Chapter 10
The ball continued late into the night, full of music and laughter and dancing, and Éomer thought he had never felt quite so happy in the Great Hall of Feasts of Merethrond. As it appeared, he was not discreet about it: he overheard a couple of guests wondering at his mood, and debating whether the match was not a political one after all.
"Men who marry for duty don't look at their wives like he does at her", one of them said, quite unaware of him listening. The young king had hard time not grinning.
His bride's eyes glittered when he quietly told her, "I think we are in danger of being exposed. People are starting to think I'm not marrying you solely for the chance of whispering into your father's ear."
She laughed softly under her breath and gave his arm a gentle squeeze.
"Father will be so disappointed", she whispered back, making him chuckle. With that, she pulled him with her into yet another dance. If his feet did not ache in the morning from all the dancing, it would be a wonder.
It was closer to midnight when she and her father took their leave of of the ball, and the young king was thinking of finding his bed as well, when Elphir quietly came to his side. Éomer nodded in greeting and Imrahil's eldest son returned the gesture.
"Well", he said in a low voice as he lifted his glass, "this has been something."
"Indeed? You sound like someone who has been watching a disturbing scene unfold", Éomer noted, raising an eyebrow.
Elphir let out a low, wry laugh.
"Do I? Don't get me wrong. I don't mean to appear as though my sister's happiness is naught to me. For she is happy, more than I recall her being in a long time. You obviously have a way with her unlike anyone else I know", he explained and cast a thoughtful look at him. In that look, there was something that strangely reminded Éomer of Lothíriel herself – some discerning and recognition that went deeper than flesh.
Elphir shook his head, and he went on, "It's just I didn't think this day would come. None of us did, really."
"Why didn't you? Why were you so convinced she must remain alone?" Éomer asked, and Elphir gave him a sharp look. Deciding the usual course of honesty was always the best one, the young king let out a sigh and continued to speak, "I heard you talk with you father. The day we rode to the vineyard. You both were so sure she was going to refuse me."
"So you heard that? Maybe I shouldn't be surprised", Elphir said and seemed to shake himself. "Please don't take it as an insult. I know your quality, and my sister is lucky to have you. But she is... well, you know how she is. For a long time, she believed she would be happier and safer if she remained alone."
"Safer?" asked Éomer curiously.
Elphir looked almost frustrated as he deliberated on his next words.
"I don't know what you told her", he said at length, rather ignoring the question, "but you must have made a strong impression on her. Otherwise, she would have refused you – even if she felt fondly for you."
Éomer looked at his friend in surprise. Elphir guessed so close to the mark, and reminded him of what he himself had wondered at the time. The night of the ball in Dol Amroth, her sudden flight when he had first proposed, and the doubt which had lingered until very last moment... he opened his mouth to speak, but Elphir shook his head.
"Don't mind me. I'm saying more than I should, and she would not thank me for meddling", he said briskly and took a swig of his wine. He directed a keen look at the Rohir and added, "Be good to my sister, and have patience with her. That's all I ask. Her trust is not easily won but you have it, and in time, maybe, she will answer every question that you have."
Éomer would have liked to question his friend further, but something about the man's features told him it would be useless. And perhaps Elphir had a point. Lothíriel's secrets were her own to share. She would not thank her brother for giving them out – or her bridegroom going behind her back.
All the same, the conversation did not leave his thoughts for the rest of that night, and Elphir's words remained with him even as he finally collapsed in his bed.
"I'm sure she will be perfectly lovely", Éowyn whispered to Éomer as they entered the entrance hall of Imrahil's town-house. It was the day after the betrothal feast and the much awaited luncheon was at hand. The young king had hard time containing his impatience and eagerness. Apparently, it was very amusing to his sister, who would not stop smiling in gentle humour.
"Was I ever that nervous?" asked Faramir good-naturedly from Éowyn's side.
"If you were, you did a good job of hiding it. But you are far more subtle than my brother. Talk about a fool in love", she commented brightly.
"I'm right here, sister, and I can hear you", Éomer commented, bristling.
"Of course you are, and of course you can", she said and patted his arm fondly. At some other time, he would gladly have jumped at the challenge, but one could not well spar verbally with one's sister while greeting the family of one's future wife.
The house was as grand as the young king had expected, and oddly reminiscent of the castle by the sea. Swans and ships were a common motif here as well, though the sea was far away. Still, Éomer felt like he could see why Lothíriel did not feel at home in this place. There was something amiss in the town house, and best he could figure, it was because it did not feel lived in. Imrahil and his family did not spend much time in Mundburg, or so he guessed.
The Prince and his family came to greet the guests. Éomer, of course, had only eyes for his bride. She stood next to her father and smiled as though she knew exactly what he thought. Faramir received the warm welcome of a family member, but towards the two Rohirrim there was perhaps a slight sense of formality. After all, they had not visited Imrahil's town house before, and Éowyn was meeting her future sister-in-law for the first time.
"Welcome, my friends! We're delighted you're here – and glad Aragorn could spare you", said Imrahil and cast a smile at Éomer.
The young king met the smile with one of his own.
"Thankfully, he's a sensitive man. He knows well enough I am quite useless at the moment", he said lightly, at which Imrahil laughed. The eyes of his daughter glimmered in gentle amusement.
