Chapter 15
The days of the journey were simple and pleasant indeed, even though they went by rather uneventfully. One day much resembled the next with the same routines of setting up and dismantling the camp, makeshift meals by campfires or dinners in this or that noble's pavilion, and endless riding. However, this calm offered a welcome chance to catch up with friends and family, to simply spend time with them without the grand circumstances of court. Everyone seemed to be in a kind of holiday mood, paying less notice to etiquette and protocol. At campfires, folk mixed and socialised happily, whether they were nobles or Riders or servants. Funnily – and annoyingly – enough it seemed like the King of Rohan and his bride were the only ones not allowed to enjoy this relaxed mood. By the time they were halfway to Edoras, he had had no more than three private conversations with her, and all of those had lasted for only several minutes. Even when they walked around the camp, in the sight of all their fellow travellers, several chaperones would trail them closely. Every time he tried to catch her alone, he found her surrounded by both Gondorian and Eorling women, and usually there were several Swan Knights, too. At least one of her brothers was constantly hovering nearby.
Sometimes, he wondered what they expected him to do – kidnap her and force her to marry him?
Much of the journey Lothíriel rode on her mare, but often she travelled by a carriage, which was transporting perhaps the most unusual passengers of this whole journey: there in neat pots and boxes were many plants she was bringing with her to Edoras. The plants took some looking after and she would trust that task to nobody but herself. Still, how she was able to do it in a moving carriage, Éomer could only wonder. Even some nights, she would easily have forgotten herself with her plants in the fading light, until one of her brothers went to lure her out – and to remind her she needed to eat and rest, too.
Obviously, the land of the horselords was a source of great wonder and curiosity for her. When the procession stopped in the middle of day to rest for a while, water the horses and eat some lunch, she did not sit about waiting to be served her meal: rather, she picked up a small bag and went hiking with a few dubious Swan Knights at her heels. When she discovered some new flower or herb, she would sit down to make a quick sketch, and then find the nearest available Eorling to teach her its name in Rohirric. Once it was time to continue the journey, she would return to her steed or to her carriage with muddy boots and the hems of her cloak stained. A couple of times a guard had to be sent to fetch the lady back so that the journey could continue.
There was one time Éomer heard Amrothos muttering, "I swear, if we just left her here on the plains, she probably wouldn't even notice."
Her single-minded endeavours were regarded curiously both by Gondorians and Eorlingas. One night in the camp, Éomer overhead a few southern courtiers gossiping in scandalised tones how astonishing it was that Prince Imrahil's own daughter went wandering, attired in plain riding gowns more fitting for some country pumpkin, and seemingly unaware of stains on her skirts and cloak. The other time, his ears picked up a conversation by a pair of Riders agreeing it was a good thing their future queen was already getting to know Rohan instead of sitting in a carriage and refusing to come out. This controversy over the King's bride was actually rather amusing, but it also made Éomer feel even more strongly that he and Lothíriel were a good match.
As much as his patience was tried in the form of hovering chaperones, there were still sweet moments to be enjoyed. There were nights when they might join a few Rohirrim by a camp-fire, sit and listen to the songs and tales of the Mark, and Lothíriel would lean her head against his shoulder while warming her fingers inside his hands. At times she would ask him to translate something, or for a clarification on things she didn't completely understand. Eventually she would begin to nod off, and then he would walk her back to her tent. A couple of times, a few of Rohirrim were inspired to show their queen-to-be some of their dances – practice for the wedding, they said. The bride's chaperones made it quite clear she could not participate in these exercises, but at least she was allowed to watch. Even that was close to being denied from her when one overly enthusiastic couple danced straight into a tent and collapsed it on the top of its occupant, a stable-hand of King Elessar's. The startled man crawled out cursing and swearing he would never come to the Mark again.
"Is that likely to happen at our wedding?" Lothíriel whispered to Éomer, her expression controlled, though there was laughter in her eyes.
"Béma only knows", he replied, once he was sure he was not going to laugh himself silly.
But while the atmosphere was generally light and cheerful, things were not meant to go so entirely smoothly. Several days into the journey, the weather turned against them. In the morning, the whole camp woke up to a grey light that promised rain. Sun hid behind a thick cover of clouds, hanging low and heavy in the sky. The air was chilly and damp, as though the winter had come to visit one for one more day before full spring, and what few cooking fires were successfully lit, burned small and pitiful. When tents were pulled down and wagons and carriages readied for the day's travel, it was done without the usual cheery bustle. All who could chose to travel in carriages, heavily wrapped in furs and cloaks.
Éomer was not surprised when he saw Lothíriel meaning to ride, for she was generally not intimidated by any weather. He was thinking of asking why she wouldn't take her carriage, when her father and Elphir approached her. Éomer could overhear them asking whether she was meaning to get sick before her wedding, and after a brief debate she gave up her mare. Still, her expression was not pleased when she climbed inside her carriage and she hovered at its door, as if to catch as much fresh, rain-damp air as she could.
