Disclaimer: Own nothing except the characters I've made up.
Author's note: Don't get confused now, but I decided that this was moving too slowly and I needed to pace things up a bit. Everything in italics is either flashbacks or thoughts. I had decided to have this finished by Saturday, but I had a little unforeseen appointment with some friends of mine and a considerable amount of alcohol, so it resulted in a slight delay. And usually I will reply to the reviews I receive, but this time I don't remember if I did it or didn't (I probably forgot), but thanks to all who reviewed. Now on with the story…
Things Worth Fighting For
Chapter 20
How she wished to cast away all her troubles and sorrows, to sail away never to return, safe in the arms of the man she loved, away from all royal duties, away from all grief and tragedy. To a place far away, with green plains and view of the sea, to the east large snow-clad mountains where the sun would climb up each morning, to the west a large green forest where the sun would set each night, casting long shadows of the large trees. They would have a cow, a few chickens and perhaps a couple of sheep and of course many horses. They would swim in the sea and build sandcastles on the beach, ride across the plains, and hunt in the forest and live happily ever after, just the two of them and in time a couple of children, all with the same golden hair as their father.
It was a nice dream, but it was only a dream. He had his duties to his country and his people, as she had her duties as a daughter and princess of a royal house.
She forced back the tears that threatened to come. Soon she was expected in the Great Hall, for her father held a feast; a feast to celebrate his daughter's engagement. She would not cry. She refused to cry. She would not show weakness. She would go down the stairs, down the hall and enter the Great Hall with her head held high. She would lock all her emotions inside and hide it beneath an exterior of ice, cold and unbreakable.
A marriage contract, when first signed, could not be broken. This was the law of the country she was born in, and she had no choice but to follow it lest she bring disgrace upon her father's name.
Three months earlier, in Edoras.
For the weeks following the funeral of Théoden King and the crowning of Éomer, Lothíriel was happy. She forgot all about the promise her father had made to a man she despised, and the paper with the proud signature of Prince Imrahil hidden in the desk in his study was forgotten.
For a time she was happy. Her days spent in an overgrown garden behind Meduseld, in the strong arms of the man she loved more than anything in this world. As soon as he could get away from his royal duties, Éomer would be in the garden with her, and at night when the shadows hid their identity they would take their horses and ride across the plains.
They carefully avoided raising suspicion, and with the aid of Éowyn they succeeded to keep people in the dark. But the joy and happiness in Lothíriel was too apparent for her father not to notice.
One night after she had retired and waited for the rest of Meduseld to fall to rest so she could meet Éomer in the stables for their nightly excursion, she was seated in a chair by the window, reading a book. A knock on the door made her look up and when her father entered she knew her dream would soon come to an end. A deep frown made him look ten years older than he was, and his eyes were sad, as if knowing what he was about to say would ruin his daughter's life forever.
Imrahil took a chair from the other side of the room and sat down next to her. "Lothíriel, my child, I have seen the sadness in your heart ever since we met again in Minas Tirith after the Battle of Pelennor, and I see now that this sadness has been washed away. Not by Lord Talon, for only love could wash away that sadness, and I know you feel nothing but contempt for him."
"Ada," she shook her head, willing him to stop.
"Please, Lothíriel, listen to what I have to say and answer these questions asked by a concerned father," Imrahil said and took one of her hands in both of his. "Once again your heart is light and free, your spirit has returned and you are happy, happier than I have seen you since before your mother passed away. No, let me finish," he said when once again she started protesting. "You are like your mother, you know. Your love shines in your eyes, just as it did in hers when I first met her and by some mysterious ways she fell in love with me. When you see the man you love your eyes lights up and your whole demeanour changes. You smile and your eyes follow him around the room. The man you see is not Lord Talon."
Lothíriel looked away, unable to meet her father's eyes. Imrahil stroke a hand over her cheek, brushing away a tear, then gently forced her face up. His heart nearly broke in two when he saw the unshed tears in his daughter's eyes.
"You see the King of Rohan, a man both noble and worthy of you, one I even consider a close friend and would be proud to have as a son." Lothíriel could no longer hold the tears at bay and Imrahil felt his eyes fill at the heartache of his daughter. She knew as well as he did what he was about to say next.
"I wish by the Valar that I had not promised you to Talon. I wish I had waited until I found a man you loved and who loved you in return. But alas that is not to be. A marriage contract cannot be broken. It is a binding agreement made by both parties, as you well know. My dear Liriel, I am so sorry I did not wait. I can only hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me."
"There is… there is nothing to be done?" Lothíriel asked in a pained whisper, knowing well that nothing could be done to break the contract.
"I am sorry," her father repeated, eyes downcast, shaking his head sadly. "When we return to Dol Amroth I think it best for you to wed Talon as soon as possible. Think not of the future you and Éomer could have had together. Think not of things that will not come to pass. Marry Talon, try to love him and do not dwell on the past."
