Chapter 2: Beginning, Again
Éomer King of Rohan swung off the back of his mount, handing the reins to his guard, and stared up the snow-covered stone steps of the Golden Hall with a strange feeling in his heart. Above him, Lothíriel stood waiting for him as was customary for the Lady of Meduseld to greet her King. She was regal in a cloak of blue, trimmed in white ermine, against which her black hair stood out in contrast. Though night was falling, the torches illuminated her clearly. Beside her, but slightly behind, Lady Éowyn stood in waiting as well.
It was customary for any lady to greet her lord in such a manner upon his return - and very much expected - but how odd it felt to him to see Lothíriel there.
Near strangers before they had wed, they had only been husband and wife scarcely a day and a half before he had been called away from Edoras on urgent business. It did not mark the start to their marriage that he had hoped for, and he had lamented having to leave when they had just barely begun to form a bond. And it had been three weeks of his absence, and her alone in the Golden Hall with only Éowyn and a few servants for company. His return was delayed even longer by the onset of winter which had come unseasonably early. It was only October, early indeed for the first snow, let alone a winter storm - which it was.
It was well that they might begin again, after being so cruelly circumvented.
Their wedding night had been strange, but sweet, though it had not been entirely a wedding night. They had not consummated the marriage, preferring instead to ease into their union without the burden of coming together as man and woman.
He was still content with that decision, but regretted that they had not at least had more time in those first few days to grow closer. Rule of a kingdom did not stop for a newlywed, and there time had been limited. Then upon the arrival of news that Lord Hereward, whom Éomer had named Third Marshal and Lord of the Aldburg in his own stead, had passed suddenly in his sleep, leaving no successor and no lord in place at the seat of the Aldburg, it had been necessary for Éomer to go. Firstly, to pay respect and assure the proper burial of his friend and lieutenant, and secondly, as to make plans for his succession. He had considered bringing Lothíriel with him, but her father and brothers intended to spend only a few days more in Rohan before they returned to Dol Amroth, and he did not think it right to steal her time with them. So with regret, Éomer had ridden away from his new bride, fretting over how she would fare in his absence, and wondering how they would ever make up for the lost time.
But at last, he was home, and she was there, standing before him with the welcoming cup in her hands, a solemn look on her face. And he was overcome at the sight of her, and the care she took to uphold tradition.
He passed his reins to his man, and strode up the steps two at a time, taking the cup from her and drinking deeply, his eyes never leaving her face. "My lady Queen," he murmured, that only she might here. "How are you?"
She smiled at him, uncertainly, but her eyes were wide and full of a feeling he could not place. Was it uncertainty? Sorrow? Apprehension? Relief? "I am…" she began, but could not continue. "Wéstu hal, Éomer King," she said.
Now that he was in front of her, he wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her deeply, but he could not. There had been one kiss of such a nature between them, but they had been close to sleep, their walls brought down by tenuous work to get there. And now it seemed like they were strangers again.
He gave her the cup, and bade her drink of it, and she complied.
Then he looked to his sister, who had been waiting, rather impatiently, to greet him. They embraced gladly. "Éowyn," he said, kissing her brow affectionately. "You look well. Thank you for staying behind to watch over my wife and Meduseld."
Then, he gestured their entrance, and the women went with him into the Great Hall.
Ah, how he wished to be away from prying eyes. First he had to be greeted by one and the next… his wife shying to one side. Then Gamling the Old, who had been charged with aiding Éowyn in maintaining the affairs of Edoras in his stead, and with acquainting Lothíriel with the running of Meduseld, and in helping her begin to rule as best she could, had to pull him aside for an all-too-lengthy appraisal of the affairs of the fiefdom, of which Éowyn also had much to say.
