By the Sea Chapter 18: Time, a lord of the rings fanfic

By the Sea.

Chapter Eighteen: Time.

As Lothíriel finished the long and sorrowful tale, Éomer simply remained silent beside her. He made no move to respond outwardly to her voiced memories of their marriage, her pregnancy and the subsequent loss of their child; nor the battle that had ultimately separated them. It was as if a barrier shielded him from her truthful words and nothing could penetrate it.

Then, without preamble, he rose from the cot and began to pace the confines of the tent like a trapped wild cat, glancing occasionally in her direction at uneven intervals.

When he did lock eyes with her, Lothíriel felt as though she was trapped within the eye of a great storm and at any moment the peace surrounding them would be uprooted by the ferocity simmering beneath the taut muscles of his sturdy frame.

Éomer's clenched jaw was enough for her shift uneasily upon the cot.

Hesitantly, she spoke, "Éomer?"

Clearing his throat, Éomer looked at his side with a vacant expression.

With every silent minute that passed, Lothíriel grew more and more anxious by the thoughts that festered within her husband's mind. What was he thinking? Why would he not speak to her? It was almost as if he did not want to believe the tragic tale of their marriage, for though it had been bittersweet during the short year of their union, the trials they endured had only made her love for him grow.

She wondered if he did not wish to be bound to her... Lothíriel would not have been surprised and she could understand if that were case. His mind was still poised in the time before the War and the two great battles. Perhaps, in this moment, he was not ready for love.

Rising from her seat on the cot, Lothíriel stepped towards her husband slowly. "Are you well?"

A fire blazed in his creamy brown eyes, but she knew not what kindled the flame. "I am fine." The throaty intonation of his voice sent chills down her spine.

Swallowing the lump in her own throat, she continued, "Would you care for something to eat? Or perhaps something to drink; ale?" Valar! The tension between them was growing more awkward by the second. Soon, she would run out things to say.

"No," he muttered darkly, clasping at the empty space by his hip.

Lothíriel saw this and frowned. He noticed her staring at him and turned away from her gaze. Was that a blush she saw staining his fair cheeks before he spun away? She tilted her head in confusion. "Are you looking for something?"

When Éomer made no move to reply Lothíriel crossed her arms absently, patiently waiting.

Finally, he looked back at her with such a blank expression that it could have mirrored the Void. "My sword; I don't have it."

Realisation dawned within Lothíriel's bright blue eyes. "Oh." She scrunched her nose up in thought before speaking, "Well, your sword is in Edoras. Because of your—condition, we thought it best if you weren't given anything to harm yourself with," Lothíriel smiled guiltily. "We did not think your state of mind would improve so dramatically, so I left it in the care of the advisers."

Éomer sighed angrily, brushing his hand through his hair. "And Firefoot?"

The Queen of Rohan winced at the mention of her husband's war-horse. "He... He has been poorly since the Battle of Eastemnet. The grooms and stable-hands are caring for him the best they can but it is clear to all that he misses you; it was far too dangerous to let you near him prior to this evening. And because of his health, we could not bring him on the journey."

Upon her words, the murderous expression on Éomer's face spoke a thousand words. "I am sorry," she added lamely, trying not to bolt from the tent at his furious and incensed demeanour.

Éomer detected her fear almost immediately, and the animosity in his eyes softened considerably. He took a deep breath, "So, I am to be left horse-less and unarmed. Wonderful. Simply wonderful!" His sarcastic outburst cut deep but Lothíriel did not allow herself to become phased by it.

Suddenly, an idea came to her unbidden by restraint.

Crossing the tent and moving towards her travelling trunk, she knelt before it and proceeded to empty out the packed contents. As she did this, Éomer's curiosity became so increased, that it pushed him towards her side where he stood and continued to watch silently as Lothíriel pulled out the various dresses and petticoats that had been folded and wrapped carefully in paper material, before being placed gently into the trunk. She continued this task until she was rifling through the remaining dresses at the bottom of the trunk.

By the time she found what she was looking for, her husband had grown impatient and moved to sit on the cot at the far side of the tent, all the while cursing to himself in Rohirric. Lothíriel raised an eyebrow at some of the words and phrases. It was obvious that he had not expected her to understand his quiet ranting.

Carefully, she walked towards him and placed the object in her hands upon his lap and waited for the imminent reaction.

Éomer froze as he stared at the object.

It was a sword.

He reached out to finger the intricate carvings of the scabbard. "Where did you get this?" He asked in astonishment.

