Chapter 22

Éomer woke up to the distinct sensation of being stared at. This feeling was so strong that it pulled him through the muddy confusion of sleep, which was rather heavier than usual.

His eyes fluttered open, but his thoughts were sluggish and slow, and it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing. There before him was a small, round face of a child, keenly studying him. The child was blond and blue-eyed, with a sweet and innocent face, and for one strange moment he thought it was his own child.

But at last memory clicked in his brain, and he realised it was Éothain and Scýne's little son, Eadlac. He was vaguely pleased with having made this connection, even though it didn't explain the appearance of the child. Eadlac's parents didn't often bring him up to Meduseld, he was still too small. What was going on?

Eadlac burst out giggling and waddled away as quickly as his little feet would carry him.

"Da! Is awake!"

Now Éomer began to pay closer heed to his surroundings, and was at last confronted with several facts. One, he had the worst headache of the century. Second, his mouth felt like something had crawled in there during the night and died. And third, he was lying down on his side on a bench in what looked like Éothain and Scýne's house. First two facts he could reason with, and the third... well, the third was also understandable when put into that context.

He had got outstandingly, monstrously drunk and passed out in his captain's own home. Oh, Béma.

Éothain appeared in the room and caught his little son in his arms. He raised the boy high in the air.

"What, you rascal? Why are you bothering our king in this manner?" the Captain asked. Eadlac shrieked in laughter when his father gave him a bearded kiss. The sound did not do good things for Éomer's headache, but it was not strong enough for him to miss the strange twinge of envy he felt at this sight. Maybe for the first time in his life, he thought it wouldn't be too bad to be a father.

But Éothain and his son were quite unaware of this. The Captain put the child back down and patted his back. He said, "Go find your mother before our fearless leader has a complete breakdown."

Éomer grunted and slowly hauled himself in sitting position, pushing aside the colourful blanket someone had put on him. It was either Éothain or Scýne, and both alternatives seemed entirely possible. It wasn't the first time he had passed out in their home, although it was quite some time since it had last happened.

"How are you feeling?" Éothain asked and poured some water into an earthenware mug, which Éomer quietly accepted and quickly consumed.

"Like it might be a better idea to just roll back and die", he replied. Why was his voice so hoarse? Béma, let it just be the drinking and not because singing. He was a decent singer in Rohirric standards but when he got drunk, he sometimes got ideas about his own performance that had nothing to do with reality.

"Well, it has been a while since you last were so drunk, so perhaps that is understandable", said Éothain delicately. "Scýne is making you some willow bark tea."

"That woman is a gift from the powers that be", Éomer muttered and drank another cup empty.

"Don't I know it", Éothain replied, smiling slightly as he took a seat next to his king on the bench.

"How did I get here?" asked Éomer then. He glanced about as if to see some clue as to why it was his captain's house he had ended up last night, and not his own rooms.

Éothain gave him an appraising look.

"Do you not remember last night at all?"

"... not really. At least not the part where I got here."

"You came to me yesterday evening, just as I was about to leave Meduseld and go home to my family. You were in a mood and had already been to your cups, and you demanded my company for some drinks. It was clear you needed some supervision, so I agreed. Soon enough you wanted to go out and visit some tavern, and decided to ask a few of your Riders to come along. Some of them agreed because they are carefree fools who want to live the good old days again, and you haven't participated in their revelries since you got married. Others did because I wasn't sure if you'd be able to make it home by yourself, and would need a few men to carry you to your bed, and so told them to join us", Éothain started.

Éomer groaned and rubbed his face.

"This already sounds wonderfully horrible. Do I even want to hear more?" he asked in a pained voice.

"Well, it's always good to know how sorry you ought to be", said the Captain sagely. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he continued to speak, "So we went down to the tavern, the one you used to like before, called White Hart. The tavern-keep was most delighted to have such a patron, and for a while it was nothing but dance and song, and you even began to look merry again."

"Something tells me this was only temporary."

"You could say so. There was this one man, I believe he belongs to a minor noble house, who was saying things about your wife that you did not like. I don't know what he said precisely, as the noise in the tavern was considerable and I was not close enough to hear him. But you did, and it annoyed you enough to make you challenge him right there. Both of you were quite drunk at that point and I expect it made him over-confident, for he accepted the challenge. I tried to speak up, but you forbade us all from intervening", Éothain went on, his voice completely neutral and calm.

Éomer just grunted and pressed his hands against his face. No wonder his knuckles were sore.