Lothíriel took a deep shuddering breath and composed herself, meeting her father's eyes. "I will honour the contract. I will do my duty and all which is required of me, both as a daughter and a wife, but ask me not to love. I can never love him, nor will I try."
Each step she took carried her closer and closer to doom. Her feet were heavy, bur she forced herself to move on. She would meet her end with dignity worthy of a princess.
She entered the Great Hall like a gentle breeze; silently and unexpected, yet all became quickly aware of her presence. As the engagement celebration was held in mid-November many folks from distant lands were prevented from attending, which explained why there was no representation from Rohan. But the King and Queen were both attending, as was her cousin Faramir. The previous night Talon's father, Lord Mardun, had arrived with his younger son, Arlos.
With unfaltering steps she approached her father, who sat upon his high seat, awaiting her arrival. The King and Queen sat next to him on thrones higher than Prince Imrahil's, both watching her with penetrative eyes, but Lothíriel kept her eyes on her father. When she arrived she curtseyed just like a well-brought up princess should.
"My daughter has arrived I see," Imrahil said as he rose from his seat and kissed her brow.
"Be iest lîn," she replied just as she saw Talon approach from the corner of her eye. He bowed to the King and Queen before his attention was turned to her.
"You look lovely, my dear," he said and took her hand and placed a kiss upon it. For the occasion she wore a simple dress of deep green with golden embroidery; the colours of Rohan, a last call for a forbidden love. A pin of a silver swan held her hair together high on the back of her head, and waves of dark hair fell loosely from it.
On the outside she looked like a perfect princess; on the inside all she felt was emptiness.
Two dark figures rode swiftly across the plains, barely noticeable in the pale moonlight. If anyone saw them none would have guessed it was the King of Rohan and the Princess of Dol Amroth on one of their nightly rides. They rode hard until they reached the edge of a forest. They dismounted and walked the horses over to a stream floating by. As the horses drank the two of them sat down on the forest floor, under a large tree.
For a time neither of them said much. Lothíriel leaned against Éomer's chest, listening to the even beating of his heart, drawing strength from him, and Éomer simply held her, sensing her uneasiness and her need for comfort.
"My father came to see me tonight," Lothíriel said, breaking the silence.
Éomer frowned, knowing he would not like whatever she was about to say. "What did he want?"
"He knows about us, Éomer. I do not know how, but he knows." She straightened up and looked at him. "Gondorian marriage contracts can not be broken, and daughters never have a say in the matter. All is decided for them. It is never a matter of love anyhow. Among royalty and nobility marriage is always a matter of politics and power."
"I know this," Éomer interrupted her. "What did your father want?"
"He wanted to remind me of my duty," she replied, a sob caught in her throat. "A king most assuredly would be a better suited match for a princess, but the contract is signed and if I broke the terms agreed upon I would dishonour my father's name and bring shame upon him and my family."
Éomer remained silent, but the look on his face told her he was thinking hard on how to solve this problem. She knew it could not be solved, as he surely did, but he was fighting against admitting it.
"Éomer, please…" she whispered. "Say something." She needed his assurance that he understood. That he didn't blame her.
"I cannot lose you," he said, running his thumb across her cheek. "You are meant to be here, with me. You should have been spared this fate."
"But I'm not. I cannot fool myself any more, nor you, than I already have. I have no choice. I cannot disgrace my father's name any more than I can be reason for war between your country and mine. This fate is mine, and mine alone."
"I told you I would find a way to get rid of Talon," Éomer said.
"And what are you going to do? Kill him?" Lothíriel looked at him, eyes on fire. "Éomer, be reasonable. Killing a nobleman of Gondor would force King Elessar to choose between going to war with Rohan or ordering you to surrender yourself and have you imprisoned or executed, most likely the latter as Lord Mardun will probably wish his son's murderer killed."
She sighed, taking a deep breath to calm herself and rested her head against his chest. "Rohan would be without a king, meaning your sister would have to break off her engagement with my cousin and become queen, you would be dead and I would eventually be wed off to a nobleman of Gondor."
Éomer sighed as well, closing his eyes. "You are right, of course. I just can't stand the thought of you married to that man."
"In time the pain will fade," she said.
"I will find a way to break the contract," he vowed, ignoring her last comment.
She hung her head. She hoped he could. She hoped by the Valar that he would find a way to free her from her prison. But realistically she knew there was no hope.
"Éomer, promise me one thing." He looked at her, waiting for her to continue. "Promise me you will marry and have children of your own."
"No," he shook his head. "I cannot…"
"Promise me," she demanded, turning around in his lap and sitting on her knees between his feet, taking his head in her hands and forcing him to look at her. "Promise me," she repeated in a softer voice.