"He's a wise man, indeed", Imrahil conceded and then gestured further down the hallway. "Please come, and make yourselves comfortable!"
"I was thinking Lady Éowyn might want to see the garden. It's not much compared to Ithilien, but in this city there are not many like it", Lothíriel put in and cast a hopeful look at Éowyn. Éomer did so too. His bride had introduced the perfect opportunity for them to talk in private.
"It would be my pleasure", said Éowyn with a bright smile. "Faramir tells me his uncle indeed has some of Gondor's finest gardens, both here and in Dol Amroth."
"He is overly generous to family, but I shall forgive it, knowing the love behind his words", Imrahil said warmly, smiling at his step-son.
"I speak as I see", Faramir shot back, and somehow this light exchange helped to ease the mood on the whole party. Some of Éomer's anxiety subsided. Éowyn would love Lothíriel as a sister and all would be well.
The two women made their way outside, but Imrahil lead the others to what looked to be the family's private drawing room. He gestured his guests to take seats, and poured them drinks from a decanter nearby. Éomer received a glass, and did his best to follow the light conversation others were making. But often his thought drifted to his sister and his bride. It was clear they didn't need him hovering, but he couldn't help it: he was desperately curious to know whether they were getting along or not.
Erchirion came to take seat next to him, interrupting his worrying. Éomer was not quite surprised. He expected all three of Imrahil's sons would eventually give him a piece of their minds.
"Elphir thinks you suit my sister well. I didn't expect he would change his mind so soon, but on the other hand, he has always taken his cues from her. Do you think it strange? Some might wonder at the way a powerful lord's eldest son and heir pays so much heed to a sister over ten years his junior", Erchirion said quietly. Others paid no heed to the two of them, but carried on their own light conversation.
"Some might, but I don't. You don't need to justify anything to me; I know one does well to listen to her wisdom and insight. If Elphir does so too, good for him", said Éomer calmly.
Erchirion regarded him for a long moment, as though to gauge his measure.
"Well, I know you speak as you think, truly and sincerely. Few men would say such things. But I hope you shall remember this sentiment in times to come. Do not give my sister a reason to regret her choice, or it is the House of Dol Amroth you will have to answer to", said Erchirion, his voice low and perfectly ominous.
"I shall keep that in mind", Éomer replied gravely, even if he was secretly entertained by this dance and routine Lothíriel's brothers were going through. When would Amrothos be making his case? All the same, he toasted his glass and Erchirion returned the gesture. Imrahil's second son seemed satisfied his mission was done.
Éowyn and Lothíriel rejoined them in the dining hall some half an hour later, their arrival timed smoothly with the luncheon. Éomer studied both their faces keenly, but even Éowyn, whose features were so open these days, revealed him nothing. He had to bite his tongue to keep from questioning them both then and there. His bride smiled, but the expression was best described as enigmatic.
"How did you find the garden, Lady Éowyn? I hope it lived up to the expectations", said Imrahil when they were seated around the dining table.
"It was lovely – a rare jewel in this city", said Éowyn. The smile reached her eyes, so she wasn't just being polite.
"I'm glad to hear you think so. It's rare indeed, but we all know of our king's intentions of changing that", Imrahil commented.
"The Lady Éowyn is kind. I'm not sure how anyone who lives in Ithilien would think this place anything special, but perhaps my bridegroom bullied her into saying whatever I want to hear", Lothíriel said and cast a teasing smile at Éomer.
"Me, bully Éowyn into doing anything? That trick hasn't worked since she was ten years old", he replied. The company laughed at his comment and he relaxed slightly. Joking was generally a good sign and he relaxed little bit.
"It usually doesn't with girl-siblings. At least it never did with me and Lothíriel. Elphir and Erchirion, on the other hand..." Amrothos put in and flashed a bright smile.
"Oh, is that what you call it? I suspect it won't shock anyone in this table, but every day it was a new horror with this one", said Erchirion emphatically and nodded his head at Amrothos. "But if he couldn't bully Lothíriel, it's mostly because she was his favourite."
"Nonsense. One can't bully her because she's always one step ahead of you", Amrothos snorted. Éomer could not say whether others noticed it, but he surely did: the two elder sons of Imrahil cast Amrothos a sharp, meaningful look. He caught it quickly, lowered his eyes and said nothing more in a rare moment of self-censure.
"All the same", said Éowyn serenely, "It's generally a sign of wisdom in a brother who gives in to his sister."
"For some, it may be the only such sign", Erchirion put in, which earned him a glare from Amrothos.
"Forgive my children their, hmm, lack of manners. I'm afraid it just means all of you have been accepted into the family", Imrahil said and lifted his glass towards the two Rohirrim. He smiled like a man who has truly given up all attempts of discipline.
Éomer shared a look with his sister.
"I've seen worse", they said in the same voice, much to the amusement of the rest of the company.
Éowyn smiled sweetly and also lifted her glass to Lothíriel.
"Here's to women, defeating all odds and growing up fairly well in the middle of this mad menfolk", she announced.
Lothíriel returned the smile brightly.
"To growing up fairly well. I like that", she said, and lifted her glass as well.
"Are we allowed to join the toast?" asked Faramir mildly, eyes sparkling with mirth.
"You should, unless you want us to think less of you", Lothíriel replied.
