Chapter 54
Rohan, October the 26th, FO 4
Lothíriel filled her lungs with the earthy scent of the autumn forest. She and Éomer had always been enamoured with this time of the year and it seemed only appropriate that the background of their journey would be that of golden leaves, of cold nights to spend under too many blankets and of acorns crunching beneath your feet.
They weren't far from Edoras and for almost a week now they had lingered in the woods about sixty miles south of the city. Since that fateful day at the farm when she had come apart, things between them had evolved. Yet even now a wedge remained, one Lothíriel was not sure she could or even wanted to bridge. There were days when she and Éomer didn't speak a word to one another, others when they never made it out of their tent and spent hours talking, often surrendering to tears until they were both so spent that for a short while at least they could pretend nothing awful had ever happened.
It wasn't easy.
Sharing a hurtful memory always came at the price of ripping open a sore wound and, sometimes, even inflicting new ones. Especially in the beginning, it had been hard to resist the tempting desire to bury everything in a deep enough ditch and promise they needed not talk and share for them to be able move forward with their lives.
It wouldn't work, Lothíriel knew.
When it had first happened, so many years ago that when she thought of it, her younger self seemed like a stranger, she had been terrified and horrified by her malaise. With time, she had come to see it for what it was: a way for her body and her mind to tell her she had reached a point of no-return, that she had to face the hideous monster lurking within the recesses of her heart or prepare to be mauled by it. While Éomer had never suffered a similar meltdown, that didn't mean he was faring any better. The time spent as a prisoner - powerless to help his men, an impotent witness to Léod's death, was like he had faced a demon and got a whole chunk of his soul bitten off. He felt unfit and imperfect. His strength as a warrior, honed in hundreds of battles and proved far too many times to be doubted, crushed. It mattered not that Balca had clouded his judgement, nor the obviousness that even the most valiant hero can fall when faced with too many enemies and too thick chains.
Éomer seemed unable to forgive himself.
In a way, their woes touched their very identities – hers as a woman and mother losing her child, his as a man and protector failing his family as well as his people. As sole ruler of Rohan during the rebellion, Lothíriel had come to realize she had lived through it as a man would - forced to wear a mask of unwavering strength and unable to afford any weakness lest she'd have lost everything she held dear. Oh, she wasn't implying women weren't as strong as any man, for they were - albeit in different ways. But growing up as a lady, she never had to fear showing insecurity or frailty for when she did, her father and her brothers were there to encourage her and none ever thought less of her because of it. Even with a father as wonderful as theirs, it had never been so for her brothers – Elphir and Amrothos especially. A life spent in the ranks had taught them to hide weakness to survive the next day and by the end of the war, Amrothos had almost completely lost himself.
Éomer had experienced a similar upbringing and yet, he had never hidden from her. Right from the day she had awoken in her room in Aldburg, severely injured after stepping onto a bear trap, he had been stoic in his strength but also surprisingly open with his vulnerabilities. To her eyes, it had always made him more man than all of his peers and looking back, she could see it was what had drawn her so strongly to him – that he could be her champion and she could be his. Not at the same time – in fact, Lothíriel had learned a long time ago that in marriage, balance was more of a long-term achievement. There could be times when she needed him wholly and everything rested on his shoulders, and times when the roles where inverted.
On the long run, they each took and gave equally.
Now however, their needs were synced. Lothíriel's confidence as a woman and as a mother remained shaky - the loss of their unborn child too recent, the memory of her partings from Elfwine too raw a memory, the feeling of rejection and repulsion she had experienced upon discovering Éomer lived still too tormenting. He on the other hand felt he had failed in all the roles that defined his existence – husband, father, King. He hadn't of course and her absolute certainty of it, alongside his unwavering assurance that there was nothing she should chastise herself for, lent Lothíriel some hope that while there may be be guilt to atone for, not all as lost and all she had to do was put her heart in his hands and trust him.
And how could she not trust him?
Despite his own torment, Éomer had always been there for her. From the very moment he had stepped inside the Gondorian outpost, he had set aside his suffering and concerned himself with hers and only hers, gave it priority over everything else. Even as she pushed him away and trampled his efforts, he had not given up.
"Éomer?", Lothíriel suddenly called, breaking the silence of their morning routine.
He looked at her from behind his horse, bridles in hand, "I'm almost done".
"May I lead today?".
"Sure".
During her years in Rohan, Lothíriel hadn't nearly travelled as much as she'd have liked. First there had been the war. Then Elfwine was born and after that, it seemed the timing was never right. Even so, she knew her land well enough to recognize the landmarks dotting their surroundings. She looked inside her memories, recalled the maps she had so often consulted and headed North-East, out of the woods and across the plains for the better part of the morning. Despite her confidence, it was still with a sigh of relief that she welcomed the sight of distant hills covered with the most beautiful forest of copper leaved birches. They reached them in the early afternoon and delved deeper, until they made it to a crest from which she intended to re-adjust her bearings. Lothíriel looked around. She had a distinct memory of a tall outcrop shaped like a praying monk but could not spot it from there. When she glanced at Éomer, she noticed a smile tugging the corners of his lips.
