Then suddenly, when her hope was almost spent, he woke again, and looked up, seeing leaves against the sky; and he heard beneath the leaves singing soft and slow beside him Lúthien Tinúviel. And it was spring again.
- Of Beren and Lúthien
Chapter 53
Early February 1, beyond the gates of Edoras
The sensation of lips caressing her face was what awakened Lothíriel to a new day. The warm softness of kisses moved over her face, her eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth... she let out a contented sigh and cracked open one eye.
Éomer was hovering close over her, kissing her awake. Excellent, she thought to herself. There really was no better way to wake up.
"Good morning", he murmured softly and smiled. Was there a sweeter sight than one's beloved smiling in such a way?
"It's not morning yet", she mumbled and curled up on her side. "I'm not awake."
"Hmm. That is unfortunate. You will not have enough time to prepare, or either we will have to postpone the feast", said the villain and idly ran his fingers over her arm.
"Feast? What feast?" she mumbled sleepily and sought to bury her face against the warm crook of his arm. He was warm and smelled rather nice, and no feast was going to make her get up any time soon.
"The feast in honour of our return home", he said and his voice was slightly stronger now. It certainly had her waking up and considering maybe that was a feast they would have to attend.
"Oh", was all Lothíriel could produce. The day had finally come... they were at last going home. Although they had been at the sight of Rohan's capital for two days now, she had not let herself feel it. Because if she did, she had this irrational fear this might prove but a dream. She and Éomer had unanimously agreed they would not ride past the gates before this day, or step into the Golden Hall before one particular ceremony before their people.
He was watching her with gentle, warm eyes. Proper rest had chased away the hollow look he had worn on the days after the Battle of Kin-strife, as it was already called. For an entire week it had seemed like there was not enough hours in the day to deal with all that came with the ending of war against Feran, or to meet all the people who travelled from far and wide to see their King. As such, sleep had often been neglected in favour of his many duties.
Returning to Edoras would provide them with a precious if short moment to catch their breaths. However, they both knew that the days ahead would not be easy. The Mark had suffered much these past few years, and mending it all would require great effort from them both. And in the quiet of her thoughts, she knew it might just cost them the peace they had so desired.
Even so, today she couldn't worry about days to come. Today, they would celebrate.
"Are you ready?" Éomer asked.
"As ready as I can be", she said and smiled at her husband. She reached to press her lips to his, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling him into a deep, loving kiss. His hand slipped under her night shift, cupping her bare skin. Perhaps they could take a moment before preparations...
Sadly, a group of some overly energetic women did not think so.
"Brother! Lothíriel! Are you awake yet? Get up! We're not going to spend the morning waiting for you to roll out of your bed!"
Éomer winced.
"She and her timing", he muttered and fell on his back again. Lothíriel threw her legs over the edge of the cot and pulled herself up and standing, though she would have liked nothing better than staying in bed with her husband for a little while more.
"Just wait a second!" she shouted to those waiting outside. Over her shoulder she grinned at Éomer, "Hold on to that thought, beloved."
He returned the grin with one of his own, lazy and sly – if a great cat could smile, that was exactly how it would have looked like.
Quickly she turned her eyes away from this unbearably tempting picture and searched for a plain gown she could simply toss over the night shift. There was no point in dressing up properly yet.
Éowyn peeked in anxiously.
"Are you ready? Hurry up, sister! We don't have time for standing about!" she scolded her sister-in-law.
"Have mercy!" Lothíriel bemoaned and wrapped her dark blue cloak over her shoulders. Today it would be changed into what she imagined was a far finer one.
"Please be gentle with her, whatever evils you plan", Éomer said lightly from the edge of the cot, where he sat pulling on his boots. Éowyn did not give him more than a snort as she entered, took Lothíriel by arm, and ushered her out. The young queen just about had time to send her husband a flying kiss before Éowyn dragged her out into the fresh morning's air. There she met Ceolwen and Lady Scýne, Éothain's wife. All three women were grinning like maniacs, which seemed to cause the guards no small amount of bewilderment.
"Don't look so sullen, sister. You'll have some breakfast and someone should be heating up a bath for you even now. It is a very important day", Éowyn said, sounding far too cheerful for the earliness of the day.
"And we are going to make it as good as your wedding day, damn it", Ceolwen added, linking her arm with that of Lothíriel.
"But first we must meet your brothers. They have something for you and we want to see you open it", Scýne stated.
Lothíriel could only shake her head. It was going to be quite a day.
The tent was quiet when Lothíriel had left with what he guessed was a band of madwomen. He knew what they thought this day meant, and that their preparations corresponded with that. No wonder he had received reports these past two days, Meduseld had been turned upside down. Éomer was grateful. This was the closest thing to having the wedding day he and his Lioness had been denied.
He had just got up and pulled on a linen shirt when a guard's voice called from the doorway: "Sire? Lord Éothain asks to come in."
"Let him enter", said the King of the Mark and turned to see his friend limping in. After Éothain came a young rider carrying a tray of food.
"Good morning, my friend. I thought perhaps you would like to start the day with a hearty breakfast", said the crippled rider and at his gesture, his companion set the tray down on the table. After that the lad bowed and exited again.
"Thank you. I do appreciate the thought", Éomer said and sat down, pulling the tray closer to himself. He knew it would most likely be hours before he'd have another chance to eat anything. He went on, "I am just hoping the ladies are not so excited they will forget to feed my wife."
Éothain chortled and shook his head.
"I doubt that. If you ask me, they have a detailed plan written down and memorised", he commented dryly. The younger man laughed and gestured towards the other chair. Gingerly his friend took the seat and straightened his bad leg with a sigh. Apparently camping in these cold weathers gave strange aches to his leg, even to the part that was actually gone. Healers called it "ghost pain". He said it was not so bad indoors, and the King had suggested Éothain go and stay in proper lodgings in Edoras, but the man would not hear any of it – he would not enter the capital before his liege-lord did.
