Chapter 21

It still felt strange to visit Aldburg. For years it had been Éomer's home, first as a child and then as a young captain and Marshal. He had thought to make this life there, perhaps find a proper Rohirric wife and raise a family in the hall where his forefathers had lived and died. Since the time of Eorl, it had been the ancestral seat of his line. It held many memories: some of them good, and many of them bad. Yet there was still a bittersweet tang to seeing the place, and knowing he would never return to actually live there.

Now Elfhelm held the seat – temporarily, as the man himself insisted.

"It has always been in your family, and so it should be in future. I'll hold the fort until one of your sons is ready to take up Aldburg as his inheritance", Elfhelm had said gravely when Éomer first appointed him as Marshal and Lord of Aldburg. He had spoken of his friend's future offspring so confidently, it was as if those children already were in the world. Knowing how stubborn Elfhelm could be, Éomer had not tried to argue.

He was warmly welcomed in his old hall. Elfhelm and his wife spared no effort, and their young sons followed him with starry-eyed looks on their faces, as though Béma himself had come to grace them with his presence. The lads were beyond disappointed when their father sternly told them he needed to have a private word with the King, and anyway shouldn't they be going through their drills with Aldburg's master at arms?

It was rather endearing. Éomer suspected he had not been very different around Théodred when Uncle Théoden had first taken him and Éowyn in. Inspired by the memory, he promised the lads he'd come and watch them go through their drills once he had spoken with their father. Their young, still beardless faces lit up and their feet barely touched the ground as they hurried off. Elfhelm was shaking his head, but he couldn't hide his smile.

They made their way outside the great Hall of Aldburg, and as they walked, Elfhelm reported all such news of the East-Mark as was necessary for Éomer to know. Most of it was good, although there were some news of a few robberies along the Great East Road. Éomer questioned his friend and Marshal on this issue. Elfhelm believed the incidents were more or less the tremors of the Ring War. Not all men had returned unbroken from the southern battlefields: some could not go back to living their lives as they used to, either because their homes and families were gone, or because they simply couldn't hold those things together anymore. It was ideal ground for desperation, and desperate men also need to eat. Éomer knew he was lucky with his nightmares and the occasional black moods. It could be so much worse. He might not be able to live without drink anymore, or be able to work, or find that his hands couldn't hold his sword and shield without shaking too much, or he might take it all out on Lothíriel and Éothain and everybody he cared about. Or he might become a bandit who lived in the wild and took what he needed by force.

Thankfully, Elfhelm understood this as well. He was a seasoned captain and had seen it happen before: some battles were too much to handle, and sometimes men returned alive but forever scarred by the things they had seen. It was not an easy fate in Rohan, where the people counted their wealth in horses and songs. And minstrels made no music about broken warriors.

But Elfhelm had it under control, and Éomer was sure he would soon hear news that the robbers had been taken in. Until then, he instructed more patrols in the East-Mark and a prize on information on the bandits. Somebody always knew something.

When other issues had been discussed, Éomer finally gave in to his curiosity and asked his Marshal something that had been on his mind since his arrival.

"So, do you have anything to report on Lord Eadwig?" he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, although he did not think he was able to fool his friend.

"Not much, I'm afraid. He's been staying close to Healding even when he rides out, and if he's talking to other nobles, he's doing it with great discretion. His daughter was recently in Edoras, though. Perhaps you met her?" Elfhelm asked.

"Aye, I recall seeing her in Meduseld, though she didn't approach me. I suppose she was visiting friends", Éomer said. He frowned now that the memory came back to him. Yes, he had seen Guthild in the Golden Hall when Eadhild and Ceorl's divorce was in court, but he had not paid attention to it at the time. It might not mean anything, because many people had been interested in the matter and come to see the court proceedings just out of curiosity. Not to mention, she was one of the leading young women of Rohan, she had friends at court, and if she was still keen to look for a husband, what better place to do it than the very heart of the land?

He directed a look at his Marshal, leaving Guthild aside once more.

"Have you seen Eadwig lately?" he asked his friend.

"No, but I'll be riding out in a few days time. I can make up an excuse to stop at Healding, although I expect he'll recognise such a visit for what it is", Elfhelm replied.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be an excuse. Why not ask for his help to scour the countryside and wild lands for the bandits? He knows those parts very well, and he knows the locals. They may be more liable to talk to him, because he's not as close to me as you are. This could be an advantage if they know these bandits – or have friends and family among them. It might distract him. Give the man something worthwhile to do instead of plotting and scheming and make him feel useful", Éomer pointed out.

Elfhelm smiled.

"Well done, my lord. You get more cunning in kingcraft every time I see you", he said warmly.

Éomer scoffed.

"Save your praises, old man. It might not work. And once he gets the latest news from Edoras, he might feel too gleeful and think his plans for his daughter may come to fruition yet", he muttered. Glancing at his friend, he continued, "You have heard, haven't you?"

