Chapter 20

Éomer did not see his wife after meeting her at the doors, and it was at supper he learned that she had already retired.

"She asked me to deliver her apologies, lad. She said she was tired, and decided to go straight to bed instead of joining you", said Leofrun as she gave him the Queen's message.

The old housekeeper looked troubled. Obviously, she was suffering her fair share of concern over the blasted rune stave, and what it might mean for the young mistress of the Golden Hall. Yet what could she do? These things were not easy to manage even for a king.

"Thank you, Leofrun", Éomer said curtly. He decided not to discuss this issue with others before talking to Lothíriel. Experience implied they didn't necessarily know what was going through her head. Not to mention, he still felt like he might lose his temper if he did not check himself and his mouth, and that would be unfair, considering Leofrun had done nothing wrong.

As for the stave, it was already broken into two pieces and burning in the great hearth of the Golden Hall.

He ate quickly and only so much as his immediate hunger required. His plate was only half empty when he pushed it away, but he cast an apologetic smile at Leofrun; his lack of appetite was not because of any mistake in the kitchens. From her look he knew she understood.

Swiftly he made his way to the royal apartments. He left Éothain with little more than half a word. Doubtless the Captain wanted more of his instructions on how to proceed, but at the moment Éomer just needed to make sure his wife was all right.

His rooms were warmly lit and cosy. Any other night, he'd be glad to come here, sit down by the fire or wander to Lothíriel's chambers to find out what she was doing. His mind would be at ease – well, as much at ease as any king's mind ever could be.

Now he only moved with the purpose of finding her. Éomer went through his own rooms and found them empty. Then he stepped into her bedchamber.

Lothíriel was curled up in her bed, too still and silent to be sleeping. Cúran sat next to her; by some animal instinct, the thing knew something was wrong with his mistress. Still, the little monster had the energy to shoot a glare at Éomer.

The young king ignored the cat. Instead, he went to her bed, slowly and carefully. Then he sat down beside her. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She did not move; her eyes were closed still, perhaps more to hide whatever emotion they would betray rather than to pretend sleeping.

"Ormar told me what happened. Are you all right?" he asked softly. It seemed like such a stupid thing to ask. But how else to approach her? What other thing could he say at the moment?

"I'm fine", Lothíriel replied curtly, not opening her eyes.

He regarded her for a moment, and then, after realising she wasn't going to say anything more, he moved. Carefully he laid himself down next to her, his chest against her back. He wrapped his arm gently around her.

Her shaking began so slowly that at first, he didn't notice it. But eventually, he realised she was trembling. And then the small, strangled sob escaped her mouth.

He gathered her to him as tenderly as he could, as though he could shield her from all grief and harm just like this. He ran his hand over her arm slowly, rubbing it in a comforting motion.

Of course, there was unspeakable anger at whoever had done this. But right now, his priority was his queen. His poor, dear love. She, who tried so hard and had risked so much in exposing herself. Not many men in the long days of Mankind had ever had such a queen, and yet here in Rohan, only after a month, some miscreant already had the gall of calling her a witch.

"It's all right, love. I'll find out who did it. Then I shall let them know what I think of those who insult my queen", he murmured at last, his lips close to her ear.

Her silent sobs ended abruptly. She sighed deeply, and then muttered, "That may be a more difficult task than you think."

"Why do you say that?" he asked her, gently brushing her hair behind her ear.

Lothíriel didn't answer anything at first, and when she did, it was not to his question.

"My head hurts. Could you go and order me some willow bark tea?"

"All right", Éomer side and refrained from sighing. He couldn't force her to talk, and he could understand if emotions were still too raw for her to share. If only he had been home to face it with her! Then he might have consoled her from the start – and begin the hunt for this blasted offender right away.

But, of course, whoever had done this thing must have counted on his absence. That might just be the thing that infuriated him the most.

He ordered the tea, stone-faced against the quizzical eyes of the guards standing by the door of the royal apartments tonight. Then Éomer returned to his wife.

Lothíriel was asleep. She breathed slowly and evenly in her bed, and Cúran still stood guard by her side. As quietly and carefully as he could, Éomer covered her with a spare blanket. No sense in disturbing her again tonight.

Himself, he resigned for a long, lonely, angry night.


It took some time for Éomer to simmer down – in fact it prevented him from catching much sleep that night – but even when the moment came he felt calm enough for a rational conversation, there was still a deep, intense undercurrent of anger that seemed to live in his very bones. It was some time since he had last felt so profoundly yet helplessly mad. That someone dared, even anonymously, insult his gentle-hearted queen in this way was not tolerable. His fury was made even worse by seeing how deeply it affected her, and how upset she still was when the morning came. He had thought of trying to talk to her in the morning, but her state of mind had not improved, and he still didn't trust himself to stay calm. He would probably do more harm than good if he tried to interrogate her now.