"How are you feeling, my friend?" Éomer asked gently.
"Slow and incompetent", Éothain muttered and looked darkly at his king, "And don't pretend you haven't noticed how I'm feeling. I'm trying not to be so moody, but it's this damn leg..."
The King regarded his long-time captain quietly before speaking. He kept his voice soft and sympathetic, "It's not just your leg, is it?"
The older man looked down. For some time he sat silent and Éomer even started to wonder if he'd altogether refuse to talk about this. But then suddenly his friend looked up and he saw the frustrated tears in those bright blue eyes. It alarmed Éomer but strangely it also scared him. He had never seen Éothain cry.
"I can't be of use to you anymore. I'm maimed... I can't ride in an éored and I can't fight for you", Éothain said, his voice trembling as he spoke.
"You are no worse than anyone horseback. In fact you are still a better horseman than some I could name", Éomer pointed out.
"Aye, maybe I am. But we both know that's not enough. Being second in command to the King requires more than just being able to ride. I can't get things done like I used to, and on my feet I'm a liability in a battle. Your captain has to be strong and swift. You're the King and you can't afford to have a crippled captain. I won't allow it! You must be served and guarded by men whose weaknesses won't pose a threat to your and the Queen's lives", muttered the older man, his voice full of despair. He looked like he thought his life had already ended.
"Éothain", Éomer called the name of his friend, making the man look up and meet his eyes. The King continued to speak, "You have been my captain since the day I became a Marshal. But more than that you've been my friend through the years, counseling me when I needed it and supporting me even in the darkest of days. I trust few men as I trust you."
He regarded Éothain firmly now, "You have extensive knowledge of battle and of training warhorses. A warrior like you has a lot to teach a new generation of riders. There are younger men in the land, Éothain. Teach them what you know."
His friend dis not speak, and Éomer smiled. He continued, "And perhaps you don't see it now but your skills don't only lie in waging war. Often I have benefited from your advice in things that had nothing to do with battle. I have not forgotten the things you have done and sacrificed for me. Because of all these things there will always be a place for you in my council."
On that moment Éothain, the man who never cried, burst into tears.
Lothíriel's brothers were waiting just outside the tent that belonged to Elfhelm and Ceolwen. As they approached, the Shieldmaiden whispered to her she could bathe and get dressed there; when the young queen pointed out she didn't need a separate place for that, her friend rolled her eyes and said they didn't need menfolk on their way ("Not to mention I have a feeling my brother would not be able to stop ogling at you, and that can get distracting", Éowyn added).
Amrothos grinned when he saw the four women and Erchirion looked a bit like he was an awkward father of the bride. Lothíriel smiled fondly at the sight of them, though she also felt a pang of longing. She would have wanted all of her family to be here on this day, especially her father.
"Good morning, brothers", she greeted them, which the two answered simultaneously. They glanced at each other, wearing such foolish faces that she did not know if she wanted to laugh, or cry because seeing them reminded her of so many times in the past.
So, to get rid of that bittersweet feeling she spoke again, "So, I understand you wanted to talk about something?"
"Oh, we do", Amrothos said. "Lady Ceolwen has kindly agreed to lend her and Elfhelm's tent, so perhaps we might go in...?"
They stepped in the tent, which looked very similar to the one Lothíriel shared with Éomer. Only, someone had dragged there a tub and a dressing table with a proper mirror. She blinked at the sight.
"I am just going to assume these were brought here recently instead of imagining Elfhelm combing his hair before that mirror", she stated, which made her companions laugh.
"Thank you, now I need to persuade him to let me braid his hair and decorate it with ribbons", Ceolwen chuckled.
"Brother, I think these people are insane", Amrothos whispered not so quietly to Erchirion.
"Oh, the bunch of you – try and focus for a minute. We don't have time for standing about, laughing at nonsense", Éowyn ordered then. The command in her voice had at least Amrothos immediately straightening, as though a soldier receiving commands from his captain.
"Well, fine", he spoke quickly and looked at his sister, "We know Legolas brought you some rather important things, and... well, we've also got something for you."
Amrothos glanced at Erchirion beside him. The older of the two had lifted up a sizeable packet, wrapped in similar sturdy fabric in which Legolas had brought the royal standard. Lothíriel lifted up her eyebrows, as she couldn't imagine any more lost things that might be returned from the south.
"What is it?" she asked curiously.
"When Father sent for me in Dol Amroth, Aredhel insisted we take it along and give it to you. She seemed to think you'd have a need of it", Erchirion simply stated.
"And she wouldn't hear any of it when we tried to tell her it was a war we were going to, not a ball", Amrothos continued, not giving her a chance to speak up and ask any questions. He went on, "She just rolled her eyes and told us this is for afterwards. And now is afterwards, isn't it?"
"Then what is it? Stop beating around the bush!" Lothíriel demanded. She was feeling all the more curious now.
Her brothers exchanged another glance.
"You'll see, sister", Erchirion said, smiling faintly. He placed the packet carefully in her arms. "We would have delivered this to you before, but Aredhel said this should not be delivered to you until now. She was also very adamant Éomer mustn't see it before the right moment."
"You two are awfully strange, you know", she informed them. Her brothers grinned.
"Well, we are your brothers, so what can you expect?" Amrothos said cheerfully. The two men shared a knowing look and then excused themselves, apparently to give the ladies "some womanly time".
She merely snorted at that and carried the packet to a table nearby and began to work over the knots holding it close. Others gathered about her, all watching her and the packet eagerly. It felt odd to be opening this one more object, remembering the night Legolas had delivered her the White Horse and Éomer's helmet.
But it was nothing like a standard she found inside the packet.