Lothíriel smiled softly as she sat down once again beside her husband. "It belonged to my father in his younger years; a blessed Elvish blade. He gave it to me as a wedding gift, so that I would forever remember him..." She paused and placed her hand upon his shoulder. Éomer looked at her intently. "I wish for you to have it," she murmured quietly, earning a sharp intake of breath from her husband.

Almost reverently, Éomer lifted the sword from his lap, all the while shaking his head, to examine the patterns upon the scabbard. He rose from the cot and pulled the blade from the beautiful sheath; a delightful ring echoed out into the silence of the tent. The blade glinted dangerously in the dim light of the candles, almost burning brightly and majestically with an inner light of it's own.

In the same breath, Éomer pushed the blade back into the scabbard and handed it back to Lothíriel. "I cannot accept this. I will not."

"But why?" She persisted, "I am gifting it to you!"

"You cannot. It belongs to your father," he argued wilfully.

Lothíriel shook her head at her husband's stubbornness. "Éomer, the sword is mine to give to whom I wish! And I wish for you to have it!" Standing, she took his hand placed the weapon within his grasp. "I know that in your mind, you do not see us bonded in marriage. But to me; we are wed. I shall wait for you to see this and I will not be offended if you think otherwise, but this sword is yours now. Besides, it is far better that you keep it; it has been gathering quite a bit of dust since my father gave it to me," she joked. "And even though I clean it regularly, you must release me from that burden!" Lothíriel offered a small, encouraging smile.

Reluctantly, Éomer held the sword within his eyesight. He allowed Lothíriel to take his free hand and together they stood awkwardly, admiring her father's sword in that one tender moment where he allowed her to show affection towards him. At length, he looked at her from the corner of his eye and sighed in defeat. "Very well. It will be as you wish."

Lothíriel's smile grew and it was all she could do to stop herself from throwing her arms about his neck.

They spent the remainder of the evening in a relatively forced comfortable silence, for Éomer had no other words he wished to say to her and she could think of nothing else to say to him. The time passed and soon it was required for them to sleep, lest they become too exhausted for the journey the following morning. Éomer requested that another cot be brought in and Lothíriel felt slightly disappointed by this, but she remained silent as they both settled down for the night.

Dol Amroth was now only a half a day's ride away. They would reach the castle by nightfall.

With every passing meter and every tremulous gallop of the horses bearing them, Lothíriel felt her anticipation bubble and sputter within her like a babbling brook. Peeking out from behind the curtain of the carriage, she almost grinned joyfully at the familiar sight of her homeland. It felt so wonderful to return! She longed to stroll along the sandy shores of sea, in search of exotic shells that were brought in by the ever changing tide.

After all, there was only so much she could do in Edoras for enjoyment; but in Dol Amroth it was different. It would be different. In Rohan she had more pressing duties to attend to with her husband's significant absence, and they took up most of her time. Lothíriel found that even though her duties were taxing and wearying, she somewhat enjoyed them. So she could not complain. The experience of dealing with disgruntled lords and advisers regarding Rohan had only made her more empathetic towards Éomer. During the months of her pregnancy, she realised that she never truly understood how difficult it must have been for him. Or how lonely.

At the thought of her husband, Lothíriel forced back a displeased grimace. The carriage she was riding in felt incredibly stifling without another person present to distract her. Currently, Éomer was riding outside on a borrowed horse, much to her displeasure and concern.

After she had told him about the occurrences during the blank periods in his memory, Éomer grew even more withdrawn from her. And although her gifted sword remained by his side constantly, he barely spoke three words to her during the day! When he did speak, his words were more polite questions eluding towards her health rather than anything else. His behaviour worried her deeply. They slept in the same tent, albeit in separate cots, but there was no interaction between one another. Not since the quiet, tender moment when she had given him her father's sword. It was almost as if he was avoiding her.

It saddened Lothíriel when she had to come to terms with the brutal fact that this Éomer was nothing like the attentive man she grew to love during their short marriage; he was more rough around the edges. In a strange way, she supposed that it did enthral her—to know that the warrior in him was present at the forefront, before the King. He had taken the news of his uncle's death with a stoic affront, shedding not a single tear. She knew not how deep his pain went, but on more than one occasion she wished to confront him about it. The grief he felt must be tenfold, considering the factor that he did not remember exactly how Théoden perished. And Lothíriel had no plans to enlighten him either; it was too heartbreaking.

But she did not think it was his grief that kept him from her.

