By the Sea Chapter 14: Mean Old Lady, a lord of the rings fanfic

Important Author's Note:

Creativity can be vast and endless like the oceans of earth; or it can be like a clogged toilet. After I returned from the summer break, mine turned into the damn toilet. The plot was there but the words were not. I just couldn't get past this mental block in my mind that sprang up every time I tried to sit down and type this chapter up. I scrutinised every word, every sentence and deleted at least twenty rough drafts of this chapter simply because it did not feel right. But after receiving a couple of reviews (Eminath ;D) and an e-mail that gave me a much deserved hard kick up the backside, I forced myself to sit down and type. They say that the first hurdle is always the hardest, but I think I've got over it and my flow of words for this story is returning as well as the encompassing presence of the characters.

I haven't abandoned this story and I apologise for leaving you—the readers—dangling and going missing. I hope you can forgive me.

;bows head in shame and offers cyber Mcvities biscuits to everyone;

By the Sea.

Chapter Fourteen: Mean Old Lady.

Previously...

"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.

Seconds rolled by as Lothíriel remained in her embrace with Elfhelm. She felt her legs weaken as his moist lips brushed against her temple, kissing the area with a distinct reverence that seemed to speak volumes. His ministrations upon her raven locks were comforting as they brushed through the unbound strands, and she almost felt her eyelids droop due to his gentle actions. Eventually, her eyes snapped open as Elfhelm inhaled deeply, as though he were memorising every scent, every indentation of her body that was moulded to him.

She had been right. This could, most assuredly, go no further.

With a heavy sigh and as gently as she could, Lothíriel took a step backwards from the stricken figure of her dear friend. She looked upon him with ice blue eyes of compassion, for she too had felt the tug of temptation vying to bind them together without thought or reason. It lingered heavily between them; that sweet fruit of desire. It was so tempting... So tempting to reach out and taste what had been offered to her. The Queen of Rohan wanted nothing more than to run back into his strong arms and seek her comfort in their embrace. She wanted nothing more than to be loved as a woman should be loved.

But something stopped her. She could not do it.

Not to herself, not to her husband, nor him. Elfhelm was too good a person. He deserved every respect and obeisance that a man could be bestowed. He deserved to be coveted by a woman that could ultimately give him more than she could. A woman that could love him more than she could. Her heart now belonged to her husband, even if she did not know or acknowledge it fully. Though, perhaps, in another world and time, she may have come to deeply love this man before her. At present, their souls were inextricably bound together, though she could not fathom why. She simply knew that Elfhelm was a man she had come hold in high regard and cherish with every breath of her body.

But in the end, it was the deeply rooted respect and love she held for her husband that momentarily quashed her yearning to seek out the Marshal for physical satiation.

At present, his troubled green eyes were overtly embarrassed by his own forwardness and Lothíriel felt nothing but empathy for him.

A moment passed as Elfhelm looked at her intensely.

"You will not have me..?" His hushed voice questioned severely.

In that one gesture, where his lips had come to touch hers, he had admitted to the love he bore for her within his soul. With his words, he had admitted to committing treason against his King, his friend and his brother in-arms. And yet he still wished to know if she would have him. If she could ever have him.

She could almost detect the slight quiver in his baritone voice. She could almost feel the understanding emanating from him. But he still asked, as he could do nothing else in light of his bold actions.

Slowly, Lothíriel raised her head high as only the Queen of Rohan could. "I will not have you. I cannot." And though her voice trembled like a fragile leaf still clinging to life in the winter's chill, she was firm in her conviction. Her heart clenched with sorrow as Elfhelm lowered his head in submission at her poignant words.

"You are most wise, my lady," he murmured softly to the strangling silence of the room.

"Perhaps..." She started quietly, trailing off as his head snapped upwards once more and locked her blue eyes in a prison made from jade. "Perhaps, in another time and another place, I could have had you; Marshal of the East-mark. I could have loved you like I loved no other. For you are a man worthy of such love and devotion as to make any woman's heart leap at the promise of spending their life you. We are much alike, you and I, but I am bound to another and I belong to him. My world and duty revolve around him and I cannot bring myself to hurt the one I have come to cherish so dearly."

