Chapter 9: Closeness

Éomer spent as much time as he could spare with Lothíriel. He felt guilty about what the women had said to her. The last thing he wanted was to drive her away. He also felt ashamed that his concern for her was partially borne from fear – that she would die and leave him alone. He wanted to believe that he truly cared for her life on a sympathetic level. But he knew, deep down, he didn't want her to abandon him because he knew he wouldn't be able to handle it.

And then there was the matter of the lost child. He grieved in private, not wishing his wife or his subjects to see his distress. When she'd told him of the pregnancy, he'd felt joy beyond his expectations. Now he watched that happiness dissolving, withering away with each moment. Éomer feared Lothíriel would not get pregnant again. The old healer, Falas mentioned that women sometimes suffered too terribly to conceive again. He hoped it was not so with Lothíriel.

He sat across the room from her in the evening as she read. Tomorrow she would be allowed to leave the chambers, something he knew she was pleased about. Her eyes were focused on the pages before her as Éomer watched her from his desk. Records lay before him, waiting to be reviewed and noted. Winter would be upon them in less than a week and there was still the problem of the farmers and poorer folk of Rohan. He had been able to move some of his people to Aldburg, at least until the snow melted. But Edoras was already full. He feared the harshness of the season to come with new intensity. As a Rider, he'd only been concerned about himself, his men and his horse. But as King, his priorities were increased tenfold.

"You seem forlorn." his wife's voice woke him from his reverie. He shrugged slightly and glanced back at the papers. "Worried about winter?"

"Yes."

"How many families do you believe need shelter and food?"

"Gamling counted at least twenty-five in the land around Edoras," he answered dejectedly. Lothíriel pondered this for a moment before speaking.

"Could they not sleep in Meduseld?" He looked at her, his silence eliciting a response. "Surely it can hold at least fifty. Cots could be set up in the storerooms where it is warm. Perhaps the women and girls could work in the kitchens and the men could lend a hand in the barn or elsewhere."

"I don't know," he replied. She put the book down and gazed at him.

"Why not? It will be a bit overcrowded, yes. But it should be warm and they will survive at least."

"That is the best option I've heard yet," he said to her. She smiled slightly in the candlelight.

"When I was a child Dol Amroth had to house a good two hundred people from a western village, which was destroyed by the sea in a storm. I remember watching them, spread out on the grand marble floor of the Grey Hall. They were all so brave."

"We would need to bring the people in swiftly," Éomer murmured, more to himself than her. She nodded.

"Yes. I shall alert Falas, as I imagine there will be many more sick folk than usual. I will also notify the staff to prepare bedding and food."

"You plan and analyze as well as any of my council members," her husband said with a grin. "You should have been born a man."

"Were that so, this would be a rather ineffective union."

-o-

Lothíriel woke early beside her husband. She heard his deep breathing beside her and, wanting not to wake him, slipped from the bed. Her heart nearly skipped a beat when her bare feet touched the frozen stones. Hopping quickly to the rug, the Queen pulled her robe from chair she'd left it on last night. Shrugging the warm garment on, she walked to the window quietly. Standing before in the dim light, she gazed at the pale sky as the sun rose slowly. How unlike this place was from her home in Gondor! She missed watching the sun set beneath the ocean. She wished she could take Éomer to see it. Wrapping her arms around herself, she recalled her lost child. The darkness of her memories crept slowly into her pleasant thoughts, making even the sunrise seem fetid somehow.

She felt hands on her upper arms and warmth against her back. Glancing to the side, she caught Éomer in her peripheral vision standing behind her, his eyes on the plains of Rohan. Despite the cold, he was naked save for trousers. His hands on her arms were gentle as he stood but a hair's breadth from her.

"I remember looking out upon this scene as a child," he murmured to her. She followed his gaze across the golden countryside, the low grass rippling in the morning breeze. "Soon this will be covered with snow and unbelievably cold." Lothíriel shuddered at the very thought and she felt a low rumble in Éomer's chest as he chuckled. "Wear many layers and you will be fine."