Why did the incident dishearten her so? It was only a crude stave, left by someone too craven to reveal themselves. Such a base insult should earn nothing but contempt. The people of Edoras were on her side, they had welcomed her warmly into the land, and he was sure most of them did not think the insult worth of notice. But Éomer sensed it had struck some nerve with Lothíriel – touched upon a part of her she may not yet have revealed even to him. All her life, she had feared being exposed and being used for her gifts. Somehow it must relate to this, though he wasn't certain how.

All the same, he could not help her or find the one who had so offended her, if he gave in to his own emotions. So the morning after his return, he summoned both Éothain and Lord Ormar so that he could talk to them.

Both men looked serious as they stepped into the King's study. Éomer himself had been pacing while he waited for them; sitting still was next to impossible when he was anxious.

He greeted them with a curt nod before speaking, "What do we know of the stave and its maker?"

"Unfortunately not much. We examined it minutely, but it bore no such individual markings that might point us to the one who carved it. I showed it to one of your own carpenters, Sire, but he didn't recognise the make, though he knows all the best-known stave-makers in the land. The wood is no clue either, for it could have come out of any of our forests", said Ormar

"I have interrogated all the guards who were on duty when the stave was left. None of them saw anything that night. The stave was not noticed until the morning, so whoever put it there did it quickly and stealthily after sunset", answered Éothain. But seeing his king's look, the Captain quickly continued, "I will continue to investigate this matter, of course."

"Is it possible one of your own guards may have turned a blind eye, Sire?" Ormar inquired.

The question made Éomer frown. He knew all of his Riders and had ridden to battle with them, except a few of the youngest recruits who had joined the King's éored after the Ring War. The older Knights were his brothers in arms, their bonds of loyalty were wrought on many battlefields, and the younger men were still too eager to prove themselves to their famous commander and king. All of them knew of his devotion to Lothíriel. No, he could not imagine any one among them who would betray him or his queen.

"It does not seem likely", he said, though he glanced at Éothain; his captain always had at least one finger on the pulse of his Knights.

"That would be my answer, too. At least, I do not think any of them would help willingly. Forcibly, though... I suppose anything is possible", said Éothain and a shadow passed across his face. Éomer grunted in response. He did not like the idea that his Knights were vulnerable to blackmail, but unfortunately, his captain was not so wrong. Anything was possible and everybody had a weak spot you might use to force them, if you really wanted. Wormtongue's time in the court of Edoras had taught Éomer that hard, unpleasant lesson.

"My lord, I do not eagerly ask this question, but do you have any idea of who would wish ill for your lady wife?" Ormar asked carefully, though he already must have his own thoughts about it.

Éomer sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"That Ceorl comes to mind, surely. The Queen's impact on his and Mistress Eadhild's divorce was very great, and his anger at her was no secret. But I have had the guards of Edoras keep an eye open in case he should return. The gatekeepers have not reported seeing him come back", he said, frowning. On the other hand, if individuals in his éored were being bribed or blackmailed, this information might have slipped by him, too.

Just thinking of it made his skin crawl. He had always trusted his Riders, even in the darkest of those days Wormtongue had sat next to Théoden and spilled poison into the ailing king's ear. To lose that trust felt like some kind of a violation.

"He could have sent someone else in his stead. It is known he had allies in Snowbourne", Éothain pointed out.

"It is possible. I do wonder, though. His humiliation was great and may have made those alliances strenuous. Their hatred for my queen would have to run deep to take such a risk after what happened in Meduseld at Eadhild and Ceorl's hearing. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do not think I have the reputation of a man who tolerates insults against his wife", Éomer muttered. His hands pressed into fists and his anger threatened to mount again, but with some effort he was able to contain it.

"No, you certainly do not, Sire", Ormar replied and shook his head. "Have you other possible names?"

"Lord Eadwig comes to mind unbidden. He has opposed this marriage and Lothíriel Queen from the start. On the other hand, it doesn't feel like his style. He would come up with something more subtle", Éomer said. He began to pace again. It was frustrating, this need to do at least something, and realising at the same time he could not act while the culprit remained unknown.

"We will continue to investigate this matter, Sire. Do not worry. Whoever made that stave will be found sooner or later", said Ormar firmly.

Éomer nodded and halted momentarily at the window of his study. He stared out with unseeing eyes; his mind was very much preoccupied with other things than vistas before him.

"Tell me honestly", he said as he turned to look at the two men, "do you think this incident will remind people too much of Wormtongue? That he used dark arts to control my uncle was a popular story at the time, and I don't expect it's yet forgotten. Do you think such tales may be spun about the Queen and myself?"