With that, not a single glass was left on the table.
"So, how did you like her?"
Éomer made his question as soon as the gate of Imrahil's town-house was left behind. Faramir had not joined them; he had said he needed to take care of some business with his uncle, but whether the need was real or he had just wanted to give the two siblings a chance to speak alone, Éomer had not bothered to find out. He could not hold back his curiosity any longer – he needed to know what Éowyn thought. At least, to him the luncheon had looked like a success. The company had been friendly and cheerful, no cross word had been uttered, and if Éowyn truly disliked Lothíriel, she would not have hidden it.
His sister's answer was slow in coming. A bad sign, if he ever saw one.
"She's... odd", she said eventually.
His heart sank. Not again.
"Odd how? Is that a bad thing?" he asked warily.
"No, no, it's not like that. I don't mean to say I disliked her. She's friendly and courteous, and she obviously tries very hard, but she also says things she can't possibly know", Éowyn explained.
"Like what?"
"Like... well, she told me my home is very beautiful, but I know for fact she has never visited it."
"Maybe she just meant Ithilien in general. She may have travelled there before", Éomer said defensively. Was that an excuse? He wasn't sure. And yet... he had wanted his sister to like his bride so badly. What did Éowyn see – what did Éothain see – that he didn't?
"Maybe", Éowyn conceded. She looked up at him in concern, and touched his arm. "Please don't be too disappointed. I know you want us to get along. But remember, you've got a head-start on me and you have had time to get used to her. I'm sure I will feel the same once we know each other a bit better."
"So you didn't dislike her? Truly?" he asked quietly.
"Of course not. Like I said, it's not always bad. Aragorn surely is odd, and Gimli is odd, and Treebeard is odd – even I am odd, if you ask the right person. It's all a matter of perspective, brother mine", she told him in firm tones, as though lecturing a silly child.
Éomer let out a sigh and he looked ahead.
"I know I can't tell you how to feel", he said slowly, "but please, give her a chance. For my sake. I'm going to have to give my life to Rohan, and at least in this one thing, I would like to do as I wish."
"I know that, brother. And I do want you to be happy – more than you know. Give it some time, will you? We can't all fall head over heels in love with her. It would be very inconvenient, considering she's already spoken for", Éowyn said, trying for a lighter tone. He did smile in answer, but his uneasiness didn't fully subside.
This feeling remained with him most of the rest of the day. In a meeting with Aragorn he was at least able to ignore it, but at dinner his thought constantly threatened to wander. It was no mood for a bridegroom, recently betrothed to a beloved maiden. Arwen and Aragorn noticed of course, but discreetly kept their silence, and made no comments when he excused himself to retire early.
But Éomer did not go to his rooms. Sleep would not come easily tonight and so he did the only thing he could think of: he went out for a ride.
Many thoughts passed through his mind as he and a few guards flew over the wide fields of Pelennor. The sun was setting, bathing the whole landscape in red and gold. The city itself was almost luminous in this light, like a pale jewel in the lap of mountains. The air of summer's evening was mellow and fragrant; on a night like this, one should feel glad and light.
He paid only a passing notice to the beauty of summer evening. In his mind, he was going over his own memories of Lothíriel, and then Éothain and Éowyn's words. Well, it wasn't like he hadn't noticed his bride was unusual, but he had been charmed by her singular personality from the start. If she said strange things to him, he might have felt occasional surprise. But more than that, he had felt endeared. He liked that she spoke her mind honestly, never minding what people thought of it. He had to admit, being surprised was not disagreeable, either. And she was so sweet with him. After so many years of strife and war, she was a fresh breath of air. Perhaps it all went back to the night in the Houses of Healing. How could he ever explain to anyone what it had meant to him, that simple moment of friendship and comfort shared between strangers? Her kindness had carried him through what was probably the darkest night of his adult life.
He knew her in a way his captain and sister did not. They only needed a chance to get to know her, and they would see that what discerning had become ruthless in Denethor, took the form of kindness in Lothíriel.
Éomer felt a little less troubled by the time he got back to the Citadel. By that time, the moon had already risen and the city had quieted down. Lamps glowed in windows and torches lit the way to the seventh level of the city; here and there, voices and sounds of music streamed from courtyards. Mundburg was at peace and rest.
He walked slowly back to the Citadel, passing by the guards at the entrance. The Court of Fountain was well-lit and the White Tree, its boughs heavy with budding flowers, basked in a soft glow. This mighty seat was like a beacon in the night, though Éomer wondered how Arwen felt about it – being in origin of Elven-kind, she might have preferred starlight to lamps and torches.
This idle line of thought was forgotten when he spotted the figure sitting on a bench near the White Tree. At this point, he was not even surprised to see Lothíriel waiting for him.
He made his way towards her – quietly, he assumed at first, but she lifted her eyes long before he reached her. Damn it. One day he would take her by surprise, one way or the other.
"Good evening, dear heart. Sneaking about, again?" he greeted her softly.
She smiled slightly.
"It's what I do, isn't it?" she asked and rose on her feet. "I wanted to catch you alone."
"Well, here I am. Why didn't you send a word? I might have spared you the wait", he said as he took her hand and sat down next to her. His guards kept their distance to the betrothed couple.
She shook her head.
