Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then
the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.
- Gilmith of Dol Amroth
Chapter 28
August 3021, Minas Tirith
"Do I really have to attend?" was Amrothos' first question when Father said some relatives were coming for a supper. He wasn't unsociable by nature, but lately he decided he had endured enough of these dinners with overly nosy relatives near and far who thought themselves entitled to all the most secret gossip in the realm just because they were kin to Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. So, over the course of past month Amrothos had seen several such nights, as some curious kinswoman or -man practically invited themselves to Father's house for a meal, hoping to crack his walls and find out if he had any special knowledge on what was happening in the western realms. And naturally, Father was much too polite to tell anyone off.
Father had said it was understandable. The events of late had left everyone guessing, and according to him a lot of it was because of Aragorn's long absence – even if for the most parts, Queen Arwen's ever-calm countenance seemed to reassure people.
At his question, Father gave him a steady, solemn look.
"It would be impolite, my son, if you did not. These are your relatives as well", he said as patiently as ever. Amrothos had sighed to himself, trying to hide his displeasure.
So he had made ready for the supper, and for once he pretended to be well-mannered when he and Father welcomed this night's guests – distant cousins he recalled, but Amrothos couldn't say how distant.
The guests were three: an elderly lady, her husband, and their daughter. The calculating looks Amrothos received from Lady Maedeth made him very happy that he'd be soon returning to Dol Amroth. Lately, it had been the quiet agreement between him, Erchirion and Aunt Ivriniel that one of them would stay with Father in Minas Tirith, as they knew how he worried for Lothíriel, and anyway it seemed wrong to leave him all alone in the city with all his duties now that King Elessar was away. Of course Faramir was similarly occupied in the King's absence and Queen Arwen was yet another comrade in waiting, but Father could not take comfort in the same way as the others: though she was fierce and brave, Lothíriel was also inexperienced.
The nosy guests of this evening awaited as long as the half-way through the first course to finally pursue what had according to Amrothos' belief brought them here in the first place.
"So, Imrahil, it is a very disquieting time in the world, don't you think? I presume you are kept very busy with your duties for the moment", said Lady Maedeth, sipping her wine as she regarded Amrothos' father, not even trying to conceal her curiosity.
"Well, I do have things to keep me busy", Father allowed and offered a slight smile to her.
"One has to wonder, though. With all these tidings it is hard to say what is truth and what is not. Everyone seems to have a different tale to tell, and very little of it seems to be true at all", said Lady Maedeth's husband. Lord Gorvon was his name, and Amrothos remembered seeing him among the defenders of the city during the Battle of Pelennor Fields. He'd not have expected such ferocious swordsmanship from a man of his age.
"Indeed", agreed his wife, nodding at the man. "Personally, I'm even starting to wonder whether the Rohirric King died in the south, seeing all the wild rumours that are circulating."
"I was there. I saw the body", Amrothos spoke up sternly. And I can never forget that sight.
That brought an abrupt silence to the table and the eyes of the guests turned to regard him. Father coughed awkwardly.
"I know all kinds of wondrous tales are being shared these days, but I can't confirm any of them. To my personal knowledge Éomer King did die during the campaign", he said solemnly.
"And the King Elessar? It is true he is hunting for those guilty of that deed?" Lord Gorvon asked.
"Our King does what he deems best", Father answered steadily. "And to me he simply said he wished to know what precisely took place to cause our friend's death."
"So he is away in the south?" asked Lady Maedeth.
"King Elessar is where he needs to be", was the curt answer. That didn't seem to satisfy her very well, and Amrothos saw she wasn't done asking questions.
"May I ask for tidings of young Lothíriel? How does she fare after what happened to her betrothed?" she inquired, her voice softer this time.
"It was a great shock to her. She very much loved King Éomer... my sister has taken her to our villa near Dol Amroth. Lothíriel does not wish to see anybody right now, not beyond family", Father replied, shaking his head. Amrothos knew he didn't like having to lie, but this had been decided when they had seen she was gone, along with Éowyn and Aragorn. To protect them and their quest it had been agreed no one should know where she had really gone. Fortunately Éomer's alleged death provided the perfect excuse. It was widely known how very taken the two had been with one another, so the lie that she was away in some villa grieving for her betrothed had been accepted easily.
