Chapter 14
The King's Company rode back to the Mark in great haste, though not quite with that sense of doom and death which had driven the Muster of Rohan to the battle of Pelennor fields. Yet the men knew well enough something was amiss, even if Éomer had not yet revealed them the reason for this urgency. He could tell Éothain wondered much and often, but the Captain asked no questions. Nor would he, Éomer expected: when asking his friend whether he trusted him, the young king had invoked something very sacred between brothers in arms and best of friends.
As they made their way from dawn till dusk, and at times in autumn rains, Éomer thought much of his bride back in Mundburg. No doubt she and her father would stay a few more days, meet with his advisers and finalise the marriage contracts. Perhaps she would be getting to know Freola; he was one of the older Riders of the King's Company and Éomer was aware the man had been thinking of retiring from active duty. He was an even-tempered, steadfast man with a couple of nearly full-grown daughters of his own. Éomer felt he was most likely of all his men to get along with Lothíriel.
He also thought of why she had sent him on this road. He raked his brain, trying to assess where the Dunlending party were likely to cross the river, and if this was a sign of some greater aggression on their side. Things had been quiet at the western border since the war had ended and he had not particularly expected any trouble on that front. However, she had said this war party was looking for something which had been taken. But what could it possibly be? Rohirrim had not crossed Isen during the short while Éomer had been king, and as far as he knew, Théoden had not approved of such ventures either. Before and during the Ring War, Rohirrim had too much to deal with in their own land to go marauding in Dunland. If somebody in Rohan was trying to start trouble with Dunlendings, then his response would have to be stern and swift.
However it would turn out, there was still a long way between him and Westfold. So he pushed himself, the men and the horses as much as possible, feeling that knot of concern grow ever tighter as the days passed. Normally when riding to or from Mundburg, he would stop at the villages on the way, meet with people and perhaps spend a night here or there to show his interest in the lives of common folk of the land. This time, he sped by most of the settlements, only stopping to give the men and the horses a chance to catch their breath and a night's rest.
Éomer and his company reached Edoras just shy of a week after he had left Mundburg. His return was not expected at this time and he saw surprise on many faces while passing through the capital. But explanations would have to wait. Perhaps once he had dealt with the Dunlending war party, people would forget to wonder about his sudden return.
Leofrun's face reflected that same wonder as she came to meet him with the cup of welcome. He drained the cup quickly before muttering in a low voice to her, "I know, I shouldn't be at home yet. It's not because of something that happened in Stoningland. I hurried back because there's a reason to expect unrest at our western border."
Her eyes were wide and grave as she received the cup from him.
"Is it very serious, Sire?" Leofrun asked quietly, instantly trusting his word. Thank Béma he was blessed with so many faithful men and women.
"I don't know yet. Will you make sure my men get a hot meal? They have ridden hard for my sake and I would see them tended to accordingly", he said to her and she nodded emphatically. Éomer continued, "I will be leaving again at dawn. Éothain is to marshal fresh men and horses for the road and provisions will be needed."
"Very well, Sire. Your Riders will be looked after and I shall make sure provisions are ready for when you ride out again", she promised and swept away at once when he had dismissed her.
Rest of the evening passed in preparations and talks with those of his advisers who were present in Edoras at the time. They seemed similarly suspicious about his sudden arrival, but they were also curious to learn how things had gone in the White City. This allowed Éomer to redirect their focus on the issue he did not have to lie about. Perhaps they assumed some secret messages had come to Aragorn which then had sent Éomer racing back home; certainly, King Elessar had a legendary enough reputation for it.
All the same, it was late when he finally entered his own bedchamber to catch a few hours of sleep before yet another long ride. Éomer let out a heavy sigh as he leaned his back against the door and rubbed his face. Somehow he felt the wear of many long days in the saddle more inside his head than in his limbs, though that was not to say he wasn't tired physically. Once this was over and dealt with, he would sleep at least for a week.
But as much as his body yearned for rest, he didn't head straight to bed. Instead, he picked up his writing easel, some pieces of parchment, and began to compose a letter for Lothíriel. Her handkerchief, gifted to him by her in Dol Amroth at the end of his visit, was never far from his hand.
It was over an hour later that he finally sealed the letter and made his way to bed.
At dawn Éomer rode forth once more. This time he mounted his secondary steed Flamefoal, a young warhorse not yet as trusty or skilled as Firefoot, but he was getting there. Firefoot had earned some rest after the long ride, though as always stable-hands needed to make sure he didn't realise his master was riding out again, and with another steed. The stallion could be surprisingly jealous about his rider.
The morning was the coldest one yet and the eastern sky was just growing pink when his company left Edoras behind. When the sun began to rise, Éomer could see frost glimmering on tall grass. As much as possible, Éothain had chosen fresh riders with unwearied horses. If they were going to have to do battle with Dunlendings, the young king did not wish to go into it with tired men at his side. He would be sending a rider to summon Erkenbrand, but even with the aid of Marshal of the West-Mark, Éomer did not want a single man to lose their lives because they were weary before even entering battle. Naturally, he hoped it wouldn't come to it, but as of now he had no idea of what to expect.