"Down there, another five miles".
"I guess my sense of orientation isn't as improved as I thought", she groused.
About an hour later, the lake finally came into view and Lothíriel sucked in her breath. "We always wanted to return, but never managed", she spoke in a low voice, like she was merely thinking aloud.
"I know. You remember the hunt?".
"I remember you leaving poor Éothain to do the heavy lifting while you rushed to me and dropped a handful of berries in my hand".
"You haven't stopped eating raspberries since".
"No, I have not", she chuckled. It was such a silly memory, but it filled her with tender warmth. "What about the swim. Do you remember that?".
"You made it quite hard to forget, what with that attire of yours. When you touched the scar the snake had left on my shoulder, I very nearly burst".
"Nobody told me I should wear dark coloured undergarments!", she defended herself and dipped a hand in the water, only to let out a forlorn sigh, "Too cold for a swim". Unwilling to give up entirely, Lothíriel plopped down and proceeded to remove boots and stockings. The first contact between the heel of her foot and the water drew a shriek out of her, but she braced herself and did not stop until she was ankle deep. Her eyes closed, she tilted her face towards the sky and relished the warm caress of the sun, "Whenever I think of the years we have spent together, there is always handful of memories that I cherish above all others, moments I'd give everything to live anew".
"The chase is one of them?".
"Yes".
"What are the others?".
"The picnic at the tower, when you gave me the sketchbook. Our first night together. Watching you vaulting over my father's banquet and shove nobles left and right to pull me in your arms; the look in your eyes when later that night I told you I was pregnant. Elfwine's birth…".
"Can you believe he's almost six?".
"I cannot. It's only a week until his birthday".
"We need to be back by then".
"Yes, we must".
The rest of the afternoon was spent in solitude. Éomer went hunting and wood gathering while Lothíriel took her horse and cantered around the lake, looking for the boulder where she and Almód had sat together while fishing burbots, the grassy clearing where she had played jingling with the other ladies, the tree that had marked the finishing line of the horse race Runhild had won thanks to an impressive combination of skills and recklessness.
For the first time in many months, good seemed to outshine evil.
By the time she returned to their little camp, Éomer had already got a fire going. "Midsummer celebrations aren't nearly as rousing in Edoras as they are in Aldburg. Next year, we must take Elfwine to the chase", she told him as she looked for a comfortable place to sit.
"He's the right age to enjoy it", he agreed, his eyes briefly sparkling with something she could not quite place.
"We could stay until the tourn-", Lothíriel shut her mouth and looked down in shame. "I'm sorry, I don't know what possessed me to propose such thing to you".
Éomer managed a tense smile. "It's all right. There will be plenty of tournaments in the years to come, in Aldburg as well as in Edoras. I can hardly ban them all on account of what happened to us in Rhûn. I can safely say I'm done competing though".
"Will you…", Lothíriel hesitated, unsure how he'd take her next question, "Will you still lead your Eored?".
"Eventually. For now, I think Éothain and Háca should take over".
She hugged her legs to her chest and stared into the flames. "They'll be good substitutes, but surely you must know they cannot replace you".
"Because I'm King?", he snorted.
"No. Because you're you". The bravest, most honourable and caring man there ever was.
None spoke during dinner. After they had finished eating, as she observed Éomer washing their bowls in the lake, Lothíriel felt a tug in her chest. She loved this man more than she ever thought possible, he was the one in whose arms she felt safe and she refused seeing him so dejected. Abruptly, she stood and walked away, her pace slow but purposeful. When she failed to halt behind the first treeline, Éomer hurried after her.
"Lothíriel?". She did not answer so he tried again, "Where are you going?".
She looked around and by some miracle, she discovered she had headed the right direction and soon located the fallen tree she had been looking for. She dropped down and patted the empty spot beside her, Éomer's expression turning melancholic, "If I close my eyes, I can still hear Cadda's voice", he murmured, the wood squeaking under his weight.
"Does he still sing?".
"He does, as far as I know".
"Good". After some time, she turned and found Éomer staring at her, "That last night before we returned to Aldburg, I felt sad that the chase was over and came sitting in this very spot. You found me, of course - you always do, and the way you looked at me…", she let out a tremulous sigh, "You should have kissed that night, Éomer".
"I wanted to – badly so. But I had vowed I'd let you set the pace of our relationship and didn't want to ruin things".
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and just like she had done that night of many years ago, she leaned into the warm touch of his hand. "You should kiss me now", she breathed.
His eyes widened in surprise. A moment later, they darkened with familiar desire but also, something else. Something that had never been there before – doubt, dread almost. Lothíriel held still and waited, watched him fight and prevail over feelings that had no place between them. At the first soft brush of his lips over hers, she exhaled and melted against him, her hands crawling up to cradle his face. "Éomer", she savoured his name, her voice shaky.
