Writ of Shadows and Phantoms
Chapter 28: Serendipity Uncovered
The breeze brushed against her skin as she stood at the dock. The hills of Emyn Arnen disappeared from her sight.
She scratched her fingers on her left wrist. It felt empty and bare. She just remembered the bracelet was no longer on her wrist. Strange how determined she was to remove it and only to feel awkward as if part of her was missing. She had left everything behind. Things that reminded her of Éomer. Things that might haunt her later and potentially make her regret her decision.
Her brother made his best effort to convince her to return to Rohan but soon gave up. He knew he could not win an argument with his sister.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" he shouted, pacing angrily toward her.
"Taking the same boat as you. Back to Dol Amroth," she answered casually with a shrug, walking pass him.
"But Lothíriel, you are not supposed to go back home with me! You were to stay in Rohan, for Valar's sake!"
"Tell me why should I stay, Amrothos?" She looked into the distance. The sun was now rising, spraying the dark sky with ray of red and yellow.
"Father said you should-"
"Should I? When my family is in jeopardy? When someone tries to poison my brother?" She turned to face him and interrupted hastily.
"Lothíriel, you don't understand. Rohan is safer than Dol Amroth!"
"That is why I must return! I cannot stay in Rohan knowing there is someone out there who tries to kill Elphir or Father or you!"
Seeing his sister's persistence, Amrothos threw his arms in the air and shook his head. "I should not have told you."
Lothíriel saw the regret knitted between his brows.
"You did the right thing. Amrothos. I am glad you did." She came in front of him. Her tone now softened. She brushed off a loose fringe in front of his face. "I am tired of being protected, being a burden, being a child. I am of the House of Adrahil too! And, I will not forgive myself if anything should happen to my family."
"Father will not be pleased."
"I would rather seeing him being angry than me hiding in Rohan and weeping in vain. Please, my brother, you must understand, the same blood that courses in your veins runs in mine too. I love you and I will do anything to keep our family safe."
Something silky was pressed against his face.
But that all did not matter very soon when the inside of his head went banging. Wave after wave. Grumbling, he unfurled the silk cover and sat at the edge of the bed.
"My Lord Éomer?" A male voice came behind the door.
"Yes, Éothain?"
He pinched the bride of his nose to wake himself a bit more.
"Ready for your morning wash, Sire?"
"Yes, please."
He rubbed his temple, trying to ease the pain. His head hurt and he had not felt so bad for a while. Sighing, his eyes caught a glimpse of a letter sitting on a table.
"Damn," he cursed.
The letter to Imrahil remained unfinished. The incident last night caught him off-guard. His brows knitted into a frown as he recalled the near-miss. It was out of control. Completely out of his elements. One more step then he would have come as close as Imrahil chopping his head off. He was a king and she, by right, was a princess. A daughter of his friend. Someone whom had been trusted into his care. He should not have allowed it to happen. Twice including last night in four months! That was stupid. If his father was still here, he would have beaten the crap out of him.
He sighed.
And his head was banging like a brick on a wall.
Fortunately, the morning wash did somehow ease the headache and by the time he changed, it was almost gone. He looked out of his window. The sun was above the horizon. It must be at least eight o'clock. He cursed beneath his breath again. He always woke up before seven o'clock. Everyone must be in the dining hall waiting for the King of Rohan. A king who was late for breakfast.
Éomer shook his head as he made his way to the breakfast table with Éothain.
"Is Lady Lothíriel awake?" he asked quietly in Rohirric.
"Probably still sleeping. I have not seen her."
They came across a few Rangers of Ithilien and exchanged polite nods.
"Let me know when she is awake."
"Ohhhhhh." Came the long and suspicious tone. "Did something happen last night?"
Éomer pushed away his Marshal who was leaning close to him. He stopped and tilted his head aside, asking, "Éothain, is there any part in your brain that stops wondering what people are doing at night?"
His bodyguard broke a very benign smile and gestured innocently. "I'm only worried about your welfare and Riddermark's future, my Lord Éomer!"
