Chapter 3
The Hornburg, April the 1st, 3018
Éomer halted Firefoot in front of the stables and smiled as he saw his cousin already there, waiting for him: "Théodred, it's good to see you!", he greeted him as he dismounted.
"Likewise, brother", Théodred welcomed him, pulling him into a tight embrace and patting vigorously – maybe a bit too vigorously, his back.
"Bema, I had forgotten how harsh your greetings can be!", he joked bringing both his hand on his back.
Théodred laughed and gave his shoulder a crushing squeeze: "It's just been too long and I'm really glad you managed to make the time to pass by!".
Éomer shook his head: all those years, and yet he would never cease to be amazed by the way his cousin's positive attitude could be irreparably contagious! "So, how's life in the Westfold?", he inquired as he led him through a maze of narrow, crowded streets.
He opened his arms: "I believe you can already guess".
"All refugees?".
"No, no. We are not that stage, not yet at least. But ever since the last winter the number of orcs' raids and Dunlendings attacks has been steadily increasing and many don't feel safe living outside the city. More and more people are moving in and we are slowly running out of houses to accommodate everyone", Théodred explained as they left the buzzing streets behind them and started climbing the stairs leading towards the hall.
Éomer paused and took a moment to glimpse at the city below them: the streets were indeed packed like he had rarely seen them before and here and there, he spotted some makeshift accommodations: "We've had a few families moving into Aldburg, but nothing even remotely close to this", he admitted.
Théodred sighed and stared pensively at the overcrowded fortress: "It caught me off guard as well, but after the latest events I really can't blame them for seeking shelter here".
"Why, what happened?".
Théodred looked furtively around, as if he wanted to make sure nobody was eavesdropping on their conversation: "Last week we came across a whole pack of wargs, less than a day's distance from the fortress, Éomer", he told him in a whisper.
His head snapped towards him but Théodred raised a hand: "Not here", he told him and made sign to follow him. They entered the hall and walked upstairs and only after the door of his study had locked behind them, did he speak again: "Forgive the secrecy, but the walls have ears and I don't want panic to spread through the city, not until I can better assess the situation".
"You suspect there might be more?".
Théodred sat in his chair and rubbed his eyes: "Why shouldn't I? I mean, let's be realistic: what are the odds that we came across the only existing pack and exterminated it before it could attack any village?".
"Slim at best", he admitted. "Did you lose men?".
"Three. Plus five wounded - one of whom will probably have his leg amputated, and six killed horses. They were tough bastards, Éomer: the moment we saw them, we barely had the time to draw our swords that they were already on us".
Éomer sat in front of his cousin and poured himself a glass of water: over the past few years he had only had occasional encounters with wargs and never with more than two at a time. But that had been more than enough to confirm what his cousin had just said: they truly were tough bastards. Fast on their feet, with long fangs and sharp claws on their rear legs, they were not only hideous but also bloody intelligent. Facing one at short distance was never pleasant, but facing a whole pack was something completely unheard. "Did you inform the King?".
Théodred jumped up from his chair: "Of course I did! As soon as we returned to the city I sent a messenger to Edoras!".
"And? Has he returned yet?".
"He has: he returned three days later, informing me that while saddened by the loss of three good men, the King believes this to be an encounter that is not likely to happen again. As such, my request for additional men was denied and I was solicited to make better use of the ones I already have!", Théodred cried, slamming his fists on the desk.
Éomer stared at him, unsure what shocked him more: to see his cousin like that, or that the King had chosen to ignore what had happened. "Those were your father's words?".
Théodred slumped back in his chair: "They came directly from him, if that's what you are asking. But whether they were his words, that I do not know anymore. When was the last time you saw him, Éomer?".
"January, for Yule's celebrations. But Éowyn mentions often in her letters that he seems to be getting…weaker".
"Yes: weaker in the body, weaker in the mind", Théodred agreed. "Every time I see him, I have this feeling, as if another piece of him, of the man he was, has left him. And what is left is a shell growing emptier by the day, a shell that has granted space to those who seek to take advantage of the situation".
"Grima?".
"Him for sure. But he isn't the only one who is trying to take advantage of a weak King in order to further his interests".
Éomer put down his glass: "Further one's interests is one thing. Neglecting the increased presence of orcs, Dunlendings – and now wargs as well, is another. Refusing to take measures against them won't simply weaken us, it might just destroy us".
"I know it all too well: those people out there", Théodred said raising an arm towards the window, "they are mostly farmers, Éomer: who do you think is caring for their fields? Who will seed them, crop them, harvest them when the time come? No one! We have enough food for everyone for the moment, but if next winter is going to be as harsh as this last one, I don't know what we will do…".
"Aldburg can support you".
"Aldburg cannot bear the weight of the Westfold and nor does Edoras", he cut him short. "We need to secure our land so that the people can return to their lives, but we lack the means – and the leadership, to do that".