His arm slid around her waist to lift her in his lap. His fingers sunk into her hair - as if he needed to hold her, as if she was going anywhere. When he spoke her name, his voice was firm, stern almost, but filled with so much lust and longing to make her quiver. She rocked her hips against him and suddenly they were moving, Éomer crossing the forest in long strides, one hand still firmly rooted in her hair, his eyes boring into her. As he deposited her by the fire, his expression softened. He covered her body with his and kissed her - slowly, languidly, dragging the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips before plunging deep, his hands caressing her curves in a way that was almost chaste. When Lothíriel looked up at him, he was gazing at her with such intensity she felt tears prickling the corners of her eyes. He caught one as it fell and kissed away the next.
Suddenly, she craved his touch like the air she breathed, "I need you", she gasped.
His mouth and hands descended on her again and this time, there was nothing tender about them. They were demanding, dominating almost. Lothíriel writhed beneath him, mindless with pleasure as he proceeded to demonstrate he remembered each single one of her sensitive spots and kissed and licked and sucked on each of them. It was the cool caress of the autumn wind that made her realize she was naked, her trousers gone, her tunic discarded somewhere on the forest floor. Aware of just how much her body had changed since last time he had seen her like this, Lothíriel fended off a wave of self-consciousness.
As if he could read her mind, Éomer's lips teased the shell of her ear, "You are beautiful", he growled, "so damn beautiful".
Lothíriel whimpered and started tugging at his clothing. But he wouldn't let her have it her way and trapped her wrists in one hand, the other moving to cup her breast. It used to fill his palm generously. Now, not so much. His mouth soon replaced his hand, endlessly switching between kisses and bites that were just sharp enough to send a jolt of pleasure down her spine. He let his flat palm glide down her stomach and settle over her core, the heel pressing just the right spot as his fingers explored and teased and sunk and crooked. He brought her fast to the edge and just as she hung there, ready to topple down, he stopped moving. Twice more he did it, until she was begging in all but words, putty in his hands. At the sound of his belt buckle coming off, Lothíriel wriggled her hands free and pulled him down for a feverish kiss, her body bowing as he entered her, rapidly re-adjusting to his size after so many months of bleak loneliness. His thrusts, slow and deep, drained her lungs of every bit of air each time he bottomed out, so much so she didn't even have the breath to moan. Her mouth found the pulse beating on his neck and latched on it, drawing a low groan from Éomer's chest. For a short triumphant moment, Lothíriel basked at having proved she knew his spots just as well as he knew hers. But then he increased his pace and she was all but lost, the pleasure hitting her so hard and fast that she didn't even realized she had sunk her teeth deep enough to break skin.
Above her, Éomer was panting, his full weight on her as he collapsed, his hips still occasionally twitching with the aftermath of his climax. "I'm sorry, I had meant to be gentler…".
"And I had not meant to bite you. Yet I don't think I'll apologize for it", she panted beneath him.
Éomer frowned and touched the incriminated spot, his expression changing into a rare lopsided smile. When he rolled to his side, Lothíriel followed in his momentum and kept pushing until he was lying flat on his back. She grabbed hold of his tunic and even though his brow wrinkled, this time he obliged her request and lifted himself so she could take the offending garment off. She scooted away from his lap, sighing contently at the soreness in her nether regions, and sat behind him, one leg on either side of him. Long, thick scars marred the entire expanse of his back, the largest one running all the way from his left shoulder down to his right hip. She brushed a feathery caress along its ridge, unsure whether the skin was still sensitive. When he didn't complain, she put more weight in her touch and kissed the uneven skin. "You were right, Éomer. We needed this time away from home. I've missed this…", she said rubbing her cheek against him and snuggling as close as she could, "…I've missed you".
She shivered in the cold autumn night and Éomer swiftly gathered her in his arms. Inside their tent, he shed the last of his clothes and joined her under the blankets.
Some time later, as they lied on their cot, their bodies wrapped around each other, he asked, "Do you ever regret coming to Rohan?".
Lothíriel wanted to say the question surprised her, but it didn't. "Never".
"Not even when…".
"No, not even then".
"You still feel guilty for losing him".
"Part of me always will". She curled against him, seeking his warmth, her neck craned so she could still look in his eyes. "You didn't commit a single mistake in Rhûn, Éomer. I've spoken at length with Elfhelm and Éothain and Háca and King Elessar. You were cautious, saved your men from falling into a trap, tested your opponent before unleashing a full attack. You couldn't have known the mountain would fall apart. You think you didn't do enough to save the prisoners in the quarry but perhaps you… we", she corrected herself, "must accept there are times when the options are simply not there and the hardest, bravest thing we can do is endure the pain and not give up. You're the wisest of Kings and the strongest man I've ever known, Éomer".
"I might need you to remind me a lot in the coming months".
"I will. As often as you need me to".
"Does that mean we're ready to go back?".
