Part 1: Bargaining
"Come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream."
- Euripides
oOo
Summer 3018, Dol Amroth
Lothíriel sat against an orange tree as she looped and braided flower stems together to make a crown. Under the summer sun, the oranges above her head ripened and filled the air with the scent of citrus mingled with the ever-present smell of the sea. As she concentrated, she didn't notice someone approaching until their shadow fell over her. She looked up and broke into a wide smile.
"Eradan," she said, standing. With her free hand, she brushed off any leaves from the soft purple material of her dress just as her late mother's pearl necklace unclasped and fell to the ground.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, about to bend down to take it when Eradan lifted a hand to stop her.
"Allow me, love." His voice was soft and Lothíriel couldn't help herself from watching as he bent before her. His curls parted along the nape of his neck, exposing his olive skin to her. Without a second thought, she bent forward, lightly kissing the naked spot. Eradan froze where he was and waited just long enough for Lothíriel to straighten again before standing again himself. He wore a lopsided grin as he looked to her, the string of pearls held gently with both of his hands.
Lothíriel turned, holding her long, loose hair to one side so he might have an easier time clasping the jewelry in place. She felt his fingers graze against the exposed skin only to let out a small squeak when she felt his lips against her neck.
"What?" he chuckled, the whisper close to her ear, "I figured it was only fair to pay you back for your kiss."
"I do suppose it was only fair," she agreed, forcing herself to take on a more serious expression. As the two stared at each other, she couldn't hold back her laughter as it bubbled up. "I will get you back for it though."
"Is that a promise, love?" he asked quietly before taking her hand in his own and leading her towards their favored bench on the walls that overlooked the sea.
"Only for you," she said, placing the mostly finished flower crown atop his head with some bravado before sweeping around him in a dance-like motion and made to kiss him on his cheek only to have him catch her and meet the kiss with his own, his hands pressing against the fullness of her back to steady her balance. There was a desperation to this kiss. Lothíriel could feel it. And when their lips parted, she looked at him, all traces of her earlier playfulness were gone.
"What is it, Eradan?" she asked. He shook his head.
"We should sit down first." His expression had also become more solemn and Lothíriel felt a pit in her stomach that only seemed to root itself deeper in her as they got closer to their bench. Upon arriving, he had her sit, but rather than join her as he normally would, he instead stood and looked out at the sea.
His back was perfectly straight. His hands were clasped neatly behind his back and his feet were apart. She let her eyes freely travel over the bits of exposed sin. His eyes were so dark that they might have been mistaken for black eyes, but she knew their true color almost like they were her personal secret. His full, soft lips were pressed firmly against each other, thinning them slightly. After minutes, he parted those lips and spoke quietly.
"Osgiliath has fallen."
There it was. She had heard rumors about movements from Mordor with that intent for days, but to learn that her cousin had not been successful in his endeavors...
"Your uncle has called for reinforcements to go to Minas Tirith," he paused, unable or unwilling to say the last words. So Lothíriel said them for him.
"And you are part of the group who will go with them." It wasn't a question. She knew how talented Eradan was. He was one of the captains of her father's swan-knights. Not only that, but someone her father had loved as if he were one of his sons. She knew how loved and respected her future husband was by those inside and outside of the palace and having one of the best knights in Minas Tirith could help turn the morale of their own soldiers around. Wars were won and lost on morale.
And yet...
And yet Lothíriel couldn't help the sinking feeling that Eradan was walking into something that would be worse than anyone had ever expected it to be. She stood suddenly and paced.
"If you're going, then perhaps I should as well. I know I'm no healer, but I'm certain that with Mordor's efforts being centered on Minas Tirith there will be a need for runners in the houses of healing." Eradan caught Lothíriel's hand.
"You know I would never forbid you from doing anything, my love, but I would ask that you remain here so I do not have to worry over your fate should the city every fall."
"But it won't fall. Not if you're going there." Lothíriel said, her face was deadly serious. That brought a smile to Eradan as he ran his hand gently up her arm until his palm pressed against her cheek.
"No," he said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "it won't."
oOo
Spring 3020, Minas Tirith
Lothíriel kept her eyes closed even as the dream faded. "Please," she whispered into the empty air. "Just let me see him for a little longer." Her voice cracked as tears burned behind her lids, forcing themselves out, but still, she didn't open her eyes. "I'll beg if I have to."