"I needed some time alone. As did you, I think", she said and cast him one of those knowing looks of hers.
"Is something the matter?" he asked her and tried not to think of his sister.
However, of course that was the exact thing Lothíriel said next.
"I was wondering... I know I shouldn't ask – it's between you and Lady Éowyn. But still, do you think she liked me?" she wanted to know, speaking with an uncharacteristic uncertainty.
He frowned and tried to decide what to say, though she probably read him well enough already from his silence. Surely, he wanted to tell her that Éowyn was just as delighted with her as he was. However, Lothíriel saw right through him and he couldn't lie to her even if he wanted to – even to spare her.
"She didn't dislike you. But I suppose it would take her some time to warm up to her dear only brother's bride, no matter who that woman was", he said at length. Her face fell and he hated himself for not being able to soften the blow more.
"I knew it. I could see it in her face even as we spoke, though she said nothing, and was very nice to me", she said quietly and let out a sigh.
"Don't be too dismayed. I guess it's just because you're so different from what Éowyn expected. She probably thought I was going to choose some noisy, foul-mouthed Shieldmaiden, or a fearsome matron-in-making to queen over Meduseld. She just needs to wrap her mind about it", he comforted her and pressed a small kiss on the back of her hand.
Her face remained unhappy.
"I wanted your friends and family to like me. I tried so hard to be friendly with Lady Éowyn, but I think she saw right through me. Perhaps I was foolish. I ought to know by now there's no place for me in their world", she said quietly, sounding so young and defeated that it made his heart ache. She wiped the corner of her eye and said, even more quiet now, "Maybe we should call it off. I don't want to be a burden for you."
"I will not allow it", he said swiftly, surprised to hear how hoarse his voice came out. "Where is that brave woman who did not let the armies of the Enemy drive her away from here? Who toiled in the darkest night this city has known, and had gentle words to give for all the weary and the wounded? And who spoke to me of sunlight even as I thought of bidding it farewell for ever?"
He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge that lump which had somehow grown there. Ever so gently, he collected her hands in his own. The pearls glittered softly on her wrist, reminding him even now of their sweet hours together in Dol Amroth.
"Lothíriel, you could never be a burden for me. You have a place in my world, at the very centre of it. For there is nobody like you in all the free lands. And if I let you go now, let you be intimidated by people who don't see you as clearly as I do, I shall regret it until the day I die. I may not know much, but this I do believe with all my heart, because – because it's already yours", he told her, almost stern in his tone.
Lothíriel sniffled loudly, and then she lifted his hands, and kissed them both. He could feel her fingers trembling inside his own. She was still teary-eyed when she looked at him again, but she was smiling.
"You are the dearest thing, and your heart – that is a mighty gift indeed", she said softly, and then leaned close to kiss him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed back in earnest, never mind the fact they were sitting in some of the most public places in all of Gondor.
Her eyes were calm again when she pulled back after a while. Éomer gave her a big, charming smile.
"Now, are we quite over that bit of nonsense? No more talk of calling things off?" he asked her gently.
"If you insist, my lord", she replied, smiling back at him. "Forgive me. I don't know what overcame me."
"Well, Éowyn can be formidable. Sometimes I think she might as well as have been born a dragon", he told his bride. She laughed.
"What things you say", Lothíriel murmured and kissed him once more. This time, she did not allow it to go on for very long. Éomer groaned in frustration against her lips when she began to pull back.
"No more of that, Sire", she said warmly and squeezed his hand. "It is late and I should get going. Not to mention, I'm not sure the Tree approves."
Éomer glanced at the sapling. Indeed, they were probably breaking some unwritten rule by snogging right next to the high and noble symbol of the House of Elendil. But he had not yet had a chance to kiss her properly, and so he stole another before she could get up.
"The Tree is a prude?" he asked her. She slapped his arm gently.
"You ask him", Lothíriel said and kissed the top of his head. "Good night, then. Thank you for being so sweet and patient."
"My pleasure", he said and looked at her in relief and renewed joy. "Sweet dreams, dear heart."
She smiled, and turned, and lightly made her way back towards the sixth level. Éomer watched her go and quietly swore that no matter what happened, he would stand by her side.
The next day greeted Éomer with an invitation from Amrothos to join him for a sparring session. The young king guessed it was partly due to his friend's ongoing attempt to best him in swordplay, partly some kind of a gesture concerning Lothíriel. Most like, Amrothos was planning to tell him "be good to her or else" – a message delivered at sword point. He had almost done a similar thing with Faramir, but Éowyn had made it clear she would not tolerate it. In hindsight, Éomer decided she was probably right.
But that was only as far as his sister and her husband went. Amrothos... Amrothos was a different matter. As such, though it meant time spent away from his bride, Éomer accepted the invitation and made his way to city's barracks. It was much better supplied for training than Imrahil's own house.
The sun was already high as they met in the training ring. Amrothos was waiting for him there. Imrahil's son grinned fiercely at Éomer and wasted no time in tossing him a practice sword.
"Are you that eager to take a beating?" Éomer asked in a friendly taunt.
"We'll see who gets a beating", Amrothos shot back, testing his blade with a flourish. The Rohir did not say it out loud, but he suspected his friend would fare better against him if he just discarded some of his fancier moves.