There was another wrapping inside, but this one was delicate silk, caressing her fingers like water turned solid. She pushed it aside as well... and there it was.
The fabric had been woven of white and silver so fine that when light hit the material, it would give a slight shimmer. The sleeves were long and wide, and made of lighter, partially see-through fabric. On them stars had been embroidered, as though Elbereth's constellations were caught in the folds of the garment. The neckline would gently emphasise her bosom and her collarbones. She knew how the skirts would whisper against her legs when she walked, how the white and silver shined in contrast to her dark hair. From a smaller packet she found the finishing pieces: delicate slippers to match the gown and a belt wrought of silver and mother of pearls to rest on her hips.
It was a gown fit for a queen... either on the day of her wedding or victory.
"Béma be kind, I don't think I've ever seen a garment so pretty", Ceolwen marvelled after a moment of stunned silence. All three women about the young queen seemed to understand what this dress had originally been made for.
"These Gondorians seem to have a knack for it", Éowyn agreed. "Did Arwen have a hand in making this?"
"... yes", Lothíriel managed at last, having regained her voice. Yes, it was a nice dress, but she was more stunned to think of what this gown represented... the life she had almost lost, and fought so hard to regain. "She made some suggestions with plans. And she took council with the seamstresses."
"It is perfect", Scýne said simply. Then she looked smug, "Lady Aredhel was right in insisting your husband shouldn't see this before the right moment comes. And when it does, either his eyes will drop or he will think his wife is an Elf who has been disguising as a mortal maiden all this time."
"I must admit, I would not have been surprised if you had planned to appear in your wedding in a tunic and breeches", Éowyn said then, smiling wryly.
Lothíriel gave her friends a lopsided grin.
"Well, I actually did wear a tunic and breeches to my wedding", she retorted. "Anyway, my aunt Ivriniel and Aredhel kept insisting I should wear something special. It's not every day you marry a king, you see. But that wasn't really what had me making up my mind."
"Then what was it?" Ceolwen inquired.
"It was in the wedding of Éowyn and Faramir", Lothíriel said, turning to look at her husband's sister. "You were so beautiful that day, and I saw how my cousin looked at you. I don't think he ever looked away from you that day! The dear oaf was completely in love. Then I knew I wanted to Éomer look at me like that as well."
She grinned again, this time sheepishly, "So in other words, I wanted to overwhelm him."
Her friends smiled and looked like they knew exactly what she meant. Apparently they too found pleasure in occasionally overwhelming their respective husbands.
Éowyn reached to pat her shoulder.
"Oh, we will make sure that you do."
Éothain took his leave when Éomer had finished breakfast. Water for a bath had been brought to him, but by the time he started to wash, it was already lukewarm. It was refreshing at any rate and his wife should appreciate it as well. In the war camps and patrols, there had not been a chance to exercise the best level of personal hygiene one could hope for.
Seeing it was such a special occasion he took some time to comb his hair and fasten it neatly at the back of his head. He tidied up his beard as well, and noticed it had grown rather long; in a sudden bout of inspiration he braided it. That was not uncommon among the men of the Mark, though he had never worn his beard like this before. But he was hardly the same as the last time he had dwelt in Meduseld and ruled this land.
He couldn't really enter Edoras wearing plain and worn garments; thankfully, Éowyn had taken care of the matter. She had spent most of yesterday up at Meduseld making sure all would be ready for today, and she had also picked up a proper attire for him. She had reported with some surprise it looked like his chambers had not been touched since he had ridden for south. Éomer was surprised as well, because he had thought Feran would have ransacked his belongings and made the royal chambers his own.
"Back before your return he was keen about making this impression of being a rightful protector of the realm – in the appearance at least, if not in action. He probably thought by doing these small things, like calling himself the underking and leaving your rooms untouched, he could mask his other deeds", Elfhelm had said thoughtfully. Then he grinned, "On the other hand, I am also quite certain a lot of it was because he knew your chatelaine Osythe would go after him with an axe if anyone touched your things. Not to mention maybe he was scared he'd meet your ghost if he dared to enter the royal apartment."
Éomer had snorted at the light remark, but even so he felt his Marshal could just have the right of it... and Osythe taking her revenge on Feran would have surprised him very little.
When he examined the neat pile of clothes there was suddenly a choking feeling on him. These were the very garments made for his wedding day, rich as it should be on the day that a king got married. He supposed it was only fitting... thinking of it, Osythe had probably made sure Éowyn brought him these precise clothes.
The trousers he pulled on were made of soft, dark fabric. Next he pulled on the boots – those too had been newly made for the wedding, though he had worn them a few times to break them in properly. The undershirt was fine and soft, sliding against his skin in a way unlike the coarser fabrics he had been wearing as of late. There were many things he would have to adjust to again.
Next came the coat. Its colour was so dark it only revealed a deep shade of green in direct light; the feel of it was smooth as the surface of water. From around the collar to the neck and down the edges of it with went beautiful, rich embroidery; it was ruled by tangling threads wrought of gold but in the midst of them glimmered drops of fiery red. The belt that came with it was new as well and the leather was still stiff as he wrapped it about his waist and buckled his sword. The King of the Mark would ride home with his sword and with his Queen.
The cloak, a heavy piece of green with more elaborate embroideries of gold and silver, he did not don on yet. The coat itself was warm enough in the tent, and the cloak could be a clumsy thing to wear. The finishing pieces he would only wear when it was the time to begin.
With a heavy breath he opened a carved wooden casket which held the most important adornment he would wear today. There it was, resting on a cushion... the object that had weighed on him even from afar: the coronet wrought of gold that had come from the hoard of Scatha the Worm, and previously carried by all the Kings of Rohan before him. He remembered seeing Uncle wearing it countless times, but never had he guessed it would one day come to him... the first time had touched this piece and worn it had been unreal. The metal was polished and glimmering in the light of candles, and the sign of the rising sun shone as though in its own light.