It was useless.
The burning sensation of tears behind her closed lids was increasingly familiar. With a sigh, she opened them, releasing the tears to flow unbidden down her smooth skin and onto the silken pillow. She didn't try to keep them at bay, but instead allowed them to empty her of her pain; except...she knew she couldn't empty a bottomless pit.
But her tears...those were not unending - at least not as they used to be only months ago.
As her eyes dried, she wiped the evidence of them from her face with a small handkerchief, pressing the tiny stitched "E" to her chest. Looking around the room, she could see light filtering through a tiny crack in the curtains and just past them she could hear the morning calls of birdsongs. She stood, sucking in a breath at the cold stone, but she did not return to the warmth of her bed. Instead she went to the window and pulled the heavy curtains aside, letting the light burst into the room. The bright, happy colors surrounding her in the room felt a bit disjointed with how she had woken up, but the room was beautifully decorated.
It was immediately evident that Queen Arwen had taken much care to add touches of elven grace to each of the pieces, no doubt making both her and the king feel more at home. She took a steadying breath as she thought back to how much Eradan had always wanted to visit Imladris and see the elven home for himself. Just thinking about that caused her to feel more and more ill at ease. She had faced never being able to enjoy the new discoveries of life after the war, but thinking on them still forced her to remember the look of excitement he'd had on his face. The way his eyes shone when he talked about traveling the world with her after the war.
She sank to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. She didn't know how long she sat there. Time was meaningless to her. Slowly the floor began to warm underneath her, and the sunlight became even brighter. The door to her chamber opened, the space in of the door frame partially filled by the slender form of Hazelle, her maid.
"My lady?" she said, concern laced in her tone. She came forward and knelt before Lothíriel, in her hands was a wooden tray with steaming food. "I have your breakfast." She set it aside and offered a hand. "Shall you have it in your bed or at your sitting table?" Lothíriel looked at her for a few moments before taking another deep breath and forcing herself to stand.
"The table please," she said, pulling out the chair she intended to use while Hazelle placed the food in front of her. It looked lovely, and she was sure it tasted wonderful, but still she had to force herself to eat the food. While she ate, Hazelle busied herself with making the bed and brushing her mistress' hair.
"Do I have anything scheduled for today?" Lothíriel asked the maid.
"No, my lady," Hazelle answered quietly.
Lothíriel glanced towards the window. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, and while there was certainly a chill in the air, no doubt it would begin to warm before the afternoon had reached its apex. The idea of being outside and simply existing in the cool, open air made her feel as if there was less pressure on her shoulders.
"I think I would like to go for a ride after breakfast. Could you make sure word is sent ahead of me that I will be taking Aira out for a few hours?"
"Of course, my lady." She began to pull Lothíriel's dark waves into a single long braid. "Do you have a preference for a particular riding habit? Perhaps the green one would suit you?" The question was posed quietly and Lothíriel knew her faithful maid well enough to understand the deeper meaning: 'Please come back.'
But she couldn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
"The black velvet," she said simply. Lothíriel felt, rather than heard Hazelle sigh.
"As you wish, my lady," the maid responded finishing her task before opening the nearby wardrobe and laying out the desired clothing neatly.
oOo
The fact that the door to the stables didn't creak was more of a blessing than Éomer could have hoped. Without any preamble, he stepped inside and slid the door closed, hoping no one - particularly any lady - saw him enter and invite herself for a morning ride. Despite the earliness of the hour, he had already nearly been cornered into three breakfasts and one dinner invitation; how he had managed to escape such interludes, he didn't know. Perhaps he was adding to the Gondorian myth that the men of the Mark were barbarians.
"Sixteen more days," he said with a sigh, leaning against the door frame. "Only sixteen days until I can return home."
"Is Minas Tirith not to your liking, my lord?" came a familiar, feminine voice. It's bearer was hidden behind one of the tall horse stall walls.
Éomer jumped upright in surprise at hearing the woman and slowly walked towards her. "I simply long for my homeland and what tasks I must complete before the initial planting season ends for my country." He spoke neutrally as he passed various horses, most of which were strangers to him aside from Winfola, Éowyn's mount and Firefoot, his own.