Lothíriel, though these updates ought to have concerned her as well, seemed uncertain as to whether she should stand beside him, and hung back, which Éomer thought rather curious. Surely she knew that she was a part of this rule, as queen and lady of Meduseld - did she not? But perhaps she did not feel at home in her new role, yet. And who could blame her? He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, and a mercurial sadness there, and it worried him. She had seemed so confident before… he found he could barely listen to Gamling and Éowyn, for his concern lay elsewhere.
At last, he stopped his sister and his friend, saying with gentle impatience that he would see to everything in the morning, with a rather pointed look in the direction of his wife. Éowyn nodded approvingly, and Gamling understood immediately, stepping aside with a rather spry genuflection for a man well over thirty years Éomer's senior.
"Éowyn," Éomer asked in a low voice, pulling her sister away from earshot of Lothíriel. "Is all well with my lady?"
"Well enough," Éowyn said rather ominously, "But I suggest you waste no time, brother, in seeing to your wife. All the rest will keep. I am off to bed, and shall see you in the morning."
"Faramir?" Éomer asked, wondering where his sister's husband was, for the Prince of Ithilien seldom left Éowyn's side these days, so happy were they in this first year of their marriage.
"He sends his regrets. He could no longer wait your return and left for Ithilien as soon as the weather cleared," Éowyn explained with a note of sadness, "I shall follow him in due course."
"Thank you," Éomer said apologetically, "It cannot be easy to be parted from him so soon. I appreciate your staying. I did not wish to leave her without a familiar face."
"I know, brother," Éowyn replied breezily, "You need not thank me. I will do anything for you. For both of you, and for Rohan. You know that. It is true now, and will be true always."
Éomer took her hands in his own and squeezed them, overcome with sudden feeling. "Thank you, all the same. You have my deepest gratitude."
"Get off," Éowyn said impatiently, yanking her hands away, her cheeks growing red. She was not one for tender moments. "See to your wife!"
He chuckled and glanced back at Lothíriel. She was standing alone. He sighed. Such things would not do.
"My lady," he murmured in a low voice, going to her and taking her by the arm. "It has been far too long away, and a long journey. I am eager to retire. Will you go with me to our chambers, that we might at last be at ease and be reunited without so many eyes upon us?"
She nodded, and clear relief passed over her face - for perhaps she felt as fatigued as he was by the eyes upon them, not to mention the long anticipation of their reunion. She managed a small smile at him, and he returned it as kindly as possible.
"Lothíriel," he began, when they were at last far enough away from any onlookers, "Is everything alright?"
She nodded quickly. "Yes, my lord King."
"My lord King?" he asked with gentle amusement to hide a glimmer of annoyance. Had they not moved past such titles, at least in private?
She gave him a sheepish smile, understanding. "Éomer. Forgive me. I know not how to address you."
"Éomer, when we are not King and Queen before the world," he repeated firmly, "Or dearest husband, if you wish it."
She granted him a chuckle at that, the solitary dimple in her cheek creasing as she glanced at him sidelong. "You are my only husband, and so that is redundant."
He laughed, a bit too loudly, he thought, but it was out of relief. There was that dry humor she had showed him glimpses of, before. Perhaps all was well. "I suppose it is."
She smiled and her hand relaxed in his. They had arrived outside their chambers, now, and the guard at the door bowed to greet them. Once inside, Éomer stopped in his tracks. A meal was already laid out before him, the main course hidden beneath a warming pot, and the fire in the hearth burned hot and bright. It was not that he was surprised, exactly - being King did mean that one's needs were attended to readily, but it was the attention to detail and care that had been clearly implemented, the sudden homeliness of what, it seemed to him, before Lothíriel's arrival, had been but a room that existed to house his body.
He glanced at Lothíriel, who was looking at him expectantly.
"I thought you would certainly be hungry," she said rather shyly. "First, you must eat, if you please. And after your travels, to wash the grime of the road from you - there will be a hot bath." That part was not a request.
He grinned at her tone. "Am I so filthy as that? I think I shall forgo the bath."
