Chapter 7: A Dark Awakening
She saw beautiful scenes behind closed eyes. Memories and premonitions of flowering fields and gently sloping hills in the green summer. She lay in the sea grass watching the sky above, as blue as the ocean at dawn. She listened to the waves as they crashed just beyond her line of vision. Turning to her side, she smiled as she watched a child running across the sand, his little legs carrying him with great speed. His hair was dark, though the fiery tones caught the sun majestically. He splashed in the water, delighted at the feel. Lothíriel's smiled widened as the boy giggled, looking at her with deep brown eyes.
He turned away from her and ran across the shoreline. Sitting up, she dusted the sand from her clothes, watching the child. He ran toward another figure that swept him up into strong arms. The child squealed gleefully as the man laughed. His hair was dark blond and his eyes glowed with happiness. He caught her gaze and grinned. She felt completely at peace here, watching them with a smile on her face.
Waking with a start, Lothíriel sucked in a deep breath. She was in a dark and dank place. She lay on a mattress, not sand and the sounds of a fire burning replaced the memory of the ocean. It came back to her slowly, waking up beside her husband with stabbing pains in her abdomen. Afraid to wake him, she'd crept from the bed when a painful spasm took hold of her. She recalled various moments of semi-conscious vision in which she saw the King being led from her room, Lady Berewyn supporting her with gentle but firm arms.
She couldn't understand her pain. Perhaps it had been a pregnancy pain, or she'd eaten something foul. Turning to the side, Lothíriel groaned softly. The chamber was dark, save for the low embers in the fireplace. Only then did she notice a shadowed form sitting beside the bed, slumped in a chair – either asleep or dead. Figuring it was a maid or guard, Lothíriel reached her arm to wake the person. Upon touching his knee, several things occurred all at once. A hand grabbed her wrist as the man jumped from his seat. Lothíriel cringed beneath the figure's shadow, confused and shamefully scared. Where were her attendants? Where was her husband?
The man released her wrist immediately, dropping to his knees beside the bed. His face finally withdrew from the shadows and Lothíriel found herself staring at the King.
"My lady," he rasped, his voice a distressed whisper. She hadn't realized it, but she'd tensed from the moment he'd touched her and was leaning as far away from him as she could manage. She could see the hurt and self-loathing in his eyes as he looked at her with great concern. "I've hurt you."
"No," she answered quickly, furious at herself for acting like a child. He averted his gaze, obviously doubting her words. Lothíriel paced her hand, which was now level with his shoulder, on his upper arm gently. "You haven't hurt me."
He looked at her with dark brown eyes, his expression somber and unreadable. Lothíriel forced a smile, but winced at the effort it took. His eyes narrowed with worry, but she squeezed his arm gently, willing him to relax.
"I must have suffered a heat spell," she said quietly, hoping to dispel his concern. "I apologize for what happened."
He looked at her, his eyes glazed with an emotion she couldn't discern. Was it fear? Or dread? He took her hand in his, rubbing her knuckles softly as he stared at the floor beneath his knees. Her confusion mounted as he kept his silence. There was something he knew that she did not. Why was he sitting beside her in the dark? Where were their servants?
"My lord?" she asked tentatively. He sighed and glanced at her.
"My lady," he started. She encouraged him to continue by covering his hand with her own. "Falas and Lady Berewyn say you have suffered a miscarriage."
He looked up at her, judging her reaction. His words felt like arrows hitting heavily against her. She stared at him, her lips parted, pupils dilated. Certainly this was some joke. Eowyn had said her brother was notorious for his dry wit. But the expression on his face conveyed no humor.
"I have lost the child?" she asked stupidly. Éomer looked away, obviously displeased. Lothíriel felt her heart sink as the weight of this fact came crashing upon her. What good was a Queen if she could not produce an heir? The young man looked as though he were going to continue when the door creaked open. Ivriel slipped in side, and gasped in surprise when she saw the King kneeling beside her lady. Flustered, she dropped the tray she'd been holding, scrambling to pick the items up. Éomer stood stiffly at the interruption as Ivriel begged his forgiveness. Lothíriel sat up, intending to help the woman, but a dull ache in her middle arrested her movements. Both Éomer and Ivriel moved towards her, each trying to keep the Queen from moving. Ivriel retreated as Éomer lay his hand on Lothíriel's shoulder.
"My lady," he whispered tightly.
"My apologies," the lady-in-waiting squeaked. The King turned to her and bent down to collect the items which had fallen. "I did not expect to see you here. I thought you were with my lord Elfhelm. If I'd known -"
"Lady Ivriel, it is alright," the man assured, handing her the tray. His voice, Lothíriel thought, held a tautness to it, devoid of warmth. Before she could stop him, he bowed awkwardly and left.