By the Sea Chapter 21: Reforge and Renew, a lord of the rings fanfic

By the Sea.

Chapter Twenty-one: Reforge and Renew.

Lothíriel did not know what to do.

She shifted nervously as she knelt beside her husband's slumbering form. An hour had passed in this manner since she heard his muffled snarls and growls coming from his resting place, and still she did not know what course of action to take. His brow was furrowed deeply and a ferocious scowl was plastered upon his face, as though he were witnessing something that was not to his liking. She remembered all too well how he had awoken from his previous nightmares and she was reluctant to touch him, lest he try to lash out again.

Sighing, she silently remained by his side as he slept fitfully in the large chair. There was nothing she could do to help him and that knowledge pained her more than she wished to admit. That she could not reach out and smooth out his wrinkled brow and caress his cheek to offer comfort was unbearable. And so, she sat and waited patiently for him to rouse himself.

How long she remained in the same position, she did not know. All that seemed to matter was that he was suffering and she could do nothing to help him without causing him harm.

Lothíriel did not move, nor did her gaze stray from his angled face. Instead, she clutched the cushioned arm-rest and waited.

Eventually, after what felt like an age, Éomer started and stiffened his spine towards an unforeseeable threat.

Lothíriel drew back slightly, still on her knees at the side of his legs as she watched him open his eyes and regain focus of his surroundings. At length, his confused gaze settled upon her. "Lothíriel..?"

She frowned, noting the coarseness of his voice. Without offering an explanation, Lothíriel rose and retrieved a cup of water for him. He took it gratefully and downed the liquid in one go. She observed his hand rubbing his throat and once again moved to give him more water to soothe his parched mouth. "Would you like more?"

He nodded his appreciation and drank deeply before allowing her to retrieve the cup.

Taking the empty cup, she set it aside and she knelt before him once again. "Are you well?" She asked softly as he regained his composure.

There was a haunted look in his eyes. It's presence disturbed her deeply and without thinking, she clasped his hand and squeezed his battle-worn fingers with all the gentleness of a mother caressing her newborn.

Éomer nodded distractedly, barely aware of her fingers stroking his. "I am fine..." He grunted before looking at her impassively. "I am sorry I woke you. You should return to your rest; truly, I am well."

Instinctively, she knew that he was trying to convince himself. Ignoring his obvious command, she looked at him sincerely. "What did you see?" She questioned, referring to his dream.

The King of Rohan shrugged carelessly before glaring down at the floor.

He was diverted from his introspection as he glanced at the pale, thin fingers that were now entwined with his own upon the indigo arm-rest. For some reason unknown to him, he could not remove them from her firm but gentle grasp. They brought him a sense of comfort and relief, something he did not know they could ever bring. Her presence before this night had brought only confusion to him. Comfort was a welcome, but unexpected sensation in place of his uneasiness. Reluctantly, Éomer spoke; "I dreamt of a battle. Béma, it was a fearsome battle but amidst the desperation it held much hope. I do not recall participating in this battle physically, though in my mind it seemed familiar to me. I saw... I saw—" he drew in a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes as he exhaled.

"What? What did you see?" Lothíriel prompted quietly.

Only the subtle stroke of Lothíriel's fingers urged him to continue.

"My uncle," he choked. "His death. My sister, my foolish sister." There was no emotion in his flat, unyielding voice and Lothíriel wanted to embrace away the pain that belied his stoic manner.

"I did not believe it before; that my memory was addled," he whispered to himself, "But now he is truly gone. It was no dream. Never in my darkest thoughts could I have conjured such a death for him... I-it was no dream." And with that, his stoicism slipped and crashed to the floor, shattering into a million pieces about her as he buried his face in his free hand, though no tears would fall from his dry eyes.

Lothíriel did not know if he could weep for his uncle just yet. She did not know if he would ever be able to weep for the man that had been his second father. How could he, when all he had were tattered and fragmented memories that came to him in his sleep? But she knew one thing. She would see his smile return along with his memory and perhaps... Perhaps she could give him some reprieve from the torment he endured in the night.

