Warning: Description of intimate activities, not recommended for those below 15.
Writ of Shadows and Phantoms
Chapter 27: Smothering the Sun
For all those times you stood by me
For all the truth that you made me see
For all the joy you brought to my life
For all the wrong that you made right
I'll be forever thankful
I am everything I am
Because you loved me
Éomer could not remember much everything about Éowyn's wedding else except that: There was this long moment of sword salute in the Riddermark's fashion. He gave his sister away. His friend, Aragorn pronounced them man and wife. His brother –in-law then kissed his sister. And now, he was stuck with a very talkative man whose name just slipped past his mind despite being introduced a few moments ago.
He screened across the crowded hall. There were too many people that he did not know or he actually forgot. Too many strangers. Some claimed they met him on Aragorn's Coronation Day more than a year ago. It simply did not register in his mind. Gamling had been wise and escaped the social boredom with his wife. And most of his household was down at the tavern drinking. It just left him and….
"My Lord Éomer?"
Someone pulled his elbow and whispered to him in Rohirric. The ability to speak your own tongue to your own people without others understanding is a truly blessed privilege at this moment.
"Yes, Marshal?" He turned slightly to Éothain.
"Do we actually have to stay here? I mean it was fine for an hour or two but we have been there since, what, morning. Dinner is not until seven in the evening. And that is another ONE LONG hour away!"
The young Rider continued to complain whilst Éomer was doing his best at entertaining whoever that came to greet him. He thought the social meetings before the wedding were bad enough. Now he had rows of parents parading their daughters in front of him. Even Éothain could not escape the uninvited attention. The women swamped around them like bees to honey.
"That would be offensively impolite to Lady Éowyn and Prince Faramir if we were to excuse ourselves right now."
"But, my Lord! I am not a doll! I don't like people come around and wink at me! It is creepy!"
Éomer lit a very very faint smile to the bald man in front of him who never seemed to cease talking.
"Get used to it!" He hissed back.
"I can't! I am a Rider of the Mark! Not some boastful and overly agreeable merchant!"
True. People of the Mark preferred to sing and laugh out at jokes. They liked to crash their tankards against each other's and talked loudly. But here, they felt restrained by the Gondorian norms. No dirty jokes. No dancing on the table. Everything was so formal and polite. Too clean, too polite and too tidy for filthy horsemen.
"Éothain, just keep drinking the wine and smile."
"I already have eight glasses! And I do need to visit the boghouse very soon!"
Now an old woman stood in front of them both, babbling about her granddaughters and their apparent great attributes of being fairer than Elf maidens and smarter than Elrond the Halfelven. Éomer could neither nod nor approve verbally. All he could offer was a cynical smile which was an abundant supply given the attention he received since this morning.
As darkness fell and the reception hall was illuminated by warm flickering braziers, the King of Rohan and his Marshal continued their effort of diplomatic interaction with the hundreds of people. Éomer was conscious that he had not seen Lothíriel at all since last night at the dinner table. He saw her brother, Amrothos, having a hearty conversation with Aragorn and his wife, Arwen. There was no sign of Lothíriel. He glanced around impatiently, his tension mounting with each passing moment.
"Éothain, have you seen Lady Lothíriel?"
"No. Her brother is just over there but I have not seen her."
One glimpse at her when she returned from Minas Tirith with her chests of silverware had been enough to remind him that they really needed to sit down and had a good talk. But with all the unexpected agendas, it proved difficult to find any spare time even for himself. And he felt he owed her an apology for the reservation that he held against her for the last few weeks.
"King Éomer, this is my fifteenth granddaughter and her name is The…she is very good…make a fine…"
He gave another of his cynical smile but did not catch the rest of sentences. In fact, all the conversation appeared like endless buzzing of horseflies around his ears. More guests gathered around them and there was still no sign of Lothíriel.
Had she been surrounded by eligible men as well? His brows met in a frown as he considered that possibility but he dismissed it almost instantly. Édhere would have come to inform him instantly if that was the case.
Forcing himself to remain kingly and courteous, he continued to exchange talk with the loquacious old woman in front of him whilst her grandchildren flirted outrageously at him. Éomer glanced discreetly at his wine glass, swirling it around and taking another sip. Béma's mercy, he had never talked and faked so much smiles in his life. His throat started hurting.
In all probability, there was no worry. Lothíriel was probably somewhere like him – doing her diplomatic task like he was doing now - pretending to be absolutely keen in whoever she was talking to. Five more minutes, and then he was going to look for her. He was about to extract himself from the old woman when she broke off in mid-sentence, a dangerous gleam in her eye as she stared at someone behind him.
"Well—aren't you going to introduce us, King Éomer?"