Éomer took her hands and kissed her palms. "Do not believe for one minute that I will promise you anything like that."
Steel met steel as Éothain was driven backwards, crashing against a table. Just as his opponent lunged he jumped to the left and out of reach. As his opponent came at him again he was ready, his sword up in a defensive position, but as it was he barely avoided a blow to his head.
"Ready to surrender?" Éomer asked, looking at his friend with a raised brow.
Éothain raised his sword above his head in a mock salute. "Surrender to you? Not a chance I'm afraid."
Éomer's only answer was a similar salute as Éothain's before he lunged yet again and forced Éothain out the door. Then Éothain gained the upper hand and forced Éomer's sword down and pushed him against the wall. Before the soldier could rejoice in his victory, Éomer manoeuvred out of his grasp and at the same time Éothain's sword was forced into the wall.
As Éothain wrestled to get his sword out of the woodwork, Éomer watched him in amusement, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen doorway.
"I will make you regret this," Éothain cursed.
"I look forward to it," Éomer answered, but quickly had to duck as Éothain had gotten his sword loose and lunged at him.
The duel continued into the kitchen. The servants stepped quickly around them as they watched their king fight his lieutenant. One time Éomer pushed Éothain against a shelf filled with bottles of wine and ale, and everything came clashing down onto them, and one other time Éothain pushed Éomer into a table, almost causing them both to lose their balance, but they quickly regained it. It did not take long before Éomer pursued Éothain out of the kitchen and into the Golden Hall.
Éothain made one unsuccessful attempt to disarm Éomer, which led to him nearly being disarmed instead. Éothain jumped away, deciding he better get out of reach before he found himself at the wrong end of his opponent's sword. He ran in the opposite direction, but Éomer rushed after him and after a few moments Éothain's sword was lying at his feet, out of reach. Éothain himself was pressed up against a pillar with a sword at his throat.
"Well, do you surrender now?" Éomer asked with a slight tilt of his head.
Éothain looked at him and then down at the sword. "Well," he said sheepishly, "perhaps I should, just to avoid adding a new scar to my almost flawless skin, of course."
"Of course," Éomer nodded, withdrawing his sword from Éothain's throat. Hid brow was bathed in perspiration; his hair was hanging loosely around his shoulders, wet and with a slight red colour after the wine. His brown tunic was also red with occasional stains of wine, and a few places it was cut open as evidence of where Éothain's sword had cut through his defences.
Éothain himself did not look much better, except he was wearing a rather foolish grin on his face.
"Have you finished your foolish games now?" Éowyn asked; her arms crossed as she walked towards them, trying to appear stern while in truth she had taken too much delight in watching her brother enjoy himself again, even if it was foolish. After Lothíriel's departure he had buried himself in work, trying to forget everything that had happened. She didn't know everything, but she knew enough. As Faramir had explained to her; Gondorian marriage agreements, once written, were impossible to withdraw. After having received her answer, Faramir had demanded to know why she wanted to know and now he was sworn to secrecy.
"I will never again offer to take his mind off things," Éothain declared. "How would I know he wanted to duel?"
"You should have realized I would not suggest reading a book," Éomer replied, using a cloth his sister had provided to dry his face.
"He's right," Éowyn said. She looked at them both, wrinkling her nose. "Really, you smell like a tavern. I'll have the servants prepare baths for you both. And I suggest apologizing to the cook would be in order."
"That's not necessary. I'll just change clothes, however I believe this sword needs sharpening," Éomer said as he ran his thumb over the edge of his sword.
"Yes, and you'll probably start sharpening your sword first and forget all about changing," Éowyn said. "Now, I don't want to hear any more protests. Take that bath or forget about showing up for dinner. Trust me, you need it. As if we need our king totally humiliated in his own home," she muttered as she walked away to fetch the servants. Éomer and Éothain just stared after her.
"There's no hope for poor Faramir," Éomer stated as he walked down the hall, heading towards his chambers.
An hour later Éomer was quite relaxed in his bathtub, conceding that his sister was right and that he did need this. He had also needed that small workout with Éothain, although perhaps they should have taken their little duel out of Meduseld. They should at least have kept out of the kitchen.
His eyes closed and he leaned back against the tub's edge. It was so long ago since he'd felt even the slightest contentment. He was not content now, far from it, but he was more relaxed now than he had been in months.
Lothíriel was on his mind constantly. He had made a vow to find a way to break off her engagement with Lord Talon, and so he would, but things had progressed little and it seemed more and more hopeless.
His duties as king occupied most of his time, and as each day passed he found himself growing more and more melancholy. Even as king he could do nothing to prevent the marriage. He could do nothing to alter laws of a country not his own, and he simply could not demand Aragorn alter them either.
But he would not give up. That was the one thing he refused to do. Éomer of Rohan was not a man to give up easily, and this was not an exception.