Without another word she rose from the floor and stood before him, releasing the fingers she had held captive during his confession. His body tensed as she gathered his head to her chest and tucked it beneath her chin, but she held him nonetheless; close to her heart. Kissing the crown of his head chastely, she slowly rubbed his back, knowing that no words would ever offer him the comfort he so desired.

The time passed by but the shadows of the night remained and gradually, Éomer relaxed in her arms. Slowly, ever so slowly, she felt his strong and sturdy arms encircle her waist to squeeze her tightly. The elation she felt in his acceptance of her embrace knew no boundaries and it would have run free if she was still not so concerned by the awkwardness and pain that emanated from his shoulders.

Drawing back, Lothíriel cupped his cheeks in her small hands and smiled down at him as he looked at her with unfathomable honey-tinted eyes. "Come to bed," she implored quietly, "You must rest and you will not find it in this chair."

Éomer's expression turned dubious at her bold request and he was about to turn down the offer when he noticed the stern glint in her sea-blue eyes. She would not be swayed in this, no matter how much he protested. Sighing wearily, he pulled away from her arms that had offered a small amount of solace, and rose to follow Lothíriel across the room to the large bed near the open balcony windows.

With much aplomb she motioned for him to sleep on the bed.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her demanding behaviour, Éomer turned down the covers that had not been disturbed and slipped into the inviting sheets, leaving space on the other rumpled side for the wife he did not remember. The moment he stretched out upon the bed, it seemed as if all his muscles groaned with relief. For a while, he lay back and watched with bewilderment as Lothíriel pulled up another chair to rest by the bed at his side.

He hid his surprise as she sat down and wrapped herself in a shawl, tucking her legs beneath her. Opening his mouth to question her actions, he stopped as he caught her smiling oddly at him. "Sleep," Lothíriel murmured, turning to find a comfortable position on the chair that seemed to dwarf her with it's sheer size.

If she burrowed any further, she would most likely drown in the cushion and her shawl. No matter how awkward the situation, it would not do for him to sleep on the bed whilst she endured the chair. He could not allow such a thing. "But—"

"—Éomer," she interrupted firmly, "Good night." With that odd smile still in place, Lothíriel closed her eyes and retreated to her own dreams.

"Steady on!"

Elfhelm checked himself at the last and drew back, his sword still swinging dangerously. Narrowing his eyes, he slowly inspected his comrade and friend for any unnecessary injuries.

"This is a spar, Elfhelm," Eorllic growled, "Not an all-out brawl!"

His brow winged in response. "With the way you fight, I thought it was a brawl," he remarked caustically, earning a glare from the blue-eyed man.

Smirking, Elfhelm looked up at the position of the sun. It would not be long before he and Eorllic would ride out with a few other men of his éored to the guarded posts on the Eastern borders. The men of the King's council were doing well in his stead to secure the lands and though trade between Gondor and Rohan was flowing well, it was still a dangerous task importing and exporting goods. It seemed that some men outside their borders on the road had other ideas about the goods being traded.

"We should ready our horses and make out for the Eastern posts. I received word from Edoras that the King's council wishes for us to see in a shipment of goods from Gondor," Elfhelm said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Eorllic groaned and collapsed to the straw-covered ground. "What happened to the days when fighting Orcs was our greatest problem? Now they would have us coddle some goods from Gondor? I tell you Elfhelm, this will lead to mutiny."

Grunting, Elfhelm sheathed his sword and joined his friend on the ground. "I know. This is not the job of our men but traders and their wagons are being attacked, even though they are escorted by guards from Gondor, which makes it our problem. It seems that some people still do not wish for peace and alliance between our countries."

"I wish they would find something else to do besides harass us. But I do long for a good hard ride across the plains! I'm feeling stifled by just carefully patrolling the borders and remaining within the walls of Aldburg."