He was about to reach for it when Elfhelm's voice interrupted him: "Laddie? Are you decent? I'm coming in."
Smiling wryly he closed the casket, if only for a little while more, and turned to see his Marshal at the doorway of the tent. He looked like his feast of the day had already started.
"Good morning, my lord. There is a bunch of people out here who would like to come and drink to your health", he said. The King lifted one eyebrow.
"You look like you have already done that", he said dryly. "But I suppose it can't be helped today."
Elfhelm grinned and called outside. At his invitation in flowed a motley band: Éothain, Erkenbrand and Edelric, Legolas and Gimli, Amrothos and Erchirion, and Deorwine. All of them looked like they had indeed been to their cups, some more and some less.
Erkenbrand and Gimli had arrived from the West-Mark only a couple of days before. Éomer would never have admitted it, except perhaps to Lothíriel, but he had been fighting his tears when he had seen the old Marshal, hale as ever. After the loss of Gamling, any more dead friends would have been too much. Erkenbrand had caught him in an enormous bearhug and nearly crushed him right there.
"Good to have you back, lad", was muttered in a trembling voice, and nothing more needed to be said.
He had sat with his two Marshals and Éothain late into the night. They had talked about many things and he had revealed something of what had happened in the south. The full story, the grimiest parts of it... well, he still couldn't find it in himself to talk about it with others than his wife. It could very well take years to reach that place where he could openly speak of the darkness he had survived.
"Our poor sister will not know what hit her", Amrothos said, regarding his Rohirric brother-in-law with his customary grin. He went on smugly, "Then again, neither will you."
"Be quiet, Amrothos. Scýne will have your head if you ruin the surprise", Éothain said wryly, and Éomer was quietly thankful for seeing his friend's mood lifted from before.
"Don't mind them, my friend. They have been bickering like an old couple all morning", Elfhelm said, already busy pouring drinks for the cheerful crowd. The King of the Mark accepted a drink from him, but also gave a stern glare to the Eorling attendance.
"If any one of you passes out before afternoon, I will have that man on a stable duty for next month", he informed them.
"You are cruel, my lord. Absolutely cruel", Edelric commented with feigned shock.
"I take it drinking contests with Legolas are forbidden as well?" Erkenbrand asked jovially.
"Only until l I retire with my queen, and if someone cleans up the mess afterwards", replied Éomer just as lightly.
"Best be careful with your cups then, laddie", Gimli helpfully told his Elven friend. Legolas smiled, but Éomer could have sworn there was something simply evil about that expression.
When all had their drinks, he regarded the faces of those about him solemnly.
"My friends", he started slowly and gazed about, meeting each pair of eyes at a time, "today I'm going home. It's been almost a year since I last saw Edoras and the Golden Hall and there were times when I thought I would never return. Now I'm almost painfully aware how close it was that I didn't."
A deep silence had fallen about him. After only these short sentences Erkenbrand looked thoroughly moved, while Elfhelm was beaming. And Éothain... well, one could not describe the bittersweet joy on his face.
"These past weeks have been long and hard, but each of you has shown me unfaltering support. And because of that I may now return to my throne with a peaceful mind, knowing the Mark will be defended. I thank each one of you, my friends, and am honoured to have you with me on this day."
He lifted up his drink and the company around him followed the gesture.
It was Elfhelm who at last broke the reverent silence after the King's words.
"To Éomer King and many prosperous years!"
Last of all he donned on the cloak. It fell heavily on his shoulders, cascading low enough to drag the ground just slightly. Yet it also made him feel like he somehow stood taller... it felt like lending him some invisible aura no sword could penetrate. Strange, that it would be the cloak to give him this feeling rather than the coronet of the Kings of the Mark. Perhaps it was because he had not been born to be a king.
Éomer turned towards the doorway of the tent. He breathed in and out: now was the time.
He stepped forward.
Slowly he emerged from the tent. Sun blinded him momentarily and he had to close his eyes against it, heaving a breath slowly. There was a brief moment when all the glory and finery of the King's regalia weighed on him heavier than any armour, and he fought an urge to return into the tent to get rid of it. But then he opened his eyes again and the first thing he saw was the capital of the Riddermark.
Edoras. There it stood on the great hill, unchanged since the day he had ridden away. As always, he had cast a look at his capital over his shoulder, but there had been no doubt in his mind he'd be there again soon. In the end, the time Éomer had spent away from this seat of kings felt far longer than just a better part of a year. It had not been easy to linger beyond the gates of capital, but now his wait was over.
He lowered his eyes, looked about himself, and saw the solemn eyes resting on him. His people... they were watching him as though he were some magnificent creature, freshly stepped out of an ancient tapestry. Éomer felt a bit dizzy.
"Sire", Elfhelm spoke and bowed his head; he was standing close to the tent, his hair braided and wearing his full armour which looked like it had been polished very recently. Around he saw the rest of his closest friends and riders, all wearing their best, and looking at their king with smiles. This was an important day for them all.
"Marshal", he said and gave the man a smile. Elfhelm returned it silently, and no words needed to be exchanged.
Then came the shout: "Make way for the Queen!"
The crowd parted... and there was his Queen, making her way towards him. First he met her eyes, in which he saw a strange kind of wonder as she gazed at him. But then he took in the full sight of her, and his breath caught in his throat.
Her gown was silver and white and its material trapped sunlight so that it looked like she was a shining star fallen from the sky. Her hair was in braids where pearls were caught, a bright jewel glimmered on her brow, and on her waist rested a belt of silver and mother of pearl. And the way she was smiling at him! His knees were suddenly weak, his chest felt tight, and all he could do was just stare at her. Had Lothíriel ever looked more beautiful?