"Aye, my lord. Some nonsense about rune staffs and a silly insult against the Queen. A child's work, if you ask me, and Eadwig would be foolish to get up his hopes because of it", Elfhelm replied and wrinkled his nose, as though the affair revolted him.

"Maybe, maybe not. Whatever its maker hoped to achieve, my queen is not happy about it. She seems to feel there may be something more sinister behind the incident", Éomer said darkly. Of course he couldn't tell the full truth about Lothíriel, her fear or exposure, and whatever sense of foreboding seemed to add to it all. She hadn't told him anything directly, but he could tell she was seeing something that disconcerted her. But how could he ask her? A part of his promise to Lothíriel was not to press her about her sight. She chose what to tell him about the future; that he trusted her wisdom in this was the reason she had agreed to marry him.

Elfhelm's voice brought his attention back to focus.

"So you haven't had any luck in finding the culprit?" the Marshal asked, although he probably knew the answer already.

"None whatsoever. I wonder if it wasn't anyone who lives in Edoras", said Éomer.

"That doesn't surprise me. I wouldn't want to be anywhere near you, either, if I had done something so foolish and insulting", Elfhelm muttered, shaking his head. "I'll keep my ears open. If this villain thinks they got away with it, they might not be able to resist boasting."

"Thank you, Elfhelm. I appreciate it", said Éomer and rubbed his temples against the beginnings of a headache. Just thinking of that blasted rune staff started a dull pain in his brain.

Elfhelm's look was sympathetic.

"I know many of us have a healthy distrust of sorcery, such as Wormtongue was said to use against your esteemed uncle. But there's more to it now. The King of Gondor has returned, although everyone believed he never would, and he rules with an Elven queen by his side. Your own sister rode to the greatest battle of our time with a halfling sharing her saddle and slew a king of wraiths. We marched with you to the Black Gate and saw the Shadow overthrown and a fiery mountain belching out the very bowels of earth. We have walked with Elves and dwarves and halflings and talking trees, which all of us took for old wives' tales. And the Witch of the Golden Wood herself visited your own hall to participate in Théoden King's funeral, rest his soul. So what if the Queen of Rohan is a witch, too? If you ask me, that's hardly the most amazing thing which has happened", he said in a slow, steady voice.

"But after so many strange events and wondrous tidings, don't people want security and normalcy?" asked Éomer.

The Marshal shrugged.

"You are giving us security, my lord. Things are getting better, even if there are some bandits harassing travellers on the road. As long as there is food on our tables, our homes are warm, and our families safe, you could easily grow yourself a second head and everybody would still love you", he said calmly.

"All the more reason to take care of those robbers, then", said the young king and flashed a smile at his friend. Elfhelm had a point: people were less inclined to listen seriously to tales of sorcery when their bellies were full and they weren't scared of the dark beyond their doors. Perhaps it would console Lothíriel as well – and help her in her duty.

"Aye, my lord. I will not rest before the matter is resolved", the Marshal promised.

"Very good. Let me know if you find out more about that damned staff and who might have planted it."

"I shall indeed", Elfhelm said, bowing his head. Then he smiled again, "Now, I believe you have a promise to keep to my sons. Although I must insist – don't fill their heads with too much awe. If they all mean to join your éored, I will have nobody left to train here in Aldburg."

"But you have daughters, too, don't you?"

His friend cast him a suspicious look.

"Nice try, but I hear you've been recruiting those as well. Poor Erkenbrand doesn't know whether to be delighted or outraged with you, after you persuaded Lady Alfwen to come to Edoras."

"Don't blame me. It was the Queen's idea. I couldn't possibly refuse her", Éomer replied with a completely innocent face.

The Marshal snorted.

"She's turned you soft, old friend."

"Maybe, but I like it."

"Hmph. You should have married years ago, lad. Would have done you a lot of good."

Éomer didn't answer at first, and when he did, his voice was quiet.

"No. I don't know if I would have been half as happy as I'm now. I'm glad I waited for her."

Elfhelm considered this and nodded.

"I see. Your queen really is something, isn't she?"

Éomer smiled. They had now reached the training grounds, and as if alerted by some sixth sense, the Marshal's sons almost instantly noticed them. They perked up and attended to their drills with renewed enthusiasm.

"You have no idea", the young king told his friend at the time.

He didn't guess then just how right he was.


Éomer made his visit to the East-Mark as brief as he possibly could. While he trusted Alfwen and the royal household, and knew Lothíriel was in no immediate danger, he still did not want to be away from her for too long. She had shown a brave face before he had left Edoras, but he knew she didn't feel entirely secure without him.