They rode late into the evening and made camp, although Éomer felt more anxious than ever and would have liked to carry on. But he knew it would be unwise for more than just one reason, and so kept the urge to race into the night at bay. Yet he could not stop himself from pacing at the edge of the camp, gazing into the west and hoping for morning before he too settled down on his bedroll.
At dawn they rode again – another long day that was both restless and tedious as the journey continued, and still without a sign whether this was a wild-goose chase or not. Éothain's faith in him still did not falter. It was partly from that unchanging trust that Éomer was able to will himself into going again, although he was feeling the wear of the road more than he had yesterday. He thought of Lothíriel, too. She would not have sent him on this road in vain.
It was that very day that something finally happened. At midday, Éomer spied a rider coming in haste from the west.
"Sire, a rider", Éothain said as he too peered into the horizon.
"Aye. I wonder what event has him hurrying so", Éomer muttered, although he certainly had his suspicions.
"Perhaps the very same thing we are here?" his Captain voiced Éomer's own thoughts.
"We'll see", said the young king and gave a sign to slow down.
The rider had noticed the King's Company as well and was now hurrying to meet them. Once he was at shouting distance, he called out urgently, "Is it truly you, Éomer King? Are my eyes deceiving me?"
"No, you see truly, Rider. What brings you here?" Éomer asked back.
The man shifted in his saddle, relaxing visibly and smiling at his liege-lord.
"This is better news than I dared to hope for, Sire. We thought you were away in Gondor", he said, bowing his head briefly. Then he cleared his throat and continued, "Marshal Erkenbrand got word late last night that a scout had seen a group of Dunlendings crossing the Isen into the Mark. Before he rode out to investigate this matter, I was sent to ask for reinforcements in Edoras, and for the royal council's instructions in your absence, my lord. Marshal Erkenbrand is troubled by this sighting and he fears these Dunlendings have ill intentions."
Something unclenched in Éomer's breast at hearing all this. Lothíriel had seen it as it was, and sent him in the nick of time on this road. But there was a wave of tenderness for her, too. She was not even his wife yet, and already she fought to protect Rohan.
"Aye, that concerns me as well. How many were seen crossing the river?" Éomer wanted to know.
"Around thirty, Sire, but Erkenbrand is worried more are lying in wait beyond the river and expecting some kind of a sign. That is also why he hoped for reinforcements", said the rider.
"Very well. My arrival should even the odds, but you should still ride back to Edoras and ask my lieutenant there to prepare an éored ready to aid. Though I hope this can be resolved without bloodshed", Éomer said.
The messenger nodded and grinned.
"It's good that you're here, Sire. These Dunlendings will reconsider their course of action once they realise they're facing Éomer King himself", he said, and the young king tried not to smile. He was well aware many of the professional riders loved him as their hero who could do no wrong. At times, it was a great honour. At others, he felt it as a burden and a duty. A hero's reputation was easy to lose and the fall from the top could be long and hard.
"Let us hope they are so easily persuaded", said Éomer before farewells were exchanged and his party rode forth again.
Once they were on the move, Éothain steered his horse close to his king's. His look was unusual, as though he had just witnessed something that was hard to believe.
"How did you know?" Éothain asked him quietly. His meaning was easy to guess. The man had put together two and two and knew that somehow, Éomer had expected these very news back in Mundburg.
Éomer let out a sigh.
"Believe me when I say I would tell you if I could. It's not because I don't trust you – you know I trust few men as much as you. But in this matter I'm not at liberty to speak openly, even to you. I'm not sure you would believe me if I did", he said gravely, resenting this dishonest feeling that came to him. However, he had promised Lothíriel, and while he didn't think Éothain was a kind of man to try and benefit from her sight, it was not his secret to share.
The Captain was frowning and looking dissatisfied, but he must have recognised the gravity Éomer spoke with, and also that there was indeed a good reaason behind it. Éothain said no more, but the young king had no doubt he didn't cease wondering about the matter. Whether he realised there was a connection between these events and Lothíriel being in her bridegroom's room in the middle of night, Éomer could not say.
"Was it Aragorn and that Seeing Stone of his?" Éothain asked abruptly. Éomer much wanted to confirm it, as the mysterious nature of those Elven devices was quite unclear; it would be the perfect excuse. But he could not lie to his friend.
"I cannot confirm or deny, although it's true the eyes of the White Tower reach far", he said at length, not meeting the face of his friend. Éothain asked no more, but Éomer expected he would make his own assumptions all the same.
Though he was not glad he couldn't be entirely honest with his friend and captain, otherwise Éomer felt determined and purposeful once more. The messenger had confirmed Lothíriel had indeed spoken true, and he had been right to race back home in haste. Now he was able to deal with the issue of Dunlendings himself and hopefully put out the fire before it had a chance of growing into something serious.
He thought again of what she had said to him that night: these men were looking for something that had been taken and would desire revenge if it was not found. Did it mean they could be reasoned with? He hoped so, at least. Dunlendings were not a wealthy folk, so it was unlikely they were after stolen goods. It was a desperate attempt, if the company consisted of just thirty men; they were looking for something of personal importance, or so Éomer guessed as he mulled over the matter.