She looked at him with raised eyebrows. "My lo- Éomer. If you are to share this bed again —" she stopped and turned away from him, busying herself with the table.
"I am only teasing," he said, with a chuckle. "Of course I must bathe. It was thoughtful, Lothíriel."
"Your armor," she said then, barely acknowledging the gratitude or his jesting. "I can help you remove it, if you like. Or I can send for your squire to aid you and clean it —"
"No," he said too quickly, not wishing now to be interrupted by his rather bumbling new squire. He liked his good nature, and so he was patient with him despite his many flaws, but in truth the poor lad was sometimes more work than was helpful. "Please, do not send for the lad. If you know what you are doing, then by all means. Thank you. And I prefer to clean my own armor, so I will attend to it in the morning."
She nodded, a glint in her eye at his tone, and proceeded to the task at hand. With her so close to him, Éomer felt his tongue falter. She had fallen silent as well. It was rather tedious work, though he was not in his full armor, only that deemed essential for protection on the road, but her fingers were capable, and soon he was free of the equipment. He sat down at the table with a grateful sigh, realizing just then just how hungry he was, and began to eat.
He was being rude.
"Please, eat with me," he quickly implored, looking up at Lothíriel, who was watching him. "That is, if you are hungry."
She blushed. "I ate already," she apologized, "But I will sit with you, if it is your wish."
"I wish very much indeed —" he began, but stopped, catching a look pass over her face. He put down the hunk of bread he had begun to butter, and studied her long and hard. "What is it?"
"I know not what you mean," she said carefully, and came to sit across from him, pouring herself a cup of mead with careful hands. He kicked himself for not offering it to her himself.
"You cannot hide it," he insisted, leaning closer to her, and her cheeks flushed red. He sighed, not wanting to sound chiding. "Forgive me for prying, but though we have been long apart, and all so new, I know you enough to read your face and see that something is amiss. You are unhappy - or perhaps afraid. Did something happen while I was gone?"
She pressed her lips together and looked down at her hands, which were now fidgeting with the cup of drink in her hands, as was her way. "Éomer…"
"Please tell me," he pressed gently, "I cannot help if you do not tell me the problem."
"I heard —" She broke off. It seemed she could not look at him and he could hear long repressed tears in her voice.
"What did you hear?"
"Forgive me, I am being silly. I know better than to listen to idle gossip, and yet I did, and here I am fretting like a child." She tried to laugh, but failed miserably.
"Did someone say something untoward?" he said then, his hackles rising. If that were the case, he would see justice done.
"There are rumors," she whispered, "Of you, and me - or rather, of me. They say that you are displeased with me, that you stayed away so long because of it. It seems that though you thought it was well for us to wait to… lie together… there are those that read into it. Our private affairs are not so private after all. There is already talk of this marriage not being fruitful."
Éomer stared at her, taking in all of this, and his heart growing livid. How dare they? It was always understood that a new couple might wait a while to progress their marriage. Or was that only true, if one was not a King? He stood and slammed down the knife in his hand to the table, causing Lothíriel to start. He kicked himself for that, and more gently, knelt before her. "It is unconscionable."
He took her hand between his own, and when he looked up at her, he saw that she was crying. It could not do. He rubbed his thumbs across the top of her hand, gently, thoughtfully studying the way the veins on her hands twitched beneath his touch. "Lothíriel, none of that is true. You do not believe such foolish gossip, do you?" He asked, glancing up at her, with an attempt at humor.
She shook her head and with a sniff, pulled her hand from his grip and turned away, but not before he saw that tears leaked from her eyes. "I wish not to. It would have been bearable, and yet… I have had many hours alone to doubt, with my father and brothers and Faramir returned home. Éowyn has been kind, but she has been occupied and others have been…less than warm. And I cannot be a burden to others to bend over backwards to make me feel comfortable. I must make my place here, without Éowyn's help, in the end."
He shook his head, and reached up to guide her face back to his. "Look at me, déorling."