He pondered much on the issue on the way back home. Elfhelm's words, Ceorl and Eadhild, Lord Eadwig, the bandits on the Great East Road... what then, if Lothíriel was forced to step into the light? Was it more dangerous for her to be thought of as a witch, or as a powerful seer? And then there was the question what it might mean for his rule. Would Rohirrim grow used to her, or would she always stand on the edge of knife, accepted and even admired while things went according to his plans, but dangerous if the Riddermark was somehow threatened? He thought of himself and how he had adjusted to his wife using her gifts. He was rarely surprised these days, even when she revealed something unexpected. Maybe his people would feel the same after some time had passed and she was better established.

All the same, if she was revealed, then she would always stand as a temptation to foreign powers. Aragorn was a trustworthy ally and bulwark against some threats – Éomer knew his fellow king and brother in arms would quickly raise Gondor to the defence of Rohan's Queen and the integrity of Dol Amroth – but there were other lords and kings in the world, and they may not come for her with armies behind their backs. She was right to fear their greed and lust for power.

Having such a wife might mean life-long complications, but he had walked into it both eyes open, and knowing how happy he was with her, he was glad to pay that price. Éomer was reminded of his conversation with Éowyn, and particularly her words: "Your marriage is your riddle to solve." How right she had been.

His mind was much still occupied with these issues when his company began to get closer to Edoras, basking in the rich light of afternoon. All was calm and peaceful, but soon he glimpsed something that did not incite any tranquillity in him.

Along the bank of Snowbourne walked a familiar figure all alone. There was no horse in sight, and no guards. Éomer quickly sought for Alfwen in the vicinity of the Queen of Rohan, but the Shieldmaiden was nowhere to be seen. Lothíriel had left their home alone, and was walking by the river completely unprotected.

"My lord?" asked Éothain uncertainly. He too had seen her, and his voice revealed he was at least as dismayed as his king.

Éomer growled in response. No words could serve him now. He pressed his heels against Firefoot's sides and rode to approach his wife.

She was walking with her head bowed, but she raised it when he was at a speaking distance. Her expression was inscrutable, and her eyes like silent mirrors. There was a quiet about her that disconcerted him.

"Where's Alfwen?" he asked bluntly and glanced about himself, even though he knew the Shieldmaiden wasn't going to spring from the tall grass.

"Not here. I came alone", Lothíriel replied quietly.

Éomer opened his mouth, but then he realised he was probably going to say some things that should remain private between spouses, and it was better not to make a scene before the royal guard. His wife stared at him quiet and still, her figure growing more stiff by the second.

He forced back all his impatient, angry, distressed words. If she had come alone, and if she had said nothing to anybody, then Edoras would be in uproar. First he needed to go and calm down the situation before search parties were sent out far and wide. So Éomer rode next to her and offered her his foot as a step and his hand. Silently she grasped his fingers and used his foot to jump into the saddle before him. He urged Firefoot to move again and the stallion began to trot forward.

They didn't speak on the way back to Edoras, but Éomer's mind was everything but quiet. He knew Lothíriel sensed his mood, even if she cloaked her own with masterful effort. She sat so still before him, it was as though he was transporting a statue.

But even though he was quite beside himself, and could keep his anger in check only with difficulty, not all of his thoughts were consumed by it. He was recalling this was hardly the first time Lothíriel had gone walking all by herself. Both in Dol Amroth and Mundburg he had seen her going when and where she would without an escort, and those times, he himself had been amazed or even endeared to her unusual habits. In Mundburg, it had been Éothain to point out it may not be an appropriate thing to do for a king's bride. At the time, Éomer himself had been too smitten, and too much in a hurry to consider the matter for long.

And the other thing was this: in Mundburg and even in Dol Amroth, Lothíriel had been almost anonymous. Her family had made sure of that. When she went walking alone, she had dressed plainly as any woman of the common folk. But now she was the Queen of Rohan and her looks and clothing were hardly those of an ordinary Rohirric woman. Anyone who came across her in these lands would know who she was, unless they had lived under a stone for the past year.

They reached the gates and Éomer braced himself. No matter how angry he was with his wife, he couldn't show it to their people. On the wall, guards were electrified into action. One of them ran to the great warning bell of the capital, and shouted out: "The King is back! The King is back and the Queen is with him!"

The main street which lead to Meduseld quickly lined with people as they rode through Edoras. With a brief glance, Éomer could see wonder and concern and questions on their faces, but quickly he fixed his eyes in the front. He just needed to get through next ten to fifteen minutes without exploding, and he suspected those were going to be some of the longest moments of his life.

The courtyard of Meduseld was busy and packed with people, although they readily made way when the King and his Riders arrived. It was clear they had just been in the middle of organising search parties. Here the quizzical looks were even more intense, and he could understand it well: all the members of the royal household knew Lothíriel at least on some level, and even those who had never actually talked to her respected her as their queen and the King's wife. Alfwen was there, too; her face was white and her eyes very bright, but her mouth was a thin, stern line. Éomer could easily imagine what was going through her mind. So he nodded briefly to her, for though he couldn't yet actually speak with the woman, he needed to let her know she wasn't blamed.