"Éomer, could I have a word with you?" Imrahil asked as he entered the King's study and closed the door behind him.
Éomer nodded as he continued reading through the new trade agreement Aragorn's advisors had suggested between Rohan and Gondor. Aragorn had already read it, but wanted Éomer to read it as well before signing anything.
With a inaudible sigh he put away the agreement and looked at Imrahil, who took a seat at the other side of the desk. "I expected you to come sooner," Éomer commented.
"Then you know why I am here," Imrahil stated.
"Prince Imrahil, it was never my intent to dishonour your daughter or you," Éomer started, but Imrahil cut him off.
"Love is a powerful thing and who it affects is impossible to predict," Imrahil said. "However I fear love is never fair."
"This I know," Éomer interrupted. "Lothíriel has informed me of your laws. Now I suspect you will tell me the same. There is no possibility to prevent the marriage and I will do best to forget about her."
"Spare both yourself and Lothíriel further heartache," Imrahil said.
"Go on with our lives and pretend that nothing has happened?"
"Try to forget."
"I can no easier forget her than I can the Battle of Pelennor."
"I wish there was something I could do," Imrahil said.
"Release her from the betrothal," Éomer answered.
"Even as Prince of Dol Amroth I am not above the law and neither is the King of Rohan, whether it is your own laws or that of neighbouring countries," Imrahil countered.
"I will not accept this," Éomer announced.
"You must," Imrahil responded, "just as I must accept my failure as a father."
"My lady, would you honour me with a dance?"
Lothíriel looked at Talon's offered hand and saw several couples having already moved onto the dance floor. "It has been a long day and I feel rather tired," she said, turning her attention to her father. "With your permission, Ada, I think I will retire."
Although it was still early and Imrahil knowing his daughter's true reason for declining Lord Talon's offer, he nodded, giving her his permission to leave. "Erchirion, will you escort your sister to her chambers?"
Erchirion nodded, "of course, Ada."
Talon could hardly conceal his frown of displeasure as he watched Prince Erchirion escorting Lothíriel out of the hall. With a slight nod in the direction of Imrahil and King Elessar and Queen Arwen, he left to have a word with his father.
"I hope the Princess does not feel ill," Elessar commented, taking a drink of his wine.
"She will feel better in the morn when she is well rested," Imrahil answered, although unable to hide his concern from the King.
"The Princess does not appear joyous about her upcoming marriage," Arwen said, looking at her husband.
"It is never easy to leave one life behind in order to begin another," Imrahil said, then offered a slight smile. "Do not be concerned, my lady. My daughter will be quite all right given time."
King Elessar did not look convinced and neither did his queen, but no more was said of the matter for the time being.
"Are you certain you will be all right, Lothíriel?" Erchirion asked as they reached the door to her chambers.
"Yes, go back to the feast and enjoy yourself. I shall be fine," Lothíriel reassured him.
"Very well then, sister," Erchirion said and kissed her cheek. "Sleep well."
Once inside her chamber she rested her head against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. For the rest of the evening she did not have to worry about Lord Talon or the betrothal.
But her thoughts did not leave her alone and sleep eluded her. Instead she was reminded of the last time she had spent with Éomer.
Quietly she opened the door, slipped inside and carefully closed it behind her. Her feet were frozen after walking on the cold stone floor, but she hardly cared as her heart started beating faster when she saw him. He was asleep it seemed, his chest bare while the rest of him from the waist down was hidden beneath the covers.
She walked over to the bed, taking a deep breath. She had made the decision, but was still a bit nervous about it. But then again who wouldn't be?
He seemed more relaxed when he slept, although she knew better than to think he was not on guard, even when he slept. He was a soldier, after all, and if she surprised him while he slept it would probably be the last thing she ever did.
Cautiosly she sat on the bed, running her fingers across his chest, hoping the movement would wake him. It did. Éomer sat up in his bed, staring at her, unsure if he was actually seeing her.
She smiled. She climbed on top of him and pushed him back down. She bent down and kissed his chest, making a trail of kisses up his throat and finally captured his lips with her own.
The kiss was hot and savoring, but slowly his senses reeturned and he pulled away. "What are you doing?" he asked breathlessly.
"I want you, Éomer," she answered. "I need you." She recaptured his lips, but he pushed her back.
"Lothíriel, we cannot do this," he protested.
"If we are to be parted I want this night. I need something to hang on to. Please, Éomer."
He had never wanted anything so badly in his life as he wanted her this moment, but common sense told him not to. "If we do this there is no turning back."
"There never was," she replied. "All we have done has never offered an alternative route back."
"Your father will kill me."
She smiled, knowing he would not protest much more. "Only if he finds out." And then she dropped the robe she wore onto the floor and melted into his arms.
Translations:
Be iest lîn – According to your wish