She blinked at him in clear surprise, which gave him time to process what he had said. The endearment had slipped out, and he did not know quite what to make of that, for he certainly did not mean to be so forward, nor had the endearment entered his mind before in relation to her. It was his turn to blush. "Lady, you are not meant to face all this alone. I never foresaw having to leave you so soon, and for so long."
She fought for a smile, and he returned it, relieved at the sight. "As for my people, I cannot make excuses for them, and yet I know that it may take time for some of them to trust you. Rohan has known much sorrow and while the world is finally at peace, some old wounds take longer to heal. Still, it is ridiculous that some should make such baseless lies. They do not know of us or our business, do they?"
That fetching dimple in her cheek deepened a bit as she met his eyes, and she shook her head. "No."
He nodded, satisfied. "I was away for duty's sake, and for the weather. I give you my word, and I hope that it will be enough for you, if not for them."
"It is," she says, and with a soft chuckle, she gestured at the food behind him. "It is growing cold. Please eat."
"As you wish," he said, satisfied that all would be well. He sat back down in his chair and ate of the meal, remembering again that he had been ravenous, and Lothíriel sat across from him, watching him intently as he did so.
"The food will not run away, you know," she remarked after a moment, her eyes twinkling at him.
"Nay," was his reply, meeting her gaze with the same humor, "But I have long awaited a hot meal beside the warmth of a fire, and to be home with my wife."
She smiled at him in soft surprise, and he felt his cheeks grow hot again under her gaze. It felt strange to say those words aloud. But he might as well be honest with her. She had been open with him.
"Tell me, Éomer. What was it like to be in the Aldburg? It was your home, until recently," she said after a time, when his eating had slowed.
"Well… yes," he acknowledged, "It was my home until my father died and my mother… succumbed. I was twelve. Théoden King took us in and raised us as his own, as best he could, and from then on, Edoras became home, until I returned there as a man to take up my father's seat. And even then I was so often away, in battle. Times of peace were brief. And so it is always strange to return there. It is home, and not home at the same time. My childhood there was cut short and my journey from youth into manhood was spent here in Edoras. I cannot say that the Aldburg is truly home. Perhaps —" he looked up at her, realizing he had been rambling, and rather darkly. She smiled at him as if to encourage him to continue.
"And yet I have a few strong memories of happiness there," he finished, "And the people there, I love. Éothain will be a good lord for them and will bring them once more to prosperity. Someday soon I will take you there, Lothiriel. At the turn of summer we shall go on a progress, so that my - our - people may lay eyes upon us and that we might better see how to heal this land."
Her eyes were shining. "I shall like that very much."
"Good," Éomer stated, quite satisfied, "It warms my heart to hear it."
He had finished eating now, and Lothíriel stood. "I shall send for a servant to clear this away," she said. "And to heat the bathwater."
He nodded and sat back in his chair, stretching his legs out before him with a grateful sigh. He watched her thoughtfully as she crossed the room. She did seem more comfortable here than before, and he noted the subtle changes she had made to their quarters. Her things had been brought in and unpacked in his absence, and evidence of her presence lay everywhere. A book lying on the ornamental table that separated the armchairs by the hearth, a basket of embroidery or some such handicraft, also nearby the hearth. He smiled to think of her sitting there, her busy fingers flying with a needle, or her dark head bent over her text, perhaps with her feet drawn up beneath her as he had begun to notice she preferred to sit, when not on display.
A small elven harp rested in the corner upon a stand - this was a surprise. He had not known she played. He wanted very much to hear music played more often in Meduseld, and it was at the hands of his wife — well, that was more than he could have hoped for. A few small odds and ends, trinkets he did not recognize, dotted some of the surfaces in the room, though none in excess. And other more intimate touches were present as well: A shawl draped over a chair as if forgotten. A gilded hairbrush and a pot of some cosmetic were laid upon the dressing table by the mirror. And - perhaps most strikingly, an ornate trifold screen had been placed to separate from the rest that part of the room reserved for dressing and grooming. It was painted with images of the sea and carved with shells and creatures of the ocean - strange animals he had only heard tell of, never seen before.
