"And here I have found what I sought not indeed, but finding I would possess for ever. For it is above all gold and silver, and beyond all jewels. Neither rock, nor steel, nor the fires of Morgoth, nor all the powers of the Elf-kingdoms, shall keep from me the treasure that I desire. For Lúthien your daughter is the fairest of all the Children of the World."
- Of Beren and Lúthien
Chapter 5
Returning from the gardens and trying to appear like a sane person proved to be quite a challenge to Éomer. Truth be told, he had never thought to have such self-control as he exercised that night. He was not one to hold back his emotions or hide his feelings, but here in the front of the Gondorian court he simply couldn't act like his mind was somewhere far. Furthermore, he was fairly sure he was expected to speak with the other guests too, preferably in sentences longer than three words. At least that villain who had harassed her had evidently vanished.
Fortunately, Boromir seemed to have taken it upon himself to introduce him to the high and mighty of the land, and he forced himself to focus on these ladies and lords of Gondor... hard as it was to concentrate. For the thought of her and finding her once again here were things he knew would consume his mind if he lowered his guard even for a moment.
Somehow, he was able to keep up the appearance of a fine noble man who did not harbour any improper affections towards a certain Amrothian lady, and as soon as he felt it was appropriate for him to retire, he excused himself. For one, it seemed like the quiet and privacy of his chamber was the best place for him to climb on the walls and lose his mind.
He did go kind of crazy indeed before the morning came. Had hours ever been so long or agonising? And had a woman ever held such power over him?
Princess Lothíriel. Of course she'd be nothing less than a princess. It did certainly explain her distress a year ago and her conviction that there was no chance for the two of them. But now, being here in the city and having again experienced the bliss that was holding her in his arms, he couldn't feel despair. He was a Marshal now, a Lord with more than just a name of great parents... surely Prince Imrahil would pay heed, especially if his daughter insisted she wanted such a union? She wanted it, he knew - he had seen it in her eyes, heard it in her voice. She would not have leapt into his embrace in such a rampant way unless she yearned for him just as much he yearned for her.
In the middle of these crazed musings he briefly thought of the man who had harassed her, and though the memory of him did make the Rohir bristle he also knew it was Prince Imrahil's right to deal with the man. Altogether he doubted it would end too well if he tried to meddle with the Gondorian execution of justice. Whoever that lord was, he had not seem like much of a fighter, and the Prince would thoroughly take care of the matter once his daughter told him what had happened. Seeing how he frantically he had searched for his daughter, Imrahil was not a man who just allowed her to be mistreated in such a way.
The young Marshal slept but briefly and fitfully that night, and eventually it turned towards morning. He was ready and out with sunrise: waiting for the hours between dusk and dawn had been some of the longest of his life.
He'd see his Nihtegale again... no, not Nightingale, but Lothíriel.
Few were up and about when Éomer made his way through the corridors and then the Citadel. There was no sleep or weariness in his eyes, not now when he was close to her. And his heart beat with an odd pace, anxious and slightly mad and it'd only know peace when she came again. But she was not yet in the stables when he arrived, and in an attempt to stay calm he went over to his stallion. Firefoot snorted softly at the sight of him and almost looked like he knew exactly what was on his master's mind.
"As if you could resist a beautiful lady", said the Marshal to his horse nonchalantly. He petted the animal's neck and muttered soft words in Rohirric, until suddenly a patter of light feet alarmed him. Éomer turned around, and about as soon as he did, the Princess of Dol Amroth practically leapt on him in an embrace of all four limbs. One could have thought it had been a hundred years since their last meeting, but he didn't mind. He grabbed her and wondered if they could sneak out of the city this very night... where he could hide her in Rohan...
"You shouldn't charge on a warrior like that, dear one. I could have hurt you, thinking you an orc", he told her, silencing the more absurd ideas dancing in his mind.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think", she said breathlessly, "The sight of you just... you know."
"Oh, I do", he growled softly, and then he kissed her. He could easily have lost himself right there and then, for the soft and supple lips of his Princess far excelled his memory. But she, the tormentor, did not allow it to go on for long, and when she pulled back he had to force himself to calm down.
"We shouldn't stay here. The stable-hands are going to arrive any moment", she said, her voice coming out as a strange little croak.
"Of course", he agreed, though thinking straight was not the easiest thing at the moment. However, he was able to put her down and let her lead the way.