Next day his company finally started to close in on the western border of Rohan. Before they did, they began to meet Erkenbrand's outriders who were surprised and glad to see the King himself coming to aid. They pointed him at the Marshal's way, and so it was by early afternoon that Éomer found his friend and lieutenant in the task of trying to contain the threat. With Erkenbrand was his daughter Alfwen, a formidable Shieldmaiden in the making, and some said of all his children she was the one who should one day follow in his steps as a Marshal of the Mark. No wonder, for she had stood on the walls of Helm's Deep and endured the attack of the Isengard unbowed. She had inherited her father's height and was a woman of mighty presence even among Eorlingas.
Erkenbrand was similarly surprised that the King himself had flown across all the distance between Mundburg and Westfold and was here at this time, relieving as it may be.
"Béma himself must have sent you", said the Marshal as he greeted his king and enveloped him in a huge bear-hug, but Éomer thought to himself, Not Béma, but your future queen. Even so, the threat at hand was urgent enough Erkenbrand didn't ask many questions. Tension was high especially among those Riders who had kin in Westfold: the wounds left by the Ring War were barely closed.
Erkenbrand's outriders had located the group of Dunlendings, but now with the King's Company added to the numbers, they had enough men not only to guard the border in case more Dunlendings were preparing to enter the Mark but also to surround the war party and herd them in. This was Éomer's express wish. He did not want battle, but rather wished to find out what had brought the Dunlendings here. If possible, he wanted to drive them into such a position where they would have no choice but to surrender and negotiate. Éomer could tell there were a few among the company who would rather prefer a full attack, but to these he gave stern looks. The land had seen enough of bloodshed and his first act as a king towards the Dunlendings was not going to be hateful.
Over the course of that day and the next, their nets gradually closed in around the Dunlending party as riders in pairs rode closer and closer to them – never quite in the reach of a bow they were sure to carry, but near enough to unnerve them and drive the group into the desired direction. On the open fields a war party on foot was no match to trained Rohirric Riders. Eventually, they had no choice but to retreat into a small ravine like a small animal to a hunter's snare.
Receiving word from the outriders that the Dunlendings were now securely in their trap, Éomer halted to negotiate with Erkenbrand and Éothain on how to proceed. Alfwen stood close by her father, being the second captain of his éored in all but name.
"What do you wish to do, Sire? Are we to put the fear of Béma in that lot?" asked Erkenbrand in a quiet voice that held a fierce timbre. Alfwen's look implied she very much agreed with her father. While his age had lent Erkenbrand wisdom and patience, the many griefs and losses of the West-Mark were heavy in his heart and mind. Same was true for his daughter.
"I would like to know what they are doing here and what their purpose is. Let us talk to them first", Éomer replied There was something about the affair that made him feel uncomfortable and he wanted to know why that was. And after all these years, he knew when to trust his instinct.
Erkenbrand still looked like he would rather have let his sword talk, but Éothain merely nodded and turned to relay the orders to the King's Riders.
Éomer chose ten of his most trusted men in addition to himself, his captain and the Marshal with his daughter. To all of them he spoke gravely before entering the ravine, meeting their eyes and speaking with a strong, even voice.
"We will give these men a chance to explain themselves. I will not have any man's blood spilled today, if it can be avoided. All of you are to stand ready, but there will be no violence except by my express command. Is this clear?" he asked them, and was answered with Aye, lord!
With that, Éomer turned Flamefoal around and began to approach the mouth of the ravine. Erkenbrand and Éothain covered his flanks, the Marshal carrying a tall spear and the Captain holding the royal standard of the Riddermark in his hand. Alfwen followed closely, carrying a light Rohirric bow in her hand. The Dunlendings would have no uncertainty of who they were dealing with today. He rode slowly in the highest state of alertness, ready to spring in action. He knew the land around the ravine was teeming with horsemen ready to rain fire and brimstone on the Dunlendings, but it only took a single arrow to put an end to even the most illustrious warrior. And he had a bride waiting for him and an entire life he wanted to yet live.
It hit him as he rode into the ravine, how much he truly hungered for life – how much he wanted to share it with Lothíriel. It was a curious thing. On one hand, it didn't seem like much of a realisation, and yet on the other it nearly made him dizzy. For until this point, the chief meaning of his existence had been the duty for his king and for Rohan; Éomer the man was merely a tool to protect these things. It still was a significant part of him. However, the moment she had entered his life, she had opened some doors he had not known of, and he could see other things of value in why he had been put on this Arda.
He took a deep breath to steady himself. Then only seconds later, he saw the group of Dunlendings clustered together, spears and bows at the ready. Judging by their miscellaneous weapons and armours put together from what looked like scavenged scraps of old gear, they were not some elite company of warriors. They regarded the King and his company in hostile suspicion, but Éomer lifted his hand in a gesture for peace.
"Men of Dunland, what do you seek in the Riddermark?" he asked in a loud, steady voice.
There was some muttering inside the group, until one of them answered.
"We have come for those that were taken. You have kept our wives and daughters from us long enough, and if you will not return them freely, then we shall bring them home by our steel and wrath", said the man in the front of the group. He looked no more polished than the rest of them, but there was something about his demeanour that made Éomer feel like he was their leader.
For a moment he marvelled at these words. Then his heart fell, for he guessed their meaning all too easily. Saruman's quarrel with Rohan had not started with a full invasion: before it he had long built his army in secret, and not just by gathering orcs to his command. With his army there had marched creatures that were neither full orcs or men, and this was finally the answer to the question why at times before the war women and girls of Westfold had gone missing, never to be seen again among Men. He had no doubt the same thing had happened on the other side of the river.