The expression on the old woman's face became cold and stony. Her granddaughters lifted their hands and whispered themselves.
Instinct told him that the sudden chill in the old woman's tone could only have been caused by the arrival of a rival. Éomer turned slowly, intrigued as to who could have triggered such a response.
The woman in question stood watching him, the enticing curve of her lips the same shade of vivid red as the summerwine in his glass.
The blood and sense departed from his brain and it took him several moments to realise it was Lothíriel.
Lothíriel as he had never seen her before.
Unable to help and restrain himself, his eyes lingered on her crimson mouth and then moved slowly down her body until he reached the edge of her olivine dress. Her posture was elegant and majestic. The light layered fabrics wrapped around her frame like her second skin. The faceted stones on her garment reflected every ray, emphasizing her curve and assets. And her lips. The scarlet of it reminded him of a polished ruby. Rare and lush.
She had pinned the upper crown of her hair up but left the rest loose. The soft slightly waved bands tumbled around the porcelain flesh of her shoulders as carelessly as if she had just come back from her wild ride across the plain of the Mark. Éomer's mouth dried and his head was full of thoughts he tried never to think about her.
His eyes clashed with hers and something raw ignited between them, singeing the air with a dangerous heat that threatened to burn up everything close by.
"Lord Éomer?" The old lady's voice poured strong acid and disdain. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
Doubting that he was capable of speech, Éomer chewed his lip.
"This is Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth…"
Somehow he managed to make the introductions, but he felt his brain was detached from him and his body was working at a different dimension. It had to be the wine.
Questioning looks were thrown on them whilst he tried painfully to bring his brain and body back to the same instance.
"She is our Belfalas diplomat in Rohan."
He heard Éothain stepping in to resume the unfinished introduction. Éomer let out a faint sigh of relief from within.
Fortunately for all of them, Lothíriel did not seem to be affected by the sour tone of the guest.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," She returned the greeting calmly and bowed at the old woman in front of them.
She seemed completely at herself, relaxed as she picked up his interrupted conversation.
And to his upmost surprise, she slipped her hand into his arm and smiled up at him. Fluid and spontaneous was her move which caused their immediate audience to repeat another round of low mutterings among themselves. Even Éothain arched an eyebrow at this sight.
"The Prince and Lady of Ithilien are expecting us at their table, should we join them?"
We. Should we join them?
Just last night, his brother-in-law teased him about his choice of the word 'we'. Her use of this word, whether intentionally or not, now declared her attached presence next to him for the evening to come.
He was in the middle of formulating his exit speech when she stood, a little tiptoe, tilting her head and whispered in his ear. Her warm breath blew on his face.
"We should go. Your sister and my cousin are waiting."
Such brief and almost tangible contact should not have an effect at all. But it did. Her pine scent wrapped around him, forming a mist in his brain like a spell. Her pupils were dark as onyx with shade of moonstone circling around them. Mesmerizing.
Her other hand came on top of his arm and enfolded her right hand which was already clasped onto his arm. A gesture that again signalled the close relationship between them.
Gripped by a wave of raw hunger, Éomer was forced to confront an inescapable truth – that if it hadn't been for the presence of guests and the fact that it was an important celebration and ceremony, he would have pinned her somewhere, either against a cold stony wall or on top of a black ash table, without even bothering to remove her dress.
He had been at his tip of withholding his desire whenever they were alone for the past few weeks. He thought he had every nerve under control until now. Shaken by the newly learnt knowledge that he might lose it anytime soon, Éomer took an instinctive measure, not trusting himself not to embarrass them both.
He did not recall how they bid farewell to their guests before, or, that Éothain had been leading them to the table and them arriving at the table. He felt the hundreds on eyes that locked on them. He glanced down. Next to Faramir, there were two empty seats, deliberately left empty. His first guess was that they were meant for him and Lothíriel to sit together. Béma must have shown her mercy for there was another empty seat just next to Amrothos who was two chairs away opposite the table. Éomer seized on the opportunity to give himself some much –needed space.
"You should sit with your brother," he said smoothly. In Westron.
She looked up instantly. He saw her grey eyes perplexed with a shadow of disappointment.
He pushed her away again.
Her heart sank.
"Yes, of course. I should sit with Amrothos."
She heard bitterness in her struggled voice.
She dragged her steps around the table. She felt people looking at her. Her face was probably scarlet with mortification at his polite rejection. Someone pulled the chair for her to sit down and she just dropped herself on it like a puppet. Her stomach churning, she stared at a wine glass absently. Disbelief that he did not even appreciate her company. She kept herself away from him for the whole day considering his role as the King of Rohan would require some level of social acquaintance with the invited guests.