It was the attic above the stables she lead him into. At the very back of the stables there was a ladder, which they climbed, and once there she closed the trap door behind them to shut out the noises from the stables. Up there was a narrow space above the stalls, dim and obviously quite unused for the most parts. However, it had all the privacy one could hope for, and it provided the quiet and peace this moment required.
Though Lothíriel looked like she was not suffering from any ill effects anymore, he felt the need to make sure she was all right after last night. So Éomer asked: "I hope you're not feeling sick this morning?"
"No, not at all. A good night's sleep was all I needed in the end", she said calmingly, settling to sit down beside him. He'd have pulled her in his arms, but he had to think soberly for now in order to clear out some things.
"And did you tell your father what happened before I came to you?" he asked.
"I did. He was rather angry... it was a good thing I insisted we go home before I told him anything. I'm afraid he might have caused a scene in Merethrond", she answered. Now there was a slightly troubled look on her face.
"Will he get rid of that villain who harassed you?" Éomer wanted to know, eager to hear that the villain would be dealt with soon. Seeing how Prince Imrahil had reacted last night upon finding his daughter, he expected the man to go after the young lord by himself – perhaps use him as an orc bait. The idea pleased him greatly to say the very least.
However, Lothíriel sighed and shook her head.
"He'll demand an apology of course, but there's not much more he can do about Galdegir. You see, after my father Galdegir's family is one of the most powerful ones in the land, and his father is good friends with Lord Denethor. For all his power and might, my uncle has to tread carefully with the men of his standing... after all, though he is the Steward in this land, he's not the King and can't act like one. And Galdegir is his father's first-born son. That means a lot here in Gondor. I have a feeling that he'd deny everything if I accused him of putting something in my drink. It's not like I can prove it – he'd say I can't hold my wine or something like that. So there's not much that my father can do, except to make Galdegir apologise for taking liberties like that with me when I wasn't in my right mind", she explained resignedly. Her words made the young Marshal growl. He had never heard such nonsense!
"What kind of justice is this? That vile men like him can assault young women like he did and go unpunished? And he called me savage!" he said angrily, his hands becoming fists. If he came across that man again, he just might punch him... or worse.
"I know it's not right. But that's how it works when you are a high-born", Lothíriel sighed and shook her head.
"I could testify that he did drug you. I saw how you were and that was not drunkenness", he said heatedly.
"Dearest, it's not going to change anything. If I know anything of how scheming some noblemen can be, Galdegir would somehow turn it on you. Accuse you of assaulting him when he was proposing to the lady... you must stay out of it", she told him, her voice sad and defeated.
"If you wanted, I could go and rough him up a little bit. Teach him what happens to men who ensnare unsuspecting women", he said darkly. The mere idea bought him a sense of grim satisfaction.
"No, you can't do that. You'd only cause trouble", she said quickly.
"I'm a Marshal of the Mark. What can he do, except take it to my uncle the King? Théoden would laugh at him and then congratulate me for showing that orc of a man just how cruel can be the North wind", Éomer answered unaffectedly.
"But then my uncle would be forced to take action. It might cause bad blood between our realms, considering you're both men of high standing. And Uncle might forbid you from ever returning, and we wouldn't see each other again... please, you mustn't do anything, no matter how wrong it is. I don't want you to get into trouble because of me..." Lothíriel said, her voice turning desperate. She reached for his hand, and the touch of her fingers had him relenting. The Marshal sighed and covered her hand with his.
"All right. I won't touch him. But if he ever again tries to harm you... then I will not promise I won't murder him", he said in a low, dark voice. He looked at her, softer this time, "Just stay away from him, will you?"
"Of course. He won't fool me again, and I definitely know now not to take anything from his hand... and Father is here too – he'll know to keep an eye on Galdegir as well", Lothíriel said calmingly. She smiled, "And if he tries something, he'll find a hairpin in a place where it hurts the most."
"Oh, you precious woman", he murmured, and then it became impossible not to hold her; he pulled her in his arms. "How I love you."
"You do?" she asked a bit breathlessly, her face only inches from his now as she settled in his lap.
"Aye. From the moment I first laid eyes on you I have loved you", Éomer answered, his heart assuming a mad pace. "You should know that I have dreamt of this moment ever since the night I last saw you. So I may be a little bit mad. You must tell me if I scare you."
That made her smile.
