Chapter 38

Khätif

April 3020

Éomer's eyes were heavy. Without opening them, he tried to figure out where he was. His thoughts were somewhat muddled but he thought that he had won the fight between himself and Na'man. His head pounded so hard, perhaps everything was all a dream, built from some drunken stupor. He tried to sit up and his body protested. Letting out a hard breath, he relaxed back upon the bed he was lying in. The material of it was very strange. Nothing at all like his own bed in Rohan. The blanket covering him was so thin, it felt almost flimsy. The pounding began to decrease, slowly, but it was enough to allow him to force his eyes open. He stared for several minutes up at a canvas ceiling. He took a few breaths, allowing his head to further clear before sitting up. When he did sit up, he saw her.

Lothíriel was in a seat beside his bed, but instead of being awake and greeting him, she was bent forward, her arms crossed on the edge of his bed and her head resting on them. Her black hair was pulled back into a braid, though there were some tendrils that had escaped and were framing her pale face. He couldn't help himself from reaching out and brushing a few away from her face. Her skin was as soft and smooth. His fingers touched a small white line on the side of her forehead. It seemed to be the only mark on her otherwise perfectly formed face. She sighed lightly, nestling deeper into her arms. He shifted lightly, careful not to wake her, so as to be more comfortable as he watched her peaceful sleep. He could see her back rise and fall with each, slow, deep breath.


Everything was quiet. It had been days since Na'man had died and Yusraa was still sitting, bound to the post at the edge of the camp. Cel had managed to get away before the men were able to catch and cage him. When she had sent him away, only caring that he not be caught or killed, she hadn't been careful enough to ensure when he'd come back. As such, he had only returned now and was circling above her.

Her eyes hurt from so much crying. Her heart hurt from seeing the man that she loved die in front of her, and as if to make the pain worse, he had been cremated before dawn. She knew Na'man didn't love her, at least not in the way that she loved him. But she couldn't help herself from loving him, just as she couldn't help herself from feeling his loss like a blade within her own heart. Thinking on it again, pricked at her eyes, but she had no more tears to shed. Now that Cel was back, she would have her revenge.

Taking a few shaky breaths, she receded into herself until she was in that place between worlds. She didn't linger as she normally would. She rushed into Cel's body, causing the raven to go stiff for a few seconds, falling a few feet before she opened his wings. Swiftly, and silently, she flew through the tents until she made it to the center of the encampment. There was the chieftain's tent. Two of the Rohirrim stood at it's entrance. She would have to be quick. Dipping in, she saw Lothíriel sleeping and the Rohirric King was sitting up, watching her. At the site of the man who had killed Na'man, rage filled her. Despite his blade piercing into the man's flesh, it must not have been deep enough to cause his death. Just as well, she thought. This would make her revenge all the sweeter. He would feel the same pain she had felt from losing the one she loved. Just as shouts from the entrance were made, she dove, aiming for the pulsating vein on Lothíriel's neck.


Lothíriel heard the shouts and flapping wings and sat up in surprise. The sight she saw was terrifying. Cel was diving towards her, covering the space between them in the blink of an eye. Just before the raven reached her, it opened up it's wings and spread its talons, ready to rip into her skin. She drew in her breath, sharply, sure that it would be the last time she did. Time seemed to slow as she watched the bird, her death most likely at the edge of those sharp talons, but just before Cel could touch her, the bird's body halted with a shudder before falling down with a hard thud, an arrow jutting from his back. Looking up, she saw Glorfindel, a bow in his hand. Although he was not breathing hard, she could tell he had been running from the look of his hair. Instead of falling gently over his shoulders, it had been swept back by the wind.

"Thank you," she breathed, knowing that the elf had just saved her life. He didn't say a word, but instead nodded before covering the distance of the now dead raven in two long strides. He picked it up by its limp neck and studied it. Behind him, the two Rohirrim who had shouted out their warning, were staring past Lothíriel, obvious happiness in their normally solemn faces.

