Writ of Shadows and Phantoms
Chapter 22: Reclaiming the Past
Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven
He stretched his back and massaged his own shoulders. Gamling was tired. These few days had been long and fatiguing, and he was no longer as young as he had been. He watched the Royal Guards set off to fetch more provisions and clothing for the captured Rohirrim that they rescued just a day ago. He had come around to reassure that everyone had a bed to sleep tonight. Many saw him and gave him a nod. He recognised a few faces but not many. He had met many people in his life. They came and went. Some left a deeper impression than the rest.
His wrinkled blue eyes scanned across the hall again. Tonight this would be the temporary sleeping quarters for the people of Snowbourn. A few women were busy laying the sheets around when one of them caught his attention.
That hair.
That doubled-knotted hair.
He rubbed his eyes rudely thinking it was an illusion of fatigue.
But no. It was still there.
"Wynflaéth!"
His voice rang across the busy hall and drowned all the other mutterings.
He was shocked that he still remembered her name. It was since many years that he last called her name. Wynflaéth - he thought he would never have a chance to call again. He thought he had lost her.
"Wynflaéth!"
At his second call, the woman stopped and dropped whatever in her hands. She turned around very slowly and looked at him with her widened cerulean eyes. "Gamling?"
His steps hurried and stopped in front of her. The same face that carried the beauty that had aged over the past missing years.
He left a lump in his chest. His hands went up and only to hang in mid air. She was alive.
"Wynflaéth!" He exclaimed again in wonderment.
She thought she heard someone called her name. But she thought it must her illusion for she had been told that the owner of that voice died many years ago.
"Wynflaéth!"
And it came again and echoed in her mind.
"It could not be!" She heard her own muttering.
The fabrics fell off from her matured hands. The urge to turn around took a while to register in her brain. She just looked at him wordless and shocked. Then realisation struck her.
It was him.
The man whom she thought was dead many years ago.
The man whom she though would never return.
"Gamling?"
She watched as he came approaching him with the similar and identifiable gaits that beat beneath his booted steps.
Memories of her bent and splintered heart rushed back as she recalled the day he left wearing the same armour. Yes, she was young back then. So young, she had not even passed her twentieth summer and he was ten years ahead of her. Many were opposing them, telling her he was too old for her. She proved them wrong at the beginning. They had good years together. Two maybe? It was before the day he answered the summon at the door. And fifteen years just went past like a blink. Fifteen years!
A wave of emotions began to shower over her. Words were stuck at her throat. Moist crept silently into her eyes. She felt her mouth twitching as she forced herself to show a weak smile.
She never blamed him. They were people of Rohan and he was a man of Rohan. He had taken his oaths to aid his King. When the call came, he must go.
He smiled back at her.
"Wynflaéth," he called softly, lifting his hand to brush away her tangled hair.
"Gamling!" she cried out and furled her arms around his neck, feeling the familiar sting in her nose as tears pushed against her will. His calling of her name rattled and echoed in her brain.
Her numb fingers meandered towards his lined face. She looked at him with brimming tears, and in the absolute silence of her own world, she heard herself whispering, "This is not real."
"Wynflaéth…"
His word shot through her ears, penetrated her brain and stiffened her spin.
She intimately knew the too familiar lump in her throat. The hollow hole erroded by the years of thinking that he was dead and that he was not returning to her, finally sealed.
"They told me you were killed in the raids," she caressed his face with great fondness, "many years ago. They said the Dunlendings…killed….."
Her voice turned into a series of disheartening sobs when she recalled the days that she clung to hope until being told the bad news that every family wished would never come. She knew exactly how each day felt after that, so agonising.
"I survived," he said softly."I went back to Westfold to look for you but you were not there. Nobody knew where you had gone."
"I left after the knock came on the door. I went to Snowbourn to stay with my elderly aunt. The first year of being alone was very hard, but the fear of being alone for my lifetime would have killed me. I could not pretend that you never existed or to wipe you out of my life when I breathed the air of every morning without you. So I left..."
Whenever she heard the mustering sound of the horn, gooseflesh crept over her and a lump would fill her throat. She would hide in her corner with hands covering her ears, not wanting to hear each blow again. There were sleepless nights she would take his old clothes out beneath her bed and sniffled them, reminding herself how he smelled like, just to pretend that he was there.
"I am here and I will never leave again."
It struck her that even after so many years how desperate she wanted to hear those words.
She leaned herself against his chest, eyes closed and hands wrapped tightly around him.