"That is a very dutiful approach," the woman said, her voice clearly coming from the stall marked with the nameplate 'Aira.' Éomer made it to the opening and beyond a lovely chestnut mare, he saw Lothíriel, a brush in her hand as it ran down the length of her mare's back. Her hair was pulled back into a long, single braid while the rest of her was once again shrouded in black.
"My lady," he said at the stall opening, "Good morrow."
"Good morrow, my lord," she said, looking up at him. "It's alright," she said with a small smile. "I won't reveal to all of Minas Tirith that you would rather be anywhere but here." She finished with her brush, taking Aira's bridle in her hands delicately. "But if you will excuse me, I also wish for some time away from the city."
"You're going for a ride?" he heard himself ask before he could stop himself.
"Indeed sire. I find it is the best way to shake off the early morning cobwebs." She opened the stall door, leading her horse past him.
"By yourself?" he asked. It was not something he would normally judge anyone for, especially not in Rohan, but things here were often so different.
"Unless you're offering to accompany me," she started, turning to look at him with a bemused smile that hinted at knowledge more than he expected her to have, "I will be alone for my ride."
Éomer struggled within himself as he wondered if he aught to insist on going out with her. Was this perhaps indeed another contrivance, only playing on the slight familiarity that she had with him the evening before, or was that knowing look something of understanding that he had come in here specifically to escape the company of others? He watched her look at him for a few moments before she turned away, securing in his find finally that she had not tried to entrap him into escorting her for a morning ride.
"I should hate to delay you from your excursion, Princess Lothíriel," he said, giving a slight bow of his head.
At the sound of her name, she raised an eyebrow curiously but remained silent, instead giving a curtsy before leading her horse to the tack room as the stable master affixed the saddle onto Aira.
"Please be well, King Éomer," she said once more before pulling herself up gracefully onto the saddle. The door was pulled open for her and without any hesitation, Lothíriel was out of the stables. Before Éomer knew what he was doing, he had followed her as far as the open doorway, watching her ride slowly down the road. A few people, commoner and noble alike, gave her greetings and while the response was polite, it was very clear she did not plan to stop for anyone.
"I see you've met my fair cousin," Éomer turned as Faramir approached, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"I met her last night, actually," Éomer said. "She had just finished defending herself from a fairly handsy drunkard when I escorted her back to the ball." Éomer spotted the shadow of a frown touch the corner of Faramir's lips.
"I think the both of you would get along very well," he said, folding his arms over his chest. "Actually, she is in a fairly similar situation to you at the moment. Though I am quite glad to say that unlike your advisors, her father would never seek to have her marry without her heart in it." Faramir's gaze looked towards the ghost of where Lothíriel had only just been.
"How do you know about my advisors?" Éomer asked. Faramir looked at him in mock surprise.
"My lord," he said playfully. "I am the steward of Gondor. I know many things of foreign affairs." He chuckled before allowing his tone to become more normal. "In truth, Éowyn mentioned it to me after she arrived. I think she's worried about you. She wants you to be happy as she is happy."
"My advisors like to remind me that as king, I should look for a woman of fortune and fine breeding in order to secure my line." Éomer sighed, "I never expected to be a king, let alone have to find someone worthy of being a queen at my side. I wish they understood that I just need more time to adjust to this position." He looked past the wall that overlooked the fields below. He could see a small rider down below , no doubt Lothíriel bolting away from the city as fast as her horse could go. "At least Lady Lothíriel is not put upon by her family to carry on her line. As a princess, she must find it fairly freeing in that respect."
"Perhaps," Faramir said. And though he did not seem entirely convinced, he did not expand upon any thoughts he might have that would discount Éomer's statements.
oOo
Lothíriel measured the sun's passage in the sky, wondering if she should begin her journey back to the city when she spotted another rider. At first she braced herself for the arrival of one of the noblemen who must have heard of her early morning departure and sought a way to garner a bit of attention, only to relax as she recognized Éowyn. Her soon-to-be cousin by marriage must have spotted her - or more likely Aira and turned her mount more precisely in Lothíriel's direction.
She remembered their first meeting during the end days of the war. How they had come together in their grief and fear. And how she had seen the seedling of love begin to tenderly blossom between both her and Faramir. She liked Éowyn very much. The two of them had exchanged letters for weeks as the weight of grief seemed to lessen under the strength of the friendship they had formed. When she had received an invitiation to attend Éowyn and Faramir's wedding not only as a guest but as the woman who would stand by her side, Lothíriel realized that Éowyn must have felt just as strongly.