"You are not going to find your missing womenfolk in Rohan, stranger. Did not our messages reach your elders? Saruman was the one who took your people, not us", Éomer answered steadily, though his heart was heavy in his breast. The wizard's crimes against Rohan and all Free Men were many, but this thing was among the most horrifying of his deeds. At times the thought still haunted him and made him regret that the wizard had so easily escaped justice. Word had come out of the Shire that Saruman had perished in the very aftermath of the Ring War, and so had Wormtongue, but there were moments when Éomer could not help but ask himself if he could have done something more.
"You lie, horsemaster! We are not such fools as our elders to believe such an atrocious thing. Rather we think our women are here in your land, serving as your slaves. The straw-heads have never loved our people", said the leader of the Dunlendings, which earned him some agreeing mutters among his group, and many growls and exclamations of anger from the Rohirrim within earshot. Some of Éomer's Riders shifted anxiously and muttered in outrage at the way their king was so disrespected, but he lifted his hand as a sign for them to stand still.
As for himself, he quickly dismounted and took a couple of steps forward. Erkenbrand and Éothain followed suit, shields ready at hand to raise for his protection. But the young king himself stood with his hands empty.
"These are no lies, stranger. I have been to Isengard myself and though no survivors were discovered, there was enough evidence to acknowledge what had happened. Don't think womenfolk never went missing in the Mark, or that they aren't sorely missed. It grieves me more than you know, and yet I wonder if finding no one living was the one small mercy our women and yours were given", he replied gravely, meeting the eyes of the Dunlending leader without faltering. Then in a stronger voice he continued, "As for your accusations, they are simply false. In Rohan every man, woman and child is free. Even though my people and yours have more often been enemies than not, we would never take one of yours as slaves. That is what orcs do, not Free Men. Remember, there has often been strife between our people, but never did Rohirrim cross the river to your lands, and wives and daughters only began to vanish when orcs were prowling and Saruman grew hungry with the thought of dominion of living things."
There was a heavy silence in the ravine. All eyes were fixed on the King of Rohan and the spokesman of the Dunlending war party, but Éomer himself paid no heed to any but the man he was talking to. Keenly he studied the weathered face and saw the lines care and grief had carved there. Who had he lost to that great storm which had destroyed and upended so many lives? Even now a feverish hope lived in his dark brown eyes that maybe what the elders of his tribe had told him wasn't true – maybe his loved one was still living somewhere in bondage, and he could free her. It was easier to believe some story about Rohirrim taking slaves rather than to accept the horrifying truth. All this Éomer could sympathise with very much. He knew what it was to miss someone who wasn't going to return and to feel like pieces of himself were lost.
"You are welcome to visit Isengard if you so desire, though I'm afraid most signs of Saruman's crimes have long since been destroyed. But Treebeard himself, the chief of Shepherds of Trees, will doubtless tell you everything that was uncovered. He has no reason to lie on the behalf of any Man", Éomer said then in a softer voice than he had until now.
And whether it was his word, or simply his tone, but something seemed to get through to the angry men before him. Some lowered their bows and returned arrows back to quivers. Others simply stood in a quiet stun, perhaps at last coming to grips with their loss.
But still their leader stared at Éomer.
"Then what are we to tell our kin? To the people whose families shall never be whole again? What are we to do?" he asked, still trying to sound fierce and angry, though there was a crack in his voice.
"What can anyone do?" Éomer asked back. "We repair and heal where we can, and honour our dead to the best of our ability."
And once those words left his mouth and he took in the faces before him, he knew there would be no bloodshed today.
It seemed that after the exchange between the King of Rohan and the Dunlending leader all fight was taken from the war party. Quietly they agreed to be escorted back to the western border by Marshal Erkenbrand's company, and they began the long and bitter journey home before afternoon was ended. Éomer did not think it necessary for the whole company of Rohirrim to ride with them. For one, he sensed no more danger from these grieving men, and on the other hand, he wanted to make a show of good faith by not treating them with prejudice and suspicion.
But before this company set out, some talks were had between the King and his lieutenants. There was still wonder at his arrival in the very moment when he was most needed, but more than that there was relief over the way this threat had been been dealt with. Éomer gave no explanations as to how he had known to speed home so conveniently and left more to the guessing of his men. Best he could gather, they assumed Aragorn was somehow involved.
With his own guard, Éomer now rode for the Hornburg. Some of his company had been travelling with him from Mundburg and were in the sore need of some rest. For that last stretch of the journey, they rode with perhaps more speed than was strictly necessary. All were eager to get some food, shelter and sleep.
They reached the fortress just in time for supper, though before letting his men go and relax, Éomer gave them some words of praise and gratitude for coming all this way with him and having faith until the end.
It was Éothain who put their thoughts to words.
"We are proud to serve you, Sire. Today we saw you stand taller than ever before. For any son of Eorl, it is an honour to follow such a king", he said emphatically, and though they exchanged no words on the matter, Éomer felt that his captain's faith had been rewarded. As much he had wondered about his king's decision, today's events had made his questions unneeded.