"I miss Elfwine and I refuse to keep you two apart any longer. We're too far to make it home in one day, so I was thinking we could perhaps stop in Aldburg tomorrow – incognito, of course".
Éomer smiled and kissed her brow. "That's a plan".
They dozed off for an hour or two, but else achieved very little sleep that night.
They reached Aldburg in the late morning, hoods pulled low over their heads to avoid being recognized. Returning to his childhood home and the place where he and Lothíriel had fallen in love, always had Éomer feel sentimental. It was the same for his wife, he knew, and he didn't miss her occasional sniffles as she looked around and took in the familiar landscape.
They followed the main street alongside dozens of unaware townsfolk and dismounted in front of a recently renovated cottage. Moments after knocking, the thump of booted steps confirmed the master of the house was at home.
"I know I'm late but there's no need to…". Gárwine froze in the doorway, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets. Before he could say a word, Éomer pushed him back inside and shut the door behind them.
"Apologies but we couldn't have you shouting and drawing everybody's attention".
Gárwine staggered back, a hand waving helplessly behind him as if he was seeking the support of one of the chairs, except they were all far out of his reach. He drew a deep breath and finally recovered enough to step forward and give him a fatherly embrace, his eyes misty, "Bema it's good to see you".
"It's good to be back, old friend".
Gárwine gave his back a last past before shifting his attention to his wife. He gathered her hands and kissed them, "And you… your coming to Rohan, all those years ago, was our greatest blessing. Don't", he silenced her before she could speak, "Don't you dare giving me that modest, timid attitude of yours".
Lothíriel's ringing laughter was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, "Is that how you address your Queen?".
"Let's call it privilege of seniority". Gárwine nodded at the large dining table and moved a chair for her to sit, "Please, make yourself at home. Brunwyn will be furious when she learns you stopped by while she was away".
"Where is she?".
"In Caerdydd, visiting a relative. Have you had lunch already?".
"No, but we don't want to impose…".
"Please, Éomer. I have plenty of leftover from yesterday's supper. Roast beef and mashed potatoes good enough for you?".
He glanced at Lothíriel and she nodded enthusiastically.
"Splendid!", Gárwine clapped his hands. He headed for the stove but before he could light it, someone knocked persistently – aggressively almost, at the door. "Right, I completely forgot. Do you mind having a guest?".
"Actually, we were hoping to keep our presence here a secret", Éomer explained. He didn't want to disrupt his friend's plans, but he also didn't want to have the entire city buzzing around them. It was his and Lothíriel's last day in anonymity and he refused to waste it.
"I figured as much. But trust me when I say this person won't tell a soul. Moreover, you'll be as happy to see him as he'll be to see you".
Lothíriel narrowed her eyes. "When we arrived, you mentioned something about being late. Where were you headed?".
"The training grounds".
Ah, of course. "Let him in", Éomer agreed.
Using his bulky figure to conceal their presence in the room, Gárwine opened the door and ushered his guest inside. He threw a big grin over his shoulder before finally stepping aside, to which Dúnor's protests for his no show and abrupt manners suddenly died. It had been over a year since they had last met and it seemed in that time growth had really kicked in. Although still as scrawny as many boys of his age, he was at least three inches taller and when he spoke, his voice placed him in that awkward limbo between childhood and adulthood. "What are you…".
"Nobody can know they are here, understood?", Gárwine told him in a stern voice.
Wasted breath because Dúnor was already tumbling ahead on those long skinny limbs of him. Once he was standing in front of him, he hesitated – something Éomer attributed to the recent events for he'd normally go straight to Lothíriel and confine him to second place – sometimes even third if Elfwine was around. Right on clue he tossed his arms around his neck and blurted a booming, "Welcome back, Lord King!".
Éomer laughed and returned his embrace. It lasted but for a moment before Dúnor squirmed away and headed for his wife, the budding young man looks all but replaced by that of an excited child. Those two had always adored each other and quite frankly, Dúnor's dedication was such that Éomer did not doubt he was really going to make it to the Queen's guard one day. "How are you?", he heard him asking, his face painted with concern.
"I am well, Dúnor – especially now that we've met. How about you?".
"Also good now! I am training a lot – or at least I try", he scowled at Gárwine's direction, "he's often late for our sessions".
"Excuse me young man but I happen to have other very important duties I must take care of!".
"I'm sure as soon as Marshall Elfhelm and his wife return to Aldburg, Gárwine will have much more time to train you. Not to mention, you'll be soon old enough to start training with the master of arms".
"I can't wait!", Dúnor declared solemnly. Of course, he picked a seat next to Lothíriel and once food was served, he proceeded to wolf down the equivalent of at least three normal portions. "How long are you going to stay?", he inquired while he used a piece of bread to scoop every bit of mashed potatoes.
"Just tonight".
"I'll prepare the guest room for you", Gárwine offered, but he and Lothíriel both shook their heads.
"Actually, we were hoping we could sleep at the old watchtower".
