Then Beren lay upon the ground in a swoon, as one slain at once by bliss and grief; and he fell into a sleep as it were into an abyss of shadow, and waking he was cold as stone, and his heart barren and forsaken. And wandering in mind he groped as one that is stricken with sudden blindness, and seeks with hands to grasp the vanished light.
- Of Beren and Lúthien
Chapter 3
It took some time for Lothíriel to calm down enough for her to be able to go home. She knew Father was probably very worried about her, but she couldn't go and face him looking like she had bawled out her eyes. It'd only disconcert her father more, and tonight she simply did not have it in herself to deal with it.
Right as it had been, leaving behind the golden-haired man had still broken her heart and left it in pieces she didn't know how to fix. It had taken all her strength of will to just tear herself away... and when she had dashed away in tears, all in her had screamed for her to turn back and return into his arms. How sweet would it have been, to just let go, and allow him to take her wherever he wanted... But to give herself to a man who she didn't even know? That simply could not be, especially when she had no way of telling whether it was her heart he wanted instead of just her body. But then, his eyes had been honest and it had seemed to her that he had felt the same yearning that had burned her...
Perhaps, sometimes, you could lose your heart just like that... and the one to steal it would give back their own as easily.
But those were just dreams, and dreams could not live in the real world. And so, hard as it was, she put aside her heart. She would go home and forget about her mad longings, because surely they were nothing more than a brief bout of insanity?
Sun had already set when she got home. The gate guard let her in and already from his expression Lothíriel knew something was afoot; when she made her way inside she thought perhaps Father had got worried over her absence. However, when she entered and found her family in the parlour, she instantly realised it was something else entirely.
Cuileth was sobbing into her handkerchief, and both Elphir and Father were there trying to calm her down. Lothíriel had long since learnt what a powerful thing Cuileth's tears were, and the worst thing about them they were always real. Elphir more or less lost his mind each time she wept, and Valar have pity on that poor soul who was blamed for it.
"Sister! Where in the name of Elbereth you have been?!" he exclaimed the moment he saw she had arrived.
"I was out", she said reluctantly. The truth was about the last thing she could say.
"Out! When Cuileth was here like this! How could you, first upset her so that she began to cry like this, and then just run away and make us think orcs may very well have stolen you!" shouted her brother.
"Excuse me, but I was under the impression orcs don't yet come to the Citadel for their raids! I was perfectly safe", Lothíriel snapped. Yes, safe she had been, in the arms of a great golden-haired warrior of Rohan... she shook herself and glared at Elphir, "And I was just as upset, but of course that doesn't matter at all!"
"Lothíriel, we have talked about this", said Father now. "You're too hard on your sister-in-law. She just means well."
"If she does, then perhaps she should start to listen to me unlike she has until now!" said the young princess angrily. Her words, however, only managed to make Cuileth weep even more, and the older woman buried her face in her handkerchief. Elphir's eyes blazed.
"How dare you! Is there no kindness in your heart, sister? I demand you apologise to her immediately!" he ranted.
"I'll apologise to her when the sky falls", Lothíriel growled and strode out, paying no attention to the protests of her father and brother. Once again tears were filling her eyes as she made her way towards her own chambers, and locking the door behind herself was quite difficult with her blurry eyes. Somehow she was able to do it however, and then she tossed herself on the bed.
Oh, how she hated this! How she loathed being so... so imperfect, so ill-fitting in this fine society and among these great people, to whom all of this came so naturally. Surely she'd have been happier if she had been born some farmer's daughter far away from this place...
As her tears gradually began to subside, Lothíriel wished she had taken the tall Rohir's offer and let him take her where he would. By now she could be riding away from the city, and there beside her would have been a man who thought her enough just as she was. That was what he had meant, wasn't it? He had looked at her and liked what he had seen... there was cold satisfaction in imagining how it could have been with him, travelling to live with him in his northern land. They would have had a small house in some green and fertile valley, and she'd have learned things like baking bread and scrubbing floors and chopping wood. Her hands would have turned hard and sun would have scorched her pale skin, but he'd tell she was beautiful. He'd bring her flowers from the meadows and their children would have his golden hair, and when she next saw her Gondorian family, they would not recognise her, for she'd have become wild just like he was.
