Chapter 4: Plans and Nerves

They didn't speak for the rest of the day. Éomer and his men rode out to make note of the boarders. The Dunlendings were becoming more aggressive since Éomer had returned from Gondor. He knew they had a slim chance of surviving the winter, since most of their homes were destroyed by default during the War. This perturbed the King because not only was there the fear of losing his people to the elements, but also to the threat of unhappy Dunlendings. He'd considered moving some of his farmers to Helms Deep for the winter, but abandoned the idea at the will of his advisors.

"Dunlendings passed through here just a few days ago, my lord," a man called back to Éomer. The middle-aged scout had been in the company of Théoden and was well known for his tracking abilities. He now knelt in the brush, indicating to the footprints that Éomer could barely see from atop his horse.

"There isn't much we can do now," the King murmured, turning Firefoot slightly to face the imposing mountain range. "Let's hope they have enough to worry about on their own without disturbing our people." He doubted that, but it was all he could offer to his men. The scout nodded in agreement and mounted his horse.

"The sun sets," Gamling noted. "We have been out later than usual."

"There is more to contend with than usual," Éomer responded, more to himself than Gamling. Then again, he considered, usual was a relative term. "We will return after the stars are bright in the sky. You are dismissed to your homes and I will see you in the morning," the King told his men with a curt nod.

They rode back to Edoras as night claimed the sky. After seeing to his steed, Éomer climbed the steps to Meduseld, each step bringing him closer to a decision he dreaded making. He didn't have an answer to the question that plagued him. He often wondered what Théoden would do, were he alive. He'd have found a way to save all of his people. Éomer pushed the door open heavily. His supper sat alone at the end of the long table. He was a bit surprised to eat without his Queen or her attendants and called for a maid, who came scurrying from the kitchen.

"Where is my wife?" he asked as he sat down.

"Unwell, my lord. She asked that you eat without her tonight." The girl curtsied and left Éomer alone. He ate slowly, contemplating the obstacles he faced. Realizing his thoughts had stripped him of his appetite; he beckoned a servant to take the plate away. He stood with his mug of ale and walked to his chambers. A fire burned in the bedroom as he closed the door behind himself. Lothíriel sat at his desk, looking at the maps of Edoras. Éomer's eyebrows rose at this as he continued into the room. At least she looked better than she had that afternoon, her skin returned to its natural colour.

"How are you feeling, my lady?" his voice startled her and she jumped. She'd been so engrossed with her work that she hadn't even heard him enter.

"Better, thank you," she replied, turning to look at him. "How was your ride?"

"Unproductive," he answered with a scowl. Wanting to forget such things, he walked to her side, looking over her shoulder. "You have the layout of the city?"

"Yes. And I noticed that this edifice –" she pointed to a fair sized building just beyond the barn, "is not used for anything."

"It was built by my uncle and was meant as storage, I believe. But it was never put to use. I suppose, by now, the structure is somewhat lacking."

"I visited it this afternoon," she said, staring at the parchments. "It has not completely fallen into ruin. A bit of work and it will be what it once was."

"A means of storage?"

"No." she turned to look at him, grey eyes illustrious in the muted light. "I would like to turn this into a healing ward."

"My lady?" Éomer knelt next to her, looking into her eyes, perplexed.

"The winter is fast approaching and, with so many of your farmers in need of food and shelter, it seems there will be need for one. Your healer, skilled as he is, cannot hold more than two people in the confines of his home. There should be a place in which the ill are tended to and cared for."

"I see the merit in that," he murmured. "I was impressed while in Minas Tirith. The Houses of Healing saved my sister's life, along with the lives of many warriors. But Falas is old, my lady. He can barely tend to his own needs in his failing age. How can we expect him to care for so many people?"

"I would help," she answered. "I have had enough experience in Dol Amroth, Minas Tirith and here. And I can teach some of the young girls." She watched him, awaiting his decision. He had to admit, it was a prudent idea. Éomer briefly recalled earlier days when winter maladies befell the villagers and they died without even seeing a healer. He met his wife's gaze and shrugged one shoulder.

"You do not need my permission," he said after a moment. "You are Queen, after all."

"But you know your people better than I." Grey eyes regarded him solemnly. He stood up and nodded.

"Then I think it is a well conceived plan. If you need help with anything, be it the rebuilding or furnishing, notify me and I'll see to it you are provided with what you desire."

-o-

What she desired was to go home. She offered him a smile of appreciation and turned away. He walked back to the bed as she collected the maps and returned them to their folders. Sitting with a clean desk before her, Lothíriel placed a hand on her stomach. It was too early for any person to tell she was pregnant. But she knew. She'd missed a cycle and she felt ill every morning. Lothíriel had spent enough time in the Houses of Healing to recognize her own body's signs of a babe growing inside of her.

She felt a surge of excitement. She was going to give birth to the child of Éomer son of Éomund, King of Rohan. But she also found herself saddened by this. She longed to return to Dol Amroth and tell her brothers in person. Already she sent letters to her siblings and father. Her pregnancy was joyous news, she knew. But she couldn't shake the feeling of unhappiness. She hoped it would fade as the pregnancy progressed.

"My lady?" Lothíriel turned to the bed where her husband sat. She realized she must have looked a bit ridiculous, staring off into space. Standing, she unbraided her hair and then joined him in bed. He glanced at her, his eyes moving from her face to her abdomen, which was still flat, bearing no clues as to what was growing within.

"Congratulations, my lord," she murmured, leaning back against the pillows. He met her eyes, a surprised expression painted on his handsome features.

"It is your child as well," he replied. She felt a faint blush spread to her cheeks, which made him smile slightly. With a gentle nod, he turned and blew the candle out.