A/N - Regarding the timeline – I've set it to a few days sooner than what's cannon, so that less time has passed between the Last Debate and the departure for the Black Gates.
Minas Tirith
The next day
I was bathed, dressed, and utterly furious. I should have felt refreshed. I had slept a full night for the first time in days, I'd had a thorough wash, my hair was clean and brushed to a high shine, and I had eaten a full breakfast. Nothing, however, could remove the bitter taste of anger in my mouth after my father shared the plans for the army's march on the Black Gates.
"You're planning to challenge Mordor?" I asked flatly, eyebrow arched.
"Yes," my father replied, ever stoic.
"Along with Erchirion, Amrothos, our recently discovered liege, and the few healthy men we have left?"
"That is correct."
We sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other. We were seated in his study, the smell of dust from a room not properly aired out adding a suffocating quality to the tension. He had his customary cup of strong coffee in front of him, the tendrils of steam curling into the air. The picture he made, reclined in his seat, looking crisp in his clean tunic, was so quotidian that we could have been discussing the weather.
His composure, usually so reassuring to me, was maddening. He had all but declared his own death sentence and given me the date of his demise. I wanted to rattle that composure, so I decided to be cruel.
"Have you outlined your desired funeral arrangements?" I asked, going for the jugular. "What amendments should Elphir and I make if we are unable to recover a body?"
To my fury, my father did not even flinch. His only reaction was to arch an eyebrow.
"That is trite, Lothiriel, even for you."
"No, it is practical," I returned. I felt heat rise in my body as my anger started to boil. "When our new liege inevitably falls in battle, how soon should Elphir come here to take his place? Will I then rule Dol Amroth in his stead? If that is to be the case, I'll need to know where you hide the key to your office."
"Faramir will not join us at the Black Gates. He would rule at Minas Tirith while Elphir continues at Dol Amroth. There is no need to disclose where I keep my keys."
"Well, at least I will be spared one of my cousins," I muttered. We sat in silence a few beats longer. I knew I had spoken out of turn, but I also knew that my father was not angry. I had been told over and over that I was the exact miniature of my mother in both appearance and temperament, and she had been famously hot-headed. Vibrant and full of life, eager for a swift ride along the shore, but with patience that could be measured in drops. My father had had years of loving someone with an awful temper long before I came along, so there was truly nothing I could throw his way that he hadn't seen before.
"Lothiriel," he said, his voice grave, "Mithrandir says that two halflings are making their way to destroy the one ring."
My neck cracked loudly as my head shot up. My father's eyes pierced my own, and I knew that he spoke the truth.
"The one ring can only be unmade in the fires of Mount Doom." My father now leaned forward, an intense gleam entering his eyes. "We have a chance to destroy the forces of Mordor once and for all. We have a chance to ensure that future generations will never know what it is to live under the shadow of such evil." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over me. I tried to wrap my mind around the magnitude of it all. For as long as I could remember, the threat of Mordor had loomed over my country as a mere fact of life. It was frightening at times but seemed normal because I had known nothing else. The possibility of that darkness being gone forever seemed unimaginable. I considered telling him that after learning to live with the threat for so long, surely we could just continue on as normal.
I swallowed painfully. I understood, somewhat, why he had to go. Or rather, I understood that his sense of duty would dictate that he go, and there was nothing I could do to convince him otherwise.
"I see," I said, my voice constricted.
"Do you?" my father asked, ever shrewd.
Instead of answering his question, I swallowed the painful lump in my throat and stood.
"Ioreth will be expecting me shortly," I said. My father regarded me but made no move to stop me. I think he understood that I needed time to process the news. We both knew that further discussion would get us nowhere at the moment.
"Come home for dinner," he said as I left. I thought I heard a hint of resigned sadness, but I locked that away for future analysis. I instead may a beeline to the Houses of Healing, looking for blessed escape in any task Ioreth could give me.
As it turned out, I was of no use to the healers with all my pent-up anger, and Ioreth was quickly losing her patience with me. At first, she had me prepare some salves ("I said to muddle the herbs, not to murder them!"), and then quickly redirected me to tear linens for bandages ("Mind you tear them evenly, I have no use for those scraps you've mangled."), and then when I proved useless at that, she sent me to return a few instruments from surgery to storage.
"They've been boiled, and we'll boil them again before use, but mind you don't touch them while you put them away," she said, handing me a tray laden with small saws, clamps, and other sharp instruments whose names I didn't know. "And pull your head from your backside!" My head snapped up at hers, completely startled by her admonishment. No one outside of my family had ever spoken to me so bluntly. "You're usually of some use, but today you're nothing short of hazardous. Put those away, collect yourself, and then come back with a clear mind."
I was too stunned to say anything, so I just nodded in agreement before she whisked away.
Well, I thought, as prudent advice as any, I suppose.
I made my way through the main patient wing and into the atrium, the skirts of my light blue frock swishing over the stone. I was perhaps a tad overdressed for the work, the material of my dress quite a bit nicer than what the healers wore. I didn't have much casual clothing other than the britches and shirts I had stolen from my brothers over the years. My father indulged me quite often, but I knew one of the boundaries lay at wearing revealing britches and loose shirts when I wasn't riding.
"Oy! Lothi!" I heard a shout from across the atrium. I looked up to see Amrothos waving me over. Erchirion stood behind him, and next to him was Eomer. The sight of him startled me from my foul mood, and my heartbeat sped up in my chest. He locked eyes with mine and a small, warm smile ghosted over his face. I stared back, rooted to the spot where I stood. I was dimly aware of Amrothos approaching me, his brow furrowed at the tray I carried.