"I'll see to this." Glorfindel glanced past Lothíriel and his lips curled up slightly into a knowing smile before turning on his heel and marching out the opening of the tent. The two Rohirrim watched for a moment longer before nodding and following Glorfindel out of the tent and returning to their stations.

For a moment, Lothíriel was perplexed until she turned and saw Éomer sitting up in bed, watching her. There was a mixture of emotions written on his face. Concern mingled with an a veiled anger was in the hard line of his lips as he watched the entrance that Glorfindel had left through, then he turned his face to Lothíriel and the hard line softened and the anger transformed into concern.

"Are you well?" He queried, looking her over.

"I am." She offered a shaky smile before the realization of Éomer being awake meant. She stood, "Are you well?" She moved closer to him and put her hand on his forehead and felt that he no longer was burning with fever.

"I am well enough." He reached up and took her hand gently and guided her to sit on the bed beside him. When she was seated, he towered over her. They were so close that Lothíriel could smell Éomer's earthy scent. It was so rich and pleasant that she simply sat and breathed it in. His muscled chest was bare and she could see the many white and pink lines of old battle wounds. After a few minutes of silence, she realized what she had been doing and blushed a deep red and looked down.

"You've been ill from Na'man's poisoned blade for nearly a week." She studied the weave of the blanket, covering Éomer's legs. She bit her lip as she remembered the strange feeling of pain and fear as she watched him go through hot and cold flashes in his sleep. "You awoke a few times, but each time you would be delirious and your men would have to come in here to hold you down to keep you from injuring yourself."

She glanced up and saw that he was watching her silently. The concern was gone and was now replaced with a quiet happiness that started in his eyes and softened every hard line in his face. She didn't look away this time. "I was so afraid that you would never wake." She touched her chest and felt her heart beating rapidly. "It took Zwendi some time to figure out what the poison was exactly and when he did, he said it might have already been too late." She felt tears pooling in her eyes as she continued. "And last night you were so feverish that Zwendi said if you didn't break the fever then, you would never recover." At the thought, the tears fell down her cheeks. Despite not remembering him beyond their encounter in Khätif, he had fought and nearly died for her. She couldn't deny that she felt drawn to him. When he looked at her, she felt a pain deep in her heart, along with a yearning.

Still silent, Éomer lifted his hand from hers and pressed his palm against her cheek and rubbed his thumb gently, wiping the tear away. She closed her eyes and pushed against the palm, feeling the calloused flesh against her. It was warm. Finally, after minutes of lingering in the quiet of his touch, he spoke.

"I could not die." He whispered. "I made you a promise that I would return to you, and the men of the Mark always keep their word." She felt his other arm brush against her as he placed his other hand against her back before pulling her towards him. Her own hands brushed against his chest. She could feel the edges of each of his muscles as she grew closer and closer. Following the lead of his hand, she tilted her head upwards, her lips parting slightly, letting out a shaky breath. "Do not cry, mín héahlufe." She could feel the breath of his words against her own lips. They sat like that for only a few seconds before he dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers.

His lips were soft and warm. Her own hands moved up his chest as he pulled her even closer into him, their bodies fitting together perfectly. The hand that was on her cheek moved back and cupped the back of her head, tangling into her braid. She could taste the salt from her tears as the kiss deepened. Her own hands reached upwards and tangled into his long, golden hair. His tongue brushed against the parting in her lips, encouraging them to open. When she did open them, he entered her mouth slowly at first, tasting her and taking some of her breath with him as he drew back. They continued until they were both breathless.

When the kiss ended she rested her head against his chest and he stroked her back. She listened as his heartbeat thundered on against her ear and suddenly she wasn't in the tent anymore. She stood in a field of grass that went on for miles and miles. A breeze flew past her, bringing the scent of the earth and morning dew. In the distance she could see something on raised earth, though it was hazy. Although she couldn't quite make it out, there was an inexorable joy that she felt when she looked at it. Picking up her skirts, she ran towards it, heedless of everything around her. It became clearer and clearer with each step and the breeze at her back became a heavy wind. Carried with that wind she could hear deep, rhythmic singing and thunder behind her. The thunder caught up with her but instead of it coming from the sky, it came from horses galloping beside her, kicking up the earth with each step.