"So the crowd moved outside, and there you and this fellow exchanged some rather impressive blows, considering both your states. You were in luck, for you were able to knock the poor sod out and throw him in a pig pen – although I believe some took it as poetic justice on the behalf of your lady wife. We went back inside, and there you climbed to stand on a table and announced loudly that if anyone else wanted to talk disrespectfully about your wife, you would love to hear it. As it happens, nobody had anything more to say on that matter", Éothain explained.

"Béma", Éomer muttered, his face still in his hands. "What king acts like that?"

The Captain didn't seem terribly distressed for his sake.

"A Rohirric king does. You would hardly be the first one to get in a fight in a tavern, and I don't think you'll be the last. It would be one thing if we were in those fine southern courts. But this is the Riddermark, old friend. Eorlingas appreciate bold, direct action. And Béma, it doesn't get much more bold or direct than you did last night. I think you got your message through much better than if you had tried to be more 'civilised' or discreet. If you ask me, any man of Rohan would approve of you defending your lady's honour, and even applaud it", he said mildly.

Éomer considered this a while, and had to admit his friend was probably right. At first he had felt mortified at how he had behaved, but he now realised it was because unconsciously, he often modelled himself as a king after Aragorn. It was impossible to imagine Aragorn getting so drunk, hitting some tavern in Mundburg, and getting into fights over Arwen's honour. And that was only if Gondorians had not been too much in awe of their Elven queen to ever think of insulting her.

That was not the kind of king Théoden had been. Why should Éomer look for an example from a foreign and much more ancient realm, rather than here in his home? He had spent a lifetime observing and following Théoden. Was it just some lingering doubt and shame over Théoden's infirmity under Wormtongue's influence, even though the deeds and events of Uncle's final days did not pale next to any legendary king of Rohan? Or had he on some level felt like he ought to have dignity and distance to his people that compared to his strange, far-seeing wife?

All good questions, but he would have to consider them some other time, when his head did not hurt this much. Thankfully, Scýne arrived with the tea, which she gave to him with a stern look; she probably thought he was too old for this kind of nonsense. And she wouldn't be wrong. Even so, she did not lecture him, and Éomer guessed it was because Éothain had asked her not to. Béma knew she hadn't spared her words in times before.

"Thank you, Scýne", he said humbly before blowing at the steaming hot liquid and taking a small, careful sip.

"You're welcome, Sire", she said in mild tones, and even without looking directly at his two friends, he could spy the glance they exchanged. Then Scýne picked up her son, who had curiously followed her into the room, and then swept off again.

"If you ask me, your gesture might just be a step to the right direction, as far as the allegations towards your queen go. It resolves some of the tension and makes your stance as clear as can be", Éothain pointed out.

"Maybe", Éomer muttered and stared at the steaming mug in his hands. Éothain could be right, but it was not something to uplift his mood. He didn't like the idea of solving the problem not because of his conscious efforts, but because he had got drunk and angry.

As of now, it remained to be seen if Éothain was right. Éomer asked him, "What happened after the brawl?"

"It wasn't long after that you finally agreed it was time to go home. I was already wondering if you'd ever make it to Meduseld, but then you also told me you didn't want to go there. So I did the next best thing and brought you here. We made sure you didn't pass out on the floor and let you sleep it off. That's about it", said Éothain. "Although, for the record, I did send word to Meduseld. So you don't need to worry about the Queen and Leofrun tearing Edoras down, thinking you've disappeared."

The young king was silent for a while, slowly sipping his tea. It wasn't helping with his headache as much he'd like. And it did absolutely nothing for the unpleasant feeling he had about the whole affair, especially about the part where he told his captain he didn't want to go home – where his wife was. He hated himself just a little bit for saying it loud, and even for feeling it. And yet... how angry and miserable he had felt yesterday evening, when she had refused to answer to him and even locked her door. Éomer might have forgotten most of last night, but not that part. On the other hand, wasn't there a small consolation in the fact that he had stood up for her, no matter how he had felt?

After a while Éothain broke the silence again. Éomer startled slightly; he had almost forgotten he had company.

"I don't mean to pry, but... is everything all right between you and the Queen?" Éothain asked carefully.

"We are working through some issues", Éomer muttered, staring at his tea.

The Captain was silent for a moment, and then spoke uncertainly, "Does it have to do with... with the things she sees?"

The young king startled and looked sharply at his friend. Éothain stared back with serious eyes. He must have realised his liege-lord's alarm, for he raised his hand in a calming gesture, and hurried to speak again.

