Chapter 8
Imrahil did not return to the ball with his daughter, nor did the fury of Dol Amroth descend upon Éomer that night, and so he had to assume whatever Lady Lothíriel said to Imrahil was indeed effective. Even so, the scene at the ball had not gone unnoticed. The slightly drunk Amrothos demanded to know what was going on between his sister and the Rohirric king, but Éomer met his questions with a smile and a promise he would explain later. Still, the young lord eyed him warily and with a weird kind of betrayal, as though the young king had just revealed some kind of a nasty secret about himself. Éomer supposed it was hitting Amrothos hard to realise his sister was a young, lovely woman – and that the Rohir had noticed this fact, too.
The night's event had left Éomer feeling more than a little restless. As such, going to bed was unthinkable, and so he began another letter for Éowyn. He described the happenings of past few days, though not the news of the proposal he had made tonight. She might guess it either way. He wondered what she would think of it all. Would she like her future sister-in-law? Well, perhaps it was bold to think of the Lady Lothíriel already in such a way, but still... there had been something so determined in her eyes when she had gone to speak with her father. Generally, she was of gentle disposition. However, he got the feeling that when she was roused, she would fight for what she wanted with tooth and nail.
But eventually night started to grow late and he decided to get to bed, hoping to catch at least a few hours of sleep. She was in his dreams, of course, like she so often was these days.
Although he had got to bed fairly late, Éomer was up with the dawn. And good thing, that, for he had scarcely had time to dress when his guard knocked at the door and peeked inside. There was a servant outside, saying that the Prince Imrahil wished to speak with the King of Rohan.
A shiver ran down his spine. Was this it, then? Would Imrahil be telling him he would bless the union between the young king and his chosen lady? Or had she succeeded at all in convincing her father? At the very least, it would be a good thing to know if he should be going in ready for a debate or a fist fight. But Lady Lothíriel was not here to counsel him.
Éomer shook himself. He could do this. He would convince Imrahil, or do whatever thing was required of him to have her father's blessing. And who knew? Maybe she had already secured it and Imrahil was simply waiting to tell him the good news.
It was difficult to keep his impatience in check and not order the servant to lead the way faster through the wide corridors of the castle. At first he tried to come up with some kind of a speech, but sentences fell apart in his head; he was too anxious for eloquence. Well, maybe that was just right. Éomer had never been particularly good at pretension.
Then at last he was ushered into Imrahil's study. It was a beautiful room, spacious and airy. It overlooked the city and into the sea. Here the Prince of Dol Amroth could survey his land and see friends and enemies approaching from afar.
In a strange way, it reminded Éomer a bit of her workshop. Surely it was not because Imrahil too studied herbs here, but mostly in the way every available surface was filled with wondrous things and objects. The Prince had a rather impressive collection of books and scrolls, all neatly stacked in a massive bookshelf. There were a few objects, an oil lamp and an hourglass and some other small but beautiful things, that looked to be of Southron making. The walls were equally covered with hangings and maps of both sea and land. There was even one of a star-shaped isle, which Éomer realised had to be the map of long-vanished Westernesse. Why the Prince would be displaying the map of a landmass that was no more, he couldn't say.
The desk was covered with many objects, but there seemed to be a method to their order, for the general appearance was not cluttered. Several more scrolls and maps, one big quill and a beautifully decorated ink-bottle, strange devices Éomer guessed had to do with navigating at sea, a neat pile of fresh parchment, and other various things the Prince might need while working.
Imrahil stood at the window, looking out into the bay, but he turned around when the young king entered. Éomer smiled warily and studied his friend's face for some sign. Imrahil's answering smile was not perhaps so easy as usually, but it was there.
"Good morning. I am sorry to disturb you so early, my friend, but it has been a restless night for me and I wished to talk with you as soon as possible", said the Prince and he gestured at chairs, one on his side of the desk and the other on Éomer's.
"Morning to you as well. It's fine – I was already awake", said the younger of the two men.
"That is good", said Imrahil and he took seat as well before continuing, "I've ordered us some light breakfast, which should arrive in a minute. But in the meantime... I expect you will know the reason I asked you here?"
"If it has to do with your daughter, then yes", Éomer said carefully.
Imrahil let out a small sigh.
"Indeed it does", he admitted and leant back in his chair. For a moment he regarded the Rohir, as though measuring him – seeing him in an entirely new light. Éomer met the gaze evenly.
"Lothíriel made me a rather unexpected request last night", Imrahil began to speak then, pressing his fingertips together before himself. "She told me that a man had come to her and asked for her hand in marriage. She had accepted him, much to my surprise, and she pleaded me to give my blessing."
"Why does it surprise you?" Éomer asked quietly and stared hard at the Prince.
"Because years before, when she first began to blossom into womanhood, she asked me to turn down all the proposals she might get. She wished to keep her freedom and stay here in her ancestral lands. And she has indeed received a few offers since she came of age, for she is the only daughter of an ancient and proud line, and her family holds sway in the court of King Elessar", Imrahil replied, choosing his words with care, but his grey eyes met Éomer's own evenly.
It was her own desire, then? All this time, it was her unwillingness that had led Imrahil, and not an overprotective father's notion that no man could ever be good enough for her. But last night she had changed her mind – and so changed the mind of her father as well. A most curious feeling came to Éomer. What couldn't this woman do, if she put her thought and heart to it?
"Her lineage or her family's influence are not why I asked for her hand. I imagine if I were the kind of man to think like that, I would have come straight to you", Éomer said then, focusing on his friend once more.
"Then why did you, my friend?"