"I bet you are."
There, they reached the breakfast table and were surprised to find only Faramir and Éowyn were there.
"Good morning, Brother."
"Good morning, Éomer."
It was Éowyn who greeted him first. And Faramir had been addressing him by his name ever since the wedding day.
"Good morning," he replied, pulling a chair to sit himself whilst throwing a quick glance discreetly at an empty seat next to Éowyn. The seat that Lothíriel always settled herself on for the last few weeks.
"How did you sleep?" Éowyn asked.
"I slept fine. A little headache but I am sure it will be gone soon before soon." Éomer gestured a nod of appreciation at a servant pouring his tea.
"I have not seen Gamling this morning."
"He is down at the camp. The men are dismantling the tents. He wants to make sure they don't leave a mess in your garden."
The morning conversation revolved around the preparation for the Rohirrim's return journey to Edoras.
"Éomer, have you had everything you need? Faramir is able to provide additional provision if you should require."
"We will be fine, Éowyn. We will probably stop by Mundburg to replenish our stock before we take the Great West Road."
"So will it take fifteen days again to go back to Edoras?"
"No. We will move at a quicker pace since our wagons are now lighter. Probably twelve days." He threw another assumingly discreet glimpse across the table again. It was now almost nine o'clock and Lothíriel was still not here. They needed to depart before noon.
He signalled at his Marshal and said only loud enough for Éothain to hear. "Send Édhere down to fetch Lady Lothíriel."
The young Rider grinned and hopped off to proceed with his task.
Éowyn exchanged a look with her husband and enquired carefully, "Is everything fine, Éomer?"
"Everything is in order," he dismissed.
He thought everything was in order until Éothain and Édhere came running into the dining hall and Édhere whispered, "My Lord! I can't find Lady Lothíriel."
Frowning, Éomer turned immediately to look up at the Rider. "What do you mean you cannot find her?"
Édhere swallowed. "She is not in her chamber, Lord Éomer."
"Did you try to knock, Édhere?"
"I've checked her chamber. It is empty. "
The sibilant conversation between the King of Rohan and his rider now grew a little louder, just enough to draw some attention from the newly-wedded couple.
"She has to be somewhere, Édhere. Have you checked the balcony?"
"Lord Éomer, I've just gone to the balcony, she is not there either. And Silverwing is not at the stable," Éothain inserted.
"How about her maid?"
"Moriel is nowhere to be seen."
"Lady Lothíriel has to be somewhere. Maybe riding with Silverwing. Go and find her-"
"Éomer, did you not know?"
The three Rohirrim stopped their conversation and turned to face the Lady of Ithilien. Éomer saw the strange look on his sister's face. Her unusually cautious expression whenever she was about to disclose something that he did not know.
"Know what? What is it, Éowyn?"
She interchanged again another look with her husband. There was a pregnant pause. It was Faramir who finally answered, "My cousin took the ship to Belfalas before dawn. She is on the journey back to Dol Amroth with her brother."
Taken aback and appalled by the unexpected answer, Éomer stood up immediately. His abrupt movement caused the tea to spill over the polished black ash table, dripping off the lavished edge.
"I beg your pardon?"
It could not be.
He asked again to verify what he had just heard.
"She told us last night that she would be returning to Dol Amroth with Amrothos. And I thought you knew…"
Éomer was completely confused. What was all this about? Lothíriel left after everything last night? After he made the promise to her? After they had reached a common acknowledgement about their future? Which part of his words that she did not understand?
"You…" Éowyn stood up slowly as well, her hand almost covering her mouth, "…you did not know."
He was so shocked into silence that for a moment Éomer couldn't respond. He could feel rage building inside, burning his composure. His mind swirled like a winter storm.
He felt hurt.
And betrayed.
She left him. Without telling him. Without even a farewell. What game was she playing?
His breaths became quick and swallow. He could not help but grind his teeth.
"Of course, I did not know! She did not say anything about going back to Dol Amroth!"
His loud voice almost echoed in the hall.