"Do not worry. I haven't said anything to anyone, and neither have you betrayed her. But I wouldn't be doing my job if I hadn't noticed. It is the truth, isn't it?"

"... how did you find out?" Éomer asked at length in a quiet, hoarse voice.

"Well, there were hints from the start, and I'm not proud of how long it took me to work it out. There were some things Scýne said to me – you know she's been spending time with your wife. But then that rune staff appeared, and it made me think about everything in a new light. That your wife is some kind of a seer is the only explanation that makes sense to me", Éothain explained. Anxiety was clearly written across his open, honest face.

Éomer saw nothing but concern in his friend's gaze, and sensed no threat against Lothíriel. It probably had been but a question of time before Éothain figured it out. Like the Captain had said, he wouldn't be doing his job properly if he didn't. And Scýne had most likely mentioned a thing or two that, when compared with everything else, inevitably led him to the truth.

Éomer sighed and relaxed gradually. Maybe it was a good thing Éothain knew. It might not be easy to explain to her, but hopefully she still trusted him enough to believe it when he told her Éothain had realised everything by himself, with no help from her husband.

"Aye, she can see things that have not yet happened", he said quietly. "I suppose it is part of the problem, after all."

"How so?"

"It's difficult to hide. You can often tell when she's seeing something. And she doesn't live just in this moment, like we do. She's often at least partly ahead. So you may see how it can make up for what people take as strange behaviour", Éomer explained. In a way, it was relieving to be able to talk about this with another person. Bearing her secrets was a heavier burden than he had expected, and to share it with someone he knew he could trust made it a bit easier.

"I see. But you must have considered this when you asked for her hand", Éothain said.

"No, I found out the truth later. I did think about it, and realised it would mean complications, but I decided it could be handled", Éomer said. Seeing the look on his friend's face, he continued sternly, "I know what you're thinking: I let my infatuation with her get the better of me and continued to pursue her instead of really considering it. But don't think either of us ever took this lightly."

"I never thought so. But if the truth about her ever becomes public, there will be those who believe you took too great a risk with your choice of wife", said the Captain seriously.

Éomer scoffed and sipped his tea.

"Somebody is always going to think I've bungled it up. Either they have complaints about my commands, or my politics, or my wife, or even the length of my hair."

"Well, I can't argue with that", Éothain conceded. "But if you ask me, this could mean there's a grain of truth to those rune staffs. Your wife is -"

"So you think she's a witch?" Éomer asked fiercely, nearly spilling the remainder of his tea in agitation.

"No, that's not what I meant. Even if I did, is it necessarily a bad thing? The Queen of Gondor is an Elven princess, or something of that sort – I can't say I understand how these things work with her kind – so the Queen of Rohan may as well be a witch. Add your lady sister to the bunch and you have a whole lot of strangeness going on among our leading families", Éothain said quickly, raising his both hands in a calming gesture.

"Elfhelm said something similar", Éomer muttered with a sigh.

"Then this sort of thinking may be more widespread than you expected. But either way, you must remember Eorlingas don't really have a word for what your Queen is. 'Witch' is the closest thing they can understand. It doesn't have to be an evil word, you know", Éothain pointed out.

"I hope you are right", said Éomer quietly and drank the rest of his now lukewarm tea. He could have said it depended rather on Lothíriel, and if she wanted to try and make the people think of the possibility of her being a witch as something positive. As of now, he had no idea if she was up to it. And as much he trusted Éothain, there were boundaries to how much he was currently able to talk about his marriage.

The Captain seemed to realise his king was no longer in a talkative mood, and so spoke no more or asked questions. He simply gave a friendly squeeze to Éomer's shoulder, and then muttered something about going to get them some breakfast.

The young king put aside his mug and lowered his face in his hands. He massaged his head with his fingertips. Last night, Lothíriel's locked door, Éothain knowing about her, those damned rune staffs... it all jumbled in his head and made it hurt even more. Could he even think of facing her in this state? He had no doubt she was already aware of how he had spent the night.

Oh, Béma. He hadn't even considered what it might mean to have a wife who knew nearly everything.


Éothain and Scýne offered him breakfast, and he suspected their fare (eggs, bacon, porridge cooked in cream) was richer than usual; both were fastidious with their finances and did not lavish even with their food, although their closeness to the throne might have allowed it. Éomer didn't refuse such hospitality, even if he thought it was too much. You just didn't do that kind of a thing in Rohan.

Afterwards, there was nothing more to do than go home. So he thanked his hosts, took a deep breath, and headed outside.