Ormar and Éothain glanced at one another. Both looked like this question rather disturbed them, and so did it disturb the one who had to ask it. However, as much as Éomer hated the idea, he knew he had to speak it out loud.

"I don't think there's much danger of that, at least right this moment. Eorlingas know you to be a strong king, firmly in control of your own mind and decisions. Your actions during the Ring War attest to your resilience against such arts. As for the Queen, never in her time here in Edoras she has skulked around the throne like Wormtongue used to in those dark days. Her only direct use of the royal authority so far has been to defend Eadhild – a commendable deed, if you ask anyone", Ormar replied slowly. His expression darkened, and apologetically he continued, "However, I suppose if one does insist on being superstitious and malignant, they might ask the question of how and why did you come to choose this lady to be your queen. Was it truly your own decision, or aided by some sinister trick?"

Éomer bristled for a moment, even though he knew his adviser was only being truthful; as hateful as these questions were, they needed to be considered. Lothíriel's enemies certainly would. If he meant to protect her from their malice, he would have to try and stay ahead of them, no matter the personal cost.

"I don't think you need to worry too much", Éothain said, seeing his king's uneasiness and wishing to appease it at least somewhat. "Anyone with eyes can see that your lady is not like the Worm. If you ask me, she herself will prove how absurd it would be to compare her to that man."

"Forgive me for being so crude, Sire... but it would be helpful for her position if she conceived soon", said Ormar, ever the one to think with cold pragmatism.

"I assure you, that is one thing you needn't worry about", Éomer said stiffly. Lothíriel had told him they would have many children in time, and he trusted her explicitly. It was sometimes frustrating to have that certainty about the future, and not being able to share it even with his closest friends and advisers, though he knew how anxiously they observed her for any sign of pregnancy. Still, neither of these men were blind or deaf. While they might have not said it out loud yet, they had to suspect their queen knew things usually forbidden to mortals. Be that as it may, they seemed to decide it wasn't worth it to try and prod him more about this issue.

"If you don't mind me asking, how is the Queen?" Éothain asked carefully.

Éomer grunted.

"She's as well as can be expected", he said in a low voice. Once more, a wave of fury went through him. To see her so upset, and not knowing how to comfort her... it made him feel useless, and all the more angry with not just the culprits, but also himself for not guarding her better. This morning she had barely spoken two words and only with his coaxing had she eaten anything. Her eyes, dim and reserved, seemed to be looking inwards more than ever.

"You must know that you and your lady wife have our support completely. There's not a soul in Meduseld that wouldn't rise to her defence, if they knew who insulted her. And most of Edoras agrees, I think", Éothain reassured him.

"But there are some who think she's... that whoever made the stave might be correct?"

Éothain and Ormar again exchanged a look, and neither seemed certain at first how to respond. Eventually, Ormar cleared his throat.

"It's an absurd notion. Witches are a matter best suited for old tales and fantastic songs. That such an ominous creature should be brought up in Prince Imrahil's own bosom is laughable. If anything, this insult just reveals the weak, base nature of the culprit's hostility. This person cannot accuse the Queen of any wrongdoings, such as ignoring her duty or acting against the interests of the throne. So they come up with a hurtful but nevertheless preposterous insult, which any person with a shred of sense can see for what it is", he said at length.

Éomer sighed and relaxed a little bit; but sensible as Ormar's words were, they couldn't fully banish his anxiety.

"Thank you, Ormar – and you too, Éothain. Your words mean a lot, even though at the moment I'm not able to properly show my gratitude", he said and rubbed the back of his head against the slow ache that had grown there after a sleepless night.

"If I may, lord... however ridiculous this incident is, I cannot say I do not see where it may stem from. Your lady holds great promise, but she also has some unusual qualities. I don't think I need to say more to you, my lord, for you are her husband", Lord Ormar said more stiffly and awkwardly than even in his most formal moments.

"She is of an old Númenórean family, and a legend has it her line has some Elven blood in their veins. Does that not answer any questions you may have about her?" Éomer asked wearily. How many more times would they ask? Was he going to have to answer this same thing for the rest of his life? And yet, how could he complain? He had walked into his marriage with both eyes open, knowing full well that people would not always understand Lothíriel.

"Yes and no, Sire. I wonder if we might be able to help more, if we had a better understanding of the issue", Ormar said carefully. And maybe he had a point. Maybe all this would be easier if he could just share all that he knew of his wife and her strange gifts. But he also knew it would be a betrayal of her trust – a betrayal so complete that she might never be able to trust him again. And perhaps not herself, either; it might destroy her if she began to believe he was not her wise fool, and that the wise fool didn't even exist. Losing her love would be a grievous wound. As wise and decent as Ormar was, he was still someone who had dedicated his whole life to serving Rohan, and there had been times he had done it ruthlessly without sparing his own sensibilities. Once he heard of what Lothíriel could do, the wheels of his mind would begin to turn, and it was only a matter of time when he would suggest harnessing her gifts for the good of the land: the very fate Éomer was sworn to protect her from.

