By the Sea Chapter 16: All the King's Horses, a lord of the rings fanfic

By the Sea.

Chapter Sixteen: All the King's Horses.

Lothíriel sighed heavily.

She closed her eyes as the pounding of her head grew to unparalleled heights. They had been on their journey towards Dol Amroth for a few days now, and it had been the longest few days of her life! She was utterly dismayed by the thought that there was another two weeks of this journey to endure. If the travelling party all had horses, and there were no carriages to handle, they would have reached her homeland of Belfalas in perhaps a week or so of hard riding. But because of Éomer's condition she would not risk it. She could not risk it.

Only the people journeying with her and court of Meduseld knew about the current state of his mind and health, and Lothíriel was not about to shout this news out from the roof-tops of the Golden Hall to the entire population of Edoras. She would not demoralise her husband's people any further than necessary. The country and population had suffered a great deal in the loss of King Théoden and his heir and son, Théodred. It would not bode well if they came to learn about their new King's current situation.

This was one of the reasons why the party travelling to Dol Amroth left under the dark cover of nightfall. No questions had been asked by the King's Royal guards and the nobles of Rohan, residing within the Golden Halls; all thought it would be best if the King left secretly without the pomp and ceremony of a Royal farewell. Of course, the people of Edoras and Rohan knew that their King and Queen were leaving to make a state visit to Gondor, but they did not know the reason for their departure. And Lothíriel would not have it any other way.

With her eyes still closed, she leaned back into the comfortable seat of the carriage and lightly fingered the cloak sitting in her lap.

Elfhelm's cloak...

The following morning of their midnight meeting, he came to her and spoke candidly about the situation. She could not bring herself to look into his eyes as he spoke to her, but she could hear the pain that fringed his voice as Elfhelm asked to take his leave of Edoras—as he asked to take his leave of her.

Lothíriel granted his request without hesitation and without a single thought of doubt. She knew that she would not see him again until her husband had managed to recover. It would certainly be for the best that Elfhelm was gone and she was glad that they both had the strength to put a halt to the development of their relationship. He was a friend to her, but he was also her husband's friend and brother in-arms. Though she knew that he would be gone, from the manner of his speech and glance, his love was enough to save her from drowning in the despair that constantly threatened her mind. But Lothíriel would never again be so foolish as to jeopardise her union with Éomer. She was bound to him and so it would remain until the End.

However, the guilt that had been eating away at her heart did not cease. And even though she devoted herself to finding a way to cure her husband, she could not shirk away the tremendous pain in her heart every time she thought about her actions with Elfhelm. It was one of the reasons she kept the Marshal's cloak; to remind herself never to be so hasty and thoughtless in her doings.

The sound of a horse whinnying beside the window of her carriage brought Lothíriel back from the dark thoughts that encompassed her mind so completely. She pulled back the curtain and looked out curiously, only to find Gamling and his stead riding beside the Royal carriage at a comfortable and continuous pace.

He turned and looked down at her, offering her a steady nod and smile.

Lothíriel returned the gesture softly, before returning the curtain back to its original place; the inside of the carriage was once again shaded from the harsh sun.

"Aunt Lothíriel!"

She sighed wearily as her husband's voice rang out loudly for the hundredth time that day inside the quiet carriage. "Hush, Éomer," she reprimanded gently, "I can hear you well enough; you do not need to shout."

"... Sorry." There was a pause before she heard a shuffling sound coming from beside her. Before she knew what was happening, Éomer had placed his head in her lap and was looking up at her curiously. She smiled at him and rested her hand upon his forehead as he waved his beloved wooden horse in her face. Lightly, she stroked his hair and head in an effort to lull him to sleep. "Why can't we keep the curtains open?" He asked suddenly, causing her to jump.

"Because the sun is not forgiving and it will bother us."

Another pause followed before he spoke again, "Oh." Éomer chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Why will the sun bother us?"

"Because it is hot," she answered patiently.

"Why is the sun hot?"

Lothíriel's eyebrow quirked. "Because the Valar made it so."

"Why did the Valar make it so?"

