she was cursed? She was doomed to rule over a people that would forever despise her. She was the reason for her husband's condition, she was the reason for the death of her child. A child that had been unwanted in the beginning... And the Valar saw this in her heart. They punished her, for the child was not born of love but from necessity. And they sought to rectify the mistake. But she had loved her unborn babe! When the final months came, she was deeply in love with life growing within her womb... In the end, she had also grown to love her husband. But it mattered not. Her fate had been decided and her punishment doled out.
She sighed heavily as she looked at the newly forged treaty within her hand.
The King's advisers still held onto hope—the hope that her husband would regain his senses and claim the throne once more. They were good men. They were loyal to Éomer and they were loyal to her, and for that she was most grateful. It was the advisers that spoke of Rohan's discourse at the loss of the child. But they implored her to ignore the peoples' wild superstitions and claims that she was cursed; she was a good Queen and a sound ruler that had secured the safety of thousands by managing to tighten the borders of Rohan. In the end, she had proven her worth to the advisers and that was good enough for them.
Her father, however, wished for her to return to Gondor and Dol Amroth so that she may heal the wounds of her heart and body. He understood that Rohan needed a Regent to rule in her stead, but he was worried for her and begged that she return with him.
Lothíriel could understand his concern. After her initial recovery, she barely ate and the hours of her day were filled with countless meetings and the reading of trade agreements and treaties, as well responding and observing many reports that came from the borders of Rohan. During the day, the grief was not so tangible as to affect her, as she kept herself constantly busy. She found that by remaining occupied, she could distance herself from the reality of her child's death and Éomer's condition. It was the nights that were the most difficult. The endless hours between star-light and day-light, where her thoughts and tears ran free—unencumbered by the many distractions that the day held. Oftentimes, she found herself roaming the halls of Meduseld, like a ghostly shadow that walked through empty halls and past slumbering guards, never finding rest nor respite from the aching chasm within her heart.
And so, she could accept her father's reticence towards her behaviour. But Lothíriel refused to return with him. Finally accepting defeat, her father had returned to Gondor with her eldest brother and the contingent of Knights that travelled with them from Dol Amroth. On the day he left, Lothíriel saw the grief in his eyes. The silent grief that he held for her—for his lost grand-daughter and sworn son, who still behaved in the manner of a child. Before he left, he pleaded with her to visit Éomer; she had not done so since before the night of her labour. Three weeks passed and she could not bring herself to remain in the same room as him.
Her father spoke of Éomer's countless requests to see her, he informed her of his sworn son's distress at being shunned by Lothíriel... This tore at the very fibres of Lothíriel's heart. She desperately wished to see him, to converse with him but she could not. She could not bear the pain of informing him about the loss of their child, for he would surely ask her where the babe had disappeared to. She was a coward. She knew that she was hurting him by not seeing him... But she could not bring herself to see him in his unhappy state. It only added to the weight of her heart and the anguish she constantly endured throughout the long hours of the night.
She simply wished to forget.
Already, another week had flown by since the departure of her father and she missed his solid, comforting presence. Lothíriel had yet to visit her husband... Though the advisers were constantly pleading with her to do so. Their pleas fell upon deaf ears. She would do so when she could muster her courage and strength to speak with her husband.
A gentle knock upon the door of her private study, roused Lothíriel from her deep and troublesome thoughts.
She frowned.
"Enter."
Lothíriel stood from her seat as the door opened slowly. Her eyes widened with surprise as the Marshal of the East-mark breezed through the door with a gracious smile upon his fair face.
He halted mid-stride as he took in Lothíriel's stunned, haggard appearance.
She gazed at him with relief and joy; her friend had returned! She had not seen him in many months... Of course, she understood that he had his duty to fulfil, but that did not mean that she hadn't felt the loss of his presence.