"Are you certain she did not say anything at all?" Faramir rose, trying to calm the situation.
"No. We, we exchanged a few words last night and…" he paused but continued bitterly, frustrated and anguish, "…I told her to wait until fall. I told her we would go to Dol Amroth and talk to her father. But it seems she has her own agenda."
"Éomer, I am sure there is a reason behind-"
"What reason?" Angry, he interrupted his brother-in-law harshly, "What reason that she can't tell me and decided to leave without my knowledge?"
That sent Faramir speechless.
Eyes closed, Éomer drew a long breath to calm his whirling emotion. He gestured at the two stunned Rohirrim behind him. "Tell our people that we are leaving at ten o'clock."
Now he wanted to leave this place as soon as possible. He wanted to be back in Edoras and tend the need of his people.
"Éomer! You could always catch the next ship to Belfalas…"
The suggestion from Éowyn only made matter worse.
"No, I am going back to the Riddermark," he pushed his chair back and stepped away from the dining table.
"You should really go to Dol Amroth as soon as possible, my brother, things like this can't wait. You ought to find out what has happened!"
Éowyn tried another attempt at persuading her brother to change his mind.
"It is her who can't wait! I told her fall would be the time! She chose NOT to wait, Éowyn! And I can't leave my country now not knowing if we have enough crops to survive for the coming winter! I can't spend my days worrying about some spoilt princess!"
There was hard glitter in Éomer's eyes. Éowyn took a step back and looked at her brother silently. The sudden flare in his emerald pupils was a reminder of his long-absent volatile temperament.
He was correct. Months from June until September were the annual harvesting period. He would need to learn if there was sufficient to feed every mouth, either of man or beast, in the Riddermark. Last year had been disastrous and he wanted to ensure he did not want to have to beg Gondor again for more supplement this year.
So the Rohirrim party left Emyn Arnen hastily.
The return journey to Edoras took less time as anticipated. They arrived on the ninth day. Although Éomer tried his best effort not to let his fouled mood overrule him, his Riders could feel it. The deathly silence that crept into every corner whenever they were at a campfire at night was making the air eerie. The frowns that seemed to sit tighter and tighter between his brows only discouraged some of them from talking to their King. His men learnt to cut their breaks short and travelled as much as possible in a day to reduce the possibility of them catching the silent rage from Éomer.
But being Rohirrim, they still managed to find some ways to entertain each other despite the solemn from their King.
Hereswið shot Éothain another death glare as he threw a carrot at her. He did so just to annoy her. She had been busy preparing the campfire and dinner but the young rider could not leave her alone. He just kept pestering her.
All the times!
Frustrated, she pulled up the edge of her dress and retrieved an object. As the next apple came at her, she slung the item to clash face to face with it. The shape edge cut the flying apple into halves and continued its travel until it struck on a tree. Exactly half an inch away from Éothain's throat.
"Hey! That is called attempted murder, you know!" He pulled the dagger of the tree and pointed at her with it.
"I thought you needed a lesson or two, you thick brain!" She swept her path with a frying pan and her target immediately jumped aside.
"I am not thick!"
"Yes! You are more than thick! You are worse than a donkey! At least that beast would have learnt not to step on a trap twice but you! You never! You were not slapped enough as a child!"
"Why does everyone say that? And I am not a child!" He defended.
"Oh yes, you are! You are a ten year old trapped inside a twenty-five years old body, for Béma's sake!"
She threw another fork at him and he ducked.
"I am a fine piece of male specimen! A warrior hardened by battle! Sharpened by war!" he jumped on a table and stood tall and declared loudly with swelling pride. "Oh yes, I am! I am so!"
Somehow there was a childish look on his face that made Hereswið burst into a series of chuckles which then turned quickly into loud laughter.
"Hey! Show some respect to your Marshal, you ungrateful woman!"
He crossed him arms in front of his chest. His boyish expression was now replaced by a typical face with sticking lips of an unsatisfied boy.
"You have no shame, Marshal!" she said, still laughing with a gesture to wipe off a fake tear from a corner of her eyes.