It was something to do with her. Lothíriel thought that by being honest and speaking with him during that first night in the tent, he would receive her better than if she lied about the state of their marriage. But it was not so. It was apparent that he did not take kindly to being informed that their married life was far from being perfect. And even though she endeavoured to tell him everything about their time together, the good and the bad, he fell completely silent at the knowledge that deep down she had never wished to share herself physically or emotionally with him, until it was too late.

Lothíriel had an inkling that perhaps she had gone too far with the information about their marriage.

It was true that her stupidity knew no bounds when it came to her husband. And she berated herself constantly for that. It was no wonder that only one event now remained hidden from him; her mistakes concerning Elfhelm. One day, perhaps, one day she would be able to confess the truth of her treachery. It had been a stupid, pathetic mistake on her part and one that she would never forgive herself for.

Not until she told Éomer and he was willing to forgive her for her brash actions, would she be able to lay her sordid moment with Elfhelm to rest. And even then, she would still never find the will to forgive herself. But how could she tell him and grow closer to him when he barely spoke to her now?

He deserved to know the absolute truth; such a wonderful man could not remain in blind deception. She would face her punishment as she deserved, no matter what the consequence... But until that time came, Lothíriel needed to comfort him.

In his hour of need, she would not abandon him to his own wayward, precarious thoughts. She refused to let him succumb to sorrow. He needed to see how much she had grown to love him; that he was not alone and that he was loved—loved and cherished! And ere the very foundations of Middle-earth were torn asunder, she would find a way to be there for him.

When they reached Dol Amroth and the chance was upon them, the Queen of Rohan vowed that she would make amends with her husband.

When Lothíriel next opened her eyes, the carriage had come to halt. Instinctively, and from the bustling noises outside, she knew that they had arrived inside the castle gates. Her stomach churned at the prospect of seeing her family and her people. Although she had seen her father and Elphir mere months prior to this visit, it had been under severe circumstances. Now, with her husband recovering, she grew joyous at the thought of a reunion with her family.

The door to her carriage opened and deftly, she took the calloused hand offered to her. To her surprise as she leant out of the carriage, she found that it was Éomer's hand she was holding. He helped her down onto the cobblestone ground with a wary countenance whilst he examined his surroundings. She smiled at him in hopes of comforting his wary thoughts, but he seemed not to notice her. He was far too preoccupied with accumulating the specific details of the castle's stone courtyard.

Lothíriel sighed wearily and looked around.

Everything was as it was before she left, but there were no welcomers this evening, no overbearing well-wishers and she was truly thankful for that. Her father must have interpreted her letter correctly; she wished few people to know about the King and Queen of Rohan's arrival in Dol Amroth until the following morning.

In her wearied state, she was not in the mood to trifle with false politeness, propriety and the fussy nature of ladies in-waiting that came with greeting lords and ladies of the court. So until the next day, she and her husband would have the peace of mind to enjoy her father and brothers' company without being in the presence of others.

Silently, as Éomer took in his surroundings, Lothíriel allowed her eyes to fall upon the carved steps that led up to the entrance of her father's Hall.

There they stood—her father and brothers, regal and resplendent even in their every-day clothing. Her father seemed grave in his old years but her brothers stood in a relaxed fashion behind him. Amrothos was twitching and fidgeting, as was his usual manner, and Elphir smiled broadly in her direction. Erchirion, on the other hand, looked fierce and ready to charge into battle but she could see the twinkle of joy beneath his gaze. She resisted the urge to grin at them and run up the stairs as she had done many times before in her childhood.

Instead, she guided Éomer towards the steps and they ascended them together. As they climbed, Lothíriel could scope his apprehension and doubt. He had no cause to worry. He looked like a King to her; he was a King. But Éomer did not seem to register that in his mind. In his eyes, he still saw himself as a soldier and warrior. But hopefully that would change with time as he grew accustomed to all that was around him.

Offering a squeeze to his elbow in show of support, Éomer registered her action by drawing her closer to his side. It was the first outward sign of acknowledgement to her presence since they had spoken. And though it was not much, Lothíriel's countenance brightened considerably at the implication.

Smiling outwardly now, Lothíriel stood before her father and curtseyed low in obeisance. She felt Éomer bow equally, and noted the bafflement in her father's eyes as he gazed at the Rohan King. "Dol Amroth bids you welcome, King and Queen of the Mark," Prince Imrahil's voice rang out clearly. He was eyeing Éomer with something akin to bewilderment.

It would have been improper for Lothíriel to speak before her husband but when he said nothing, she turned worriedly in his direction. He did not realise that he would have to graciously accept her father's welcome. With a gentle nudge, she prodded him to speak.