He stopped by her carriage before the escort started again.
"I assure you, dear heart, you would feel much more miserable if you were to ride in damp clothes in this chilly air", he reassured her gently.
She shook her head defiantly.
"Not you, too. You know how well this Rohirric cloak keeps the water", she said, shrugging as if to show off the green garment on her shoulders. Often she used it while on the road, much to the approval of Eorlingas travelling with them.
"All the same, I really don't want you catching a cold. You don't have to prove anything to me", he said, shaking his head.
She made a face at him and said nothing. So he cleared his throat, and asked instead, "How are your plants doing? None have died yet, I hope?"
"Not yet, though they aren't getting as much sun as I'd like to. The carriage does have a window, but it's not very big and it doesn't let quite enough light inside", said Lothíriel and a small crease appeared on her brow.
"Maybe we can make a longer stop somewhere – Aldburg, perhaps. There you could bring them out to soak in sunlight", Éomer offered, but the idea did not seem to excite her very much. Instead, her eyes were scanning her surroundings, especially drawn out to the plains. Her fingers, pressed against the carriage door, tapped as though some nervous tic had taken over.
"Is everything all right?" he asked her, lowering his voice.
"I... I'm not sure", she replied quietly and closed her eyes. Then abruptly she glanced inside the carriage – it was shared with her by a couple of ladies from Dol Amroth – and then back at him again. In Rohirric, and hesitating here and there with her choice of words, she uttered, "My skin is crawling. This rain draws out foul things. There are orcs prowling in grey shadows."
Her words instantly made him tense. Orcs would dare to stalk a company like this? And yet, during the past couple years, there had been other instances where they had acted out of sheer desperation against stronger foes. And even this escort had its weak points. There were plenty of travellers with them who would be helpless against an attack, and the guards were stretched thin along the long line of the company. A swift raid might in fact achieve something, if done right.
"How many?"
"It's a fairly small company. Just a few hungry strays."
"Can you see where they mean to strike?" he asked her quietly.
Lothíriel closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. After a moment, she answered, still in Rohirric, "I think they will try to attack the tail. There are plenty of supply wagons there, no?"
"Aye. It makes sense", he conceded grimly. There were guards at the rear, but not as many as he would have posted there if he had known about this threat. Still, he knew he was again in her debt. Once more her sight gave him a chance to thwart a danger that might otherwise go unheeded until it was too late.
He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss on her knuckles.
"Thank you, Lothíriel. You'll save lives again", he told her gravely.
She smiled faintly.
"I just see things. It is your hand that wields the sword", she told him simply.
He pressed her hand gently.
"Stay here and be careful. I'll ask for one of your brothers to take a few Swan Knights and guard your carriage just in case", he told her before taking his leave.
"I'll be fine, silly", Lothíriel said calmly, but did not try to make him change his mind about safety precautions.
Éomer tried not to walk too briskly once he had left her and the carriage. Once again he was facing the problem of how to present the danger to his men without revealing Lothíriel's part in the matter. Was this how it would always be? How long would it take before a straight answer was demanded? Well, hopefully he wouldn't have to figure it out just today. He could send out scouts, and if there were orcs stalking after the escort, it shouldn't be too difficult to find out. Rohirric warhorses were keen to smell orcs even in such weather as this.
He found Erchirion preparing his horse for the day's journey. Imrahil's second son looked at Éomer with a raised eyebrow when he leaned close, but his expression grew quickly serious when he heard the news.
"Stay close to your sister today. She has seen an orc attack. It shouldn't be anything too serious, but I would have her protected", said the young king quickly, anxious to go and find his captain. He could see the news were easily accepted, and even without wonder on the issue that Éomer knew of her gift. Perhaps she had told her brothers about this, too.
"I will look after her", Erchirion promised firmly, and now that Éomer knew her security was ensured, he felt a little less worried. Lothíriel had spoken of only a few hungry orcs, but even so, he could not help the sheer terror he felt at the idea of her being hurt. He had lost too many people already, and her – well, he had no idea of what he'd do if anything happened to her.
He found Éothain making sure that both Firefoot and his own horse were ready for the day, checking all the many buckles of reins and the saddle, muttering in a low, calming voice to the steeds, and feeling their legs with his clever fingers. The Captain glanced up at his king, and then looked at him again and longer, recognising the expression on his face straight away.
"Is something the matter?" asked Éothain as he straightened himself.
"Maybe", said Éomer in a low voice and halted next to Firefoot. He ran a hand across the stallion's mane, as though to calm the animal – when in fact it was himself who was restless. He looked at his captain and spoke, "Send out some scouts. There's a quiet in this rain that I don't like."