The singing grew louder and seemed to swirl around her as she passed the gates with horses carved into it. Although she didn't see anyone, more voices joined in. The thundering slowed and left only the voices. She entered the great hall at the top of the hill and the tapestries and bright colors streamed before her. She continued forward, slow and reverent now. Her feet brushed against fur carpets and she touched the columns with carvings running up and down them. She belonged here. She knew it.

As suddenly as she had imagined that place, reality slammed back into her and she opened her eyes with a start. Éomer must have felt her slight jump, because although he didn't let go of her entirely, he loosened his grasp of her enough that she could shift and look up to him. Once again there were tears in her eyes, though this time they were from absolute joy. His expression was filled with concern but it changed to confusion as she smiled broadly.

"You came back for me." She laughed as the memories came flooding back. Although there was some pain from the memories of their separation, it melted like snow on a warm spring day as she was held in his arms. She stretched up and kissed him again, and again and again, the tears and happiness overflowing.


Éomer cupped Lothíriel's face in his hands, studying her carefully. Her cheeks were wet from her tears, but she was smiling so much that Éomer couldn't help but smile with her. In her eyes, he saw something he had been longing to see since he had seen her that first day in Khätif. She recognized him. It wasn't the recognition of only knowing someone for a few days, but instead, the same look of recognition she had when they had encountered each other in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. Joy swept through him as he pulled her tightly into his embrace.

"How much do you remember?" He could feel himself shaking with anticipation.

"I remember everything." She turned her face upwards, looking into his eyes, gaging his own expression. "I remember meeting you when I was but a child, on my way to Imladris. I remember the Golden Hall of Edoras." She kissed him lightly again, her joy sobering slightly. "I remember the fear from the Ring War and the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, and the joy and relief when I heard the horns or of the Rohirrim." She tightened her hold on him. "I remember seeing you at the Houses of Healing and once again in my home." Her eyes grew somber as she continued. "I remember you misunderstanding and sending me away from you and the pain and loneliness of those days. Oh Éomer, I was so disheartened and afraid I'd never see you again, but," her smile returned, "you come back for me."

"I was a fool." He stroked her hair gently as he spoke. "I let my pride get the better of me. I should have gone after you the day I saw you depart for your ship to Dol Amroth. Instead, I was a coward and only sent a letter. When you had been taken, everyone thought you had killed yourself." He remembered the pain he had felt bitterly. "I was so distraught at the thought of your death. I couldn't imagine a world without you in it. I cursed myself," he shuddered, "once, in one of my most private moments, I cursed you for leaving me the way you did." He felt ashamed. "Finally I made my way to Dol Amroth to say a final farewell to you." He shuddered again, this time not from shame but happiness. "Words cannot express how my hope filled me when Erchirion said you might not be dead." He took gentle hold of her chin and turned her face upward and looked at her tear-streaked face. Her eyes were now dry but the smile on her face still lingered. He wiped her the wetness from her cheeks and softly kissed her again. Not with as much passion as before, but with all the love that he had felt building up within himself.

He loved the way she melted into him. He loved that for the first time in months he felt whole once again. He loved how her hands quietly roamed his skin, feeling him. He loved her sweet scent. Taking a deep breath, he sighed. "Lothíriel," he spoke quietly so as not to ruin interrupt the feeling. "Will you marry me? Will you walk beside me in this life and be my love?"

She shifted to look up at him. "Éomer, I love you." Her smile was wide and her eyes were bright. "I will marry you."

Éomer wanted to shout with joy and triumph at her response. Instead he kissed the top of her head, breathing in more of her sweet scent. "I love you too, Lothíriel. Mín wíflufu. Mín bréostcofa."