"Because your daughter is... because she's special", said the young king, struggling for the right words. But they were hard to come by, because she was so much and already meant the world to him, and he had never thought to feel this way about anybody. There were no words in him to describe how that felt. He took a deep breath and continued, "I have never met anyone like her. Hers is a rare blend of wisdom and gentleness and strength. She understands me from half a word, and already I feel like she knows me better than I do. Her presence calms me. All my life I've felt restless like I was in a storm that will not settle. But with her... the storm is still."
Imrahil watched him in silence. The Prince's eyes widened slightly as he listened to Éomer speak these words and truth be told, even the young king felt some wonder at his own presentation. His throat felt tight. What if his answer did not satisfy Imrahil? What would he do if the man sent him out with a refusal? What could he do?
So he looked at his friend straight in the eyes and spoke again.
"Imrahil, in some things I may be impatient and hot-tempered. But I do not give my heart easily, and I am slow to forget. Your daughter could do so much better than settle for me, I know this, but with me she would at least have a husband who cherishes her for herself, and not just for whose daughter she was born. I would never take her freedom from her. And even now as I speak to you, I know that if my road is to be parted from hers, I shall be asking myself what if until the day I die. I have never had that certainty of any woman but Lothíriel", he said, and then finally fell silent, and he wasn't sure if he had said too much, or too little. But then, what more could he offer to Imrahil? To speak of a woman such as her would ask for poetry, if one truly wished to describe her in the appropriate way. And Éomer was a warrior, not a minstrel.
There was a silence between them, which was thankfully interrupted by a servant's arrival: tea and some light breakfast was brought to the two men. The young king himself felt too anxious to be able to eat anything, though he did pick up a small porcelain cup and held it out while the servant poured them cups of fragrant herbal tea. Imrahil was quiet as he picked up his own cup and a white cake dripping with honey. Then the Prince directed him another keen stare.
"I have not heard you speak in this way before, my friend. Men have professed their love for my daughter at times, but none have done it so sincerely as you. I think you are indeed the first one who truly means it", Imrahil said once the servant had left them again. He took a sip of his tea and regarded the Rohir over the rim of the cup, looking far more rigorous than one might expect from a man holding such a puny porcelain dish in his hand.
He then let out a small sigh and seemed to slump back down a little bit as he continued, "Lothíriel is special indeed, as you have rightly noted. Probably even more than you realise. I do not know if she is well-suited for marriage, and yet she does wish to marry you – this is exceptional in ways you don't even know. My daughter wouldn't make such a request lightly... and perhaps there is it wisdom in it I had not seen myself. My own heart tells me that if there is a man in this Middle-earth who might suit her, understand her mind, it is most likely you."
"Why this wariness, Imrahil? Are we not allies? Doesn't the idea of joining our Houses and families make you glad?" Éomer asked, tilting his head and studying the face of his friend intently.
Imrahil shook his head. Was he frustrated, or did it just seem so?
"Please do not misunderstand. While my words may sound like they imply something else, I know well what honour it is to our House that you wish to make this alliance with us. But a father must see to his daughter first, and it has been by her own request that I have turned down all who who have asked for her hand. I suppose it's difficult for me to grasp the idea that she might now desire otherwise", he explained slowly, as though right words were not easily come by.
Éomer regarded his friend in silence for a minute before he asked, "As her father, why do you think she decided to accept me?"
"Lothíriel's reasons are her own, but I think she sees something in you she has not discovered in another person until now. So you could say she thinks you are unusual, too", said Imrahil at length and he put down his cup.
The Rohir could not help but smile a bit at the thought. He sipped his tea and watched the face of his friend, framed in the light of the morning. While they had been talking, the new day had gradually grown brighter.
"Am I to understand you will give your blessing, then?" he asked carefully and laid down his cup. He wasn't sure his hands would stay steady for the answer.
"Well, my daughter spoke very strongly in your behalf and it's not wise to ignore her. Yes, I will agree to this union. May the Powers that be bless and secure it", said Imrahil at last.
Éomer stood up in one swift motion. His first instinct was to go straight to his friend and envelope him in a huge bear-hug. But somehow, though his mind was full of joy and relief, he still recalled his manners. So he bowed, holding a hand to his chest. He was going to marry her! Lothíriel had said yes, and Imrahil had said yes, and all his fear and doubt melted into a shining, powerful wonder.
"Thank you, Imrahil, from the bottom of my heart", he said and was surprised to hear how choked with emotion his voice was.
But Imrahil regarded him with a strange, bittersweet smile.
"I am glad if it makes you happy, my friend. Yet I must say this: be warned. There may be other maidens in this world better suited for the crown of Rohan than my daughter is. In her the blood of Mithrellas of the Elves nearly runs true. And like Mithrellas before her, she may never wish to fully belong to any man. But who knows? The House of Eorl is renowned for the skill in taming wild things", said the Prince, and it briefly occurred to Éomer how odd it was for the man to speak of his own daughter in such a way. However, he was simply too happy to dwell on it for long.
How could he, anyway, when this was the first moment when he truly, wholly believed the words Lothíriel had spoken to him that first night they had met?
I see the sun shining down on your path.
Éomer left Imrahil's study some time later. His step was light and long and somewhere between his stomach and throat, laughter was brewing. He could not stop smiling, and suspected he wouldn't any time soon. It was as though this one blessed day was the long-overdue amends for an endless, grim winter which he had endured.
He was not surprised to discover her sitting on window board at the end of the hallway. She was looking outside, but hearing his steps she turned to look at him with a faint smile on her dear, fair face. He grinned back like a maniac.
With a few long strides he was before her. But while he would have liked nothing better than catch her in his arms and spin her around in the air, Éomer quickly buried that idea. Imrahil may have given his blessing, but the young king didn't want to try his luck. So he just reached for her arms, clasping his hands around her elbows, while her own pressed against his biceps.