"All right", Éothain replied. This time, he didn't seem to suspect anything about his king's orders. And perhaps it was no wonder. Even in times past, orcs had used weather like this to their advantage. Both the King and his captain were seasoned Riders who felt on the edge when they couldn't see far ahead, and when there was a quiet under the sky.
While Éothain was sending out the scouts, Éomer had a few words with Aragorn, letting his friend know there may be some trouble coming, but that it was under control. Aragorn listened to him keenly, nodding here and there.
"Do you need my help?" he asked eventually, when Éomer had explained the situation – excluding Lothíriel's part in it, of course. Yet who knew how much the King of Arnor and Gondor guessed?
"Thank you for the offer, but perhaps you'd better stay at the head of the escort as before. There will be a mass panic if we both are seen in full armour and riding back and forth looking serious. They would think it's Helm's Deep all over again", said Éomer with a wry smile, and his friend let out a low chuckle.
"That is true. People would be most alarmed indeed", agreed Aragorn, eyes glittering, though he insisted to be kept up to date.
At last the escort began its crawling journey for the day, and scouts quickly vanished into grey mist of rain. In the damp air, even the sound of swift riders was muted. For a time, Éomer himself rode up at the front of the long procession, but after an hour or so he made the usual inspection, riding all the way back to the tail of the escort. Every day, he himself or one of his trusted men would check on the rest of the company, and the sight of him was so usual that nobody guessed today, there was something different about it. Things were quiet so far. Horses, carriages and wagons travelled slowly and listlessly in the rain and what few conversations he could pick up, were carried on quietly. At the moment, nobody sensed the danger lurking somewhere behind.
Scouts began returning after midday. Up ahead and on the sides there was no sign of prowlers, just as Lothíriel's warning would imply. But further behind, one scout had discovered fresh prints of heavy iron-shod feet. They were being tracked and the slow pace of the escort provided plenty of opportunities for it.
Quickly a plan was formed between the young king and his captain. They plotted quietly in Rohirric and nobody around them, except for Aragorn, was the wiser as to what was going on. There was no sense in alarming the whole escort when the tracks only indicated a small raiding party. Most like, they would be counting on speed and confusion, and then scattering to the wind before defences could be mustered.
When the escort stopped to eat some lunch and give a rest to the horses, Éomer and his men made their first move. Wrapped in plain, tattered cloaks to hide their weapons and armours, the young king himself and a few others switched places with wagon riders at the tail. Stealthily some spears were put in one wagon, hidden but easily available. Mounted knights slowly took places not far from the wagons, their heavy armour concealed with plain cloaks as well. Under more than just one cloak, a light bow was kept ready. When the meal was finished and the escort began to move again, the entire tail was being maintained by the King's own Riders.
Time passed slowly. Éothain rode in the same wagon as Éomer and they took turns at driving it. The sturdy, placid ponies pulling the wagon were quite the different creatures compared to the spirited warhorses both the King and his captain were used to dealing with, trotting on calmly and requiring very little attention and mastery from their drivers. Rain still continued, lighter at times and heavier at others, though far in the west Éomer saw a faintest glimmer of blue sky. The orcs would see it soon enough as well, depending how closely they were following. A promise of light would either hasten their attack, or hold it back until nightfall.
Afternoon was growing late when it finally came, swift but not surprising. The attackers did not make noise as they came sprinting from both sides towards the slowly moving wagons. There were some twenty, twenty-five orcs and even a couple of Uruks. All of them looked hungry and mean and desperate. As soon as there was contact, Éomer saw their weapons were ill-kept. Without the armouries and smithies of Mordor and Isengard, orcs were no match to the well-armed Knights of the King's Guard.
Further ahead in the escort screams rose, but Éomer let the attackers get fairly close to the bulging wagons. Then, seeing the orcs were now near enough, he roared out his battle-cry. His men sprung to action, throwing aside their tattered cloaks, raising their bows, and grabbing tall spears. Mounted warriors swiftly broke away from the escort and surrounded the area. All at once, the King's Knights burst into song. Some of the screams died – out of sheer amazement, he suspected.
Éomer himself fought on foot, leaping down from the wagon and grabbing the shield he had slipped behind his back. Fury burst in his blood like lightning and the fell battle song flowed from his tongue as though by itself. The joy of battle took him and with some astonishment, he realised he had missed the violent frenzy of a real fight. Béma, he was good at this. With explosive force and speed, his sword made its deadly music in the air, hewing down shrieking enemies. If any tried to escape, they were quickly dealt with by the Riders.
It was over in less than ten minutes. No living orc or Uruk was standing at that point, and the grass was stained with black blood. Slowly it was washed away by the still continuing rain. Screaming and even singing had stopped and instead, there was a shocked stillness in the air. Éomer took a few deep breaths to calm down his racing heart and also the fury that still beat with it. Then as his mind cleared, he looked at one mounted warrior, and gave orders to take word of the skirmish to Aragorn, and to fetch some men to help with carcasses. It was too damp to burn them yet, but such a display should not be left right next to the Great West Road.