"Beware, Ormar, before your questions begin to sound too much like the ravings of this stave-maker. Lothíriel Queen is my wife and I love and appreciate her dearly. Do not expect me to break her confidence", said Éomer gravely as he straightened himself to his full height and gave a keen stare to his adviser. Ormar paled just a little bit, and he turned his gaze, frowning as he did. Éomer realised he had probably come off too strong. The man was just trying to do his job.

So he let out a sigh and shifted his posture, so that he would not come across as too threatening. Sometimes he forgot that his tall, solid form and warrior's stance could easily give him an unnecessarily fierce appearance even when he wasn't consciously trying to be menacing.

"I beg your pardon, Lord Ormar. I do not mean to threaten or offend you, but you must understand a man's need to protect his wife. And seeing how disheartened she feels over this all, my own patience is even thinner than usual", he explained regretfully.

Ormar nodded stiffly.

"Of course, Sire. Your care for her is commendable. I do not pry out of personal curiosity, but so that I may best serve the throne", he said.

"And I know that. I do not doubt your loyalty, Lord Ormar. If I speak harshly, it is only because I'm frustrated and anxious. But I shall try to keep my temper in check", he said, and judged by his adviser's look that the apology was accepted.

There was not much more they could do at that time; Éothain resumed his interrogations and Lord Ormar to his own investigations.

The King of Rohan did not rest easy. Somewhere out there was a man or woman who either believed or wanted others to believe that the Queen was a witch. Even if nothing else came out of it, who knew how long that shadow would tarnish her name?


One evening Éomer came to the King's rooms, letters from Éowyn and Aragorn in hand, and found his queen curled up in the chair by fire. She looked lost in her thoughts, as so often these days. At this point he knew straight questions were not often useful if one wanted to make her talk, nor was it the way to comfort and support her.

She went through her duties like a sleepwalker, bearing little resemblance to the radiant, confident lady of her first days as Queen. Not even her garden seemed to cheer her up or interest her as much as usual; rather than working and examining her plants, she'd sit on a wooden bench and stare into the distance. At times, Cúran would try to get her attention, rubbing against her feet or jumping to sit next to her to push his head against her. Éomer almost felt sorry for the animal. The cat clearly saw his mistress was upset, but couldn't possibly understand the reason.

On the other hand, even if he himself understood her distress better than the cat did, there didn't seem to be much he could do to ease it. His attempts to comfort her only had a brief and passing impact, and soon enough her mood would be as downcast as before. It was curiously heartbreaking to see one, who usually was so calm and bright, in such low spirits.

Tonight he had decided to try a different approach. As carefreely as he was able, he walked over to her, pressed a kiss on the top of her head, and then sat down on the floor, his back against the chair. Without further ado he unfolded Éowyn's letter and began to read.

He could sense Lothíriel tensing for a bit, and then relaxing again. Eventually, one gentle hand descended on his head and slowly combed through his hair.

"What have you been doing, husband mine? Your hair is tangled like you were some kind of a wildman", she commented at length.

He guffawed in laughter.

"I thought we established long ago that I am a wildman", he said nonchalantly.

She snorted softly and got up, but returned soon to her seat.

"I shall spend the rest of my days trying to tame you – and probably failing", she muttered as she began to gently comb his hair. Hope sparked in his chest. Now there was the woman he knew and loved. He allowed himself a private smile. His instinct had been right: sometimes just being there was enough. And it was very nice for him, too. Her hands were careful as not to pull too hard, her legs pressed against his side, and the touch of her fingers was soft and dear. Soon enough she began to hum under her breath, the way she often did while working.

Éomer gave up the attempt of reading his letters, and simply relaxed there, resting lightly against her. Things were always so uncomplicated when it was just the two of them, away from the world. Idly, and with a strange sort of longing, he thought of one conversation back in Mundburg when they were newly betrothed. He had told her about his people's nomadic life in the ancient days, and she had listened to him enthralled – even feeling some yearning for such a life. Now he understood why she had felt that way.

"There", she said at last. "I've done what I can for you, though I admit it's not much."

She had undone the tangles in his hair, and even made little, taut braids across the sides of his face. Apparently she had picked up a few things from her Rohirric friends.

"You can't be blamed if the raw material is lacking", he commented wryly and picked up her hand to kiss it.

She harrumphed.

"Nonsense. I shall have strong words with anyone who dares to imply something so outrageous. My husband is of the highest quality", she replied and bent down to kiss his head.