"Good morning, my lady", he greeted her warmly. He could not help it: he bent down his head and kissed her sweet brow.
"Good morning", she replied, eyes glittering like the two of them were into some amusing secret that only they knew. "You don't think a man may call his bride by her own name?"
"A man may", he replied, "but my bride is not just any woman."
A strange, exhilarating thrill went through him at the thought of that word. How unusual! Until today, it had not excited him in the slightest. Rather, the very idea had filled him with doubt and apprehension.
She smiled slightly.
"Perhaps she is, or perhaps not. But whatever may be true of her, to you she would gift her name freely", Lothíriel said, watching him with those fathomless eyes, and filling him with such tenderness as he had never imagined possible.
"Lothíriel", he spoke her name, liking how it tasted on his tongue. "Be careful of what you give. I think I will be greedy, and this gift in particular I will enjoy freely. As I hope you will be enjoying mine."
"Éomer. It is well, for it's a good, strong name, and it should be used often", she said softly. "But you must not be saying such things here in the open. I keep telling you I'm not as resistant as you think, and still you don't listen."
"Well, what is there to fight when we have your father's blessing?" he asked her lightly. "I don't know what you told him to change his mind, but it must have been quite the argument."
"Bear no ill will against him. If he has been wary and prudent, it's because he was heeding my request. But that is past. I know now where my path leads", she said, smiling and gently squeezing his arms.
He smiled at that.
"I think I have an inkling, too", he told her and felt ludicrously happy.
"So, what now?" she asked him then.
"Your father suggested we keep the news to ourselves for the time being", he replied, knowing already it was going to be very difficult, "and that we should meet in the White City later in the summer, and announce the betrothal there."
"Ah, politics", Lothíriel said and wrinkled her nose.
"I'm afraid so. And that's probably what people will think this is about", he said. He pressed a small kiss on her brow and added, "But we both know it's not true."
"Indeed we do", she agreed. She let out a soft sigh, "I wish you could stay for a little longer."
"As do I", he said and tried not to think of how very long the months of separation were going to be.
"I suppose your people are soon expecting you back, aren't they?" she asked and looked up at him with wide eyes, and for a moment she looked so young and vulnerable, and she was like any eager maiden. It filled him both with wonder and endeared him to her, this duality of her wisdom and discerning, and the sweet, naked sensitivity of her youth. But it also humbled him, for he did not think she revealed this other part of her to many.
"I believe so. But don't you worry. I shall be writing very often to you – so often that soon you will dread the very sight of Riders coming to your city", he told her, smiling as he did. He did not look forward to the idea of his departure next morning, but he wasn't going to dwell on it while he still had one more day with his bride.
Lothíriel smiled too, and her eyes grew bright with a cheerful glimmer.
"Then you will have to be writing day and night, because I don't think I will soon grow tired of your words", she told him.
He laughed and for a brief moment, he pressed her tight against himself – damn anybody who might see them. It was perfect, the way her body fit there in his arms. She was neither too short or too tall, and he felt a delightful roundness about her curves that his hands would meld against in the most excellent way. A shiver went down his spine and something hungry and ferocious shifted in the bottom of his stomach. Perhaps she felt something, for when she looked up at him, a faint colour was spreading across her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes had become more intense.
He took a deep, calming breath and fought back half a dozen reckless ideas that had just occurred to him.
"Sorry. You must know you're not going to marry the most patient of men", he told her and was surprised to hear how hoarse his voice had become. Still, she smiled and relaxed a little bit.
"I did know that", Lothíriel said and she tiptoed to kiss his cheek. Against it she whispered, "I am going to miss you, my dear wise fool."
"I will miss you too."
"So, what do you think of my bride?"
Éomer made this question to his captain as they were finishing up with their horses. At Imrahil's approval, the young king had taken his bride out to the beach for a ride – a pleasant outing, and also a chance to introduce her to Éothain. Not only was that man one of Éomer's best friends, he was also responsible for making the King of Rohan and his family safe.
Atfter this outing she had already gone back inside to run some errands before the evening's farewell feast, leaving the two Rohirrim to their own devices.
"She seems like a nice young lady. Maybe not the prettiest girl who has been thrown your way by an eager father, but kingdoms were never ruled well with just a fair face", said Éothain at length. Then, in a lower voice, he added, "To be honest, I'm not sure what draws you to her, though it's clear that she does. I thought... I thought her eyes were strange."
"Strange how?" Éomer asked. He was frowning. He had hoped Éothain would be as delighted with Lothíriel as he himself was, but he should probably not expect everybody to fall in love with her just like that. And yes, she was unusual. At this point, he simply did not notice it as much others might.
"It's hard to explain. It's like... like she knows things about me she shouldn't. Like she saw through me", said Éothain uneasily. Perhaps he too was regretting he could not fully share his king's happiness.
Éomer glanced at his friend.
"It's not uncommon among her people. She's of an old line of Westernesse, and it's said they can see into minds and hearts of men. The late Steward, Lord Denethor, surely did. And Faramir does, too, but you never said he is strange", he pointed out.
"Aye, that is true. But with your bride, it's somehow different. It goes deeper, somehow. Like I said, it's hard to explain. Perhaps you yourself said it right in the first place: there's something wild in her. I could see it in her eyes and it unsettles me. It may also unsettle others who come to know her as the Queen of Rohan", Éothain answered. He sounded reluctant to say these words, and only spoke them out of duty.