"Who gave you a saw?" he asked, nose wrinkling as he regarded me.
"I've just finished with surgery," I lied glibly. "Why? Are you in need of a procedure?
"Aye," Erchirion called from across the atrium. "He's concussed and displaying signs of brain injury. Have you any suggestions for treatment?"
"No, sorry," I called back. "We don't deal in hopeless cases."
Erchirion laughed harder than my joke warranted, as was often the case when a joke was made at Amrothos' expense. Eomer, in turn, chuckled at Erchirion's amusement, and Amrothos was simply too unbothered to care. I noticed how carefree Erchirion and Amrothos looked, far too carefree considering their upcoming task. My foul mood suddenly returned.
"You're not actually assisting in surgery, are you?" Amrothos asked.
I rolled my eyes. "Don't be stupid, of course not. I'm just putting these away."
His eyebrows rose at my sharp reply, his expression shrewd. It wasn't wholly unusual for us to speak to each other in that manner, but there was a bit more bite to my reply than normal.
"So," he said cautiously, "I take it father has spoken to you?"
I fixed a mild glare at him in response. He rose his eyebrows again and nodded cautiously at my unspoken warning, backing away from my tray with the saw.
Amrothos and I were closest in age and, of all the siblings, had spent the most time together, which naturally meant that we annoyed each other the most. Erchirion was nine years my senior and had always been the fun older brother who taught me how to ride. We all got into trouble with one another from time to time, which left Elphir, the oldest, to advocate for us to our father. Well… he mostly just advocated for me, being of the opinion that the other two boys should fend for themselves.
Seeing two of them here now, casually joking as if their fates hadn't been decided, was both true to character and incredibly infuriating.
"That scathing look could wound a man, Lothi," Erchirion said, whistling low as I glowered. "Aren't you supposed to be helping people heal?"
"I'm not a healer," I said. "I just handle the saws."
"Father talked to her," Amrothos said rather unceremoniously to Erchirion. I looked at him incredulously, startled by what was tactless even by his standards.
"Ah," Erchirion nodded, his eyes suddenly understanding and sympathetic. It made me feel like a little girl throwing a tantrum in front of understanding adults, and I hated it. "He spoke with you this morning?"
"Now. Isn't. The. Time." I bit out, astutely aware that we were not alone, and that Eomer was standing right near us, watching our exchange. His expression was unreadable, although to be fair I didn't try too hard to study his face. I couldn't bear the risk of crying or doing some other embarrassing thing if I looked at him.
Erchirion had the decency to look at least a little chagrined, but Amrothos used an entirely different tactic and changed the subject.
"So where would one store a saw?" he asked.
"In the storeroom next to the apothecary," I said, swiveling on my foot and heading swiftly away, leaving behind the three men. It was an indelicate exit. Basic decorum dictated that I at least spare a curtsey for the unrelated male in the group, something I decided to overlook in that moment.
A few healers and aids were milling about in the storeroom. It was filled with general supplies, so people were often scurrying in and out. I set the tray atop one of the cupboards situated at the far wall and took a sterilized cloth to grab hold of the instruments and sort them into their drawers. In the chaos of battle, I had been able to numb my mind with work. If I kept moving, I wouldn't have to think of the screams rising from the city, the snarls of the enemy at our gates, the foul things circling above us, the limbs poking out from under the rubble…
In the siege, my father and brothers had charged into battle to answer the threat knocking at our very gates. Growing up with warriors, I always knew the risk of them running into battle and never returning. I knew a day might come when one of my brothers would not return home, or that in addition to being motherless, I could become fatherless at a moment's time. Those were the risks when your loved ones were called away to protect your homeland. My family had been of the ruling class for generations, but my father had always taught me that ruling meant serving. As Prince of Dol Amroth, his first duty was to serve his country, meaning he may at some point be called to pay the ultimate sacrifice with his own life. I knew each of my brothers felt the same.
But this… this was different.
This was a cold march to certain death. Where before there had always been a risk of falling in battle, my father and brothers had guaranteed their demise. The chest I had locked those terrible images in kept opening, and try as I might, no task Ioreth gave me today could help me push those images away. The screams floated back, only this time they belonged to my father and brothers. The arms I saw poking out from piles of stone were chillingly familiar, and I felt sweat build on my upper lip as my heart started to race.
Stop it, I thought. Not now, not here.
I resolutely pushed the grotesque images away. I would not succumb to those fears now, here in public. Blessedly, I felt rather than heard Eomer approach me from behind, and my heart sped up for an entirely different reason.
"For all the tact your brothers show on the battlefield, they seem to have much less of it away from a fight," his low voice rumbled like a soothing balm down my spine. I huffed in amusement and looked over my shoulder, smiling. He smiled back, and I noticed he looked a great deal cleaner than when I had seen him the night before. His hair was clean and wheat blond, he had removed his armor and wore a fresh tunic, clearly borrowed. He looked like he'd had a decent enough night of sleep, his eyes less tired.
"I've heard that for what they lack in manners, they make up for in fighting," I shrugged. "Perhaps they may be forgiven for their social blights."
"Perhaps," he smiled softly.
His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he regarded me. I couldn't be certain whether he had witnessed my distress just moments ago. I did my best to plaster a look of polite complacency on my face, and then perhaps he would understand that I didn't want to talk about it.