She did not know how to hug him enough to last a lifetime or to make up for all those lost years but right now she just wanted to feel his presence and listen to his beating heart.
It was dawn. The morning light shone through the high windows.
Éomer was leaving the healer chamber where Lothíriel had been resting when Gamling came to him with a woman following behind. Not many knew that he would spend his night time here while their Gondorian diplomat still laid unconscious. Hannor stayed with her during the day when Éomer had his daily business to deal with.
"My Lord."
They both curtsied at Éomer.
"How is Lady Lothíriel?" Gamling asked with a concern look.
A frown touched Éomer's brows but disappeared as quick as it appeared. Many had already asked him that question and he had repeating the same answer, especially when it was not an optimistic one.
"She is still unconscious," Éomer replied. He felt some tightness around his jaw.
"It took three days," the woman behind Gamling inserted.
Éomer's brows furrowed.
"I beg your pardon, my Lady?"
"I am sorry, Sire," Gamling extended his arm to gesture at the woman to come forward. "I would like you to meet my wife, Wynflaéth," said his advisor.
Surprise flashed across Éomer's face and his brows knitted tighter. Gamling had a wife? Éomer could not recall Gamling never mentioned about it. He could not remember his advisor taking a bride either, or seeing Wynflaéth for all those years he spent at Meduseld.
Seemingly to read all the questions in Éomer's mind, Gamling said, "We were married before I came to Edoras….seventeenth years ago….we have not always been together. She…..she is one of the captives we saved two nights ago, my Lord."
"I did not mean to be impolite, Gamling," Éomer said with an apologetic tone, noticing the regret in Gamling's voice.
But there are always times that are not necessary mistakes if corrections are made soon enough. Gamling's words a month ago rang again in his mind. He now understood what his advisor meant.
"My Lord, when Lady Lothíriel was…." Wynflaéth hesitated and realised it was difficult to revisit the mental image, so she swallowed the unfinished sentence and tried to express it in a more careful manner, "when they tortured her, she was unconscious for three days. I was with her at that time. She might not be awake until tomorrow or the day after."
"Thank you," the King said softly.
"My Lord! She is a very brave woman. Our fate stood upon a precarious edge, but her arrival had brought us hope when our doom was nigh!" Wynflaéth hastened to speak her thoughts out.
Éomer chewed his lip and grimaced at her words. Brave? Hope? How infelicitous they sounded to him! They might have sounded like compliments if the situation had been different but now they etched his ears just like the branding mark on her back. He would very much prefer Lothíriel to be a timid and cowardly woman if he knew it would come to this.
"Hannor is with her. If you wish to see her, you may," he sighed, "but don't expect any response."
The sadness in his eyes did not go unnoticed. Gamling exchanged a look with his lady.
"I am going for breakfast before attending the council," Éomer announced dully, "I will see you later."
He wheeled his feet and headed at the direction of the dining hall.
"My Lord!"
He heard the heavy footsteps closing behind him. He turned around and raised a hand to stop the older rider. "Stay, Gamling." Éomer gave a quick glimpse behind Gamling's shoulder before saying to him, "Your lady deserves your company more than anyone else right now. Everyone else, everything else can wait. Your King can wait." He laid a hand on Gamling's shoulder. "I will see you later."
Éomer gave his friend a smile before resuming his steps.
Gamling watched wordlessly at the disappearing figure of his young King. Éomer looked so tired, so drained. Gamling's heart ached for the young man. Éomer was never good at expressing himself. His whole life circled around deaths: Death of his father, his mother, his cousin, his uncle and his people. Just when he thought they were moving forward, uninvited malice coursed from every corner. His King had not even passed his thirtieth summer.
Wynflaéth came next to him and took his hand in hers. Resting her head on her husband shoulder, she said fondly, "he will be a good king."
He clasped her hand with another of his.
"Yes."
He heard himself declared loudly inside. He would stand by him, his King, regardless what the future would hold.
She was in that same dream again, of her parents and her brothers, of their peaceful days together.
They rode down the white shore of Dol Amroth. She sat on her horse, admiring at her three brothers galloping fast and fierce on the plain of sand. The foamy waves splashed against the fine shiny dust beneath. The sea was as blue as the sky above.
Her mother's sweet laughter rang in the warm breeze. She saw her elegant figure sitting on a white horse a few steps ahead. She saw her loose-braided dark hair that danced like an out-stretched wings of raven.
But her mother was getting further and further away from her. Lothíriel leaped her steed forward, racing against the reducing figure of her mother.
