Chapter 24: Quarrels

"You wanted to see me?" Lothíriel turned to see her brother leaning on against the arched door frame. She smiled as he came to join her on the balcony overlooking the stable. They stood in a comfortable silence, their breath issuing in white steam. Elphir cast a sidelong glance at his sister, her eyes on the countryside below.

"Things are well at home?" she asked after a moment. Elphir knew that was not the question she was really asking and chose to get to heart of the matter.

"There is talk of your husband's… problems."

"Problems?" Lothíriel faced him, grey eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Yes." Elphir glanced down, the toe of his boot digging an imaginary hole in the stone. "With bands of orcs fanning out, leaderless and chaotic, and these vagrants King Aragorn has mentioned roaming Rohan, it would seem that Éomer could use some assistance."

"He will never agree to that," his sister answered.

"Certainly not if I were to suggest it."

"Elphir, he is a proud man," Lothíriel replied cautiously, trying not to agree to something before knowing what it is.

"I know. But perhaps you could persuade him."

"There is something you are not telling me."

"You know me too well," her brother mumbled before taking a deep breath. "Rohan is the most vulnerable of the kingdoms of men. Gondor was heavily damaged, but with Lord Aragorn, no brute would challenge it. The Easterlings are fighting amongst themselves and I doubt it will be long before they reconcile and come to settle their score with the West. Between orcs and these wild men – "

"Dunlendings."

"Er, yes. Anyway, Lord Aragorn seeks to offer the assistance in this time of peril. Certainly Father would send our soldiers as well. As would Prince Faramir."

Lothíriel studied her brother, noting the lines in his face that had not been so prominent when last she saw him. Indeed, he had aged considerably. Or perhaps she'd been too naïve to notice and understand the weathering appearance her brother's visage held, choosing only to see him as her loving, charismatic protector. His grey eyes gazed into the distance, waiting upon her answer. Aragorn and perhaps even her own father sent Elphir to convince Éomer to accept help. Lothíriel knew they had honorable intentions, but she worried at Éomer's consistent rebuttal of assistance.

"I will speak to him," she said quietly. Her brother looked at her and smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"If any can persuade him, it is you." He grinned and kissed her on the forehead before leaving. Lothíriel stood on the balcony alone again, a heavy feeling in her heart. She understood the threat both the Dunlendings and orcs posed to a vulnerable Rohan and by accepting help from Gondor, it would strengthen the alliance between the two kingdoms. But this was Éomer's land.

-o-

That evening, Éomer glanced up from his writing to see his wife staring out the window. Her hand rested on her flat abdomen and Éomer felt a pang of sorrow. He knew she longed to have a child and wondered if there was something wrong with him. She turned to him and offered a small smile, which he returned.

"My brother tells me of the fortitude of Gondor's army," she said quietly.

"It is amazing," Éomer agreed, setting the quill down and facing her. "But Aragorn is a man to rally behind. So it is of no surprise."

"Indeed," she replied. Éomer watched her, waiting for her to speak further. "It is certain they could spare men, should the occasion arise."

"What occasion would that be?" the King questioned haltingly. He could tell she was getting at something and he did not like it. She turned to look at him, her expression troubled. When she failed to continue, Éomer sighed. "I do not need the help of Aragorn's men, Lothíriel."

"You may not, but look at your people."

"My people are my responsibility," he snapped.

"Then you should be concerned with their well being rather than your pride," she countered. Éomer couldn't believe her words. He'd worked as hard as any man to ensure his people had all they needed without the help of the Gondorian king.

"Hold your tongue. Rohan does not need the assistance of Aragorn or his men. We will weather this difficult time just as we have for hundreds of years."

"Bands of orcs are waiting to take advantage of your people," Lothíriel answered with equal irritation. "The Dunlendings have proven themselves a worthy foe. Why would you sacrifice the safety of your people by refusing Gondor's help?"

"What would you know of ruling a kingdom?" he retorted darkly. "You in your walled palace in Dol Amroth. A spoiled princess with no knowledge of war and responsibility."

"Did not your uncle heed the call of Gondor?" she responded, visibly wounded by his words. Éomer regretted his callous comments but this was not the time to take them back.

"What of it?"

"He showed compassion to Gondor when she needed it most. And it is her chance to repay the favor."

"Do not think you can equate the war to this. My uncle did what he had to and was noble to the end. But I do not need the flippant offer of help from Gondor."

"You think you can do this alone, do you?"

"Bema's teeth, woman! You work an argument threadbare. I will not submit Rohan to the charity of Gondor! If my uncle were here, he would see this through without their help."

Lothíriel paused, biting back an acidic retort. Éomer realized he'd let his weakness slip. Her grey eyes watched him carefully from where she stood. Her face was flushed from yelling. He hated that he'd raised his voice to her and was mentally kicking himself as she took a deep breath.

"Very well," she answered tightly. She crossed the floor to the door before he could stop her and left him. It wasn't like he could stop her. His voice caught in his throat and he was left craning his neck to look at the door from which she departed.