"You must give her a chance, Éothain, like you gave a chance to me. Did anybody expect me to take the throne? Yet here we are either way. She's young still, and she probably did not think a king would propose to her. She is unusual, I do not deny that. But strangeness doesn't make her unsuitable, and it doesn't mean something is wrong with her. I would rather start my line with a woman I care about, and perhaps she has things to give to Rohan that nobody else could offer. Our people are coming to a different age, Éothain; we may yet need minds like hers to find our own course", Éomer said strongly and turned away from Firefoot, now unsaddled and his coat gleaming from the brushing.
Éothain looked at him and tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach his blue, honest eyes.
"Well, I suppose you know it best. Don't understand me wrong, Éomer. I want nothing but your happiness, and it's clear she's a special lady indeed. Nobody else has ever turned your head in this way, and I've known you long enough to appreciate what it means. Though I can tell my response to her is not what you wished, don't pay too much heed to it. She's Imrahil's own daughter, and with that name attached to her, she can well afford strangeness", he said evenly, and his words did assuage Éomer somewhat.
It was merely a case of them getting to know one another. Once Lothíriel settled down in Meduseld and she had a chance to show her virtues, she would be loved by her new people just as much as by him.
On the final night of King of Rohan's stay in Dol Amroth, a small feast was had in the castle's garden. It was a fair, warm night and at this point, formality had run its course between friends. Much to their delight, the entire King's Guard had been invited as well.
The place was lit by countless lamps and lanterns hanging from the branches of the trees, and the castle itself glowed with many lights above the garden. Benches had been brought out and at the steps leading to the castle, a small band of musicians were playing soft, pleasant tunes that somehow reminded Éomer of the hum of the sea. On the green grass stood a massive table laden with too many different kinds of foods and delicacies for him to count. The air itself in the fragrant garden was like some sweet, intoxicating draught.
Imrahil made no long speeches tonight. He simply raised his glass and thanked the company of Rohirrim for their visit, and hoped they would soon return. The knights of Éomer's guard cheered their host and raised their own cups, which they then heartily drained. Not a single Eorling would be leaving the city feeling like they had been mistreated – though some among them had more reason for satisfaction than the others. Éomer allowed himself a private grin.
The Prince made his way to the young king, his daughter by his arm. She was wondrously lovely, of course, but not quite as radiant as she had been earlier this day. Éomer flattered himself with the idea that perhaps her mood was because of the nearing parting.
"So it is your last night with us", said Imrahil with a slight smile. "Some visit it has been, my friend. I do not think any of us could have imagined such an outcome."
"Indeed", Éomer conceded and returned the smile, though his eyes lingered more with Lothíriel than her father. "Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are, if not more so. I had no plans to steal this flower from your realm, but what can I say?"
"Was it not said that Gondor owes you for the Lady Éowyn? Though if I'm honest, I would not like to think of myself as a settlement for debt", Lothíriel commented wryly.
"And you are not, my lady. Only a fool would dare to suggest it", Éomer stated firmly and bowed his head to her. He glanced at her father, "Still, I would be lying if I said my council won't be delighted once they hear the news."
"How soon shall you inform them?" Imrahil inquired.
"I can't be keeping my closest advisers in the dark, but I will not be making this news public until after we have met in the White City. Even so, while my Riders should know to keep their mouths shut, there may be some rumours", replied the Rohir. It occurred to him it wasn't going to be easy to keep this to himself. Like some kind of a lovesick idiot, he wanted to tell everybody and their mothers about her, how wonderful she was, and how glad she had made him.
"No one shall believe any such rumour, not at least in Gondor. I have made sure of it", she said in a low voice, and her meaning was not lost to Éomer, though he did not know the exact number of the proposals she had turned down.
"I suppose it can't be avoided. But no matter. We shall be seeing you in Minas Tirith soon enough", said the Prince. Then his eyes fell on his daughter standing by his side. His smile grew sad before he looked back at Éomer.
"I hope no hard feelings remain between us, though I have had my misgivings. It's not easy thing to give up a beloved child. And somehow it is more difficult with a daughter, I find – even when I know her strength and capability", he said softly. His grey eyes travelled between his daughter and the King, as though the one had grown up much sooner than she should have, and the other no longer wearing just a friend's face, but also of the man who had made Imrahil come to meet this bittersweet choice.
"It is no matter. She is a treasure, and no man would part with her easily and without pain", Éomer said, and he saw warm colour spreading across her cheeks. She lowered her eyes momentarily, perhaps to hide some thought or expression that she knew he would instantly see.
"True indeed", Imrahil agreed and smiled.
"For my part, I'm sure I shall feel as though waking up from a dream when I ride out of your gates. It will be hard not to turn and race back to make sure I haven't just made up the whole thing", Éomer said, light at first, and then growing more uneasy when he realised just how true it was. And with it, a sense of doubt stirred inside him. He was certain of his own feelings, but what of her? What if she began to regret her choice to accept him when they were parted once more?
Lothíriel seemed to sense the shift of his mood. Unabashedly she reached forward to touch his forearm, never mind the fact that her father stood right there next to her.
"Don't be troubled. We shall be together soon, and you shall leave with more than a memory", she said evenly and squeezed his forearm gently before withdrawing her hand again.
It seemed that her father directed a longer look at her than was usual, yet it was not as hard or marvelling as Éomer would have expected in any other company. Even he was not so bold as to ask, but in all honesty, he did wonder what Imrahil and his sons made of Lothíriel. She was their family, and yet she was so unlike any of them.
He studied her, too, but only for a brief moment. A number of questions had formed and he wanted to speak them in as much privacy as was feasible. So he looked straight at Imrahil once more.
"Do you mind if I take a turn with my bride in the garden?" asked the young king pleasantly. He had a feeling it would be a good idea to pay every respect to Imrahil's sense of propriety, now that the Prince had given his consent.
"Not at all, as long as you remain close to the rest of us", Imrahil said and released the hand of his daughter from his elbow.