"That is a sad thing to hear. It is always a tragedy when young lives are so twisted", Lord Gorvon commented, shaking his head.
"Yes. It is sad", Father agreed, mostly out of saying anything at all Amrothos judged. Feeling Lothíriel deserved a little more than that he decided to speak up.
"She's a fighter, though. She'll find a way through it, if anyone can", he said. Even if his sister was not away mourning her dead love, his statement was still true.
"Yes, the Princess Lothíriel is quite famed for her, hmm, spirit – if you allow such observance, Imrahil", said Lady Maedeth, sipping her drink. It was all Amrothos could from snorting. You have no idea.
"I must have, considering you already made it", Father commented dryly.
But then their daughter – a young lady whose Amrothos couldn't remember at the moment – seemed to decide this topic was done for, and she asked about pirates they had been fighting, and the conversation continued on that and related road for the rest of the supper.
The guests left eventually and the house quieted down. Elphir and Aredhel were in Dol Amroth, as was Aunt, and Erchirion should be at the sea. As for Lothíriel... no word had come from her since she had left for the perilous road to look for her betrothed. Whether that was because there had not been any chance of contacting her family or if she lay dead in some pit already, Amrothos couldn't tell.
Before he retired for the night, he did ask Father what he thought.
"Do you think she'll ever be coming home?" he asked quietly.
His father's eyes were sad and seeing that expression he regretted asking this question. But it was answered nonetheless.
"I hope she will. It's true, what you said. She is a fighter. And if there is any way for her to come back, she'll do that", Father murmured softly, reaching over to pat Amrothos' arm. A faint smile appeared on the face of his sire, "I miss her too."
"I just... I wish I could have done something more. I keep wondering if I could somehow have prevented this all from happening", said the youngest of Amrothian princes.
"Son, you are not responsible for what happened. No one could have guessed what would happen", Father told him calmly. "Aragorn will bring them back home. I know he will."
"Yes. If anyone can do that, it's him", Amrothos agreed and he thought of all the wondrous tales he had heard of King Elessar's past as a Ranger. He even managed a smile, "I'm happy that he went with them."
"As am I", Father said softly, looking away. "His name did use to be Estel, after all..."
Hope. Perhaps he still lives up to that name... perhaps there is still hope.
The sounds of the camp and the smell of flatbread baking on hot stones awakened Lothíriel to a new day. The sun had already risen and as she rubbed sleep from her eyes, she evaluated it was at least hour or two after the daybreak. But past two days they had not made haste during the mornings. Aragorn had suggested they should take their time as they prepared for the road, and the company had agreed. Chieftain Varanat had not spoken in disagreement either, though it was obvious he was hoping to travel back home soon. After all, he was anxious to see his wife and new-born son. However, he seemed to consider a matter of honour that he escorted the northern travellers as far as he could.
The princess sat up, yawning and stretching. Her bedroll was some way from one camp-fire, which had been rekindled for food-making purposes. Two of Varanat's men were responsible for the food today, and as soon as she had cleared the last of sleep from her eyes she went to fetch some breakfast. The two lads were rather young – she evaluated they were perhaps around her age, and as she smiled and gave her thanks for the food, the other even blushed.
Glancing about for her companions she spotted Éowyn sitting on a rock, her back towards the camp and face towards the river down the hill. When Lothíriel climbed up there to join the older woman she saw the White Lady was watching Éomer and Aragorn sparring next to the river, which glimmered in sunlight. Since they had begun their journey towards home, the two men had taken time for some swordplay every morning. For Aragorn, it was a way of observing his friend, for whom he obviously worried a lot. And for Éomer... well, with him it wasn't so easy to tell what it was for him, because he was presently so reserved even those closest to him had hard time guessing what was going through his mind. But Lothíriel did have some idea: she had not said it out loud even to Éowyn, but she had a feeling Éomer felt like he had lost his edge in captivity. To her he didn't look so, and he certainly hadn't given such impression when they had found him in the middle of that desperately uneven battle.
"Good morning", Lothíriel greeted her friend as she sat down and dug into her bounty. The hot bread was so tasty she barely had patience to wait for it to cool down a bit.
"Good morning to you as well", Éowyn replied. She was finishing her own breakfast and gave a slight smile to the younger woman.