He would dearly have liked to continue this banter, both because it was days since he had last managed to engage her in it, and because of the seduction it often became. Lately she had seemed so listless that most he dared – or wished – to do at night was just hold her. Alas, there was something of a more serious nature he needed to talk about with his wife.

So he turned enough that he could see her face and put his hand on her knee. Her eyes were tired but warm as she regarded him.

"Dear heart, you know that I don't wish to leave you at this time. But there is some business in the East-Mark I should attend to soon. I could postpone it a little more, if you don't wish me to go yet", he began carefully.

She smiled slightly and touched his cheek.

"I'm not made of glass, you know. You can go – and you should go. There are other people in this land who need you, not just me", she said bravely.

"But will you be all right? I'd hate to go thinking I had left you in need", he said, anxiously searching her face and her eyes

"I'll be fine. I'm surrounded by friends, aren't I?" she replied, but something in her tone left him unconvinced.

"I wish you would talk to me, Lothíriel", said Éomer in a quiet voice. He tried to hold her gaze, to let her see the entreaty in his.

But she got up and turned her back, taking a few steps away.

"What is there to say? Your wife is a mad witch", she said. Her tone was almost mocking, although whether it was against herself or him, he couldn't say. Still, her bitterness surprised him.

Lothíriel had never been bitter before.

He got up in one swift movement and reached for her shoulder.

"I do not think that. Nobody does – at least nobody who matters", he said firmly.

"But what if it's the truth?" she asked him, and the look in her eyes was so equivocal that even he could not decipher its full meaning.

Yet Éomer did not let it distract him. He knew something about soothing a wild thing, and so with a soft voice and gentle hands he reached out to her. Losing his temper and patience would not help either of them now, it would only make things worse.

"Then I would still be the lucky husband of the most fascinating woman in Rohan", he said simply. Maybe it was his tone, or his words, or his refusal to let his anxiety show like she did hers, or just a combination of all these things, he wasn't exactly sure, but something about it did work. She let him touch her, rub her back, and then pull her to him.

Lothíriel sighed heavily as she pressed her head on his shoulder. She rested heavily against him, as though she had a hard time keeping herself upright.

"You can't let them get to you like this", he murmured into her hair. "You're so much stronger than that, love."

She sniffled and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"I know. I thought I was ready for this. But it's harder than I expected. Do you know what it's like to try to hide yourself, even though all the eyes are fixed on you? Always be afraid you will not like what you might see in them, if you look back? The world was so much smaller in Dol Amroth – or perhaps I just lived half dreaming", she muttered against his shoulder.

Sensing that some deep anxiety and distress was on her, he did the only thing he could. Éomer rubbed her back gently, pulled her to sit down with him, and murmured quiet, soothing words.

"Shh, it's all right. We're going to be fine", he told her, and other such small nothings. In his life, he had noticed something that applied both to men and horses: if you wanted to soothe and comfort, it wasn't so much what you said, but how you said it.

Slowly she relaxed in his arms, and eventually she let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry. I should be stronger, more resilient. I will be. I don't know why I've been like this lately", she said quietly, fingering the edge of his collar.

"Maybe it wasn't that far from the truth, what you said. Life was very different for you in Dol Amroth, and a crown is never an easy burden to bear. Do you think I did not struggle when it first came to me?" he asked her.

"But you bear it with such grace and dignity. Like a born king. I suppose it makes me forget it isn't like that – it can't be like that for everyone, even for me."

"I was not born to it, though. And however it may look like, it's never effortless", he said slowly, combing his fingers through her soft hair. He frowned slightly, and continued, "But maybe you get that impression from me because... because it's my duty. I may not always fully understand kingship, but I do understand duty. That's something we're all born into in my House, whether we stand in line for the throne or not."

She considered this for a moment.

"I see. You were always just doing your duty, whether your cousin lived or died. And in the end, Rohan is still at the core, isn't it?"

"Aye. Always was and always will be. That's what makes sense when everything else doesn't."

Lothíriel was silent for a while. Then she sighed and burrowed closer to him. It was as though some remaining bit of tension left her.

"I know they meant well, but sometimes I wish my father and brothers did not hold me back so much when I was a girl. I might have learned many things that would be useful now", she murmured, running her fingers idly over his chest. "But then, what could they do? Had I been in any prominent position, Lord Denethor would have noticed me. I used to have this nightmare of sitting in some tower and straining my eyes to the east... growing more mad with each passing year."

Éomer shuddered. His poor, brave wife. There was a tremor in her voice when she spoke, and he knew this fear ran deep... and the tower in her nightmare was not necessarily Denethor's. He didn't know why he should fear it as well, because she was his wife, and he'd put himself and all the Muster of Rohan between her and anyone that would take her away from Meduseld, but he still did. So he pulled her tight to him between his knees – as though even in this moment she needed all the possible cover he could provide. Here in his arms was a rare woman and he'd die before he let anyone maim and injure her, or take away the precious light that shined in her.