As for himself, Éothain's quiet words made him feel like today he had won something more than just peace inside the borders of Rohan. All thanks to her: who knew what could have happened, if he had not made it in time? He did not doubt Erkenbrand's ability of keeping their people safe, but could anyone have reassured the Dunlendings and kept peace with them today except for the King of Rohan himself?
Now that the threat had been dealt with, the young king finally started to feel the wear of last week settle in. He partook in the supper at the great hall of Hornburg, but he retired as soon as he had eaten. Meanwhile, a bath had been prepared for him. Going straight to bed was a tempting thought, but on the other hand, he had not felt completely warm since leaving Edoras and some tension still remained in his stiff muscles. So it was with no small amount of relief and pleasure that he sank into a tub filled with steaming hot water. A sigh he had not noticed holding finally worked its way out.
As he lay there chin-deep in water, he fell to a kind of waking dream. He imagined Lothíriel making her way to the side of the tub, smiling as she came, and surrounded by the soft glow of candles. Lightly she took a seat on the edge of the tub. And then he felt like hearing her very voice.
Did you find them, the men I saw? she seemed to be asking him softly.
Aye, he replied and gave her a lazy grin. Now, hurry up and get in this bath with me.
But she just smiled that enigmatic smile of hers and said no more. He shook his head and realised she had never been here, except in his imagination. He sighed heavily. Spring had never felt more far away than it did now.
After the bath, he exchanged a few words with his guards. He told them not to disturb him during the night, unless the fortress was on fire – an unlikely scenario, except if a dragon attacked.
Once he had finally collapsed in the bed, he passed out in a matter of minutes.
For a while, little else was spoken of in Edoras except for the matter of the Dunlending war party. There was relief over the peaceful solution, but also some apprehension: the western border had been quiet since the Ring War had ended and nobody wanted to disturb that peace. Éomer himself was fairly sure the incident was an isolated event and would not lead to more aggressions, but he understood his people's concerns and sent orders to Erkenbrand to have the borderlands patrolled more frequently.
Though he did not think it was deserved, he received a fair amount of praise over his handling of the issue. The fact remained, he had only been able to defuse the Dunlendings' hostility because Lothíriel had sent him home in time; his convenient arrival was not due to his own miraculously keen instinct or some obscure connection of Aragorn's. Yet while Éomer felt uneasy over the undeserved praise and would rather have corrected it, he knew he could not. Lothíriel's part in these events was to remain hidden.
It troubled him enough that he had to write her about it. So he told her how he felt like he was undeservingly basking in the glory that belonged to her. Her response was as calm and level-headed as ever: "Am I not your wife to be, Éomer? Is it not my task to aid and support you, not only as your consort but also as your queen? If this is true, then my glory should add to yours, and to the House of Eorl. What you did was no no small thing. Others might have punished these miserable men and deepened their suffering, but you faced them like a king and offered them peace and conciliation. There is a glory in that, too, and you earned it with your own actions independent of mine."
Her words reassured him and silenced his doubts. Yet the letter also filled him with wonder. If she already had such wisdom at her young age, what kind of a queen would she make in decades to come?
Eventually, Lord Ormar and Lord Wigmund along with the rest of the company returned from Mundburg. They brought with them the finalised marriage contracts and a couple of letters from Lothíriel. It seemed both men were satisfied with how the negotiations had gone – Wigmund probably even thought it was good Éomer himself had not been present for it. Ormar too, if he recalled Éomer's comment of being willing to have her with nothing but the clothes on her back. Turned out she would come with much more than that thanks to Wigmund's haggling, though the young king was more pleased to hear Ormar saying that his bride was "simply charming". Even without her bridegroom's presence, Lothíriel had kept the company entertained and happy.
Autumn now advanced, moving closer to winter. Life went on as usual in Edoras and all of Rohan, and there was peace at the western border again.
Then one night a heavy storm came and by the morning, the capital and lands around it were covered in snow. Winter that year turned out to be longer and colder than normally, and while snowbanks grew higher, days went by slowly and uneventfully. During this time it seemed that the royal council's chief amusement was having long, tedious debates that made Éomer want to throw the whole lot out in the snow. He couldn't even expect the relief of Lothíriel's letters, for travel was next to impossible while the weather continued. He expected his messengers had been wise enough to shelter either in Mundburg or with Éowyn and Faramir until the snows melted.
Yuletide came at last, breaking the dull march of cold days, though celebrations were somewhat smaller than usual. This year most Rohirrim were sheltering from the weather in their homes instead of coming to the capital for the winter market and the great feast in the honour of the sun's rebirth. For Éomer, it also meant a turning point towards spring and the day he was so anxiously expecting.
But as he watched his people laughing, dancing and drinking and simply enjoying themselves, he also contemplated something rather overwhelming: he had now been the King of Rohan for over one and a half years. He had managed this enormous and sometimes thankless job for this long without everything falling apart. When he had first returned from the Ring War, it had seemed that even getting through one week would be a stupendous achievement. Yet here he was, nothing was on fire, and nobody was dead.
Perhaps for the first time, Éomer felt some confidence with the idea that he might be able to do this, after all.
After Yuletide, the weather mellowed at last and snow began to melt. Every day, Éomer looked hopefully to the plains, assessing whether he could yet go for a long, brisk ride. He hoped it was possible sooner rather than later, as the royal stables were full of spirited warhorses that had mostly been standing about since the snows had come and surrounded the capital. He had no desire to watch one of them tear down the stables. Even so, he could well relate – he too was starting to feel like climbing walls.
