Chapter 9
One rainy evening Éomer finally reached his home in Edoras. His trip to Stoningland had been long, and he was glad to see Meduseld was still standing. He had made a few stops in the villages on the way, listening people for news and everyday gossip, and it sounded like nothing too serious had taken place in his absence.
Even before he dismounted, Éomer was giving a critical glance at Meduseld and its premises. A thorough cleaning and polishing would have to be done before she arrived. At once, he noticed a dozen little things that ought to be fixed. The stables could do with a thorough mucking, saddles and reins should be oiled and polished and blankets cleaned, guest-houses needed to be aired and swept, and storehouses inspected. And the Hall! Without even entering it he could imagine the dusty hangings and cobwebs high in the rafters. Every nook and cranny must be swept carefully, and the Queen's rooms prepared. The garden... well, it might be wiser not to touch it, although it was quite untended now that Éowyn had departed. Lothíriel with her extensive herb-lore would probably want to take that task herself and set it up after her own mind. And she would need a workshop here, too, wouldn't she? He didn't expect she would give up her studies completely; it would surely make her unhappy. That was a conversation for when they saw each other again.
The wear of the journey began to settle on him as he climbed up the stairs to Meduseld. Doorwards greeted him warmly as they opened the twin doors, and the warmth and soft light came out as an inviting glow. Then Leofrun was there, bearing him the cup of welcome. It still felt strange to receive the cup from her and not Éowyn. Now that his sister was gone, the task of greeting the King upon his return fell on Leofrun, the chief of the women of the royal household.
"Welcome, my lord. I trust your journey went well?" she spoke warmly as he received the cup and took a long sip of sweet mead. Leofrun looked at him as though she might have enveloped him in her arms, if they weren't so exposed.
"It did, Leofrun. Our friends in Stoningland never spared any effort to keep us comfortable and entertained", he replied with a slight smile. Perhaps it revealed it more than he had intended, for the woman cast him a curious look.
But Éomer drained the rest of the cup before handing it back to his housekeeper. Then he spoke, "Send some supper into my study. I imagine there will be many reports and messages waiting for me there, and I may as well start reading through them right now. And make sure my Riders all get a hot meal."
"Are you certain, my lord? You must be tired after such a long trip", Leofrun asked doubtfully; he knew she thought he worked too much.
"I am. Please make sure there will be some hot tea, too. That rainwater is starting to seep into my bones", he said as he began to make his way towards his own rooms. A change of clothes would do him a lot of good.
"Very well, my lord", said Leofrun and headed for the kitchens. But Éomer himself briefly visited his chambers. Guthlaf helped him to get out of his armour, which the young man then took away to tend to before any rust settled in. The royal chambers looked warm and inviting, and Éomer's bed even more so, and he cast that great piece of furniture a yearning glance as he pulled on some dry clothes. However, his work of tomorrow would at least slightly lessened if he began trudging through reports tonight.
There was indeed a thick pile of them on his desk in the royal study. Except for them, the desk was quite untouched – a few quills scattered, a bottle of ink he had forgotten unclosed much to his present dismay, bits and pieces of parchment and maps – but the servants had been in and out regularly, and so the place did not feel dank or deserted.
Éomer brushed fingers through his still damp hair and stared at the reports for a moment, though he knew they wouldn't read themselves. Then with a sigh, he picked up the first one and began to read.
It wasn't long before Leofrun arrived, carrying a tray in her hands. There was a big, steaming bowl, some bread with cheese, and an entire pot of tea. His stomach growled loudly at the sight and he quickly brushed an empty spot on the desk so that she could set the tray down.
"It's good to have you home, lad", said Leofrun, all formality gone now that they were alone. She smiled warmly as she continued, "This place does not feel quite right without you."
"Thank you, Leofrun. I trust not many fires were started while I was gone?" he asked and gestured her to take seat, which she did. He poured some tea for the both of them.
"I believe there were some minor ones, nothing truly worrisome, but you shall learn all about it in your reports. Now tell me, how is Éowyn? Did you enjoy yourself while in Dol Amroth? And did that lot of Prince Imrahil's keep you well?" asked the housekeeper, and they proceeded into sharing various tidings and talking about Éowyn and her new life in Gondor. He also presented his gifts to Leofrun, which she tried to refuse at first, but at his gentle coaxing, she accepted them at last.
"Look at that craftsmanship! How the metal shines! It is truly lovely", Leofrun said as she admired the necklace he had bought for her and ran her fingers gently over the silver shapes of swans. Being a sensible, modest woman, she would never have purchased such a thing for herself. But good service and loyalty earned some reward, and he imagined she would be proud to wear her new necklace when the occasion was right.
"As for those spices I got for you, I expect you won't be using all of it in Meduseld. Save some for yourself", he told her sternly. Leofrun answered with a sheepish smile.
"I shall keep that in mind", she said, but he made a mental note of having to pay close attention to the food in days to come.
Having now finished his food, Éomer leant back in his chair and cast a conspirator smile at the woman.
"There's something else, my friend. Can you keep a secret?" he asked her.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Do you need to ask?" she asked back pointedly. Well, it was not as though he mistrusted her, but technically only his council was supposed to know the latest news. But if Leofrun did not deserve to hear it, then nobody did.
"I have found a bride, Leofrun. We are betrothed to marry next spring", he told her and felt his smile grow into a grin.
Leofrun's eyes lit up and she sat up straighter in her seat.
"That is wonderful news, lad! Who is the lucky lady? And why is it secret?" she asked in excitement, twitching in her chair as though she burned to dash out right now and start immediately to prepare the Hall for a royal wedding.
"It's Imrahil's daughter, Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. We agreed not to speak of it until later in the summer, when we meet in Mundburg. The betrothal will be made public there."
She nodded emphatically.
"I might have guessed! He is a mighty lord and so are his sons, though I'm not sure I liked the look of that youngest one while they were here for poor old Théoden. Still, if she takes after her father, then you have made a favourable match", Leofrun said. Then she directed him a keen stare, "But tell me, lad, is it a political marriage, or do you like this young lady?"
"I do, Leofrun. I know what it looks like, this union between me and a daughter of Imrahil's, but never once think I asked for her hand because of who her father is. Lady Lothíriel is a very special young woman, and she is as wise as she is kind. In the end, I'm not sure I could enter into a marriage without feelings", he told her. Somehow it was easier to admit these private notions and feelings to her than it was to even most of his friends.
Leofrun smiled fondly.
"Indeed. I've always known it, though you try so hard to conceal the truth. But deep down, your heart is as soft as they come. In any case, I am very happy for you", she told him and beamed so brightly, it was as though she was finally hearing that her own wayward son had settled down.