"Have they been at it for long?" Lothíriel asked, watching the two men as they sparred. Aragorn had stripped himself of his jerkin and shirt, but Éomer had only relieved himself of his quilted vest for the session. Why he wore the shirt even now that the temperature was rising... Lothíriel was fairly sure it had to do with the scars. He didn't like showing them, just as he didn't like it when he spotted concern on the faces of his friends. For some reason he apparently kept taking it for pity.
"Since the daybreak, I gather", said the White Lady. Her eyes had fallen on her brother and Lothíriel looked at Éomer too. He had yet to do something about that ugly beard, but she had decided perhaps it was not a priority here. The important thing was he didn't need to wear those filthy torn clothes anymore, and proper drink and food had brought some flesh back to his bones. Yet despite these things the gaunt look remained on his face and his eyes were grim more often than not.
Lothíriel nodded and took a bite of salted meat of some animal she gathered was lamb. She glanced at her friend from the corner of her eye and asked, "How are you doing, my friend?"
A slight smile briefly appeared on Éowyn's face, but it couldn't quite reach her eyes.
"I'm enduring. It's not easy, but... to be honest, I did know to expect something like this. When you told me he is alive and it became clear he had been taken captive, I knew everything wouldn't be immediately all right, even if we were able to find him quickly", Éowyn said softly. Now a frown came to her brow and her hands became fists. "The worst thing is he doesn't talk. I wonder if I deserve it somehow, because I didn't talk to him when I was... before the War ended, that is."
The princess quickly reached to touch her friend's arm.
"It's not your fault, Éowyn", she said firmly. "And you certainly wouldn't deserve such thing, if that was what it's about. You remember what Aragorn said? It's probably just Éomer isn't quite ready to share what he went through, but in time he will."
"I know. Rationally I do know that. But then I look at my brother, and I see him, and yet it's not him. You saw how he was when we found him? He barely reacted in any way to seeing us. He barely saw me", Éowyn said quietly, looking down now. Lothíriel bit her lip, trying to come up with something comforting. She wanted to see that expression gone from the face of her friend.
"It could be my fault. I shouldn't have jumped on him like that. He was dazed and confused and... your brother expected to die on that hill. I don't suppose that would leave anyone feeling or acting very normal. And he has been through a lot lately, so I think there's a fairly good chance he didn't really dare to take joy in seeing us, because it might be taken away any minute, and then everything would be even worse. Please don't think any of this is somehow your fault. The blame belongs entirely to Sapat, and he has paid for what he did", she said gently, patting Éowyn's hand.
"You're right, of course. I'm just... I hate seeing him this way. And I hate not knowing how I should help him", sighed the older woman.
"Maybe the best way to help him now is by just being here for him, if he needs us", Lothíriel offered softly. She tried to smile, "And I don't think we should overlook his endurance. What Éomer survived is something that would have broken a lesser man."
"Aye", Éowyn agreed. "He is not the same, yes, but he has not lost his wits and he is functioning. And he could listen to reason when we released him. There is hope for him still."
"Indeed there is", Lothíriel said emphatically, "and we must never let him think otherwise."
At that point, the two men finished with their sparring. They headed for the river to wash up, and when they returned both women had made clear of their food. The princess smiled at her horselord; as usual these days, he didn't quite answer the smile, but the corner of his mouth did lift momentarily.
"Good morning", she greeted, climbing down the rock to meet him.
"Morning", he said quietly. Éomer did not protest to the brief hug she gave to him, but the way he rested hands on her shoulders could not be called an embrace. She bit back her disappointment, determined not to let him see it on her face. The last thing he needed right now was her acting like a whiny child.
"You had a good sparring session?" she asked. He just nodded silently and she bit her lip, vacillating between trying to draw more words from him and allowing him some space.
Perhaps Éomer saw something anxious in her eyes, for a frown appeared on his features. He looked away from her, as though he couldn't bear to meet her gaze.
"I should go and make ready for the road", he muttered in that quiet tone that rarely seemed to alter now.
"Of course", Lothíriel said. Despite herself, her voice fell too. He strode away and she shared a troubled glance with Éowyn. Doubtlessly the older woman was thinking similar thoughts as she did.