Somehow he was able to move – he thought it was because he needed to – and go to her; she reached a hand towards him and he took it, clasping her lean strong fingers inside his own.
"You look beautiful", he just about managed, though the word did not even begin to describe how he saw her right then, or how his heart felt like bursting with all the love he had for her. His wife smiled and held his hand tightly. She leaned closer to him.
"And the way you look makes me want to ravish you senseless on the spot", she told him in whispers, and he had to take a good steady breath to gather his calm.
"We shall talk about that later", Éomer told his wife and tore his eyes away from her, lest he lose his ability to think and speak coherently altogether. But then he met her gaze and both their moods sobered.
One moment more went by, and all he could do was look into her bright eyes – wonder at the knowledge they had walked a long and difficult road, and now that road was behind. Now they were standing just beyond the gates of Edoras, ready to go home, and war was over, finally over.
Lothíriel answered his gaze and it seemed to him that she knew what he felt. She didn't smile exactly, but her features carried solemness... and an understanding only the two of them could share.
"Are you ready?" she asked quietly and her grip of his hand grew a bit tighter.
"Aye. Now is the time", he replied, and those words made her smile.
"Indeed it is", she agreed.
Time to rule... time to live.
From the royal tent a straight path lead to the edge of the camping site. This path they followed, walking side by side and trailed by friends and guards. Éomer was surprised to see how many people were gathered on the way to watch them pass – especially when he spotted Eadgyd and Heming there. Lothíriel had insisted they be invited as well, but remembering how the two kept to themselves, he had wondered if they should see the old couple. But there they were, both smiling brilliantly. He returned that smile and mouthed the word "later", as now was not a good time for stopping and talking with the two people who had so helped him and his wife.
At the edge of the camp they stopped. His whistle was strong and piercing, but it turned out Silfren was grazing very near the camp. He arrived galloping from the fields, unbridled and unsaddled. Since the Battle of Kin-strife Éomer had not been riding as much as he'd have liked and Silfren had been left roaming free, but the stallion never ventured too far. In the quiet of his thoughts he dared to hope Silfren had come to stay for good; at least for himself, he felt like that misty night on the plains, a bond had been forged between them. If Lothíriel had brought him back and saved his life, Silfren was the one who had reminded him of who he was.
The stallion came to a halt before them and Éomer lay a gentle hand on Silfren's neck as a greeting. Lothíriel regarded the horse with that same solemn reverence most people seemed to regard him.
"Will you carry my queen today?" he spoke softly to the stallion. From the start, it had felt just appropriate to talk to the horse as though to a person.
Silfren's answer was simple. He turned his head towards Lothíriel and gently nuzzled the side of her face. She laughed softly and reached to pat his neck, but in her eyes there was wonder.
Then Silfren got down on his knees and Éomer helped his wife to mount him. He took the place behind her and effortlessly the stallion got up again. Being closely pressed against Lothíriel, he could feel the tremble going through her. He could very well understand, as he had not forgotten about the first time he had ridden this horse. Their guards mounted their steeds as well, and then Éomer bid Silfren to move.
Ahead lay the barrows of the late kings. Riding past them, his chest was tight and a lump formed in his throat, especially when they passed Théoden's tomb. He had visited it on the day they had arrived beyond the gates of Edoras... he had never missed his uncle quite so badly as he had on that day.
His mood eased soon as they began to near the gates of Edoras, for their arrival roused a cheer – many people were gathered on the ramparts to see the King and Queen riding home. The gates were wide open, calling him home...
And so they entered the seat of the Kings of the Mark. The road up to the Golden Hall was lined with so many people he guessed many of them must have travelled here just for this day. Air was full of cheering and voices greeting them, welcoming them back home. As it was not spring yet, the flowers they threw on the road before Silfren were of Simbelmynë and holly and heather.
Upwards they rode, up towards the Golden Hall of the King, and Éomer had to fight himself from urging Silfren to speed up. After so many months, he was eager for that place where he would build his life with his beloved wife.
Then at last they reached the familiar courtyard... and there it was. Meduseld stood proud and shining, just as the day he had left this place. The choking feeling grew on him once more but he knew it must not take a hold of him now even if his heart burst. Lothíriel's hand was on his and it seemed to him she understood.
It was now or never... it was time to go home.
The cheers had fallen into an expecting hush and the courtyard of the Golden Hall held more people Lothíriel had ever seen in her life. In fact, the crowd had filled even the road to the King's Hall and some had climbed on the rooftops, all eager to see what was about to happen on the stone terrace of Meduseld.
It was Éowyn who brought the garment, holding it in her arms like it was very precious – she could very well see why Éomer would ask his sister to be the one to hand him this thing. The two siblings exchanged a solemn gaze as he lifted up the garment and the length of it spread. Lothíriel breathed deep when she saw the cloak she knew to have been Princess Théodwyn's own. Its shade was same as the grass that would grow with the new spring, ever-young and brilliant, and in the embroideries seemed to be an echo of those adorning his – she thought she would have to ask her husband if these somehow signified the royal line of Eorl.
Be it as may, this was the cloak her beloved had meant to give her on the day of their wedding.
Éomer's face was serious, even reverent, as he lifted it and gently wrapped it about her shoulders. This was perhaps a symbolic gesture, to give Eorlingas that which they had been denied when their king had got lost. But it did fill her heart with joy, as though this was the day she married him. So, when he had fastened the golden brooch of the heavy green cloak, she placed her hands on his and leaned closer to kiss him. They lingered in that kiss, though the crowd was cheering. When she pulled back, it was only inches... and she looked up at him – this man she had so fought for, and always would if the need arose. Here they were, on the other side of the war.
After a moment of silence, Lothíriel spoke. What she told him the crowd did not hear: the words were just for him.
"I married you once. And I'd marry you a thousand times again."