Éomer cleared his throat in embarrassment and nodded. "Thank you, my lord. It is an honour to be welcomed once more in my wife's homeland."

Lothíriel beamed at her husband's reply and Prince Imrahil was clearly relieved by the response. He smiled and led them into the main entrance of the castle towards his private study. Even though it was the evening, certain mannerisms still had to be upheld in the eyes of others. She could tell that their greeting was being watched by many a servant, and Lothíriel did not want news of her husband's memory loss to spread throughout the city, lest it cause discomfort to him.

One thing she knew for certain about Éomer was that he disliked being perceived as weak. It was one of the reasons why he refused adamantly to ride in the carriage with her. Even though he was injured. The stubbornness of the male persona never ceased to amaze her.

They were approaching the private rooms and as soon as she entered Prince Imrahil's study, Lothíriel was descended upon like a meal waiting to be gorged by ravenous prey. Her brothers each hugged her tightly and she found herself running out of air on more than one occasion! When the time came to embrace her father, she clung to him with utter relief and delight.

It felt so good to be back in Dol Amroth.

Imrahil smiled and patted the top of her head lovingly, as he would when she was but a young girl, before Amrothos seized her again and spun her around with delight. They laughed and made such a raucous commotion about her that Lothíriel could do nothing but chuckle at their euphoria and jubilation.

"It is good to have you back, sister!" Amrothos exclaimed eagerly, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair.

Lothíriel laughed. "It is good to be back!"

"Are you well?" Erchirion, second oldest of Imrahil's sons, questioned gravely.

"Aye, very well." The elation within her breast soon dwindled when she noticed her husband standing in the doorway of the study gazing at them, quite mystified by all the jollity presented to him.

Lothíriel pulled away from her youngest brother, much to his disappointment, and went to the doorway. Éomer's darkened eyes appraised her secretly as she stood a moment before him. Then, with a bright smile, she took him by the arm and led him into the study. He too was descended upon by her family and during the excited reunion, Lothíriel swore she caught a glimpse of a ghostly smile forming on her husband's face.

"A happy hour it is to have my sworn son returned to us!" Imrahil all but cried. Her brothers cheered in agreement. Lothíriel giggled as Éomer's brow quirked with utter confusion as he was hugged by his supposed wife's father, and then by her brothers. He returned each hug, but could not muster the same enthusiasm as her family. It went unnoticed by all save for Lothíriel. He seemed quite worried by everything. She realised he did not know how to behave towards her family.

Before she could say anything, Imrahil announced that a meal had been prepared in the family's dining chambers and soon, both husband and wife were led by the Prince and his sons towards the hearty feast that awaited them.

As Éomer's tensed body walked beside her down the long and narrow hallway, Lothíriel could not resist reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. She smiled supportively when he started and gazed at her questioningly. "Relax," she whispered lowly, so that only he could decipher her words.

Apprehensively, he returned her smile with one of his own. It lit up his face like the sun's rays upon a field of emerald green grass.

Later that evening, Lothíriel found Éomer standing on the large stone balcony of their room overlooking the sea.

Standing beside him, she peered out at the ebony blanket of the night, framed by the sounds of the rushing sea waves lapping against dark sandy shores and limestone cliffs. The wind blew almost uncomfortably, but she cared not and neither did her husband; he'd been standing on the balcony for the better part of an hour, simply beholding the wondrous majesty of the open sea that was brightened by a sliver of moonlight from the cloudless sky.

Either he was admiring the view, or he was avoiding her again.

She guessed at the latter, but did not wish to dwell on such things.

Dinner with her father and brothers had been only a slightly tedious affair. Questions were raised and answers were given during the relaxed meal but Éomer did not once look at her for confirmation about certain events. He let her speak, and enjoyed the evening with her father, fascinated by stories from the War. They seemed to get along swimmingly and she was not surprised. Her father and husband had been very good friends prior to their marriage.

And so, the evening had flown past and soon the time to rest drew ever closer.

She and Éomer retired to their chambers together, but Éomer had other distracting devices planned; standing on the balcony of their rooms all night. Perhaps he did not wish to be in her presence because they were alone together, in their own guest chambers, for the very first time since he regained only a few shards of his memory.

Lothíriel did not know what he was thinking as he stared at the rippling waves of the ocean. She could not read his mind but he seemed lost, as if he was grasping at a slippery eel and it was refusing to remain within his fingers.

As she stood next to her husband, the roaring waves of the ocean simmered down to allow only the sound of gently churning water to remain between them. At length she spoke in a hushed voice, "Do you hear it?"