All the same, sparring was generally rather entertaining with Amrothos, and so it was this time. Jovial insults were an essential part of it, which flew back and forth almost at the same rate as the blades. But at times, both were furiously concentrated in the swordplay itself, and then the only sound in the ring was the clash of metal.
After another fierce bout, Amrothos lowered his blade as a sign to halt the sparring. He retrieved a pair of water-skins he had brought along. Éomer accepted one of them gratefully; swordplay was sweaty work.
"You've been training much lately", he observed when he had taken a couple of long swigs from his water-skin.
"Indeed I have. Strange for peace-time, perhaps, but I was feeling like I had let myself go after the war ended. Aragorn says there are signs that the Southrons are regrouping. It might not be anything serious, but he thinks there are some factions that did not take the defeat very well", said Amrothos, sounding rather business-like. It was easy to forget he did have a few serious bones in his body.
"Aye, he's been telling me the same. Well, let them come. Rohirrim have recovered enough to send them back again the way they came", said Éomer. Something fierce stirred in his bones. There it was, the old battle-lust he knew so well. And truth was, he would greatly enjoy a good, hard skirmish. But he also knew it should trouble him much more than it did. A king should not be too eager for battle, even if he ruled over a people like Rohirrim. That much he had learned from Aragorn.
He shook himself and glanced at his friend. He asked, "What does your father think?"
"He's not glad. I think he's done with war. He probably even thought our stand before the Black Gate would be his last battle", Amrothos said.
Then Imrahil was quite his opposite, Éomer thought, to be eager to leave war utterly behind. And still they were friends and allies, and Imrahil was giving him as wife the only daughter of his line.
"That is unfortunate. There are few commanders like Imrahil, and Aragorn is still new to his throne. He needs men like your father behind his back, either on the field or in his council", he noted.
"Quite right and Father knows it. He won't be happy, but he won't abandon his post. Elphir is shaping up nicely but he's not ready to take our father's place yet – if anyone ever can be", Amrothos conceded. He directed a sharp look at the young king, and said, "I expect you won't wish for a war so near to your wedding."
That would be unfortunate, indeed. And he did want her more than he wanted battle. It was... not surprising, perhaps, but it revealed some change that had crept on him during this past year.
"I can't say that I do. Not only because having her finally in Meduseld will be all the excitement I need, but I also want to be close while she learns her way – help her any way I can", said Éomer.
The face of his friend grew solemn.
"I'm glad you take it seriously. But still... be good to her, Éomer. She's taking an enormous leap of faith here, and if you disappoint her and break her heart, neither diplomacy or friendship shall stop me and my brothers from hunting you down", Amrothos told him sternly. Éomer almost smiled. He could well recognise a brother's sense of duty towards his sister, but he was also secretly entertained by the usually flighty young lord's gravity in this matter.
Lothíriel might go her own separate way, but her brothers loved her nonetheless and were ready to fight for her happiness with tooth and nail.
"I have no intention to be otherwise, Amrothos. All I want for your sister is happiness, and I shall do my best to secure it", he promised, bowing his head in deference.
Amrothos nodded emphatically and put aside the water-skin. He half raised his sword.
"Shall we go again?" he simply asked.
"Of course. I wouldn't deny you another chance of making a fool of yourself", said Éomer lightly. His friend made a face and growled. With that, they returned to their sparring. Amrothos was trying even harder now, and Éomer too had to use nearly the full breadth of his skills to keep his opponent at bay. He retained the upper hand, though they were both sweating hard when they ended the sequence.
"How do you do it? Where did you learn to handle the sword like that?" Amrothos panted, wiping sweat from his brow.
Éomer shrugged, and then rolled his shoulders. He rather enjoyed the feeling of exertion in his muscles, and the loose, warm sensation of a drill well done. Would that Amrothos could travel to Rohan and act as his constant sparring partner!
"Théoden himself taught me. He was a brilliant swordsman – one of the best I've ever seen. What strength he lost with age, he made up with cunning. If I have any skill, it's because I was hard pressed to keep up with him", he replied and pulled off his shirt, which was damp with sweat. Here in south, lords might let masters at arms to teach their sons to do swordplay, but not so in the Mark. Princes of Eorlingas learned warfare at their fathers' knees, and in a way, it made Théoden more his father than Éomund had been. It was a strange thought.
But then, as Leofrun had said: Théoden did not raise just one mighty son, but two.
Amrothos spoke then, interrupting his line of thought.
"I can well believe it. They still tell stories and make songs of how he slew the Black Serpent in the field", he replied and picked up his water-skin. He splashed some water over his sweaty hair, which example Éomer followed as well. Cool water washed off the worst of dust and perspiration. He almost felt ready for yet another session.
The young king put down his water-skin and gave his training sword to Amrothos. His friend sauntered over to return them to the armoury. But when he turned around to pick up his shirt, he saw it was being offered to him already. There behind himself stood Lothíriel, shirt in her hand, watching him intently. Now where had she appeared, and how had she sneaked up on him so quietly? Well, at least it was her, and not some sinister character. Either way, he had expected himself to be a little more aware of his surroundings, as a warrior should be.
"I never thought much of swordplay", she said quietly, "but you make it look quite marvellous."
"I'm glad you think so", he said, feeling a little smug in spite of himself. It was delightful to be able to impress her.