Éothain came to stand next to him, sheathing his sword and regarding the site of battle with a thoughtful look.
"You know, at some point you'll have to tell me the truth about this sixth sense you seem to have at times. You always had a nose for danger but this is different", said the captain quietly, still watching the scene rather than his king.
Éomer let out a small sigh. He probably should have known he wouldn't be able to fool Éothain.
"Maybe. But not all things can be said out loud even between friends. Why not simply take joy in the lives that were spared today?" he asked.
Now the Captain looked straight at him.
"If I did, then I wouldn't be doing my job", he said seriously. "And I hope whatever you are not telling me will not hinder me from it, either."
"Let us both hope so, indeed."
The atmosphere remained tense and quiet in the camp that night, although they had travelled for a couple miles more before settling down for the night, thus being well away from the site of the battle. But though people were not as cheerful or boisterous tonight, there was plenty of talk in the camp. Here and there little companies gathered to talk about the attack, and how fortunate it was the King's Guard had disposed of the raiders so quickly and efficiently. There were some who wondered out loud whether this journey was really so safe after all, but these were in minority, and others were quick to point out that a company led by King Éomer and King Elessar, both of them famous commanders and accompanied by other distinguished warriors, had little to worry about. Yet guards were doubled and come the morning, Éomer would send more scouts to ride longer patrols. More than once, he caught his sister watching him with a thoughtful look on her face, but she said nothing.
He wondered if Éowyn had been talking to Éothain.
Lothíriel's manner was calm and tranquil, as though all this was quite normal, and she was not greatly moved by her own part in guarding innocent lives. Nor was she worried for further threats, and her mood seemed to reassure some of those who still felt skittish over the attack. Only when Éomer first returned from the tail end of the procession did she step to meet him, and there was a brief flash of concern in her eyes, but it passed quickly. She smiled and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. Imrahil watched them quietly, his look not unlike Éowyn's, though he too kept his silence.
Morning came with bright sunshine and the world had a fresh, washed feel about it. Once more the long trail of horses, carriages and wagons pushed forward across the plains. The great grasslands were almost impossibly green after the rain and the sky was the gentlest blue one usually saw much closer to summer. It was as if the land itself welcoming the new queen. She herself looked around herself with wide eyes as though one who is seeing the world for the first time, and finding many new things strange and beautiful.
At this stage of the journey, they began to pass by more homesteads and villages. There Rohirrim gathered by the side of the road to watch the great company in wonder, perhaps trying to guess which of the fine southern ladies was to be their new queen. Children ran by the side of the company until wearying, and many called the name of Éomer King. He met these shouts with smiles and raising his hand in greeting.
In the beauty of a fine day of spring, the battle on the road was soon forgotten. Voices and laughter rose among the company once more. The earlier sense of happy expectation grew again as they journeyed deeper into the heart of Rohan.
For many of the young Rohirrim, this was apparently the most exciting time of their lives. It was a chance not only to meet other young people of their land, but also of Gondor, and friendships, attractions and rivalries sprang to life so quickly nobody could keep track of it. In a way Éomer envied it. When he had been of that age, chances for such light-heartedness came rarely. If he had met other young Rohirrim beyond Edoras and Aldburg, it was because he had been riding to their villages and homesteads when they were already a smoking ruin, or when returning from some battle.
At the outskirts of the camp and the procession, one could see little confrontations happening, which were quickly broken off by captains or just anxious parents. There were a few reckless youths showing off their riding skills, trying to taunt and challenge the Gondorian lordlings. Maidens of southern courts watched these antics with a mixture of shock and intrigue – perhaps even wondering if Lady Lothíriel knew something they didn't. Certainly more than a few eyebrows had risen before at her free way of showing affection for her bridegroom, but the longer this journey continued, the more it was understood she was simply taking a cue from her new people. Still, Éomer guessed a few of the young daring riders were trying to make an impression on him in the hopes of securing a position among the King's Knights.
In such an atmosphere, it was only a matter of time something happened, though in retrospect Éomer was surprised the accident took place as late as when the company was nearing Aldburg. It was evening at the time, and he and Lothíriel were taking a turn around the camp before supper in Aragorn's pavilion. She had cleaned up a bit after the day's travel, and was wearing a dark blue gown that would probably be very impractical for riding. But her boots were stained and her hair was only simply fastened at the back of her head. The overall impression was both of untameness and grace, like she was some sort of a woodland princess. She was in a light mood, trying to have a whole conversation with him in Rohirric. It was going fairly well and only here and there he needed to supply her with a correct word. Often she laughed softly at her own mistakes, and her good cheer infected him as well.
Éomer did not particularly wish for this pleasant moment to be interrupted by anything, but it was then a sudden scream pierced the air. At once, instinct kicked in. He pulled his bride closer to himself in case he needed to shield her with his greater body mass, or whisk her away from potential danger. With his eyes he was already looking for the source of disturbance and his hand was ready on the hilt of his sword. Lothíriel let out a small gasp at his side.