"I have pride - that is for sure!"
"No, you don't!"
"I do."
"Do not."
"Oh, love is so in the air!"
Their babbling exchange was interrupted by a sudden remark. Both of them turned around quickly and shouted at the same time.
"-I am not in love with him!"
"-I am not in love with her!"
Wynflaéth smirked and winked at her husband who had taken over the cooking task after the young Rohirrim had forgotten all about it.
And that night, around the campfire, Éothain tried his King's riddle technique. He was confident that he could win.
But greater the expectation, greater the disappointment.
He did not win. Not even once.
Hereswið beat him from the very start until the end. Her riddles were so difficult that he got them all wrong. Horribly wrong. So wrong that it sent his guards laughing so hard that it hurt their stomach.
And as a result, he had to do the cooking for the rest of the trip.
And the washing as well.
And setting the tent.
And collecting the fire logs.
And carrying all her luggage.
And never to pester her again – the only rule which he would never obey.
The days in Edoras were strange. The Riders dared not mention the name of the lady. Their King had not been in a particular bad temper but he did show signs of being fastidious over little details.
The crowd settled on the table eyed their King carefully as a servant placed a dish in front of him.
His brows furrowed as Éomer looked down at the plate. A piece of steak with some dodgy glue- or gum-like gravy. He did not remember that his kitchen had ever prepared a dish as such. He cut a piece out and fed it into his mouth but instantly spat it out after a chew. He threw his cutlery off in frustration.
"My Lord, is the food not to your taste?" Gamling probed a cautious question. He had been concerned with his King's behaviour lately.
"I was going to ask you, Gamling – what is with the kitchen lately? The food seems to be a little…"pointing at the steak with a disgusted look, he forced a pause to think of an appropriate word before continuing, "…different than usual."
"The food preparation has not changed, my Lord."
His advisor tried to defend the kitchen of Meduseld.
"There is definitely something not right with the food. It does not taste the same."
Of course it tasted different. Because the person who usually prepared his food was not there anymore. This thought crossed the mind of everyone sitting at Éomer's table.
Gamling broke a weak smile across his face. "Perhaps I could get the kitchen to prepare something else for you?"
"No, that is fine, Gamling. I am not hungry. I don't want Wynflaéth to worry too much. She has spent too much time in the kitchen already."
His chief advisor leaned closer and said softly, "Wynflaéth does not work in the kitchen anymore. She has not been well lately, my Lord."
"Has she? Does she need to see a healer?"
"She just needs some rest."
"Are you certain, Gamling?"
"Yes, Lord Éomer. I told you that yesterday," his advisor replied with iron certainty.
"Did you? What did you tell me yesterday?"
The old Rider pulled back a little and replied with a faint upward curl of his lips, "Wynflaéth is pregnant."
Éomer found himself surprised at Gamling's words. Gamling was going to be a father and have a child. And Éomer could not remember Gamling telling him that at all. What had he been doing? How could he not remember one of the greatest news in Edoras?
Reality struck Éomer into an absent reverie as he tried to recall the day before.
He took a sip of his wine and asked slowly with caution, "Gamling?"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Did I congratulate you yesterday?"
"Yes, you did." With a smile, the older man pressed a hand on Éomer's shoulder and squeezed it gently to reassure him. "You did."
"I'm sorry, Gamling."
Éomer threw his head with a sigh of relief and disbelief. He needed to pull himself together. He needed to take care of his people. If he could not even remember the fact that Wynflaéth was pregnant, what else had he missed?
He pushed away from the table and rose onto his feet. "Send some soup to my study. I'll spend my evening there."
He paced around his study. He did finish his soup not because he was hungry but because he had to. He looked out from a window. White blinking gems decorated the dark sky. The night buzz of insects made him felt less lonely. He was back in Edoras. He should be happy and performing his duty as a king of his people. Yet this thought brought no assurance of comfort or released him from his tangled mind. He spent his night going through every inch of his study, would touch what she had touched, and look long and fixedly at things associated with her. Few tomes of his grandmother which she treasured so much. Old carvings of horses on the furniture which she could not resist to touch.