Around an hour and a half later the camp was cleared and the company made for the road again. They were following the river as it wound it's way towards the coast, and would cross it when they reached the old bridge built in the ancient days. Aragorn had quietly spoken to Éowyn and Lothíriel and suggested it was a good thing they could follow the river rather than using the southern road.
"I'd rather not bring Éomer too close to that place where his guard was killed", he said gravely, and the two women had heartily agreed.
He travelled with Varanat by his side, and it sounded like the young chieftain was asking him many questions about the northern lands, as apparently he had endless appetite for knowledge. Éowyn rode close, half-listening to their conversations and contributing every now and then.
As for Éomer, he rode ahead alone, like he did most days. Éowyn had been right to say he didn't talk, not much at least. Aragorn maintained that wasn't perhaps a bad sign (not yet, Lothíriel had read in his eyes). "He'll talk when he's ready", he had said out loud when the princess had voiced her concern.
Out of impulse, she urged her dromedary forward - she had to grudgingly admit she'd miss the animal, ugly as he was - and guided it next to her horselord.
"Hello there. Can I join you for a bit?" she asked, well before she was even close to Éomer, and he moved sharply before responding. He did that a lot, she had observed, and knew it was a smart decision to always announce herself when she was approaching. She didn't know if that was a valid concern or if she was just being fussy, but Lothíriel at least didn't want him swinging a sword at her.
"You needn't ask", he replied simply, which did cause her some relief.
The princess gave a smile to her beloved. He didn't exactly return it, but then again he wasn't smiling much these days. However, she had decided she shouldn't give him an impression she thought he was acting strangely. If she was normal around him, then maybe he would feel more at ease and open up, however slightly.
"Aragorn was saying the ship should be waiting for us at the mouth of Harnen in about one and half week's time", she said then, mostly out of saying anything at all. "You don't mind travelling by sea?"
"Not as long as it takes us away from these lands", Éomer said curtly, looking ahead again. It felt odd, looking at him and not knowing what was going in his mind. Before, he had not exactly hid his thoughts from her... but then, now it wasn't just her. He wasn't revealing the contents of his mind to anybody as far as she knew.
"We should be sailing to Pelargir, unless Captain Cairon has something else in mind. If we're lucky, perhaps Éothain will still be there... you must be anxious to see him again", Lothíriel said then.
"Aye. I just hope he'll be glad to see me as well", he said and a frown appeared on his face.
"Why wouldn't he be?" she wondered out loud, and he sighed.
"He did almost die because of the poor decision I made", Éomer said, his voice so low she almost didn't hear him.
"No. Éothain almost died because of the evil choice Sapat made", Lothíriel corrected him sternly. "And he lives because of the good that Masters Lundar and Hashat did."
Her beloved made a low noise like a grunt, and it was hard to say if it was in agreement or not. Deciding to move on from this topic, Lothíriel soon began to speak again.
"It's going to be strange, going back home. I keep imagining what people will say when they see you again. I don't think they're going to believe it at first. And if Éothain is still in Pelargir, we can travel with him to Minas Tirith. We'll probably have to stay there for a while before we can continue our journey. Aragorn will no doubt send his fastest messengers for Rohan, but it's still going to take many days before Riders can arrive to escort you home... but I believe Father will agree I should go with you And since the wedding preparations were all but finished, I'd think we can marry soon after we've got to Edoras. Everyone would love that, don't you think?" she spoke lightly, if only to give him pleasant things to ponder. But if she had hoped that would bring some ease to his expression, she was left disappointed. For the man riding beside her only nodded and spoke quietly: "I suppose so."
There was no enthusiasm in his voice, and with a stinging feeling Lothíriel lowered her eyes. When she recalled how very happy it had made him before, knowing they'd soon be married, seeing this practical indifference did hurt.
A part of her would have liked to let the tears pour out but her will was stronger. In defiance she lifted up her head and gritted her teeth. He's dealing with more important things right now. Weddings will have to wait.
But it was more than that, wasn't it?
My heart will have to wait.
The sword of Éomund was unusual.
It had come from the North when Eorl the Young had first lead his people to fight alongside Gondor, forged into brightness of stars to defend those who lived in the shadow of war. It had been a heirloom of his house that had passed to Eofor, and then to the first-born of their line all the way to Éomer. From his childhood, he could remember his father honing the great blade as he spoke in soft tones with Mother. It had been with his sire on that last fateful pursuit, which had ended with Éomund's death, and his esquire had brought it back to Aldburg. Many times in past it had changed owners in this bitter way.