A knowing smile briefly flashed across the other man's face. "I see".
But Dúnor didn't, of course. "Why would you want to sleep up there?".
"It always was one of our favourite spots here in Aldburg and well, we've spent most of the last five weeks sleeping in the open. What's one more night?", Lothíriel explained.
Gárwine scratched his beard pensively. "There's just one problem: the place is not as quiet as it used to, lot of young couples meeting there at sunset".
"We know. That's why we were hoping you could help us?".
"Yes", he said glancing at Dúnor with a smirk, "I believe I can think of a way to do it".
The rest of the afternoon was spent indoor as Gárwine set up whatever plan he had come up with. After weeks on the path both he and Lothíriel were in dire need of a bath and since Gárwine's tub was too small to share, they took turns and soaked themselves in the steaming water. Éomer would never admit it aloud, but part of him wished they could send for Elfwine and stay in Aldburg, settle there for good. Alas he no longer was a simple Marshall and he knew he needed to leave behind fears and insecurities if he wanted to re-claim the throne and be the King his people deserved. Rediscovering intimacy with Lothíriel had somehow acted as a catalyst and as he had watched her come apart under his ministrations, a small flame was kindled inside his chest, one that promised to devour darkness at unmatched pace if only he allowed it.
At sunset Gárwine gave them the all clear and assured none would dare come close to their hideout. When they asked how he could be so sure, his explanation caused them to burst into peals of laughter, "Remember how folks used to be terrified of the old watchtower because of ghosts and monsters allegedly lurking around at night? Well, let's just Dúnor is lying in the infirmary right now, relaying wild stories of a giant two-legged creature with antlers like a deer who attacked him out of nowhere. Of course, as acting deputy of Marshall Elfhelm I had no choice but close the place to investigate".
By the time they had reached the ruins, he and Lothíriel were still guffawing. "I can't wait for the story to reach Éothain's ears", he told as he mounted their tent.
They couldn't light a fire but luckily Gárwine had provided them with plenty of spare blankets to stay warm and also, with a generous portion of Altor's famed chicken and raisins stew.
"I have something for you", Lothíriel announced when they had finished eating. She picked their torch and walked around the ruined wall. When she returned, in her left hand was something he'd recognize anywhere, "I believe it should return to Edoras with the King".
"How?".
"I told you I left it with the blacksmith".
"I thought you meant the one in Edoras".
"Please, Éomer. You've only ever let Aldburg's master blacksmith touch it. He was the only one I could entrust it to".
Lothíriel rested the torch on the ground and kneeled in front of him, holding the sword flat in front of her. The scabbard was new of course, crafted in dark red leather like the old one, with intricated golden engravings reinforcing locket and chape. Éomer touched the hilt and shut his eyes for a moment, his fingers tracing the familiar inlays before curling around the guard.
He unsheathed it slowly, the whispering sound like music to his ears. The moment he felt its weight, his grip tightened almost on its own, as if sword and hand had instantly recognized through shared memories of countless battles fought together.
Éomer felt his blood flow a little faster in his veins.
"I take it the blacksmith did a good job?", Lothíriel deduced.
"He did".
"There's something else", she said and handed him a folded paper.
Éomer put Gúthwinë back in its scabbard and laid it carefully against the wall. When he opened the parchment, he drew a sharp breath.
"I will have it oiled so that it may last longer than its predecessor".
"When did you…".
"While you were bathing. Luckily, Gárwine could procure me everything I needed".
Like the old drawing he had kept in his pocket for so many years, this one too depicted a picnic. Just, a different type - one that had become a cherished family tradition of theirs during Rohan's long winters. Meduseld's solar had been masterfully outlined, the beautiful mantlepiece unmistakable. Dozens of pillows of all shapes and form were scattered in front of the hearth. In the middle, a man and a woman sat together, leaning into each other's arms. In front of them, a young boy played with a tortoiseshell cat.
Éomer wiped a tear before it could fall on the paper and ruin the drawing. "I think we really are ready to go home".
"Yes, I think so too".
The horns rung almost as soon as they came in sight of the city and Lothíriel's chest instantly swelled with a wild mix of emotions.
Anxiety, concern, pain. Above all: joy and hope.
By the time they had reached the gates, there were so many people crammed on the walls that she feared someone was going to fall. The streets too were thronged with eager townspeople and even though Éomer greeted each of them with a smile, his stiff demeanor told her he was just as overwhelmed as she was. It took them a long time to carve a path through the crowd and the exact moment they reached Meduseld, before they had a chance to look up at the people gathered on the terrace, Elfwine came running down the stairs, his cheeks stretched in an impossibly wide grin, his dark curls flailing behind him.
"Father!".