He shook his head, trying to convince himself he was not miserable for the fact that she was not here. But he was.
It had been a week and it felt long, like a year. Every inch of soil in Edoras smelled different. Every corner stood the shadow of their memory, especially the classroom of the orphanage. He dared not walk in for the past week. But he ought to do so tomorrow. He needed to speak to Hannor who had been almost devastated when he told him that he was not sure if Lothíriel was coming back to Edoras.
His eyes glid across the dim room and lingered on a clothed parcel which Hannor passed to him on their journey back to Edoras. He walked across to unfold it again, running his finger on the items – a carved tusk bracelet with broken clasps and a scarlet hooded wool cloak. The two items he ever offered her. And now she had returned them, leaving all the memory behind her.
His mouth turned into a bitter twist and his eyes hardened.
How could she? Was it so dire in Dol Amroth that she must leave without telling him? Or, just they were never meant to be.
He did not know the answer. But what he did know was that he was furious at her decision, at her recklessness. She had not changed at all from the first day he met her. No, she had changed. So did he.
Any doubts about this thought soon varnished into thin air when Hereswið came to collect the empty dish.
"Hereswið?"
"Yes, my Lord Éomer?"
Éomer frowned a little at that. She seemed to have picked up Éothain's habit of addressing him. When had Hereswið and Éothain become so close?
"You spent almost a year in Minas Tirith, didn't you?"
"Yes," she answered timidly.
"Do you understand the Elvish tongue?"
"A little, my Lord."
"What does Gi melin mean?" He wanted someone to affirm his initial interpretation or perhaps just to convince himself to feel better.
"Err…" the young woman blushed at his question, raising her hand to hide her embarrassment. "…my Lord, it means…'I love you'." She tried to peek and catch the expression on his face.
But he quickly turned away.
"My Lord, it is a very informal and intimate declaration. Prince Faramir says to Lady Éowyn all the times," she added carefully.
"Thank you. You may leave."
And he waved her off before grimace shadowed over his face. His knuckles on the window sill whitened.
That stupid woman.
She just had to make his life miserable.
Lothíriel was not surprised that neither her father nor her brothers were pleased to see her. In fact they were so shocked that it took them a moment to articulate their questions.
"Lothíriel, what are you doing here?" Imrahil asked, unable to hide the shock in his voice.
"This is my home, Father. Can I not return?" She asked back, a little disheartened by the disappointment flashed across her father's face.
"But you were supposed to be in Rohan, my daughter."
He stood in front of her, both hands on her arms.
"I changed my mind."
Tensed, she tore her gaze away so that her father would not see the weakness in her eyes.
"But Éomer sent a letter saying that you both would only be visiting at the end of fall. Why are you back here alone? And early? Where is Éomer?"
There was worry in Imrahil's voice.
Amrothos stood next to her and looked over her with open disapproval. There was tightness around his jaw but he said nothing.
Lothíriel looked up at her father again. The sight of him using a stick to support his steps sent a dagger in her heart. His hair was greyer and his face more lined than she remembered. Her mouth twitched uncontrollably, she lifted a hand to touch her father's face.
"He did not know that...I left," she admitted stiffly and was, at the same time, appalled by the extremely apparent bitterness in her own tone even though she was so trying hard to suppress her emotions.
"Lothíriel!" Her father exclaimed with disbelief. "Why and how could you-"
"Please, Father! Don't ask! Just let me stay in Dol Amroth! Let me stay with you, Ada," she begged hastily, denying any chance of her father to question her decision to leave Rohan.
All she heard was a sigh from her father.
She thought she would pick up her life, which she once missed so much, easily. Her chamber still looked the same as she left it more than a year ago. The boats and ships near the docks and piers were still similar colours. The same faces still went out to the sea and returned with jumping and gasping fishes. The sun still rose and set, setting the veil of the same vivid colours across the sky.