"We shall keep within sight", Éomer promised graciously and offered his own arm to the lady. She took it with a slight smile.
They walked for a moment in silence, until Imrahil was left behind and the two were left in moderate privacy. Moderate, because about them were many small groups of Rohirric Riders and their southern counterparts – Éomer's men had made fast friends with Swan Knights during their stay in Dol Amroth. And he did not lead his bride into the shadowy lanes of the garden, even if it was a tempting thought. He had no doubt Imrahil and at least one of his sons were watching them like hawks. Her brothers seemed to accept their sister's choice of husband, and had been rather gracious about the matter, even Amrothos. Still, there had been an unspoken warning in each of their eyes, the kind Éomer very much recognised. He was an older brother himself, after all.
"Now, what was that? I'm sure I enjoy walking with my bridegroom, but you were looking very inquisitive just before", she spoke softly, even surprising him a little bit. The dear girl already read him alarmingly well. Yet perhaps at this point he should know better than to wonder at her insight.
"I wanted a word alone – as alone as it is possible with your father's eyes glued to the back of my head", Éomer admitted, at which she made a quiet little scoff, as one might when seeing their guess has hit the right mark. "I was wondering... and now that I do, I am astonished with myself for not asking it sooner. Lothíriel, are you ever lonely?"
She was silent for a while, and eventually he began to worry if he had spoken in too quiet a voice, and she had not heard him over the noise of feasting. But at length she let out a soft sigh, which he more sensed than heard.
"Perhaps I was when I was younger. Sometimes people think I'm strange, and they avoid me because of it. And to be honest, I understand it. I do not blame them. However, it has been a while since I've felt well and truly lonely", she said slowly, as though it was a question that hardly moved her, but was answering it simply to humour him.
He stared at her by his side, but her face was looking forward, and he could not read her expression or her eyes. At first her answer puzzled him. How was she so unfazed, so unbothered by the solitude her singular character must doom her to bear? But then he recalled what Imrahil had told him when he had asked to marry her. In her the blood of Mithrellas of the Elves nearly runs true. Perhaps her thoughts walked in paths not unlike the Immortal, and the sound of the sea and the wind in the trees were company enough for her.
He was still thinking of this when she abruptly pressed her hand more tightly against his arm, and cast a look of concern up at him.
"But please, don't think I do not like being with you. It's pleasant and easy when you are around. You've never acted like I'm strange, even if you think so", she said quickly.
Now Éomer had to smile fondly. She might generally read him well enough, but that right there was a misstep, if he ever saw one.
"Aye, strange you are, bride mine – but in the most interesting, charming, and most enticing way anyone has ever been strange", he told her in low, warm tones.
In the light of the lamps and lanterns he saw the colour on her cheeks, but her eyes sparkled like stars. She leant a little bit closer, as though meaning to kiss him before she recalled they were not alone. So she just settled on pressing his arm again.
"I am glad you think so, my wise fool", she said, smiling up at him.
Éomer raised an eyebrow.
"Is that going to be a thing?"
"Would you mind if it was?"
"... depends."
"On what?"
"On how far you will go to persuade me."
"... my lord."
No one had ever managed to make that title sound so sensual and so intimate. Béma, he was going to miss her.
Morning came.
Gone was the slow, relaxed mood of the past couple weeks. In its stead, the castle seemed to breathe with expectation and preparation. Riders of the King's Guard were in their element once more, checking their horses and their gear, and making sure all was ready for the journey North. Éomer could tell they were eager for the road. While Dol Amroth was pleasing and fair with it's entertainments, it was not home, and they had had their share of leisure. The young king himself felt ready to get to the many duties waiting for him back in Edoras. His holiday in the city by the sea had been a success altogether.
Yet his departure was not without unease. There were still so many things he wanted to speak of with his bride, and he knew he would painfully miss her presence, her quiet, knowing smiles, and the secret kisses stolen in the shadows. For weeks to come, he would have to be satisfied with letters only.
They said their goodbyes in the courtyard. The sun had barely risen and the air was crisp with early morning's chill; proof it was not yet full summer even in this gentle corner of the realm of Gondor. Éomer preferred it, though, knowing the men and the horses would get more and more hot and uncomfortable as the day progressed.
Her family was few paces back as Éomer himself stood with his bride. Her face was solemn but calm and her eyes never left his face. The wait was going to be just as long for her as it would be for him.
"Well, here we are", he said at length and was surprised to hear his own voice come out so hoarsely.
"Here we are", she agreed in a soft voice. "Be well and travel safe."
"You as well", he conceded, and for a moment made intense battle with himself in order not to reach for her and kissing her in the front of her father. He breathed deeply through his nose and then exhaled. "I shall be seeing you in the White City in a few weeks. But you may expect letters before that."
Now she smiled at him.
"That is good. I shall look to the east and wait for your Riders", she said, and he could not help but smile as well, encouraged simply by the faith in her eyes and warmth in her voice.
"In the meanwhile, I've got something for you – to remember these happy days when we are parted. It's not much, but I wasn't planning on proposing when I came here and so I brought nothing suitable, and yet a man should give his bride a parting gift", he explained and reached for the leather purse on his belt, which contained a few objects of personal value and everyday use – flint and steel, a small comb and a knife, small writing tools in case he needed to draft a message on the road – and drew out a woven leather bracelet which he had made only last night before going to bed.