The pounding in her head became more pronounced. "To keep us warm and give us light."

"Why does it bother us if it's there to keep us warm and give us light?" Éomer continued to ask as he examined the wooden horse that had been gifted to him by his healer, Gleawman.

Lothíriel blinked and pinched the bridge of her nose. "The sun is there to give us light and warmth when we need it, but sometimes it can be too warm for comfort."

"So then why does it become too hot?"

Lothíriel frowned, realising that the conversation had rounded upon itself to the beginning. As much as she adored and respected her husband, she was slowly losing her patience with his constant questioning. She knew that had their daughter survived, she too would be asking numerous questions to satisfy her curiosity once she came of age to speak. So, as much as she wanted to, Lothíriel could not hold it against her husband. But it was becoming overly taxing upon her nerves.

When she did not reply to Éomer's question, he began to fidget beside her. His head shifted upon her lap, digging into her thigh painfully as he tried to get comfortable. It was no mean feat, but soon enough he managed to find a position that satisfied him greatly. The only problem with it was the pain Lothíriel felt as his heavy head rested on only a portion of her lap. She winced and tried to hide it as he looked up at her impatiently.

"Well?" He prompted. "Why does it become too hot?"

Finally, Lothíriel felt her brow furrow in mild annoyance. "Honestly... I do not know, Éomer." It was a defeated answer and she knew that he could sense her thoughts. She had to give him credit, the man certainly likes a challenge no matter what his age.

He gave her a look of disappointment and she could not bear to see it upon his face. And so, she said, "Perhaps you can ask Gamling when we have stopped for the day and the camp has been set up."

Éomer's eyes twinkled with glee at the prospect of torturing the man that had been given the job of protecting him on the journey. Lothíriel felt slightly guilty for directing her husband's attention towards the Captain, but it soon passed as he began to fidget once more with barely contained energy.

"Can I please go riding outside?"

Lothíriel shook her head resolutely. "No. We have had this discussion before and I will not repeat myself."

"But why not?" He whined quite loudly, "Please Aunt Lothíriel—I will be careful, I swear it!"

"No, Éomer," she sighed as she patted his cheek. "It is too dangerous."

"Papa and Mama let me ride when they were here," he argued angrily.

"I am not your father nor your mother," Lothíriel reasoned as best she could.

"I'm glad you're not!" It was too much for his young mind to comprehend and she knew that she had pushed him into a corner. In frustration, Éomer reached up and pulled at the locks of her unbound raven black hair. "I want to ride with the Men!"

Lothíriel cried out in shock and pain as he tugged again. She glared down at his stubborn set face with fury. "That is enough now." Her voice held enough ice and steel to freeze him on the spot. With a frightened expression, he began to cry. Lothíriel, on the other hand, was not fooled by this ruse to divert her attention. "Cease your caterwauling!" She demanded, moving him off her lap so that he sat beside her—which only caused the tears to flow more profusely.

The Queen of Rohan faced her husband with a rather stern expression. "Éomer," she said with warning.

The sound of her hardened voice was enough for him to stop crying until only sniffling remained. He looked at her with a chagrined expression.

Once Lothíriel knew she had his full attention, she began. "We do not conduct ourselves in that behaviour. Do you understand?" When he just stared at her sullenly, she reached out to hold his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Do you understand?"

"Yes... I understand," he finally whispered with a small pout.

"Good. I will not have you making a bad impression upon my family in Dol Amroth. My father commands great respect at every turn and you are not to behave in such a manner before him. If you continue to express your anger in such way, I will be forced to send you back to Edoras with Gamling. Is that what you truly want?"

His eyes widened in startled confusion.

She knew how much he wanted to see the sea, but she would not give him that pleasure if he continued to act in such a brutish manner. He was of noble birth and would behave accordingly at Dol Amroth. Never in her life had she witnessed such spoilt manners, even from a child! If he was not her husband she would have reprimanded him even more but at the solemn expression on his face, she refrained from speaking any further.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Aunt Lothíriel," Éomer mumbled as he lowered his head. "Please don't send me back. I really want to see the sea." As soon as he apologised, his lower lip and chin began to wobble and this time, she knew that his tears were real.

