PROMPT: Things you didn't say at all.

Dol Amroth truly is beautiful.

It being so is doing nothing to quell the nausea rolling in his stomach. The fact that the serving girl has led him to the garden-their garden-helps even less.

Perhaps I should just leave, he thinks, desperate for some alternative. Perhaps if I simply went away, stop replying to her letters, she would forget me-

"I did not expect you back so soon!"

Eomer forces himself not to flinch.

He turns.

Lothiriel is hurrying towards him. Her hair is unbound, glossy and black in the midday sun, and her pretty face is set in its familiar smiling lines. Bright eyes sparkle with unrestrained happiness at seeing him. Bema above, but she is beautiful.

She is hugging him before he can stop her, arms tight around his waist and her face pressed into his chest. Everything in him aches to put his arms around her. But he cannot. For her sake, above all others, he cannot.

She stiffens, slightly, in surprise at his lack of welcome. Tipping her head back to meet his gaze, he can see the confusion writ on her lovely features. The concern.

"Eomer?" She asks. "Is something wrong?"

"My lady," he says, willing his face to remain impassive and still, despite how bitter the formal address tastes on his tongue. "I-I am afraid I have bad news."

Lothiriel gives a sharp gasp, tugging him down to sit beside her on the nearest bench. "Oh, Eomer, I am sorry! Is it your uncle? Has he grown so ill?"

"My uncle is fine. Thank you for your concern."

She blinks again. "My...concern? Eomer, why are you speaking like this?"

"Like what, my lady?"

"As if we are strangers! Surely we have not grown so distant in only a month's time," Lothiriel teases, nudging him.

Of course not, he thinks, I know you better than anyone. I would know you anywhere in the world.

But he cannot say that. Not with Grima's threats still ringing in his ears.

It would be a shame if something were to befall the Princess of Dol Amroth. So fair, so young...so unused to the dangers of the road. Of travel. Of men. Take her to wife by all means, Eomer, son of Eomund. But do not expect a long union should you do so. Such a...delicate creature surely would not last long amongst the Eorlingas.

"I am afraid that we have and that we must," Eomer says. "Due to the news I must give you, my lady. My uncle will not permit me to marry outside the Riddermark."

There! It is said. A lie and a truth, all in one. Theoden King had refused his petition to court Lothiriel. Or Grima had, somehow using his uncle as a puppet to keep Eomer from finding even the tiniest shred of happiness. And the councilor's hold on Theoden is horribly, terribly strong. Eomer has no doubt that he would hold good on his threats to Lothiriel, should he do what his heart wants and marry her regardless. Even if she were to stay here, in faraway Dol Amroth. Grima's reach is long and his mind is cunning. Bema, how he hates that wyrm-

"I do not believe you," she says, pulling him from his thoughts. Her brows are drawn together, eyes sharp. Oh, Bema. He knows that face. She is as stubborn as Eowyn, when she sets her mind to something, and it is very clearly set now. "You have never mentioned such a stipulation before. And-you are unsettled, I think, rather than upset."

The urge to press his forehead to hers, to tell her that she is right, that she has used her uncanny ability to read him once again, is strong. So very strong.

A Marshal's wife faces many trials, Grima's voice whispers, and all of them stem from her choice of husband. Would you really want to subject her to that?

He will not risk her. Not even for the chance of their happiness.

So. It is to be the more painful way, in which he must break her heart.

"I was trying to spare you discomfort," Eomer forces himself to say, "but I see now you will leave me no other choice."

"No other-Eomer, what are you-"

"Please, my lady. Do not make me say it."

"Say what?" Lothiriel explodes, shooting to her feet. "That you are not acting like yourself? That you are frightening me? That you are not telling me the truth?"

"Then let me tell you it now. Yes, it is true that my uncle did not give his permission, but it is also true that I no longer require it. For I do not love you."

Lothiriel's pinked cheeks drain so rapidly of color that he cannot help but reach out to steady her-Bema, this will be the last time he touches her and it feels like a dagger in his heart-to prevent her from fainting.

But his mðdleófu is made of sterner stuff than that. She stands firm, eyes baring into his.

"You-you do not-"

"Love you. I have been dishonest to both of us-"

"You are being dishonest now! How can you say-after everything-"

"My time away gave me clarity. It was an infatuation, nothing more. I should not have taken advantage of your youth and inexperience-"

"Taken-you-Eomer, I do not understand-"

"I am sorry to cause you pain. But you would not make me a good wife. Nor I you a good husband. I cannot continue to lie to myself, or to you."

Bema, this was true torture. Every word out of his mouth is a lie-Eorlingas do not lie-and painful ones at that. Lothiriel is crying now, try as she might to keep the tears at bay.

"But-you said-you said I was-"

Mðdleófu. Beloved above all others. Dearest.

"I was mistaken."

"A-and what of me? My love matters so little to you?"

It is more valuable than I know how to say. It is more than I ever thought to have, and more than I expect to ever know again.

"I cannot change my heart, my lady."

At this, she slips out of his grip, wrapping her arms around herself. As if she is holding herself together. "Nor can I change mine," she cries, "for it is still yours, even as it breaks!"

Oh, Bema. His hands shake with the effort of not reaching out to her. She will not forgive him for this, even if the truth ever comes to light. That is well enough; he will not forgive himself either.

"I am sorry that it is so," Eomer manages to say.

That, of everything he's said, is true.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sooooo this is from the Persuasion AU that's happening AGAINST MY WILL, in which Eomer takes Anne's role and Lothiriel is Wentworth. See chapter 38 of this collection of prompt fills for another excerpt :)