Yet she already was, for her heart was wild, because how else would she have kissed him?
But no matter how wonderful it was to imagine such a life, she knew it was something she could not have. She was not brave enough to try and take it, and a man like him really would not want a wife who didn't know how to do simple household chores. And if she imagined her father and uncle would just let her elope with some Rohirric Rider, she was sadly mistaken. The only thing such an insane feat would achieve was bad blood between the realms of Gondor and Rohan, and she would be locked away in Dol Amroth for the rest of her life.
Lothíriel sighed and rolled over on her back. Wrong as it was, her heart ached for it. Why was something so forbidden so sweet and tempting?
Her thoughts were interrupted then by a knock on her door. Her father's voice came through it: "Daughter? May I come in?"
"Have you come to lecture and scold me?" she asked back, her voice almost breaking down.
"No. I'd just like to talk with you", Father said. He didn't sound angry, just sad. The princess sighed and got up on her feet, and made way to the door.
Her father's face was weary and troubled when she let him in. Quietly, he sat down in the chair she offered to him and regarded her before speaking.
"I'd like to hear your version of what happened", he said at last.
"Nothing, Father. Nothing to warrant that little scene in the parlour at least", Lothíriel answered tiredly. "It was like always. Cuileth and I just don't understand each other."
He sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"You know how it is with Elphir. He hates it when your sister-in-law cries – to him it's always a sign the world is ending", he said.
"I know, but he's not going to make me apologise for nothing. I'm not going to say I'm sorry for who and how I am", Lothíriel answered, now more heatedly. That brought a small sad smile to the face of her father.
"Of course. And I do not ask you to do it, daughter", he said softly. He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Don't worry, my dear. I will speak with him."
"Thank you, Father", said the young princess. He sought her eyes and looked worried.
"Lothíriel, I have wondered what is the matter with you lately. You don't seem yourself. Is something bothering you?" he asked.
A part of her would have liked to spill out everything, but Lothíriel knew she couldn't tell her father about the man who now walked with her heart in his keeping. And what evil things might it cause, if she told him how a stranger from the north had asked her to go with him? It would only make him angry and he'd find out who dared to tempt his daughter with something like that. If that happened, there would never be a chance for her to see the Rohir again... even if it already was unlikely.
"I'm fine, Father. Really", she said, trying to sound as convincing as she could.
"Is that the truth?" he asked softly.
"Yes! Please, don't send me away! I don't want to go – I want to stay here", Lothíriel said quickly and reached for his hand. Father's expression became gentle again and he gave her a comforting smile.
"How could I send you away? I know you're not happy back in Dol Amroth. And I like having you here, as you know", said Father, giving her a smile. She nodded at that and felt thankful.
He got up then and patted her shoulder. He said, "I'll go and talk with Elphir. Will you at least join us for the supper?"
The idea didn't seem too tempting. Even if Father managed to calm down her brother, he'd probably still glare and brood at her, and Cuileth would be very quiet and upset.
"I'm not hungry. I think I'll just go to bed", Lothíriel said weakly at last. Indeed, there was a knot in her stomach and the idea of food only made her feel vaguely nauseated.
"All right. Sleep well then, dear", said Father and made for the door.
Lothíriel sat on the edge of her bed long after Imrahil had gone. She stared down at her hands, and felt like two animals were fighting in her. One was Duty and the other was Freedom, and the latter had the dark eyes of the north.
Should I stay here then, until a day comes that I accept my chain, and what life is left in me is grey and without joy?
And so she made her choice.
Father didn't know of course, but it actually took little effort for Lothíriel to slip out of her window, sneak through the garden, and then climb the tall wall that sheltered the Prince's house. Perhaps it was bad of her to keep to herself that knowledge, but then again one never knew when an escape became necessary, and anyway she didn't think many were as good climbers as she was. It wasn't like this high up in the city there even stalked people who would make use of the knowledge that wall to the Prince Imrahil's house was one you could climb. And the man himself was a legend large enough for anyone with dark ideas to very seriously consider if breaking into his house was wise.