Leofrun's rampage now became something else. She and her acolytes haunted the premises of Golden Hall like a band of madwomen, wielding brooms and buckets and constantly sending out mighty clouds of dust from every nook and cranny. Every now and then one might pass by Leofrun and hear her muttering to herself, complaining at the state of King's own home, and grousing at everyone who would listen that this was what you got when kings had no queens for decades. At times the hall itself was a veritable no-go area, unless one wanted to be chased out, or maybe get recruited to the cleaning crew. The King himself was not safe from Leofrun's iron rule: more than once his height was exploited by her, as for example when she commanded him to stand next to a ladder and receive an ancient hanging from the wall into his hands, all the while being scolded and instructed on how to handle the fragile fabric. Leofrun and her helpers came up with the most imaginative contraptions to be able to even clean the high rafters of the hall, sending down a decade's worth of dust and one seriously lost and very distressed bat. How the creature had got there, or found it a comfortable place for a nest, nobody could tell.
"Maybe it was Wormtongue's pet", said Éothain, which theory was quickly accepted by everybody in Meduseld.
So the snows melted, winter slugged towards spring, and Meduseld remained a madhouse. The Queen's rooms were prepared once more for an inhabitant: they were scrubbed and aired, a new mattress for the bed was produced, and creamy pillows, soft blankets and sleeping furs were prepared. Hangings and carpets were brought in to make the space look more homely, though Leofrun insisted these would be switched if the Queen so wished, or if she herself brought such things from Dol Amroth. Somebody found a beautifully carved vanity in the storage and after it had been cleaned and polished, it was brought into the Queen's bedroom. For so long, the Queen's rooms had been a dismal, dreary space, empty and unlived for so many years. Now the very promise of Lothíriel's coming had brought a breath of life into these rooms.
Meanwhile, Éomer was aware that on top of this all his steward Deormod and Leofrun were also having a scribe draw up orders for the wedding feast and for feeding the guests, and foodstuffs not liable to spoil quickly were already being delivered to Meduseld's storehouses. To feed all the mouths that would gather around the tables of the Golden Hall would be a massive endeavour.
Slowly but surely it began to look like all this maddening ruckus was indeed leading to some kind of an end result. Even the impatient and anxious bridegroom himself started to believe the day he had so long waited for might arrive at last – though he still studied the plains each morning, willing the days to pass faster and the spring to progress sooner. As if there was not enough to do with the wedding, the foaling season came near as well, even if he had to admit he was glad for the distraction and at times long nights in the stables as mares brought a new generation of Rohirric horses to being.
As the roads cleared once more, so came her letters again. In Dol Amroth, days were no less quiet than in Edoras: a bridal escort for the future Queen of Rohan was no small issue. At times, Lothíriel seemed to be quite exasperated with all of it. Judging by her words, her own greatest concern was how she would transport some choice seedlings with her all the way to Rohan without them dying on the way. She wrote rather fondly of Freola, who had stayed in Dol Amroth through winter, teaching her the language and ways of the Mark. Éomer was glad to learn they had got along so well.
It was clear she was not leaving Dol Amroth behind without some nostalgia. She wrote to him: "I find myself saying goodbye to old familiar places and giving them up, even though I know I will see them again in future – and perhaps with my other sight, too. I admit it's bittersweet: these shores and woods have framed all my life until now, and I feel like I know every tree and rock by name. It's exciting and a little bit frightening to think of exchanging all this to your great plains and proud mountains. I try to imagine Rohan in my mind, as I've seen in glimpses thanks to my gift, and as Freola describes it. I wonder, will it feel like walking in a dream?"
But then her letter took a lighter tone, reassuring him wistfulness only impacted her occasionally, and certainly not to a degree to make her second-guess anything.
When her letters ceased for a while, Éomer knew the date had come: she and her family had left Dol Amroth at last, travelling north to Mundburg even if it were at a snail's pace. His own anxiety rose to new heights. It was difficult to pay attention to business of the realm, much to the desperation of his advisers; soon enough he began to suspect they had eased his workload as much as they could, tending to the less important matters between themselves. Often Éomer found himself "handled" by one or two of his friends, and suddenly there was no shortage of volunteers to come for a ride with him, to take up a game of King's table, or an excursion to one village or the other, or for a sparring session. Éothain in particular kept coming up with difficult training scenarios, or just throwing several opponents at him and having them hammer at him until he was exhausted to the bone.
All the same it did work, taking off his edge for the better part of those long, frustrating weeks. The greedy thing in the pit of his stomach grew still, and it wanted her now, and there would be hell to pay if he was made to wait much longer.
Lothíriel sent him a letter once her escort had reached Mundburg. It sounded like she did not particularly enjoy all the attention she was getting there, but she was enduring it. As if knowing exactly what he would think upon reading her words, she continued to write: "I'm not worried about attention when we are married, though. Who will want to look at me when you are standing by my side?"