But then he took notice of the way she regarded him, the slow movement of her eyes over his exposed skin. Her gaze was bold and fascinated. A different heat, the kind that had nothing to do with the effort of training, made him feel short of breath.
"I do apologise for not being decent. It was sweaty work, and I was not aware we had audience", he said, just barely remembering his manners. He knew he should be dressing post haste, but all he could do watch her as she studied him with keen interest. What did she make of what she saw? He knew he did not have the slender grace of the men of Dúnedain; rather, he had the sturdy constitution and brutish strength of Northmen. Some women might enjoy that sort of thing, but at the moment he felt like some big, clumsy, lumbering oaf. At least, her features betrayed no distaste.
"It's all right. Like you said, you were unaware", she said and met his eyes. With a small, sly smile, she added, "Though I'm sure it's unfair I'm the only one getting previews before our wedding night."
Definitely not distaste.
Éomer swallowed hard. He closed his eyes briefly, prayed for self-control and strength, and then quickly pulled his shirt back on. Did his bride even know she was playing with fire?
"Unfair, but perhaps wise", he stated with some difficulty.
"Sister! What are you doing here?"
Amrothos was approaching them, having returned the training swords. Judging by his look, he had not spied the exchange – which was probably for the better in the light of his recent words.
"I was looking for Éomer. I wondered if he might want to join me for a ride", she said, perfectly innocent.
"It would be my pleasure. For the Pelennor fields?" asked the young king. At once, a shadow passed across her features.
"No, not the Pelennor. The memory of battle is still too close there for a happy outing. I was thinking the woods north of the fields", she said quickly.
"Not alone, I hope?" Amrothos asked and gave his sister a keen stare.
"I could ask Éowyn and Faramir to come along", Éomer offered. Perhaps exposure to his bride would help Éowyn to overcome her doubts. Lothíriel's expression did not change; if she was troubled by the idea of his sister's presence, she did not show it.
"All right. In that case, I shan't lock you up and chase Éomer off with a sword", said Amrothos.
"Chase him off like you just tried so hard to do?" Lothíriel asked sweetly. Amrothos shot her a glare.
"Well, locking you up is still an option", he threatened her, but judging by the way her eyes glittered, she was not overly concerned.
"I will go and change. Shall we meet at the stables in an hour?" Éomer asked. Hopefully, it was enough time to get a grip of himself, though he wasn't sure he was soon going to forget the way she had looked at him only moments before.
"We shall!" said Lothíriel, tiptoed to kiss his cheek, and then went her way.
Éomer looked after her and let out a wistful little sigh. He might have fallen deeper into his reverie, hadn't Amrothos punched his shoulder.
"It's disgusting how smitten you are", he commented.
"Maybe", said the young king, "but I can still beat you up whenever I feel like it."
Amrothos was still muttering under his breath when Éomer took his leave.
The company rode swiftly over the fields and northwards to the woods of Anórien. Éowyn and Faramir had both come along as chaperones, and Éomer's own guards escorted them. The young king and his bride rode up at the front. After a playful race, they slowed their steeds to a gentler speed. Once they had passed the fields of Pelennor, Lothíriel looked to be more at ease; she was laughing with him, and she held herself lightly in the saddle. Éomer made no secret of the admiring looks he gave to her.
They left the horses near to the edge of the forest and went to explore on foot. The woods were sunny and fair in the high summer's glory, full of green things and birdsong. Lothíriel was eager to pull him after herself, pointing and showing him things as though an excited child. It was most endearing. In her light conversation, he was quick to forget the chaperones and guards who followed them at a distance.
Soon enough, his bride let out an anxious little sigh.
"I'm almost starting to regret not bringing a basket with me. These woods are rich with herbs and plants, and some of them are not found in Dol Amroth", she said to him and cast a long, thoughtful look at the undergrowth. No doubt, she was going to come here again before going home again.
But Éomer did not ponder her words for long. He lifted up the hems and corners of his cloak, gathering them in his hands, and thus forming a crude sort of bag.
"Here's your basket, lady", he told her with a winning smile, which she returned brightly.
"Thank you kindly, lord!" she said and quickly kissed his cheek.
"When Gondor calls for aid, Rohan will answer", he said, pleased to see the way her eyes shined.
It was probably quite the sight, her talking about the herbs and occasionally picking something up, and him following her with his cloak in his hands, receiving and guarding whatever she collected. Some task for a formidable warrior king. But he enjoyed it wholeheartedly, being so different from the everyday concerns of ruling. And Lothíriel shared her knowledge with the enthusiasm of one who loves their work, talking to him about herb-lore as though a storyteller recalling great legends of yore. He had never guessed plants had so many uses, from healing wounds to treating all kinds of everyday ailments, and even evoking one's carnal desires. That one he did not think was going to be needed in their marriage, which thought rather distracted him for a moment. But Lothíriel carried on, unaware of what was going through his mind.
"Look here! I never guessed wood sorrel was growing here so abundantly. Once when I was a child, I ate so much of them in the woods that I got sick. But it's quite safe to eat in small amounts. Some wood-faring folk chew on it to ward off thirst", she was saying as she crouched near the ground. Then she lifted a few small specimen, plants with light green, heart-shaped leaves slightly folded at the centre. She offered a few leaves to him, but seeing his hands were full with the cloak, she lifted it to his mouth.