A king should certainly gift his wife-to-be more grandly, and any other woman he would not have dared to present with such a small thing. However, this was the traditional gift men of the Mark gave to their brides, even if they at least decorated it with colourful beads and small wooden tokens they had carved themselves. Most adornment he had added was the intricate pattern of the weaving and three pearls from the markets of Dol Amroth, found a couple of days earlier with the help of Amrothos. Granted, the jewellers of the city could have provided him with riches fit for a princess, but he suspected he could never impress her with such items. As Imrahil's daughter, she would already have the finest silver, brightest jewels and most flawless pearls one could imagine. But small and artless as his bracelet appeared, it was personal. At least to himself it made sense, because Éomer was new to his throne, and he still remained more a soldier than a sovereign lord in his heart of hearts. And Lothíriel – she was unusual, and he knew his gift was well-given when he saw her eyes widen in surprise and delight. With a broad smile, she offered her hand to him.
His fingers trembled a little bit when he fastened the bracelet around her wrist, which he brushed gently before letting go. She lifted her hand to inspect the bracelet more closely. She looked so happy to receive this simple, rustic gift, one might think he had just showered her with a hoard of Elven jewels.
"It is lovely! Thank you", she said, still smiling. But then her face grew worried, and she spoke quietly, "I have no gift to match yours, but maybe this will do."
She then produced a light blue handkerchief, embroidered at the edges with swans and ships riding the waves, and quickly she tied it around his wrist. Her fingers lingered on the knot for a moment before she pulled her hands back again. Éomer had a feeling the handkerchief would smell like her, but he couldn't well press it against his face without raising a few eyebrows. He surely would do so, though, once he had taken his leave and wasn't under the scrutiny of so many eyes any longer.
Behind himself, he could hear the horses shifting anxiously. He could very well imagine the Riders were equally eager to go. But tearing himself away from his bride was so damned difficult, and it got no easier as moments passed. Swallowing hard, he picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles, perhaps a bit longer than was appropriate, but hopefully Imrahil would forgive this small transgression at the moment of parting.
"I will miss you. More than you know – more than I could possibly tell you", he uttered quietly, and then felt a small hand on his cheek, just as he once had in the shadowy corridor of Houses of Healing. Her touch remained as gentle and comforting as it had been that night. And somehow, her eyes had that same, faraway look in them, like she was staring somewhere past him.
"You will be missed as well. But the reunion will be all the sweeter, and you and I are always bound to meet again", she told him, speaking as one would with greatest conviction. And why wouldn't she? All that she had told him had come to pass. Perhaps even the part about sun on his path.
"Until then", said Éomer, pressed his fingers against hers for one more time, and then took a step back. He raised his eyes and nodded at Imrahil and his sons one more time; words of parting had been already exchanged between them, and the final moment had been for her alone.
Imrahil's countenance had been serious, but he did smile at the Rohirric king, and so did his sons. Amrothos was even waving his hand in farewell, and crying, "Come back soon!"
Éomer cast a grin at his friend and waved in answer. But the last smile he reserved for his bride, softer and more private, and she met it with one of her own. He took that final glimpse of her – eyes so bright and a smile so dear – before he turned towards Firefoot and flung himself in the saddle. He could feel her gaze on himself, but he did not turn back, because then he would just have to return to her for one more touch of her hand, and his company must be on its way already.
So, with a deep breath he gave the sign and the White Horse leapt forward once more, and so began his long journey home.
The road back to Mundburg was not taken with as much leisure as the initial journey to Dol Amroth. Knowing the duties that waited for him back in the Mark, and reluctant to linger and brood over his bride, Éomer made his company travel with more speed than was perhaps necessary. However, he could tell no one was dismayed. The horses delighted in some exercise as much as their Riders, and the whole guard was in high spirits. Summer had crept further in the lands south of the White City while they had remained as Imrahil's guests and the land was green and fair for a traveller to admire. With a quiet smile, Éomer listened to his company singing, jesting and laughing as they made their way northwards.
At nights, they mostly camped by the road, for the weather was mild and pleasant, the green lands offered many excellent sites, and few inns or even lords' houses were capable of tending to so many intractable Rohirric warhorses. Often in those quiet moments before he sought sleep, Éomer would pull out the blue handkerchief and study the beautiful embroidery, and run his fingers over the soft material. He had long since unfastened it from around his wrist, as it was sure to get dirty and tattered in such a situation. Still, he was a bit disappointed when the soft scent of perfume faded and he could no longer refresh his memory of the sweet fragrance of Lothíriel's hair.
Finally, they reached Mundburg again, where they were received with all the usual warmth and welcome. There they would halt for a few more days so that the Kings of Rohan and Gondor could take council together and share news. Couriers had carried reports all the way from the Mark while Éomer was absent, and while it sounded like nothing should be wrong there, Aragorn may have some concealed information of the goings of the world. Indeed, their talks, private and with the Great Council of the leading lords, were most prolific, even enthusiastic. Until now, Éomer had not taken particular pleasure in this side of his new role, and one hard lesson of past winter had been learning to talk the language of politicians. But at the meetings with Aragorn and his council, the young king found himself speaking with stronger words and greater confidence. His fellow king gave him more than one curious look, clearly suspecting that something had happened in south, but Éomer just smiled back. He did not purposefully mean to keep his friend and closest ally in the dark, but there was one person he wished to speak with first.
For politics and councils were not the only thing Éomer meant to tackle while in the White City. He also had the task of sharing some important news with his sister.
Thankfully, Éowyn and Faramir were already in the city when he arrived, taking council with Aragorn and purchasing supplies for their ongoing restoration of Emyn Arnen. The couple seemed to be more in love than ever. How the pair managed to find time both for love-sick games and running errands, Éomer did not know. He might have to ask, though, once his own wedding drew near. The idea made a pleasant shiver run down his spine.