"To be honest, I do not think you're the only mad person here", she told him softly.
"You're very lovely for a madwoman", he said, and then he couldn't hold himself back anymore, but brought his head down, and eagerly her lips met his. What bliss!
The kiss went on for a long while and ranged between tender and insane. Though his affections were rough and demanding, she didn't seem subdued by it - rather, she met him in the kiss with an equal ardour, and her small fingers entangled in his long mane like she was trying to keep him as close as possible. Had the young Marshal died then, he'd have gone down an euphoric man, for she was everything that he had dreamt of ever since she had fled from his arms a year ago now; in her kiss was all the fire that he remembered.
But after a while she pulled back, flushed and short of breath and her eyes shone, and Béma, he'd die if he couldn't have her.
"I can't stay for much longer", she said hoarsely, "My father and brother will be up soon, and expect to see me at breakfast."
"Don't go yet", he murmured and sought the lines of her mouth, though he knew he ought to not hold her back. Yet how should he let her go, not knowing when she would be in his arms again?
"I wouldn't if it were just me", she answered, her fingers tightly woven in his thick mane. "But I have to."
He groaned and kissed her again, and she let him do it.
"Come today to my father's house. Ask for my hand in marriage", she whispered, resting her forehead against his. "I want you. And I want you to have me."
"Yes. Yes", he agreed, breathing in her scent, her desire, breathing in her...
"You have to let me go now", she told him then, but for a little while more he held her tighter, though he knew she was right.
"I'll see you soon", he promised.
And the only reason he was able to let go of her was the dream that perhaps there was a chance for them.
"What is it with you today, daughter?" asked Father later on that morning, after she had returned and tried to make herself look like nothing was out of normal. Amrothos had already gone: apparently he was hoping to catch one of the Rohirrim for a sparring session, as he was curious as to their skills in swordsmanship. So, Lothíriel was left with their father enjoying a lengthy breakfast as the golden light of sun flooded in.
"Mm? What?" she asked absent-mindedly. She had been fully absorbed by her thoughts, all of which consisted of a certain Marshal. All night she had dreamt of him, of the joy of his closeness, and the morning was just as full of him already. And no wonder, seeing what happened in the stables...
"Lothíriel, have you heard anything I've said you today? And you seem pale and tired. Are you still sick?" Father demanded now. At last she realised she had behaved rather badly, and gave him a smile.
"It's all right, Father. I'm fine, really", she said. Very fine she was in fact, and she couldn't hold back a happy little grin.
"Well, I must say I didn't expect to find you so happy today after what happened last night", he said warily.
"Oh, not all of my night was so bad in the end", she said, her smile widening.
Father studied her face intently and leant forwards on his seat.
"Perhaps this is an unpleasant topic after what happened that young villain, but I was wondering... you remember what we talked back in Dol Amroth about this ball? I suggested you take a look around in the court and see if there's anyone you like", he said then. Again Lothíriel smiled, now more dreamily.
"I remember, Father", she said softly. "And I did see someone. He's the reason I'm feeling so good."
That at last made him smile and his posture relaxed. Father reached for her hand and squeezed it gently.
"Well, would you like to tell me who he is?" he asked.
"It's... Father, he's someone very special. And I like him very much. He likes me too..." Lothíriel began carefully, though to say she liked Éomer was a severe understatement. It was necessary though, for she knew she had to break this gently to her father.
"What is it, daughter?" asked Father - he had already guessed something more was going on here than his eyes could perceive.
"I asked him to come here today. There is something he'd like to speak of with you, Father", she said softly. He immediately picked up her meaning, and his eyes widened in surprise.
"You mean to say a man is coming here today to ask for your hand in marriage", Father said very evenly.
"Yes. I have already told him yes", Lothíriel said. She had to bite her tongue in order not to giggle like a maniac. The mere idea seemed so incredible and mad after the past year... and that was why she trusted it.
The Prince leaned back in his chair and studied her as if she had suddenly revealed she was in fact King of Númenor in disguise. For the longest moment, Father said nothing, but when he spoke he sounded calm.
"Lothíriel, when I first made the suggestion about the ball I didn't mean you needed to make up your mind right away. What I intended was for you to take a look around if there was anyone you liked, and then get to know him a bit better. Didn't we also agree that you are too young to be married yet?" he said at last. His words sobered her mood a bit, though nothing really could now dampen her good mood.