He blinked slowly before shifting his weight. "Hear what?" The reluctance to speak was evident.

"Murmurs in the ocean..." Lothíriel placed her hands upon the wide barrier of the balcony. She leaned forward, as if she was being drawn towards the rhythmic swaying of the waves. "The call whispers from the horizon; and it is enchanting and beguiling."

"I hear nothing," Éomer rumbled indelicately.

She smiled at this. "There is a legend that says the women of my father's line can hear the call of the sea. Just like the Elves. They feel it in every breath they draw and it is ingrained into every beat of their hearts." Lothíriel examined the sea closely as the wind caressed her cheeks. "It must be due to the blood of our Elvish ancestors," she surmised thoughtfully.

"Can you hear the call?"

"Sometimes."

Éomer grunted, "What does it feel like?" He questioned stonily, still avoiding her gaze as his eyes remained fixed upon the shimmering ripples of the sea.

Half filled with mirthless laughter and desolation, Lothíriel replied, "It feels like the tug of a cord within my heart; and the call pulls it ever closer towards the sea."

Finally, he turned his head and looked down at her profile. "What will happen if you answer it?"

Lothíriel was surprised to find tears brimming in her eyes. The cause of them remained a mystery, but Éomer was oblivious to their presence. "I know not," she grimaced in despondency. "I have never had the cause to answer the call... Only in great despair will it be too much to bear. But for now, it remains not in the forefront of my mind."

Taking a deep breath, she pulled back away from the wide barrier of the balcony. "When the Elves answer it, it is different for them. They may travel to the Grey Havens when they see fit and sail into the West; and then their hearts shall rejoice and be glad. But for Men, it is not the same."

"How so?" Her husband asked, perplexed.

The Queen of Rohan smiled bitterly. "We mortals do not have the luxury of time. We do not have the time to love or age in our wisdom," she said quietly, referring to herself. "Nor do we have an eternal haven to which we can escape to. The Elves are lucky in that respect."

Éomer snorted derisively, brushing a few tendrils of flaxen hair from his eyes. "Immortality can be a burden. I would rather live for a few glorious years—filled with peace and merriment, than spend all of eternity watching the world change before my eyes. I would rather make mistakes and learn from them than grow into wisdom my wisdom through endless years. And as for love..." Suddenly, but gently, he moved closer to her and clasped her chin between his fingers.

As he turned her to face him, his eyes bore into her own with such precision that it left her breathless. "Love can be a fickle mistress for mortals. But it needs only a few seeds to be sown by tender hands before it can grow into something illustrious. It needs time," he paused before saying, "I need time."

The things he said felt odd to her. Lothíriel felt her face flush into a becoming shade of red. Then, she found the courage to ask the troubling thoughts that festered within her mind. "Éomer... Why have you been avoiding me?"

Éomer shrugged gracefully, shaking his head. "I find it difficult to converse with you," he answered honestly. "In my mind, we are not married. And I do not yet love you." Seeing her eyes flash with pain, he hastily added, "Do not be offended or hurt. It is difficult for me show my emotions. I have not gained the ability, you see."

A wry smile graced his lips. "I am a hardened warrior, first and foremost, Lothíriel." He released her from the grasp of his fingers before stepping back, leaving her feeling bereft of all hope. "As of this moment, I have not been able to accept the death of my uncle nor the Kingship he has laid so willingly at my feet. Until I can do so, I cannot be inclined to think about you—about love—in such an offhanded manner," he continued softly, "You have suffered much due to our union... But for now, thinking about such things is not an option for me."

The coarseness of his hard voice felt like a thousand cold whips against her smooth skin. "Not an option?" She echoed fearfully.

Her husband sighed heavily before turning to enter their chambers. "I need time," he muttered roughly, unable to look back at her solitary form upon the balcony. "I am sorry, Lothíriel; truly."

Because of his words, she did not speak out to him. Instead, Lothíriel watched him disappear into the shrouded darkness of their chambers as he left her upon the cold balcony, where the call of the sea began to tug mercilessly against the strings of her heart.

Added Notes: ... Hm. This chapter made some sense in my mind. Did it make any sense to you?

Thanks to EruntaleofRohan, plzkthx101 (Wow, thank you!), LadyArian, buttercup7, Blue Eyes At Night, lady scribe of avandell, wondereye, Enigmatic Irish, Dark-Sylph, Angsty Elf Twins, Hayley and x for reviewing! I really appreciate the time you take out to review each chapter!