He hadn't cared that she would appreciate and want his company just for the evening. He had just pushed her away, surrounded by all the inquiring looks of why they approached the table together and only to be seated separately after. Was it too much to ask for just one good evening? She thought he had stared at every inch of her when she approached him just now. The admiration in his eyes, had she got it wrong?
She tried to control her breathing. Her heart was pulsing quick and loud. Her palms were clammy. The humiliation stung her harder with every peek that she took to look at him and he just turned his head away.
Dishes came and went. Wine emptied and refilled. Everything in her mouth tasted the same. Tasteless.
The table conversation sounded no more than distant and sibilant echoes in her ears. She lifted her fork to feed another portion of whatever it was, in her mouth. But her hand went still when she heard King Elessar asked Éomer a very specific question.
"Éomer, my brother! Have you considered my suggestion of finding you a queen?"
All the mouths yapping at the table and the sound of cutlery clashing stopped. She felt the flood of blazing glares washed over her, especially those of the Rohirrim. She held her head low. She dared not look up. Tightness gripped her chest as she waited for his answer.
She heard him taking a deep breath. A very long one. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him laying down his fork and reaching for a napkin. She was sure he threw her a quick glimpse in between.
"I have."
"And?"
"I thank you for your concern but I have my own agenda."
"Oh? You've never mentioned it."
"I don't see the need to, Aragorn…" the sound of him taking a sip of wine and then he added, "it is a private matter after all."
"I am just offering what a good friend supposes to do!"
Lothíriel closed her eyes, wishing this conversation would end soon.
"My Lord, you should not embarrass King Éomer any further. It is the marriage of Lady Éowyn and Prince Faramir that we are celebrating. Save your interrogation for another time!"
As if her prayers were answered, the Elf Queen drew subject out of the evening table and chatty exchange resumed. Lothíriel breathed again the air of relief. But too soon.
"Lady Lothíriel, how do you find Rohan?"
She froze. The half-sipped wine stopped flowing into her mouth. Her eyes were drifting with the floating flare of the wine. She tilted the cup up and gulped the red liquid down as if it was the source of her courage. Dragging her glance slowly up and across the line of people sitting opposite her, she somehow managed to insert a very brief glimpse at Éomer in between. He seemed ill at ease as much as she did.
"Best plains in the Middle-Earth. And, great horses too. I am sure you will agree with me, King Elessar."
She forced a smile.
"The freezing wind and harsh winter must be quite different from the warm sea breeze of Belfalas."
"It is bearable."
"The Rohirrim meads and hot pots are exceptionally good."
"They are but I miss fish sometimes."
"Have you seen the Glittering Cave?"
"Yes. It is impressive."
"How about mearas? Have you ridden one yet?"
As polite as it came out, the question sounded so improper.
The King of Gondor grinned, lifting his wine glass. She thought it was bemusement that was leaking from his lips.
"I believe that is a privilege that I am yet to discuss with…" she wanted to say 'King Éomer' but it would have come out as ridiculous, inappropriate as the heir of Isildur expected her to fall for his bait, so she decided that she should say, "…the royal stable-master of Edoras."
"Ah, so by the sound of it, you are going to stay in Rohan for longer than expected?"
She could not help but wonder all the casual concern was sounding so personal tonight. She took another sip of the summerwine, aware that it was her sixth glass of the evening. She heard Amrothos hissing to her not to drink too much. But she ignored him. She needed something to stall the time to for her mind to formulate a proper answer.
"Until I release her from her diplomat service in Edoras."
All the heads turned back to Éomer. Most was surprised by his remark. His eyes met hers. Incisive as always, the flames of emerald burnt through her.
Panic, she lifted her wine cup and emptied it quickly.
Before the deadly silence clawed into every corner, the minstrels and harpers began playing their viols.
"Should we all dance?" The Elf Queen suggested swiftly.
Most people rose to dance except Éomer and her. She saw him gesturing at someone. Just moments after, Édhere came around and asked in Rohirric, "My Lady, if you wish to be excused and return to your room, please say so."
"No, I am fine," she waved off the rider but changed her mind very soon. "Do you dance, Édhere?"
The young man appeared a little taken aback by her question.
"I, I do, my Lady."
She ignored the hesitation in his voice.
"Excellent."
She let her bodyguard lead her to the floor. She did not want to back in her room. Alone, speculating thoughts about the rejection she felt from Éomer.
But the moment they joined the swirling pack, she regretted it.
The space was congested with men and women trying to impress each other. And the audience circled around. Many verbal exchanges were so loud that they annoyed her.
"I don't want a nice and neat guy."
Lothíriel heard a young woman standing next to them saying to her friend.