"As am I. It feels good", he said and cast a grin at her before taking a bit more sober tone, "It's months until next spring, and we'll have to keep it quiet for some weeks more, but I suppose I don't have to tell you to start thinking about what to do?"
"Not at all, dear lad. It's a good thing we'll have plenty of time. If you thought Éowyn's wedding was memorable as it was mad, you will soon learn you have seen nothing yet", Leofrun commented cheerfully. "The Queen's rooms will have to be opened and prepared, and I expect I have your leave to give my fullest scrutiny to this old Hall?"
"Indeed you do, Leofrun. I want Meduseld to shine like it never did before – and to show this place to my bride at its best", he told her, which seemed to disconcert the housekeeper a little bit.
"Do you think she will be satisfied with the Golden Hall?" asked Leofrun and looked at him like for the first time, she suspected even her fullest scrutiny might not be enough.
But Éomer waved his hand to dismiss the worry and he smiled.
"No, no. Don't understand wrong. Lady Lothíriel is not like that. If you doubt it, then know that I gave her the traditional bracelet upon our parting. It was nothing but some pearls on woven leather. Yet she looked at the thing like I had given her a dragon's hoard", he explained quickly.
Leofrun visibly relaxed on her seat, though the look she gave him was keen and curious.
"The lady is unusual, isn't she?" asked the housekeeper.
"Indeed she is. But you must meet her yourself, and then you'll know what I mean", Éomer said with a faint smile and pushed back both the tray and the reports. It was clear now he wasn't going to get any work done tonight.
"I look forward to it", Leofrun commented. "It will be a good thing to have a queen in the land again. Though I wonder how much grumbling there will be thanks to your choice. I suppose it was always a known possibility you would take a Gondorian bride, what with the way old ties are being renewed and the many powerful friends you made in the south. But our people will soon be asking what kind of a consort your new queen is going to be. Does she have Rohan's best interests in mind, or will she keep her own ways here in Edoras – even persuade you to take them? It will be said our losses in the war were grievous, and to lose our pride would be too much."
"Indeed? You make interesting points, Leofrun. Have you been eavesdropping on many council meetings?" Éomer asked half-seriously.
She smiled wryly.
"You don't live in the King's household for as long as I have without picking up a few things", she pointed out, which made him chuckle under his breath.
"That is true", he conceded and laced his fingers against the back of his head. He met her eyes thoughtfully, "Nevertheless, I do not think you, or any Rohirrim for that matter, will need to worry over these things. Lady Lothíriel is not a political schemer, and I doubt she will have much interest in meddling in such affairs. Do not understand me wrong. I didn't ask her because I was looking for a 'harmless' consort. It's simply... well, I guess it all comes back to the fact that she's not what you might expect."
"Well, I'm all the more excited to meet this woman. But do not let my words worry you over much. Talk is just talk, and I know you will be a strong king. Théoden did not raise just one mighty son, but two", Leofrun said firmly as she stood up again. It must be getting late at this point; momentarily, Éomer felt a bit guilty for keeping her here for this long.
Still, he couldn't hold back one more question.
"Do you ever wonder if Théodred would have been a better king?" he asked quietly.
Leofrun turned to look at him with a sad smile, but her eyes were kind.
"I do not wonder, lad. And neither should you. It will not help you to carve your own path, trying to be somebody who is gone. You are yourself, Éomer, and that is already a fine thing indeed", she said evenly as she reached to pick up the tray.
Now the young king smiled slightly.
"Thank you, Leofrun", he said, and she returned the smile.
"You're welcome", she simply said, turned and made her way to the door. There she glanced back and said, "Don't stay up too late."
"Not even to write a letter for my bride?" he asked and flashed a grin at her.
"... aye, that you may do. But then I expect you to head straight to bed. Or do you mean to face that bunch of madmen you call your council with a sleepless night behind you?" she inquired back.
"... all right, your ladyship."
As expected, the royal council took the news with great enthusiasm, even relief. However, as soon as the first glee was over, Éomer's advisers were quick to interrogate him on the character of his bride, what kind of a marriage contract he was planning on negotiating, and whether Imrahil's wealth also meant a generous dowry. They were particularly keen to learn whether he had promised any Rohirric studs as a part of the contract. While he had known to expect these questions, they still made him uncomfortable. It felt all too much like a trade agreement, and generally he disliked this atmosphere where his speedy entrance into matrimony and subsequent breeding were the main objects of veritable obsession, and whatever the hell happened next was of no consequence to anybody.
Leofrun was right. He really was ridiculously soft inside.
Be that as it may, he hoped the betrothal would at last save him from the constant lectures and nagging advisers, not to mention well-meaning friends who were so fond of touting the many glorious aspects of the married state. For the time being, he cast most such thoughts from his mind. Now that he was betrothed, it was easy to focus on other things. Though maybe that was not quite true. The time he had spent worrying over this issue was now simply given to Lothíriel – and, admittedly, a number of ludicrous and whimsical daydreams about her. No doubt many people in Edoras wondered what had happened to their king when they saw him striding with a new spring in his step, or heard him laugh more often and uproariously. And no doubt many guessed close to the mark.
Still, there were those who did not guess, or perhaps had decided to ignore the rumours and signs as long as they were not made official. For only a week after Éomer's return, he spotted Guthild in a street of Edoras when he was returning from an errand to a small village of Snowbourn. She was conveniently standing by the road and caught his eyes before he passed, smiling brightly at him; he nodded as was polite, but he also wondered what had brought her to the capital. His suspicions only grew when he saw her again a couple of days later; she must be staying somewhere in Edoras, perhaps among her kin. A lord like her father would have relatives in the capital, though he himself ruled a town in East-Mark. Still and all, Guthild happened on Éomer a bit too often on the following two weeks for it to be a consequence. Once, she came upon him at the markets, and engaged him a conversation that only ended when Éothain made a not so subtle remark on an impending council meeting. He was quietly glad he was going to be in Mundburg for Mid-year's Day, because the celebrations could get something wild in Rohan, and at this time he felt like a particularly coveted prize.
Excluding a couple of orcish disturbances at the northern borders and a few missing horses, most of the tidings in the Mark were glad and hopeful. Spring sowing had been a success and not even the oldest codgers in Edoras could recall a foaling season quite as outstanding. From Westfold, promising reports came as rebuilding progressed and burned homes were erected anew. After the long, lean winter, the capital and villages were filled with a new bustle, as though the very land had woken up from some dark dream. And not just in Edoras, for he sensed something similar wherever he rode in his kingdom. Everywhere he looked, Éomer felt like he saw traders arriving with all imaginable goods to sell at the markets, or a group of travellers departing, or a new homestead in the process of being built, or a young wife with a growing belly and a beaming husband at her side. But ever and anon he would also spot a more mature woman with a lined face and melancholy eyes or feel pity swell in his breast when he noticed a man with one empty sleeve and by his side, another laboriously making his way with the help of crutches and just one leg. Victory's rewards were clear but so was the cost.
