Chapter 12: Unease
Lothíriel woke feeling warmer than usual. Blinking against the morning light, she breathed deeply. The memory of the night before flooded her memory like river breaking through a dam. She smiled to herself contentedly and sighed. Éomer's arm was draped across her waist, his hand resting on her hip. She felt his chest expand against her back as he breathed peacefully. Turning slightly in the bed, she watched him sleep beside her. After all those nights with minimal contact, it was peculiar to finally feel her husband's body touching hers. But she certainly welcomed it, for his touch had pleased her greatly.
He opened his eyes slowly to look at her, his expression conveying his gratification. She felt his legs untangle from hers gently as he pulled her against his chest. It almost shocked her to see him so content. Such a hard life this man had led and here he was finding pleasure in her arms. But she took comfort in the thought that he was receiving at least a little of the happiness he deserved. He smiled slightly at him and she sensed his awkwardness.
She herself wasn't entirely sure what the previous evening had meant to either of them. Yes, it was lovely and felt incredible. But did it mean they were in love? Were they simply entertaining the desires of the flesh? Admittedly, Lothíriel had taken great pleasure in her husband, but she was uncertain as to where to go from there. She couldn't honestly say she loved him. Love was something King Elessar and his wife had. Love belonged to Lothíriel's cousin Faramir and his Eowyn. Love touched her parents and her brothers. But Éomer was not Lothíriel's lover. He was her husband and the great difference made her doubt what had occurred between them.
She wondered if Éomer's had a lover. She wondered if he'd forsaken her love to commit himself entirely to his country. As much as Lothíriel wanted to believe Éomer loved her, she couldn't help but think of her place in the kingdom. The ability to produce an heir was paramount. Lothíriel recognized with increasing solemnity the task and burden she'd been appointed with. She'd failed once already. She could not shame her family and Éomer again.
"What's wrong?" his soft voice banished her dark thoughts. She looked at him, his brown eyes narrowed with concern. His fingers brushed her lips and cheek as he waited her answer.
"Your hip is crushing me," she answered with a small smile. A look of embarrassment and surprise crossed his face as he all but wrenched his lower body away from her. Lothíriel laughed and sat up, holding the sheets to her collarbone.
"I apologize," he mumbled. She glanced over her shoulder at him with another smile. She was caught off guard by his eyes, which bore into her, sliding from her bare back to her face.
"Aragorn was not elaborating when he said you were beautiful," Éomer murmured, watching her.
"King Elessar must have been referring to his Elven Queen," she said with a grin. But Éomer shook his head, his gaze still on her.
"I do not think so."
"Well," she muttered with a slight shrug. "There are worse things I suppose." She put her feet to the cold floor and wrapped the sheet around her body, using one hand to hold it to her and the other to grope around for her nightdress. She could hear her husband sigh and shift in the bed. Grasping her discarded robe, she traded the warm sheet for the chilled garment, wrapping it around herself quickly against the cold of the chamber. Walking to the long wooden closet, Lothíriel felt her teeth chatter against the cold. She glanced over her shoulder to see Éomer stoking the fire back to life. He'd pulled on the britches he'd worn the previous night and looked perfectly disheveled from a good night's sleep.
"I'm afraid I won't see you until super," he stated as a servant knocked on the door. Lothíriel nodded and allowed the young girl's entrance.
"Shall I draw a bath for my lady?" the servant asked after she placed a tray of fruit and bread on the table.
"Not this morning, Rionah," the Queen answered with a smile. "Tonight perhaps." The girl curtsied and left. An already dressed Éomer walked to Lothíriel, placing a hand on her waist.
"I will see you in the evening," he murmured kissing her cheek. He picked up a piece of fruit and followed the servant's path out the door, leaving Lothíriel half naked and smiling like an idiot.
Her day was busy, busier than usual with the farmers of Rohan and their families. Lothíriel appointed some of the women, such Lady Berewyn, of Edoras as supervisors, since the Queen was needed in the Healing House. Certainly these women who'd lived here all their lives would know better how to handle their kinsmen and women.
Lothíriel spent her time with Falas and the women of the Healing House. Already children and the elderly were afflicted with winter maladies. Lothíriel spoke with Lady Berewyn, insisting that any person with some healing skills ought work in the Healing House, as they weren't enough healers to the ill.
"It will be a long winter, my lady." Lothíriel glanced at Cellwyn as they stood together in the storeroom hanging herbs to dry. Taking this moment of privacy, Lothíriel decided to pursue her concern.
"For some more than others," she replied. She put down the sachet of thyme and placed a hand on Cellwyn's wrist. "I do not mean to intrude, lady Cellwyn, but I believe you and I both know the origin of these," she pulled the sleeve up and touched the bruises lightly. The other woman's eyes widened and she looked away.