Briefly, Lothíriel wondered if he knew... If he knew about the fate of Rohan's heir and King. None outside the Golden Hall possessed the knowledge of her husband's condition—but perhaps one of the advisers informed him and he sought to return to Edoras to see the King himself? After all, it was known throughout Edoras that the King and Marshal were dear friends from the long years of the past.
Lothíriel raised her hand to her throat, blinking as she traced her fluttering pulse with trembling fingers. Upon seeing the Marshal's face, the burden that had rested on her shoulders grew light and sure enough, relief washed over her like the gentle waves of the sapphire sea lapping against a golden shore.
She exhaled.
They did not speak.
Propriety was soon thrown to the way-side as she rushed to him, and clung to his solid form in a chaste embrace that sang of comfort, friendship and love. Lothíriel could see that he did not know how to respond to her passioned outburst. But she refused to relinquish her hold upon the hardened warrior.
-
-
-
Elfhelm froze as the King's wife leapt forward to hug him.
Any action that he could have taken, would have resulted in raised eyebrows from many, had they witnessed their private reunion. In the end, he finally allowed himself to encase the tiny woman within his arms. Many minutes passed without a word from Lothíriel; a deep frown creased the lines of his forehead. He was taken aback by her trembling body and the dampening patch at the breast of his tunic.
"Why do you weep, my lady? Surely these should be days of joy," grasping Lothíriel's shoulders, Elfhelm gently held her back and observed the fresh tears brimming within her clear blue eyes. As gently as he could, he wiped away the silver stains upon her sallow cheeks with the calloused pads of his thumbs. She looked pale and sickly... Unhealthy. And it worried him beyond belief. "Come," he continued softly, "I would have you show me the face of the King's heir. My men and I have just returned from the borders where we have been securing the eastern lands. It was remiss of us to miss the naming ceremony and the heir's blessing."
It was the wrong thing to say.
Elfhelm's stomach dipped in apprehension as he watched her lips part in shock.
"You do not know?" Lothíriel whispered to herself as she stepped away from his comforting embrace.
"What is it that I do not know?" He smiled with uncertainty, trying to alleviate the trepidation within his heart.
Lothíriel turned away from him, her shoulders shaking as she bowed her head to the ground in submission. It was not the pose of a powerful Queen and it disturbed Elfhelm to see her so defeated. "My lady?" standing behind her, he placed his hand upon her shoulder as she quivered with sorrow. It radiated from her body in waves and engulfed his entire being.
"The babe did not survive the birth."
Elfhelm blinked, thinking that the words he had heard were false. "My lady?" When she did not reply, he tried to rouse her from her thoughts, "Lothíriel...?"
A sob fell from the crevice of Lothíriel's lips. She roughly pulled his hand away from her shoulder and steeled herself against the onslaught of despair that threatened to claim her in it's icy grasp.
The burden within Elfhelm's heart grew as she pushed him away—away from her arms and away from the comfort of her presence. His brow furrowed in thought, "Where is my lord-king?"
He needed to see Éomer, he needed to ascertain that his friend and King was well... To see if he had recovered from his wounds and the new tragedy that had befallen the Royal couple.
The warriors of Rohan had only been greeted with silence as they returned to Edoras from their patrols. From that moment on, he knew that the King's wounds had not healed and that he was still seriously injured. The somber atmosphere was oppressive and suffocating. But he could never fathom that he would have been greeted with the knowledge of the heir's death. He could not help but wonder how Éomer was dealing with the news. If his wife's pain was just a glimpse, Elfhelm dreaded to see the King's. He knew that Éomer could be very difficult to deal with when he was grieved and that the King flailed in his sorrow. This, Elfhelm knew from experience.
Steeling himself against the sorrow that threatened to bury him, Elfhelm once again took the quivering Queen into his arms and held her. Time became insignificant as he offered her the comfort she obviously had not received from her husband. The seconds and minutes soon became meaningless; endless in their eternity and the utter despair that clung to the woman that was blanketed within his embrace.