Though a warrior king might not expect it, this time of peace also increased his work, not lessen it. Now that the land was safer again for travelling, and able fighters were not needed at farms to protect them so much, many people recalled a multitude of older and newer issues which, as they thought, needed the King's attention and justice. Many more than just Guthild came to Edoras to seek an audience with him over various matters: family squabbles, a pair of siblings quarrelling over their father's inheritance, two neighbours who had been at war since times immemorial and now couldn't agree where the border between their lands ran, and even a few more serious criminal cases. Trying to find that delicate balance where all parties were satisfied – or at least not too disgruntled – was not always an easy task, and it certainly kept him, a few of his advisers, and a number of lieutenants busy for the month that followed his trip to Dol Amroth. The light, pleasant days of his trip to south were soon but a sweet memory.
However, not all was toil and frustration. Éomer's general mood remained high and hopeful as he thought of his bride. Many an evening he spent in composing letters for her, writing about the comings and goings of Edoras and telling her about his people. Perhaps that way, she would also have some idea of what to expect once she came to Rohan. While he wrote his letters, he imagined her sitting down in her rooms, perhaps on a seat by window that overlooked the sea, to read his words – and at times smiling in that soft, knowing way of hers. Then she would get to her own desk and begin her own letters, which arrived inconspicuously enough, sealed within her father's more formal messages. Her hand was elegant and flowing, like fine spiderweb against the well-made parchment, and her words as thoughtful and singular as ever. Her mind seemed to travel its usual strange paths, but her tone was warm and even affectionate. He devoured her words like a starving man, though they only soothed him so briefly, and then made him more anxious for the meeting in Mundburg – and for that sweet, distant day of spring when he would wed her.
What would it be like? Often Éomer wondered this. He tried to imagine her here, in Meduseld, but somehow in his mind Lothíriel only ever agreed to appear in places where no other Men walked – at the seaside, or the woodland beyond her father's castle. At times, he worried whether she would be at home in Edoras, but though he did not ask it straight, it must have shown in his letters somehow. For it was in her third letter that she wrote: "Don't think I shall not love your country as my own! If your stories hold true, then I shall feel as much at home in Edoras as I do in Dol Amroth. As long as the heart is free, it may find rest in any place that welcomes it."
It was an uplifting thought, and many times Éomer returned to that passage in his mind when he looked to the long days ahead. And in the end, there may be more truth to her words than he had previously imagined. For he had not accepted the crown easily, and it seemed to him that she stood alone wherever she went, too strange for a lady's role. Maybe together was indeed a place where their hearts may rest.
Thanks to all the work and demands of the realm, Éomer spent that month mostly in movement. Then sooner than he had realised, Mid-year's Day began to approach. He would have to take to the road soon, if he meant to participate the celebrations in Mundburg. And so it was one night he rose to speak before his household, and announced his regret that he was not going to participate the occasion in Edoras due to important business with King Elessar in south. It was a rare thing for the Lord of the Mark to spend this occasion away from the Mark, and he could see this sentiment in the faces of his folk, but Éomer answered it with a bright smile. Whatever unease was felt tonight, it would surely be forgotten when he returned with some very good tidings.
He was going to see her. And until that moment came, he would feel no rest.
After a long and perhaps a needlessly swift ride, Éomer was nearing Mundburg again. He had pressed on as much as seemed decent, but his Riders did not seem to rue him for it. They were hardy warriors and all of them knew it was as good practice as any. A time might come when true haste was a question of life and death, and all wanted to be prepared for it. But he also saw their knowing smiles and heard some good-natured chuckles. They were well aware of why he was so anxious to get to the White City.
But when they had crossed that next to last leg of the journey, and saw the fields of Pelennor before them and the city beyond, Éomer noticed quickly that they were expected. There, on a great rock by the side of the road that served as something of a milestone between the City and the Great West Road, sat a figure watching the way. Not far was a white mare grazing in the long grass.
For a brief moment Éomer was sure his eyes were deceiving him, but then as he rode closer, he knew it was her. Lothíriel had come indeed and he was surprised, though perhaps he shouldn't be. Still, his heart leapt in joy at the sight of her and he felt just how long the past few weeks had been. He had missed her even more than he had expected.
"Welcome back, Sire!" she greeted him when he was at shouting distance and then leapt lightly down from her seat. Éomer rode closer and dismounted quickly to meet her. Her array was again much like that of a common woman, with her plain grey gown of rough homespun and sensible shin-length skirts that wouldn't get in the way. On her waist was a familiar colourful ribbon and the lady's purse she apparently carried with her while on her excursions. But her poise betrayed her, and he suspected if he should get near to her horse, he would see the mare bearing a saddle and bridle so finely made that few commoners could afford their like. Yet even in her homely array, and her hair in a loose braid, she was a sight to warm his heart.
"Thank you, my lady", he replied as he reached her, and was moments away from kissing her there before his Riders. But her appearance here was unusual enough already, and they could find some private spot later on for the appropriate greeting.
So as he reached for her hands, he asked, "How come you here? This is certainly a welcoming I had not expected!"
"It will be pomp and protocol up at the Citadel and I had no patience for it, so I decided to come and meet you here", she said, smiling and shrugging in nonchalance. Her hands were strong and warm in his grasp and even in his confusion, he could appreciate the sensation of touching her after so many weeks. And her voice – her dear, soft voice already made him feel like they had not been parted at all!
"What of your father? Where is your escort?" Éomer asked and looked around, as though a company of Swan Knights might be hiding somewhere in the grass.
"He doesn't know I'm here. I snuck out of my father's town house. It's really much easier than one would expect, though the guards would be horrified to admit that. I took no escort, as they would only hold me back. Surely it doesn't surprise you?" she inquired, eyes twinkling in amusement.
He snorted softly.
"I suppose it should not", he conceded and leant down to kiss her brow, brief and chaste despite a burning desire to effectively tackle her into the soft grass and show just how much he had missed her. It was such an overwhelming notion, he almost missed another strange thing. But looking around himself and this spot which was away even from the furthest homestead in Pelennor, he realised the obvious question.
"How did you know to come and greet us? I don't think even Aragorn knows to expect us today instead of tomorrow, unless he has spied our arrival in that Seeing Stone of his", he wondered out loud.
Lothíriel smiled and shook her head.
"I knew you would be in a hurry, and arrive at least a day early", she said simply and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. Momentarily he closed his eyes in quiet bliss, and then made a soft, growling sound.
"I don't know whether I should be thrilled or worried that you already know me that well", he muttered and she let out a bright little laugh.
"A wife should anticipate her husband's moves, should she not?" she said lightly and squeezed his hands. "But come! Your men and horses must be weary. Let us not keep them waiting any longer."