"Naneth!" she cried as the charging air brushed against her cheeks.
Her horse came to an abrupt halt when the white mount in front stopped. Horror filled her eyes when her mother turned around. It was a grey wraith made of mist. Her mother's face was leeched. She could not recognise that sunken hollow eyes looking at her.
But her hope lit up when the grey mist precipitated into a more vivid form. Her mother was here again. She had not changed. Her eyes, her nose, her lips and her hair. Every feature on her face was exactly as Lothíriel remembered.
"Lothíriel…." She called her.
"Naneth!" Tears burned her cheeks and her lips twitched bitterly. Lothíriel reached a hand out but she could not feel her mother.
"Go back…."Her mother urged.
"No! I don't want you to leave again. Stay! Please!" She whimpered and begged.
"Go back…..this is not your place."
The grey mist swirled around her, enveloping her with a familiar scent.
"No…" she protested.
"Go back…..your time has not come….."
"Naneth….."
"Back to the light….dan nan galad, Iellig…..dan nan galad…."
The voice faded.
The grey mists shuddered and swirled around her and ripped away like a veil and Lothíriel saw a young face, a boy with black hair like hers, and she knew him from somewhere, from Minas Tirith or Edoras, yes, that was it, both Minas Tirith and Edoras, they were there, she remembered him now, and then she realized that she was in a bed, surrounded by high stone walls, and the black-haired boy dropped a basin of water to shatter on the floor and ran down the hallway, shouting, "She's awake! She's awake! She's awake!"
She touched her left shoulder. Her skin was still burning beneath her fingers but there was no fever. She could feel the bandage around it. It was still sore with needling pain. But there was no more blood, no more smell of burnt flesh. She felt weak and a little dizzy. She rubbed her forehead. Shock hit her as her trembling fingers felt the some bumps on her face. It still hurt a little when she pressed on them. Yes, she had been slapped. Back in the Pit of Iron.
A group of women burst into her room, breathless probably from running all the way from wherever they came from. They had bandages, basins and porches in their hands. They were healers. The boy emerged from behind the tall women as breathless as they were. His face was a blend of tears whilst joy touched his lips. Lothíriel looked up calmly and smiled.
"Hannor."
They fed her porridge and water. They dressed her wound and renewed her bandage. They changed her into fresh raiment and put a thick hooded wool cloak around her, saying she must not take a chill now. She felt strength returning to her slowly. She could move her legs and turn to sit at the edge of the bed.
"We are almost finished, my Lady," smiled one of the healers.
She touched her face again, feeling the little bumps.
"May I have a mirror please?" she asked.
The tending healer hesitated and exchanged a look with her company. Reluctantly they passed a mirror to her.
Lothíriel lifted the bronze-framed to her face. She surveyed her reflection with great attention. There was discolouration of purple and black on her face, dominantly on her cheeks and around her right eyes. A laceration cut cross her forehead just below her hairline. She dropped the mirror in disgust and turned her head away. She looked ugly. The livid patches on her face were hideous. She never cared so much about her appearance but somehow now she did.
"My Lord!"
They said in unison.
The formality in greeting took her by surprise. All the healers turned and bowed at the door. There was no need to guess who was there, who else would deserve such an upholding greeting tone.
"We are done here, my Lord."
"Thank you."
His voice rang.
She heard the receding steps of the healers. There were just two of them in the room now.
"My Lord."
She greeted him in a formal and distant tone, and turned her head away, pulling the hood to cover her face.
She felt a weight sinking next to her. She lowered her face even more. No, she did not want him to see her like this. It was an offensive image to look at.
"Lothíriel," he called softly, raising a hand to touch her face.
"No! Don't!" she slapped his hand away and clasped her hood closer, pulling herself backwards.
He appeared taken aback by her response, a little hurt maybe.
"I look horrible…"
"No, you don't."
His voice was gentle and kind.
She remained silent and clung on her hood tightly. She did not want show her face.
"Look at me, Lothíriel," his hand reached for her chin, cupping it lightly with his thumb and index finger, "please."
Her heart softened at his words. She turned herself reluctantly to meet him. His fingers steered her chin up and pushed the hood back behind her. She felt his knuckles gliding on her skin, along her jaw line.
There was sadness and regret in his eyes. But he also looked at her with great fondness. It was almost lovely.
"I'm sorry."
She closed her eyes and clamped her lips tight upon hearing his words. The horrified images flashed in her mind. After a long moment, her hand slid up to touch his and she finally found the courage to say admittedly without shedding a tear, "It is not your fault…..I have been too reckless…."