The rhythm of the hooves approaching pulled Lothíriel from her musings as she smiled up at Éowyn, the expression mirrored immediately. Before Lothíriel could greet her, Éowyn spoke up with a laugh.
"I'd heard you went for a ride this morning and found that the idea was just so splendid I should do the same thing. I'm pleased we seemed to share a route."
"I had to get some fresh air," Lothíriel said, guiding Aira to move to Éowyn's side.
"Were you hoping to escape the confinement of the city?"
"While the city can be fairly confining...not to mention the terrible memories I'm sure you've heard enough of; I needed refuge from the gentleman inside," Lothíriel rolled her eyes. "You would think they would respect that I am in mourning, but the only things that spur their intentions are the size of my dowry, and the connection they'd gain to my father. Can you believe Lord Tasset actually put his hands on me last night? The nerve of such a man to think he could convince me to feel scandalized enough from his poor judgement." She paused, "You know...it's probably a good thing your brother was there. If he hadn't been, I might have killed the man."
Éowyn chuckled, "He did mention that he'd met you in the gardens."
"We met again this morning," Lothíriel stated in a matter of fact way. "It was pure coincidence. I'm certain he went in to hide from someone while I was already there, preparing Aira for this very ride. Though I think," she said, amusement evident in the quirk of her lips, "if Gondorian society saw and noted the frequency in which we met each other...perhaps they'd assume me fancied each other. The lot of them are gossip-mongers."
"You know..." Éowyn said quietly, "that may not be a terrible idea."
oOo
The sun was high in the sky as Lothíriel welcomed Éowyn once more, bringing with her Faramir and Éomer. Éowyn had explained her plan in detail, and to the other three's credit, no one interrupted once. But as soon as her proposal was complete, Lothíriel couldn't remain still a moment longer. She stood from her place on the sofa and began to pace about the room, twirling the end of her braid idly as she thought.
"So let me understand. You wish to make it look as though King Éomer and I have formed some sort of attachment, with the hope that if we are both paired together, everyone else will let us be?"
"That is precisely my thought," Éowyn nodded. Think on it. As you are a princess of the realm, there are few - if any - ladies who outrank you, and thus they would not openly oppose you. If they believe you've set your cap at my brother, there is little they could do to work against you." She turned her gaze towards her brother. "And given that you are a king, and close friend to Aragorn, I doubt any lord of Gondor would seek your ire by courting the lady you seem to favor - especially when you are well known here for your temper."
Lothíriel turned and looked at Faramir, his expression unreadable. "And what do you have to say about this plan, cousin? If our ruse were to be discovered as a lie, think of the scandal that would follow not only my family through my actions, but also that of yours in connection to Éomer through marriage."
"Perhaps it does not need to be a total ruse," Faramir said. "The gossip among society would call a single dog a wolf pack if they were to glance at it from a distance. If the two of you could form even a simple friendship, it would be enough to let society spin whatever tale they can from it. And if someone should catch onto the ruse, you can simply correct them and state that nothing has ever been declared and society was carried away in the air of romance surround Éowyn and my wedding." Faramir looked towards Éomer who still hadn't moved even an inch. "You've been awfully quiet."
Éomer had been watching Lothíriel as she paced. She had felt his eyes on her the entire time, but rather than cower from his inspection, she faced him directly, meeting his steady gaze with one of her own. Much like Faramir, he had a mostly unreadable expression, though there was a frown tucked away at the corner of his mouth. His long, blond hair - the very thing that apparently earned him the title of Lion of Rohan - fell just beyond his shoulder. As Faramir's question hung in the air, he sighed lightly before running his fingers through the hair, allowing strands to catch the light filtering through a nearby window.
"If anyone other than my sister had suggested this plan, I might think they were trying to ensnare me into something," he finally said. "I'm not certain how successful this venture will prove to be. I am not someone who makes a habit of lying; and purposefully allowing assumptions or misunderstandings - while not exactly lying - is not entirely honest either." It was Éomer's turn to pace. Lothíriel took a seat once again to make room for him as he crossed the room back and forth in long strides. "I am not, however, opposed to forming a friendship with you, Princess Lothíriel. At least so long as it is clearly understood that that is all I am offering."