"Father, I know that. I'm not asking you to arrange my wedding first thing tomorrow. And if you think we should wait, then that's what we'll do. But I know it's him. I know. I may be young but some things are certain, and he's one of those things", she said softly, gathering her father's hands in her own. "He's... last night was not the first time I saw him. I've met him before, and the memory of him has been with me ever since. And last night I knew for sure, if I never did before."
"Who is this man, daughter?" he asked, watching her closely.
"Marshal Éomer of Rohan", Lothíriel answered, pronouncing the syllables of that beloved name with care.
The look of astonishment returned the face of her father. He blinked once, and then twice. His expression implied he'd have thought to hear any other name than the one she had given.
"Marshal Éomer", Father repeated. He rubbed his forehead and looked completely helpless, "What is this, Lothíriel? How have you met him before?"
"He was here a year ago, the last time when Uncle asked riders from Rohan. One evening I came from a ride and met him in the stables and... we started to talk, and I instantly liked him. But then he left the city because he was needed in his own land. I never forgot about him, though... and last night, when I saw him again, I knew why that was. Most importantly, he feels the same", she explained, thinking it better if Father didn't know just how far her relations with Éomer had already gone.
"Was it true, what you told me last night about Lord Galdegir? Not just an excuse to cover up for some amorous encounter with the Marshal?" Father asked, narrowing his eyes. It was now Lothíriel's turn to blink in surprise.
"Of course it is true! Father, what do you think of me to even suggest that? Galdegir did exactly what I told you, and I was only delivered from that situation by Éomer. He came and scared Galdegir away", she insisted, startled that her father would even think of such a thing. He seemed to recognise the truth of her statement and he nodded. For a moment, he sat silent and thoughtful.
"All right. I will hear out this man, but I make no promises", he said at last slowly, "And I must wonder about this sudden change of heart. Didn't you tell me you don't want to get married?"
"It's not sudden, really. I only said that because of him – because I thought he was but an ordinary rider, and you'd never give your consent. That's why I never spoke of him before now. But he's a Marshal! A mighty lord in his land, Father", Lothíriel said eagerly, wishing for him to see how important this was to her.
"I know he's counted among the highest nobility of Rohan. But I will have to think about this, daughter... I can't give you away to just any man", he said and sighed. Suddenly, he seemed somehow much older than he actually was.
"He's not just any man. He's... he's something I've never seen before. Or never will again, as my heart tells me", Lothíriel insisted. Father gave her a pensive look from under his eyebrows.
"It'd be a lie to say I'm not surprised. I've never seen you behaving or talking like this... but daughter, you must keep your head cool. A marriage is not something you can just purchase like a new book and then put aside when you're done with it. If what you wish would really take place, you'd have to leave behind all that you've known and loved – live in a strange country far away from your family. And there is no telling how you'd be received there..." he said, sounding a bit tired.
"Father, I'm not saying any of this just from the top of my mind. I've thought of this a lot during the past year, and I know already that marriage is a life-long commitment. But I'd have done it even if Lord Éomer were not a Marshal – I'd make that sacrifice and be happy with it", she said emphatically.
Her father did not say anything to that. He nodded silently and stared down at the plates before him, his brow slightly furrowed. Lothíriel had no idea if that was good or a bad sign.
While they had talked, the morning had already grown old, and it was not wrong to say that outside it was full day already. It was kind of strange to realise that this time yesterday she had been panicking about the ball... and now she was so full of hope.
Father straightened up on his seat and looked like he'd have said something, but then a servant appeared at the door of the dining chamber.
"My lord, Marshal Éomer of Rohan is here. He is asking for an audience."
He had been on the edge the whole morning, ever since Lothíriel had disappeared from his sight and he had been left to try and get a grip of himself. The memory of her lips against his and her body in his arms had left Éomer's head spinning, and he suspected he had much resembled a drunken man when he had made his way back to the palace. There, he had gotten himself as presentable as it was possible in the situation. The problem had instantly made itself clear: he had nothing proper to put on for the audience, as appearing armoured on Prince Imrahil's threshold was not an option and his clothes were otherwise rather plain. But he wasn't pompous enough to don on Boromir's borrowed coat... and yet it felt wrong to make this visit looking like he did – to the great, wealthy Prince it would probably seem like a beggar had come to ask for the hand of his daughter.