Preparations continued in Edoras and took an expectant tone. The wedding now drew near and soon enough the streets of the capital would be filled with bustle and travellers. All the guest houses were readied and so were many private homes of Eorlingas, eager to have important guests from Gondor. Many Rohirrim would be gathering for the royal wedding, too, and for this reason their majority would have to camp on the plains. Traders and craftsmen would soon arrive as well and prepare their stalls for selling goods both for use and as mementoes of the great occasion. While Éowyn and Faramir's wedding had caused a stir in Edoras, now it seemed that at least half of the Riddermark was on the move. All this business was a happy thing entirely. So many years had passed when there had been little to be glad about, and few reasons to celebrate.
At this time, Lothíriel's new workshop was at last finished. The masons and carpenters had worked hard all through the winter, building and furnishing it. Then the master wood-carvers of Edoras had come, transforming the whole outlook of the workshop and making it as fair a place as any were in Edoras. At Éomer's request, they did not decorate the surfaces just with familiar Rohirric themes, but added Amrothian devices to their work as well. If one looked at the carvings closely, one would frequently find swans, sailing ships, and flowers of the south in a wondrous display not yet seen in Rohan. Shelves were brought in along with a sturdy working table, pots were produced for the hearth and carven chests for storing such things as she would require, and a small plot for useful household plants was prepared right next to the entrance – a sort of an extension of the royal garden. As the finishing touch, a locksmith prepared a lock and matching key beautifully decorated with a swan's head. It was remarkably delicate work on a piece of iron. When he looked around in the finished workshop, Éomer felt enormously proud of his craftsmen. He couldn't wait to show it to Lothíriel.
Then at last came the day that the King's Company took their leave of Edoras and began the journey to Mering Stream – the border between Rohan and Gondor where the bridal escort would be met and welcomed. His council rode with him and so did a number of Eorling nobles. Once the two companies joined at the border, it would be a veritable city at move.
They travelled at a fair pace, as most of the equipment for camping had been beforehand, and so arrived about the same time as the wagons that held the tents and foodstuffs and the like. Some of the nobles of the land joined them on the way, while others would be making for the capital and setting camp there. Eadwig and his daughter Guthild were among those who rode with the King's Company to the border and back. Éomer had not been sure whether they would participate in the journey, to say nothing of the royal wedding, considering what hopes they had harboured for this very occasion. On the other hand, it was an event of great import and no lord of Rohan, if they meant to maintain a standing among the nobility of the Mark, could ignore it. Perhaps they were even curious about the lady who, as they probably saw it, had taken Guthild's rightful place. As it was, when Éomer greeted them, they were stiffly polite with him, although a cool gleam remained in Eadwig's eyes.
No glimpse of the bridal escort could yet be seen when Éomer and his party reached Mering Stream, though he searched the eastern horizon often with his eyes. For the time being, there was little to do except set camp and wait. That, at least, was something he could do to distract himself with to keep from acting like an impatient maniac.
In the evening Aragorn's messengers arrived at the stream. The bridal escort was less than half a day's ride away, and would meet the King's Company tomorrow. It was enticing bit of news: if he rode into the night, Éomer might have met his queen-to-be even today. But Éothain gave him a sharp look like he knew exactly what the young king was thinking of, and his expression spoke in volumes: such reckless ideas would not be endorsed by anybody.
The night went by quietly, and one might have thought this was just any Rohirric camp if not for one restlessly pacing king, but with dawn came an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation. Tents were being pulled down, quick breakfasts were had beside cooking fires, and some of those with stout hearts even took cold baths in Mering Stream. Éomer was among these, for he was welcoming his bride to Rohan today and he should at least try and not appear like some wildman from the woods. Leofrun had not stopped haranguing him about proper presentation and she would probably have supplied him with ten different kinds of soaps had he allowed it.
It was midday when the banners of Gondor were first glimpsed, led by the White Tree and the Swan Ship. A long train of riders, carriages and wagons was slowly making its way on the Road, their banners flying in the wind and the armour of guards glinting in the sun. A violent shiver went down Éomer's spine and he gave the sign. Then Horns of the North burst to song, greeting this great procession and all around him, he could feel his people growing ever more anxious and eager. Had any lady of Gondor ever been so impatiently awaited, or travelled to Rohan as a bride in an escort more illustrious?
Heralds and guards came to sight at first, Knights in the liveries of King Elessar and of Dol Amroth. Then Aragorn himself could be seen with Arwen, and around them were Éowyn and Faramir and Imrahil's own family. Lothíriel was in the middle of them, riding her white mare and eagerly savouring the first glimpse of Rohan with her waking eyes. Her gaze locked with Éomer's. He very nearly dug his heels in Firefoot's sides and raced forward to meet them, but Éothain cleared his throat in a way that left little to interpretation.
Slowly the Gondorian party crossed the river, leading their horses carefully to avoid injury, though the stream was shallow at this point. Anxiously Éomer waited, until the company of his fellow king was finally on his side of the bank.
"Welcome to Rohan, my friends. It is good to see you all", he spoke in a strong, steady voice and met the eyes of each guest. All were smiling – Éowyn was grinning – though Imrahil's expression was bittersweet.
"Thank you. We are glad to see the green plains and the open sky of your land once again. It's an honour and a joy to be escorting your bride, the Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth", said Aragorn warmly, his eyes glinting with good cheer.
"It's a proud day for the House of Dol Amroth", said Imrahil for his part, and his voice did not betray how deeply he felt the coming parting with his youngest child. "Proud, but even more so it's happy. We welcome you into our family, King Éomer."