"I want one of those Horse-Lords. Rough accents and bulging muscles," the shameless lady continued to comment, gesturing at Édhere who happened to be in front of them, "body like a maid's fantasy! Must be rough and tough in bed."
"Look at those arms."
"His legs are even better."
"I like his bottom."
How inconspicuous. She heard women praising her brothers all the time but it never went as explicit as what she heard now. She shot them a few warning glances but they just pretended she was air.
Lothíriel looked at the shy, young Rohír. His face as red as a beet, he tried to force a smile but couldn't. Édhere had his normal Royal Guard armour on top of his dark red tunic and his sword slung across his body laying on his left hip. The signature green Rider cloak clasped over his shoulders. With all those scale mail, vambraces, armguards and fabrics covering the young man, she wondered if the women around them could peel off the layers with their eyes.
Édhere shrugged uncomfortably again. She felt sorry for him to be the subject among the preying females.
"Oh, look! The King of Rohan!" one of the overly excited women exclaimed when Éomer rose from the table and stood next to Amrothos at the upper dais.
They exchanged words. She did not like it. Did her brother tell him about Dol Amroth?
"What a disappointment! I thought he would have come down here for a dance or two. I wish to share a dance with him at least!" The woman next to them sighed wistfully, stamping her foot. She was not particularly pleasant for the eyes. Her nose was very big. It reminded her of Hannor's yearling which enjoyed flaring its nostril and spreading its content whenever it was not happy. She believed it was something the young horse picked up from Firefoot.
It took Lothíriel a moment to throw off the disturbing image of Éomer dancing with the big-nosed woman.
"My Lady, are you sure you want to stay?" Her bodyguard suggested an escape.
"Where is the rest of the household? I have not seen them."
"They are outside at the court."
Good idea. She did not wish to linger any longer. Staying any longer would be the test of her patience before she barked at those women for harassing her bodyguard.
"We should join them then."
Édhere took advantage of his tall frame and pushed their way easily through the crowded hall. Flirtatious looks were thrown at him from time to time. She could hear him cursing in Rohirric.
They soon met with their missing companions. The atmosphere outside was very different. Everyone circled around a campfire, singing and joking. A keg sat on the table. All the Rohirrim had tankards in their hands. Some were clapping each other with it and laughing.
"Lady Lothíriel!"
Gamling rose and extended his arm for her to take his seat and settled himself next to his wife.
"Can't bear the social pressure, my Lady?" Wynflaéth smiled at her.
"Can't bear the explicit praises they so generously share," accepting a tankard, Lothíriel directed her pitiful glance at Édhere who now let out a sigh of relief. She felt a little at ease now.
"Ah! As bold as us?"
"Wynflaéth, not bold! Shameless is a better word! I think they wanted to eat him alive. Poor fellow."
"Can't help if women find our men attractive-"
"GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER!"
Everyone instantly turned around to check the source of the deafening shout.
"-or loud…" Wynflaéth added slowly.
Éothain was pissed. He was fuming and he pushed a drunk man away from a blonde young woman. Lothíriel caught a glimpse and saw it was Hereswið, Éowyn's handmaiden.
Hereswið was to return to Edoras after spending almost a year with Éowyn in Gondor. Éothain was assigned with the task to oversee the transition. But it did not start well for either of them. The handmaiden's reunion with her fellow Rohirrim began at a tavern in Emyn Arnen – the one which Éothain paid a few visits to with his riders and somehow one day he made a rude remark in Rohirric about some unpleasant looking women. He called someone a swamp donkey. A little careless while distracted, he crashed into Hereswið who oberheard him and thought he was insulting her.
So she returned his favour by slapping him. In public.
And all the Royal Guards witnessed the priceless moment.
Since then the air between the young Marshal and the handmaiden had been a little strange and unexplained much to the delight of the riders.
"Stop following me, you dimwit!" The young woman barked.
"What did you just call me?"
"D-I-M-W-I-T!"
"I saved you from that a drunkie and you call me a DIMWIT?"
"I could've kicked him…."
"You lunatic ungrateful wo…"
The verbal battle continued and many Rohirrim now stood up to peek at the chaotic scene.
Stán leaned a little forward to share the information he gathered. He spoke in a low voice, "We think Éothain likes her."
"Oh!" Lothíriel looked at him, surprised. She raised her tankard and commented, "He has met his doom then."
"Aye!" The Rohír smiled proudly. "And, we can't wait for the wedding!"
"So soon? But they have just met!" She heard shock in her own voice.
"My Lady," Wynflaéth clashed her tankard against hers and winked, "this is the way of the Riders."
The rest of the two weeks was basically filled with other overfilled agendas of visits from other representatives of Gondor. But meal times were interesting.