-
-
-
Lothíriel sniffed absently as she finally pulled away from the arms that offered her nothing but a reprieve from the constant torture and anguish her heart endured. "Elfhelm," she began bravely, "There is something you must know. None outside of the Golden Hall know of the King's plight. But I must tell you and implore that this news does not leave Meduseld."
Elfhelm inhaled sharply. Was his lord-king on the verge of losing his life? He prayed to Béma that Éomer was well; his grief would have known no bounds had the King been beyond salvation.
When Lothíriel did not speak, he placed his hands upon her shoulders. "Speak, my lady, for I cannot bear your silence."
The Queen of Rohan stiffened under the horse-lord's intense gaze. "Éomer... He is not the man you have come to know, but the child you once knew."
"You speak in riddles!" Elfhelm exclaimed, baffled by her words.
"Gleawman," Lothíriel started as Elfhelm frowned deeply, recognising the Royal healer's name. "Gleawman and I made a discovery about the King's condition."
"What discovery?" He asked with uncertainty.
Lothíriel inhaled deeply. "The inflictions Éomer received upon his head caused damage to his mind. He has reverted back into the years of his childhood and he has no memory of us... Of me."
Elfhelm gaped openly at his King's wife. "Surely, it cannot be!"
"It is," she replied bitterly. "It is true, although I wish that I could say I speak falsely; I do not. He has lost his senses and we do not know when he will recover from his injuries."
"This is most unhappy news," Elfhelm murmured to himself, withdrawing his hand's away from Lothíriel's shoulders. "How is he faring?" He asked suddenly, causing Lothíriel to jump.
"I know not. I have not the courage to seek him out since the loss of..."
"Ah... Indeed." Elfhelm could not stop himself from speaking further, "Is that wise?"
Lothíriel shook her head desolately, "Before my father left, he encouraged me to go to him. But I cannot. I cannot bear to face him, knowing that we have lost our child. He saw me before—but I have no doubt in my mind that he will ask questions as to the whereabouts of the babe. And I have not the strength to answer them." The tears she had been trying to keep buried, resurfaced with an astute vengeance. "How can I inform him in such a way? His own child is lost, and he himself is but child in his mind. Death should not stain a child's heart and Éomer is no exception."
"My lady," Elfhelm began softly, "He is not a child."
Lothíriel glanced sharply at Elfhelm.
He continued, nevertheless. "Éomer is a strong man; he is our King and he will persevere and regain his senses. You must not treat him as though he is already lost to us!"
"He is lost, Elfhelm!" Lothíriel pulled away completely from his soothing arms and began to pace the room of the private study she had acquired after Éomer's supposed death. "How can you say this? How can you possibly understand his condition! You have been away too long to speak thus, Marshal."
"And how can you have so little faith?" Elfhelm accused hotly, his temper quickening at her loss of hope. "I have been in countless battles, years before you have lived, my lady. I have seen atrocious crimes, fell deeds and have been witness to many deaths that no amount of grieving can absolve. I too have experienced many battle wounds, inflicted upon my person and that of my comrades. Do not tell me that I do not understand his condition, for I understand it all too perfectly! I have seen many a man afflicted with much worse and I tell you this; Éomer will strengthen and return to you. You will regret casting him aside in such a cold manner ere that day arrives at your door."
She stilled.
His angry words reverberated through the very pores of her soul, chilling her to marrow of her bone and beyond. Was Elfhelm correct in his words? Was she being far too dismissive? Of course she was! And the brave horse-lord spoke truthfully. O, her stupidity knew no bounds! She cursed herself for her weakness, as more of her tears spilled forth onto her angled cheeks. She needed to spend time with her husband, to encourage him to recover. Had not Gleawman spoken to her of this? Had he not told her to have hope? How could she have forgotten his words; stupid, foolish girl! Aye. That is what she was. A girl that had no business ruling a country, no business at all. A girl that did not understand the meaning of love and faith and... Hope. Her hope had been scattered to the wind at the death of her child. Every night she traversed the halls as a ghost of her former self, neither aware nor alive in her heart. The silent ghost of Meduseld.