He appeared to pick up on my cue, his face clearing of any careful concern. Instead, he turned to lean his back against the wall where the cupboard was situated, facing me while I sorted the surgical instruments.
"Have you taken up a permanent occupation as a healer's aid?" he asked, looking impossibly handsome with his lips quirked and his arms folded across his chest. I couldn't help but notice how the muscles of his arms strained against his sleeves. I felt my heart flutter. This was a most welcome distraction, better than any task Ioreth could assign.
"I will assist for as long as I remain in Minas Tirith, or until Ioreth dispels with me, whichever comes first."
He chuckled. "I thought you did not do well at the sight of blood?"
"Perhaps the exposure will aid me in that." I paused, considering all the wounded I had helped to treat. "Goodness knows there has been more than enough opportunity for that these past few days."
Eomer's expression sobered, and he nodded in agreement. "Aye," he said. "A good many have paid with their lives to expel this evil. I can only hope we can build that peace that they fought for."
"That you all fought for," I corrected him, feeling the need to acknowledge his own contribution. I paused, looking him in the eye. He returned my gaze, waiting patiently for me to continue. Something about him made me want to bear more of myself to him. Somehow I knew he would handle any part of me carefully. "I cannot tell you," I began softly, "how it felt to hear the horns of Rohan that morning." I shivered, recalling how the sun had risen behind the vast company of the Rohirrim, breaking through the darkness that had loomed over the city. I paused, swallowing. "Death was inevitable. I knew that. I just tried not to think of the 'how.' But then you came," I smiled at him, unaware that my eyes had become misty, "and that all changed."
Eomer stared at me with a hard look on his face, his arms still crossed. He regarded me silently, and I felt as if he saw right through me. The intensity was beyond anything proper for two people at only their third meeting, but it felt as natural as breathing. I felt myself being pulled in, his eyes beckoning me to reveal even more of myself. I could almost pretend that we were alone and not in a public storeroom.
Almost.
A clatter broke the spell of his eyes and brought me down to earth. Someone had knocked over a shelf of copper kettles, causing a commotion as a few healers stooped to retrieve them before they rolled across the floor. I watched, startled out of my reverie, and purposefully not looking back at Eomer. I felt like I needed to catch my breath.
"Well," I said brightly, grabbing the now empty tray from atop the cupboard. "I should return to Ioreth before she accuses me of being unhelpful." I dipped a small curtsey, suddenly feeling the need for decorum. "My lord," I said smoothly, turning away.
"Lothiriel," Eomer said evenly, calling me back. I paused for a moment, closing my eyes and savoring the sound of my name on his voice. How could something so simple cause me to melt so? I felt that familiar clenching low in my stomach, and I turned back to face him. He hadn't moved from his spot, still leant against the wall with his arms folded. His eyes were still intense, forbidding me from turning away. He pushed against the wall and approached me slowly, my breath hitching as he drew nearer. When he came to stand right in front of me, I had to crane my neck to look into his face. We stood just the tray's width apart from each other. He took a moment to search my face while he considered his words.
"It's a strange thing," he started, his voice soft and low, and far too intimate for our public setting. "When I first met you that day in the stables, I did not expect the memory of you to carry with me the way that it did," he said, shaking his head with wonderment.
My heart pounded. "What do you mean?"
He paused as he regarded me, his expression so tender it caused my whole body to tingle.
"I do not regret any blood of mine that might be shed," he murmured, "if it would bring peace to your world." I saw sadness tinge the tenderness in his eyes, and I felt my blood run cold. I had a sudden, dreadful realization, and my expression cooled.
"And what if I said enough blood has already been shed? And that there is no need to instigate a hopeless battle?" I added a steely bite to my voice.
Eomer's brows knitted, not in annoyance or frustration, but rather in confirmation of my suspicions.
"There is more to be sacrificed before this darkness is ridden from the world," he said. "If we stop now, then every battle fought and life lost will be for naught."
I took a deep breath, anger and resigned numbness competing within me. "I don't know why it didn't occur to me that you would be marching to the Black Gates as well," I whispered, more to myself than to him. Eomer didn't respond other than to nod his head. I was struck again by the futility of it all when a thought occurred to me. I almost said nothing, not wanting to be cruel, but I could not help myself from addressing it.
"Forgive me," I began, "for being forthright. I do not wish to be callous, but… I heard – that is, my understanding is that recent circumstances have dictated that you are now king of Rohan, is that true?" I asked.
Eomer sighed heavily and nodded. "Aye," he confirmed. "My cousin, who was heir to the throne, was slain by orcs." He paused, the pain painted clearly across his face. "My uncle was crushed by his horse after challenging the Witch King." I hated myself for continuing the line of questioning.
"And," I asked hesitantly, "who would take your place if, if you do not…" I trailed off, unwilling to finish.
"If I do not return?" he asked. I swallowed painfully, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. "My sister would rule in my stead."
I felt a merciless hand grip at my heart at his admission. He had said it so simply, as if we weren't discussing the inevitability of his fall. It was all so… cold.
"Ah," I said, tears threatening to spill. "So, you have it all sorted, then."
Eomer must noticed the tears in my eyes. His brows furrowed in concern, and he made as if to reach out to me.
"Don't!" I said quickly, stepping back and out of his reach. If he touched me, I knew I would fall apart.