Lothíriel sat at the dining table, still, looking down at her plate. She swallowed at the sight. A pike was staring at her with its lidless popped-out eye.
A fish.
Again.
Every meal consecutively for the last ten days.
Ever since the evening she mentioned she missed fish, much to her delight, the next day she found a fish dish especially prepared for her. The first dish was a perch grilled with herbs which she had much pleasure in enjoying it. Not to mention when Éowyn shared some knowledge of the sudden change of menu.
"My brother asks the kitchen to prepare some fish especially for you," Éowyn whispered to her at her first fish meal.
Warmth spread from within. She could feel his gaze on her and Lothíriel knew her cheeks were burning.
And she finished it with such delight that it followed that she would have fish for the rest of the days she spent in Emyn Arnen. Carps, basses, perches and it went on and on.
But today it was a pike! Of all Middle-Earth fishes why did they prepare her a pike?
She swallowed again at her dish. Pike was notorious of being the most difficult fish to eat. They were full of bones. Very fine bones. And it would have been impossible to separate meat from bones with just fork and knife.
She scratched the handle of her fork with her thumb, not sure where to begin.
"Is everything all right?"
Her cousin noticed her hesitation.
"I am just devising the best method to eat this fish." She forced a smile.
"Is there a problem?" A deep, rich voice asked.
She removed her gaze from her fish and looked up at Éomer. He frowned. Damn.
"No. No problem at all."
She broke the fish across its mid section. As expected all the white branches stuck out from the steaming hot portion in her fork. Her stomach growled at the tempting scent but her throat warned that she should not shovel the spiky flesh in her mouth. Torn between table manner and the risk of killing herself with fish bones, she opted for the obvious safe option.
She laid her fork down and rolled her sleeves up. After rubbing her fingers with a clean napkin, she picked up a hearty portion and removed all the bones. Satisfied with her effort, she fed the piece into her mouth. Delicious!
She continued portion after portion until she noticed the whole table had fallen silent. Had she been too embarrassing?
Unable to think of a suitable word to open her mouth, she sat in frosty silence, wondering how long it had been since the last conversation ended.
"I see you are enjoying your food very much," her brother finally said.
"It is good food."
Shame and guilt ran over her. Did she appear too at ease?
She bit her lip.
"You've got the Rohirrim way of eating, my Lady," someone teased.
It sounded like a statement but she knew it was not.
The blatant comment was insulting, not only to her but also to the Rohirrim present. It made her blood boil.
She pushed herself immediately away from the table, stood and stared at the man, her face flushed with anger. He was one of her brother's guards, Esquire Limfind, a man known for his uncouth mouth and rude remarks, always thought the Middle Men, as he constantly referred the Rohirrim as, were more inferior to High Men of Gondor.
As much as she wanted to yell at the young guard, she must not forget her table manner.
"May I be excused, my Lords and Ladies?"
"Lothíriel, it is nothing. I am sure Limfind did not mean it-" Her brother tried to calm her and also defended his guard.
She turned to her brother, fuming.
"I will not sit at the same table with someone who is ungrateful to the men and women that gave their lives to save Gondor."
"My Lady, you have mistaken my words-"
"No! I have not, Limfind! You have shown no respect at all to any of our Rohirrim companions since the day you arrived. They rode to battle knowing it was their end and where were you? Where were you when old riders cried in the dark? When the injured soldiers begged me to kill them so that they were no longer in pain? Where were you? Cowering in your pathetic corner?"
"Lothíriel, watch your words! Have you forgotten your manner after a year in Rohan, young lady?"
Her brother stood up and positioned himself between her and his guard.
That was it, her final straw.
"Teach your men how to wash their mouths before you question mine, Amrothos!" She fired back. Without giving her brother a chance to reply, she returned her gaze to the table. "I see you all…this evening, my Lords and Ladies."
She was not sure she wanted to be at the same table again tonight.
She took her bow and left, storming out of the dining hall. She heard Amrothos apologising to the people at the tableand her cousin calling her.
But it was Édhere who ran after her.
Sent by his King.
It was the last day in Emyn Arnen. Tomorrow they would return to Edoras and her brother would depart before dawn, taking the first ship from a small harbour next Anduin River back to Dol Amroth.
Damn, it was really late. She must hurry.
"Hannor?" she knocked, shifting a leather-wrapped parcel under her arm.
A few moments later, the door opened and a sleepy boy rubbed his eyes as he answered, "What is it, Lady Lothíriel?"
His innocent face stung her heart. There were so many good moments that they shared. It seemed so strange and surreal that it won't stay that way.
She leaned down, trying to control her voice. "Hannor, sorry to wake you up! Can you do me a favour please?"