"My lady, are you all right? What happened? Why did you vanish?" asked one of the royal guards who stood close to where Éomer finally stopped Firefoot.

"The Queen is unharmed. That is all you need to know right now", Éomer said stiffly as he swung himself down. Lothíriel allowed him to help her on the ground, but she didn't meet his eyes.

He gave a sweeping glance around himself, and spoke loudly, "All of you, I thank you for your concern and readiness to act. We are fortunate no harm was done to the Queen this time. Return to your duties now, and be at peace."

Voices rose in low chatter, but there was no time to stand by and try to discern what the tone was. He needed to get his wife and himself out of the public eye while his self-control still held, and right now it was wearing dangerously thin.

So he began to walk, his hand against Lothíriel's back; thankfully, she let him push her forward. He didn't think she would appreciate it much if he had just grabbed her by the arm and dragged her along. At least now the gesture could be seen as protective and concerned.

Inside Meduseld, Leofrun came rushing to them, her face tight with worry. She opened her mouth to say something, but it was as much Éomer's look as his words that silenced her.

"Later, Leofrun", he merely said, steering towards the royal apartments.

There Lothíriel finally left his side and moved ahead, until she was standing by the window. Éomer himself halted by a table, where he set his helmet and sword-belt. The rest of his gear he left on, for he had no patience left to struggle his way out of the damned thing.

At last he took a deep breath, and then spoke, very calm and collected: "Have you lost your mind?"

Lothíriel flinched. Her posture became very rigid and still, and she averted her gaze.

"I just went for a walk."

"... and apparently you said nothing to anyone, and you did not take your horse, nor a single guard. Care to explain?"

Now there was something defiant, almost obstinate about her features.

"I needed to be alone."

"And there was no place for that here in Meduseld?" he asked sharply.

"No. I had to get away for a while."

"So you did, making every person in this city think you had vanished or been taken or Béma knows what other horrible accident! Have you any idea of what could have happened?"

"I knew you were coming home. There was no reason to worry", she said quietly. She was so blunt and soft-spoken, and it only infuriated him more.

"Do you mean to tell that to the royal guard? What about Leofrun? And what are you going to say to Alfwen?" Éomer demanded, trying hard to keep his voice steady and low, but he knew he was about to fail very soon.

Still Lothíriel refused to meet his eyes.

"I don't expect you to understand."

He bristled.

"Well, I'm only your husband after all, so maybe I don't need to know anything. Do you mean to extend the same disregard to your friend and guard? Have you no thought for what this could cost her? You know perfectly well how serious Alfwen is about following in Erkenbrand's footsteps! What do you think will happen to her chances if people start to think she can't guard you – if something happens to you because she wasn't by your side?" he asked her furiously. Now he wasn't even trying to keep down his voice.

She flinched again, albeit the reaction was smaller than before. But she said nothing, nearly making him want to go and shake her. What had got into her? She knew what was at stake, was well aware she had enemies in Rohan, so why would she act so irrationally? This was not the calm, wise woman he knew and loved.

"Lothíriel, you know there are people out there who would love nothing as much as seeing you replaced. If you wilfully endanger yourself, you give them more weapons against yourself! I still don't know who left the rune staff, how serious they are, and if they have allies. It is entirely possible they would seize the chance and take you as their prisoner, if they saw you alone and unguarded, without even means to escape! Is that really the position you want to put us in?" he asked her. Now his anger was accompanied by anxiety. A violent shiver went down his spine. What if he had been home when she had disappeared? What possible scenarios would have crossed his mind then – and what tormenting imaginations of her lying somewhere, hurt and alone?

And then other ideas came. Lord Eadwig, or someone like him, discovering Lothíriel as she made her way alone by the river. Taking her as prisoner and condemning her as a witch – or realising what asset he had just acquired: a woman who could read both the future and hearts of men. All her fears might become true just like that.

"I didn't mean any harm", she muttered at last, lowering her eyes.

"What you meant is irrelevant. You are the Queen of Rohan now, and you can't just vanish into the blue when you feel like it. Rohirrim have already lost one king and his heir in a brief time. Do you think they could bear losing a queen, too?" he asked sharply.

She glanced at him and there was a sudden spark of fire in her eyes.

"As if you never went out riding alone", she said, and though her voice was still quiet, her belligerence surprised him. And so did the way she responded; there was venom in her tone he had never before heard in it.

"Well, even if I do ride out alone, I usually take a fully trained warhorse with me, and I know how to defend myself."