"Sire, over here!" a voice called, and he recognised one of his own guards gesturing quickly at him.
"What is it?" he barked out the question, and though the camp around him did not yet seem to be springing into panic, he was already going through various different defence plans.
"It's just one of them lads – he has fallen off his steed. He looks hurt", said the guard, at which Éomer relaxed at once. Nothing serious, then.
"Let's go. He may need our help", said Lothíriel next to him. He wasn't sure what either of them could do, but then decided she might have an idea or two, having aided at the Houses of Healing during and after the Battle of Pelennor fields.
A crowd had already gathered a little ways from the edge of the camp. Readily they made way for the King of the Mark and his bride, who held his hand tightly in her own. There on the ground was a young rider of Eadwig's company from Healding. Generally, the lad showed great promise for horsemanship, but was prone to provocation by his peers; he was often seen among the madcaps showing off some reckless riding tricks. Further away a few others were trying to calm down his steed, still skittish after whatever had spooked the poor creature. Best Éomer could gather from bits and pieces of conversation around him, the horse had thrown the rider off in the middle of a trick.
The lad himself was on the ground, still screaming even if the sound wasn't so blood-curdling as upon his first impact. His arm was twisted in an unnatural angle on his side.
Éomer let out a sigh. A trained rider knew well riding stunts were not just fun and games: it could go horribly wrong all of a sudden for a number of reasons. Horses could be tricky animals. Mastering one was trickier still, and even a seasoned rider could make a mistake that cost their life.
He turned to one of his own guards, telling him to hurry up and get healers, and he was still talking when Lothíriel suddenly left his side. Swiftly she made her way to the lad, knelt next to him, and took his uninjured hand in her own. She pressed her fingers against his cheek. Éomer could see her lips moving, but she was speaking so quietly only the young man on the ground apparently heard her.
The lad's wailing, now probably at least as much in shock as in pain, stopped abruptly and he went still. He was white as death and his eyes were wide as he stared at the young woman by his side. Lothíriel continued to speak to him in a quiet voice, her very being emanating calm and comfort. Around the scene, onlookers murmured amongst themselves. On more than one face, Éomer could see wonder.
First he thought: She's Númenórean. Her people by the Sea had long ago sailed from the now vanished kingdom, and yet in them lived still the wisdom and skill of those who had lived nearest of all the mortal lands to the Blessed Realm. But then he recalled what Imrahil had said: In her the blood of Mithrellas of the Elves nearly runs true.
"Give him some space", he commanded, shaking off his own surprise. Glancing further away from this scene, he could see the lad's horse had been caught and was now being tended to by the stern-faced Éothain. The crowd parted again and a pair of healers appeared, their breathing laboured as though they had sprinted here. Which might be true indeed.
Lothíriel did not move from the young man's side when the healers crouched to inspect him. She remained there, still holding the hand in her own, although she spoke no more. But though healers had now arrived, the lad's eyes remained on her like she was some sort of a beacon in the night.
"It's broken all right", commented the older of two healers grimly. "Bloody surprise it took this long for one of these young lunatics to get hurt."
"At least it was nothing worse", said Éomer for his part. He raised his eyes and gave a long, stern stare to the people who had gathered around, and spoke in a strong voice, "Yet let this be a reminder to all of what can happen even to a skilled rider. I would hope you all consider whether this is the way you wish to honour your new queen, and our guests from the south."
Few met his eyes, but a murmur rose among the crowd. There he also saw Eadwig watching this scene, but for how long he had stood watching and what he made of it, Éomer could not say. The man's face was completely blank.
With the help of a couple of riders, the injured lad was able to get up on his feet. Lothíriel too returned to Éomer's side, although she still watched the young man escorted after the healers, to be tended to in their tent. The scene had now calmed down and people began to disperse, though quiet conversations still went on between them.
He linked his arm with hers and so began to walk again, remembering they were expected at Aragorn's pavilion. But as soon as they had some space between them and their guards and chaperones, he spoke to her in a low voice.
"How did you do that?" he asked her. Once, back in Dol Amroth, he had seen her calm her horse with a touch and a word. And even further beyond, for he recalled that moment in the Houses of Healing, her touch on his cheek and the gentle words of consolation. Was this what had happened? He had thought much of that particular moment, and yet it had never appeared to him like this. It felt like some kind of a revelation.
Lothíriel shrugged.
"I couldn't explain to you if I tried", she replied softly.
"But you can calm and control both men and animals", he said, unsure of what to make of this information.
She grimaced.
"I wouldn't call it control. Their minds are still their own. It's just sometimes, when they are nervous or scared or in pain, I can help people to feel calmer", she said warily, looking straight ahead.