Perhaps, after some time, she could tell him that. Father would want to know how she had got away – and how she had made her way to the man who, she hoped, would set her free. Of course she knew she was placing her hope on someone she did not know... but sometimes, one has to take the leap of faith.
Night was late when she got to the Citadel. She came here so often the guards paid little heed to her; Prince Imrahil's daughter could move about with surprising freedom. Likely they were going to regret that by next day when she could not be found anywhere. Eventually, Father would find her letter... and perhaps riders would be sent after them. But he, the tall rider, would know what to do. And together they would find a place without boundaries.
Lothíriel made way first to the royal stables. She'd leave her bag there – she had packed only the most necessary objects – and come back for it once she had found him and made him understand this was really happening.
However, she realised something was amiss the moment she entered the stables. She immediately saw that the great warhorses of Rohan were not in their stalls anymore, and she did not see the large grey stallion that belonged to him. Her heart sunk as she wondered what this meant. Had they gone already? Had they left, and she hadn't even told him goodbye?
She wasted no time as she returned to where the guards stood watching the night. Both seemed immensely bored, as the nights up here in the Citadel were very quiet and calm.
"Excuse me", Lothíriel asked the guards softly, "can I ask something?"
"Of course, my lady", he answered. He looked like he even welcomed this little distraction.
"I was just wondering", she began carefully, trying to come up with words that would not reveal too much. "Did the Rohirrim already leave the city?"
"They did, an hour or two ago. Word came from Rohan, and apparently their leader was sorely needed in their own land. They left in great haste", answered the guard.
"Oh. Thank you", said Lothíriel, and how she was able to keep steady her voice and not burst in tears right there, she did not know.
Slowly, she made her way back home. Tonight, Duty had won after all.
November 3016, Dol Amroth
The winter months by the sea had never been Lothíriel's favourite time. It could be beautiful here in spring and summer, but winter was just one unending storm. She missed Minas Tirith so much that it was almost like a physical hurt, but for the moment return was not possible. For one, Father had come to stay in Dol Amroth for a couple of months, and without him it would not have been possible for her either to stay in the White City.
And so she had come to this fair city by the sea, where she had been born, and where she felt like a prisoner.
It had been months since the unfortunate encounters back in Minas Tirith. The Rohirric rider whom she had kissed in the warm darkness of the stables had gone, leaving behind nothing but a pain that would not quite go away. He was there always, filling her dreams and haunting her thoughts, and the absence of him was an ache in that place where her heart was supposed to be. Insane as it was, a man she had only met three times would not leave her in peace. And knowing what could have been made the return so much harder.
If only...
Cuileth and Aunt Ivriniel at least were happy that she was back, and they had taken her low spirits for a newly developed interest in the education of a princess. But truth was she was just too tired and discouraged to really fight back. At least trying to follow their lead helped her not to think of a man she ought to forget. Amrothos had been probably the only one to see that something was wrong, but even he for all his attempts had not been able to make her speak. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but Lothíriel simply could not talk about the Rider and what happened in the stables of Minas Tirith.
It was one day of late November, when Lothíriel was holed up in the old study that had belonged to her Grandfather, that Father came seeking for her. The chamber was little used these days and the furniture was beyond ancient, but Lothíriel liked this place. It was always quiet and the views from the window over the city were really nice. Not to mention one tapestry on the wall, which she had often sat staring at when she had been a child. Grandfather had said the tapestry depicted two great heroes of the First Age in the mists of time, and he had often told her their story. There was Beren Erchamion, a mortal Man who had fallen in love with an Elven Princess, and his beloved Lúthien Tinúviel. In the tapestry, they held the great Silmaril, which had earned them the consent of Thingol her father.
Lately Lothíriel had found it both difficult and comforting to look at that tapestry. These emotions were rooted in the memory of a man whose name was not Beren. Yet now she did not watch the image of two long-dead lovers, but instead looked out over the city of Dol Amroth. For once she had been practising her embroidery on a shirt she had thought to give to Amrothos – if he'd accept her clumsy needlework – but eventually her mind had sought its own paths, and travelled first to Minas Tirith, and then even further towards north. She had thought of horses and fair-haired men and one man in particular, wondering how he was doing, and if he were all right.