Elfhelm chuckled darkly. "You need a wife, my friend. I am sure you would not be complaining then."

"You're one to talk," Eorllic cried, leaning up on his elbows as he gazed at his superior and friend. "The men are beginning to wonder why you have never found a bride. Take heed Marshal, soon you will be too old to beget a family and then where will you be?"

"I am a Rider," Elfhelm snarled mockingly, "I have no need for a family."

"You say that now, but what will happen when you are old and step down from your post? You will need a family around you then to keep you busy."

Elfhelm opened his mouth by looked away in consternation. "You talk too much," he grumbled.

"So... No fair lady has caught your eye then?"

The Marshal blinked and focused on the ground before him, a blush staining his cheeks.

Eorllic crowed with triumph and sat up eagerly, his wavy blonde hair falling loose from it's tie. "Who is she?"

"There is no one."

"Liar; it's written on your face!"

"Béma's balls, Eorllic, let it go!"

Disappointed, the younger Rider sat back and watched him in silence.

Elfhelm drew in a shaky breath, his thoughts racing away from him as the other men in the training pen faded away. Just when he had forgotten, it all came flooding back with Eorllic's words. Would he ever have peace? His dreams were still accosted by her smile, her touch, her scent. There was nothing he could do.

He cursed the day he ever met her! He cursed the day he had felt her lips upon his... The guilt that gnawed at him was unfathomable. It ate away at his insides like a warg feasting upon man-flesh. By nature, he was a noble and honourable man; so why did his thoughts continue to pursuit the unattainable? His common sense told him his feelings were akin to treason, but his heart, his damnable heart would not cast her aside. Cursing softly, he rose and caught Eorllic's troubled eye. "Get your stead ready," he said gruffly, "We ride out at noon."

Nodding slowly, Eorllic stood and brushed away the straw that clung to his leggings and tunic. "Marshal Elfhelm?" He began uneasily. Upon the Elfhelm's enquiring gaze, the younger Rider smiled sadly. "She would be a fool not to love you... Whoever she is."

Elfhelm froze, his eyes glazing over with pain. "Not a word, Eorllic," he uttered quietly.

"Upon my honour, this will stay between us." Eorllic placed a comforting hand upon his Marshal's shoulder before moving away. Elfhelm stared after him, the uncertainty of what had transpired between them still lingering in the air like a putrid stench.

Blue eyes crossed and a tongue stuck out.

The babe laying upon the bed beside her snorted and giggled at the ludicrous sight of Lothíriel's face twisted in such a manner.

Laughing, Lothíriel drew her face nearer to kiss the silky soft skin of his cheek that all new-born babies were graced with. Inhaling the luscious scent of her brother's son, she tickled his tiny ribs and allowed him to pull at the dark strands of her unbound hair. She must look a sight, with her hair tangled and the ends most assuredly drenched in drool.

"Evil child... You are, without a doubt, your father's son," she cooed playfully, earning another cackle as the child rubbed his fingers against her face and promptly poked them up her nose. Still chuckling, she pulled his fingers away and pretended to bite them.

He yanked her hair unbound with his free hand, as if in warning. Lothíriel winced and was about to respond when she heard a snort coming from the doorway.

She froze, stiffening as she recognised the deep, resonating laugh that seemed to wrap around her. Slowly, she allowed her eyes to drift to the entrance of the private chambers and saw her husband leaning against the door-frame with a devilish smirk plastered across his handsome face. "You have spit in your hair," he observed coolly.

"Yes, thank you," she huffed teasingly, "I know perfectly well that I am covered in baby drool." Lothíriel held back a grin as he laughed again and drew nearer to the bed, seating himself comfortably on the other side of her brother's son.

The past few days had been... Strange, to say the least. Though Éomer still seemed distant after she had awoken him from the ordeal of his nightmare, he was also conversing with her more intimately than he had been before that night. At times it felt forced, as though he was struggling to find the words but on the whole, he was slowly beginning to grow comfortable in her presence. It was an improvement she was not willing to cast aside lightly.