It couldn't be helped, though. And anyway one shouldn't pretend to be something one was not, especially when something so important was at hand. Really, it felt like he was about to do the most important thing in his whole life... and to Lothíriel it didn't matter. He knew now she'd welcome him even if he had nothing more but rags on his back.
Before midday he deemed it was the right time, and by then he was too anxious to wait for longer in any case. There was a tightness in his chest, the kind he had not known before. And as he made way out, his stride turned faster with each step and almost became a proper run. Some inquiries in the palace had affirmed where he'd find the house of Prince Imrahil; like the other high nobility, he had a town house not far from the Citadel itself. Éomer himself had observed that the higher in the city one lived, the more important he was.
The house of Princes of Dol Amroth was something of a palace itself and made the young Marshal feel more than just a little self-conscious. Compared to this fine place, Aldburg was nothing but a barn. He could but wonder how the castle by the sea was, and quickly decided he'd rather not imagine it. He reminded himself: a man's worth was not measured by where he had been born nor by the grandeur of his home. And the pride of the Mark were not the cold, dead stone palaces.
The time it took to announce himself and his intentions and to wait for the Prince to arrive was probably the most excruciating moment of his life. Had minutes ever dragged like they did now? He was sure it wasn't so. But at last Prince Imrahil appeared, and though he was trying to keep his face void of expressions, his eyes instantly fell on Éomer and the younger man felt like he was scrutinised and measured very carefully.
"Lord Éomer", greeted the Prince, "If you'd follow me."
"Of course", answered the Marshal, and silently strode after him as he made way to what looked like a parlour. It was a spacious, airy room and furnished with elegant pieces made of light wood. It was very clear that this place belonged to someone of great wealth and high standing. Objects and furnishings seemed like the kind he was not supposed to touch, and so he clasped his hands behind his back, standing straight and confident... even if confidence was not exactly what he was feeling right now. He came to a halt then and stood quietly, waiting for the Prince to speak first.
The older man turned to regard him, still wearing that same look that tried to drill through his skull.
"My daughter tells me you have come here to ask for her hand in marriage", Imrahil said, going straight into the business. Well, Éomer had expected nothing less. The matter of Lothíriel was not something they both would speak of in straightforward and honest terms.
"Aye. That is true", said the Marshal in a clear, steady voice. "I tried to think of all the wonderful things I should tell you, my lord, but I'm not a man of many frivolous words. And Lothíriel your daughter is more fair than all the words I know. The simple truth is that I love her beyond anything in this world. Perhaps it is not wrong to say that I have not known her long enough, or that there are still things I should learn about her. For that reason I ask for your permission to court her – but with the clear intention that I wish for her to be my wife."
Prince Imrahil did not answer right away, nor did his face betray his thoughts. He stood silent, regarding the Rohir as he thought of his words. Eventually, he let out something that sounded like a sigh, and he turned towards the window.
"What is a Marshal exactly in your land? Could you provide for her?" asked the Prince.
"I am one of the King's lieutenants. I guard the eastern marches of the realm. And my seat is in Aldburg, which after Edoras is the most important settlement in the Mark. I will not lie: the life I could offer her is not the same she has here, and I acknowledge I do not possess the sophistication she has. But I have something which I believe is more important, and that is the fact I would love and cherish her beyond all material wealth in this world", said Éomer. Imrahil glanced at him sharply.
"And why is it that you love her, Lord Marshal?" he asked.
"Because she is the loveliest, gentlest thing I've ever known. Because she is in my mind always, day and night. And because she trusts me with her heart, and what moves in it", said Éomer softly. Speaking those words out loud somehow loosened the tightness in his chest... as if she had been here herself and placed her small hand in his.
The Prince stared at him unblinkingly. In his eyes, grey like hers, there were things the young Marshal did not quite understand. But he answered that look calmly and felt he had said the right thing; somehow, it made him feel more confident.
However, Prince Imrahil sighed and a frown came to his face.
"I can see that you are honest, my lord", he said at length, folding his hands behind his back, "and I do not doubt you speak these words from the bottom of your heart. Perhaps your infatuation is real."
At that the Marshal grit his teeth, though he didn't speak. Instead, he remained quiet and waited for the older man to continue.
"And my daughter seems just as taken with you. It is a novel thing, as I have not seen any man befuddle her so like this before, but I suppose she has finally reached that age... but even so she is young, and perhaps not too level-headed in this matter. The events of last night prove it at least, considering what almost happened to her. Naturally I am thankful that you happened to be there and chased away the man who assaulted her. But it's not enough."