Éomer flung himself off the saddle and caught him in his arms. For a moment it seemed he didn't know what to do as he touched his face and peppered him with kisses and crushed him in his arms in an endless loop, like he was trying to ease a backlog of affection that would require months to be fully extinguished. Lothíriel's knuckles turned white from gripping the horn of her saddle, her heart so close to bursting she didn't even trust herself to dismount. But then as one Éomer and Elfwine's eyes turned on her and next thing she knew, she was lifted off her horse and engulfed in their arms.
The noise faded. The people gathered around them became distant, shapeless forms. It was only the warmth of Éomer's body and Elfwine's small hands touching her face. When at last they resurfaced from their own little world, their faces were tear stricken and their eyes red and swollen. They stared at each other for a moment and then started giggling uncontrollably.
Finally, Éomer gave them one last a kiss and released them. No sooner than he had placed them back on their feet, Lothíriel spotted Amrothos breaking ranks and following in Elfwine's footsteps. Her sweet, beloved brother barely acknowledged the King and came straight for her. "Welcome home", he gulped in her ear.
"I just stopped crying and now you're making me sob all over again!", she protested.
"Later you can slap my wrist".
"Ealith?".
"She gave birth to a healthy baby girl".
"Of course, it was a girl".
"Of course. Father says she looks like you".
"I can't wait to meet her". She felt her smile falter and reached for his hands, "I wouldn't have managed without you, Amrothos. I know I did not always act like I valued your presence and for all the times I was unkind and used you to vent my grief, I ask for your forgiveness".
"You need not ask but consider it granted nonetheless".
Behind him, the other members of their families had given up waiting and all were coming down to greet them, the hours that followed a whirlwind of hugs and tears and then some more tears. Later that night, as she and Éomer laid in bed together, Elfwine cuddled between them fast asleep and Endien purring happily at their feet, Lothíriel gazed at her son's serene face and for the first time in months, when she fell asleep, it was with a content smile lingering on her lips.
The mundane need to void his bladder awoke Éomer in the dead of night. He rolled Elfwine off his chest, wriggled his feet away from Endien praying she wouldn't claw at them and slid his arm from beneath Lothíriel, only to realize it had fallen asleep and was already tingling all over. He had intended to return to bed right away but after using the privy, he found himself wide awake and restless and, before he knew, he had put on some clothes and left the room, his legs carrying him downstairs almost as if they had a will of their own.
"Lord King", Elfda greeting him.
"What are you doing here?".
"Only a few – all handpicked by the Queen, are allowed to stand guard in this section. Tonight's my turn".
"Do they know?", he said nodding at the door.
"No. We were ordered not to talk to them. They are not even aware the Queen travelled to Rhûn".
"Stay here", Éomer ordered.
He entered the dungeon and leaned against the wall, casually almost. Inside their respective cells, Dernwine and Elfere slept, curled on thin cots that did very little to insulate them from the hard cold floor. But they had thick blankets, their cells were nicely clean and they seemed as corpulent as ever, so he assumed they had been treated well enough.
It was still a prison of course, but far more decent than the one he and his men had spent months locked in.
In a corner was a small, splintered stool. Éomer grabbed it and smashed it without warning against the metal bars, the terrible sound ricocheting inside the dungeon and making his ears ring. Dernwine and Elfere woke screaming and scurried backwards, until they were pressed against the far end of their cells. "W-ho are you?", they asked and had the audacity to make requests, "We demand an audience with the Queen! We've been asking for weeks, she can't keep denying us!".
There were no windows in that section of the dungeons. Éomer knew it well for it was exactly here that Grima's henchmen had taken him after his arrest. And what had Dernwine and Elfere done back then? Nothing.
Conniving bastards.
"Will an audience with the King do?", he asked, his silky voice carrying a sharp edge.
Éomer started counting. At two, shocked gasps broke the silence. At six, meaningless muttering. At nine, the two disgraced lords had clambered on their feet and moved closer, bowing so low they could practically kiss their toes. "My Lord, you live! This truly is….".
His hand snapped past the bars and grabbed Dernwine by the throat, slamming him hard against the bars and eliciting a howl of pain. "That you tried to kill me, I could pretend to forgive and even allow you to finish your days in this cozy little place. But that you planned to murder my wife and take my son, that I cannot condone".
"Killing you? My Lord, we would nev-".
He slammed him again, more forcefully this time. "Mercenaries aren't a loyal lot and after yours met Elfda, they all proved oh so very loquacious. I know you were involved in the plot against the crown since long before I left for the East. Deny it and I shall have you sit for a little chat with Elfda himself. I'm sure you'll find his methods… endearing".
Dernwine started sobbing, Elfere bawled and there were no words to describe the disgust and hatred that he felt. "Mercy, Lord", they begged and suddenly, it dawned on Éomer why his wife had spared their lives. Killing those two swines might give him a fleeting sense of supreme justice and - he could not deny, pleasure. But now that he looked at them, he realized they were not worth soiling his honour and besides, a life sentence was to the likes of them a far more demeaning punishment than death. Not to mention, it would keep them from becoming martyrs in the eyes of those who had been loyal to their houses.