"I may not be a warrior like you, but it doesn't mean I'm helpless!" she snapped. It was the first instance her voice rose a bit, and she raised her eyes to meet his. Her eyes were bright and restless and wild.

He stared at her for a moment. As much as he hated to admit it, this moment he had no idea of how to handle this strange, stubborn mood. Each word from his mouth only seemed to drive her deeper into her defences. His patience had been thin from the very start of this argument; now it was exhausted completely. And so he said to her something he had not thought he ever would.

"If I cannot persuade you as your husband, then I will command it as your king. You are not to leave this building without guards ever again."

In that moment Lothíriel stood as cold and perilous as she once had before Eadhild and Ceorl. All warmth and gentleness was drained from her, making her look like a woman carved out of ice. Her grey eyes blazed in fury and defiance, though she was silent. And yet that stare stung him more fiercely than a mass of angry words could. Never had she looked at him so coldly, like he had offended her in some very serious, even unforgivable way.

As frustrated and angry as Éomer had been until this point, in that moment some of his ire grew cold. He remembered what was important: he wasn't mad because he expected her obedience, but because he couldn't stand the idea of something bad happening to her. And, like ever since his parents had died, his first reaction had been to mask this fear in fury, because that way it was easier to bear.

He breathed deeply and took a step towards her, one hand raised in a calming gesture.

"You must know I'm not issuing orders to you because I want to control you, or imprison you here. But I can't tolerate the idea of you being out there all alone and getting hurt. I don't have the benefit of knowing things beforehand. If anything happened to you... I don't know what I would do. It would be unbearable if I lost you."

It took him a lot of effort to say it, even to her. To back down and show vulnerability even a little bit, when his indignation at her reckless actions and dread of what could have happened still beat hard inside his brain, was no small accomplishment. Perhaps she would recognise that and meet him halfway?

His hope was in vain. Not one muscle moved in his wife's face and the cold fire of her eyes still burned intensely. Maybe she hadn't even heard his last words.

"What other orders do you have for me?" she asked in a thin, emotionless voice.

It felt like a blow to his chest. From the moment they had first met, she had been warm and familiar and friendly with him, as though she had known him for a long time. And then as he pursued her, she had responded against her better judgement until the moment he had revealed himself as a part of one of her prophecies. Once he knew her secret, she had shown him nothing but bold, sincere affection that rather made him wonder how much of their life together she had already seen. Never once in that time had she spoken to him so coldly and spitefully.

It was like he didn't know her at all.

If there had been any momentary softening about his mood, it was now over. Yet he knew he was going to say something he'd regret later, if he stayed in the room. So Éomer turned around and strode out. He needed to get away from that frigid look on her face, and he needed to breathe.

Thankfully, his people knew to keep their distance as he passed by. There would be many things that demanded the King's attention upon his return, but for the time being he was spared from these. Éomer did not particularly take notice of where he was going, but thankfully, it was to the garden of Meduseld. At least there he was not before all the curious eyes of Edoras while he had his meltdown.

It took him a long moment to just breathe and calm down his furiously galloping thoughts. He sat down on the stairs that lead down into her garden, green and lush under the bright sunlight, as if nothing was wrong in the world. The place held no delight this moment. With a groan, he lowered his head in his hands and rubbed his temples against a headache.

What on earth was he going to do?

"My lord? May I speak to you, or is this a bad time?" asked an uncertain voice from behind. Éomer startled and glanced back over his shoulder. Alfwen stood there, her face still drawn with doubt and concern.

"It's all right. I wanted to talk to you as well", he said and hauled himself up on his feet again. He felt itchy and uncomfortable inside his armour, and part of him just wanted to tear it all off and throw away. Guthlaf, his squire, would probably not appreciate such careless handling of his gear, or having to look for it all over the garden.

Maybe it was good Alfwen had come to him just now. Talking to her, and having to calm himself down, might stop him from doing something rash and stupid.

"Sire, I am terribly sorry about all this – I know you must be angry with me, and I take full -" Alfwen began to speak, words tumbling out anxiously, but Éomer was quick to raise his hand. She halted and searched his face with restless eyes.

"There's no need to apologise. I do not blame you for anything. The Queen can be... complicated. Between us, it's not the first time I find her wandering by herself. And if Prince Imrahil can't keep her contained, I do not expect the rest of us will have better success", he said glumly. Part of him wondered if he was revealing too much, but he was tired of telling half-truths on her behalf. And Alfwen deserved to know after what she had been put through today.

The Shieldmaiden's eyes were wide, but she didn't look as surprised as he would have expected. Maybe Alfwen already knew Lothíriel better than he thought.

"So I'm not dismissed?" she asked, as if she wasn't quite sure whether to believe him or not.

"No. Like I said, it wasn't your fault. You are aware of her circumstances and she trusts you. I don't think she's ready to share her secret with yet another guard who is only half the warrior you are. It was badly done to leave without saying anything, but I'm sure she didn't mean you any harm or inconvenience. On her behalf, I apologise for the concern and distress this has caused you", he replied firmly.