"Very well. But you must let me escort you back to the house of your father – unless there are other companies you were hoping to greet today?" he asked her pleasantly. She slapped his wrist gently.
"Not that I'm aware of, Sire, but you never know", she replied, unfazed by his teasing.
"In any case", he said to her when they were mounted again and riding side by side for the city, "I hope your father won't be too displeased with you – or me."
"Don't worry about him. You are doing the appropriate thing and returning his wayward daughter home. He's quite used to me making my own way in Dol Amroth, so if he means to be displeased, he will do it later when we are alone", she said and did not sound too worried about the possibility of Imrahil's wrath.
Deciding that was business between her and her father, Éomer took up another topic.
"Have you been long in the city?" he asked her.
"Only a few days, and even that feels like enough. King Elessar has worked hard to make this a bit more welcoming place, and him and the Queen are the most gracious hosts the world has ever known, but I still feel like a bird in cage. I wonder if my aunt Finduilas felt like it, too", she replied and for a moment, a dark shadow seemed to pass over her face.
"I do hope you shan't feel that way in Edoras", he commented in solemn tones and tried to silence a small, nagging voice that had suddenly appeared in his head. He reminded himself that his capital and Mundburg were completely different, and surely the free skies and vast fields suited her better than this place of many walls and innumerable watching eyes.
"No, I don't think I will", she said and her voice was light again. She cast him a smile, "I'm glad you're here. It feels like you've brought sunshine with you, and warmth, and free northern winds."
"You don't get them here in south?" Éomer asked her with a wry smile. He could practically feel himself sitting straighter in his saddle, his shoulders rising higher, as if some burden he had not noticed carrying had fallen down. The ease and light-hearted delight of talking with her were already working wonders.
Lothíriel shrugged.
"Some people just are so full of things. You glow and shine and when you speak, there's fire in your eyes and a wind in your voice, and sometimes a storm. But Father is mostly a sea at rest, though he has a few tempests in him too, and sharp blades, and bright stone. And Elphir glints like steel and starlight, Erchirion feels like white sails and the first note of a harp string, and Amrothos... well, Amrothos is dawn and a summer's day, and sweet white wine that leaves you with a terrible headache if you drink too much of it", she answered, first speaking as though it was some universal truth known to all, and then more thoughtfully, almost to herself. He blinked and looked at her in wonder. How had he managed to forget that his bride was strange?
She shook her head and smiled at him again.
"I beg your pardon. I get fanciful when I spend too much time inside stone walls", she told him like she was very amused by her own words.
"No need to apologise. I'm not so lacking in sense of humour or imagination that I can't appreciate your whims", he told her, which caused her to cast him a teasing look that was so young and merry, one might wonder if she had ever had a serious thought. And yet he knew how far from the truth such notion would be.
"So the King of Rohan is not the sworn enemy of nonsense and fancy after all?" she asked him lightly, and her high spirits roused his own even more.
"I know it may shock you, but no, he is not", he replied, as though admitting her into some grave secret. And they both laughed like a pair of fools.
During this light, possibly quite ludicrous exchange, they had reached the gates of the city, already open for them. Far above in the Citadel, Éomer could hear silver trumpets welcoming him – an honour reserved only to select few. So the news of his arrival had reached Aragorn. No wonder. Lothíriel was not the only one in these parts who had known to expect him.
"Ah, the pomp has already begun", she sighed and wrinkled her nose as they rode through the gates and guards of the city shouted their greetings to the arriving Lord of the Mark.
"I'm afraid a king cannot escape it, wherever he goes", he said to her. "Nor will you, once you are queen."
"Still, it's not as bad in Edoras, is it?" she asked him.
"It depends entirely of what your definition of bad is, but surely things are different in my land. Thengel, my grandfather, liked to put some distance between himself and his folk. But Théoden was a king for the people and he often went among them, at least until his older age. I think I'd rather like to fashion myself after my uncle. Peace-time kings may focus more matters of lineage and the nature of their office, perhaps", Éomer said, looking ahead on the road they were to travel to the Citadel.
"But you were made king on a battlefield", she said thoughtfully. "Does that mean you will always be a war-king?"
"Who knows?" Éomer asked back, and then gave her a lopsided smile, "You might, I think."
He thought she looked a little surprised, but he couldn't pursue the matter, for a moment they needed to focus on manoeuvring their horses through the busy main street of the first level. But they were made way quickly enough, and it was not long before they reached the second gate.
"My father has a town-house at the sixth level of the city, like most of the nobles. You can leave me there", she said, though she sounded like she would rather be going anywhere else in the world, if she could decide.
"So, you truly do not like it here in Mundburg?" he asked her, and she looked at him curiously; then he recalled she probably didn't know that Mundburg was the name Rohirrim had for Minas Tirith.
When he had explained that, she replied, "Not particularly. It feels too much like a fortress – which it is, of course. Osgiliath was where you went if you wanted beauty and song and poetry and the sound of running water, or to the happy Dol Amroth far from the shadow. Minas Tirith was merely a watch tower of the men of Númenor. There is irony in it, don't you think, that the greatest city of our age is nothing but a garrison of the old world", said Lothíriel and she let out something that sounded like a wistful sigh.
"Then do you wish you were born in some other time and place?" he wanted to know and realised that he was a little bit worried about what her response might be.
But she smiled slightly and waved her hand.
"Not in the way you might think. I don't deny I have sometimes dreamt such things, but not anymore. Now I'm curious to see what happens next", she said, and Éomer gazed at her, trying to decipher the meaning of her words. But Éothain coughed somewhere nearby, and the young king tried to focus on riding through the streets of the White City.
From the lower levels they ascended towards the top. Most workmen, servants of noble houses and low-ranking guards of the city lived in these parts with their families, but the further they rode, the bigger and richer the houses were. There was clearly a section for the craftsmen and then their masters, and wealthy merchants who traded in foreign lands. Lothíriel told him there were even a few families that had risen through the ranks of society by prowess on battlefield or faithfully serving the Stewards in civil offices. At the sixth level, like she had said, lived most of the city's nobles. Other great lords and ladies of the realm, like Imrahil, also had lodgings in this part of Mundburg, though they often spent most of their time at their own manor houses and castles out in the country. In times before, it had struck Éomer how many of these homes had looked empty and unlived. But now some life was returning, and there was noise in courtyards and faces peering out of windows which had been dark the last time he had visited. Even the city's smell had changed. He smiled to himself. A sure way to spot a dwelling place of Men was always the smell.
In the street, not a few people stopped by to watch as the King of Rohan rode by; a few children even ran after them, though knowing to keep their distance to the great warhorses of the North. But on the higher levels many eyes lingered not just on the King and his Riders, but also the lady riding next to him. Éomer suspected it wouldn't be such sensational news when the betrothal was made public, but Lothíriel probably did not care one way or the other. At least, she did not seem to even be aware of being observed.