Éomer walked to Meduseld quickly and kept his eyes strictly ahead. He wondered if Lothíriel would come to meet him, or if she was still angry. She could be stubborn and yesterday she had been just it. Maybe she had no desire to see him before he himself came looking for her.

It was as he guessed: Lothíriel did not stand waiting for him before the doors of Meduseld. He was certain it was not because she didn't know he was coming, but because she had chosen not to receive him. His heart sank. He didn't expect her to be there as a forgiving little wife, fussing about her errant husband; he would have appreciated it even if she stood there like a monument to every disappointed wife's disapproval. He swallowed hard against the bitter taste that rose in his mouth. On the one hand, he knew he had not made the situation easy for her, but on the other hand, it was the first time in their marriage that she didn't welcome him home.

Éomer gritted his teeth. So it was going to be like that. Yet even as the spiteful thought attempted to gain ground in his mind, a small voice at the back of his head pointed out: it was the first time he didn't go home for the night, too.

So, disappointed as he was, he couldn't deny they both had a reason to be angry and hurt with one another.

He tried to control his face as much as possible as he climbed up the stairs to Meduseld, but was not sure it fooled the Doorwards as he approached. They bowed their heads and opened the twin doors of the Golden Hall, as usual.

Before stepping inside, Éomer asked them, "Have you seen the Queen today?"

"Aye, lord. She went out only a little while ago with Lady Alfwen and three guards", replied Hermod, one of the Doorwards.

Éomer nodded silently and made his way inside. He felt no satisfaction, even the grim kind, for the knowledge she had followed his instructions. He had wanted her to do it because she understood his concern and fear for her, not because he had told her to.

At least she was safe for the moment. Talk about small consolations.

How to make things right again... well, that was the question.


A night came, some week after his return, when Éomer was sitting in the royal study. He had piles of reports and letters before him, and though he had been at it for most of the day, it didn't feel like the workload had much diminished. As he read through the reports, words jumbled together and he often had to return to earlier parts just to recall what it was about. He knew the reason, of course: his irritated, distracted mood was not good for focusing and getting things done.

His council had noticed it as well, and Ormar in particular was not pleased with his lack of enthusiasm. It was as if they had purposefully made today's meetings especially long and difficult, and Ormar had harangued him with criticism and questions without any semblance of mercy.

There were plenty of matters that needed his attention, from trading negotiations with Gondorian merchants to news of increased Dunlending activity on the other side of river Isen, and several difficult legal cases that had to do with grazing rights near Dunharrow. Ormar had also reported hearing some grumbling from Ceorl's clan in Snowbourne village. While his family apparently were not keen on openly going against their king, they still were not happy about losing Eadhild's dowry and inheritance. She had returned to her father's house, and they had been forced to employ a couple of guards to keep Ceorl's angry relatives from causing trouble. Éomer was not surprised that Ceorl and his folk had refused to let the matter go, even if he had hoped for things to calm down. This was yet another headache he didn't particularly need.

With a groan, he set aside a letter from a nervous lord from the eastern parts, who was writing about having seen orcs prowling his lands. He sent such letters almost once a week, and nobody else ever seconded his reports; it was commonly thought the poor sod had lost his mind a little bit in the war and now saw orcs everywhere. Once he had even made an alarm in his own village after mistaking a large rock for a big, ugly uruk. But considering all the troublesome matters on his plate right now, Éomer thought it would be quite fitting if these sightings had some truth to them.

All the same, the letter required the kind of focus and patience Éomer did not currently have, and he put it aside and lowered his head in his hands. Slowly he rubbed his forehead and temples, as if to ease an ache that was somewhere deeper than his brain.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, startling him from his weary thoughts. He straightened on his seat and hoped he didn't look completely downtrodden as he bid the person outside to enter.

Leofrun came inside, balancing a tray in her arms as one of the guards opened the door for her and then closed it. Éomer cast a curious look at the elderly woman. She smiled at him.

"You didn't come to dinner, lad. I thought you might be hungry", she said as she carefully carried the tray to his desk. There was a slice of meat pie he was rather fond of, stuffed with lamb and barley and vegetables in a thick sauce, some hard cheese, bread baked in the morning, and a generous helping of Meduseld's famous plum pudding. The gesture caused something warm to swell in his chest, but also reminded him of other times in the past, when she had come to his study like this.

"Thank you, Leofrun. I wasn't feeling very hungry."

Her smile turned into a stern look.

"Aren't you now? It seems many people are forgetting to eat these days", she muttered as she set the tray before him.

"Have you come to lecture me?" he asked warily as he picked up a fork and thrust it in the meat pie.