Alfwen relaxed visibly. She let out a sigh.

"Well, my father is still going to give me an earful when he hears, so I don't think I'm out of the woods yet. But I'm glad the Queen is all right, and that you found her before anything happened", she said gravely.

"It is fortunate, indeed", he agreed and tried again to push away his worse ideas of how Lothíriel's walk might have ended. He directed a keen look at her and asked: "But tell me, has something happened in my absence? Even with her unusual habits, I do not think my wife would go out alone completely without a reason."

"There were some... incidents. Didn't the Queen say anything? I thought she would", Alfwen replied, and Éomer's heart fell. So it was as he had feared: things got worse when he was not with Lothíriel.

"She didn't. I'm afraid neither of us had patience or the frame of mind for it at the time", he said stiffly, bracing for whatever unpleasant news Alfwen had for him.

She seemed to realise it was not a good idea to ask more. She straightened herself as though a soldier reporting to her commanding officer – which wasn't really that far from the truth.

"My lord, a couple of days ago the Queen decided to go and visit the widows and orphans who came to seek shelter here in Edoras after the Ring War. She has taken interest in them and sometimes goes to see them – to make sure they have all they need. Usually these visits go fairly well, and the people are glad that their Queen remembers them and comes to comfort them. But this time, there was a young girl, who had lost her father and uncle in the war. She asked your lady wife if it was true that she's a witch. It was an innocent question, and I believe the girl just thought it would be exciting if the Queen did have some strange powers of witchcraft. I expected Lothíriel Queen would laugh about it and dismiss the matter, but I think she had a vision right then... she almost fainted and collapsed, and the people seemed to think she had some kind of an attack. She was disoriented even after the vision had passed, so I took her straight back to Meduseld. I have no idea of what the widows and orphans talked of among themselves after we had gone – I needed to look after my Queen, like you told me to, Sire. So I did", Alfwen explained quickly and efficiently. Éomer listened to her with a growing sense of unease.

"What happened next?" he asked her; his instinct told him there was more to this story still.

"Your lady wife was under the weather for the rest of the day, and I was able to convince her to get some rest. I was hoping she would feel better in the morning. But that night, another rune staff appeared, looking very much like the last one. It was found outside the royal grounds, though. Whoever made it must have known Meduseld's guards would be more careful this time. But everybody knows about the previous rune staff, so there was no uncertainty of who this was meant for, Sire. The Queen was distraught, today perhaps even more than she was yesterday. I thought I was doing her a favour when she asked to be alone in her garden and I left her... when I got back to check on her, she was gone. I never expected she'd just disappear like that. I didn't know what else to do than to raise the alarm", Alfwen finished her tale and let out a heavy sigh.

Éomer began to pace. He felt so angry and frustrated and useless, it made his skin crawl. What kind of a king – what kind of a man – was he, to let strangers insult his wife in this way? He should have caught them by now and put the fear of Béma in them. Yet here he was, wringing his hands as though some hapless fool, while his wife was spiralling into some kind of a nervous breakdown. He had thought he could do this, protect her from exposure and danger, and yet her secret was now closer to being revealed than ever before. The only thing he had managed to do so far was yell at her and drive her walls even further up than before.

Before his visit to the East-Mark, Lothíriel had tried to tell him something. Twice she had spoken of herself as "a mad witch", and her tone had been bitter, but was that only because she had been trying to be brave? Had she seen something that made her fear for her own sanity – or was it because she believed it would be used against her? She had needed his support very badly and yet upon his return, almost his first words to her had been to ask if she had lost her mind.

Éomer almost groaned out loud. Now he saw it: he had said nearly the worst thing possible to her, thus dooming the conversation from start. Lothíriel must have felt like he had stabbed her in the heart. And now, because they both had been too impatient and angry and scared, he couldn't even go and ask her what she had seen while visiting the widows and orphans. She would not be in a generous mood after their argument, and him asking such questions would make her more convinced of his callousness. She only told him about her visions because in her eyes, he had earned it, and because he didn't pressure her. But after today, would she still think so?

"You did no less than what I would have done", he said at last, recalling he still had company. "You may rest easy. I don't think the Queen will be vanishing like that again."

Unless, of course, she did it out of spite. He had no idea of what she would or wouldn't do in her current state of mind. The thought depressed him more than he had thought it would.

Alfwen's face was concerned and she took a step forward.

"I am sorry for all of this, Sire. I can tell it pains you greatly. Please don't be angry with her – I know she would never hurt you intentionally. She hides it well but her life here isn't always very easy, and it takes its toll, especially with these visions. And she adores you so", she said, so sincere and honest, and it was quite touching. Despite all, Éomer couldn't help but smile a little.