Her face softened minutely. "I accept your apology. It has been a long day for us both." As gently as she could, Lothíriel reached out and brushed away his tears. Sliding closer to him on the cushioned bench of the carriage, she held him silently.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in that very position until both husband and wife drifted off to sleep, lulled by the gentle swaying and rocking of the carriage.

They stopped to set up camp just as the sun was beginning to set.

Lothíriel was glad to finally be out of the carriage as her backside was more than just aching, it was crying out for relief. She spent a few moments walking around the campsite area, stretching her legs and wearied muscles so that she would not feel any strain the following morning. As she walked, she nodded and acknowledged the Riders accompanying them on the journey. They murmured greetings to her as they bowed, aware of the protocol and propriety that was required of them. She felt a little saddened by their aloof manner, but she understood why they behaved in such a way. Appearances had to be maintained.

As she watched them set up the tents, Lothíriel spied a guard hovering beside her and shadowing her every move, from the corner of her eye. Gamling had appointed the guards accordingly and though she was grateful for this, she couldn't help but feel stifled by his constant observation of her actions. It was almost as if the guard thought that she would be foolish enough to leave the safety of the campsite!

Lothíriel was not as ignorant as they may have believed her to be. She knew about the dangers that still stalked the lands and she would not be so witless as to wander away from the relative safety of the camp.

Rolling her eyes at the ridiculous notion, she inhaled the fresh air that surrounded her. Gradually, her eyes drifted upwards so that she gazed up at the steep slopes of Ered Nimrais. It was wonderful to finally leave Edoras and travel. She had almost forgotten that there was a world outside of Meduseld...

The rising sound of chatter disrupted her wayward thoughts.

Lothíriel glanced over at the bustling group of women that had already started up cooking the evening's meal. She smiled faintly as she noticed that her handmaidens had also deigned to join the fray. They began to aid the clucking cooks and kitchen staff with the cleaning of vegetables and recently procured meat. She wished that she could join them, but knew that it was unthinkable for her to do such a thing. Laughing and chattering amongst themselves, Lothíriel felt slightly jealous of their freedom to do as they wished.

It was such a grand life! To be so care free, to have no responsibilities... If she ventured over to them, they would only be appalled at the thought their Queen had come to help. They kept Royal families on such high pedestals, it was no wonder that at times, great Kings often fell from grace. Nobles were to be catered to, looked after, but Lothíriel desperately wished to be treated as an equal. However, she would never find this amongst the general populace and many of the noble-born men and women were sometimes too stiff and formal to ever consider a close friendship with.

As she scrutinised the amiable women for a moment longer, Lothíriel lowered her gaze and returned to the tent that had been set up for her.

They following days of their journey crept by slowly but surely. Lothíriel had occupied her husband's time by reading to him during the morning and afternoons of their journey and by sunset, she allowed him to be entertained by Gamling and a few of his men in front of the fire. Though she did not approve of this, Éomer seemed to enjoy his time with the Captain greatly and she could tell that Gamling was enjoying his King's company equally, whether he expressed his pleasure at this or not.

The few men that were allowed to remain in Éomer's company were loyal Gamling and to their King and Lothíriel knew they would honour him by remaining silent about his condition once they returned to Edoras and their respective homes. They treated him as she directed them to, not as a King, but as a younger brother and Rider of their éored. It amused the men and Lothíriel, to see their King in such high spirits amongst them, especially after the men had been kept from the truth for so long.

It was during the beginning of the second week, when the company had stopped for the day, that a stable-hand tapped nervously against the pole of her private tent. As Lothíriel rose from her cot, she called for him to enter and wondered what all the fuss could be about. Éomer was spending his time with Gamling's men, so she did not feel any apprehension as she looked kindly upon the stuttering young man. After a few moments, she bade him to speak slowly so that he could calm his erratic breathing.

"My lady-queen," the young man huffed worriedly, "Lord Gleawman has bid me to call upon you!"