Eventually they reached the gates of her father's house. It was by the main street and the gates were adorned by Imrahil's coat of arms, the Swan and the Ship riding the waves.
"Here I must leave you, Sire, but I believe we shall meet later today", Lothíriel said as she dismounted.
"Indeed", he agreed, and though he knew his company was eager to reach the stables that were not far off now, he lingered still next to her horse. Éomer said, "Maybe you are right about pomp and protocol. At least, your way of greeting me is much better than some stiff and awkward encounter at the Citadel."
She smiled brightly.
"I knew you would approve", she said lightly as she collected the reins of her mare. "Oh, and when you see my father, tell him I have already returned."
The young king raised an eyebrow.
"Should I expect him to be very upset?" he asked.
"Maybe a little bit. It's an unfamiliar city and he thinks I'll get lost, or robbed, or ravished – something along those lines", she replied, shrugging her shoulders.
"Well, I shall let him know you have been spared from such fates", he said, and wondered how warranted Imrahil's fears were now that Aragorn was doing so much to restore the city. But that was a concern for another time. He nodded his head and said, "Farewell for now, my lady; I shall see you later."
The company urged their horses into moving again, and Lothíriel was left behind to deal with guards and servants of her father's household, probably already distressed at her absence. But the King and his Riders made their way towards the stables near the entrance of Citadel. When Imrahil's house was well behind, Éothain rode to Éomer's side and spoke abruptly.
"I know you don't need my opinions but still – I can't imagine Imrahil feeling too delighted if he knew how his daughter sneaks out without an escort. Nor do I think her husband would like it", he commented in a low voice so that the other Riders would not hear him.
Éomer directed a sharp glare at his captain.
"Then leave that concern to those two men", he said sternly. "I don't recall you sending escorts after Éowyn when she was unwed and wanted to go riding alone."
"Your sister was never as guarded and sheltered, and only a deranged fool would give her trouble. She can handle herself", Éothain pointed out.
"And perhaps so can my bride. There are other ways of defending oneself. That young woman could probably poison you ten different ways with her herbs before you ever guessed anything was wrong", said the young king stubbornly.
"But she is to be the queen consort of my king, and it's my job to keep you and your family safe. I don't see how I can do that if she will be sneaking out all alone", Éothain muttered. "Much like someone else I could name."
"Don't be so hard on her. She's still a free maiden, even if she is betrothed", Éomer grunted back, but the captain met his look with a grim stare.
"Aye, betrothed to marry the King of Rohan. Even a free maiden might give some thought to that", he said, and then spoke no more.
His captain's words might have troubled Éomer for longer and deeper, had there been time for it. But they had now reached the entryway of the Citadel and it was time to go meet Aragorn. In the middle of reunions and formalities and meeting the many people who were waiting for him, he would have enough to keep him too busy to dwell on other matters.
"There you are, brother! I'm not sure I've ever seen you looking quite as fine as tonight!"
Éowyn's words were spoken in a bright, excited voice as she dashed through his room to envelope him in a mighty hug. She and Faramir had arrived only a couple of hours ago, just in time for the grand betrothal feast. Éomer had expected them yesterday, but apparently some matters had kept his sister and her husband in Ithilien for an additional day. How Faramir had managed to hold back Éowyn, who was so eager to meet her brother's new bride, Éomer could not say. And come to think of it, he preferred not knowing.
With a laugh he received her and returned the hug just as tightly.
"I pass the muster, then?" he asked warmly as he pushed her back a little bit so that he could see her face. Éowyn was positively glowing with health and good cheer and she was grinning at him as though a child on her name-day.
"Indeed you do! Brother mine, if half the single ladies of this court don't leave the feast with their hearts broken, I shall be most surprised", she said lightly. "Béma, I can't wait to meet this bride of yours!"
"Be gentle with her, Éowyn. Don't interrogate her too harshly. Lothíriel is a brave young woman, but you're still the Slayer of the Witch-king, and I don't want any misguided notions of what is good enough for me to cloud your judgement", he told her and his voice came out more serious than he had intended.
His sister smiled.
"Don't worry, brother. I did not come here to disapprove of your choice, or to intimidate her. I do genuinely want us to be friends and sisters", she told him calmly as she turned to pour them some wine to drink. As ever, his rooms were richly furnished to serve every need he might have, with well-made furniture, fine tapestries and even a sitting area for entertaining guests. The White Tree was a common motif in decorations and so were the seven stars of the royal line of Elendil. The guest rooms were in the very Tower of Ecthelion, with windows overlooking the city; only Aragorn and Arwen had better views. No mortal man was as finely kept in Middle-earth, which was probably part the reason he felt like an oliphaunt whenever he entered the room, about to tear down all the fine and delicate things without even meaning it.
"I am glad to hear it. She is eager to meet you, too", said the young king as he accepted a goblet from her.
"But when do I get to talk to her? I have no doubt it will next to impossible tonight", Éowyn wanted to know.
"Imrahil has invited us to luncheon tomorrow. I didn't even have to ask him to arrange it. You'll get your chance then, I imagine", he replied and took a sip of his wine. He would have to be careful with the drinks tonight, because Lothíriel herself made him giddy enough and he did not need the help of any beverages.
"Excellent. That man never disappoints", Éowyn said fondly. She had taken instant liking to Imrahil, partly because he had been the one to discover she was still alive on the Pelennor fields, and partly because he was Faramir's dearly beloved uncle.
She sat down near the window, holding the goblet between her hands, and inquired, "How long are you staying in the city?"
"A week or so, at least until after Mid-year's Eve, but we'll see. It's a rare opportunity, because we don't yet know how often Lothíriel can be here during autumn and winter, and I doubt I can make another trip to Dol Amroth this year", he replied and took seat as well. With his bride's dislike of Mundburg, he suspected she wasn't keen on staying here for lengthy periods.
"In that case, I expect you will be spending most of your time with her", Éowyn said and smiled knowingly.
"I shall try to give some time to you as well, sister."
"No need! There will be opportunities for that later. As a married woman's advice, you should enjoy your courtship as much as your can. It's good to make many good memories for the long winter of parting and waiting", she said sagely.
Éomer could not help but grimace at the thought of endless months ahead.
"Don't remind me. I still am not sure I shall make it to spring with my sanity intact", he told her, but his sister just laughed.
"Béma, I don't envy Éothain and Leofrun. They will have their hands full with you", she said merrily. "How is old Leofrun, by the way?"
"She is well. She sends her love, and asks when do you plan on visiting your old home."
A bittersweet look crossed Éowyn's features. She too had taken comfort in Leofrun's kind words and care when they had first come to Meduseld as orphans.