"There you are, daughter", called Father's voice, effectively summoning her back to the present moment. Lothíriel straightened up on her seat and gave a small smile to him as he entered the round room in the tower.
"Hello, Father. What is it?" she asked.
"I was just hoping to talk with you about something important", he said gently as he took a creaking chair and placed it before her. If she could read his face at all, Lothíriel knew right away it was something serious.
"Am I in trouble?" she asked warily. Father chuckled softly.
"Of course not, dear child", he said gently, but then his face became slightly apprehensive. He continued, "Your aunt says it is a high time we talked about this, but Amrothos firmly believes you're going to be angry with me for even mentioning it. Lothíriel, I have been thinking about the future, and I was wondering whether you'd be ready and willing for a marriage."
She instantly sat up straighter, and her heart beat faster, as if she were a rabbit pursued by hungry wolves. She certainly felt like one as she thought of that horrendous word her father had just spoken.
"Amrothos is quite right, Father", she said in clipped tones. "I don't want to get married."
"Calm down, dear. I don't mean that you will be wed first thing tomorrow. I just wanted to talk with you about it – hear what you think of it, and if you might even have some young man in mind already", he said soothingly, leaning forward in his chair.
Lothíriel blinked and looked away briefly. Oh, she certainly did have someone in mind, but she had no idea who he even was. Most like he was but a simple Rider of Rohan who owned not much more than his horse and his cloak. Father would never let her marry a man like that... and once more she had to remind herself she didn't really even know him.
"Father, I haven't even turned 18 yet. Isn't it a bit early to speak of this?" she asked reluctantly.
"Of course. And like I said, I'm not saying you need to do this tomorrow. Your aunt thinks you're ready, though... but you know how she is, and I'm not going to make you do something you don't want to do", he said gently. That did console her and Lothíriel relaxed. She had actually thought he had it all planned out already, and there was some young lord ready to claim her has his wife. The mere idea made her shudder.
Father spoke again, "I'm not talking about this because I want to suggest you need to wed a man out of duty. It's just because I'm not going to be here forever, and I would like to know there's someone to take care of you when I'm gone."
"I can take care of myself", Lothíriel said defensively, but he smiled gently.
"Oh, daughter, I know that. It's not that sort of care I even mean. What I'm trying to say is I'd like there to be someone for you. Someone who would comfort you when you're sad, give you a hug when you need it, and make you smile. I worry for you sometimes, seeing how lonely and unhappy you have been lately", he said slowly, making her twitch; of course she should have known he would notice her mood. Father reached for her hand and considered it as if there was some secret hidden in that limb.
The princess did not know how to answer. It touched her, knowing her father cared and worried for her like that. But how should she tell him she couldn't have just any man there beside her? And how to explain that no matter how insane it was, her heart was given already to a man Gondorian courts would never see as worthy of her?
"Don't be so concerned about me, Father. I'm fine as it is. I can... I'm capable of taking care of myself. And it's not so bad to be alone. I can handle it", she said softly.
"Yes, but I feel it is only because you haven't known what it is like to love and be loved in return. It's a safe haven in this world that is sometimes so cold and cruel. And you remind me of your mother so much sometimes, and she told me to look after you... I remember how she was before we married, how our love made her flourish. I would see you flourish the same way, Lothíriel. I know you would, if you just found someone who would cherish you", Father said, his voice very soft and gentle.
"Of course", was all she could really say.
"Then what would you say of an arrangement like this? When we go back to Minas Tirith, I'll ask around and see if there are any young unmarried men in the city. Perhaps your uncle could organise a ball or something, and we'll see if there's anyone you like. I don't mean you will have to make up your mind right away – just try the waters for a bit?" he suggested then.
What could she really say about that? She could see this was important to her father, and Lothíriel knew it was only because he really was concerned about her. And so she sighed and nodded.
"All right, Father."
March 3017, Edoras
This was the moment he had been yearning for.
Of course Éomer knew it was a poor way of coping. These imaginations were fleeting, and for the brief moment of bliss they brought the payment was far too bitter. Yet that one instance, when he imagined that the wench he was with was her, was just too sweet.