Her eyes swept across the Ford of Dol Amroth. Her breaths mingled with the morning breeze of autumn. When she told herself that she had left everything behind in Rohan, she truly did. She left behind more than she could afford. Part of her heart remained in Edoras.
She pulled the reins of Silverwing over and patted her steed on its neck. The animal hissed and stamped its feet to complain about the hard stones behind its hooves.
"I know you like green plains of Rohan. But we are back in Dol Amroth now."
She chewed her lower lip at the thought of the people she missed dearly. Hannor. How had the boy coped with her sudden departure? Éothain. She missed the sheepish grin on his face. Gamling, Wynflaéth, Édhere, the children, the maids of Meduseld, the farmers…
Fighting back her emotions, she kicked her legs and commanded her charger to move forward. "Let's have our morning ride, Silverwing."
They leaped forward and travelled down the steps of the white ford onto the white sandy beach. They rode fast, breaking the grey mist. The sea breeze was cold and it stung her eyes. Moisture sprang beneath her eyelids. She sniffed at the chill and made hard effort to blink away the tears.
Everything should be the same as before, back here in Dol Amroth. She changed all her household kitchenware to the silver pieces she brought from Minas Tirith. She should be relieved. And happy. But she was not.
Wet sand swirled and water splashed under the galloping hooves. She should have felt the screaming freedom on the horseback as she usually did. It did not come that way today or yesterday. It reminded her of every aspect of the small habits she had developed over her days in Rohan. Habits that she never seemed to be able to get rid of.
Habit of her regular morning rides.
Habit of telling the children about stories and myths of the Firstborns.
Habit of gathering chicken eggs from the farms.
Habit of preparing food in the kitchen.
Habit of sharing jokes with the maids of Meduseld.
Habit of seeing him this first in the morning.
Habit of being around him.
The urge to see him again was so overpowering. Everytime she closed her eyes, images flashed before her eyes, his words echoed in her head and his scent lingered around her.
She pulled the reins hard and her horse reared up, neighing loud. She wheeled it around and headed back to the ford. She still had some memory with her here. The wooden coffer in her room. One that bore the leather imprint of horses. One that contained all the memories of Rohan.
She ran up the stairs and pushed her chamber door open, her eyes searching for the coffer. She pushed her furniture aside, emptied her wardrobes and dressers. Where was it?
Her effort broke out in a thin layer of sweat on her forehead as she continued to look for her missing treasure. She was certain that she had it. She told Moriel to carry it and load it onto the ship when they left Emyn Arnen.
"Moriel! Have you seen my black coffer? The one with leather bound edge." She stopped her maid and asked.
"I thought it was in your room," Moriel replied with a shrug.
"I thought so. But it is not here."
"I don't know, my Lady. I have not seen it."
Lothíriel turned her attention back to her room again. She had checked every corner, every drawer at least twice but it was not here.
She stood froze in the middle of her room. She must have left it in Emyn Arnen. All the journals, the tomes, the lores and…the drawings.
She tried to control her breathing but it was difficult when her heart sank.
How could she have left it? It was all she had.
Whilst she questioned over herself, she did not see the smile on Moriel's face.
A victorious smile.
Or, an evil smirk.
September 3020 T.A.
Edoras.
Outside the entrance of the orphanage.
His booted steps paced back and forth uncertainly.
The children were having lessons now; apparently Hannor was teaching and repeating the materials that Lothíriel had left. Éomer could hear the young boy's clear and loud voice as he demonstrated some calculation methods to the younger ones. Then it was loud cheering from inside the classroom and the door flung open. All the little ones greeted him and made their way to the playground just in front.
"Lord Éomer." Hannor noticed his lingering presence outside the door. The boy had been less talkative since he learnt that Lothíriel was gone. Éomer did not have the heart to hide the truth from him. So he just told the orphan that he did not know if Lothíriel was ever going to return to Edoras. Éomer remembered the tears that dropped so effortlessly from the shocked face and the silence that burst into heart-wrenching sobs.