"Do you need lecturing, lad?" Leofrun asked back as she sat down in the chair before his desk.

He sighed.

"I'm sure some people think so. But what are your thoughts?"

She looked at him with gentle eyes. Like a woman might look at her son who is having a hard time. He couldn't endure that gaze for long, because it reminded him so much of his mother. Years ago he had vowed not to be so vulnerable, and so fixed his stare on the food before him. Somehow, her sympathetic way made him ache more than any reproach ever could.

"Eat first, then we'll talk", she told him, and he complied. She was probably right. Something told him he might not have appetite left once they were done.

So he did work his way through the meal she had brought for him, and tried not to think much on how, deep down, he had wished his wife had been the one to bring him food. Leofrun waited silently, seemingly lost in her thoughts.

When his plate was empty, Éomer pushed the tray away from himself, leaned back in his chair, and once more looked at his housekeeper.

"Well, what do you have in mind?" he asked her warily. He knew he might not like what she was going to say, but if Leofrun had decided to speak her mind, then there was little he could do to avoid hearing it.

Her blue eyes returned to him again, and for a moment she regarded him again just as she had before, but this time, he forced himself to meet that look.

"How are things with your lady wife?" Leofrun asked softly, straight to the point.

"Must I really answer?" Éomer muttered. It wasn't as if Leofrun didn't know. The marriage of the King and Queen of Rohan was everybody's business.

She was silent for a moment as she regarded him. Her voice was as gentle as ever when she spoke.

"I can tell you are very unhappy. I know why that is – you love your wife and do not wish to argue with her, but you're also angry and don't know how to make things right again. And it hurts that she's angry too, her apparent refusal to listen to you, and that her anger is so different from your own. You feel like it makes things even worse that she's ice to your fire", Leofrun said slowly. He wasn't surprised that she saw the situation so clearly. She had known him since he was but an angry boy, and could still read him like an open book.

How well did she read Lothíriel, though? As of now, that wasn't an easy task for anyone, even those who knew her. Béma, she could be cold. She went through her duties with such sharp-edged dignity and precision that, maybe for the first time, he truly saw her as a lady of a great Gondorian House. Not a single hair was out of place when she appeared in public, not one of the steps she took could be criticised, and her usual free, strange ways and speech were replaced by propriety and strict observation of court etiquette. It was as though overnight, the woman he loved had died, and now her body was inhabited by someone who was her opposite in all things. To him she showed nothing but cool deference whenever it was necessary for them to interact – as if she wasn't his wife but just some member of the royal household he barely knew. Gone were her bright smiles and playful words, and if she were having visions, she was hiding them unlike ever before. And, of course, she wasn't spending her nights with him, nor had she come to his bed since the argument. There was a wall between them and he felt like it might drive him mad.

It was an apt observation from his housekeeper: Lothíriel's coldness was more painful than if she had acted with the same fierce temper as he did.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked wearily. It had been less than a week since their confrontation, and yet the weight of it felt crushing. But now, for the first time, he felt the immense sadness that came with it.

The warmth and compassion in Leofrun's eyes never failed.

"I don't know, lad. I just want you to know it breaks my heart to see you like this. You must understand it is all right to lean on your friends when things are hard. There's no reason you need to keep going on like this, bearing your pain alone", she said in soft tones.

He almost wanted to get angry. Then he might have yelled her out of the room, told her she was wrong, and demanded how dare she assume he felt something so paltry as pain... he was the King of Rohan and he couldn't afford to be just as human as everyone else.

"I'm fine", he snapped, but only with a fraction of that anger he had just imagined.

Leofrun's smile was gentle and sad.

"My dear boy, you are always so honest with everybody but yourself."

And like that, he was laid bare. All pretension was useless before this woman who knew him so well, had seen him grow and build these walls just so that he'd survive.

He slumped down again in his chair and felt very young and helpless.

"I don't know what to do", he admitted at length in a quiet voice, resting his head against his hand, as if it had become too heavy to hold up. "I know I said some unwise things, but I don't understand why she seems to think I've somehow betrayed her."

Leofrun smiled slightly.

"I'm sure it's not that serious. You both are proud and stubborn, and that's what makes it so difficult. But the lady is also sensitive, more than you may realise. She protects herself with her ice like you do with your fire. And she's as terrified of heartbreak as you are. Perhaps she also knows something that you don't", she said in gentle tones.

"But how do I break that ice?"

