Chapter 14: Letters
Dearest Lothíriel,
While it does not surprise me in the slightest that you took it upon yourself to dismiss this man, it worries me that he was so violent. You must be careful, little sister. You know the tales of olde that hail the Rohirrim as brutish. Though I know Father would never marry you to a barbarian and King Éomer is no such thing, do not be naive to the anger of men. Our brothers and I have sheltered you from these things, but you are on your own and in a foreign land.
But enough of such warnings. You were never terribly talented at sitting still and quiet, were you, little Lothy? No. You were off climbing trees, getting your nursemaid into a lather and making us boys look like idiots. And here you are a woman and married! And you've started your very own Healing House, have you? I am pleased to hear this. Amrothos is certain you are running about in naught but riding breeches, hollering orders and running the place tight as can be. Your poor husband!
News from home is dull, I'm afraid. Father is having the south garden replanted. He finds the pink flowers far too… pink for his tastes. Nani put up a valiant fight to keep her pink flowers, but alas, was defeated by father's smirk. King Elessar and his beautiful Queen just arrived for a visit. It is wonderful to have them here. Queen Arwen has fallen in love with the ocean, just as you predicted she might.
But things are not the same without you here. Erchirion and his wife welcomed their second daughter and your absence was noted. I am sure you are having a lovely time in Edoras. It is a breathtaking view, if I recall correctly. And you have that brat of a horse to keep you company. Hopefully soon you and your husband will pay us a visit. And who knows, little Lothy, you may have a youngster in tow.
My regards to King Éomer and the court of Rohan,
Your loving brother,
Elphir
Lothíriel smiled as she set the letter down. It was a relief to know that Dol Amroth was at peace. She longed to see it once more, but for the moment, her dreams would have to suffice. Glancing to the side, she saw Éomer at his desk, deep in concentration reading his own letter…
Dearest Brother,
News of home troubles me. Your wife was prudent in bringing the people to Edoras, but what of the outlying villages to the north? And if the Dunlendings have become more aggressive, there is need for concern. Shall I call upon Aragorn to send men to aid you? There is no shame in receiving help. But I know you are a dignified, stubborn man, Brother. You are also a wise King. Our uncle would be proud.
Faramir sends his regards. He has taken to long walks with his son across the fields of Ithilien. Our son looks just as you did so many years ago, though I scarce remember you as a child. You had grow up so fast. But Elboron is a strong lad with his father's auburn locks, though he holds the strong will of a man of Rohan.
I apologize for the length of this letter, Brother. But there is a winter feast to be prepared. Kindly send Lothíriel our love. Tell her Faramir misses his female cousin entirely too much. Ask her to relay to you stories of their youth. They sound much like you, Elfhelm and I.
With all the love and devotion in Arda,
Eowyn, Princess of Ithilien
Éomer sighed, dropping the letter onto the desk. He was pleased for his sister, for her happiness was the most deserved. But he felt a sting of insult at her words. Seeking help from Aragorn? Certainly she believed her brother could handle his own kingdom without appealing to King Elessar for help. The Dunlendings were Éomer's problem. Not Aragorn's.
Standing, he folded the letter and placed it atop the others from Aragorn, Faramir, Legolas and even one from Merry, all the way in the Shire. Éomer was touched the Hobbit would write to him and had immediately returned his own letter.
"Is your sister well?" Éomer looked at his wife as she folded the piece of paper from Elphir.
"Yes. She asks after you," he replied. "Your cousin's son, Elboron, is a good lad."
"I have no doubt," she answered softly. He noticed the expression in her eyes darken. They'd both hoped their night of passion had resulted in a child, but so far, it seemed it was not so. He knew she was distraught about it, though she never said anything. Coming to sit beside her on the bed, he took her hand gently.
"Hope is not lost," he murmured. She raised her grey eyes to him and smiled slightly. Before she could answer, a knock on the door sounded. With a frown, Éomer walked to the door and opened it. A maid curtsied and apologized for the disturbance.
"A messenger from the Westfold, my lord," she said. Lothíriel came up behind Éomer, pulling her night robe around her against the cold. "He has ridden for many days and desires your Highnesses' audience."
Éomer and Lothíriel followed the girl to the Golden Hall, where Elfhelm approached them. A man sat hunched over a table, eating and drinking as though he hadn't seen food in days.
"My lord and lady," the Marshal of the East-mark greeted them. "He came not a few moments ago, riding alone. Both man and beast were exhausted."
Lothíriel walked toward the man and sat down across from him. Éomer and Elfhelm stood nearby. The man eat ravenously, his long blond hair catching pieces of the food. His beard was dirty and his expression gaunt. After a moment of hurried eating, he calmed, taking a swig of ale.
"What is your name?" Lothíriel asked softly and amiably in Rohirric. The man looked at her for a moment before gulping the rest of his drink down.
"Ceorl, my lady queen," he answered, his voice tired.
"What brings you on such an errand?"
"My village," he coughed and produced a dirty note from within his jerkin. She waited patiently for him to open it while Éomer fought the urge to fidget. "Many of my people have fallen grievously ill. A malady of the season. They say…" he hesitated, glancing at the King. "They say the Queen of Rohan can cure any illness. That she can save the villagers from dying."