He never looked her in the eyes. No, the blue of them was not the grey he'd have wanted to see, and her face would just have reminded him of how idiotic and futile this self-betrayal was. For the same reason he never kissed her, because he knew it wouldn't be the same.
But as much as he would hate himself afterwards, this one moment when their breathing was building up and he was buried in her warmth as he thrust again and again was all he could have. Fantasy it was, a dream for the weak, an antidote that would turn into poison after a while.
She was moaning his name now, and he was picking up speed. There she was between himself and the wall of the barn, and the noises of the tavern carried from few yards away. But he let himself think nothing, except for the feel of her, and it was her; light hair was turned dark and tanned skin was pale under his hands, she was here with him and she was his own...
That thought brought him over the edge, though he pulled out just before it happened. Illegitimate children were the last thing he wanted running about here, and Uncle would never let him hear the end of it if he were so irresponsible. It was even quite likely he'd have ordered Éomer to marry right away. And right now marriage was about the last thing he wanted.
"Mmm. Don't go yet", said the wench. Evidently she had come down from her own heights for a bit and if he could read her face at all, it looked like she'd rather enjoy another round. However, that familiar feel of disgust was already building inside him, taking the place of tranquility he had sought. Yet the twisted feeling was not towards this woman, but more for himself.
Oh, he was weak.
"No. I have to go", he muttered as he covered himself and buckled his belt.
"Please. Didn't you like it?" she asked, pouting in a way she probably thought attractive.
"That's just the problem", he told her and turned, not standing to look at her for one moment more.
The first time he had allowed himself that thought when he had been with a woman it had been purely for a rational reason. He had told himself that if he just imagined it was her, he'd get over it. He could forget about her and move on with his life, and perhaps the image of her would stop haunting him day and night.
However, the thing was that afterwards he never remembered the women themselves. No, they'd fade, like he had hoped she would. But Nihtegale herself became more vivid with each moment of passion, and soon it was not because he was trying to forget. It was because it only became harder and harder to let go.
In the end, his attempt to forget the woman had just turned her into an obsession.
And though it had almost been a year since he had last seen her, he could not stop thinking of her.
There were moments he thought about racing back to Mundburg, finding her there, and begging her to reconsider. He had thought of finding her father too, and thought of all the ways he'd try to change the man's mind. Charm or blackmail? Slaying some dragon somewhere or trying to frighten the man into giving his consent? Stealing her or eloping with her into some faraway land?
It was insane. No woman had ever affected Éomer like this; him, the great ladies' man who according to stories had a wench for each finger! Well, he had certainly had women for even for his toes lately. But none of them was her, and when he thought of her he wanted so much more than just brief passion behind some barn. For her, he'd have given up everything.
Logically thinking, he knew he ought to forget about her. It wasn't likely that he should see her again... and chances were she had already moved on. Really, she was little more than an apparition... a brief dream that would not come again.
But his was a wild heart and a kiss like hers was not easily forgotten.
Éothain pushed a tankard of ale towards him when he returned to the tavern. His friend said nothing but the expression on the older man's face was enough. Éomer paid no heed, however; he took a long swig from his tankard and considered drinking himself silly tonight.
"You know", said the captain, "If you continue acting like this, your uncle is going to regret naming you the Third Marshal."
"Please, Éothain. I don't want to have this conversation", said the younger man in a suffering voice.
"Oh, I know you don't. Do you think I care? You're acting like a lad ten years younger than you are, and it is not fitting for a Marshal. I thought your years of drinking and chasing after every skirt in Rohan were already past", Éothain said, frowning as he spoke. "Yes, I know you're one of the most eligible men in the Mark and the ladies love you, but you must start behaving already – like you did before now. What is it that has got into you lately?"
"Éothain, you're my best friend and I love you like a brother, but would you please let this be? It's none of your business", said Éomer in a suffering voice.
The older man sighed and looked unhappy, but he did not say more. However, the young Marshal did know this was not the last he'd hear of the matter. And perhaps his friend was right. For himself, he had little self-respect as of late, and he had no idea of how to fix any of it... except just to stop. But how was he supposed to stop when it meant letting go?