"Show her that she can still trust you, and make her feel safe. She doesn't tell me much, but I can guess enough. Those damned rune staffs have stirred some fears in your lady, and she must know that whoever planted them can't get to her, or remove you from her side", Leofrun answered. She wasn't really telling him anything new: he had already understood he would have to achieve these things to make peace with his wife again. It was a more difficult task to figure out what actions he would have to take. As expected, no staffs had appeared while he was at home: whoever was responsible must be well aware he'd leave no stone unturned if it happened again as long as he was in Edoras. Furthermore, there seemed to be some substance to Éothain's musings. However Éomer himself felt about his drunken brawl, the common agreement was apparently that he had done well – and that there would probably be worse consequences than ending up in a pig pen with a bloody nose if the King was provoked again.

All the same, Lothíriel's trust was a fragile thing. He had owned it so completely since the start that he hadn't fully understood how easily even he might break it.

Éomer sighed and glanced at his housekeeper with weary eyes.

"Do you think I have failed? That this marriage is nothing but a sham?"

Leofrun shook her head.

"Not at all. Failure would be if you gave up now, and I do not think that's what you're going to do. Every marriage has its troubles, even the most loving ones. And yours faces challenges most of us never even think of, because you are our king. Think of it this way: the honeymoon is over, and now begins your real marriage."

"But surely even in this marriage there shouldn't be such a rift so soon. Isn't that what people think?"

"Does it really matter what they think?"

"She's their queen, so I believe it does matter. There's already pressure on her with these blasted rune staffs and talk of witches. If this marriage doesn't work, then the voices speaking against it gain weight and significance. And I would have to listen to them, king or no", Éomer pointed out wearily. Leofrun tilted her head.

"But would they dare to demand you to reconsider so soon? The lady has not been your queen for a whole year yet, and I do not think her father would take it kindly if she was sent home after just one disagreement. I may be but an old, simple housekeeper but even I know it would be very bad politics – not to mention, a show of shameful character. People of this land, even those who might have scruples against your choice of bride, know better than to challenge you in an issue of personal integrity and loyalty. And there is no question whether the union has been consummated or not, so nobody can expect you to send her away while there's any possibility of her bearing your child. Which, I believe, is very much in everyone's minds right now", Leofrun said and settled down in her chair more comfortably. He avoided her gaze and felt, maybe for the first time, that strange, bashful awkwardness any young man might feel when their mother talks about physical love and his involvement in it. Even so, her observations were shrewd and probably correct. As long as the realm was in a state of peace and prosperity, Lothíriel would have to do something truly controversial to turn the majority of Eorlingas against her.

"She hasn't shared any such news with me. Then again, she's not telling me much anyway", Éomer muttered and got up on his feet. He had started to feel restless again and sitting in one spot made him uncomfortable and anxious. "But Leofrun, if her opposers insist on pressing me, I may as well press them back. If they make me give her up, then Rohan will not have another queen in my lifetime. Let them go to Éowyn and ask if she and Faramir agree to produce an heir."

His tone was hard, and his words almost spilled out of their own volition. Leofrun's eyes widened; perhaps she hadn't thought he would take such a stern stance in this matter. And she had already shown herself shrewd enough to understand that in this bargain, he had the upper hand. Rohirrim wanted their next king to be born in Meduseld, not in Gondor.

It might just be all the safeguard his wife needed.

"You truly mean that, lad?" Leofrun asked quietly.

"I do. In this matter I will not be blackmailed by anyone", he said firmly and halted by the fireplace to stoke the dying embers there. Staring down, he added in a much softer tone, "If she leaves, it will be by her own choice."

He could hear her getting up and approaching. Her hand, still nimble and strong, rested tenderly against his forearm.

"Things aren't that bad, dear boy. No matter what you think right now, the Queen does love you very much", she told him and squeezed his arm gently. "You should go and get some rest. You look tired."

Éomer made a vague noise in the back of his throat and stared down into the low flames, newly stirred into life. He didn't tell Leofrun that he'd rather not go to bed, not before he was completely exhausted and likely to pass out the moment his head touched the pillow. It was at night he most missed his wife, because there was nothing else to distract his mind with; he could only think of the empty spot next to himself, and how much he wanted to feel her soft, warm shape pressed against his side. He ached to hear her talking to him, not with the frigid propriety of these past few days, but with that familiar warmth they had always shared before.

He missed her so much that he felt like his heart might break.

"Tell her how you feel, lad. I think she would understand", said Leofrun gently, perhaps sensing his mood.

But the young king could not handle more exposure to these raw emotions, so he turned away.