He returned the curtsy with a nod and finally walked into the classroom. He had only been here once – the first day of her first lesson. He gazed across the room. Neat as ever. Drawings and paintings of children were pinned on the lower section of the wall. He continued to scan the room and lifted his eyes to the upper section of the room. There, something struck him. Parchments of drawings. Many drawings of great horses, of different gaits, of fitting a horseshoe, of a horseman's life, of days in Edoras. They were so vivid and came to life as he laid his eyes on them.
Seemingly to have read his thought, Hannor made a casual remark, "Lady Lothíriel drew all these." He pointed at the pieces pinned at edge of the ceiling. "She always did when we were outside."
Surprised by the answer, Éomer could not take his eyes off the images. He recognised all of them.
One was the steed of Éothain.
One next to it was the mearas at the Royal Stable.
There was another of the Royal Guards marching.
There were also illustrations of the Guards of the Watch Towers.
A few of The Golden Hall.
Of the maids chatting in the kitchen.
Another that showed the early years of a foal.
She drew her life in Edoras. Things that she saw and felt, she translated them into her drawings. He knew she could draw and paint but he did not know she could do both so well. What else of her that he had missed and overlooked? What else had he now known about her?
He wheeled his feet around and ready to leave.
"You are welcome to visit here as often as you like, my Lord," the Gondorian boy commented as he left.
"I know, Hannor. Thank you," he replied with just the hint of a smile.
Lothíriel said the same to him once but he always thought it was not necessary and he won't find anything interesting in a children classroom.
There was a chest in her room. Édhere found it sitting outside her quarter in Emyn Arnen and decided to bring it back to Edoras. It was kept in her room in Meduseld. Éomer never bothered to look at it, assuming it was just her books.
His heart raced at the eager thoughts of discovering a new side of her might surface from her work. He hurried his steps as he entered the Golden Hall. He pushed open the door of her chamber.
Everything had been still as it was. Her pine scent still lingered in air. Her gowns still hung in the closet, just as she had left them.
A small coffer sat on top of a table. His thumb ran over the leather imprint of horses along the edges and finally rested on an iron lock and he flipped it up. The coffer opened up with a squeak.
There were numerous parchments and papers. Some loose and some leather-bound. He lifted the top pile and spread it over a table. Pulling a chair over, he settled himself and opened the first page of a worn leather-bound tome. His eyes brightened up as he began the first line. It was a record of the Battle of Pelennor Fields, including the dates of the Swan Knights leaving Dol Amroth and their journey to Minas Tirith. There was an atlas of Middle-Earth inserted in between with different notations that did not seem to make sense at the present moment.
As he turned the pages, more struck him. There was drawing of soldiers, more accurately deceased Gondorians and Rohirrim together with names and dates as well as sketches of either their specific armour or weapon. He recognised a few faces there. They might not be as accurate as they should have been given that it was almost impossible to illustrate a living face from a dead man. Each fallen man was marked with a unique sign to indicate where they actually fell on Pelennor Fields and where they were buried later.
And when he reached the last few pages, there was a list of names of the fallen heroes and more shockingly their next of kin if any. And it read, 'procession returned to family.' Next to it, it said either 'sword', 'spear', 'helmet', 'cloak', 'sigil' or something else that once belonged to the fallen.
His heart felt heavy. He did not know about this. He pushed the book together and studied its cover again. This time, he saw its title in bold
The Tales of Unsung Heroes
and underneath it,
Battle of Pelennor Fields
13th to 15th March 3019 T.A.
He set the large volume aside and picked up another book from the coffer. This one was loosely-bound, a good indication that it was near to completion. There was no writing on its front cover. His fingers gripped bottom right edge and unfolded it. A sour stung hit his throat as he was not expecting to see this. On an ivory paper, a line of black-ink font sat horizontally across the centre. In Westron, it read:
Théoden Ednew, Son of Théngel, Seventeenth King of Rohan
2948 T.A. to 15th March 3019 T.A.
He continued and the second page spread out as an oversized parchment. Unfolding it, he saw the picture painted so vividly that it captured the very essence that he remembered.