The boy yawned and nodded.
She handed him the parcel. "Can you pass this to Éomer King tomorrow, Hannor?"
Accepting the package, Hannor looked puzzled. He looked up, his eyes still half-opened. "Why don't you give it to him tomorrow?"
Pressure built up around her nostril and eye sockets, she forced herself to sound normal. "I want you to pass it to him. Can you do that for me please?"
"Yes, my Lady." Hannor gave another yawn, his hand covering his mouth and moist glistened around his eyes.
Not able to hold back her impulse, she pulled the boy into her arms, patting the small head. The sour taste in her mouth grew more intense. "Hannor, no matter what happens, remember that I love you."
After convincing Hannor to get back to bed, she returned to her allocated quarter.
The embers of the firepit flew like gold dust in the air. She watched silently when a moth darted to the flame, struggled when the web of fire caught its wings. Within moments, it turned into ashes.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection had changed. She did not see the untamed woman looking back at her now. The strong, scrolled frame still encased her, but something different was cast in her eyes now. The recklessness she had seen in herself – a virtue that had come she had come to dislike was not as obvious as it used to be. She looked different. Not tarnished by her assorted scenes in her life, rather matured. She knew what she wanted. And she would set matters right. Tonight.
Tonight she found herself in his chamber. His questioning eyes set deeply with serious brows when he saw her at the door.
He sat in a cushioned chair and dressed in an Elven night shirt, a typical Gondorian practice of hospitality. His appearance smoldered with the button-downed garment. An aura of seer, heroic and regal seemed to float around him.
A letter on the table caught her eyes.
"Writing a letter?"
"Yes, to Imrahil. I want to hand it to Amrothos tonight before he leaves tomorrow."
"What are you telling my father?"
He moved to a corner of the room, eyes closed. "Your ordeal and my apology."
"I beg your pardon? Are you telling him about…"
"Yes! I am as you have been quite reluctant to keep him informed."
"So you are telling him a story based on your speculative observation and investigation?"
He returned his gaze onto her. His voice was stern and serious. "I am telling him the truth that you never told me."
Clasping the collar of her night mantle closer, she turned her head away and grimaced, "it is nothing worth repeating. You've heard enough from them."
She did not wish to revisit the buried memory of her dark days of the capture. And it was not what she wanted to talk about tonight.
"I wanted to you to tell me," he demanded.
"There is nothing that you have not heard off! Everyone has told you the same story!" Enraged, she barked at him, taking a step backward. "What changes would it bring? Would you have acted differently if it were you?"
"I don't know what I might have done but certainly not walking the line of death."
"They were going to kill Ælfgar! Are you implying that I should not have exchanged myself for his life?"
She felt her breaths were running swallow and quick.
"I did not say that." He lifted his shoulders in an exasperated shrug.
"There were more than twenty men against two of us- a woman and a child! That was the only way to get us out of there! To have at least one person saved!"
"I am not judging your decision, for Béma's sake! I just wanted to hear your side of the story," he gestured for her to calm down.
"Is it going to change anything?"
"No."
"Then why on the Middle-Earth do you want to hear about it again if it is not going to change anything!"
She looked at him with a gesture of disbelief, pacing around the little space between him and the door.
"Lothíriel, by all means, I am King of the Riddermark. It is my right to demand an account from you!"
"I am not your prisoner! You do not interrogate me! I will speak when I wish!"
"May I remind you that you are Imrahil's daughter! Your father trusts your safety in my hands!" Infuriated, he rose to his full height and nearly roared at her.
"Is that what I am to you? Imrahil's daughter? Someone you have to take care of?"
This time it was her voice that was unsteady and her hand tightened on her gown, holding it like a lifeline.
"You are being unreasonable!" He paced to another corner of the room and laced his arms on his waist.
"I have always been unreasonable in your eyes, have I not?" She stared at him. Her face was flushed red.
He let out a heavy sigh and turned away from her.
"I've always been a liability, have I not? That is why you have been pushing me away lately."
"Look, Lothíriel, you don't understand…" He felt tongue-tied.
She was shaking with anger and she watched his face change as it finally dawned on him that he wasn't handling this well.
"Do I embarrass you that much?" She asked, not without a slight bitter twitching of her lips.
"No. You don't get it."
"Yes, I do, Éomer King. For all the reluctance you offer recently, I cannot help but wonder if I meant more than just Imrahil's daughter to you!"
Her body was shaking and Lothíriel fought for control, not wanting him to witness just how bad she felt.
"You know the fact that you are Imrahil's daughter does not change my opinion of you. Why are you being so hard?"
"Am I? Do you think so? Who is being hard on who? Tell me!"