On the second day after Éomer's arrival, he and Éowyn were fortunate enough to get a couple of free hours before another formal banquet at the Citadel. They were single-minded in how to spend the time: Firefoot and Windfola were saddled and brought out, and so the two siblings swiftly made their way through the city. And the moment they were beyond the walls of Mundburg, Éomer threw a challenge at his sister along with a huge grin. She needed no other encouragement, and so they went speeding across the Pelennor fields. They chose a path furthest away from the many homesteads, newly built after the great battle which had devastated the land between the city and Anduin. Still, a few of the common folk farming and living on the fields watched in fright and astonishment as a bunch of Rohirrim rode by like a whirlwind.
In times before, Éomer had only ever outraced his sister by a lucky chance, for she was a masterful rider and a lighter burden for Windfola to carry. But this time he perceived it was more than just luck when he reached the banks of Anduin before her. All the same, she was laughing in abandon when she caught up with him.
"Don't look so surprised, brother! You won fairly. I admit I do not have much competition in Emyn Arnen, and there is so little time these days for a good, hard ride", she said as she brought her steed to a halt.
"I know that all too well", said Éomer and grimaced. Then he looked at her again, "Shall we take a walk, while the guards water the horses? I'd like to take a look around."
"Very well. It is fairly pretty here – though it's not Ithilien", said Éoywn as she dismounted.
"You like your new home, then?" he asked her as they began to slowly make their way down the riverbank, arms linked. On their left side, Anduin flowed calmly towards the sea. But he knew the stream was strong beneath the surface, as the locals had never ceased to remind him and other reckless Rohirrim while they had stayed at the Fields of Cormallen. It was a beautiful day indeed, and spring was promising a bright summer; about them was an abundance of green that somehow seemed even stronger against all the stone of the City. Éomer knew Aragorn had plans to bring trees and other growing things to Mundburg – an endeavour he could heartily support.
Éowyn smiled brightly at his question.
"Oh, I love it there. I've never imagined such a place! Of old there was a manor house, which will be our home, but it was abandoned a long time ago when the threat of the Shadow fell over the land. Rebuilding and fortifying the house is a laborious task, but it will be a fair dwelling one day. The gardens, too, are wonderful, even if they have grown wild without hands to tend to them. We have so many plans for Emyn Arnen, Faramir and I, and I can't wait to show it to you!" she answered eagerly, eyes shining as she spoke of her new home.
"Fortifying? Is it an army camp you're living at?" Éomer asked with a slight frown.
She cast him a sharp glance.
"Of course you would get hung up on that. Yes, our home needs protection. But is not Meduseld fortified against enemies, too? The eastern bank is not yet entirely secure, and I will not have my house burnt down", she stated calmly.
"Is it quite safe in Emyn Arnen?" he asked her, and was already thinking of roving bands of orcs, and Éowyn lifeless in the ruin of her new home – an image all too real for him.
"Oh please, brother. If you're thinking of telling me I should stay and sit here in the city, while Faramir labours alone in Ithilien, you may as well forget it. It's as safe as anywhere. We have a strong garrison of seasoned Rangers, and our scouts patrol the land tirelessly. Yes, a few marauding orcs have been encountered and dealt with, but they are small and hungry groups", she told him in a tone that accepted no arguments.
"It's the hungry beast one should be wary of, sister. You don't know what it might do in its despair", Éomer said warily, although he knew already he wasn't going to turn her head. While Éowyn had changed since the ending of the war, and there was a new warmth and softness about her, she had not lost any of her stubbornness.
"If you think Faramir needs schooling in that regard, then that's your business, but don't come crying to me when he shows you what a fool you are", Éowyn stated and gazed ahead with that insufferably headstrong look on her face that, as he suspected, was not so different from his own.
She looked at him with a slight smile then, and asked, "But surely you did not want to come here just to quarrel with me?"
"No, I did not", Éomer conceded and forced his mind off of his concern for her. He knew it was useless to worry: his sister was a woman wedded now, she could take care of herself, and Faramir would never let any harm come to her. And yet he could not forget the sight of her face as she lay among the dead on the fields of Pelennor.
He shook himself and cleared his throat. He had come here to share good tidings, not to dwell on evil memories. She looked at him expectantly.
"I have some news, Éowyn. No need to look worried. It's a happy thing", he said quickly, seeing the way she raised an eyebrow. Then a grin began to tug at the corners of his mouth, because she came to his mind, and all other thoughts were pushed to background. He went on, "I have found a bride."
Éowyn's eyes widened.
"Truly? You are not jesting?" she asked and her voice rose high, as it ever did when she got excited about something.
"Why would I? It is true indeed", Éomer said and gave her a broad grin.
His sister cried in delight and jumped to claim him in one of those too-tight hugs of hers. She was laughing and he couldn't help but join it.
"That is wonderful news!" Éowyn said, but then her bright smile became suspicious. "What has changed, though? You had no such news to share when you were riding for Dol Amroth... you met someone on the way, didn't you?"
"Aye, that I did. It is Imrahil's daughter, Lothíriel. We are betrothed to be married next spring", he explained, beaming as he spoke.
"Imrahil's daughter? Now that is news indeed! Faramir is not going to believe it", Éowyn said, smiling once again and regarding him as though he had finally performed some difficult task she had set him on. "He has mentioned her at times, but I have yet to meet the lady. What is she like? How did this thing come about? Tell me everything, brother!"
So Éomer began to tell his sister about Lothíriel, of their meeting in Dol Amroth, and how he had grown fond of her. And once he started to talk, he could not hold back even the one truth he had kept to himself until now: that Lothíriel was indeed the maiden he had spoken to in the Houses of Healing over a year ago. Somehow, it felt right to admit it now, and especially because it was Éowyn he was speaking with.
His sister looked appropriately surprised, but also delighted.