Side by side, they stepped in at last. The Hall had filled with guests before the King and Queen would enter, and Lothíriel could see how very anxious her husband was; but when the wait was over and the guards opened the doors for them, he stood taller somehow and tenseness left his form.
The Hall was packed with people, their softly conversing voices falling silent as the doors opened once more. From the crowd Lothíriel moved her eyes to the Hall itself.
Meduseld was as she remembered it. Pennants and banners hanging from the rafters, sunlight flooding in, the pillars of carved wood... in fact, she felt like this place was and would always be unconcerned by time... the fortunes of Eorlingas may rise and fall, kings and queens come and go, but the Golden Hall would stay – somehow more lasting than the wood and stone it had been built of. And walking in with Éomer she felt finally like coming home, for though her life may be brief, she already felt like she was a part of this place.
They crossed the space of the Hall and the whispering of their feet against the stone floor was the only sound in the hush. But when they began to approach the dais and the throne, Éomer's pace slowed down, and she adjusted her own stride to his. From the corner of her eye she spied a look of his face. Solemnly and somehow slightly sorrowfully he regarded the seat that had stood empty for many a long month.
She held on to his arm a bit tighter, to show her support. He glanced at her silently and she offered him a slight smile. He did not quite answer it, but to her it seemed some of the sadness in his gaze fell away.
He took breath, and she did too, and then he stepped forward.
All uncertainty was now gone and there was a king before her. As though he had never even left, Éomer stepped on the dais before his throne and turned to face the crowd. Quietly she followed and her heart picked up speed. Was his heart racing the way hers did?
Lothíriel halted beside him and turned, carefully as to not tangle her skirts. And there was his people – her people – watching them in reverent silence. Eorlingas around them had awaited this day just as much as they had.
Éowyn and Ceolwen came, one bearing a golden cup and the other brought a pitcher of sweet mead. Those they offered to her and somehow she was able to keep her hands steady while she poured the cup full of sweet drink. Then she turned towards her husband, who watched her quietly. Wordlessly she offered him the cup, and he took it in his hand. Éomer turned to regard his people, standing silent still.
"Today is the ending of a very long journey I started almost a year ago. It is also the beginning of another, but I hope that road shall eventually see the restoration and healing of this fair and good land. There is a time of hard work ahead for us all, but on this day we shall celebrate the good fortune that has lead us back home again, and remember those who are not here to share it with us", he spoke, his voice strong and clear. He lifted up the golden cup, "To the Riddermark!"
"To the Riddermark! To Éomer King and Lothíriel Queen!"
The day and evening were all Lothíriel had thought it would be, and more. There was laughter and song, ale was flowing in abundance, and plates of food were carried from the kitchens of the Hall. About herself she would see smiling faces and such abandon as she had not dared to imagine on some of the darkest hours of this past year. Many were the people who came to greet and wish them well, among them Eadgyd and Heming – the two looked a bit lost in the middle of a crowd. However at the sight of the King and Queen they both smiled and bowed.
"My lord, my lady. It is good to see you again in your right place", Eadgyd said. Where her smile was as though a proud mother's, Heming looked like he did not quite believe this was happening.
"And we are here thanks to the help you gave us on a dire moment", Éomer said soberly. He stood up from his throne and stepped down the dais, which deed brought many eyes to follow this scene. The King of the Mark rested his hands on the shoulders of the elderly couple.
"When we took our leave, I said you would be rewarded for what you did for us. But truth is I cannot think of a gift that would measure my gratitude. So, I ask you to name it, and if it is in my power, you will have it", he said, looking from Eadgyd to Heming.
The two glanced at each other, as though to check if the other one was thinking the same thing. Then Heming spoke up.
"Sire, we are old and our lives have seen most important of our hopes come true. My own heart desires only one thing: that is seeing the face of my son, and that is not a gift even Béma could give", he started in a bittersweet voice. But then a small smile returned to his features, "My king, it is reward in itself to see you returned home and know the ill rule of the underking has ended."
"For this we only ask you use well the years ahead you, heal this realm, and bring it peace and prosperity", Eadgyd concluded for her part.
Without a word, Éomer reached to embrace them both. When he pulled back he was smiling.
"I will see it done."
It was only after greeting the many well-wishing guests that Lothíriel had a moment for herself and her husband. He sat on his throne, bearing an aura of ease about him, and one might have thought he had never even left this place. She was next to him on a smaller chair, which Éowyn had kindly provided for her. As the line of guests hoping to exchange a couple of words with the King had extended, Lothíriel had been very grateful to her sister-in-law.
Now Éomer reached for her hand and she met his fingers with her own. She smiled at him, "How does it feel to be here again?"
"Kind of unreal, but it is good to see the place is as it used to be. Some things don't change", he said and a bittersweet shimmer appeared in his eyes. He tilted his head and spoke again, "There was this look on your face before. That is, when you saw me down in the camp. What was it?"
"It's because... well, I had dreamt of it. One night on the plains, when you had come back with Silfren and Ceolwen, I had this dream... I saw you wearing the cloak you had today. And sun was shining about your head like a crown. I didn't understand or remember it before today", she said, cradling his fingers between her own. He regarded her and did not seem to know what to say.
"Did you know, then? That this would happen?" he asked at length. She gave him a smile.
"I always did, dear heart – from the moment I saw you still standing and fighting those tribesmen in the south, I knew the strength of your will. I don't need any dreams to know your worth and what you are capable of", she told him.
Lothíriel had the time to see the deeply moved look in his eyes before he shifted close to her and claimed her lips in a kiss. When he spoke again it was in a trembling voice.
"Beloved, whatever may be said, my will is but a pale thing compared to the brightness of your light."