"Come now, lass," Eomer soothed, his voice so unbelievably tender that I almost broke. I had to force myself to not clasp the warm hand that was still reaching out to me.
"No!" I said resolutely. "I – I have more work to do. And I wouldn't want to keep you from – from, well, from any other duty you may have," I stammered out. "Good day." I curtseyed quickly and then hurried out of the storeroom. I could not bring myself to show him plainly the utter heartbreak I had just felt. I had seen too much and been dealt too much foul news the past few days to operate on a basic human function without falling apart.
My father and brothers would die in just a few days' time, and I would lose a part of myself along with them.
Eomer would die in just a few days' time, and I would never be complete. He held some crucial piece of my being, and it would never be given the opportunity to find its place.
The next few days were a study in avoidance for me. I had always prided myself in being strong, in not being overly emotional, but I found that particularly challenging as the day of departure for the Black Gates approached. To avoid any opportunities to show weakness, I worked in the Houses of Healing from dawn until nightfall. I had, as Ioreth had commanded, taken my head out of my backside and shown enough competence to be allowed to clean out wounds and rebandage limbs again.
I came home tired every night, too exhausted to think of the last time I had seen Eomer. As desperately as I wanted to see him again, I forbade myself from it. What purpose would it serve but to cause even more heartache? To spend time with someone I could not have? I had ached for him for three years, filled with a desperate longing that I was sure would never be satisfied. When we had our second chance meeting outside the Houses of Healing, hope had bloomed within me. I had been so confident that night that, in some capacity, our futures were intertwined. I was sure that he would fix that desperate longing within me. On a more carnal level, I knew that he would be able to give my body the release it needed in a way no one else could.
Despite my awareness of my own inexperience, I somehow understood that he wanted that role. I saw it in his eyes, in the intensity of his look. He seemed to be communicating that he knew me and knew what I needed. And yet…
I gritted my teeth and shook my head. No. I couldn't allow myself to think of it. What purpose would it serve? It was late, I had just arrived home, and my father and brothers were due to leave the following morning. Our family apartment was quiet, and I was making my way down the hall to my own quarters when I saw the open door to my father's study. He was stood at his desk, hunched over a map with a glass of wine in his hand. It was such a familiar sight and my heart squeezed, having seen him thus countless times over the years.
"Father?" I said quietly. He looked up and saw me, his eyes softening.
"It appears we have both been burning the midnight oil," he said, taking a sip of his wine.
"Like father, like daughter," I agreed, stepping into his study. I hadn't planned to seek him out, but I found I couldn't just walk past him to my quarters. I had avoided this for too long.
"I was wondering how long you would hide from me," he said, echoing my thoughts. "I almost assumed you wouldn't make an appearance until we were nearly out the front gates."
I shook my head, tears welling up. "Even I couldn't stay angry for that long."
My father chuckled, opening his arms to me, and I hurried into them. He held me tightly, and I clung to his tunic, inhaling the familiar smell of pipe tobacco and mint. I refused to let loose the tears that wanted to come, but through our embrace I poured out my love for him.
"I still don't completely understand," I mumbled.
"Yes, you do," my father said. "You just refuse to understand."
"Maybe," I relented, unwilling to argue. After a few more moments, we pulled apart, and I was surprised to see that my father's eyes were red. He gripped my shoulders and looked me in the eyes.
"Lothiriel, do you remember how hopeless our chances were during the siege? How greatly outnumbered we were against the forces of Mordor?" he asked. I nodded, remembering how inevitable death had been at that point.
"Yes," I whispered. "There was no reason to believe we would last the night."
"And then what happened?" he prompted, speaking earnestly. I suddenly understood his meaning.
"The Rohirrim came," I answered.
"Yes!" he agreed, his hands tightening around my shoulders. "Our brothers from the North came to our aid. What happened next?"
I paused before I said, "The Army of the Dead.
"Yes!" my father said again. "If anyone had mentioned the possibility of the Rohirrim arriving right when they did, or the Army of the Dead coming to fight alongside us, surely that poor soul would have been ridiculed as a fool. And yet," my father said, his tone becoming fierce, "it happened, and we were saved, and we lived to see another day."
I nodded my head, daring to take on some of the hope I felt flowing from my father.
"Lothiriel," he said, "I am willing to be that fool, and this fool's hope says that your brothers and I will return home to you."
I smiled for the first time in days, the fervency in my father's tone infectious. For now, I would share in that hope with him.
"And so you shall," I said. "I'll be a fool, too."
He smiled at me, his eyes twinkling. "Ours will be a parting without farewells."
"Yes," I agreed, smiling more fully. "No farewells."
He embraced me again before releasing me, pointing to his wine cabinet. "Pour yourself a glass of the vintage, Lothiriel. You've been hiding away for the past few days, and I'd like to share a few moments of your company." I crossed his study to the open wine bottle and poured myself a glass before rejoining him at his desk.
"So," he began, eyeing me shrewdly as I sipped at the wine. "Have you also kept yourself hidden from your man of Rohan? He has asked after you at least twice the past few days."
He had meant to bring a bit of levity with his words, but an intense sadness gripped me instead. I was reminded of something I had only just discovered and perhaps would never get the chance to have. To my surprise, the tears that had threatened to spill moments before now began in earnest. Several leaked out before I could swipe them away. My father immediately sobered, and his expression was understanding.
"Ah," he said quietly. "Quite a bit more in love that I had thought, it seems."