"Thank you, Leofrun. That will be all", he told her and walked over to pick up one of the reports. Yet if it had been hard to focus before, now it was even more so. The lines of unevenly scribbled characters blurred before his eyes.

He could feel her eyes on him, as if imploring him to turn back and face her. But then the housekeeper sighed and went to collect the tray from the desk.

"Don't stay up too late", she said softly before making her way out.


A few hours and some drinks later Éomer found himself once again at his wife's door. Partly because of what Leofrun had said, and partly because of the sheer loneliness he felt in Lothíriel's continued distance, he had finally made up his mind.

Doubt grew in his breast. He couldn't guess what she would say to him. Maybe the door was still locked; he hadn't tried it again after that first night. It was entirely possible this would just result in more heartache for them both. But he reminded himself: nothing risked, nothing gained.

Carefully he pressed at the door handle, and it opened. He let out a breath he hadn't noticed holding and pushed the door. He couldn't guess the reason she had unlocked the door. Was it too optimistic to hope she wanted to reconcile?

Her room was quiet but not fully dark: she had left the shutters open, allowing the soft moonlight to stream inside. Apparently, it did not disturb her sleep, for she was curled up in her bed, breathing slowly, and her long dark hair was spread across the pillow. Cúran sat next to her and the animal directed a chilly glare at him, but did not move away from his mistress.

She made an evocative, inviting image in the bed, framed in gentle moonlight. His heart ached just to look at her. Éomer could not help it - he took a few steps closer to the bed. He just wanted to see her, looking like herself, not like the icewoman of the past few days. Cúran's ears flattened against the skull, but at least the thing did not hiss out loud at him. The last thing he wanted was the little beast waking her up, and Lothíriel screaming in fright to see somebody looming over her bed while she slept. Being fought to the floor and arrested by his own guards might make an amusing story, but he really was not in the humour for it.

Only thing he wanted was to see his wife and pretend for a little bit that everything was all right – although he hadn't expected how much it would hurt.

He closed his eyes momentarily and took a few deep breaths to calm his wildly racing thoughts. The liquor wasn't helping, and over and over he heard Leofrun's voice echoing in his head: Tell her how you feel.

There was a lot that he felt, but in the end, it boiled down to something quite simple.

"I love you", he said quietly, his voice shaking just a little bit; he had never told her before now, although he had felt it for so long, and so deep. He had to say it out loud even though she was sleeping and did not hear, because otherwise he feared those words might wrap around his throat and choke him. It was strange. Love always seemed to turn into pain for him; so it had been with his parents, his cousin, his uncle, and even Éowyn. With Lothíriel, it had been happy and easy and precious just because of that, but now as he wondered if he had lost her trust forever, he couldn't bear the intensity and weight of his love for her.

For the first time, he asked himself if it would just have been easier to give up any aspirations for a marriage of love, and do as his council had asked and take a wife best suited for duty. Yet could he truly live like that, with duty as the only thing he had in life? Surely in time, a wife he didn't love would still give him children, and in them he might find some private and personal joy?

It was useless to think about that. Like he had told Leofrun, he couldn't really see any other woman as the Queen of Rohan while he was king. It was a matter of both of pride and principle. He had made his choice, for better or for worse... even if all the marital happiness he was going to get were those few golden weeks which were now past.

Realising his thoughts were becoming more desperate and addled, and she'd probably wake up if he continued to just stand there, Éomer finally turned around and quietly traced his steps back towards his own rooms. Maybe he should try to talk to his wife in the morning.

He was at the door when her voice asked, quiet and hoarse with sleep: "What are you doing here?"

He stared with unseeing eyes at the door before him, frozen to the spot. He could imagine her sitting up in the bed, staring at him, sleepy but cold and suspicious – looking supremely ethereal and distant in moonlight. At his current state of mind, he didn't dare to turn around to look at her. When at last he was able to speak, his voice didn't sound like his own.

"I just wanted to see my wife."

She was silent for a moment, and so was he, unable to move either away or back to her.

"You've been drinking."

Maybe she knew thanks to her unusual gifts. Or maybe she could just smell it on him. Either way, it was difficult to hide things from her.

As soon as he had this thought, something akin to dread washed over him. What if she had heard him? Generally, people liked it when you said you loved them. But to whisper that to somebody in the middle of night, when they were fast asleep and you were looming over them in the dark after more than just a few drinks... that would seem strange, and also more than a little ominous.

It was entirely possible she had already seen it. Who knew? It could even be the very first thing she had learned about him, because Lothíriel lived both in the present and in the future, and she experienced things in a very different way and order than he did. Maybe that even was the reason she had been so warm and familiar with him from their first meeting, because she had always known he loved her. And so it might not change things one way or the other at this point.