It was a good thing indeed her friends had insisted her to eat a solid breakfast, because by the time she finally got a chance to eat anything, Lothíriel was already feeling ravenous. She shared a plate with Éomer, who had piled a hearty portion for them both. There was ale as well and sweet mead, and they sat down to eat with Éowyn, Éothain, Ceolwen and Elfhelm. Amrothos joined them as well and he was already merrily into his cups and insisted on drinking to her health there on the spot, which roused some rather rowdy toasting about the crowd. Surprisingly Erchirion seemed to have enjoyed his ale almost as well, which was not a common occurrence.
"If Amrothos means to challenge Legolas, he should hope our Elf has been toasting at the same frequency", Ceolwen said wryly, which made the company laugh.
"Well, if he has kept pace with Master Gimli, this should not be a problem", Elfhelm commented and toasted his mug his wife.
"What is this obsession about drinking games and Legolas?" Lothíriel wanted to know.
"Where were you at Uncle's funeral, when Gimli had a mind of trying to outdrink Legolas?" Éowyn asked in turn. At that, the young queen smiled smugly.
"I was outside, kissing your brother", she informed her sister-in-law. Éomer's smile was equally self-satisfied.
"Please, do not tell me anything more", Éowyn said and lifted up her hands. "I am truly grateful you two are safely married."
"As am I, though it was not easy to make her agree", said Éomer and reached for his wife's hand. "Would you fancy a dance, dear one?"
"Oh, yes", she said and placed her hand in his, "though I must warn you – this dress was not really made for a dancer so poor as myself."
"I don't think anyone will be looking at how you dance", he told her, pulling her with him. Space had been cleared for this purpose and they joined the other dancers in the middle of a song – in Gondorian courts such deed would not have been welcomed, but here the others merely moved to make space for them.
The hems of her gown were rather tricky, so Lothíriel held on tightly to her husband in the hopes she wouldn't fall over. He held on to her and kept her steady and she found she actually enjoyed herself.
"Do you remember the first time we danced together?" he asked softly, regarding her with warm and tender eyes.
"It was in a masked ball after the Ring War", she recalled. Then she grinned at him, "I'm afraid we made quite the display on that night. I almost tripped over twice."
"So Elfhelm told me afterwards. At least it made the other ladies reconsider if I was worth their efforts to claim as a dance partner", he said, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. "Even so, I had not expected you to make an appearance that night."
"As a matter of fact I sneaked into the ball to look for you", she said, giving him a lopsided smile.
"To look for me? Why is that?" Éomer inquired and looked surprised.
"Well, I don't suppose you have forgotten about what happened at my father's house earlier that day... I was scared I had offended you too badly and you would leave the realm... I knew my father regarded you his friend and I was ashamed for behaving so horribly before you", she said, shaking her head. They had never really talked about that incident, and lately there had been so many other concerns she had not given much thought to the times back in Minas Tirith after the War of the Ring had ended.
"Well, you did put up quite a show", her husband said now and smiled. "If someone had told me I would dance with that same orange-wearing thing only some hours later and thoroughly enjoy myself, I would not have believed it. And then at the masked ball... you were still disguising, yet you were yourself again."
"Yes. That sounds so ridiculous now", Lothíriel noted sheepishly. She looked up at him, her face softening, "I think that was when I well and truly started to fall in love with you."
He leaned closer to kiss her, cradling her against himself by the small of her back.
Even as the kiss ended she stayed close to him, inhaling the scent of his skin, breathing this moment. How long they had travelled, how hard they had fought for this... and she knew she would fight for it still, if there ever was a moment someone might try and take this life from them.
This was her place in sun.
As the day turned into an evening, the atmosphere of merriment and noise grew as well. Edelric and Alger, who had made a round in the city, reported there were quite a few celebrations going on in taverns and homesteads of Edoras.
"Does that mean we get to sleep late tomorrow, because no one will be feeling well enough to have business with you?" Lothíriel asked her husband. Éomer chuckled at the question and kissed her temple.
After a dance with Erkenbrand she sought her horselord in the crowd and sat beside him on a bench. He wrapped an arm about her and she leaned her head against his shoulder. A moment she spent watching the people around her, taking in all the joy of this day. The singing, Amrothos and Alger dancing on a table to the general amusement, Elfhelm and Ceolwen whirling away on the floor, Éowyn talking with Eadgyd and Heming, Edelric arm-wrestling with Gimli while Arric cheered on, Scýne laughing at something Legolas had said, Erkenbrand and Erchirion debating animatedly, Éothain clumsily dancing with his daughter Elva... no matter the hardships on their road, all of it had been worth this.
"It is good to be home", Éomer said softly, resting his head against hers. "Only now do I realise how much I missed this place."
"I can imagine", she said, idly caressing his knee with her fingers. "I'm glad to be here too. And I was happy to hear it has not been changed... I don't think it would have been easy to come back here if that traitor had changed the place. It would have been like he'd have robbed the memories of the Golden Hall as well."
She felt him tense at those words and she reached for his hand and held it tight. He turned to meet her gaze and eventually she saw his eyes soften again.
"No one can ever steal those. No one can ever take from me the image of you as you stood before the throne of the Riddermark and asked for my hand in marriage", he said quietly, reaching to cup her face with his hand. The light of torches and countless candles created a dance of gentle shadows on his face and gave his coat a deep green shimmer. Though he was not quite that man whose youthful glory she had embarrassedly admired by the banks of Anduin almost three years ago, tonight he was somehow fairer than she had ever seen him.
"... yes. You are right", she agreed and leaned into another kiss. She whispered on his lips: "Would you like to retire?"
Éomer moved his hand across her shoulder, then gently over her collarbone; instinctively she moved closer to the warmth of his touch, and yearned for intimacy only privacy could give.
"Mm. That does sound tempting. Shall we, then?"
Lothíriel had never been to the King's Chambers in Meduseld. Of the royal quarters she had only seen the Queen's Chambers, but had not thought to settle only there – she had no intention of separating her life from Éomer's in the way most Gondorian wives and husbands did. Instead, she had thought to make it into a solar perhaps, or room for the family. Times to come would show.