I had never thought of it in those specific terms, but now that my father said it, I could admit to myself that I was, in fact, in love. I nodded my head and looked down at my lap, not trusting my voice. It felt foolish to admit, seeing as how I could count my encounters with him on one hand. Yet I knew that whatever I felt for him was beyond infatuation. There was a deep yearning for him, and a rightness about it all. As far as I understood what being in love meant, I knew that was how I felt about Eomer.
My father was quiet for a few moments, and then asked, "Have the two of you spoken openly with each other?"
I shook my head. "No," I whispered. "There hasn't been time…"
My father nodded in acknowledgment. We sat in silence, and then his hand reached out and gripped mine. "Lothiriel," he said. I took a breath to steady myself, and then looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes were stern as they regarded me. "Hope is a choice. Do not give up on our return."
"Yes, father," I said, squeezing his hand.
We spent the next hour talking about nothing important, but rather lingering in each other's company. I had suggested getting Erchirion and Amrothos, but my father had waived me off. "Oh, don't bother. They're both asleep and I doubt a Mumak would wake them."
I knew there would be time to see them in the morning, for a parting without farewells.
The morning had arrived for their departure, and I found myself in somewhat of a standoff with the cook. I was feeling slightly more sentimental than usual that morning and wanted to make some sort of sisterly gesture to my brothers. I decided to bring them their breakfast from the kitchens, much to the disapproval of the kitchen staff.
"My lady, there is no need to trouble yourself!" the cook insisted, even trying to pull the tray back from my hands. "The girls can bring out the breakfast-"
"No, I insist," I said, pulling the tray back from the astonished cook. Her round face showed her uncertainty, and the young maids watched our encounter in stunned silence. I knew that under normal circumstances, the cook would have never dreamed to play tug-of-war with a princess to control a breakfast tray, yet my talent to discompose with my firm insistence and lack of formality had addled her judgment.
The staff in Minas Tirith had never quite known what to make of me, Dol Amroth being much more casual than the White City. I found myself longing, as I often did, to return home to my own staff who were all accustomed to my ways and followed my direction.
I smiled in amusement, finding the situation funny despite the grim morning. "You are much more proper than I am, but I beg that you understand I wish to bring my brothers their breakfast before they march to battle."
My tone made it clear I was not making a request, which the cook undoubtedly understood. She nodded uncertainly but let go of the tray. "Yes, my lady. Of course," she said, dropping a curtsey.
I gave a brief smile and inclined my head before leaving a stunned kitchen staff behind. I sighed and rolled my eyes slightly as I walked through the hallways, my footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The state of decorum in Minas Tirith had grown quite grim indeed if my simply carrying a tray would cause such horror among the staff. I entered my father's study where my brothers and father were gathered, armor secured, swords at their sides, studying a map at his desk. They looked impressive, standing with grim expressions, readying themselves for battle. Would I ever see such a sight again?
Don't think about that now, I chided myself, pushing my fears aside.
"Breakfast!" I called briskly, approaching the desk and setting the tray beside the map. "This should hold you over for a few hours. I've told the kitchen pack a few light provisions for you to carry in your saddlebags as well."
My brothers regarded me with confused looks, eyeing the tray and then looking back at me.
"You've never deigned to bring us food before," Amrothos said flatly, most perturbed by my uncharacteristic gesture.
"Well, do not expect it to ever happen again," I responded as they started to inspect the tray of biscuits, scones, sausages, jams, and cheeses.
"Have you gone soft, Lothi? Are you feeling well?" Erchirion said around a mouthful of brambleberry scone.
"Don't bite the hand that feeds you," father said drolly, taking a sip of his coffee as he continued to study the map. "Just say thank you and eat your food."
"Did you make these yourself?" Amrothos asked me carefully, holding up a scone.
"No," Erchirion shook his head. "They taste good."
I wasn't too offended by the question nor Erchirion's response because they were quite right to be cautious about anything I might cook. I possessed no talent in the kitchen.
"Erchirion is right, I did not prepare anything on the tray, so it is safe to eat," I assured him. "I brought it here so I could wish you well before you depart."
The air in the study was suddenly cautious as my brothers looked over at me. I had been rather testy the past few days, and they obviously were not entirely sure how to approach me in that moment.
"Don't worry," I assured them, "I'm fine, I won't throw a fit. Father and I spoke last night, and – and, I'm fine, truly," I said. I, of course, was not actually fine, which my brothers knew. But they understood what I meant. Amrothos smiled at me, his eyes reassuring and determined. There was an eagerness about him, common among warriors at his young age. Erchirion reached out a hand and clasped my shoulder before planting a kiss on my head.
"You won't be rid of us, Lothi," he said, pulling me into an embrace. "You ride well enough, but you're absolutely dreadful at shooting from horseback. I can't die before I teach you properly."
"If you die in battle, I'll kill you," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "All of you," I said, eyeing Amrothos and my father over Erchirion's shoulder.
"Understood," said Amrothos, his lips quirked in a slight grin. "Now that you've threatened us all with death, how about an embrace for me?"
I withdrew from Erchirion and reached out to Amrothos. A few moments later, we pulled apart and I looked at my father. His face showed absolute confidence and determination, as if he knew for certain that they would all live. It was incomprehensible but reassuring.
"We will see each other in a few days' time," he said, his voice betraying no doubt.
"Yes," I agreed, almost mechanically. I was still riddled with doubts but had decided that at least for the duration of our goodbyes, I would keep those doubts at bay.