"I knew it! I knew there was something unusual going on there!" she exclaimed and slapped his shoulder, as though it was the only gesture that would properly convey her excitement. "Well, I am glad you have found the girl at last, and should give credit where it's due. Your instinct is much better than I generally expect."
"Is it now? How gracious of you to think so", Éomer said with a wry smile, and she laughed.
"In any case, that' s a very good match for you, brother, and it's even better that you like her. I can't wait to meet this woman! I always wondered what it would take for you to settle down", Éowyn smiled and linked their arms once more.
"We'll be meeting here in Mundburg later this summer. That's when the news will be made public, though I expect there will be many rumours before that. But I hope you will like her. She is dear to me", said the young king and smiled slightly.
"I'm sure I will. You wouldn't choose poorly in a matter so crucial. The most important one of your life, as some would say", Éowyn noted brightly.
"Aye, that certainly seems to be the general impression", Éomer said and could not help but grimace. His sister flicked his forearm.
"What cause do you have to complain now? You got to make up your own mind, and choose a bride that you like not only as a king, but also as a man", she said evenly. He merely harrumphed in answer, and she went on in a softer tone, "Still, I am glad for you, brother. Sometimes I've thought of how unfair it seems. All of our friends are settling down and finding a measure of happiness again, and yet there were you, the worthiest of men, carrying an entire country on your back all by yourself... but it may be that at times, the most deserving must come last."
He let out a low, grim chuckle.
"That's more common than you might think, sister. Not that I think myself more deserving than the next man, but to deserve may be akin to asking little for yourself, and that is a thankless job in a world where so many greedily take more than they need", he commented, making her groan softly under her breath.
"Now you're starting to sound like I used to. Let us hope it's passing fit – and that your bride will fill your head with fairer thoughts", she said and squeezed his arm. They had now walked quite a distance along the riverbank, and in quiet agreement turned around to make their way back to the horses.
Éowyn looked up at him solemnly, and she said, "My point still stands, though. I wish you all the joy in the world."
He met her gaze with a slight smile.
"As do I wish for you, sister. We shall both of us put the dark days behind us", he told her and reached to pat her arm.
His sister, legendary for the deeds done on this very field, but to him still that dear little brat who had chased him and Éothain around Aldburg, smiled back.
"That we shall, indeed."
To be continued.
A/N: Here is a new chapter! I hope you all liked it.
This one took some work to finish, but hopefully it answers some of your questions. I particularly liked writing the conversation between Éomer and Éowyn. I think Éowyn in this story is a bit different than in my other stories; she's certainly very eager and filled with enthusiasm for her new life in Ithilien.
Emyn Arnen was the hill-land in Ithilien, south of Osgiliath. It lay on the eastern bank of Anduin, and that land was abandoned when Sauron's power grew. Only Rangers lead by Faramir still wandered in the woods and made such ambushes against Mordor's forces as could be managed. After the War of the Ring, Faramir was made the Prince of Ithilien. He and Éowyn took residence in Emyn Arnen
The idea of Rohirric men giving woven bracelets to their brides is my own. I was thinking of promise rings and engagement rings, and decided that in a culture like Rohan's, they might not be so available or prevalent. However, I imagined they would still have the idea of giving engagement presents, made from materials available to them - such as wood, leather, beads and other small trinkets. As a member of a royal house, Éomer would probably be familiar with the tradition of exchanging rings, but he was not planning on proposing and so he wouldn't have anything suitable with him to give to his bride. Plus, he appreciates tradition enough to want to give her something of his own, and he rightly guesses that she's the kind of woman to appreciate this kind of a gift.
As ever, music continues to inspire me while writing, and some songs reflect strongly the mood that I have while plotting and drafting. One such song for this fic is Eivør Pálsdóttir's Slør, which you can find at Youtube, and translations to English are also available on Google. This song has a particular vibe that, I think, is very much like the Lothíriel of Moondaughter's Promise.
Thanks for reading and reviewing! As ever, stay safe and healthy out there!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - I'm glad to hear it! :)
EStrunk - Yes, he's quite delightful while in this state! :D I hope this chapter answers some of your questions.
Tibblets - Thank you! I hope you continue to like it.
pzacharatos - Thanks! :)
Catspector - Imrahil does listen to his daughter, so here we are, and we have an engagement! :D
sai19 - I'm glad to hear you're enjoying this story so much! :) I'm certainly interested what your theories might be, so don't hesitate to PM me if you would like to!
You are quite correct - this is going to be at least 100k story, but probably closer to 150-200k. We'll see how detailed and wordsy my muse continues to be!
Jo - I hope you liked the chapter, and the engagement! :) And stay safe out there!
Wondereye - Hopefully, this chapter gives some answer to that. Éomer has indeed been fun to write in this story, and Éothain too!
rossui - We'll see! Obstacles may come indeed, but for now things are looking pretty hopeful for Éomer. Glad you liked the chapter!
blasttyrant - I can imagine it's very stressful for you, but I hope you will stay safe and healthy, and get to relax despite the situation. I'm glad if my story is able to bring some relief! And hopefully this chapter answers some of your questions. :)
Melissa Black13 - I think she surprised everybody, including Éomer, with her acceptance of him! She does things in her own way, and as to what is truly going on with her, we'll have to see! I'm glad you're liking this story (and the others) so much! :)
LH Wordsmith - Thank you so much! I got all giddy and happy over your lovely review. I'm so happy to hear you like my stories, and my takes on Éomer, so much!
I surely agree with your assessment. Generally, I think of him having this difficult life, dedicated to serving his king and country, and bearing much grief because of his losses. But then she arrives and turns it all around, introducing him to a much happier phase of life.
As to what is going on with Lothíriel, we'll see!
Anne - Thank you! :)
Guest - Thanks!