He was staring at his ale morosely when the man fell on him. Tavern fights were not uncommon, especially in the Red Boar, which was one of the more obscure ones in Edoras. Unaffectedly he pushed the man away towards his fighting partner, who was shouting insults. But then, as he was about to down the last of his ale and was thinking of getting some more, Éothain shouted.
"Éomer! Watch out!"
He just about dodged the fist aimed for the back of his head. Without hesitation he threw the tankard towards the face of the man who'd have knocked him out and used the moment of his opponent's confusion to get up on his feet.
It was full-wrought brawl now. More men were joining the fight all about him, and it was a mayhem of fists and blond hair and knocked teeth.
But as he looked at the man who had tried to hit him Éomer suddenly caught the gleam of metal, and he saw the dagger, aimed between his ribs... it was thanks to his warrior's reflexes that he caught his would-be killer by wrist before the blade could find its intended target.
The man who'd take his life was as any other: light of hair, bearded, strong. Obviously a rider, but not quite as broad or tall as the Marshal himself... and evidently not quite prepared for the one he had meant to kill. For Éomer was not a warrior for nothing, and it was not for his drinking habits of late or the women that he had only two months ago been appointed a Marshal of the Mark.
He had the knife in his boot, placed there just for an instance like this; it slipped out with easy grace when her reached for it, furious and quick. So, with one hand he kept at bay his opponent's blade, and in the other he had his own dagger, which he brought to the neck of his enemy.
"Who sent you?" he growled. "Was it Wormtongue?"
He did not get a chance to drag the answer out of the man, because then one of the attendees to the brawl collided with him, and he briefly lost his balance. His would-be killer took the opportunity and freed himself, and then made for the Marshal again. However, Éomer was just able to jump aside and the knife only scratched his arm.
But then Éothain came, wielding nothing less than a chair, and his eyes were ablaze. The captain could be quite a terrifying man when he was angry. Apparently the assassin thought so too, for he quickly fell back and disappeared in the crowd.
"You're hurt!" Éothain bellowed over the noise and tossed aside the chair, which was quickly claimed by another man. The captain grabbed his Marshal by his good arm and dragged him out.
"It's only a scratch", Éomer said dismissively once they were outside and the heated atmosphere of the tavern had changed into the cool of night.
"I don't care. This is the last time you go into a tavern. I will not have you die in some idiotic brawl!" Éothain announced. He still dragged his friend by arm, and he never stopped ranting before they got up to Meduseld.
The healer had already tied up the scratch (wound, as Éothain had insisted) and gone when Éowyn came. From her expression Éomer instantly knew his captain had ratted him out to her, and he made a mental note of needing to have a long talk with his friend very soon.
"Brother", she said; her voice instantly revealed he was in trouble now.
"Éowyn", he answered, bracing himself for the inevitable.
"Captain Éothain tells me you were hurt in a tavern brawl", she said, crossing her arms on her chest.
"Like I told him several times, it's but a scratch. Or does it look like I'm about to fall on my death bed?" he asked tiredly, pouring himself some ale. Oh, if he hadn't yearned for sweet oblivion before, now he certainly did.
"Don't you dare dismiss it! You could be the greatest fighter alive and still get killed while you were trying to get yourself drunk as a skunk!" Éowyn snapped angrily. "How many times do I have to tell you to be more careful?!"
"Well, excuse me for not realising that the things had already got so bad that our uncle's own adviser would have me killed", he said tersely. He really was not in mood for this argument.
"It's not only that. I have also heard talk that the wenches of the town have received particularly frequent attention from you lately", Éowyn said, managing a thin line between indifference and distaste.
"Sister, have these talks ever lead into anything else than arguments before?" he asked in a pained voice. The last thing he needed was his sister lecturing him about his liaisons. She snorted and snatched away his mug of ale to his great annoyance.
"No, but that doesn't mean we're not going to have this talk anyway. Brother, I know you're popular with the ladies and that the wenches from Westfold to Eastemnet would go wailing if you stopped showing them your favour, but don't you think this is quite enough? We are the King's sister-children, Éomer. Is this the kind of example you want to set?" she asked in displeasure, sounding so much like their late mother it was a bit scary.