"And now, my dear, I believe the Rohirrim are readying their steeds as we speak, should you have any unfinished business to see to."
I felt rather than saw the confusion from my brothers. I knew exactly what my father was referring to, and nodded in understanding.
"Yes," I said. "Yes, I, I think I should go now."
"Go where?" Erchirion asked, brow furrowed. Neither my father nor I answered him. I embraced Amrothos and Erchirion again and then kissed on my father on the cheek.
"May the Valar bring you back safely," I said in an uncharacteristic moment of solemnity. My father smiled very slightly and gripped my shoulders.
"Off you get," he said.
And so I left behind my dear father and two very confused brothers to make my way to the stables, my pace brisk. When I reached the courtyard in front of the stables, a crowd of Gondorians and Rohirrim had already gathered, readying their horses and checking their armor. Their demeanor was grim yet still somehow fierce and determined. They seemed to know they rode to a likely demise, yet there was no bitterness in the air. I almost found it heroic, but despair began to seep into my spirit. Despite my father's insistence that I hold onto hope, I still entertained doubts.
"Lothiriel, hope is a choice," I recalled him saying. Well, as far as I was concerned, I could still be frustrated by the decision, yet hopeful for the outcome. And for that reason, I found myself rather desperate to find Eomer before he left. I was so intense in my search that and I paid no attention to any obstacles in my path which led me collide rather painfully with one of the soldiers.
"Pardon me, my lady," a young man I recognized as one of my father's Swan Knights said, steadying me with a hand wrapped around my forearm. He really had no reason to apologize, as it had been me who had unceremoniously charged into him without paying any heed to my surroundings.
"No matter, Daeron, I wasn't paying attention," I said, catching my breath. It was more to steady my temper rather than compensate for any exertion. My dark mood must have been apparent because Daeron eyed me with a rather alarmed expression. "I see you are nearly ready to go?" I said briskly.
"Yes, my lady, we are all but ready to depart," Daeron confirmed, his expression becoming grim and determined again. "We await our liege. He is readying his horse, along with King Eomer." He indicated with his head toward the entrance of the stables. I followed his glance and stared in through the entrance. The sun was bright enough outside that I couldn't make out anything deep in the stables, but I imagined I could see Eomer readying his steed.
I looked back at Daeron and took in the solemness in his face. He was young, only a few years my senior, and a recent lieutenant among the Swan Knights. I didn't know him well, but I knew that he and Amrothos were friendly rivals and had often competed against each other in training. His betrothed, a lovely young maiden, awaited him at Dol Amroth. She most likely would not know about the march on the Black Gate until after the attack. What news of his fate would reach her?
Hope is a choice.
"Give them hell, Daeron," I said softly.
Daeron grinned. "Aye, my lady," he said, bowing. I offered a tight smile in return, inclining my head and then striding toward the stables.
I stepped over the threshold and inhaled the smell of horse, hay, leather, and aged wood. The familiarity cooled my ire, and I felt my muscles relax as I walked farther into my safe haven. Sunlight streamed through the slats of the roof, illuminating the dust motes swirling above. The stalls were mostly empty with just a few stable hands scurrying here and there to retrieve supplies. At the very back of the long hall, my eyes made out a familiar figure that made my chest tighten. A yearning seized me as I walked towards him, taking in that proud stature securing a saddle on a large Rohirric warhorse. A stream of sunlight shone upon his blond head, crowning him in light. For the first time, I felt no warmth bloom in my belly as I looked at him. Instead, a desperate sadness filled me, and I felt the impulse to grab his arm and demand that he stay.
He must have heard me approach. He paused and then straightened from tightening the saddle around the horse's girth. He turned and looked at me, as tall and imposing as ever in his armor. It was no longer splattered with blood but gleamed in the low light of the stables. His eyes were warm, steady, and just a little bit sad as they stared into mine. I felt a bittersweet yearning bloom in my chest as I approached him. Our roles were reversed from our first meeting. He now stood within the stall, and I stood without. I subconsciously noted the warhorse in the stall with him and stopped two feet from the gate, an appropriate amount of distance for what was undoubtedly a shrewd and fierce animal unkeen on welcoming strangers.
I paused as we held each other's gaze. His lips twitched with the softest of smiles, the warmth coaxing me to relax my rigid spine. I felt it start to loosen my lips, and if I wasn't careful, I would give into an impulse and make some declaration I wasn't quite ready to make.
Instead, I shifted my eyes to the steed standing just behind him. A monstrous thing, it was dappled gray and at least a hand taller than Bane, who was already quite large. As comfortable as I was with horses, I knew enough to not push my luck on this one.
I quirked my mouth into a small smile that I didn't feel and nodded my head at the steed. "That's surely a Rohirric horse you have there," I said, echoing our first meeting.
Eomer grinned, a surprised chuckle escaping his lips.
"Aye," he said. "Hailing from the same herd as your steed."
"Really?" I asked, taking in the massive thing's fine lines with greater interest. "Folcred's herd, as I recall you saying."
Eomer smiled and nodded. "Granted, he's quite a few years older than Bane, so they wouldn't be acquainted."
"Ah," I nodded my head in understanding. I turned my gaze at Eomer. He had an elbow leant over the gate as he regarded me. The soft fondness in his look coupled with a tinge of sadness was almost too intimate for me to bear. I felt the temptation to shy away, but his eyes wouldn't let go of mine. I was transported to our very first meeting after he had said my name for the first time. His eyes held that same unrelenting pull that caught me and steadied me. By any sane assessment, we were still perfect strangers. And yet, he somehow knew me and understood me.