Prince Imrahil fixed his eyes on Éomer, and when he spoke his voice was very calm, "Lothíriel is too young for marriage, and also to understand what it would mean if she became your wife. And she is far too precious for me to give away like that. I don't sell my beloved ones to anyone so quickly or so easily."
"But my lord-" Éomer tried, but the Prince lifted up his hand to interrupt him.
"If you were a Gondorian, then perhaps something could be arranged in a few years. However, you're a practical stranger, and what I know of your people doesn't encourage me to give her to you. You Rohirrim are wild, which is probably all very well for yourselves, but it is different here in Gondor. And you may very well be a lord in your land but it is not enough", said Imrahil, his voice rising higher and more unforgiving now.
"I am sorry, Lord Marshal, but you are not enough. You're not worthy of my daughter."
"Don't you think Lothíriel herself should be the judge of that?" Éomer asked. It was a wonder that he could keep his voice so steady, so void of any emotion.
"She wouldn't judge with her mind, but with her heart", said the Prince unaffectedly.
"Are you then saying you are not judging with your heart?" asked the Marshal before he could hold back his tongue. And as he could very well have expected, his words made Imrahil's eyes flash in a way that promised nothing good for his plea.
"That is enough. I will not hear more", he snapped, his form instantly tensing as if he thought a battle would commence. "I will not give you my consent – you can't have my daughter. This is my final word. Now, I'd like you to leave this house, and not look back."
Éomer let out a sigh, long and heavy and defeated. His shoulders fell and he felt diminished.
He should have known. These uptight Gondorians regarded Eorlingas nothing more but a bunch of howling brutes... and they'd never suffer giving their daughters to wives. It had been foolish to dare to hope for more.
"Very well", he said quietly, but didn't turn to leave quite yet. He searched Imrahil's eyes, "May I at least bid her farewell?"
"No. You have said more than enough, Lord Marshal", Imrahil said coldly.
"Fine. At least I will not have to be there to see her heart break", said the Rohir, and then he turned, and when he went he never looked back.
He wasn't sure how he made the way back to the Citadel. It was like someone else was controlling and moving him, and his eyes were blurry with what he knew to be tears of anger and disappointment.
You're not worthy of my daughter.
Those cruel words echoed through his mind, time and again. And what pain and fury they caused! He could very well sacrifice his blood for Gondor, and yet if he dared to ask for the hand of fair maiden, he was told he was little better than a howling barbarian!
So, men like Galdegir are worthy of her then?!
It was wrong, all wrong. It wasn't supposed to go like this... even if Lothíriel had known from the beginning that her father would never let her marry a man of Rohan. She had known, and she had tried to shelter them from the pain that was forbidden love. And yet he had ran blindly towards it, grasping at that light which was not for the likes of him.
A barbarian, a savage of the north, a defiler of daughters of kings...
In his room, a great feeling of weariness came to him and he fell down to sit. What a fool he had been to dare and hope... and now what chance was there of seeing her again? No, Imrahil would not let him even lay eyes on her again! And his sweet little Nihtegale would return to her gilded cage, until that sadness he had seen in her eyes already a year ago would consume her...
He buried his face in his hands and tried to wish away his despair, tried to see some way around this. But all he saw was his own despair and a bitter road that lead away from the princess who had captured his heart...
It felt like he sat there for hours, and outside the light of day waned. He desired no food or rest – only the sound of her voice, telling him it had all been a misunderstanding. But eventually a knock on the door awoke him, and heavily the young Marshal got up on his feet.
At the door, a servant waited. He said: "The Steward asks for your presence, my lord."
"Of course", said Éomer and followed the messenger to the study of Lord Denethor of Gondor. Vaguely he remembered the first time he had walked these hallways and stepped into the study from where the Steward ruled the realm. He remembered feeling awe and wonder, but now all that he experienced was loathing and hatred for this place made of stone and cold, prideful men.
The Steward stood gazing out of the window when the Marshal entered. Walking from his chamber had allowed him enough of time to compose himself, and now as the Lord Denethor turned to look him Éomer knew the older man saw only that trademark frown on his face that could mean so many things.
"You called, my lord?" he asked, wasting no time for courtesies.
"Indeed I did, Lord Marshal", said the Steward slowly, studying him with eyes that betrayed nothing.