"I would love to come, but I doubt it will be possible before next spring. Don't ever think I would miss your wedding, though! I shall be there, even if I were on my deathbed and they had to carry me all the way from Ithilien", Éowyn said, clearly meaning the words as humorous, but he still felt a sharp twinge in his breast. The ideas of Éowyn and deathbed remained among the nightmares that came to him at times.
Something tight had probably appeared on his features, for she quickly went on, "I will write Leofrun a letter. Will you bring it to her? I know she can't read, but maybe you can help with that, too?"
"Of course. I think she would be delighted to have some of your own words to hear, not just tidings from me. She's always telling me I have nothing to report on the truly important matters", Éomer replied, relaxing once more and taking another small sip of wine.
Éowyn's eyes glittered.
"That, I can believe", she said emphatically and put down her goblet. "I think we should get going. We don't want to miss your betrothal feast, brother."
"Yes, that would be unseemly", he replied and flashed a grin at his sister.
Before they started for Merethrond, Éomer made one final preparation: he picked up his coronet from its casket. It was a rare thing for him to bring it away from Meduseld, but his betrothal feast was a matter of both personal and political importance. He was almost in his full regalia, but he had abandoned his cloak, and even the soft under-shirt he usually wore under his ceremonial tunic – he knew full well how warm the Hall of Feasts could be in this time of summer when it was packed full with guests. When he had placed the coronet upon his head, he felt strangely self-conscious. Anxiously he checked his tunic, the usual green with rich golden embroidery at the hem and sleeves, smoothed the knees of his soft buckskin trousers, and even his polished boots received a studious glance. Before, he had tidied up his beard and made braids in his hair. He hoped she would like it. At least, she had not complained about the beard before, and knowing her character, braids should merely be delightful.
Éowyn noticed, of course.
"Don't worry, brother. You clean up nicely", she reassured him, eyes sparkling brightly.
"If you say so", he replied, and with that, the two siblings made their way out.
It seemed Aragorn had invited the entire city, or so Éomer suspected by the endless line of guests marching inside. The herald announced their names as they came through the open doors. Once they reached the other end of the Hall, where Éomer was seated with Aragorn and Arwen, they bowed and curtsied in greeting. From there they joined the many little companies already gathered inside. Aragorn shared remarks over this or that guest at times, speaking of their homelands in southern fiefs – a matter mostly of dim lore to Éomer, though he had travelled through some of them. But he was glad for the information and made a mental note of having to recall it. Their lands had been closed to Rohan for much longer than the realm of Eorlingas had existed, but now that the curse was broken and its terror was lifted, the Dimholt Road held great promise for future. Once it was inspected and made more suitable for use, there would be many new connections and alliances made both in trade, labour and kinship. Many faces and names he knew from the aftermath of the Ring War, but there were some unfamiliar too. There were young nobles fresh to the King's court, but also lords and ladies of more distant parts of Gondor, who had not previously dared to leave their homes for so long a journey.
As ever, Éowyn and Faramir caused a stir when they arrived – apparently they were a popular couple wherever they went in Gondor. No wonder, for they were a handsome pair. It was easy to like them, for they were just and fair, kind towards the weak and the needy, and their deeds in the Ring War made them living legends. Their tale was already told in many songs both in Rohan and Gondor. And yet, when Éomer saw the way they looked at one another, he thought all their other virtues fell second to the love they shared with each glance.
At least he would no longer have to feel envy over that happiness, or the guilt that always followed the envy.
The last arrivals created another stir. There came Imrahil's sons and finally the Prince himself, his arm linked with Lothíriel. She was a vision to behold. Her dark hair was a mass of braids on her head, decked with pearls here and there. Her gown of Amrothian blue revealed her back almost to shoulder blades and the neckline was generous as well, and Éomer knew he was going to be admiring all that exposed skin in a fairly barbaric fashion. The sleeves, split nearly to armpits, seemed somewhat superfluous. Along shoulders and on the front of the bodice there was a mass of star-shaped embroideries in silver. More pearls adorned her fair, proud neck. Now she truly looked like a queen, and doubtlessly many others thought so as well and already guessed the purpose of this feast. Still, her eyes held that same calm, knowing look that he had seen in them whether she was standing in ceremony, or wandering the woods in search of herbs. What manner of a woman did her people take her for? Perhaps tonight would give him some idea.
Imrahil and Lothíriel made their way to where the two kings and the queen were seated. A low murmur rose in the crowd, and then both Éomer and Aragorn rose up. From the corner of his eye, the Rohir saw his friend smiling slightly at the Amrothians and nodding in acknowledgement. Then he gazed around in his court, which was now silently waiting for the news that were already known to all who had eyes.
"My lords and ladies, it's both an honour and a pleasure for me to make it known that our friend and ally, King Éomer of Rohan, has asked for the hand of Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, daughter of Prince Imrahil. She has accepted him indeed and her father has given them his blessing. Tonight we are gathered to celebrate this union, which ties our peoples together once more with a stronger alliance than ever. Let us drink to the health of King Éomer and his bride, and wish them all the blessings of peace and prosperity!" Aragorn spoke in a strong, glad voice. His face beamed as though nothing could please him more than this very thing.
He then turned to look at Imrahil. The Prince was smiling as well and only his eyes betrayed how bittersweet this moment was for him; he was sure and steadfast when he placed Lothíriel's hand in Éomer's own in the age-old gesture of blessing and approval. Among the guests rose a polite applause – quite a different reaction as the one he expected to receive once these news were made known in Edoras.
The young king felt like his heart might just burst out of his chest, such was the furious pace of it. He wished to laugh, or maybe dance, or just lift her high from the ground and turn and turn until they were both dizzy. But he did not do those things – he just pressed his fingers tight against hers and smiled so that his face hurt. Even with the months of waiting and restlessness ahead of him, this moment he felt nothing but happiness, and she returned his smile, perhaps not quite so crazed but her eyes sparkled with an inner light that told him all he needed to know. His eyes never left hers as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
When he did, he saw her wrist was not bare. There rested the bracelet he had given her, and its rustic crudeness was only made more glaring compared to the rest of her array.
"You're still wearing it", he said and his eyes darted between her and the bracelet.
"Of course I am. I've never taken it off since you put it there. It's the first thing you gave me", said Lothíriel with a slight smile and a shrug, and she was so unfazed by the question, he did not make any further comments. How the other guests, dressed in their finest jewels, must have wondered at the hand-made bracelet! But he felt intense tenderness for her, seeing that such a small thing from him would be so important in her eyes.