It was a portrait of his uncle.
Not as a dead man.
Théoden King stood once more proud and majestic next to his royal steed behind the green plains of the Riddermark.
His uncle looked so alive.
Éomer slid his index finger on the dark lines as if he could almost feel his uncle next to him, as if his uncle was breathing in front of his eyes.
He continued to the next few pages which outlined the life and deeds of Théoden. It was also a paragraph that included the dark days of Saruman's spell. Éomer could not deny that he was astonished by all the detail and information enclosed in the book. Perhaps he was more surprised at the effort and length that Lothíriel had gone to compile them together. But it was the last half of the book that finally got him. There were pages and pages of transcripts. He took in every written word with great sentiment. These were the legacies that his uncle had left behind, the life and hope that he gave to the people of the Riddermark.
…We remember you forever as the valiant warrior who kept his oath of his forefathers…
…I never forgot the day you offered us shelter when our cottage was burnt down. Your kindness never left us…
…I might have lost my leg, but I am willing to give my life just to follow you into battle again, my Lord…
Closing his eyes, Éomer took a deep, long breath. Now he slowly recalled the images of Gamling and Lothíriel talking and soothing weeping visitors during the ceremonial funeral of his uncle more than a year ago. His guess was that Gamling was the translator and Lothíriel the keeper as she once said that singing songs were not enough to remember the great deeds of his uncle and that he must never be forgotten for as long as Rohan would last. That woman had a sense of catching one's heart from the very beginning.
He turned again to another page, Éomer felt a gust of emotions building up in his chest, escalating to his nostril stronger as it went when the each word gripped him like haunted memories.
…If I could've have followed you to death, I would have, my King. But I made a promise with you that I will serve, Éomer King like I served you, Sire…
…the days that we rode together will always be the treasure of my heart. How I ever wished I could ride with you again, my King, my Liege…
…I see you in him for the blood of the House of Eorl runs true in his veins. I shall shape him into a good king, Théoden King. I swore before you that I would mould Éomer to be the best king Riddermark will ever remember…
…Farewell, my Lord! May we meet again in the hall of our fore-fathers! There I shall stand beside you again and tell you all that your hearts desire, all that you wish to listen. The deeds of your nephew that you will ever be so proud to hear. We will see each other again in death or glory…
He read until the very last page and slammed the book closed. He covered his nose with a hand as to fight back the leak of emotions but only to find his palm wet with tears.
He sniffled a few times, hoping to dilute the thickening inside his chest. He rose quickly and emptied everything from the coffer. As he reached the bottom and lifted a loose heap of fragments and notes, a very long scroll fell from underneath. There was a green strap tied around it.
Éomer leaned forward to pick it up. He slid the strap off the large and long scroll and unrolled it. The parchment fell off his hands and settled on the top of the table.
He could not articulate his feeling now. Tides of shock, bewilderment, surprise, amazement and more swam in his swirling mind.
He stared down at it.
It was a close up portrait.
A spellbinding image of an eminent warrior.
Every feature was delivered with remarkable subtlety. The well-defined facial feature. The freckled cheekbones. And most importantly the pair of incisive eyes. His eyes.
And, at the corner of it, it was dated July 3019 T.A.
With a signature: Lothíriel.
His heart whispered a decision which he had long considered. The slightest doubt was soon wiped off when a messenger arrived at midnight that day, bearing a letter addressed to him.
Éomer turned to the back of the envelope and recognised the royal seal of Dol Amroth.
The letter was short and it was not from Lothíriel.
The few lines read:
Come before it is too late.
Elphir.
TBC
Éomer visits Dol Amroth.
Imrahil's ultimate test for the King of Rohan.
Footnotes:
Medieval harvesting period: June to September.
Again I apologise for the late update and the lack of Éothain's story here! I figure I will need another new fic to fit Éothain's love life in as Writ of Shadows and Phantoms was originally written as a plot to finish in ten chapters! But now, look at me! We are at Chapter 28 and Éomer is still not married! Arggghhhhhh!