Lothíriel frowned at the mention of the old healer's name. She had implored the experienced healer to join them on the journey so that he could continue his routinely check-up of her husband. Even though Éomer's body seemed to be healing well, she would not risk the chance of travelling without Gleawman; it was for her peace of mind. Besides, Éomer enjoyed the healer's company.

Feeling more than puzzled at being summoned by Gleawman, Lothíriel shook her head, "What is the matter?" The behaviour of the young stable-hand was becoming incredibly unsettling.

"It is my lord-king, Éomer... He—he tried to mount a Rider's stallion and could not control it! Lord Gleawman is tending to him in his tent and has called for you to join him."

Lothíriel felt her stomach drop at the words. In an instant, her world seemed to crumble at the very tips of her fingers. She had strictly forbidden him to go near the horses! How could he have escaped the watchful eyes of Gamling's men? How! "No... Not again," she whispered angrily to herself. "Not again!" The stable-hand's eyes widened with shame; he lowered his head and forced himself to remain in his Queen's presence, unwilling to see his King's wife in such a state of despair. If she could not hold on to her hope, then what hope was there for the rest of them?

Seconds of silence rolled past as Lothíriel bravely gathered her wits. Suddenly, she sprung into action by ordering the stable-hand to show her to Gleawman's tent. As they stepped outside, she barely noticed the convergence of people milling about outside their tents, speaking to one another in murmured voices as they watched their Queen being led by the ruffled, agitated stable-hand. They had all learnt about the accident, and many voiced their concerns about their King. It felt as if there would be no respite from the suffering their Kingdom had to endure.

Lothíriel slipped quietly into Gleawman's tent. She had let the stable-hand return to his duties after giving him a severe scolding for being unaware of Éomer's presence amongst the battle horses. Apparently, he was not the only one to blame, but she accepted his excuse that the King had managed to acquire a Rider's helm as a disguise when he neared the area where the horses were being tended to and so, none had recognised him nor questioned his presence.

"How is he? Is he injured greatly?" She came to stand beside Gleawman as he remained bent down over her husband's slumbering form.

Removing his hand from Éomer's forehead, the healer straightened and sighed. "He was frightened and in shock when Gamling brought him to me. A few cuts and bruises but all in all, he is well. However, he has broken out into a fever; possibly from the fright he received and the disturbance caused to his previous injuries." Gleawman glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. "I am getting too old for this," he commented ruefully.

Lothíriel smiled, feeling immensely relieved that Éomer's injuries were not too serious. But, as always, she felt the smile slip away like the remnants of a fading twilight. "I told him to remain away from the horses. Why did he not listen?" Her frustration was evident to both occupants of the tent.

"Because he has the mind of a child," the healer answered, a little despondently. "He is as stubborn as he was when he first came to Edoras."

Lothíriel snorted unashamedly. "I want my husband back, Gleawman," she confided softly. "I want him well and by my side; not as a child, but as a man... As a King."

"Only time will tell, my lady. Only time will tell."

Lothíriel looked down at her husband's sleeping face. Breathing in deeply, she exhaled with pure and utter relief. He had escaped this unfortunate misadventure with only a fever and few minor scrapes and bruises. He would be sore in the morning, but it was no less than what he deserved. "You may sleep in my tent for your services, Gleawman. I will remain here, by his side."

"You should also rest, my lady," Gleawman prompted gently. "I will tend him through the night."

But Lothíriel was adamant. "No, I shall not rest this evening. It would be best if you received some respite for your troubles."

The healer bowed in her direction. "As my lady wishes." Before leaving, he saddled her with a bowl of water and cloth, instructing her to use it upon Éomer's forehead to cool him against the fever that raged through his body.

Once Gleawman had left, Lothíriel slumped down onto the stool that was positioned beside the bed. Reaching forth, she stroked away the pale wisps of flaxen hair that framed her husband's lean face. He looked did not look peaceful and calm in the repose of his fever. It reminded her that she was not dealing with a child, but a man.