He considered this for a moment. It made sense, and he had heard of Faramir having a similar talent. As far as he knew, Lothíriel only ever did this thing to calm a troubled mind and in the end, it wasn't that much stranger than her ability to see things that had not yet come to pass.
Béma, what a thing it was – all these gifts manifesting in this young woman, who would only use them kindly. And yet, perhaps that was the very reason they were given to her.
"Does it bother you, then?" she asked worriedly, holding tight to his arm, as though he might escape and call off the wedding thanks to these revelations.
"... no. No, it doesn't. I don't know why it surprises me so. I should have guessed it long ago", Éomer said, glancing at her and smiling lightly.
She looked sheepish.
"I wasn't doing it to you that night. I promise", said Lothíriel quickly, looking like she still wasn't sure he wasn't going to bolt.
"It doesn't matter. I know you would never abuse this gift, dear heart. And whether you were doing anything or not, you did help me", he said firmly. Lothíriel squeezed his arm and let out a small, relieved breath.
"Are you very cross with me for not saying anything about it? I promise it's not because I try to keep anything secret. It just feels so nice being treated like I'm perfectly normal", she said softly, holding on to his arm with both her hands.
He guessed it was more, though. Lothíriel lived always at least partly in her own world, forgetting others didn't share in her gifts. And he – for her, he was the one person who did not judge her either way.
"I know", said Éomer, and though they were there for all the world to see, he leaned down to kiss her.
Close to the end of the journey, the very night before they expected to reach Edoras, there was mischief in the camp. In some eyes, it would probably seem even more serious because of the fact that it was aided in by King Elessar himself. Many who did not know him probably thought that the King of the Reunited Kingdom should be the bastion of propriety itself, though nothing could be further from the truth. You didn't seek the hand of Arwen Undómiel in marriage, though you were but a Ranger of the North and she the noblest of immortal maidens that walked the earth, if you held propriety as a high principle.
So it was that the King Elessar was seen asking Lady Lothíriel for a walk, and many approved of it: no doubt the great king was to give her advice for coming days, and how to keep Gondor's interests in mind when she was the Queen of Rohan.
What he did was walk with her through a small wooded dale, and then to a hilltop, crowned by a great rock left there by some ancient calamity. There, on the western side of the formation, waited the King of Rohan alone.
Tomorrow they would reach Edoras and once they did, there would probably be very little chance of actually talking with her before the wedding. So, Éomer very much wished to be alone with her for a while, perhaps tell her of what to expect in the coming days, and simply savour a moment together without watchful eyes on them.
Lothíriel did not seem surprised that the walk with King Elessar had taken such a turn. Aragorn himself just smiled and said he'd be back in half an hour. That was simply not enough time, but on the other hand, Éomer knew what certain matrons would think – that a man didn't need even that much to cause irreparable damage. Not to mention, in half an hour's time it would soon grow dark. He himself might enjoy the idea of getting lost in the dark on the plains with Lothíriel, but she probably had other plans for the night.
All the same, there were better things to think of, and with a smile, he patted the spot next to him on the cloak, which he had spread on the ground. Lothíriel smiled and came to take a seat by his side.
"So the King Elessar is in league with you. How devious", she said as she picked up his hand and laced their fingers.
"Of course he is. To expect anything else is simply denying the facts", he replied, pressing a kiss against her temple. Smiling, he continued, "I wanted to talk to you alone. You may have guessed it's going to be next to impossible once we get to Edoras."
"Indeed. I rather wanted to speak of it with you, and what to expect. Freola has told me something about the wedding, but I'd like to hear your take", Lothíriel said, settling down comfortably against his side.
"First of all, we'll arrive at Edoras tomorrow. Some of your company will continue with me to the city, but many more will camp near it – your family included, for the bride won't enter Edoras or Meduseld before the wedding. I believe it's both tradition and a ruse to keep me from sneaking around your lodgings", he began, and she snorted softly in laughter.
"Are all Rohirric bridegrooms expected to always be impatient?" she asked him.
"Very much, and usually no less than their future wives. Some of them steal their brides – or are goaded to do it. Sadly, I can't attempt such a thing. My council seems to think it would be poor politics", he answered. Lothíriel laughed softly.
"You'll get a couple of days to rest and prepare for the wedding", he continued then. "I expect many Eorlingas will try to seek an audience with you, but feel free to turn them down. You'll have better things to do than indulge their curiosity – which is what it will mostly be about, no matter how urgently they present themselves."
"What about the wedding day?"
"I don't know what the ladies have planned for you in the morning, but I know I shall be riding to meet you at midday. I'll ask you to ride with me, and technically you can still stop the wedding from happening right there, if you just refuse to come with me", he explained, although he did not think for one minute she had such doubts.
"My father would probably kill me for wasting everybody's time so completely", Lothíriel said wryly.