But Lothíriel reached up to kiss his cheek, and though her eyes were tired, there was also warmth and affection in them.

"Don't you worry. That tower ceased to be when you took my hand in yours", she told him, and with her words, his heart grew instantly easier. It was certainly a comforting thing to hear.

"You'll be fine?" he asked her quietly.

"Of course."


Not that Éomer expected anything else, but the frustrating thing was this: nothing was wrong while he was at home. People of Edoras were at their best behaviour, and anybody of note was quick to seek an audience with him just to tell him how much they disapproved of the insult against the Queen. As he walked the streets of his capital and gave keen, long looks to the faces of Rohirrim, not a single one of them seemed to be trying to avoid his gaze or otherwise appear as though they were hiding something. He knew of his reputation and expected it to have some effect on anyone with guilty conscience, but the most he sensed was just wariness against his bad mood. Talking with his men, he found them as forthcoming as ever. Éothain continued his interrogations, but he too returned to the young king without anything worthwhile to report.

Éomer was uneasy. He was not a man you deceived just like that – a skill which had steered him through those dark days before the war. But now either that skill had finally failed him, or his and Lothíriel's enemy was simply not to be found in Edoras. Both options left him frustrated and ill-tempered.

As things were, he decided to talk to Alfwen. Lord Ormar had spoken to the Shieldmaiden already and said she had no more information than anybody else, but at this point Éomer was willing to entertain any chance, and it was possible Alfwen had seen something without realising it. While Lothíriel herself generally saw more and deeper than other people, she didn't always pay close attention to everything – sometimes she would be distracted with her own singular thoughts and visions. But Alfwen was a warrior trained to keep a keen eye on her surroundings, and perhaps there was some clue to be found still. And – there was another issue he would have to talk about with her anyway.

He caught the Shieldmaiden while Lothíriel was having council with Leofrun in the Queen's Solar, one of the most secure places in all of Meduseld, and thus not in a pressing need of protection.

Alfwen greeted him with grave esteem. She had observed duty and propriety solemnly from the start, but the recent events seemed to have made her even more conscious of them. No wonder. He knew that as a Shieldmaiden with serious ambition, she felt the need to always go that extra mile. She probably regarded any offence against Lothíriel was also against her.

"Sire, how can I help you?" asked the tall woman seriously.

"I know Lord Ormar already talked to you, and I'm sure you told him all you knew. But I wanted to have a word as well. You've stood by Lothíriel before and after the incident. I can't help but wonder if there might have been some clue as to who made the insult against her", said Éomer bluntly, too impatient to bother either of them with some small talk before getting to the point.

Alfwen's face was regretful.

"I wish I could tell you something, Sire. I've raked my memory again and again these past few days, but I have no clues to share with you", she replied in a tight voice, and then suddenly bowed her head. When she next spoke, her voice was full of self-accusation and shame, "If you wish me to resign, then I will. I know I should have prevented this insult from ever happening."

Éomer stepped forward and lifted up his hand quickly.

"I will not accept your resignation. The incident was not your fault. How could you have stopped it from happening, when it was done cravenly in the darkness of night? Your task is not to find out whoever made the stave, that is for me to worry about. My wife is yet new to the throne, and she is most vulnerable when I'm not by her side. I need you to stand firm by her through this – to lead by your example. My queen needs you now more than ever", he told her, stern and steady.

Alfwen glanced up. Her eyes were feverishly bright, and full of doubt. But he thought there was also a glimmer of hope.

"You still trust me, then?" she asked carefully.

"Why wouldn't I? This is a time when we need to stand together. Your duty has not ended yet, Alfwen. Some small-minded jester has not the power to challenge it", he said, and now the Shieldmaiden nodded fiercely. Resolution had returned to her fair features.

"Yes, my lord. I shall not disappoint you", she said heatedly.

"I'm sure you won't", he conceded with a smile. Then a bit more seriously, he said, "I believe I will soon have to ride out again, even if the idea does not please me at this time. I am worried about my queen and whether she will feel safe. Will you take care of her while I'm gone?"

"Of course I will. I shall guard her with my life", said Erkenbrand's daughter, and her determination was no less than her father's in the days of his might. If anyone could guard Lothíriel, it was this fierce young woman.

Éomer was about to take his leave then, but suddenly the tall woman raised her hand, and some uncertainty returned to her look.

"One more thing, Sire..." she began, and hesitated. A strange expression had come to her face and she seemed to have a hard time choosing her words.

"What is it, Alfwen?" asked Éomer, still half turned away from her.