Come morning and upon awakening, Lothíriel knew that she would not scold him for his disobedience. If she did and he recovered from this ordeal, he would never forgive her. She chuckled wryly as she pictured the horrified expression that would settle upon his face as he came to learn about his wild antics. No, he would not readily forgive her for behaving like a mother hen.

Gently, she pressed the cool wet cloth upon his forehead and watched him sleep through the haze of flickering light from the candles in Gleawman's tent.

Minutes and hours seemed to blend into one another before his fever had broken. The shivers that wracked his body soon abated and she tended to him for quite some time after them. But sure enough, Lothíriel somehow found her eyes drooping shut when she was satisfied that all would be well and she could no longer keep her exhaustion away.

On the second night of her vigil, as her husband still remained in a deep sleep, Lothíriel was awakened by the sound of muffled groaning. She had ordered Éomer to be moved into their own tent so that Gleawman could regain his own quarters. Throughout the day, Lothíriel had kept a steady watch on her husband and his progress. He was considerably better than the night before, but she could not be certain.

Raising her head and looking at the candles, Lothíriel saw that the wax had melted half-way. She came to the conclusion that quite some time passed by since she had allowed herself to fall into a dreamless slumber.

Another groan caused her sit up straighter on the uncomfortable stool she had borrowed from Gleawman's tent. Her shoulders were knotted, she noted with dissatisfaction, and her backside felt like it was on fire—but none of that compared to the concern the Rohan Queen felt for her King.

Quietly, she leaned across her husband and took his hand as she placed her fingers upon his forehead. His body was cooling, much to her relief and he looked considerably at peace than before. With a relieved smile, Lothíriel watched as his eyes fluttered open, coming to fix upon her face with confusion.

As he studied her, Lothíriel's smile stilled when she continued to look down into his brown depths. They were unfamiliar and cold as they gazed up at her with suspicion. The grip of his hand tightened around her fingers, almost painfully, and she was forced to hold back a whimper. Gone were the charming eyes of the child she had come to know, gone was the gentle gaze of the man that had been her husband. And in their place, another pair of beguiling brown eyes stared back at her with disorientation and a fair amount of vexed suspicion.

"Who are you?" His harsh voice was deep, raw and guttural; unlike anything she had ever heard before.

For some inexplicable reason, Lothíriel knew not to trifle with this man before her; this man that she called her husband. "Lothíriel... Lothíriel of Gondor," her reply was barely whispered and she could see that he had to strain to hear her words.

"Lothíriel of Gondor," he repeated to himself unfamiliarly, still not relieving her crushed fingers from between his firm grasp.

Once again, his liquid brown eyes swept across her face daringly, causing a small thrill of suspense to wrack her tiny frame. She held her breath, waiting for him to continue, feeling nothing but joy and relief at the knowledge that her husband was a man once more. A man! Not a child, but a man... The only problem that presented itself now was his inability to recognise her. Sure enough, her hope began to diminish at the thought.

He did not recognise her.

With surprising speed, Éomer sat up and switched his painful grasp to her shoulders. It seemed that there was no escape from his rough handling.

When he next spoke, his voice was cold and steady, "How is it that a fair maiden appears suddenly, as if by magic, in my tent and by my side? Tell me, is this some trick of Saruman? Has the old wizard employed your feminine wiles to win the hearts of unsuspecting men?"

"N—No!" She managed to stammer unsuccessfully. Could it be that he did not recall the past few years of his life? "Éomer—!"

"—You know my name?" He interrupted, sounding equally surprised and incensed. "How can that be? Who are you? Speak, now!" A furious glint ignited within his gaze and for the first time since she had come to Rohan as Éomer's wife, Lothíriel knew true fear.

Added Notes: I hope this chapter was a nice surprise for everyone! Once again, apologies for the slight delay but I have been insanely busy at work and at home. The next update will be sooner, because I would be classified as cruel if I left you on such a cliff-hanger evil grin

Thanks to Hayley, wondereye, plzthx101, fandun, seyyada, Blue Eyes At Night, Sarahbarr17, X and LadyArian for reviewing! I would give each of you some home-made brownies, but I think my dog managed to beat me to them.