"Can I be of assistance?" asked the Rohir.
Denethor did not speak at first. He kept his eyes still on the young warrior, as if he read more on Éomer's face than he let on.
"You're bold, Marshal", he said at last, never turning away his eyes, "but that is to be expected, considering you're of that wild brood of the North. It has proved to be a good thing for us in past, for without the fearlessness of yourself and your men we would have lost some very important battles. Because of this, Gondor is ever thankful to you."
He frowned then and then look of his eyes became very sharp, "However, you have reached far above yourself in coveting Prince Imrahil's daughter. She's a jewel that will not be surrendered quite so cheaply."
"Princess Lothíriel is no family heirloom to be hid and bound in chains. And to me she is more beautiful and priceless than any jewel in this world. Perhaps you should for once listen to what she says instead of treating her like she had no will of her own", Éomer answered, trying to remain calm. "But maybe that is a view too wild and northern for this stone palace."
"I have no interest in your unruly ways, Marshal", Denethor said sharply. "They are not welcome here."
"Of course", said the Rohir; he wanted to kick himself for speaking out of turn. He and his big mouth!
Denethor made a sound that was something between a sigh and a snort. He sat down by his desk and gave Éomer another of those sharp looks, but the Marshal met it coolly and dauntlessly.
"As I said, we are thankful for all your help. It will be remembered, and I'd ask you take my heartfelt thanks to your King. He should also know that if he needs it, Gondor will offer help in turn", Denethor continued. Now his tone was again even. He went on, "However, due to these unpleasant events concerning Princess Lothíriel, I would ask you to leave the realm at sunrise the day after tomorrow, and not return unless you are called back by myself. Will your men be ready by then?"
The Steward's words felt like a slap against his face. So this was how Gondor now paid back the help given to them? Anger and surprise were what he felt, but somehow with great effort Éomer was able to keep his face unmoving and hold back his sharp words. He would not give this man the satisfaction of seeing him defeated.
"Aye. I will have my riders ready by then, Lord Denethor", said the Marshal. He was careful no to let any colour enter his voice. He stared at the man before him, "Is there anything else?"
"No, Lord Marshal. That would be all", said the Steward.
The Third Marshal of the Riddermark bowed his head, turned, and left the study without further word.
But inside, he was howling.
A/N: And here's update! I hope this won't earn me too many boos. But the course of true love never did run smooth, does it? And what can I say? I love the drama. :D
Originally I meant to include a scene where Éomer interacts more with Lothíriel and her family and kin, but that would have grown this chapter far too long, and a split would have completely messed up with what I have in mind for the next chapter. Plus I always need to keep in mind this is supposed to be 10 chapters tops.
I know the matter of Galdegir remains unpleasantly open, but I don't think this is the last we hear of him. That he gets away with it is (in my opinion) an illustration of a too realistic setting where you're protected by your high status in society when you have more than earned a punishment for your actions. Galdegir is, as a first-born son of a great lord almost as powerful as Prince Imrahil, not someone you get easily your hands on. Like Lothíriel says, he'd probably deny he ever did any harm to her or that he drugged her. And there's not really a way of proving anything now. Éomer, coming from a different culture, doesn't really understand it. This outcome is also my attempt to emphasise the differences between the cultures of Gondor and Rohan (something I've been near obsessed with lately).
Yet villainous as he is, Galdegir isn't necessarily wrong about Imrahil and his treatment of Lothíriel. More on that later as well.
Hope you enjoyed this update, and thanks for reading!
Inspiration for the chapter: Florence + The Machine - Breath of Life
Le Pleiade - Hopefully you continue to enjoy the story. :)
Covered in Bruises - Oh, Éomer would no doubt like that. But he can't really get his hands on Galdegir without causing trouble, and for the moment that villain is more or less untouchable.
Kiiimberly - Yeah, he is not a nice fellow. I think he's a bit too taken with his status in life. And you're right about his intentions - he'd certainly like being wed to the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the land.
Talia119 - Lothíriel herself doesn't probably think drugs and vomit are the best setting for reunion. :D I can't even tell you how much I want to have Éomer introducing Galdegir to some proper Rohirric justice...
Yes, I do have a beard. It is big and it's full of secrets. :D
BlueNynaeve - Well, it was not a hope long-lived, it would seem for now... I'm glad to hear that I've been able to create such suspense!