Elfhelm nodded solemnly. "Aye," his voice was heavy but soft. "I knew you would say as much."

With his defeated words, a tear fell from the bottom corner of her eye as her head hung morosely. Before it could spill to the ground, the Marshal of the East-mark swiftly reached out and caught it upon the flat plane of his rugged palm. It pooled in his large hand like a tiny crystalline lake made from the rich rivers of the earth. Silently, they stared at the fallen tear with an unspoken sorrow that seemed to linger between their hearts.

"I thank you for this gift," Elfhelm whispered, closing his fingers around the tear. "And I thank you for your honest words... But I must know one thing, if you will allow it."

"Ask, and you shall have your answer," Lothíriel said quickly.

"Did you love him?"

She froze as looked at Elfhelm questioningly.

"Did you love him when you were wed?"

Could she answer truthfully? Could she ever recall to Elfhelm the time when her husband's love had made her cringe? No. She could not be that brutally honest, no matter how much he praised her forthright nature. "What makes you think I did not?"

"When I saw you that very first day of the feast, dressed in a gown that seemed to be spun from the moon's pale beams, I saw a woman. A beautiful, frightened woman that stood alone gazing at a clouded sky when she should have been with her husband, celebrating their union. I saw her sadness and I felt it as if it were my own, beating within my own breast. I did not understand at the time but something shadowed your gaze and it made me wonder... It still makes me wonder; did you love him?"

"Nay," Lothíriel breathed, as if she were expelling years of torment and suffering with that one single word. "I did not." The shame in her voice was tangible and obvious to both occupants of the study. For how could she have ever rebuked and dismissed the love her husband offered to her? He had said that he loved her from the moment he saw her. But could it have been desire that formed Éomer's words of love in the beginning? She realised that it could have, though it seemed to change as they drew closer to one another; as they grew to know what lay in each of their hearts.

"And now?"

"I do not know," she answered as truthfully as she could. Though Lothíriel knew the truth within her heart, her mind had not come to accept it. So she gave the Marshal the only conclusion she could.

Elfhelm exhaled loudly, his breath rushing forth like the tide of a wave coming into the shore. At length, he raised his shoulders and stood tall and proud as he examined her crestfallen face. He could see her confusion as clearly as a finely cut diamond shining upon her fair brow. "You love him," he confirmed. There was a hidden pain within his voice that she could not hear but he strengthened himself against the agony that tore at his own heart as he forced her to admit what she hid herself from.

"I love Éomer, but I am not in love with him."

The Marshal smiled slightly. "My lady, I can say, with the greatest of convictions; that you are." He was prodding her to admit the latent feelings within her heart.

But Lothíriel was as skittish as a mare at the notion that she had come to love her husband as he had once proclaimed loved her. Her eyes flitted about the room in a frenzied dance of unease as she processed her own feelings and thoughts on the subject.

Elfhelm glanced at the window of the study when she made no move to reply. He decided it would be best to let the subject lie for now. "The hour grows late. Mayhap it would be best if I left with my men and move on towards Aldburg."

"Do not leave on my account," Lothíriel pleaded hastily. "Please... stay for a while longer."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. I would like for you to remain in Edoras. Only until your duty calls you away again, of course," she added hurriedly.

He bowed. "I shall do as my lady wishes."

An awkward silence settled between them like the sensual touch of a lover. Lothíriel straightened out the fabric of her heavily embroidered pale blue dress as they stood quietly in each other's company. It had been so long... It felt like an eternity had passed since she had last seen Éomer. And she realised that she had missed him and his comforting presence.

So, instead of prolonging the awkward situation, Lothíriel smiled as serenely as her face allowed and took Elfhelm's hand, squeezing his warm fingers with an innocence that she did not feel. She mustered her courage to speak her next words. "It has been a month since I have seen Éomer... Will you come with me? Will you come with me to see him?"

Elfhelm regarded her with surprise before nodding stiffly at her request. "I would be honoured, my lady."