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and brought her into his embrace.
His scent and warmth enveloped her. It was so calmingly familiar as if she had dwelled in it for a long time. She snuggled against him unconsciously, listening to his heartbeats.
He brushed his face against her hair and said slowly and bitterly, "It is. I promised your father that I would keep you safe. I've failed."
She heard the guilt and regret in his voice. She gazed up at him and ran her fingers tenderly on his bearded face. "Please don't blame yourself on this. No one but myself is responsible-"
Her words stopped when he pressed a hand on her lips. His brows knitted together slightly.
She released her eyes from him quickly. Her heart hammered loudly in her chest. She could feel the blazing trail of his eyes on her face. She felt her cheeks burning.
His fingers glided beneath her chin and brought her eyes to meet his again. His hazel-green iris swiped across her features again and again.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked with obvious lack of confidence in his voice.
"No," she answered, trying to find a settling direction to place her sight and to avoid her embarrassment.
"Lothíriel," he whispered softly and leaned forward. One hand coiled around her slender waist.
She saw her own reflection in his eyes.
He touched her forehead with his.
"We shall visit your father in Dol Amroth this fall. Before winter comes."
At his words, she felt a sour sting in her nose.
A drop of warm liquid fell silently off her cheek.
TBC
Something shakes the boat in Dol Amroth and Lothíriel has to make a hard choice in her life...
Footnotes:
1. Wynflaéth: (Old English, feminine name) Fair and beautiful, Gamling's wife. Separated when she left Westfold to Snowbourn, thinking he was dead, reunited with Gamling after fifteen years. She is my favourite so far. Her act of smelling his old clothes just to feel him again bloody wrenched my heart!
2. Naneth: (Sindarin) mother
3. dan nan galad: (Sindarin) back to the light
4. Iellig: (Sindarin) Daughter
5. The reunion scene between Gamling and Wynflaéth was a hard one to write. I went over youtubes with videos of reunion scenes and must have shedded a litre of tears! I portrayed Wynflaéth's thoughts according to that of a military spouse.
6. Lothíriel was able to speak and understand Sindarin in her early years, however, she lost it after her mother's death (to be revealed in the later chapters.)
7. From My Lady to Lothíriel: In medieval ages, you only address people by first names only when: (1)you are more superior than them, (2)they are your family or, (3)you are in a close relationship with them.
A little about Gamling and Wynflaéth
3002 T.A. They met, fell in love and wedded in the same year. Gamling was 28 and Wynflaéth was 18. Gamling was a rider of the West-fold éored. Wynflaéth was a tailor.
3004 T.A. Gamling was promoted and started serving Théoden as one of his Royal Guards. First raid against the Dunlendings later in the year, many died. Théoden was deeply grieved and swore never again to risk an open war on his people. News reached West-fold leaving many without fathers, husbands, sons and brothers.
3005 T.A. In spring, Wynflaéth left Westfold to live with her aunt in Snowbourn. In autumn, Gamling returned to West-fold and could not find her. He regretted his decision not to have taken her to Edoras with him.
3005 -3019 T.A. Gamling progressed and became Théoden's chief bodyguard along side with Háma (who was Théoden's doorward) for fifteen years until his death in March 3019 T.A. He and Háma became good friends.
3007 T.A. Gamling returned to West-fold in summer, hoping to find his wife.
3009 T.A. Gamling's third attempt to locate his wife failed.
3011 T.A. His last attempt to locate her.
3014 T.A. Théoden's health began to fail (correct to lore, see The Return of the King, LoTR Appendix A, Annals of the Kings and Rulers: The House of Eorl: The Kings of the Mark & Unfinished Tales, Part 3, Ch 5, The Battles of the Fords of Isen). Gamling chose never not to leave his king. He stopped going back to West-fold since. Wynflaéth's aunt died in Snowbourn.
3019 T.A. In March, Snowbourn was raided by Dunlending outlaws on the night before they were due to leave to Dunharrow. The outlaws massacred half of the inhabitants and enslaved the rest. Wynflaéth was taken as one of the slaves to mine ores across Rohan and Dunland.
3020 T.A. Reunion after fifteen years of separation. Gamling was now 46 and Wynflaéth 36.
About Éomer and Lothíriel: Recap of the events over the past one year
15 March 3019 T.A.
They met on the Pelennor Fields
16 March 3019 T.A.
Éomer's first meeting with Hannor and Moriel, second with Lothíriel, in the City of Minas Tirith.
Lothíriel first meeting with Éothain.