A chair was then brought and placed next to Éomer's own, for now Lothíriel was not just a Lady of Dol Amroth anymore, but a king's bride, and she took seat with her bridegroom and the King and Queen of Gondor. He could not turn his eyes away from her. Transfixed, he stared and marvelled at the grace of her movement as she held her skirts, sat down, and arranged them carefully about her legs. He might have kept staring at her hadn't Éowyn and Faramir arrived to congratulate them, first among the guests and very much entitled to it.
His sister was grinning happily, and while Faramir's expression was more collected, his joy was no lesser.
"Best of luck and happiness to you both! I'm so happy for you, I think I might burst", Éowyn said and looked momentarily as though she might jump to hug her brother there against all the expectations of etiquette. But to Lothíriel she gave a keen, studious look, and he saw his bride returning it evenly. Here there were two singular women, both strong-willed and raised among men, but in rather different ways. He could only wonder what they made of one another.
"As am I. This is a wonderful day for us all, though I suspect it also makes us the punchline of many jokes about how we married each other's families", said Faramir lightly, though his eyes seemed to take note of that long look between his wife and cousin as well.
"Tonight, I find that I do not care", Éomer said, grinning at all three of them. "Lothíriel, this maniac here is my sister Éowyn, Princess of Ithilien and the Lady of Shield-arm. Sister, meet my bride Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Éowyn. Éomer speaks fondly of you", Lothíriel said warmly as she regarded Éowyn.
"I am glad to meet you as well, Lady Lothíriel. At last I may see for myself what kind of a woman has brought my proud, stern brother into such a state. His letters have not made any sense for weeks now", said Éowyn with a soft laugh. Éomer snorted out loud, but Lothíriel looked amused.
"If that is indeed so, then I cannot say I'm terribly sorry", she said and touched his hand briefly.
"We shall speak more tomorrow, but tonight is yours. Enjoy it!" said Éowyn before she and Faramir took their leave again. They were followed by many other lords and ladies intent on congratulating the King and his future queen. Every once in a while, Éomer watched Lothíriel from the corner of his eye and was glad to see how gracefully she met each well-wisher, smiling and thanking them like a born queen. And still he recalled as he had seen her at times, either in a commoner's dress, or apron-clad and hands stained with earth and leaf. The thought made him smile, especially when he imagined her sitting next to him with a lap full of herbs.
A while later they joined the first dance of the evening. Lothíriel laughed softly when he leant down to whisper to her that this time, he would try not to make any shocking propositions to her and thus drive her off.
"That is good, for I would very much like to have at least one full dance with my bridegroom", she whispered back, and they took their positions among the other couples.
"You shall have more than just one, if you'd like", he told her, and they began to move with the music and the other dancers around them. Court dances were more complicated here in Mundburg, and he had to focus more on his footwork, which left him with fewer opportunities for teasing and bantering with his bride.
The second dance was easier and the music lighter. Éomer spent most of it admiring her, and she was a vision indeed, so light and easy on her feet. He felt like in a dream. He was not dancing on this floor for the first time, but it had never been like this. Here he had feasted his his brothers in arms, a little bit uneasy in the formality of the seat of Kings in Gondor. Of her he had only known her face and her strange words, and her absence had left a vague sense of discontent that had followed him even back to Rohan. How different was this setting! For now Lothíriel was with him as his bride, and all the future spread before them, full of promise – and, indeed, sunlight.
But suddenly in a middle of a twirl Lothíriel stumbled. She would probably have crashed to a couple next to them, hadn't Éomer caught her just in time. Holding her carefully by arms, he saw her eyes were glazed and unseeing.
He moved her away from the dancing crowd, containing his panic as he could. Was she sick? Should he call for a healer from the Houses?
"Lothíriel? Are you well?" he asked her anxiously.
She was still for a moment, and then shook her head. She looked up at him and her eyes were clear again.
"No, I'm not sick. I just need some air", she told him.
Without a further word, Éomer guided her outside. It was rather warm and stuffy in Merethrond indeed, and even as Imrahil's daughter, she was new to the kind of attention which had been given to her tonight.
Cool, fresh air hit him like a wall. It was the world of difference compared to the compact atmosphere of Merethrond. Lothíriel seemed to feel something similar, for she lifted up her face, and then she breathed deeply in and out.
"That's more like it. I'm never quite sure how to breathe in there", she said and gently tugged at his hand. She lead him further into the Court of Fountain, and nearer to the wall of the Citadel. They passed the White Tree – the slender, strong sapling which stood as the symbol of new flowering of Elendil's line on the throne of Gondor. The night was gentle and fair and the moon had already risen. Below in the city and the Pelennor fields, countless little lights twinkled like stars. And further over the fields Anduin glittered in moonlight like a rope of silver. It was a fine view, one could not deny that.
"Do you get that feeling in Dol Amroth?" he inquired softly.
She shook her head.
"Not at all. It's different there, not only because my father's court is smaller. Dol Amroth preserves some memory of the days of bliss in Númenor. Here, in my lifetime, there was always a gloom and a sense of foreboding hanging over the city. And as the city declined, people declined, too. It's different now, of course; King Elessar has made sure of that. Yet I still feel the memory of Shadow in this place, even if it has departed for good", she answered slowly as she gazed over the city and the fields, somewhere beyond into the wilderness.
Éomer did not wonder, at least not much. He knew by now she was sensitive to things unseen and unsaid, and Mundburg had so long stood within sight of Mountains of Shadow – and the dark land beyond. There was still a stain in the very earth of that place, or so it was said. Could Men ever liver there again? One could only wonder.
"I do hope you will like it in Edoras. It''s not as grand as these southern fortresses, but I have a feeling you won't mind it", he said and stole a glance of her face.
She smiled and shook her head.
"Based on what I have heard from you, and from others, I'm sure I will love it. One does not need a castle to be content", she said, making him smile as well. Even so, he felt like he should explain a bit more.
"Rohirrim are not builders. Of old we lived as nomads, wandering freely with our horses and sheep and cattle. In such a life, you had to be able to carry your home with you. It's only in Rohan that we started to put down some roots in the land, build mead-halls and homesteads. Yet many of our folk still live in the old way, only settling down for the coldest time of winter."
Lothíriel listened to him with shining eyes, looking almost wistful.
"Do you think it very odd I can imagine us living like that? You breeding and training magnificent horses, and me – I might be a healer, and make remedies from herbs. We would have a small tent of our own, and our children would run free in the heather."
He raised an eyebrow.
"That is indeed an unusual dream for a lady of the high lord of Gondor and of an old line of Westernesse", he admitted, surprised though he knew he probably shouldn't be. He went on, "Mind you, our songs and tales say it was not an easy life. Before Eorl brought his people to Rohan, they were hard pressed at all sides. Winters were harsh on the young, Man and animal alike, and even then good land was never in plenty. Orcs came ever and anon from mountains and carried off whatever and whomever they could catch. Our songs recall it as a fair land, but perilous and full of grief, and in many ways the Mark was and still is our refuge."