And he would be leaving for almost certain death.
The futility of it all struck me, and I felt an angry lump in my throat. Our inexplicable connection formed by a chance meeting, not seeing him for three years, and then our second chance meeting after surviving the bloodiest siege in recent history, only to have him march away to his death.
"Why?" I asked. My voice was strangled, warbling with barely contained anger. I knew I didn't have to elaborate for him to understand my question.
He sighed heavily, still holding my gaze. He considered me as he weighed his response.
"When I became a soldier, I dedicated my life to defend my country," he began. "I shall hold that oath until my dying breath." He paused, brows knitted, as if giving the gravity of his words their due. "If there is any chance we can allow the halflings to have safe passage across the plains of Mordor, if there is any chance I can help them in their quest to destroy the ring and bring peace to this world…" Here he paused, an intensity growing in his look as he regarded me. The molten heat in his eyes consumed me. It stole my breath. "…If there's any chance it will bring peace to those I leave behind, then there is no choice."
I knew beyond any doubt that he was speaking of my peace. As I often did in his company, I felt out of my depth, as if we were approaching something I wasn't quite ready for. But I didn't care. I knew, I knew, I could trust him to guide me there. Whatever I lacked in understanding or experience somehow did not make me feel inept. Rather, his strength became mine, and a confidence filled me despite knowing I was resolutely charging ahead into unknown territory. I knew that in addition to his countrymen, he fought for my peace. And I knew that if things had been different, I would irrevocably be his. I just didn't know how to communicate all of this to him, not that it would make him waver in his decision.
"But we've only just…" I began before my throat constricted painfully. I was somewhat surprised to find that I wasn't embarrassed by the emotion. Eomer didn't need me to finish my sentence to catch my meaning.
"Aye," he agreed, smiling wistfully.
I felt a tear build in the corner of my eye and roll down my cheek. Eomer tracked the tear with his eyes, his brows furrowing with concern.
No, I thought resolutely. It won't do to weep. The last thing he needed was a wallowing maiden before his charge into battle. What he needed was a reason to come back.
Hope is a choice.
"Well, then," I said briskly, swiping away the lone tear track. "I shan't keep you. I will see you when you return." Eomer's eyes snapped back to mine, his surprise at my sudden change in demeanor registering in his face. "I expect a formal introduction with your horse once you're back. He seems temperamental enough to be friends even with me."
The massive thing snorted behind Eomer, as if disagreeing with my assessment. Eomer just looked stunned for a moment as he took in my steely eyes, and then his face softened once more.
"Lothiriel," he began, his tone meant to console.
"Eomer," I returned a little sharply. I wasn't sure if he had planned to make me see reason, but I wouldn't have him contradict me, no matter how foolish my insistence at his return.
He sighed again and then smiled before reaching behind him to his horse's reins. He pushed open the gate to the stall and strode forward, leading his horse behind him. I took a few steps back to allow room for them to come forward. Now, without the stall gate separating us, I felt about ten times more vulnerable. The stables had practically emptied, and I was acutely aware that we were alone. Eomer stood before me, and I craned my neck to look into his face. I etched his crisp blue eyes, stern brow, and strong jaw into my mind as if I hadn't already committed his features to memory. His tall stature and broad shoulders towered over me, and despite the inevitable somber parting, I couldn't help the thrill that shot through my body. His eyes drank me in, and he smiled softly with that incredible warmth only he was capable of conveying.
But as beautiful as he was, I was getting a bit tired of being stared at.
"What?" I asked, slightly annoyed with his silence.
Eomer chuffed in amusement, eyes crinkling, and shook his head. "You look lovely, lass."
"Oh," I blushed. I didn't know what else to say, thrown off-kilter by his directness.
His eyes changed to a sudden, steely look, and he reached out a large warm hand. His fingers threaded through my hair and clasped at the back of my neck. My brain rather curiously stopped working as he took a step forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. Warmth erupted in my belly. The press of his lips and the scratch of his beard were delicious against my skin, and I leaned forward into his kiss, my eyes closing. That familiar throb built between my thighs, and I had the sudden urge to beg him to satisfy the ache I knew all too well at this point. I could see him laying me down in the hay, lifting my skirts and finding the part of me that throbbed for him.
Now may not be the time, I reminded myself.
Eomer pulled back slightly, but kept his lips rested against my forehead, his warm breath moistening my skin. His hand slid down from my neck, his fingers tracing along my collar bone. My breath hitched at the contact and I leaned into him, my eyes closing as I drank in the feeling of his rough fingers over my skin. I heard Eomer's breath quicken slightly as his fingers tracked even lower, lingering at the skin right above my breasts. Goosebumps erupted at his touch, and I felt heat shoot across my chest as our breath mingled. How I longed for him to let his fingers wander even lower, to shape themselves around my breast, for his thumb to swipe over the hardening peak I could feel straining against my bodice. But instead, his fingers glided over to my shoulder and then down my arm to clasp my wrist. He rubbed circles with this thumb around the pulse at my wrist before lifting my palm to his lips. I opened my eyes to see him cradling my hand to his mouth, his own eyes closed as he kissed my palm. The reverence with which he held my hand, the soft desperation in the press of his lips robbed me of my breath. The throbbing between my thighs thrummed through my body, and the impulse to beg him to touch me the way I touched myself in the heat of the night was almost unbearable.