As much he would have liked to tell his cousin that he was wrong and that he could count on his support, Éomer knew he was right. And besides, the situation he had just described was the exact embodiment of his worse fears: "We've had only a few abandoned farms so far, but I fear the Eastfold might be on a similar path", he admitted.
"I share your concerns".
"What are you planning to do now?".
"Next week I will ride to Edoras and speak personally with my father, in the hope I can convince him to do something. Aside from that, I've split my Éored and doubled the patrols, but it's a game I can't possibly win: this land is vast and we have too many undefended settlements. Our enemy knows it and will take advantage of our weaknesses, striking where we are the most vulnerable and spreading more and more fear in the people. We are at war, whether my father and his Council want to see it or not, and unless we start acting consequently, we are doomed to fail".
A heavy silence fell on the room: Éomer knew the situation to be dire, but to hear those words coming out of his cousin's mouth still felt like a punch in the stomach. And to know that he was powerless, that aside from going on fighting every day like he had done for the past ten years there was nothing more he could do to help him, filled him with frustration, anger, despair almost.
Théodred shook his head and forcibly pushed himself on his feet: "You know what, Éomer? The future might look uncertain, but I may have a much more solid plan for the shorter term".
He raised an eyebrow: "And what would that be?".
"Why, to storm the Putrid Hunter of course!".
Éomer stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing: "The Putrid Hunter?".
"Worst tavern in town, brother!".
"And here I was, thinking we were discussing serious matters!".
Théodred pulled him up from his chair: "We were and we will continue tomorrow. But for now, let us just forget ourselves and celebrate like we used to do when we were younger", he told him with a stretched smile.
Lothíriel sighed and put her book down: Tales of Menor might have been her favourite book but in the two months since she had arrived in Rohan she had read it over five times and quite honestly, she felt like she needed a break from it.
She stood and as she walked around her room, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror: her hairs were an unruly mess, her skin had an almost greyish undertone, there were deep circles around her eyes and the dress she was wearing fit her horribly. She had to admit she was everything but a pleasant sight; however, given that the only person she was going to meet was her maid and that by now the girl must have surely gotten used to her appearance, she simply shrugged her concerns off.
Grabbing a notebook and some charcoal, she moved towards the window and sat on her favourite spot on the sill, hoping she might get to see something worth drawing: only a few days earlier she had managed to sketch a lovely pair of blue tits and the week before, a magpie with a freshly captured worm in her beak. Maybe today she would finally manage to get a closer look at one of those red kites that flew often above the city, just too high for her to clearly distinguish the pattern on their elegantly shaped wings.
She opened the curtains and scanned the sky: grey, cloudy – as usual, and…totally empty!
Disappointed, she puffed her cheeks and moved her attention from the sky to the city below: there was an unusual buzz of activities and the square in front of the hall was packed with people hurrying up and down the street, loading and unloading long beams and other materials.
Sitting on a fence with an overly bored expression was Wulfstan: Runhild and him had hanged out together a couple of times over the past few weeks before her handmaid had brutally – at least according to her account, dumped him because he is boring and chews louder than my horse. Lothíriel chuckled: admittedly, he did not look particularly bright as he picked his nose and examined the content on his finger afterwards!
Looking more around, she spotted some more familiar faces: she did not know any of the people they belonged to, but from the solitary confinement of her room she had spent so many hours observing them as they run their daily errands, that she felt like they were no strangers anymore. Like the proud-looking lady with a nasty scar on her cheek who lived in the house at the other end of the square; or the plump woman who worked in the bakery and delivered bread to the hall every morning at dawn; or the old man with a crutch who was constantly looking for somebody to chat with. Just at that very moment, he managed to get a grip of a young guard and started flooding him with what looked like a torrent of words: the poor man tried to escape but failed miserably and rolled his eyes in an exasperated – and rather comical, way.
"My Lady?".
Lothíriel jumped down the sill and snapped around: "Valar, Runhild! I did not hear you coming in, how can you walk so silently?!".
She laughed: "I'm sorry. I did not mean to scare you, but you seemed totally captivated by whatever it is that you were looking at out there".
"Yes, old Cadda has just claimed his latest victim", she said nodding towards the courtyard where the old man was still clinging to the guard's arm and speaking without an end.
Runhild threw her arms in the air: "He's getting worse by the day! This morning I had to save myself by throwing someone else in his way!".