Silently, they left the room arm in arm, as protocol demanded. They did not speak of the actual kiss that had passed between them. How could they? Were there any words to convey the deeply ingrained emotion that sparkled between them? There were none. And so, it almost seemed as if their lips had never touched and the conversation that followed, had never occurred. But Lothíriel knew it had and it preyed heavily within the subconscious realm of her mind.

The stone halls were eerily quiet as they made their way towards the Healing Halls; the entirety of Meduseld had been slumbering under the wings of silence ever since Éomer's tragic return from the shackles of death.

Lothíriel peered down the empty hallway that was ablaze with orange and red light from the setting sun, as the rays shone through the continuous stream of windows. "I wish I had your strength and bravery, Elfhelm," she admitted quietly as she avoided his gaze.

"You are stronger than you seem to believe you are, my lady," the Marshal replied with a small quirk of his lips.

She laughed humourlessly at this. "I do not believe you."

"And why should you not?"

"If I had possessed strength and bravery like yours, I would not have avoided Éomer for this long... I feel ashamed of myself."

She heard him sigh heavily.

"Believe what you will, but I know the truth."

Finally, Lothíriel tilted her head and looked up at her escort with suspicion. "And what truth is that, my lord?"

Elfhelm glanced back down at her with a steady smile curving his lips upwards. "The truth; that you are brave... and perhaps the second most courageous woman I have come to know."

"Oh? And who is the first?"

"My mother," he replied dryly as he looked away.

For the first time in many weeks, she chuckled quietly at this, almost feeling lightened by his humorous words.

"Had another been in your situation," Elfhelm continued thoughtfully, "They may not have had the strength to see their duties through to the end. Yet you have found the will to rise each day and attend to the demands of this land. I am proud to call you my Queen and... friend."

It had been a long while since Lothíriel allowed herself to feel the twinkle of happiness that bloomed within her breast at Elfhelm's generous words.

And with those truthfully spoken words, they continued through the hallway in a relatively comfortable silence that had eluded them previously. It warmed Lothíriel's chilled heart completely.

She raised her fist to the door of Éomer's chambers in the Healing Halls. Knocking softly, Lothíriel held her breath as she waited to see if her husband was present in the room. Even though she did not visit her husband, she knew of his routine and schedule and knew that it would be the time for his evening check-up with Gleawman.

She continued to knock but there was no answer.

Flashing a strained smile at Elfhelm, she knocked again, barely acknowledging the two Royal guards posted on either side of the doorway as they bowed at her. If they were present, then Éomer was still likely to be residing in his chambers. She wondered why no-one would come to the door. The thought that he may be elsewhere was dismissed from her mind. Gleawman was thorough in his dealings and he certainly would not have ignored the insistent knocking that came from Lothíriel's clenched hand. The healer knew that only Lothíriel would be bold enough to interrupt his examinations.

When the door remained firmly shut, Lothíriel sighed and moved to open it herself. The guards remained silent, knowing that their Queen needed no permission to see her husband.

Together, she and Elfhelm entered the chambers almost hesitantly.

Lothíriel's eyes scanned the large room before they finally came to rest upon her husband's large figure as he sat upon a high-backed chair by the window. His face was solemnly poised as he gazed out quietly at the planes of Rohan, with his chin resting in his palm. Lothíriel was surprised at this. This was not the same person she had come to know in the days before her labour and the imminent death of their child, had come to pass. The Éomer she'd spent time with had been vivacious and loud, if not a little boisterous in his childish ways. She wondered what could have made him so sullen and morose as to quieten his demeanour so drastically.

At length, her husband's name fell from her lips like a prayer to the Valar. "Éomer?" She was proud that her voice remained steady and in control. It did not convey the frantic tempest that invaded her heart as a result of his subdued manner.

He did not stir from his silent musings.

She exchanged a worried glance with Elfhelm. He returned her gaze with a raised brow; the concern in his green eyes was evident. There was something disturbing about her husband's behaviour. It seemed... So defeated. It was quite unlike Éomer to behave in such a way. Especially after he had awoken from his deep slumber.