"What does it matter to you?" Éomer inquired, aware how unpleasant his voice sounded. He thought she'd get only angrier, but instead something sad appeared on her face.
"Brother, please. You're the only thing that is left of our family in Aldburg. And the way Uncle is these days, and with Théodred away so often... Éomer, I need you. I can't see you continue spiralling down into ruin like this. It's going to kill you, sooner or later, unless you stop. I could not bear it if something happened to you", she said and there was a pleading tone in her voice. Instantly it made him feel horrible... but even more so, he needed to see that tone gone. So he got up and went to give her a one-armed hug.
"Éowyn, you needn't worry for me like this. I can take care of myself", he told her softly.
"You're my brother, of course I worry for you", she answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Thinking again, it probably was. She searched his face, "What is it, Éomer? What is bothering you?"
He sighed and looked away, wondering how he should articulate his thoughts and shame and the pain of wanting something he could never have.
"I'm... I'm just trying to forget someone", he said quietly at last.
"Someone? Do I know her?" she asked.
"No. I met her in Mundburg", he said miserably. He had never really been able to keep anything from Éowyn and it was a wonder he had managed to do so this long.
"Why are you trying to forget her? Go and wed her, if that's what this is about. Raising a family might do you good as a matter of fact. I'm sure Uncle wouldn't mind, considering his own mother was from Gondor", she pointed out.
"She's not available. I believe she was a daughter of some high prudish lord who'd never give her hand in marriage to a horselord", he mumbled. Looking at her and seeing her wide-eyed expression, he hurriedly continued, "It's nothing like that! I didn't dishonour her. She didn't even tell me her real name, hoping that I might forget about her."
"Well, she had more sense than you in that case", Éowyn said dryly. But then she sighed, "I'm sorry to hear that. I know how your mind and heart work, and... if you feel like this, then she must be something special. Is she truly so beyond your reach?"
"She seemed to think so", said the young Marshal.
"Perhaps you should go and find her again and tell her who you are. You are not only the King's nephew but also a Marshal - surely any prudish Gondorian lord would comprehend this is no a small thing in the Mark? If you just found her..." she said, her voice trailing off.
"How do you suggest then I should go and tell Uncle that I need to go to Mundburg? It was difficult when I was captain to Ánfeald, but now it's just impossible. A Marshal can't just ride to Gondor the moment he feels like doing so", Éomer pointed out.
However, Éowyn smiled.
"Well, it just happens I overheard a messenger talk with Uncle... apparently Steward Denethor asks for the King to send riders to aid him, and he has particularly asked for you, brother. You're going to return to Gondor."
A/N: And here's update. I know people are probably wanting an update to House of Sun, but as much I've tried to work on it I just can't get it anywhere. Not to mention my flu got even worse and writing anything was out of question. I suppose I just really need to get this story out of my system before I can get back to House of Sun. I promise I'll try and get a new chapter done this week.
So, our lovers are more or less tearing themselves apart, but perhaps their reunion is not so far as they might think. I know this all develops quite fast, but like I said earlier, I'm trying to keep this piece short. That is actually both because of House of Sun and that other story I'm thinking of.
Hope you enjoy this update, and thanks for reviewing!
Inspiration for the chapter: Zola Jesus - Skin
solar1 - Thank you! I'm better now actually. :)
Borys68 - I like it too, though later I noticed I had written "instead" when I ought to use "except". I can't English when I'm sick, apparently. :D
Talia119 - Perhaps he'll return even sooner! Sadly answering those questions is going to take a little while more...
Liski - Thank you for your corrections! Please don't think I'm offended by them - I very much appreciate it when my mistakes are pointed out. I will have to fix those lines. Thanks again for pointing them out!
BlueNynaeve - Here comes!
memory bleeds - Well, I hope this update at least is slightly better in your opinion.
Kiiimberly - I fear those will have to wait for a bit still. :)
TheCountessCorpse - Thanks for your kind words! Hope you like this update too, though there is not interaction between our love-birds. Maybe that'll be fixed in the next chapter!