"I have", he conceded at last, still motionless. He had no idea of what would happen in the next seconds. He might storm out again, try to drown himself in a barrel of ale, or he might just pounce at her like some sort of a savage, or collapse next to her bed and weep like a child. Anything was possible, and it depended entirely on what her next words would be.

"You should go to bed. It's late."

Her voice was quiet and neutral. He couldn't gauge her mood, and if she was disturbed by his late visit, or if any part of her even briefly considered asking him to join her. All the same, his heart became like an anchor dragging him down. Even if she had hesitated, ultimately she didn't want him anywhere close.

"Sorry to disturb you", he uttered, wondered silently if she realised how his heart was sinking, and left her alone once more.

To be continued.


A/N: Here is an update at last! I hope you enjoyed it.

This chapter surely took its time, partly because some bits were a bit difficult to write, and partly because life has been pretty crazy lately. I admit I was surprised at how raw Éomer is feeling in this chapter, but I suppose it stems from the fact he doesn't know how to make things right - and also from his pride and stubborness. And Lothíriel too is proud and stubborn, so it's not an easy situation for them to figure out. At the same time, he has to worry about the kingdom and his people's well-being, so he really has his hands full. As for Lothíriel, she has her own trouble in reconciling, and while they're not talking, he doesn't fully understand her side. But certainly it is not because she's purposefully being snide.

Also, I included that first bit about Éomer getting drunk and fighting for a few reasons. I wanted to show his impatient, reckless side. He's a young man still, and not yet as comfortable on his throne as he'd like to think. So he acts a little bit rashly after Lothíriel refuses to speak to him and locks her door. Unfortunately, in the middle of his mood he doesn't stop to think this course of actions isn't like to help things with her.

I hope you all stay safe! Thank you for reading and reviewing. Your comments are always most welcome.


Inspiration for the chapter: Anathema - Lost Song Pt. 2


Katia0203 - You're quite right - both acted poorly for different reasons, and are also too proud to admit it right away. And then, it seems, it's already too late to take back the damage that's already been done.

Interesting thoughts! We'll see how it turns out with the staffs. ;) But you're quite correct about Éomer and whether he will allow himself to be blackmailed in this matter. I would say he hadn't really come to terms with it until now, but now he knows for sure he'll have Lothíriel or nobody else - which is interesting, because at the same time, he's not sure if she will have him after what's happened.

EStrunk - Here's more from where that came! ;) Indeed, there needs to be some challenge on the road.

It was a difficult chapter to write, and this one was too. But it's interesting to see how they deal with their unhappiness.

almythea - It does indeed!

Wondereye - Lothíriel doesn't see and know everything - it would be a dull story if she did. And him storming off is in good part because he felt hurt and disappointed that she wouldn't even answer him.

sailor68 - That is quite true! Both of them have a lot of work to do to be more open with one another.

Catspector - Thank you! I think they would have gone a long way if they had immediately understood that both were just afraid. And maybe they did, but were just too proud and stubborn to show it.

Wtiger5 - Indeed! That is very much their downfall in the last chapter, and partly in this one, too.

Interesting thoughts - we'll see how it goes!

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thank you! :)

Galenrandir - Thanks!

Jo - It's not going to be easy to win her back!

Boramir - Great reviews, as usual! Glad to hear I've been able to weave this story in such a way. :)

I think that on a rational level, Lothíriel does very well understand her responsibility and the need for her to be careful. But she's not being entirely rational, and this is enforced by her foresight and the confidence that Éomer is coming home, so nothing bad will happen to her even if she goes out alone. Her sight can make her a bit biased sometimes. She might have meant to apologise, but unfortunately, Éomer's reaction drives her up against wall, like you rightly noted.

Éomer does want to win her trust back, but at the moment, he's having hard time figuring out just how to do it. She's not making it easier for him and at the same time, his behaviour doesn't help her to open up again. Also, he's keen to find out who made the rune staffs, but it's easier said than done, because nothing is happening while he's home.

Lothíriel does have a hard time, both because of her visions, and because she's not talking about them with him. And she probably is seeing something that, when associated with the current circumstances in her marriage, make her old fears seem more relevant.

Guest - Glad to hear it! :)

NightBlossom - Thank you! Yes, they are both acting in an unhelpful way. You're right - no marriage manages itself without some help!

mystarlight - Thanks! :)

Guest 2 - Here you go!