"This is yours now, laddie", Ánfeald had said quietly when he had offered the hilt to his dead Marshal's son. Éomer had taken the sword into his hands, and though the blade had been heavy and his arms had grown numb bearing it, he had not let go of it until he had at last fallen asleep late that night, exhausted and sick at heart.
Of the sword's origin there were but a few tales, half shrouded in myth: Father had once said its metal had come from the hoard of Scatha the Worm. Who knew from whence it had come before that? Perhaps parts of this blade had even participated some ancient battles of which no memory now remained. Even so, in the hands of Eorl's House it had gained a new purpose, and a new name. Unyielding and deadly was the sword that had eventually earned the name Gúthwinë, Battle-friend. Time had not bitten into the blade which dragon-fire had tempered, the Battle-friend had been there to aid the warriors of Éomund's line in their struggles. It was wielded one-handed, and one at its deadliest it was when wielded horseback. The broad blade had fullers and with enough force it could penetrate even armour.
Aside from its quality, Gúthwinë had another unusual feature. That was its hilt: though horse-heads were a common motive in the Riddermark, the way those were worked into the hilt in gleaming bronze was not. Symmetry was usually favoured, but not in Éomund's sword. For the heads of horses curled about the blade, so that one licked the each side of it. What it had signified when the blade had been forged had been lost in the mists of time, but when Éomer brushed his fingers over the familiar contours of the horse-head on one side of the blade, he knew it must have meant something. And during all his years as a Rider he had seen many swords, but never one like this. Perhaps it was not an Elven blade, or the kind Aragorn wielded when he was marching in his name as Elessar, but it became alive in his hand like no other sword, as though it had been made with him in mind. At times, it was less a separate object and more like an extension of his arm. In the end, it had returned to him from Sapat's hand.
"Hello there", called the voice of Lothíriel, distracting him from his thoughts. She had taken it to her habit to call to him when she was approaching, which he appreciated. One of the ways his captivity had affected him was something of a paranoia and anxiety when people came too close, and when men went unannounced about him he kept flinching and trying to stay calm. But she... she still knew how to read him.
He looked up at her and like ever since the moment she had come running for him, the sight of her brought that curious sense of fluttering in his heart, something he could only call relief. Though he objectively knew he was free and she was near, this sensation still persisted whenever he saw her.
"Would you like to eat supper?" she asked, carrying bowls of food in both hands, and giving him a tentative smile. That moment, when she stood there with those bowls and her hair was a messy cloud around her head, she was somehow more beautiful than he had ever seen her. Something tightened in his chest, painful and strange and he did not know what it was. But Éomer told Lothíriel none of that. Instead, he attempted to answer her smile the best he could.
"I would, thank you", he said softly, and grinning she offered to him a bowl. She sat beside him to enjoy her own meal.
For a while they ate in silence. These days, Éomer found he rarely had a very good appetite, but he made himself eat anyway. He had lost enough weight as it was and he didn't need his companions thinking he was even worse than they already thought him. But Lothíriel was spooning away with no such trouble as his, and looking at her one would never have guessed she had grown eating the finest foods Prince Imrahil's courts had to offer.
Eventually, she glanced about and took note of his sword.
"How come you still have that?" she asked then, considering the sword he had been cleaning with an oil cloth.
"Sapat took it when he captured me. He used to carry it around in the camp. I suppose it was some kind of a trophy for him", Éomer replied, unable to keep the hate from his voice. The thought of his tormentor still sent a wave of black anger through him, even if he had killed the man in his own hand.
"How did you get it back?" she asked carefully and from the look on her face he knew she sensed his hatred.
"He charged at me with it. It was... I had just killed his son. It was easy to overcome him and take back my sword", he replied, turning to look away so that he wouldn't have to see the horror that surely must be there on her features. Suddenly he worried: what if she saw what he... how very horrible he had become? What if she started to loathe him?
I can deal with everything else, but not your hate.
"At least you got it back", she said softly and to his relief, her voice held no horror or disgust.
"Aye", he agreed. After all, Gúthwinë was the only thing he had left of his father.
"I see they let you keep the ring I gave you when we were betrothed", she observed. "Why didn't anyone try to take it?"