"As am I," Lothíriel said hastily, "of course." Éomer stopped and looked at her again as Lothíriel realized he was studying her. Searching her face for a hint of a lie. As she understood, she continued to face him directly, though her expression softened a bit. "In truth my lord," she started taking a deep breath, "I'm not certain how aware you are of my situation."
"I know you lost your fiancé and are still dressing in a way that befits someone in mourning," Éomer said quietly.
"That is the most basic nature of it, yes," Lothíriel started, tapping her heel lightly to force herself to remain in the moment. "In Gondorian high society there are several - ridiculous - rules that men and women have to follow. One of which is the mourning period that is granted to those who are married rather than being simply betrothed." She took a shaky breath. How many times had she railed to her maid about such rules in her society? "Due to the fact that Eradan and I were never more than intended for each other, I was granted a year to mourn him. By society standards, I should be back in color and full force, preparing to accept callers with the goal of marrying. Another shaky breath as she felt the familiar tightness in her chest and had to fight shouting.
"If I had been married, I would have been allowed as much time as I wished to mourn my love, but as it is, there are few who can understand that I still love him. How can I think of being courted or married to another man when I still hold Eradan in my heart?" She swiped a hand against her cheek hastily as she felt a tear begin to fall. "I apologize, King Éomer," she turned away fighting to keep the tears at bat. But it was a losing battle.
She felt movement by her side and then there was Éomer, kneeling beside her, holding out a handkerchief that looked so small in contrast to the size of his hands. She took it, nodding her thanks before letting her tears soak into the soft fabric. As she pressed it closer to her nose, she was surprised by the sweet scent on the cloth. She would have never expected something that to come from Éomer's pocket to have something that smelled mildly of flowers, but the additional mildness reminded her of something.
As she pondered more on it, she finally recognized it. It was honey. It smelled almost exactly like the apiaries back in Dol Amroth. The buzzing sound the bees made had been fairly relaxing for her, but Eradan had disliked going to close. She had found his fear of the tiny creatures endearing, but it meant that he never smelled like this. He had almost always been a mixture of the sea and citrus. In that difference, she felt oddly comforted.
She finished dabbing her eyes as she collected herself. "I do apologize. When I started speaking, I didn't realize I would so easily become overwrought." When she looked to Éomer she saw that there was sorrow in his own expression.
"I am truly sorry for your loss," he said quietly, accepting the return of his handkerchief while he took one of her hands in his. "Are you open to beginning a friendship with me? While I feel I would be personally happier here without having to constantly look over my shoulder for some new lady with the same hope or expectation, I would like to know that I am offering you not only a loyal friend in myself, but also respite from the ambitious men you have found yourself around."
Lothíriel looked from Éomer to Éowyn and Faramir behind him. Éowyn had a knowing, sad smile, but rather than come to her and provide comfort as they had done for each other an innumerable amount of times before, she remained by Faramir's side. It was truly her decision to make. She turned her gaze back to Éomer and was suddenly struck by the humor of the situation. If anyone else were to enter this room right now, it would appear that Éomer was making another kind of proposal entirely.
"I would be lucky to count myself among your friends, Éomer King," she said, a playfulness working it's way into the corner of her mouth. "Though you must promise me one thing," the amusement was in full blossom. "Give me your word that you will not fall in love with me."
A/N: Well I'm back! I can't believe how much time has passed since I updated this (or really anything.) Life has a funny way of stepping in and taking over.
I really missed Éomer and Lothíriel (and everyone else, let's be honest)! I'm so looking forward to exploring the grieving process of Lothíriel and watching these two fall in love in this major slow-burn romance. I have lots planned for this couple not just over the time period before Éowyn and Faramir's wedding, but beyond that by quite a lot!
In other news, I have a bit of a proposition for some of you readers. Aside from burnout, One of the biggest reasons for this delay was due to the fact that the last of my beta readers had to quit due to the how hectic their own lives have been over the past several months.
So I need approx 3-5 new beta readers who would be willing to read and answer questions about the bits they have read so I can get reader feedback! The only requirement I have is that you have to be someone that has enjoyed my previous works and are a follower to this account.
SO: if you are interested in doing this, feel free to send me a message on here and we can sort out the details on how to go forward and what works best for you.
Anyways...I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Please look forward to the next one!