He accepted her offering, pressing his lips briefly against her fingers, but he did not break eye contact with her. Faint colour appeared on her cheeks and she averted her gaze. He barely noticed the sour, crisp taste of frail leaves in his mouth.
"You shouldn't look at me like that, Sire. It makes me want to disrespect my father", she said softly, eyes fixed on the ground. He had noticed she did it sometimes, when he acted too boldly – she would not call him by his name, but rather use the title, as though it offered some distance.
"You are my bride, and you are fair. To ask me not to look at you is the same asking me not to breathe", he told her seriously.
"And then you say such things", she uttered, seeming to shake herself.
He smiled, even though his heart was not yet slowing down, nor the hot coal of desire cooling off.
"You're the one who agreed to marry me. What did you expect from a northern wildman?" he inquired pleasantly.
She cast a look at him, half exasperated and half amused. It was such a warm, intimate moment between them, full of quiet but shared knowledge. Had he known this woman for a lifetime, or only a few months? Former seemed to be the case, for never had it been so easy to let down his guard, look inside himself and find there something soft and light-hearted. If nothing else had convinced him, this at least was a sure sign they were well matched.
"Wildman you may be, but you provide excellent services as far as herb-gathering goes", she said at length. Éomer laughed and kissed the top of her head.
Some time later, they joined Faramir and Éowyn under the shade of a great elm tree. Éowyn had brought things for a light repast – white wine, buttered scones, hard cheese and dried fruit – which they enjoyed there on a spread blanket. His sister and brother-in-law conversed lightly, but Lothíriel was more quiet than usual. He guessed it was because she was recalling her and Éowyn's introduction and felt wary. In a quiet gesture of support he moved to sit close to her, so that his arm occasionally brushed hers – as though to shield her with his own body. Soon enough she put her hand on his on the blanket, lacing her fingers with his. Faramir's eyes caught his, and the Steward smiled, though he said nothing.
The sun was already westering when they decided to head back to the city. Worriedly, Lothíriel looked at Éomer's cloak which lay nearby, herbs and plants still inside of it. He saw the question in her eyes, and with a quiet smile, he bundled it carefully as to not crush the fragile things inside.
"Not to worry. Your bounty shall not go to waste", he promised her as he set the package atop his saddle. It was probably a breach of etiquette for a foreign monarch to be riding in shirtsleeves, but he supposed a barbarian king could afford such scandalous conduct.
"You are Valar-sent, Sire", said Lothíriel, smiling widely. When he helped her to mount her mare, her hands were soft and gentle against his shoulders, and her kiss sweet on his brow. No woman had ever looked at him with such warmth as she did right then.
"I aim to please", he said lightly, fully aware that they were rather ignoring Éowyn and Faramir, but thankfully their chaperones did not seem to mind.
In a swift motion, Éomer swung himself in the saddle. He tilted his face upwards and breathed deeply as he adjusted into the familiar seat, feeling Firefoot's rippling strength underneath, and that fierce sensation of being capable of great and terrible things. He turned to smile at his bride, and saw her watching him with wide eyes.
"This is how I first saw you", she said suddenly, but she didn't speak in the Common Tongue. With his rudimentary Sindarin he understood her. He had a faint grasp on that ancient tongue thanks to his late mother, who had been the daughter of Morwen Steelsheen of the kin of Westernesse.
"What do you mean?" asked Éomer, raising an eyebrow. As far as he knew, they had first met in the Houses of Healing after the Battle of Pelennor fields, in circumstances vastly different from this.
Lothíriel seemed to shake herself, like one attempting to snap out of a waking dream.
"I... I meant..." she stammered, confused and dismayed, but it was then Faramir and Éowyn steered their own steeds to their sides.
"Shall we get going?" asked the Steward. It was most inconvenient. Éomer cast a curious, frustrated look at his bride, but she was already facing the other way. There was no easy way of asking what she had tried to say with her strange words, and he got the feeling she would not respond well to being pressured in the presence of her cousin and Éowyn – especially when some scruples remained between the two women.
They rode back to the city, the pace of their horses faster than when they had first set out. It wouldn't do to keep Lothíriel out until after sunset, and Aragorn and Arwen were expecting to dine with the King of Rohan and his sister.
His bride was quiet and lost in thought most of the way back to the sixth level of the city, though she answered his questions and gave an occasional smile.
At the gates of her father's town house, Éomer dismounted again to help her down. For the briefest moment, she pressed herself against him, and he would have enveloped her in his arms hadn't she pulled away quickly.
"I had a lovely time today. Thank you for coming with me", she said, once again smiling with more surety; whatever had troubled her mind seemed to have passed.
"And thank you for asking me. It was a pleasure", said the young king. He reached back to his saddle and lifted up his bundled cloak. "Here you go. I suppose at this point I can well trust my cloak with you?"
She let out a soft laugh as she received the wrapped up thing.
"You may indeed. I shall have it cleaned and returned to you – unless you wouldn't mind parting with it?" she asked, eyes glimmering.
"I wouldn't, but it's the only one I've got with me, and I just know it will rain wargs on my way back to Rohan if I don't have a cloak", he told her.