He shrugged.
"When they captured me, it was a rather chaotic situation. There was no chance of robbery, aside from my sword, and afterwards... they were scared of me, I presume. And rightly so. If anyone had tried to take it, I would have killed that man", he said darkly.
It was the first time he spoke out loud of what had happened. The memory was very unpleasant and brought him a restless feeling, like it could happen again and he'd have to fight for his life... he reached for the hilt of Gúthwinë once more and stared before him with unseeing eyes, reminding himself that Sapat was dead – as were fairly many of the men who had taken part in the attack. Yet he feared if he closed his eyes, he would see his prison before him.
"About your sword", Lothíriel said, evidently seeing it was not wise to dwell on this matter any longer. "I was told something about swords."
"What is that?" he asked, forcing back the dark, hateful things that were twisting his insides.
"Just... when we were in Chieftain Varanat's camp, I went out to have a bath, and I met this old man. I told you about him before, when we explained how we were able to find you before it was too late. He said something else too", Lothíriel said at length. He spied a glance of her and saw her staring down at her half-finished bowl.
"And what did he say?" he inquired cautiously.
"He said the King would be known for his sword. Seeing your blade just reminded me... what do you think it means?" she wondered out loud, and Éomer could feel her eyes on him. He considered the words but could not tell what it could signify.
"I don't know", he replied at length, looking down now. I'll have to go home. I'll have to be a king...
He felt unwell and he closed his eyes. Cold sweat started to pool on his skin, his head was dizzy, and he felt like throwing up. As seconds passed the spinning threatened to get worse, and even as he tried to breathe deeply, it did not seem like air would properly fill his lungs. It was too much.
It felt like falling, in a way, plunging head first into some dark place where he was still in a cage, and there was nothing he could do to stop it...
… but then there was a gentle hand on his arm, the fall was cut, and when he opened his eyes again and looked up, he saw Lothíriel staring at him in concern. Relief was so tremendous he felt dizzy again, but now it was entirely without nausea. Somehow, simply with the touch of her hand, she had caught him.
"I've talked too much, haven't I?" she asked worriedly. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to -"
"Lothíriel", he called her name, taking special care when he pronounced the syllables lest his ability to speak coherently disappeared, "It's all right. I'm..."
He meant to say he was fine, but that would have been a lie, and she'd have seen it too. So he fell silent and did not even try to continue that sentence.
His princess said nothing. Instead, she put aside her bowl of food and moved closer to him. Ever so gently and carefully, she wrapped her arms about his shoulders. There was strength in those arms, but that he had known all along; only, he had never really felt it like he did now. And nothing less he could expect of this brave woman who had travelled so far to find him.
Her touch was not burdensome or alarming and it didn't make him feel anxious. Instead, as he concentrated on breathing, he felt the last remnants ill sensations dissolve and disappear. For the moment, he leaned his head against hers... and felt more at peace than he had ever since that fateful day they had murdered his guard and taken him as captive.
A long while passed by, and when at last he pulled back and looked at Lothíriel, there was no judgement or pity in her eyes.
Instead, she smiled at him.
As the company made way forward, a fair amount of Aragorn's time was spent speaking with Chieftain Varanat. In many ways it felt like he was the only one really on the mood for conversations: Éomer was very quiet for obvious reasons, and his sister and his betrothed were apparently too busy worrying about him to really have any concentration left for talking. But Varanat was interested in hearing news of the north, and Aragorn suspected they could have spent entire days with him just telling the young man everything he knew of the kingdoms of Men of the West, and of the histories of their realms.
Presently they had been talking about the elves and Aragorn had reminisced his childhood in the House of Elrond. He thought of the Half-elven lord with some bittersweetness, wondering if his foster-father had already departed for the Havens. With Elrond's passing, Middle-earth would diminish, and no such wisdom or knowledge of lore would again be found among those who lived.
Glancing at the chieftain riding by his side, Aragorn pushed away thoughts of those he'd not meet again, and he brought his attention closer to the present day once more.
"Something that I was wondering", he said then as he regarded Varanat, who answered the look curiously. "It is about your mother."
"What of her?" asked the chieftain. Briefly the King of Reunited Kingdom hesitated, but he decided he could trust Varanat with this.