When she did not respond, Elfhelm grimaced and sighed as he lowered his head and closed his jade eyes to the world around him. "I have spoken out of turn yet again," he said gently, "Forgive me, your majesty."
The Marshal of the East-mark froze as he felt delicate fingers upon his cheek, raising his head. He opened his eyes and held his breath at the devastating, saddened smile that was offered to him by the hardened woman.
"Are you a friend to me, Elfhelm?"
"Always," he whispered.
Lothíriel's smile grew. "Then you need not ask for my forgiveness. You spoke wisely and I do not doubt your words."
He exhaled with relief, blinking as the searing heat of her palm remained firmly against his cheek. "I am sorry," the bleakly murmured words spilled from his lips before he could stop them.
Lothíriel's brow dipped in confusion, "Sorry?"
Elfhelm's mouth ran day. He licked his lips nervously before answering. "For your loss of the babe. That is one grievance that I can never be able to fathom." He placed his own hand upon her other cheek and once again, deftly rubbed away the silent trace of tears that lingered upon them.
"It hurts, Elfhelm," she admitted quietly as she took comfort in the rugged palm cupping her face.
"I understand," came the whispered response.
"Every day I endure another battle, another war, another struggle to rise from my bed and join the land of the living. There is an echo in my heart—a deep cave that has been carved from the infelicity of her absence..." Elfhelm watched as Lothíriel smiled at an unseen presence. "The babe was a girl-child. My child, my little girl. And now we have lost her," she frowned, "Rohan has lost it's Shield-maiden and Éomer and I must suffer the loss of our daughter."
"Do not allow your agony to cloud your heart," Elfhelm urged, "There is still a loved one that will need you ere the time comes for him to return. And at the end of all things, he will be with you in the bitterest of moments and he will support you when your grief and anguish will become too much to bear... As will I."
She looked at him then. Really looked at him. Her lips parted in awe as she embedded every detail and contour of his face. "You will?"
"Yes."
Lothíriel blinked heavily as Elfhelm's soft lips encountered her brow. She closed her eyes in relief; her heart lightened with joy to know that this strong man would forever remain by her side—silently offering his companionship, support and wise words to her. She cherished his presence and it made her love him all the more dearly.
"Elfhelm, I thank you for—" Lothíriel's words of gratitude were lodged in her throat as her companion drew her closer and gently brushed his lips against hers.
She swallowed.
The sounds of the world around her came to a crashing, mind-numbing halt. There was nothing to say, as no words were needed to convey the depth of love and affection the Marshal harboured for the Queen of Rohan. And so, she allowed his lips to press deeply upon hers, imprinting their touch within her soul, memorising every moment of his breath and every caress of his lips against hers. She allowed herself the comfort of his touch; a man's touch. A touch that spoke of no sin, for it was conveyed with the deepest concordance and contrition.
And then, it ended—all too soon.
Lothíriel pulled away silently, placing her lips upon Elfhelm's cheek in one final return gesture of the acceptance, love and friendship that Elfhelm had offered her with that kiss.
From deep within her heart, she found the courage and will to raise her mouth her to the folds of his ear and whisper her next words;
"It can go no further."
She had found her solace.
-
-
-
Added Notes:I must be the world's stupidest woman. I came on today to type and update chapter 14 and guess what? I realised that I hadn't even put up, nor typed chapter 13. Wow! Somewhere, in the back of my mind I honestly thought I had updated. That just goes to show the madness of my life. Am I a week behind? Gosh, I feel silly now. I am sorry that my daftness caused everyone to wait so long. Hopefully this story will be finished before the 24th, as I will be going on holiday soon and will be too busy to continue with my fics during the summer period. Fingers and toes crossed that 'By the Sea' will be completed beforehand.
Our favourite King will make an appearance in the next chapter, have no fear. I hope you enjoyed this.
Thanks to all the reviewers, your support is much loved and appreciated!