"I am overly clumsy," she maintained quietly.
"Unless you spend your nights blind and wandering Fangorn, I doubt your clumsiness, no matter how considerable, could create such marks." Cellwyn bristled and Lothíriel scolded herself silently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound crass."
"It's alright, my lady," the other woman muttered.
"Cellwyn," Lothíriel's voice softened, conveying her distress. "Please. If your husband is responsible for these, you must tell me. You should not have to live like this." Cellwyn eyed her suspiciously. Lothíriel guessed she'd spent years hiding the bruises and creating excuses. As much as she would like to work to earn Cellwyn's trust, Lothíriel could not hold faith in waiting.
"It is none of your concern, my Queen," Cellwyn insisted again, an edge touching her voice.
"Yes, it is. The happiness and safety of my people is just as much my concern as it is the King's." Cellwyn looked at her and Lothíriel decided to press on, confident she was reaching the woman. "You would not have to suffer in silence. Your husband would be dealt with and you would no long have to hide your skin."
"It is not so simple. He is not at fault for this." Lothíriel stood shocked as Cellwyn moved to the bench and sat down.
"Would you have me believe you are deserving of this abuse?"
"What good is a wife who cannot become pregnant?" Cellwyn's darkened eyes met the Queen's, the solemnity of her statement sinking Lothíriel's heart. But the older woman smiled sadly and shook her head. "That was his reasoning. I doubt highly he even recalls that I am his wife. Now, he fills himself with ale and finds imperfections to rage about."
"No longer," Lothíriel stated adamantly. "You will not return to him, Cellwyn."
"That will just anger him further," she whispered. "Many years ago, when he first began his routine, I dwelt with my sister, convinced it was just a stage of his. Or perhaps the trauma he and the other men of the Mark shoulder. What a terrible fit that put him in. No, my lady. It is my duty as his wife."
"It is no one's duty to suffer the foul temperament of others," Lothíriel hissed angrily. She was inwardly surprised at Cellwyn's calm attitude. Could it be that women here do not bring such injustices to their Queen's attention?
"What could you do, my lady?"
"You would be taken from his home so he could no longer hurt you. You could stay in one of the spare chambers in Meduseld, I'm sure," Lothíriel said, making plans in her mind. Whether or not they fit protocol. "Your husband would be removed from the Mark for his behavior, I should think, and…"
"Are the Princesses of Dol Amroth always so charismatic and resolute?" Cellwyn smiled slightly as Lothíriel looked at her, eyebrows raised. The young queen hesitated in her declaration and grinned.
"Only the mischievous ones," she answered. Both women smiled. Lothíriel was glad Cellwyn was at least warming to the idea that her life could be more than her husband's fits of rage. Perhaps it would all turn out for the better.
-o-
"This isn't going to end well," Éomer muttered, picking up a scorched piece of pottery. He and his men were sifting through the burned town south of Edoras. Thankfully the inhabitants were in Edoras, but if they'd not been brought to the city in time… Éomer frowned to think of the sight that could've met his eyes.
"The Dunlendings are becoming more aggressive," Gamling noted, touching the remains of a table with the tip of his boots. Éomer ignored his Marshall's observation, dropping the pottery with a scowl.
"More aggressive and more cunning," Elfhelm added. Éomer mounted Firefoot and stood beside the other man.
"At least the people are safe," Gamling said, following his King's lead. His horse skittered to the side, uneasy in the broken village.
"There are still the northern villages to be concerned with," Éomer murmured. "We cannot shelter them from the cold in Edoras. That leaves them vulnerable to the elements and the Dunlendings."
"But the Dunlendings must themselves be concerned with the coming season," Elfhelm pointed out. "Would they risk freezing to death to raid a village?"
"I don't know," Éomer answered begrudgingly. "But I cannot allow this sort of senseless destruction. They must be dealt with."
"It doesn't seem senseless, my lord," a Marshall remarked, flanking his King on the left. "The stores were empty and the barn torched. This is a sign."
"Of what?" Gamling queried.
"They are threatening the King. Burning the stables was a useless act if they were searching for food. But it was to make a point to the Lord of Rohan."
"And it will not be ignored," Éomer vowed. He tried to imagine what his uncle would do in this situation. Not stand around unsure, that was certain. Éomer wished he had Théoden's wisdom and knowledge. He wished Théoden were still King. He would keep his people safe.
"The tracks of the Dunlendings point to the Westemnet," Gamling said.
"Then we ride north," Éomer affirmed. "There are remaining villages near the Entwash and they must be warned. Elfhelm, take your company north, we will return to Edoras before nightfall."
"Yes, my lord."