Something loosened inside of him, though he was mindful to hide it behind an angry snarl. "I'd rather see you hanged for your crimes but alas, my wife disagrees. You better remember it, though: every breath you take, every morning you awake and find you still live, you do so by the Queen's grace. But make no mistake: one false step, one wrong word, and I'll personally put your heads on spikes".
He turned and stalked out without deigning the disgraced lords of a second glance. Outside, he was surprised to find Éothain had replaced Elfda.
"I was told I might need to scrub blood off the floor", the captain spoke tersely.
"They still live, I barely touched them".
"That's good, I think".
He stared at his oldest friend and after a moment of pained silence, they embraced.
"I'm sorry I failed you, Lord King".
"I was mildly disappointed you didn't have the power to stop a landslide, but I've decided to forgive you", Éomer found himself unexpectedly joking. Turning serious again, he rested a hand on Éothain's shoulder and gave it a killer squeeze, "I should have listened when you tried to get me out of the battle. Have always been a stubborn one, haven't I?".
"Did Balca truly…".
"Poison me? Yes. I suppose the hope was I'd get myself killed in battle and if that didn't work out, I'm sure they had a back-up plan".
"I searched for you".
"You couldn't have found me, Éothain. Think not of it. Let's put it all behind us. Interested in getting your old job back I hope?".
"Háca would be better suited".
"He would not".
Éothain nodded solemnly and Éomer felt another knot come loose. "How's Runhild?", he inquired.
"She's good".
"Have you found a house? Moved yet?".
"No. After I returned from the East I wasn't… I wasn't in the right place and so we stopped searching".
Éomer's heart ached for his best friend. So much misery had been casted upon his people, all because of the greediness of one single man. Had he been still alive, Éomer didn't think he'd have been so forgiving. "Then here's my first order to you", he told Éothain, "as soon as you've finished your shift, go home, kiss your wife and take her house hunting".
"Yes, Lord King".
Éomer was already halfway through the stairs when he remembered something and turned back to ask, "By the way, have you heard what happened in Aldburg?".
"Uh?".
"Some strange creature was spotted lurking around the watchtower…".
"I knew it! I knew something haunted that place and you never believed me!", Éothain barked and went on and on rambling and cursing, so much Éomer could still hear him from the upper floor.
He returned to the Royal Apartments, still snickering and feeling more gleeful than he ought to be. Lothíriel, Elfwine and Endien were cuddled together, a tangle of limbs and paws that caused his heart to skip a beat out of simple, pure, sheer happiness. Éomer sneaked in, careful not to awake them, wrapped his arms around them and soon fell into a deep, restful sleep.
Epilogue
After a mild winter, spring blossomed early the following year. Rohan's recovery proved swift, but the memory of the losses suffered during the war and the rebellion remained fresh in the hearts of the people.
A sennight after Elfwine's sixth birthday, Éomer and Lothíriel walked hand in hand to Edoras' cemetery and together, they exhumed their unborn child and carried him to the Barrowfield. There had been no official statement, but the city understood and for a whole week flags remained at half-staff as all mourned the loss of yet another life taken by Wídca's rebellion.
The King and the Queen's families eventually returned to their respective homes in Ithilien and Dol Amroth. All but Prince Imrahil, who had been too grief-stricken by the loss of his grandson and refused to leave so soon. He remained in Rohan for almost a year, travelling every week from Edoras to Hama's Manor so he could spend time with his children and grandchildren.
After the snow melted, Éomer took Lothíriel and Elfwine to Wolford and Dunland.
Wídca's former stronghold had greatly changed since the end of the civil war. Over half of its inhabitants had chosen to leave, unwilling to have their names and that of their children associated with the lair of the traitor. Among those who remained, some had done so out of love for their hometown; others – a small minority, to take a stand. While none condoned the attempt on the King's life, the image Wídca had painted of an incapable, inept Queen, would require years to be fully eradicated and it was only thanks to Léored that they eventually succeeded. The former councillor made a gargantuan effort at taming the sceptical while at the same time making sure the city thrived, so there would be no reasons for discontent or excuses to mourn the departed lord. And not only he accomplished what he set out to do, but the proximity to the Dunlendish community brought him some unexpected closure over the loss of his wife and children.
Other than a predictable tense exchange of letters with King Elessar, relations with Gondor eventually returned amiable, aided also by the encouraging news that came from the East. Though through fits and starts, Éomer and Lothíriel regained their lost confidence and under their wise rule, Rohan prospered like never before.
On a sunny, lazy morning of May, word of Aldwyn's labour reached Meduseld. As the hours went by, worry replaced excitement until finally, after almost two days of travail, Elfda barged in the Golden Hall, grinning like no one had ever seen him doing before, announcing the birth of the couple's first child and assuring all the new mother was well. Lothíriel waited three full days before visiting her, for she knew how hard the first days and weeks after birth are and she refused to impose. When at last she, Éomer and Elfwine entered their friends' elegant house, Aldwyn welcomed them with a beautiful but still tired smile.
