PROMPT: Things you said when you were scared

PART ONE

To say he's less than surprised when the door slams open not two minutes after he'd pushed it closed is an understatement. He knows his wife of just over a year better than most, and knows even better about that temper of hers that lies hidden under layers of well-taught Gondorian propriety and an iron will.

"Lothiriel, this is not up for discussion," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Clearly," she bites back, dark eyes flashing with anger. "Considering how you decreed what I was to do, in full view of the entire hall."

Eomer winces; it had not been one of his smartest moves, nor one of his most considerate. But, Bema, what was he to do? He had renewed the Oath of Eorl when Aragorn had become king. There was nothing to do but answer his friend and ally's call for aid. It matters very little that the thought of seeing any Mûmakil again makes his stomach turn, that the thought of marching past Morannon only brings back the smell of death and terror and blood-

"-I do not understand it, it is not as if I have not gone with you before-"

Lothiriel's voice pulls him from his musings. She is right, of course, as she so often is. In previous skirmishes within their own borders, it would not be odd for her to accompany him. While no warrior herself, Lothiriel was an accomplished healer in her own right, and had enough sense around battle to not put herself in harm's way.

But this was different. The ride alone would be arduous for even the most experienced Eorlingas, and the well-trained armies of the Haradrim made even the most organized Dunlending band look like unruly children. The thought of Lothiriel being even remotely nearby...it felt like ice sliding into his stomach. Nearly terror enough to match what he'd felt upon finding Eowyn on the Pelennor Fields.

"It is different," he says, tone sharp. "These are no starving Dunlendings, nor mindless Orcs-"

"I know that," Lothiriel snaps. "I am not a fool! But if I can help our men, help Aragorn's soldiers, surely it is worse for me to remain here-"

"Worse?" Eomer asks, turning to face her. "Worse to remain in Edoras, safe and well-guarded, miles from any who would wish you harm?"

Lothiriel scowls at him. "I am not a trinket, to be placed in a tower and kept well protected, Eomer!"

"You are deliberately misunderstanding me," he fires back. "All the more reason why you should not go-"

"You have not given me a reason!" She cries, stepping closer to stick a finger under his nose. "You have not given me a single, valid reason as to why you are acting like this-"

"It is dangerous-"

"Life is dangerous-"

"You are needed here-"

"The council can run things in our absence-"

There is something like panic burning in his veins. All he can think of is the day they'd brought his father home, the horrible sound of his mother's grief over his body. Finding Theodred, nearly face down in the water of the Fords. Theoden King, broken and bloody, under the body of the once magnificent Snowmane. Eowyn, still and pale, in armor beside the wreckage of the Nazgul's mount.

"You cannot come, and you will not come," he says, voice sounding distorted even to his own ears.

Lothiriel's face is nearly red, likely matching his in her anger, her confusion. "I will go where I please, Eomer King-"

The panic bubbles over again-had Eowyn not also ignored a king's orders? Was it to be his wife's body he finds next, would it be Lothiriel that he would fail to protect?

"I cannot risk you!" He finally yells, hands gripping her shoulders. "I cannot-the thought of something happening to you…"

Her eyes are wide as realization dawns. "Eomer," she murmurs in a much softer tone.

Suddenly, he finds that he cannot face her. The had not married for love, it's true, and yet he has come to love her all the same. He has not found the strength to tell her, yet, and it would feel like a bribe now, a trick to get her to agree to remain behind.

"I have lost all of my family save Eowyn to violence," he says instead, hiding his eyes behind his hand. "I...please do not ask me to do it again."

They are both silent for a moment. He nearly startles at the sudden feeling of Lothiriel stepping up to wrap her arms around his waist. She presses her face into his chest, and they both give a sigh when he runs a hand through her hair.

"I did not think," she murmurs, the sound slightly muffled. "I am sorry, Eomer."

"I should have explained," Eomer argues, not willing to let her take the blame on his inability to communicate properly-something Eowyn has always berated him for, come to think of it. "You are my wife and my Queen, and deserve a proper explanation."

"Yes," Lothiriel agrees, a touch of her usual humor back in her voice, "but I should not have pushed so."

The longer she stands there, arms wrapped around him, the quicker the lingering sense of panic-fear, if he's honest with himself-recedes. Feeling more settled, he moves to unwind himself from her-he will have to meet with the council soon, to detail their plans in his absence, but her hands on either side of his face stop him.

"Since I am not to come with you, you must promise me something instead," Lothiriel says.

"Anything."

"Come back to me," she says. "For I do not think I could stand losing my family to violence, either."

What else can he do, but kiss her? He should not promise her such a thing, for life is uncertain, even with Sauron defeated. But he does, all the same.

As it turns out, it was a very easy promise to keep.