"And you and yours are welcomed into mine, Prince Imrahil", said Éomer, and now that formalities were over, he urged his horse forward, leading Firefoot next to Lothíriel's mare. Her eyes were bright and eager, and readily her hand met his when he reached for her.
"Hail, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. The Riddermark welcomes you", he said, surprised to hear the tremble in his own voice.
She smiled and squeezed his fingers.
"And what of the King of the Riddermark?" she asked warmly.
"He does, too", he replied, and something light and merry rose all the way from his stomach, and he wanted to laugh out loud. Béma, how he had missed her sense of humour and the easy way she talked to him!
"I'm glad to hear it. I was worried he might have forgotten about me", she said, eyes glinting in that bright and lighthearted way he knew and loved.
"What nonsense", Éomer muttered, and though he knew all the eyes of his company and hers were on them, he leant forward to kiss her. It was simply too much to look at her, see the light in her eyes, and know she was coming home with him; and if any rued him for this bit of affection after so many months of parting, then that was their problem. Judging by the soft blush and smile on his bride's face, she didn't mind at all.
When greetings were done, the two companies more or less merged and began the journey westwards. Éomer joined his friends at the head of the great procession, and for a while it was fairly chaotic: everyone seemed to be talking and laughing at once. Unfortunately it also meant he couldn't really talk to his bride in peace. Lothíriel did not partake much in this boisterous conversation, but a smile lingered on her face and her eyes were not silent.
Eventually, he decided to take a cue from her and not fidget too much, no matter how dearly he wanted a private word. Chances for it would come and the very event of this bridal procession was something to be enjoyed. It might be the most leisure they would be given before and after the wedding.
For now, he was riding with the wind in his hair, his friends and wife-to-be were around him, and life was full of promise.
That, if anything, was a thing to be appreciated and enjoyed.
To be continued.
A/N: Here at last is an update! I had some trouble with this chapter, especially the latter part ot if. I had it practically written, but while editing I began to dislike it more and more. It still is not as good as I'd like it to be, but I think the chapter is improved from what it was. Either way, I do hope you enjoy it!
It's always fun writing Éomer as king, and him discovering he's more than up for this task, although it may at times surprise even himself. There's definitely a sense of mutual support growing between him and Lothíriel, and this searching for that rapport they ought to have as King and Queen of Rohan.
I also thought this would be the place to change the rating of the story.
Thank you for reading and reviewing! As always, I'm curious to hear what you think of the story. :)
sailor68 - That is a good question indeed, but we'll see how they deal with it!
LH Wordsmith - I decided it would do no good to dwell much more on their time of being apart, but rather get on with the wedding and the start of their life together.
As for the Dunlendings, your idea is interesting, though mine turned out to be rather different! I do wonder what they would make of Lothíriel, though.
Lovely thoughts on their children, and thank you for sharing! Poor Éomer would feel quite cornered, having two foresighted members of family! :D
EStrunk - Thank you! I do think all of this is no less strange to her as it is to him - she was resigned to always being alone.
It was nice to bring them back to the Houses of Healing and talk a bit more about her sight, as she hadn't really had a chance to explain it to him.
I would think the hour was probably so early there weren't many people to see her, and Éomer may have been on to something when he thought of how stealthily she moves. For the time being, I think everyone is buying the idea that it was Aragorn who warned him about the threat in Rohan, but it may be another thing if something similar happens again. But we'll see!
Guest - She's trying hard, indeed! While we don't see her POV in this story, it's interesting to think of how she sees and feels everything - knowing to an extent what will happen, and yet being totally surprised by the way her fate has intertwined with Éomer's. I'm glad to hear you're enjoying their interactions! It's been fun exploring their relationship, and letting it grow deeper.
Boramir - Thank you! You are quite right about palantír, and whether or not Éomer or Aragorn should talk about the issue directly.
Interesting thoughts on Dunlendings! You were on the right track, although sadly the prisoners are no longer among the living. It's a tough line to walk for Éomer, knowing how much bad blood there is between his people and Dunlendings, but also seeing their desperation. I do hope he comes across as you described, ready to protect his people but also fair in treating the perceived enemies.
sai19 - Indeed, I thought it would be good to show her sight and how it can impact the course of events.
I doubt the guard will do so, considering he has no reason to think she could have that kind of power at her disposal.
fantasticferret - Thank you! I hope you liked the outcome in this chapter. :)
Catspector - Thanks! I do believe that Lothíriel has it in her to act like a woman of her status would - she's had the upbringing and schooling, but often she just chooses not to pay heed to it. However, I think she's eager to do well by her bridegroom and be successful as a queen.
Guest - Indeed it is! I do hope you liked the chapter!
Simplegulr4u - I'm not sure either of them would have minded, but fortunately (or unfortunately) things don't go that way!
Jo - Thank you!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Glad you liked it! :)
rossui - It definitely appears they are providing one another (though perhaps unconsciously) with just the emotional needs they have. Éomer is certainly thriving on her support and affection.
SwanKnightoftheNorth - I post updates as quickly as I can!
pzacharatos - Thanks!
Wondereye - Thanks! I rather wanted to show it working on the behalf of Rohan - and that in a way, she now sees further ahead than before.