Hannor had gone missing later that day and found in the forest, then found and rescued by the Rohirrim
Éomer's second meeting with Moriel, and later he tended Lothíriel's foot
17 March 3019 T.A.
Éomer asked a favour from Imrahil to look after his sister.
18 March 3019 T.A.
March of the West to the Black Gate
20 March 3019 T.A.
Lothíriel's battle with the Guild of Tradesmen and her first meeting with Éowyn
30 April 3019 T.A.
Return of the Captains of the West with their host
1 May 3019 T.A.
Aragorn's coronation day.
Board game between Lothíriel and Éothain, later with Éomer.
First dance between Éomer and Lothíriel. Saewon and his younger son Galvror made first appearance.
Éomer warned Lothíriel about her recklessness.
They later met again in the Tomb of Kings, Saewon talked of the proposal he made to Imrahil. Lothíriel revealed that her mother had deceased.
18 - 20 July 3019 T.A.
A drunk Éomer mourned his dead uncle
20 July 3019 T.A.
Imrahil discussed Lothíriel's future with her.
He later asked Éomer to take her to Rohan.
21 July 3019 T.A.
Imrahil's talk with Hannor and promise he made with the boy.
Elphir's visit to Éomer's camp.
Post 22 July 3019 T.A.
The journey to carry the procession of Théoden began, so did Lothíriel's first step outside Gondor. Aragorn's amusement at the exchange between his friend and Imrahil's daughter.
Riddle at campfire.
The next day, Éothain and Lothíriel shared a little amusement together.
Lothíriel came to the terms with her own feelings
August 3019 T.A.
Théoden's funeral procession arrived in Edoras.
Éomer inherited the throne at Edoras officially.
Lothíriel joined Éomer's council as a Gondor diplomat, resulted in constant disagreement and debate.
Prior to her family leaving, Erchirion disclosed the condition that Éomer requested for Lothíriel to stay in Rohan.
Fall 3019 T.A.
Completion of the orphanage – Gamling's first change of impression of Lothíriel.
Lothíriel's first practice at teaching and learning language of the Mark
Éomer offered her to join as a member of his household to replace the retired Mægen, Meduseld's cook.
Éomer's first notice the strange behaviour of Lothíriel around him while training a young horse.
Winter 3019 T.A.
Lothíriel's dream of Gúthwinë.
Major disagreement about Snowbourn.
Discovery of the massacre at Snowbourn.
Éomer's ordeal after Snowbourn.
Major breakthrough in the relationship between Éomer and Lothíriel.
Yule 3019 T.A.
Lothíriel's first Mōdraniht in Edoras and experience with Rohirric Yule culture: cheese rolling, boar-hunting and boar head festival.
She was now able to understand language of the Mark but still learning to converse in it.
The first sign of Éomer, still unknown to him, showed his protective nature of Lothíriel.
The offer of Yule gift from Éomer.
Post Yule 3020 T.A.
Erkenbrand's visit with his new recruits.
Éomer's display of jealousy.
February 3020 T.A.
Letter from Erchirion that broke Lothíriel of her fantasy.
She began avoiding Éomer.
Her ability to converse in language of the Mark became evident from singing Rohirric lullabies.
Éomer's attempt at demanding an explanation for her behaviour and the tension nearly overthrew his rationale.
Lothíriel's declaration of her feeling and misery after confrontation with Éomer.
Éomer's decision to send a letter to Dol Amroth.
March 3020 T.A.
Lothíriel's reckless heroic act that led to her capture and torture by Dunlending outlaws.
Éomer rode to Helm's Deep, trying to find her and his people.
Lothíriel's display of ability to converse fluently in Rohirric.
Moriel's failed attempt at seducing him.
Vision from Gúthwinë.
Raid at the Pit of Iron and successful rescue.
A big thank you again for everyone who continues to support this story, especially the beloved reviewers whose remarks are the courage and motivation for this work!
Glory Bee: I hope you like the change in Éomer :)
xmmara: Yes, Hannor is brilliant. There will be a chapter based on his POV soon :)
kritters03: Thank you :)
b5delenn: Lothíriel did not know or remember the bare-chest LOL (actually I forgot to include it!) Maybe a little reminder from Hannor would do...hmmm?
Pipkin in the Grass: Your pen-name reminds me of "Pinky and the Brain"! Ha! I will need to include the witty thing in the end of this chapter too!
BrightWatcher: Ten silver yes! =p The emotions of seeing someone whom you thought was dead - it is hard to describe.
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