"Only if Éowyn didn't get to you first", Éomer chuckled. "Once you hopefully have accepted to join me, we'll ride through Edoras and to Meduseld. Before we enter the Hall, the handfasting will take place. It will be conducted by one of close family, either mine or yours. When it is finished, we are married as far as Rohirric custom goes."
"But something tells me things are not so simple for us."
"That is correct. Once we step inside Meduseld, we'll be signing the final marriage contracts. It will be witnessed by a company of your father, whomever he wishes to bring with him, and some of my people. I expect my council will be there with various lords of the land. You have met some of them, but I'll present you formally as the new queen once the contracts are signed", he continued to speak.
"Hmm. Sounds much more solemn than I expected of Rohirrim, but I suppose it can't be avoided. What happens next?" Lothíriel asked, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The sun was setting now, colouring the tips of the mountains to the west, and casting deep shadows in the woods that covered the mountainsides. Rohan was offering its best tonight, for the sky was in full blaze with all the possible shades of red, orange and yellow. This was to be their life's canvas.
"We'll greet our guests as they join us in the hall. Then the feast feast will begin, which should allow us a moment to catch our breath, and things will be less formal. There will be drinking, and music, and eventually dancing. You may expect drunk Rohirrim will try to tease you, but I shall do my best to thwart them", he promised gallantly, and she let out a soft, low laugh.
"Sounds like it will be quite the day", she mused.
"Aye, that it will be. I suggest you come up with some kind of a discreet signal with your maid so that we may retire without the crowd noticing. I don't know about you, but I can do without a lot of jokes at our expense", said Éomer. More than the sunset, he was watching her, and thinking of all the wonderful things about her he'd like to touch and explore, but he kept that urge under control with some difficulty. Curiously enough, the thought that she was to be his wife very soon did not help.
"I agree. I have got quite enough joking from Amrothos. He thinks it's hilarious I didn't see this coming", Lothíriel muttered, shaking her head.
"That does not surprise me", he said. He noticed her hands had grown a little cool, so he gathered them both inside his own and kissed them.
"About the handfasting... I must admit it fascinates me. We have nothing like that in Gondor. It seems like such a definite, literal thing. Not to say that's bad. Marrying anyone, even if they are not the King of Rohan, is no small matter. I think it's good the ceremony reflects it", Lothíriel said slowly. She looked up at him and asked, "Tell me, what it's like?"
He watched her for a moment in silence. She met his gaze evenly, so bold and yet so young. This was the paradox of Lothíriel, the way these were combined in her. Once again, he recalled Imrahil's words about the blood of Mithrellas; for so his friends had described the Immortal Folk to him, both young and merry, and ageless and strange.
He took a deep breath, because the look in her eyes was starting to make him think and feel things that were no good while they were still unmarried. Gently he unfastened one ribbon from her hair, letting the braid tumble softly open on her shoulder. She looked at him intently, her eyes deep and eager.
As he spoke, he picked up her hand. Then he began to tie the ribbon around their fingers, their palms and their wrists.
"There's not much more to explain, for it is a simple ceremony – simple and ancient, and so it was long before Eorlingas ever came to the Mark. Like I said, a close member of the family, either mine or yours, is supposed to do this. They will speak words of prayer and blessing, and the names of our Houses and families. Then once they are done, in the eyes of Rohirrim you'll be my wife indeed."
With that, he finished a final knot on the top of their hands. It looked clumsy, thanks to him using just one hand to make it, but it was there.
Lothíriel regarded the knot for a moment. Then she flashed him a smile.
"You just fasted your hand with mine. Doesn't that mean that in a way, we're married already?" she asked. He thought she sounded at least half serious. Éomer swallowed.
"I'm afraid the even should be witnessed by other people to be binding."
"But we are witnessed, even if it's not by other people. The world around us, even this hilltop, is full of life, some of it so small that we can't begin to guess at it. How many eyes, however tiny, there may be fixed on us? And in the Ancient West there are those who shaped even this land, and watch as generations of Men emerge and pass", she said solemnly, regarding the ribbon around their joined hands.
He swallowed again, harder this time. It was difficult to come up with a proper response, or really consider what she was saying. For to have her as his wife right now, body and soul, was almost too much to think of after so many anxious months of waiting for her.
"... well, in that case, maybe we are married indeed."
She smiled, and let out a soft gasp when he leaned in to kiss her. Then, having recovered, she grasped him by the back of his neck and answered the kiss with enthusiasm. It was the first time they could actually kiss properly since seeing each other again at the Mering Stream – since being parted for many long months. Accordingly, the kiss quickly grew bolder and more heated.
Lothíriel pulled suddenly back. She was breathing unevenly, there was lovely colour on her cheeks, and her eyes were wide and darkened with desire. He was about to ask her if she wanted to stop when she lifted his free hand, slow at first as though she was unsure of how to proceed, and then decidedly pressed it against her left breast.