"You look troubled," she noted dutifully, raking the pad of her finger along the baby's arm.

Éomer started at her words and frowned as he watched quietly. "I sent word to my sister of our arrival. She wishes for us to visit after our journey to Minas Tirith."

Lothíriel looked up sharply, her eyes clouding in thought. "I had not informed you sister about your condition before we left Rohan... Your council and I thought it best for it to remain in Meduseld. It would have caused undue worry for her. I hope you understand."

He nodded in agreement. "Still, I have returned to some semblance of normalcy and it is my wish to see her again," he paused and glanced at her intently. "She is with child."

Lothíriel's eyes brightened at the news. "That is happy news indeed! Faramir must be walking on air," she laughed.

Éomer's lips quirked before he grew serious. "Tell me about him."

"Faramir is one of the best men I know," she began fondly. "He is my cousin; my aunt Finduilas' son. His father was Denethor, the late Steward of Gondor and his brother was Boromir, of the Nine. They both fell during the War of the Ring." She looked to Éomer and noted that he comprehended her cousin's lineage. He had been briefed about the current affairs of state by her father and most probably Gamling. "But you want to know about the man behind the parentage, correct?"

"Yes... Is he a good man? Worthy enough for my sister?"

"More than worthy," Lothíriel conceded happily, "He is kind, noble and honourable. Soft-spoken at times but his childhood is mostly the cause of that. But if you delve beneath it, you will find that he has a wit and humour to fill all of Arda!" She chuckled to herself as she thought about her cousin; she sorely missed him!

"You speak very highly of him," Éomer said thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed. "Though, I cannot believe that my sister would choose such a soft-spoken man."

"Éomer," Lothíriel reached out and held his hand as she tickled the baby in her care, "Your sister is very happy and much in love."

Releasing his breath, the King of Rohan's shoulders sagged with relief.

"What will happen to him?" Lothíriel asked suddenly, caressing her nephew's forehead. "Should we leave him here if we wish to adopt him into your household?" Her eyes grew troubled as she looked at Éomer.

"So, you have changed your mind?" Éomer asked, amusement simmering in his dark eyes.

"I know not... I love him dearly," she whispered, looking at the child with a saddened gaze. "But my brother..."

"The babe will still have to remain here until he is able to travel. We must pay our respects to Aragorn and then visit my sister; I wish to return to Edoras as soon as possible... Perhaps, if you and your brother are willing, we can send for him once we return to Rohan?"

"Yes, that would be the best course..." She trailed off and looked down with a frown.

A definite smell slowly wafted up from the baby and Lothíriel laughed loudly as saw Éomer crinkle his nose. It was as if the child knew he was being discussed.

Drawing back, Lothíriel took the smelly child in her arms and raised a brow at her husband. "Are you willing to participate or shall I deal with this little monster alone?" She taunted and bit back another laugh as Éomer curled his lip in disgust and panic.

He cleared his throat nervously. "No, no, I shall leave you to it." Jumping up from the bed, he all but ran out of the room.

At his hasty retreat Lothíriel's mirth bubbled over and she laughed as she had not done in a very long time.

Still giggling, she placed a sound kiss upon the baby's forehead and said lovingly, "I have never seen your uncle move so fast, little one!"

The baby cooed at her words.

"Yes," she nodded sagely, "And he calls himself a warrior and a King; running from a smelly little baby! I tell you, men are useless." Again, she chuckled and rose from the bed to deal with the soiled child in her arms. "I sincerely hope you will be braver than that when you are older."

As she went about her business, Lothíriel did not notice that the figure of Rohan's King was leaning against the wall outside their chambers. A gentle smile was upon his face as he listened to every endearment that she uttered.

Added Notes: Once again, thank you to the reviewers. I hope you enjoyed this lighter chapter.