"Do not dare standing for us", Lothíriel warned and instead dropped by her side and kissed the crown of her head. "How are you feeling?".
"Much better".
"Where is she?".
"She needed to be changed", she explained and right at that moment, the door opened and Háca entered the room, the way he moved a mixture of inordinate love for the little bundle in his arms, and also terror that he might be doing something wrong. He kneeled by his wife and they all gathered around to meet their daughter.
Lothíriel was not surprised to discover she was the most beautifully Rohirric baby she had ever seen, with rosy cheeks, big blue eyes that already sparkled with mischief and hair so fair they appeared almost white. "Isn't she just perfect…", she whispered, and did not expect Elfwine to be the one to answer.
"She is", her son spoke, looking wholly mesmerized, his little hand brushing a gentle caress on the child's soft, plump cheek. The four adults exchanged amused gazes. Little did they know that would be only the beginning of the young Prince's devotion for the shieldmaiden. "What's her name?", Elfwine asked, his light gray eyes turning on Aldwyn.
"Éorrun. We named her Éorrun".
The Queen rested her hand on Háca's arm. The King smiled at him. "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl".
Later that morning, as they walked through Meduseld's halls, Elfwine trotting happily ahead of them, the Queen lifted the King's hand to her lips and kissed it tenderly, "You know all those tedious reports about levies and land taxes I always compile around this time of the year?".
"Hard to miss it. Your desk is covered in papers reaching almost to the roof".
"Yes. I'd like to show you what exactly is that I do, so that you may take over at least part of the job".
Éomer cocked an eyebrow. "I'd be happy to help. I need to ask though: is everything all right? I mean, normally when it comes to those reports you don't want anyone to even breath within a mile of your desk…".
The Queen suppressed a smile and gazed ahead, "I'd like to take things easy this time, avoid overburdening myself".
Éomer stopped so abruptly the guards behind them were alarmed for a moment, "Are you…?".
"I am. It's very soon still but I'm certain". Lothíriel touched his face, her eyes roaming over his features, taking in every small detail of his expression so she'd never forget it. The astonishment, the happiness, the love, the promise of worship. "There it is", she said touching his face with the back of her hand, "Another cherished memory I shall forever hold in my heart. May we collect countless more in the years to come".
The End
Author's notes: well folks, I find it hard to believe but here I am, after almost four years, fifty-four chapter and countless characters, delivering Hearth and Home's final update. Epilogues are not my thing but hopefully you liked this one. While I know there is huge room for improvement, I am greatly satisfied with how this story turned out and terribly sad to let it go. Thank you all for the reviews, the constructive criticism and the kind words. This is a truly wonderful community and I'm so glad to have found it!
Cheers,
Solaris
ACH: a joyful reunion seemed to me out of character with all that has happened. Yes, I understand it somewhat stretches belief but let's say these are very unusual circumstances and so I took the liberty of picking this scenario. I actually don't think Aldwyn would ever be against such choice, for she's quite unusual herself. Someone like Éothain might have straight refused though :)
Guest: thank you for breaking the silence! :) With the way this story and its characters have evolved, I thought a joyful reunion – as much as I rooted for it, would have been too sappy and unrealistic. As for the events in the arena, I understand. I actually wrote several versions of it and also considered skipping the section completely, but that didn't seem right either. In hindsight, perhaps I should have spent a few more words on what happens after Umrist's arrival!
Rho67: I know, this story has been systematically taking dark turns but probably never quite as dark as those in these last chapters. So, yes, I think I'll take it as a compliment! :) Lothíriel's is someone who tends to shut out others when in pain and in this Éomer's always been the one who knew how to break through, one way or the other. In this chapter though, it's more her taking the reins – emotionally speaking, and leading as they take the final steps home. As always, thank you for your many wonderful reviews. Truly, the ride wouldn't have nearly been as great without them!
Rocheryn: you chose the right time to join as you didn't have to wait for weeks to see a cliff-hanger solved – my updates have been awfully slow at times! Thank you so much for all the points you made – especially about originality and managing to stay truthful to the characters as Tolkien wrote them. It was one of the greatest challenges writing an AU – had no choices but made some changes to the original source, but at the same time I wanted to stay as close to it as possible. And yes, I totally dislike Mary Sue's and crossovers, so I'm with you on that one! I wanted to write a last chapter plus an epilogue but in the end I merged them into one – as mentioned I'm not that good at epilogues and I feared writing a stand-alone one might have turned disappointing. I am super conflicted to be honest: on the one hand I'm terribly sad to let go of these characters after so much development; on the other, I think I have squeezed a lot out of them and let go is the right thing to do before I "ruin" them. Never say never to sequels, but I think for now I will focus on some new stories I have been thinking about, so stay tuned for that! As for Éomer's foot, he injured it when he fell into the river (chapter 48).
Guest: I may be slow at times, but I always finish my stories :) Hope you liked the closure brought by the epilogue!