Éomer stilled, a stunned expression on his face as if he had not expected her to retaliate so intensely.
"The fact that you are standing at the far end of this room speaks for itself. Let's see…" She tilted her head to one side, her tone sarcastic. "Possibly something to do with your response whenever I get too close to you, or maybe the fact that you politely rejected me at the dinner table during the wedding feast, putting as much distance as possible between us. I'm not stupid, Éomer. If I am not good enough for you, just tell me and I will leave."
No. This was not what she came here for. How had it escalated to a quarrel? She wanted answer. She wanted to know why.
"What has become of us, Lord Éomer?"
"You don't know anything-"
"Stop using that as an excuse!" She hastened to interrupt him. She had grown tired of his accusation that she did not know or understand anything. If he had chosen to tell her, she would have understood.
"Lothíriel, stop pushing. You are playing a very dangerous game," he warned in a driven tone, his voice unsteady.
"Am I?" She stepped closer, staring right into his emerald eyes, her fingers curled into a fist by her side. She wanted answers. She wanted them now.
"Lothíriel, leave! You are not yourself tonight!" He pointed at the door.
"No! I want answers!" Aggravated to the point of explosion, her eyes narrowed to a pair of silver slits, her mind constantly reminded her why she was here tonight – demand for answers and something else. Her fists unwrapped, she tiptoed and lifted her hands, cupping his face.
"Éomer…"She brushed her lips on his, testing his scent before devouring it.
She kissed him.
She felt his body stiffened by her sudden change of behaviour. But it did not take long before he reacted. His hand held the back of her head, his sensual mouth took in every inch of her lips, deepening their kiss. A hand coiled around her waist and brought her against his solid body.
Her stomach curled in delicious awareness and every nerve of her quivered with anticipation. Now she knew why she brought herself here. She wanted him. A frightening truth that her mind chose not to elaborate and let her desire led her to explore her new self.
She slid a hand beneath his garment. His muscles were pumped up and hard, his jaw shadowed by stubble, his half-button shirt showing a hint of his appealing chest and light body hair. He was irrevocably, unapologetically masculine in every inch and she was completely impaled by him, so shockingly aroused that she felt her body would leap into flame. The shocking thrill of desire arced through her body. When he took her mouth in another hot, demanding kiss, she let out a soft moan and the last of the strength escaped from her knees.
Her heart swooped, tumbling her sense over each other. She was caught in a vortex of excitement so intense that it was almost unbearable. His hands sank into her hair, his calloused fingers released her dark from the obstructing knot and her locks fell like curtains of oblivion. His hands slid down to her back and his kiss grew greedier, asking more with every moment passing by.
She kissed him back, her response to the explosive tension becoming as fierce as his. Her fingers clutched the front of his half-button shirt, her knuckles grazing the exposed hard muscle of his chest, her thighs pressed hard against his. Her night mantle fell off her onto the marble floor.
When he lifted his head, she opened her eyes in shock and tried to gather her focus, only to feel the warmth of his breath on her throat.
"What have you done…" He growled the words breathlessly against her skin, his large hands sliding confidently down her back to the base of her spine. His mouth found hers again.
Eyes closed, she was gasping for air. With a cry, she unbuttoned his shirt and his hands on the front of her night gown, popping off each button and baring the velvety of her skin.
His kiss was urgent and demanding and she answered that demand with her own. She furled her arms around his neck and rose on the very tip of her toes, trying to get closer. Dimly aware that the top of her dress now sat as a heap around her waist, her upper body was completely against his bare chest. Both of them were damp with sweat.
Without taking his mouth from hers, she felt his strong arms went behind her knees and her feet lifted from the floor. The buoyant motion told her he was carrying her across to his bed. Still kissing her, he deposited her on the centre of the silk cover and came down over her, the weight of his body made her pulse race.
The moon rose high in the starry sky. The sounds of night birds chirping and insects buzzing did not reach their ears. Here, in the intimacy of his room, nothing but breathing and heartbeats rang in the silence. All rationale was thrown out of the window of her mind, there was no time to think, falter or reason. There was no need.
She gasped when his hand covered the swell of her breast; the hoarse skin of his palm brushed over the soft peak and turned her gasp into a throaty moan. "Éo…mer…"
And when he dragged his lips from hers and took her nipple into his mouth, it sent a burning sword plunging from her neck to her pelvis and she dug her nails into the buckled muscle of his shoulders and arched her body against his. His tongue unleashed a wave of unknown sensation rippling through her body, this empty tingling ache that was building up rapidly in her lower abdomen. There was a void that drove her mad, wanting to be closer to him. An emptiness that only he could fill.