"Thank you, Alfwen, but let me worry about my marriage", he said to her, not ungently. The Shieldmaiden blushed and looked like she was slightly surprised at her own straightforwardness.

"Have you anything else to report? How has this new turn of events been received?" he asked her.

"You'll have to ask Lord Ormar about that. I try to stay away from gossip, for my own sake and my Queen's", Alfwen said seriously, although her cheeks were still red.

"You are very loyal", Éomer observed quietly. He noticed another thing, too, though he didn't say it out loud: just talking to her had considerably calmed his mind, even if her news were not to his liking. But at least his mind wasn't boiling anymore and he could think without wanting to go and kick in some doors.

The tall woman shrugged.

"The Queen has been good to me. She's a sweet woman and I want her to succeed. You may not understand it, Sire, but life is in many ways more complicated for us women. If we do not support one another, then who will?" she said sternly. Éomer did not try to offer any comments he knew she'd take as lukewarm and ignorant. Lothíriel had already taught him better than that.

"Then continue to serve as you do, and I'm sure all of this will pass. She needs you now more than ever", he told her. He wasn't sure how this would be, but it was his job to hide his own doubts and keep the faith when others struggled.

Alfwen bowed.

"I will not fail you again, Sire", she vowed.

When he dismissed her soon afterwards, Éomer felt at least slightly easier to know they had not lost Alfwen.


After Guthlaf had helped him out of his armour, Éomer went to find Lord Ormar. Alfwen had been right: if anyone could tell him what the situation was, it was Ormar. Lothíriel would probably still be too angry with him to talk, and so it was better to leave her alone for a while.

Apparently, Ormar had been expecting him. He had a report ready and waiting when they met again in the King's study. The essence of it was this: things were tenser than before and more action was expected. Those who stood by the Queen were now more vocal about their support, and more frustrated about what they saw as a dishonest and cowardly attack. But there were doubts, too. Some were wondering if there was something to these allegations, even if they were made in a way that was not up to the Rohirric standard of honesty and plainness. In some of the taverns where common folk frequented songs were now made up about the "Witch-queen".

This almost ignited Éomer's anger anew, but Ormar reassured him these songs were generally light and entertaining ones, made more as a joke on the whole incident and its absurdity, and not as a further insult against Lothíriel. It consoled him a little. Maybe it would even help this pass: if it turned more into a song and less into a realistic issue, who would take it seriously? King he may be, but even he had no way to control gossip. The story would now have to run its course. Ormar also pointed out that his reaction had its own implications. If he ignored or laughed the matter off, it would show just how seriously he took it. But if he started to kick in doors and persecute people on the basis of gossip – well, that would not look so good. Then people would take another look at the Queen, and wonder if there really was more to these rune staffs than the sourness of this or that noble who had failed to make a royal match for their daughter.

"I know it may feel difficult right now, but I think you should just try and ride this storm, my lord", said Ormar finally, serious and calm. "And the same goes for your wife."

Éomer struggled to hold his tongue, and fortunately enough was able to do so. He knew Ormar meant well and he could be a proud man at times. It would probably offend him if Éomer told him to mind his own marriage.

It was almost a relief when they moved on to other matters of the realm that required his attention. He was glad to focus entirely on things he felt like he could still control, although this thought was tinged with some guilt. But Éomer reminded himself it was not helpful to spend all his time worrying when Lothíriel herself refused to be open with him. There were others who needed him, too.

All the same, hours passed quickly while he distracted himself with work, and before he knew it, evening had already come. Éomer was reminded of something Éowyn had told him before he had married Lothíriel: never to let the day end with an argument. He had a hard time imagining her and Faramir having arguments, but even so, it sounded like good advice. Perhaps at this point, Lothíriel had simmered down enough to listen to him.

He felt a little anxious when he made his way to the royal apartment. It was their first serious fight. He had known married life wouldn't always be smooth sailing even when you loved somebody as much he loved her, but it still left him unsteady and uncomfortable.

Éomer stood a while at her door, collecting his thoughts and maybe also his courage. In times before, such a thought would have been quite bizarre. But it was true, just as he had thought and felt on their wedding day: this woman had power over him unlike any other and she could use it to hurt him, mortally even. The question was, did she herself realise that? And did she care enough right now?

"Lothíriel?" he spoke through the door, resting his hand against the polished wood. "Lothíriel, may I talk to you?"

No answer came. For a moment he wondered if she was already sleeping. But no, it wasn't that late yet. She would be up still.

He decided to try again.

"I know I said some hurtful things earlier today, but I don't want to argue anymore. May we not speak to one another calmly?" he asked, fingers pressing tighter against her door.

Still no response. An unpleasant shiver went down his spine, like someone had poured a trickle of freezing water against his back.