He smiled. He liked to see these additions. If these rooms could truly become a home for both of them, then it was well.
Shortly, a maid appeared to clear the food, and another several to heat water for the bath. Lothíriel busied herself with helping, a gesture which Éomer admired. He did not know what life was like in Dol Amroth, but here a noble lady, even a Queen, had to lift a finger every now and then. For that matter, he was used to doing much for himself, and it felt strange to have more servants at his beck and call. In truth, he sometimes despised it, and longed for the days on the road with nothing but a tent and a bedroll, a pot of some poor stew over a fire. However, tonight was different. He was wearied beyond belief, and rather content to be taken care of.
When the bath was heated sufficiently, and the servants dispersed, with curtsies, Lothíriel stepped from behind the screen, rather awkwardly. Éomer stood, and went to her, taking her hands in his own. "Thank you. You have done much for me tonight. I am grateful. It is beyond what I might have imagined."
She lowered her eyes, as if she was overcome by his gratitude. He was beginning to notice that she could be sheepish under praise. It only endeared him to her further.
What she said next surprised him. "Shall I help you disrobe?"
He looked at her curiously, not having expected such a bold offer, although perhaps this what she had been taught a wife ought to do. He did not know how things were in Dol Amroth, or what a lady might be expected to do for her lord. Perhaps he should have asked after such things. He chuckled a bit, strangely embarrassed. "If you wish it."
She busied her hands at the ties of his tunic. "I shall help you with these outer things," she said with a note of hesitancy in her voice, "I daresay you can handle the rest."
He laughed. "Yes, I have had many years of practice dressing and undressing," he said with good humor and she chuckled in return. "And though I suddenly find myself a husband, with such an attentive wife, I do not think I have forgotten entirely how to do such things for myself."
Her proximity to him, and the intimacy of the simple gesture made his belly stir with the strong desire to kiss her. He was very much taken with her, his senses heightened by the long absence and wondering, and and he had not forgotten the way she had felt beneath him, when he had kissed her so deeply that first night. But he had promised her and himself that he would let her come to him, and would hold to that promise.
This was rather intimate, though, was it not? He wondered what went on in her head as she stood so close to him. Did she know that she was teasing him?
The ties at his neck and wrists undone, Lothíriel stepped away from him, and he keenly felt the absence of her. "I shall give you privacy," she said rather pointedly, and he understood. While perhaps she was willing to make these little gestures as a wife, they were by no means signs that she wished to step further into intimacy. And that meant he would certainly be finishing the task of undressing on his own.
He stepped behind the screen and, stripping himself of his clothing and boots, stepped into the bath. His muscles protested, and he let out a groan that was half of pain, half of relief.
Well, he said to himself as he took to the task of scrubbing the grime from his body, Your married life begins.
When he emerged from the bath, his skin red and glowing from the heat and liberal use of soap, and had dried and dressed himself, he stepped out from behind the screen and smiled to see Lothíriel dozing over her book in the armchair by the dwindling fire. He went to the hearth to tend to it, deftly grabbing the poker from its stand and stoking the flames so that they sprung to life again. At his proximity, or perhaps the sound of the log turning over, her eyelids fluttered open. "I'm sorry!" she said, sitting upright, "I did not mean to fall asleep!"
"My lady," he said fondly, amused at her outburst. "There is little need to stay awake on my account. You are weary, as am I. You are welcome to doze wherever you might wish, in this chair, as it is yours... but perhaps it is time for bed."
She nodded with an adorable yawn and did not protest as he drew her to her feet. "Do you require assistance?" he asked, "I can send for the maid."
"If you would unlace the back of my gown, then I require no other assistance in the evening, as a general rule," Lothíriel said shyly, "She will come in the morning to help me make ready for the day, if you do not mind her presence then.