"The Queen has... she's told me some things about herself. She says she can see things that have not yet happened", Alfwen blurted out quickly. Then she glanced about herself, as if she wasn't sure whether or not she was the target of some elaborate joke.

The young king let out a breath he hadn't noticed holding. So Lothíriel had shared the truth with someone else than him at last. He wasn't surprised that this someone was Alfwen.

"Are you very confused? Scared?" he asked the Shieldmaiden.

"I... I cannot say I was expecting it. Did you know, Sire?" she asked him, studying him intently. He watched her just as closely. Lothíriel had told her the truth, but was that wisely done? In her current frame of mind, she might have miscalculated.

"For some time – since before we were married. Never doubt her, Alfwen. I have seen things come to pass as she has foretold them", he replied gravely. The best way was the truth, it had to be. Alfwen was Erkenbrand's daughter, after all, and Éomer expected nothing less of her.

"Well, I suppose that is true. Some things she has said..." she muttered, frowning. He guessed she too had seen a thing or two, which Lothíriel had foreseen. Then she shook her head, "No, I wouldn't say I'm scared. It is unusual, yes. But there are tales of people like her, aren't there?"

Good. So she wasn't completely new to the idea.

"Aye. I've met some myself, though none quite like her. She's of the Dúnedain, and among them, there are still those who have gifts beyond our ken", he replied, hoping she didn't realise how relieved he was. "So you see why someone might use it against her."

"Quite, my lord. There are towns and villages in this kingdom that still live in superstition, and all those dark things that walked in the name of the Enemy, or even Wormtongue, haven't done anything to banish such beliefs. But the Dúnedain have a noble reputation in the Mark. All of us have heard the tales of how the fathers of their fathers walked with Elves and so learned things we may only imagine", Alfwen reasoned. She then directed a keen look at him, "Sire, if I may ask – is this something you mean to share with all your people eventually? Or are we to keep her secret indefinitely?"

"I cannot do such a thing without her permission, Alfwen. This is a burden to bear, surely, and I can tell you it won't be easy. But the Queen still fears what might happen if her true nature was known to all, and she probably is right while she is still new to the throne. In Gondor, her greatest fear was being used for her gift by those who didn't understand it, and I admit some even in my own council might feel the temptation, if they knew what she can do", he admitted in a low voice. He hadn't spoken these concerns even to his wife – the idea had only lived as a deep, quiet dread in his mind. In a way it was a relief to say it all out loud to somebody else.

Alfwen considered this for a moment and then nodded emphatically.

"I believe you are correct, Sire", she agreed briskly. "Well, I've given her my word to hold my silence, and so I will – however difficult it may be. Yet maybe a day will come when all of Rohan may know the truth. I realise now how much courage it must have taken for her to accept you, my lord. Or for you to ask such a woman to marry you."

Éomer smiled wryly, although he was flattered she didn't outright assume he had married Lothíriel because of her gift. And his smile was partly because he knew he now had an ally.

"For her, it may have taken courage. Myself? I was too smitten to care."

Alfwen let out a small, amused snort. It was the closest thing to a laugh he had heard from this solemn young woman.

"I see. Aye, that makes sense", she agreed, eyes glinting.

When he took his leave of her soon after, Éomer felt a little easier. Lothíriel herself might yet be too distraught to appreciate the notion, but now there were two who knew her and still loved her.


It was not full moon that night when Éomer woke up and found Lothíriel gone, but when he got up with a yawn and peered out, he saw it was still uncommonly bright outside. Sleepily he wondered how she always knew how to pick the best nights for her walks.

As he picked up some clothes, he and Cúran exchanged the usual hiss and growl, although he felt like the cat's hostility towards him at this time was half-hearted. Perhaps the little beast was considering some kind of a truce now that his mistress was having a difficult time.

Éomer did find his wife in the garden, but she was not there walking slowly as usual. Instead, she was on her knees, shovelling dirt into a hole where she had planted a young sapling. He halted and stared at this sight for a moment. Any other man might have pondered whether his wife was quite mad. But he? He was just wondering why he was even surprised.

After recovering somewhat, he realised it was one of her precious saplings from the Westfold. Most of the young apple trees she had received were still planted in their big earthenware pots, in which they had been transported. When they had first arrived only a couple of days ago, Lothíriel had not been able to decide where to plant them in her garden. Lately she had been too distracted and distraught to show much interest in the things that usually delighted her.

Even so, he couldn't resist making a joke.

"Are there no longer enough hours in the day for gardening?" he asked her gently.

Lothíriel startled and raised her head. She was quite the sight: hair messily tied back, hands covered in dirt, and dressed only in a night-shift which was now stained. Her servants would be amazed when they took her things for washing.

"I just felt like I had to plant it tonight", Lothíriel said and resumed her task, gently pressing the loose soil against the now covered roots of the sapling. "I needed to feel the earth in my hands."