"Before I left her father's tribe, he... I always understood from his words he wished to make his daughter the leader of their tribe after he had passed away. But obviously this wish never became true. Do you know why it might be?" he asked in a quiet voice. It brought a frown to Varanat's face.
"I do not know", asked the young man at length, "At the time of my grandfather's death, Mother was already living with my father. I understand he died very suddenly, and as far as I know there did not seem to be any question about who should inherit the position of the chieftain."
Aragorn nodded, considering Varanat's words in silence.
"I would not speak ill of the dead, but... in the light of everything that I've seen perhaps it is not so wrong of me to assume Sapat knew Mir would have preferred her to follow him, but never bothered to tell her of it", he suggested carefully. Varanat made a grunt at the back of his throat.
"It sounds like something he'd do. My uncle was an ambitious man... and ruthless when he wanted something", he said. When he continued, his voice fell softer however, "Maybe there was more to it, though. He may have had more unselfish reasons behind it... he could have been afraid that Fanara becoming the chieftain would only result in the merging of our tribes, and Mir's legacy would be shadowed by that of my father."
"Of course", Aragorn allowed. "I merely wish for Fanara to know what was the will of her father. Mir was a friend of mine, you see."
Varanat nodded.
"Worry not, my lord. I will see that she knows this."
They rode forward in silence for a moment, but eventually the young chieftain glanced at Aragorn in what could only be called concern.
"What is it, Chieftain?" asked the King.
"I do know I ought not to doubt your word, or King Éomer's, but... I am still worried. I gather my uncle did cause some horrible things to happen to him", Varanat started warily, glancing at the Rohir who was riding some way from there, safely out of hearing reach. "You know him well, so I'd ask if you think his word will stand."
"I understand your concern, but you needn't worry. Éomer King is a man of his word and I would trust his promise as I would trust my very life in his hands", Aragorn said steadily. That seemed to relieve the young chieftain and he smiled slightly.
"That is good to hear, my lord."
At nightfall they made camp close to the river, but when they were enjoying their suppers it was agreed the next day they'd rise with the sun and make faster way than they had until now.
"After all, it is only one and a half week until our ship arrives, and I would not have the good captain waiting for us too long", Aragorn had said. His friends all agreed, and Chieftain Varanat had nothing against this either. The sooner the travellers took their leave, the sooner he'd get to return to his own tribe.
When the tasks of settling down for the night were done and the company was making ready for rest, Lothíriel watched her King making for the hilltop. There Éomer sat down, facing the deserts bathing in moonlight. After a moment of hesitation and sharing a glance with Éowyn she made up her mind and climbed up as well. As usual, she called for her beloved when she was climbing as to not startle him. This time, he only turned his head enough to hear her.
She didn't say anything when she sat down beside him. Nor did she look at him directly, but she did spy from the corner of her eye how he stole a glance of her face.
Then, when they had sat there in silence for a while, she picked up his hand in her own... and he never made a move to make her let go.
A/N: And here's an update! Hope you guys liked it. :)
For the moment we're taking things slowly, but I wanted to spend some time focusing on how our characters are dealing with the situation. Especially the effects of Éomer's imprisonment, not only to himself but to those around him as well, seemed like something I ought to explore here. But some tentative bonding between him and Lothíriel seemed necessary as well.
I also decided to include that bit in the beginning from Amrothos' point of view, to show you a bit of what is going on in Gondor. I would imagine a lot of people are cornering Imrahil about what is going on, and he's too polite to just tell them to leave him alone.
Thank you for reading and reviewing!
Quote in the beginning originally by Pablo Neruda.
Inspiration for the chapter: Martin Phipps - I've Seen Hell
Kiiimberly - It's definitely something that is going to take some time to work through. I don't think he has even accepted it yet, and I believe acceptance is what is needed to start healing.
Concrete63 - And I do enjoy writing them together! :)
Wondereye - Yes, it's not going to be easy to let go of it so soon.
MairaElleth - The man indeed was and is very fishy. And I admit I too feel really bad for Éomer's friends back at home, especially for Elfhelm.
He's definitely going to need some help to make his peace with the traumatic events. But at least he's not alone.
Talia119 - That is good to hear! To be honest I did feel kind of angry at myself for making him so miserable there.
As for what it takes for Éomer to heal, we shall see. :)