"Of course," he replied. "Turn around."
She complied and he deftly loosened the laces of the back of her overgown, thinking back on the first and only other time he had done so. This one was far less complicated than the ceremonial gown she had worn for their wedding, and the task was done rather quickly, though he confessed he took a little longer to complete it than he might have. It was pleasant to be so close to her, and to inhale the faint scent of lavender that wafted from her hair, and to feel her back beneath his fingers. He could not linger too long, however, without arousing suspicion, and when he was done, he put a hand on her shoulder to indicate that he had finished. She thanked him and disappeared behind the dividing screen.
He got into bed with a grateful sigh and watched out of the corner of his eye as she emerged, a dressing gown tied over her chemise. Carefully, she sat next at the little dressing table to brush her hair and braid it loosely. He imagined that locks of such thick glory would be quick to tangle and he admired her patience. He could have watched her forever, and blushed when her eyes met his in the mirror.
"You are staring, husband," she remarked drily with a slight arch to her brow.
"I will not beg your forgiveness," he said rather forwardly, choosing not to play at deference. "For it pleases me to have you to stare at."
She turned around then to meet his eyes directly. "Does it?" she asked, a glimmer in her eye.
"I think you know that it does."
She tossed her head, a very strong air of pride in her bearing, as she turned back to the little mirror and the task at hand.
Éomer grinned inwardly. So they had not lost so much ground as he had feared. At last, Lothíriel rose from her dressing station, and he drew back the covers for her. She cast off her dressing gown, and climbed in, a bit hurriedly.
"Cold?" he remarked, noting her quick race to the bed. It was almost as if she had leapt across the floor.
"It is unlike anything I have ever felt," she said, with a rather performative shiver, creeping underneath the covers. "I do not know I will survive the winter, and it is only the first week of many."
"With resilience," he replied, looking at his Southern bride with amusement. "Several layers of underthings and a good deal of long woolen stockings …and plenty of furs."
"You may well be right. As for the long woolens I must be procured material, so that I may set to work making such dreadful sounding things," she said, an adolescent furrow of dismay in her brow, drawing a laugh from him.
"I shall ensure you are well-dressed for the winter, wife," he said, stretching out his legs under the bedding and leaning back contentedly. The thought of her in the winter finery befitting her station pleased him very much. "You shall have fine furs of many kinds and winter silks and woolens to your heart's content, and be the warmest Queen of Rohan there ever was."
She looked pleased. "Is that a promise?" she asked him.
He took her hand and kissed it gallantly. "You have my word, always."
"I am glad you are returned," she said shyly after a moment, "You always seem to know what to say."
"I seldom feel as that is the case," he said truthfully, wondering how she could not see the nerves in his heart and how lost for words he felt when he gazed upon her, like a foolish boy of twelve. He hoped the warmth he felt now was reflected in his eyes. "But I am glad to be returned as well. It was not what I wished for, being gone so long. I had other plans for us, you know. I beg your forgiveness."
She shook her head. "You could not help that any more than I might hold back the tide." With a tremulous sigh she scooted forward then, and kissed him on the mouth.
He had hoped to kiss her again, but had not foreseen her initiating such a venture. With glad surprise, he received the kiss, his hands finding her arms and bringing her closer to him. Oh, her lips were as soft and sweet as he had remembered, and he urged her to deepen the kiss. But she did not seem quite as yielding as she had been before those few times they had kissed, and after a moment, she broke away, much to his regret. "Goodnight, Éomer," she said with a slight stammer, and rolled away from him.
"Goodnight," he said, smiling to himself. It was a start. Tomorrow, they would continue.
[A/N: You all wore me down. This was supposed to be a one shot, but I heard the request that this continue... so here is another installment. =) Writing this is just fluff, but I really do love how their characters have evolved. Every Lothíriel, every Éomer I write... they are always surprising me, because they come out differently every time.]