"Naturally", he said, still smiling.

"And I have the reputation of a mad witch to uphold, so what better time to do strange things in my garden?" Lothíriel muttered, half to herself.

Éomer contemplated momentarily whether to say something or not. This seemed to be a sensitive issue with her, no matter what he told her. He didn't want her to be upset, but neither could he tiptoe around her.

"If you ask me, the mad witch ought to be warming her poor lonely husband instead of planting trees. But what do I know? Treebeard would probably commend your late night labours", he commented at length.

"You need no warming, Sire – I believe you would be able to heat up the room all by yourself even in winter", she quipped. Éomer hid his smile. He rarely got cold and he expected her to take full advantage of this when winter came.

"But it's much more entertaining to heat it up with you", he said mildly and offered his hand to her. She took it and he pulled her up, and then against himself. In a quiet voice he said, "Come back to bed."

She tiptoed to kiss him.

"Hmm. Since you ask so nicely", she murmured. Then she wrinkled her nose, "I'll have to wash first, though."

He harrumphed, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and steered their way back towards the Golden Hall. Their home basked in bright moonlight, silent and still. Even the wind had settled down and there was a quiet between earth and stars. He had to admit it was a rather beautiful night.

Suddenly, he felt her hand in his own. She grasped his fingers tightly.

"We'll always be like this, won't we?" Lothíriel asked in a soft voice.

He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" he asked back.

"No reason", she replied slowly, and said no more until they had climbed up to the great platform on which Meduseld stood. There she suddenly pulled at his arm to stop him from walking further ahead, and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

Éomer opened his mouth to speak, but she did before he could: "Will you hold me?"

His heart melted.

"Always."

And so he did, enveloping her in his arms. She let out a deep sigh as she tucked her head beneath his chin. Her cheek against his bare skin was cool.

So they remained for a while, until at last he began to wonder if she meant to move away at all tonight.

"Is something the matter, dear heart?" he asked her.

Lothíriel pulled back. She smiled slightly and shook her head.

"Not at all. Take me to bed?"

Gladly he complied, picking up his mad witch of a wife in his arms, and then carrying her back into the gentle shadows of Meduseld.

To be continued.


A/N: I will admit it: this was a tough one to write. Not for any particular reason, though - I just did not feel satisfied with it at any point. I'm not sure I still do. At the same time, I just want to get this story going, and that means having to get this chapter out.

Even if it was not an easy chapter, I felt both Éomer and Lothíriel were being very interesting, and even with the risk of spoilers, it's a pity Éomer doesn't realise just how deep Lothíriel's issues currently go. But more on that in chapters to come!

Also, I think at this point Lothíriel would rather feel pressured to reveal her secret to someone else than Éomer, and of course, that person is Alfwen. Poor Alfwen tries her best and I love her very much.

As always, I hope you all stay safe, even if the times are quite mad. Don't forget to love one another! Let us hope this year will bring in better things.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! All your comments are greatly appreciated.


Inspiration fo the chapter: Hans Zimmer - First Step


xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thank you!

EStrunk - Glad you liked it! I admit I rather enjoyed showing that side of her, too. :)

Wtiger5 - I must admit I feel the happiest when people tell me they have been at work and reading my stories despite that. :D

Indeed, things aren't going so smoothly!

Galenrandir - Thank you! :)

Jo - Thanks! :)

fantasticferret - Thank you1

sailor68 - We'll see! It's going to be a pickle, for sure!

Boramir - Such lovely comments, as ever! I would love to answer more on them, but I'm afraid most of my answers would spoil things in one way or the other. But let it be said that I do adore your reviews and how much effort you make with them!

sai19 - Glad to hear you liked it! :) I'm afraid the juicy bits take their time in this story. ;)

Rho67 - Thank you! I think this story would lose most of its relevance if it was equally from Lothíriel's point of view. I will not try to deny it's about the mystery of her character, and how Éomer reacts to it.

Simplegurl4u - Thank you for your lovely review!

I was intrigued to think of Lothíriel's similiarities to Denethhor, and how they might have been so alike if things had gone differently.

I wanted to make it clear that however confidently Lothíriel appeared in that moment, she still felt uncertainty - even if we don't get inside her head in this story. Still, I think she's very much an advocate for other women. ;)

You have some lovely ideas, but I'm afraid of commenting too much, as I don't want to spoil anything. Still, thanks for wonderful reviews!

Katia0203 - You're quite right - things aren't going so easily! But who is making the trouble - we'll see!

NightBlossom - I wouldn't say healing perse in this environment earns anybody the label of a witch, and for Lothíriel it's certainly a more complicated case. But her adversaries are certainly ready to use anything to oppose her!