"We can't have that. But if you ever feel like spoiling your bride a little bit, you might send me some wool from your land. I've never seen its like", she said, running her fingers across the surface of his cloak. Momentarily, he imagined her wrapped in that cloak – in nothing but that cloak – and felt a bit dizzy.
"I shall keep that in mind", he said, quietly and hoarsely, and bowed his head for a moment. "Until tomorrow, then?"
"Until tomorrow", she agreed and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. With a smile, she turned away and lead her mare through the open gates of Imrahil's house. Éomer watched her go and wondered at how very much he already loved her.
"Brother? Are you quite awake?" Éowyn's voice asked, warm and amused. He shook himself and glanced at his sister, who was smiling as though she knew something he didn't.
"Of course I am", he said blandly and jumped back in the saddle.
"You know", she said when they continued their way to the Citadel, "I'm starting to think I didn't get the whole picture until now."
"And what picture is that?" he asked her.
"I was watching you and her back there in the wood. There went my fierce, warlike brother, gathering plants for a lady! And yet I can't remember when I've last seen you looking so happy, or so peaceful", said Éowyn softly, so that only he could hear her voice. "So maybe I wasn't giving her all the credit she deserves. She may be strange, but nobody who sees you with her like that can say it makes no sense."
Éomer felt like some tension he had not noticed holding in himself vanished with her words. He smiled at his sister, relieved that she did approve of his choice after all.
"I'm glad you think so. She will be, too. Lothíriel would dearly wish for you to befriend her", he said.
"And I'm sure I will. But you must give me some time. I never thought anyone would be worthy of you", Éowyn stated firmly.
He scoffed.
"Worthy? I don't know about that. But you are my sister, so your partiality may be forgiven. Though I'm sure I was not quite as hard on Faramir", he pointed out. They had now reached the royal stables and were dismounting; stable-hands came to take their horses and a few of Éomer's guards stayed behind to supervise.
Éowyn's eyes glittered in amusement.
"But you knew you would never have peace in Meduseld again if you tried to prevent us, so it's not really the same thing, is it?" she inquired sweetly.
"No man wants to be held hostage in his own home, and I am no exception in that regard", he told her. Éowyn laughed, and with that, they made their way in to the Citadel of the White City.
To be continued.
A/N: I return with an update! This one took some time, because I moved recently, so you can imagine things were a bit too crazy for writing. I'm starting to get all settled down now, though, and once my new bookshelf arrives, it should be all right!
It was fun writing this one, move or no. Her brothers' confrontations with Éomer were definitely an interesting thing to tackle. Also, I have really enjoyed developing Éomer and Lothíriel's relationship, and it's definitely getting more sensual at this point. I rather imagine the rating of this story will eventually change, too.
There's no reason why the White Tree of Gondor should be "male"; I merely chose to refer to the Tree as "he" because so was Telperion of the Two Trees of Valinor, and ultimately, the Tree that grew in the Court of Fountain was descended from the image of Telperion. I suppose it could also be a she, considering the White Tree which grew in Númenor was named Nimloth, and that was a feminine name shared by an Elf-lady of First Age. Alas, I suppose this is a question of obscure lore, and of interest only to people who have a close knowledge of the legendarium.
Wood sorrel (or oxalis) is a small woodland plant that grows around the world, except for polar areas. Its taste is slightly sour but personally I've found the taste rather pleasant. I also found some a tidbit of info that Native American peoples have used to ward off thirst, which I thought was interesting and added in the story as well. It has also had medicinal uses, but can make you sick if you eat too much of it.
Thank you for reading and reviewing! Don't forget, your comments are most appreciated and helpful!
EStrunk - I'm glad you liked it! I too enjoyed that part with the two of them very much. :) And to hear the lovebird's talk was so Tolkien-esque was a lovely thing to hear. I do like this version of her very much, rather for the same reasons as you. One moment, she's in her own world, and next she's warm and forthcoming.
sai19 - I know! This story has a mind of its own. I hope it provided a nice moment of relaxation - writing academic works can be exhausting indeed!
And I'm glad to hear you like her so well! Éowyn has her doubts, but maybe at the end of this chapter she too is reconsidering her stance.
LH Wordsmith - I don't pretend I can bring Middle-earth alive the way Tolkien himself did, but I myself am a big fan of his works, and I love to weave in aspects and details of the legendarium. If it succeeds in making my story more alive, then great!
I hope this chapter sheds more light on brotherly affairs!
Jo - Yes, it can be very exhausting to listen to that kind of nonsense. Hang on in there!
rossui - Glad you liked it! We'll see how it will go with them. ;)
Katia0203 - Interesting points! I don't want to comment on them too much, because I don't want to spoil anything for you. At the very least, a part of Éomer's reluctance to hear differing opinions about Lothíriel might be his different and more intimate history with her than others have. Seeing this story is told from his point of view, it can be difficult to convey others' perspectives as well.
blasttyrant - He has a point, but he may not be seeing Éomer's perspective entirely!
I'm afraid I can't tell my "big secret", because I don't want to spoil the story! :D
You stay safe, too!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thanks! Glad you liked it!
Leilal - Thank you!
Wondereye - I'm afraid the story will have to answer that question!
Catspector - It's been wonderful writing this happy, hopeful Éomer! And Leofrun certainly loves to see him like that, too. As for Lothíriel, the story will have to reveal her secrets!