The unerring accuracy of his tongue and each stroke that came with it was maddening. The warmth between her thighs screamed, wanting to explode. This was too much and too intense. She heard herself sobbing, calling out his name in desperation.
"Lothíriel…"
His husky voice blurred the sensual fog in her mind even more. He returned his lips on hers, kissing as explicitly and intimately as before.
Her hands slid down to his lined abdomen, reaching for the draw-strings of his trousers. Her fingers clawed only to reach nothing and a flow of cold air washed over her exposed skin.
She opened her eyes and saw him leaving the bed, putting back on his shirt. The fabric adhered onto his skin. He ran his hand in his mane which was now damp and strewn. His muscle flexed beneath the sweat-soaked fabric. The raw power radiating from him even at a distance sent a signal of his overpowered male dominance.
He poured himself a glass of water and emptied it then another refill. His breathing was still ragging as he spoke, "I can't."
She pulled the sheet closer and covered herself over it. Shame that was all she felt at the moment. Had he rejected her again?
"Do you see it now? It turns me into a beast! Do you have any idea how much self-control it has taken not to touch you?"
Shocked by his blunt words, she looked up and met his gaze. The flame of lust still flickered in his eyes. But there was something else. Guilt.
"I will kill myself for dishonouring you. Please give me time, Lothíriel. End of fall and I will talk to Imrahil."
Remorse swept her heart as she realised she had mistaken him and all his effort of distancing himself from her. How could she not see it before? She had let her own selfish prejudgement misled her. She hid her face in her hands to hide the joyful sobs.
Warmth spread from her shoulder as she lifted her head and saw him sitting in front of her. His hands were still trembling as he fastened the buttons of her gown and wrapped her mantle over her shoulders. "I'm sorry-"
"No, I am sorry." She pressed her finger on his lips. "I should have known. That is silly of me."
He brushed his knuckles on her cheeks. She sniffled at his gentle touch.
"I should return to my room," she stood up and pulled her dark mantle off the bed.
"I will see you in the morning." He lent her a hand to steady her as he rose.
She took a final glance at him and smiled, taking in all the details so that they carved a permanent imprint in her mind. In a soft voice, she spoke, "Good night."She ran her fingers on his bearded jaw and kissed him on the cheek. Swallowing back a sour sting, she whispered in his ears. "Gi melin."
She turned and went back to her room.
The land, still dark, had not awakened from the night before. Pre-dawn breeze rocked the river waters gently.
Amrothos laced his hand at his waist as he commanded his guards to lift the chests of silverware onto his ship. After a good few minutes, everything was done and loaded on the bay. He signalled at a dock worker to remove the hawser and his men to release the sails. The flax cloth took shape as it was unleashed dropping it along the height of the mast.
The ship glid along Anduin River. Dazzling reflection of the soon disappeared moonlight danced on the water surface.
He blew a breath of relief and accepted a cup of tea from his guard.
He took a sip, resting his extended arm on a pole, on the main dock. The fresh air blew on his fair face.
"Good morning, Amrothos."
Shocked by the voice which he recognised, he turned around slowly. His eyes went wide and the teacup slipped from his fingers.
"Lothíriel."
TBC
Éomer's reaction to Lothíriel's unannounced departure.
A deeper insight into Éothain's new life: Upside-down!
And Lothíriel has difficulty adjusting her life back in Dol Amroth.
Footnotes:
Handmaiden: (noun) Personal maid/servant
Swamp donkey: A very ugly woman
Hereswið: (Old English feminine name) Éowyn's handmaiden, a speculative love interest of Éothain.
Dimwit: (noun) Idiot, moron or a crazy person, usually expressed as an insult.
Pike: (noun) A fresh water fish with many bones.
Limfind: (Sindarin masculine name) Amrothos' guard.
Ælfgar: (Sindarin masculine name) a boy of Snowbourn rescued from Dunlending outlaws.
Gi melin: (Sindarin) I love you
Hawser: (noun) A knotted rope tied to harbour to secure ship/boat
Mast: (noun) A tall vertical spar on which sails are attached to.
Reviewer acknowledgement:
Glory Bee: Éothain is great! We will see even more of him in the next chapter! :D
Dr Lust: I always believe nothing is thicker than blood!
b5delenn: Thank you so much for the correction! The poison and bracelet will be explained in the next chapter. Stay tuned!
BrightWatcher: Éowyn and Faramir are perhaps the only couple that I like in the trilogy of the volume. Tolkien put a lot of effort into building their relationship. Unlike, Éomer's wife who is merely a footnote...
For for all those who wonder, no, they have not *ahem*. But it was close.
Again, thank you for all your support! Please continue to drop me any kind of reviews! *bows*