"Hand me the letter," Elfhelm said brusquely, taking it from the man. Opening it, he read its piece to the audience of Éomer, Lothíriel, Gamling and the other men of the Riddermark.
To our most gracious Lord and Lady,
Éomer King and Lothíriel Queen of Rohan,
Our predicament is grave, my King. The winter has striped our village of warmth and life. Fires burn low and animals die. Our children waste away with the lack of food. But more importantly, the health of your people is suffering the ills of winter. Young and old are falling prey to a terrible ague that consumes their mind and body.
It has been spread, a glorious rumor that our Queen, the respectable Lady of Rohan, is a renowned healer. Please, my King, send us her aid or we shall surely parish.
In honor and faith,
Deor, Magistrate
"What nonsense!" Gamling scoffed behind them. "He would ask the Queen to journey like a Nazgul across Rohan when there are healers enough in Edoras and Aldburg to make the journey."
"It is not so," Elfhelm murmured. "Master Falas cannot make such a trip. Not with this weather."
"Well I am not going to send my wife there," Éomer declared irritably. Lothíriel glanced at him before her gaze settled on the messenger, her expression thoughtful.
"A fever that sweats itself night and day? Eyes leak film and a cough that stirs the bones?"
"Yes, my lady," the man looked up from his plate, eyes wide. "You know of this malady?"
"I do," she answered. "And it is curable. Though it takes patience and time to learn how to administer."
"Please, my queen," the man cried. "My wife and child lie upon their deathbed. You must journey back with me to save them."
"Absolutely not," Gamling snapped. Éomer could barely believe such a thing was happening.
"No," Lothíriel said quietly, standing. "I will go." She raised her hand to silence Gamling and Éomer's open mouths. "I could not live with myself if I did not. I will go and teach a number of villagers how to cure this illness and return."
"It's too much of a risk," Éomer stated with a scowl.
"And it is even more so to leave these people – your people – vulnerable when you and I both know something can be done to help them."
"I would accompany my lady," Elfhelm volunteered. "We can take half of the Mark, if you wish it."
Éomer turned away from them, contemplating this news with a heavy heart. He knew his wife and friend were right. He could not simply ignore his people's plea for help. Lothíriel's help. With a heavy sigh, he faced them.
"I will allow this. But Lord Elfhelm will go with you. Take five men with you. As much as I would like to send the entire Riddermark to ensure your safety, you must ride light and fast." He regretted his words as he said them, but he could not go back now.
-o-
The morning came sooner than Lothíriel had anticipated. She'd barely slept and found her movements retarded by the lack of rest. Éomer had slept fitfully beside her, tossing and turning. He was awake before her, gone from the room when she opened her eyes. They'd decided the sooner the better and she would leave at midday.
Stretching, Lothíriel pulled herself from bed and dressed. She wore the riding dress she'd arrived to Edoras in. beneath, she put on a layer of warm skirts. Pulling the cloak from its peg, she glanced at herself in the mirror.
Off on another adventure, little Lothy. She could quite imagine her brother saying that to her as she quickly plaited her hair. She called for a maid, who helped pin the braid so it wouldn't flap about as Lothíriel shoved her cold feet into the warm deerskin boots her father had made for her. Within the left boot there was a thin but sturdy piece of fabric, which held a small dagger. Just in case.
Deeming herself prepared, Lothíriel fetched a quick breakfast and met her husband outside. The sun was garishly bright, causing her to squint to see anything at all. A stable hand approached her guiding the unruly horse, Dergh. The beast whinnied appreciatively as she ran her hand across his face. Elfhelm winked at her as he mounted his own steed. She turned to see Éomer standing behind her, his hand on the stirrup leather, his face a mask. But she could see it in his eyes – he was anxious.
"The first sign of trouble, you return immediately," he said sternly to Elfhelm, who nodded. Looking at Lothíriel, Éomer frowned. "Beneath the saddle pad is a sword. My men are more than capable to defend you, but if you should need it…"
"I will know where to find it," she finished. She smiled, placing her hand on his. "It will be alright. We'll be return sooner than you think."
"I will count the hours," he muttered. Giving her a leg-up, Éomer gazed at his wife from the ground. "Be well, my lady. Do your job and, above all, return safely. Rohan cannot lose its Queen. Neither can I."
With a nod, Lothíriel guided Dergh to Elfhelm, who smiled kindly. There were five men of the Riddermark in their company. As they rode silently down the street away from Edoras, Lothíriel glanced back to see Éomer standing on the steps to Meduseld, his eyes on her. Behind, Lady Berewyn and Lady Ivriel raised their hand in farewell. Lady Cellwyn stood on the veranda of the Healing House with a smile, waving. It was as if they were wishing her goodbye forever.
"It is custom to see royalty through the gates of Edoras," Elfhelm murmured to her. "Especially a queen."
"I see," she replied, her smile fading.
"Cheer up, my lady," he said with a grin. "I happen to be the best and most jovial escort in all of Rohan." Lothíriel smirked as the gates opened up to the cold plains of the countryside.
"What have I gotten myself into?"
A/N: Thanks for all your wonderful reviews!