It was spacious there, with familiar richly carved furniture she had seen all over the Golden Hall, furs and carpets over the floors, and beautiful tapestries on the walls. Some food and a pitcher of drink had been left on the table in case the room's occupants fancied a late snack. The bed was a massive piece and its covers had been pulled back, revealing creamy white sheets and large pillows. In the fireplace flames danced merrily, spreading light and warmth into the chamber. The stand she guessed was for his armour was empty except for the helmet – he would have to replace his lost gear with new. She could see no single speck of dust on the surfaces, nor detect the smell of a room unoccupied for a long time. It looked like he had never left.
"What do you think?" Éomer asked, turning to look at her.
"I like it. It's very you", she said and smiled at him.
"I would like it to be yours as well", he said and reached for her hair to undo the braids and pick up the pearls.
"That will take a while, because all my things are back in Dol Amroth, and I only have some dirty clothes in my saddlebags", she said wryly and let out a small laugh. "I'll think about that tomorrow."
He made a soft sound in agreement and lowered her hair. It had grown enough to fall on her shoulders already. He brushed it aside and placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder, making her tremble with pleasure.
Lothíriel turned to look at him properly. The smile on Éomer's face sobered suddenly as he regarded her, but she did not ask what he thought of. She lay her hands on his shoulders and tiptoed to kiss him.
He took her in his arms, holding her close in a way a man might hold what he considered the most precious thing in the world. She let her form relax against his own and did not make a move to end it – instead, she let him decide how long it should go on. Around them, Meduseld breathed.
It was a long while before he made a move again, and when he pulled back she saw it all on his face: his soul revealed in each line and shadow of his features. She saw the wounds, but she saw also the healing.
"Thank you, Lothíriel", he said in a voice that was thick with emotion.
She understood. And so she didn't tell him that it was nothing, or that he was welcome. She smiled at him instead and he embraced her again, and she knew they would be all right. If anything, this last year had proved what strength they had, in themselves and in one another. As long as they had each other, there was nothing they couldn't do.
"Thank you."
A/N: And here is a new chapter! Hope you enjoyed it. :)
So, our favourite horselord and his lady have at last returned home. It has been a long way indeed, but a few things remain yet to be said. This turned out quite long but hopefully it was an entertaining read.
I wanted to bring back Eadgyd and Heming once more, and also have that conversation between Éomer and Éothain. I believe it has bothered Éothain a lot to know he can't be Éomer's captain anymore, but he hasn't realised it doesn't make him useless. I have an idea who shall succeed Éothain as the King's Captain, but perhaps that is a story for Flickers of Light to tell. Speaking of Flickers, there is a reference in this chapter to a scene in that side story. In one scene Lothíriel dreams of seeing Éomer in the cloak he wears in this chapter, though she doesn't understand there what it means. But seeing him in this chapter, in the full regalia of the King, she understands what she dreamt of. I imagine him to look like in this chapter a lot like in an amazing piece by Soni Alcorn-Hender. I would add a link but as you know the site does not allow that - if you search on google "Éomer" with the artist's name, it will show up as the second result.
One more word about the last chapter: some of my reviewers said they would have liked to see mearas trampling Feran to death. However, I must say that to me, the event of them driving him into that pond is somehow much more terrible. I mean, any angry horse can trample a man, but the way they drove him into his death shows this determination and awareness that ordinary horses don't possess. And to the traitor himself it probably did feel like some kind of a divine punishment just because of that.
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Inspiration for the chapter: Ramin Djawadi - Mhysa, Lyriel - Wenn Die Engel Fallen
Thalia - I'm glad you liked it! It was fun to write as well. :) I didn't think ordinary riders would really be capable of fighting Éomer when they see him charging, both for his reputation as a warrior but also because he is the rightful king.
I have to say, it is good to hear I managed to write that scene with mearas as creepy. The kind of awareness they show is pretty terrifying really. As for Gimli's efforts, it did seem to me he would not be a fan of Feran's rule, and so when he'd hear Éomer was making his move, he'd try and help in this way - even if it's not actually his war to fight.
It's sad to end this story, but all tales have to end eventually!
brandibuckeye - Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. :)
Talia119 – I'm glad to hear you agree at least! This is of course just my opinion, but I feel like Feran's end in the hands (or hooves ;) ) of the mearas lends it something a mere sword-fight would not. To me mearas are the symbol of Rohan and Rohirrim, not to mention they have this deep connection with Eorl's line. So having them dispose of Feran is almost like the land itself turned against him. I see why you'd have liked to see them trampling him to death, but personally I think them forcing him into a pond and effectively drowning him makes it somehow more terrifying.
Also here in this chapter is an explanation for the scene in Flickers, the one where Lothíriel dreamt of Éomer wearing the green cloak. Hope you liked it. :)
Jo - He must have been quite the sight indeed! No wonder the lines pretty much fell at the sight of him. And I thought it would be more formidable if the mearas were the ones to end Feran. They stand for Rohan after all and they would not tolerate a traitor. Anyway, I'm glad you liked the chapter, and hope you enjoyed this as well!
MairaElleth - I'm glad to hear that . :) "Divine judgement" did really seem like the best way about it. Somehow ending it with a sword-fight did not seem fitting to me.
It is really a honour to me as a writer to know some readers have been following this story for as long as I've been writing it. That is another reason why it is not easy to end this!
Bowmaiden - To me, it seemed that them driving him into that pond was more terrible than if they had just trampled him. Being forced into water shows their determination, and also gives Feran this horrifying moment of realisation of what is happening and why. And it does bring this intimidated respect to people - for Amrothos example - to realise there is really only one person alive who can go near mearas and ride one of them.