Steeling herself against the panic that rose within her, Lothíriel moved away from Elfhelm's side to kneel before her husband. His body was twisted towards the tall window in the large seat of the chair that was placed parallel to the glass structure. She observed his profile for a few moments as Éomer continued to gaze out at the rolling planes of his home-land.

Lothíriel seemed to forget that Elfhelm was present in the room as she raised her fingers to gently touch the knuckles of her husband's hand. As he made no outward gesture to acknowledge her, she firmly held his hand that was resting against his tightly muscled thigh.

She was surprised when his fingers tightened around her palm, and equally more shocked when he pushed her hand out of his lap. It almost felt like her heart had fallen into her stomach. Blinking back her tears, Lothíriel built up the courage to reach out and capture his hand once more, only to have it pushed away again. He was refusing her, just as she had refused to see him after the death of their child. And she could understand that. But she would not back away without his forgiveness for her rash actions.

Breathing heavily, Lothíriel placed her hand over his once again, and refused to remove it when he tried to push it away for the third time. Still, he would not look at her, preferring to gaze out listlessly at the unchanging scenery. Biting her bottom lip, she forced herself to speak.

"I am sorry."

Her saddened words drifted between them, and as if they had been a key, Éomer shifted his eyes to peer down at her. There was still a form of innocence within their creamy brown depths, but there was also a great deal of unkempt fury and sadness. "Go away."

Lothíriel wanted to laugh when Éomer spoke to her, his face pouted and child-like as he stared at her with the anger of an infant. At least he had spoken. "Why do you wish for me to leave?" She asked softly.

"Go. Away."

But Lothíriel refused to back down. She owed it to him to remain by his side. "Please tell me. I will not leave until you do," she threatened cunningly.

"Because," he huffed quietly, crossing his arms with her hand still enfolded in his. Lothíriel did not allow herself to let go, even if it meant having her fingers crushed by the flattering large muscles of his arms.

"Because..?" She prompted gently.

"Because... Because—you are a mean old lady!" Éomer snapped with even more of a pout, if that was possible.

Her head rounded towards Elfhelm as he snorted quietly, trying not to chuckle. From her kneeling position, she sent him a silent glare that spoke of venegeance before returning her attention to her husband, who had barely acknowledged the Marshal's presence. "And why am I mean?"

Éomer's lower lip trembled, his anger vanishing with every soft word she spoke. Her gentle manner with him seemed to slowly melt away his anger and frustration. "You left me. You promised. You promised that you would look after me and... you still left me. Just like Mama."

Lothíriel hung her head in shame. It was true. She had left him, even after she promised to look after him. All because of her selfishness and her own grief, Lothíriel had forgotten the most important person in her life. Her husband. He had needed her more than she needed to cater to her own sorrow. "I did not mean to leave you," she whispered apologetically. "And I am sorry... So very sorry. Can you ever forgive this mean old lady?" Her lips quirked in a hopeful smile.

He stared at her silently, unshed tears shimmering within his burdened eyes. The Rohan King chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. Minutes seemed to pass by as he thought to himself, struggling to come to a decision. Finally, he inhaled deeply and frowned to himself. "Only if you promise me something."

Lothíriel's lips stretched into a relieved smile. "What is the promise?"

Éomer's honey-brown eyes glittered as they suddenly came to life. It was a far cry from the downtrodden man she had spoken to only moments ago. "Promise me that you will take me to see the sea!" His eyes grew large and round as various thoughts stampeded through his mind. "I have never been there before and Gleawman said that you used to live there. Will you take me? Please, Lothíriel! Will you take me by the sea?"

Lothíriel's mouth hung wide open in utter shock at her husband's overtly grand request. This; she had not expected. The Queen of Rohan looked to Elfhelm with a bemused expression as Éomer's body twitched with hidden anticipation. The Marshal gestured for her to answer the question that had been posed to her on the moment of her husband's childish impulse.

It was at that time, Lothíriel realised something incredibly strange.

She could not refuse him.

Added Notes: Éomer at Dol Amroth? Surely there's bound to be some mishaps... ;evil grin; Once again, apologies to all for the non-existent updates but the next chapter will be up in a few days to compensate for my disappearance.

Many thanks to everyone that took the time to review and wait patiently for my return.