"Please, Lothíriel. Let me see you", he pleaded anxiously, and when she still did not answer, his patience began to budge. His hand went to the door handle and he tried to turn it, but to no avail. It was locked.

For the briefest moment, Éomer stared at the handle in quiet disbelief, as if he had just imagined the whole thing. But it was nothing but the unpleasant, painful truth, and her actions spoke louder than any word could.

His hand dropped down. Never once in the time he had known her had he felt so cold or so bitter. And then a thousand thoughts began to invade his mind, each worse than the last.

He turned swiftly around and left the royal apartments with a few long strides, never looking back as he went.

To be continued.


A/N: Phew... so that was a chapter. It was interesting to write, but also a little bit difficult in certain parts. Although it is a very painful situation for Éomer, I was intrigued to explore it - how he fould feel and react to what appears to be a serious conflict in his marriage, and how his impatience makes it even more difficult to figure out. Neither of them is innocent here, and both say unhelpful and even unkind things. Neither of them is being completely rational or patient, which I think is understandable considering the stress they're feeling. He's alarmed that she had left Meduseld all alone and he's scared of what could have happened to her, and because he's Éomer, it's easier for him to be angry than admit his fears. And because he gives into his anger, he says about the worst possible thing to Lothíriel, which kills all possibility for a quick reconsiciliation. She, on the other hand, is going through certain issues, some sort of an identity crisis not being the smallest of them, and when her husband and most trusted friend seems to refuse to support her, she shuts him out completely. Even if she had wanted to explain everything and just lean on him, he doesn't give her a chance to do it.

So yeah, it's not an easy situation to rectify. We'll see how it goes in the next chapter!

I hope you and yours stay safe. Thank you for all your comments, faves and follows. If you got time, let me know what you think!


Katia0203 - I think that last chapter, and her thoughts as shown there, were rather necessary to show for this chapter to make sense!

I'm glad you liked the chapter, even if I myself wasn't entirely satisfied. Some chapters you just need to get out at some point, and they're not getting any better how much you try to change them.

EStrunk - There are plenty of reasons for her current state of mind, and the stress of possibly being exposed isn't helping. Hopefully, this chapter explains it a bit more.

But yes, he can't always be there to watch her back...

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thank you! I'm rather fond of her, too. :)

sai19 - I'm afraid it may be even more difficult for her now!

ACH - Glad you liked it. :)

Simplegurl4u - Well, unfortunately this chapter isn't any easier! She definitely has some foreboding, but Éomer hasn't made it very easy for convenient for her to be open about it!

Boramir - Thank you again for your exccellent review! I'm always delighted to read such lengthy comments. :)

That is very much one of the core issues she's having here: her fear of exposure pushes her buttons that even Éomer doesn't always understand. He has tried to help her as much as he can, but unfortunately this isn't something he can just make disappear like that. I would very much expect that her frame of mind also has an effect on her gift.

I am endlessly fascinated by the Viking culture, and I admit I've sometimes taken inspiration here and there from the sagas. In particular, I love the idea of the Norns weaving the lives and fates of all living things. I wonder how much inspiration Tolkien took from the Norns for the Vala Vairë, who was the wife of Mandos the Doomsman of the Valar, and who with her handmaidens wove on cloth all the history of Arda as it unfolded. As one of the great governing spirits of the world, Vairë would also have deep understanding of the fate of the world (kind of like the Norns). I don't have a quote to put here, but I think that in Tolkien's mind, the Race of Men had some freedom of agency outside this fate. This was because ultimately they would all die and leave the world, so their fates were not tied to it. This would certainly agree with Tolkien's Christian faith and the Christian idea of freedom of will.

Interesting thoughts on Denethor. For him, it also took toll to use the palantir, because it always meant striving with the Dark Lord. Even if Denethor could do it without succumbing to Sauron's will like Saruman did, it definitely impacted what he could gain from using the stone. Lothíriel's circumstances is a bit different, because the gift is inherent to her and whenever she uses it, there's nobody else peeking inside her head, so to speak. But that's not to say her own mind can't play tricks on her in that regard.

I imagine Galadriel could indeed do a lot to help Lothíriel and ease her mind, but that would be too easy a solution, and I'm really in the mood to torment these poor darlings! :D

Great comments on the staff and who may have made it. All of those are quite valid options. I would love to say more, but I'm afraid of spoiling the plot, so for now I can only say: wait and see! Thank you for taking the time to let me know, though!

coecoe11 - Thank you! I'm glad you're loving the story. :)

Jo - We'll see! ;)

Wondereye - I would say it was at least in part because he was trying to cheer her up. But it's also like he thinks to himself: away from the world and other people makes things much less complicated. And they have similar senses of humour, so he can joke with her even when there's trouble. Humour can also be a way to alleviate tension.

Guest - Oh, you're definitely right about that! ;)