"So in a way, we are both Exiled peoples", she noted, tilting her head as she regarded him. "I never thought of that."
"Well, perhaps to a different degree. Ancestors of Rohirrim never left Middle-earth in the first place, and in my people's case, coming to Rohan was undoubtedly an improvement", he pointed out and leaned his elbows against the balustrade. She stood next to him, smiling slightly, and he had to admit he could see it all: a life with her in some small tent, far away in the northern lands of his longfathers of old. Yet perhaps his imagination served him so easily because she was already a part of his future, no matter the circumstances.
"Still, though my people had their kingdom in the lap of sea and resided a while within sight of the Blessed Realm, the first mother of my line came from that same land of Hildórien where your line's first father awakened", she said thoughtfully and reached to brush his hand ever so slightly.
"You speak of it so easily, as though you were there. For me, it's less than a dream – less than a legend", he said. But Lothíriel smiled.
"How can you know where you are going, if you don't where you are coming from?" she merely said. Éomer had no idea of how to respond it, and apparently she did not expect him to.
She let out a soft, contented sigh as she leant against the balustrade and lifted her face, as if to bask in moonlight. Softly she spoke, "I do love the night-time and moonlight. I always did, even as a little girl. Often I would sneak out of Father's castle to go swim in the sea in the middle of the night. That's why he sometimes calls me Ithiliel, his Moondaughter."
Ithiliel. The word was like a song, just as her other name. Certainly it suited her.
"That is a lovely name", he commented and moved a little bit closer. "But I'm not surprised you had such habits. As your future husband, might I ask you not to sneak outside too much, though? I'm not sure how I'll sleep my nights, knowing my lady wife is skulking Béma knows where in the dark."
She let out a soft little laugh.
"Skulking? You make me sound like quite the sinister character", she commented.
"I'm sure a few lords in my land might think of you just so when they hear I'm no longer available to their daughters. But they'll know better once we are married", he said confidently.
Lothíriel gave him a lopsided smile.
"Are you sure the tent is not an option?" she asked him, making him laugh.
"I'm afraid not. But I'm certain we shall be very happy in Meduseld", said Éomer, and quickly he leant down to kiss her. It was brief and soft and sweet, and he felt light and glad. And there was a special warmth in her face just a moment after the kiss, though it quickly passed.
She looked at him with thoughtful eyes.
"I was thinking... I'm going to bear you sons. And a couple of daughters, too", she said, and her voice was quiet and faraway.
He looked at her and felt more astonished than ever. How did she do it, the way she moved so effortlessly between past, present and future? Then again, maybe there was no other than what Imrahil himself had said: in her the blood of Mithrellas of the Elves runs nearly true.
"What makes you say that?" he asked, nevertheless.
Lothíriel looked out again and shrugged. She smiled slightly as she linked her arm with his, tugging him back again towards the Hall of Feasts.
"Just a feeling."
To be continued.
A/N: I swear, this chapter was not meant to be this long! What can I say? This story tends to go to the more robust side, and I suppose the corona lockdown is not without consequences. Also, I watched Tolkien the film again and cried like a baby. I honestly don't know why it did not get a better review when it first came out.
I did enjoy writing this one, though, and Éomer being his lovesick self is a delightful thing. Lothíriel, too, had some surprises for me in store for this chapter.
In any case, they are betrothed now, and we shall see what this union shall bring to them!
Merethrond is the Great Hall of Feasts in Minas Tirith. It's located in the Citadel of the city, or the seventh circle, as were other royal courts. There was also the Court of the Fountain where the White Tree grew. It first grew from the sapling Isildur brought from Númenor (and which had its ultimate ancestry in Valinor), but the Tree was dead by the time of the War of the Ring. However, Aragorn discovered a young sapling on the slopes of Mount Mindolluin, one of the mountains above Minas Tirith. It was brought down by him and planted anew in the Court of Fountain to signal the dawn of new age. The White Tree was the ancient device of the Kings of Númenor and Gondor, and the seven stars were a common motif in Middle-earth. They referred to a famous constellation Valacirca (or the Big Dipper), and were a symbol of Elendil's House. These were also depicted in Aragorn's own banner, made for him by Arwen.
As for Rohirrim, they were not native to the land known as Rohan by the time of the events of Lord of the Rings. Their ancestors, the Éothéod were of old called Northmen, who remained in Middle-earth after the events of the First Age. They lived in the Vales of Anduin and north of Mirkwood. During the early Third Age, Éothéod were the allies of Gondor in south. They were often harried by Easterlings and orcs. Later in the time of Steward Cirion of Gondor, Éothéod answered his call to aid in the Battle of the Field of Celebrant, and thanks to their valour were gifted the land of Calenardhon (later Rohan) in the then western part of Gondor. Eorl was their chief in this time and he lead his people to the new land, where he founded a new kindgom, and was later known as the legendary first king of Rohan. He was also the king who tamed Felaróf, a wild stallion of mearas. Rohirrim believed this extraordinary breed of horses was first brought out of Valinor by Oromë (or Béma, as he was known by Rohirrim), and they could only be ridden by Eorl's heirs.
Thank you for reading and reviewing! And don't forget, your comments are always most helpful for me in my writing! As ever, stay safe and healthy!
SwanKnightoftheNorth - Glad if you liked it! But whether there's something going on with her, I'm afraid the story must tell it!
sai19 - Whoopsie, looks like this one is even longer! ;) I should hope Éothain's point of view suggests that Éomer may be blind to some things.
In any case, don't hesitate to tell me your theories any time! I'm always curious and glad to hear what my readers think will happen next!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thank you! I hope this one is worth the wait, too. :)
EStrunk - He is a delight, indeed. :) I think Lothíriel is quite delighted with him, too. And I admit I have been enjoying the parts with him and Éowyn in this one, too!
JennyVDM - She has her reasons, but she may be reluctant to reveal them! I'm glad you like this story. :)
Boramir - I think certain parties will be delighted with this union, and others not so much!
Jo - Thanks! And I know what you mean - I've become quite the police for other people's behaviour, and I'm just appalled when I see them rampantly ignoring cautionary measures. It's dreadful some people (who may even be in the risk groups) think it's not an issue at all.
Wondereye - I'm afraid that is for the story to tell!
blasttyrant - I am very glad to hear it!
You are quite correct - she keeps her mysteries still. I would be intersted to hear your theory, of course.
I hope you stay safe, too!
Katia0203 - Thank you! I admit I very much liked that part, too. I think Éomer is the kind of man who puts more meaning in things he made himself. Thankfully, she's a kind of woman who would agree with him.
He is very much biased in the way he regards her, so other characters (like Éothain) would definitely have a different view. But we will see how all this turns out!