For a moment they stared at one another. A low groan rose deep from his throat. Then he pressed his hand against her softness and captured her lips with renewed enthusiasm. She didn't try to resist when he pushed her down on the cloak.
That was how Aragorn found them a little while later. Neither actually noticed his arrival, but he cleared his throat politely, and Lothíriel startled in her bridegroom's arms. But Éomer groaned in frustration at being disturbed so, and threw an irritated glance at his fellow king. Judging by Aragorn's look, he might as well have found them drinking tea.
As if reading his mind, Aragorn smiled mildly and said, "I did say I was coming back in half an hour."
"So you did, my lord, but you can't say you're surprised", Lothíriel commented, her voice completely calm, though there was a blush on her cheeks. Éomer just grunted, but he did roll away, letting her sit up. She picked up the ribbon from the ground where it had fallen and quickly braided her hair again.
"No, I truly cannot", Aragorn conceded. His grey eyes glinted in gentle amusement as he regarded the pair.
Éomer rose on his feet and offered both his hands to Lothíriel to help her up. Using his hands, she lifted herself in a nimble motion and looked up at him with sparkling eyes.
"Do I look very dishevelled? Is our company going to be very scandalised to think I was snogging with the King of Rohan?" she asked lightly.
"Some may be. Others – well, I suspect they will be as little surprised as Aragorn here. Not to mention, we are to be married in less than a week", Éomer said and brushed the back of her cloak for some loose lichen that grew on the stone.
"It's to be expected at this point", Aragorn said sagely, and though his expression was level, his eyes were full of well-meant laughter.
"Shall we get back, then? I would hate for people to think the King of Arnor and Gondor is in the habit of whisking maidens away", said Lothíriel as she put her hand on Aragorn's offered arm.
"That would be unfortunate", he agreed, and the two began to make their way back to the camp.
Éomer stayed behind for a while, watching the Sun drop behind the mountains, and her last rays vanishing from the sky. Then he picked up the cloak from the ground, brushed off what bits of grass and dirt were attached, and headed for the camp.
The memory of her hand and of the ribbon were still fresh against his skin. Maybe we are married indeed.
To be continued.
A/N: Here is a new chapter! I hope you all like it. :)
This was originally supposed to be a part of the previous chapter, but as it grew, I decided to split them up. Here we see a bit more of Éomer and Lothíriel's developing relationship, but also her continuing to take a part in the lives of her new people through her gift. So far it has certainly been rather helpful.
Lothíriel's ability to calm down the injured young rider is rather inspired by a passage about Faramir in the Return of the King, where it's said he can govern man and beast. I wouldn't say what she does is exactly "governing", but she has some power in impacting others' moods at certain times.
As ever, I hope you and yours stay safe, and stay strong!
Inspiration for the chapter: Nightwish - All the Works of Nature Which Adorn the World - The Green
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thank you! I've rather been enjoying their interactions in this story, too!
Boramir - I think they might seek out Treebeard eventually, indeed! There is much that Men of Middle-earth could learn of him and the other Ents.
Katia0203 - -Tolkien is actually rather subtle about small but dark details like that, which I rather appreciate. There's definitely some very dark instances in his stories, if you read it closely enough, but it never becomes the "main purpose" of the story. Which, I think, endures time much better than some gritty grimdark stories/shows we've recently seen.
I think your mental image about Éomer pacing and writing many letters is rather accurate, and quite endearing!
fantasticferret - Thank you! I'm glad to hear it was enjoyable, even if it wasn't completely up to my own standard!
Wondereye - He has his suspicions, but I believe Éothain still lacks some necessary information to connect the dots!
We'll get to the wedding soon, hopefully!
sailor68 - Thank you! Her visions may become an interesting question in the future, indeed!
Simplegurl4u Poor Éomer is very, very anxious! And sometimes still forgets how a king is supposed to act. :D
Glad to hear you liked the part with the Dunlendings! I rather enjoyed it, too. I also wanted to show him growing more and more into this mantle of kingship, and striving to think more peacefully where it's possible - against his warrior's instinct.
As for the wedding - we're getting there, slowly but surely!
EStrunk - Thank you! I think Aragorn does see more than he lets on. But the bit with Dunlendings was indeed a darker episode in general, but I think the War of the Ring would leave such traces in everybody.
I had a feeling her appearance in one way or the other was needed, and at that point, Éomer was so exhausted, it was easy to imagine he would have a bit of daydream of her visitng for a moment. Glad you liked it!
sai19 - Thank you! It's such a compliment to hear people put down everything else they're doing at the moment, when they see my update. Always make me feel warm and fuzzy, if you know what I mean!
LH Wordsmith - Almost there at the wedding! She may be on the fence over how proper she should act at the weddign. :D
I'm glad you liked the chapter!
Catspector - Thank you! He's growing more used to trusting her vision. And I'm eager to get to show their life together!
Jo - Thank you!