She turned to face him, his dark eyes staring down at her. She was perhaps two inches shorter than he and decided it would be a comfortable fit if she were to embrace him. She smiled slightly and sighed with a quietness of the moment. Her thoughts since the miscarriage had revolved around how best to leave Edoras with her dignity, for surely he would throw her out as the ladies surmised. But he did not wish her departure. In fact, he had shouldered some of the responsibility. Lothy, you lucky woman, she scolded herself silently. You have a wonderful, respectful man for your husband! You've done better than most princesses in this agreement.

"What is wrong?" he asked, his eyes narrowing with concern. She realized she'd become fond of the tiny lines that etched themselves at the edges of his eyes when he laughed or worried.

"Nothing," she answered quietly. He stared at her for a moment before looking away.

"May I ask your forgiveness?" he inquired, his voice noticeably more controlled.

"Regarding?"

"My behaviour. I want you to love Rohan as much as I do. I want you to be happy." She almost responded with 'I am happy,' but hesitated. She wasn't and there was no reason to make him believe otherwise.

"It will come in time," she said, repeating the assurance her father had given her before they'd left Dol Amroth. What she would give to see him right now. She'd sent a letter to him and her brothers notifying them of the miscarriage. She knew Éomer had written to his sister about it. But letters were empty vessels unable to carry the weight of her emotions. She longed to sit with her brothers on the sand. Telling them there would be far more cathartic than doing so in some letter.

"Of course," he agreed, though she doubted his confidence. But she was touched by his concern. From his expression he didn't seem pleased with the way that had gone.

She placed her hand on his cheek, feeling his warm skin beneath her chilled fingers. His eyes immediately met hers as she felt her body lean closer to him, wanting to touch him. He met her halfway as he leaned his head down. Her lips met his as she tilted her face to accept a kiss. The movement of his lips against her caused her to rotate her head slightly, giving him better access to her mouth. His hands slid from her arms to her shoulders and then to their separate ways. One wound through her thick hair, grasping it and supporting her head gently. The other hand skimmed a path down her side, resting finally on her hip.

His mouth was heated above hers and his kisses were ardent. He pulled her close to him with the hand on her hip and she moved her fingers from his cheek into his hair. Her other hand held his upper arm as he stepped forward into her. The closeness of their bodies warmed her skin and made her smile inwardly. His fingers held her black hair, letting it flow around his hand and wrist as he ran his other hand from her hip to her lower back. She felt his heart beneath his skin, beating almost as quickly as her own.

She felt his fingers run along the ridge of her spine beneath the material of the nightdress until his hand reached her backside, which he held, pushing her further into his body. His fingers grasped the fabric of her dress, scrunching it into his palm until it began to rise above her calf. All the while, his kiss deepened passionately, her lips parting to allow him more direct access to her mouth, which he took appreciatively. The dress was almost to mid-thigh when a knock on the door jolted them from the moment.

Éomer straightened, breaking the kiss. His fingers untangled themselves from her hair as he let the skirt of the nightdress fall back to the floor. Lothíriel stepped around him and gathered her robe around herself as she walked to the door. Cracking it, she saw a maid with a tray of food. The Queen thanked her and took the tray from her, declining the maid's offer to kindle the fire and tidy the room. Shutting the door with her foot, Lothíriel brought the tray to the bed and lay it down. Éomer had retreated to the wooden wardrobe to fetch a shirt. She watched the muscles in his back pull taunt and relax as he tugged the shirt down. He was extremely handsome in the morning light, she realized, with his hair tussled from sleep. He turned to face her with a serene expression. Only his lips, which were slightly flushed, gave any indication of their previous actions. He offered her a gentle smile before donning the cloak.

Lothíriel turned to her own clothing cabinet and selected a warm dress for the day. It had been Eowyn's, according to Lady Berewyn. It was dark brown, modest and well insulated. She decided, given the cold weather, that her riding boots would be sufficient for the day. She returned to the bedside with the dress in hand. Glancing up she realized she was alone in the room. Éomer must've slipped past her while she'd been admiring the dress. She smiled as she touched her bottom lip, remembering the fervent way he'd claimed her lips and longing for it once more.