Slowly, he pulled his lips away from my palm. With his eyes still closed, he pulled my hand to his chest and pressed it over his heart, breathing deeply. I could feel the steady beat of his heart under my palm, the heat of his body comforting and thrilling. I dared to take a step closer, aching to press myself to him, longing for him to cover my body with his own and love me right there in the stables. Eomer's eyes opened and peered down into mine. I wasn't in the headspace to control what was undoubtedly unadulterated want splashed across my face, and Eomer's eyes widened slightly. I knew my eyes were hooded with the desire I felt, I knew my expression was too laced with need, and yet I didn't care how much of my feelings I was revealing. In fact, behind the surprise in his eyes, I could see a deep want that mirrored my own. He needed to know that I understood what was transpiring between us. He needed to know that I shared this need, and that I would be waiting for him when he came back.
And if the expression on my face wasn't obvious enough, I would just have to tell him outright.
"Come back," I said, my eyes piercing his. Although I had spoken it in a whisper, there was nothing soft about my tone. It was a demand.
The surprise in Eomer's eyes disappeared. Instead, a fiery determination slowly filled them. He dropped my hand that he had held against his chest and laced his fingers through my hair again. It happened so quickly I could scarcely comprehend it all: he pulled me toward him with his grasp at the nape of my neck, my hands against his chest, the length of my body nestled against his. He pressed a brief but fierce kiss against my temple, branding me with the intensity. He held me close after he pulled his lips away, breathing heavily next to my ear.
"If you will have me," he began, his voice low and gravely, "I will taste your lips when I return." He pulled back slightly, peering down into my face. His eyes were the darkest I had seen them, burning into mine. "If you will have me," he whispered. I could sense barely contained restraint from him, and if it had been anyone else, I would have felt frightened at this new territory.
"Yes," I whispered back. "I will have you."
He smiled, his eyes drinking me in. "I will bring back peace for you,' he swore, his hand sliding forward to cradle my jaw and his thumb sweeping over my lower lip. If I'd had the presence of mind, I would have pressed a kiss to his thumb, but I was too overwhelmed to put anything into action. It was all I could do to savor his affections in these last, hurried moments. "I will return to you," he said fervently. "Such will be my victory." I shivered in response, my chest heaving against his, and nodded my understanding. I was his, and he would come back for me. He would do his utmost, and I knew enough from Erchirion's praises that his utmost was damn-well unparalleled.
And then, all too soon, he was striding past me, leading his great beast down the stables and out into the crowded courtyard. After a few heartbeats of swaying in stunned silence, I strode after him, pausing at the threshold of the stables. The soldiers were starting to mount up, all captains and leaders of the squadrons preparing in the lower levels. I picked out Eomer among the throng, seated astride his horse, looking imposing and impressive in his horsetail helmet, surveying the readying troops. I dimly registered my father and brothers next to him. We had said our goodbyes earlier that day, the dull ache still heavy in my chest. There was only so much I could handle in one moment, so I forbade myself from revisiting my fear of not seeing them again. The foolish hope Eomer's determined eyes had given me was all I could entertain.
And then he, along with my father, brothers, and Gondor's new king, led their host forward and out of the courtyard. I stood at the stone wall overlooking the Pelennor Fields, watching as the last few able-bodied men left from the great battle marched toward their impossible task. Eomer was on his way to fight for my peace, but I found that I didn't want it if it meant he would never return.
A/N – I had the best time writing Imrahil in this chapter. He's a bit aloof, self-possessed, and incredibly proud of his children. I think out of all his kids, he has a soft spot for his daughter. Lothiriel is a bit impulsive, so I think her father's steadiness helps to center her. To me, this family is pretty stoic and has a bit of a "Well, just get on with it" outlook on life, which explains how they all said goodbye to each other. It was heartfelt but direct. When there's a task at hand, it's more useful to just get down to business. At least, that's how I imagine this family operates.
So, what's going on with our lovebirds? I don't think Eomer fully let himself entertain what's going on between him and Lothiriel until these last few moments. He has kept a tight leash on his feelings because, well, they're in the middle of a war. His sense of duty and honor won't let him play around with a young woman's feelings in these circumstances, especially since he happens to really like this girl. She also happens to be beautiful, and he's a man with normal, chemical responses. To keep his own sanity, he hasn't really allowed himself to think too much about that physical attraction to her or even act on it in the slightest until now. It's hard to explain, but I think he realizes he's in love with her as much as he can be at this point, given they haven't spent that much time together. Now that he's marching to certain death, I think he's allowing a bit of romanticism to take over. He's like, "Hey, I'm going to fight like I've got someone to return to. I'm all in. How about you?"
Lothiriel is finally experiencing some sexual contact (albeit, VERY innocent sexual contact) with the dreamy guy she's been enthralled with the past three years. She's much less experienced than Eomer is and so isn't as familiar with all these feelings. But, despite her naivety, she's still pretty smart and can understand that this thing with Eomer is mutual and unique. There's something about him that makes her feel vulnerable, yet secure, and she knows he's a safe place. This is unchartered territory, she's a bit nervous, but she trusts him. So, she has very innocently said, "Yes, I'm all in."
If you have any feedback, especially in terms of what I can improve, please let me know! I'm still treating this story as an exercise in writing, and I'm eager to improve!