Lothíriel chuckled and observed her as she went around her room to tidy up those few things she found out of place: after an initial rocky start, things between them had gone unexpectedly well and she had to admit that Runhild had quickly become the closest thing to a friend she had ever had. There were days when she would spend hours just listening to the stories of her little adventures and escapades, all of which would all irremediably end up with her father scolding her for being such a young reckless lady. And to her, it was like listening to tales from another world: Runhild was only sixteen years old and yet pretty much independent. She had many friends, she had had her good share of romantic interests, she didn't need her father to approve everything she did and even the wage she received from the household, she was managing on her own. Sometimes she would waste it all on something silly and come to regret it, other times – most of them actually, she would wisely save it up. There was a part of her envied her for her freedom, for being able to do what she wanted, when she wanted, with whom she wanted. Another, found the thought almost scary. But in any case, she was thankful for her presence by her side for even in her darkest moments, she knew she could always count on her silent support and quiet discretion.
Finally satisfied by the state of her room, Runhild straightened up and turning towards her, she threw her a nervous look.
"Something wrong?", she asked her, already bracing for the worse - meaning something related to the damn housekeeper, who hadn't given her a moment of peace in the last two months.
"No, no my Lady. But you see, yesterday Lady Aldwyn has arrived in the city…".
Lothíriel arched an eyebrow: "Lady Aldwyn?".
"A noble Lady from Edoras. Her husband was one of the King's most trusted advisor until he passed away a couple of years back. He used to take care of relations with Gondor and as such both him and his family have spent much time there – in Minas Tirith, but also in Dol Amroth I believe. I met Lady Aldwyn earlier today and she has been adamant that she would very much like to meet you and she has invited you for tea at her home".
Lothíriel turned around and walked back towards the window: "You know I don't like going out, Runhild".
"Of course, my Lady. And you know I'd never insist, but I thought that maybe you could make an exception today. Lady Aldwyn's house is not far from here and I think you will like her… I am sure, actually!".
Lothíriel stared at her: one of the things she had come to appreciate the most about Runhild was that she had never tried to impose anything on her, she had never tried to force her into doing something she did not want to do and she had never even implied that because she spent all her time in her room, she had been neglecting her duties. She had always been very supportive and indulged her every wish and as such, she found herself wondering about this unexpected request that she meets this mysterious woman: "I don't know, Runhild…".
"Please, my Lady!", Runhild begged her taking one of her hands. "Look: if it turns out that I'm wrong and you don't like Lady Aldwyn, then I will come up with some excuse to get you back in your room as quickly as possible, I promise!".
Lothíriel hesitated: "Is it cold outside?", she asked lifting her eyes towards the clouded sky.
"Not at all, not even by Gondorian standards!".
"And it won't take long?".
"It will take as long as you wish, my Lady".
Lothíriel sighed: "Maybe taking some fresh air will do me good", she finally conceded, at which Runhild threw her arms around her neck before abruptly releasing her.
"I will arrange a bath for you, we have no time to waste!", she yelled as she already left the room and run down the corridor, leaving her staring at the open door and wondering what she had just gotten herself into.
Éomer chugged his beer and smacked the mug on the table.
Théodred hadn't been joking: the Putrid Hunter was definitely the worse tavern he had ever seen, so much that in comparison even the Mocking Reed in Edoras looked like a classy establishment. It wasn't even a tavern, but rather a hole of a place: in a room that could have hosted twenty or thirty people at best, they had managed to squeeze a long counter, three wooden tables and, at the moment, what he judged to be over fifty drunken – very drunken, Rohirrim. The air was stiff with the smell of dirty men, spilled ale and overly-cooked stew and the keeper was a grumpy old man who cursed every single guest who would approach him to get a refill.
Perfect. The place was just perfect!
"Just like in the old days!", Théodred yelled from the other side of the table.
Éomer laughed and leant back in his chair. Only: it wasn't a chair but a bench and if it hadn't been for the red-haired giant standing behind him, he would have likely ended up on the floor. The man pushed him back to his place and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an insult, but he was honestly too deep into his cups to even care. Instead, he dragged himself on his feet: "Time for another round!", he declared before turning around and making his way towards the counter – no small feat when you are at your ninth ale and can hardly stand on your feet.
Two narrowly avoided brawls later and with way too much ale soaking the front his tunic, he finally managed to get to the bar: "Two!", he mumbled to the keeper.
"And one for me!", a feminine voice added.
Éomer turned around and found himself staring into a lovely pair of blue eyes: "This is no place for a lady", he said shaking a finger in the air.
"And why would that be, milord?", the girl asked, leaning slightly towards him.
"Too many drunken men, could be dangerous", he whispered in her ear, taking the chance to peek into the bold neckline of her dress.
"Tis' a good thing the Prince and his cousin the Marshall are here then, don't you think?", she purred back, softly pressing her body against his'.
Éomer stared at her plump lips, his ales suddenly forgotten: "A good thing, yes…".
Behind them, a group of men started chanting the rhymes of one of those obscene songs you could only hear in such places: "See, this place ain't half that bad!", the girl laughed, pressing a little harder against him and placing a hand on his thigh.
With the excuse of making place for the other drinkers, Éomer wrapped an arm around her and pulled her even closer. He dove his nose into her blonde curls and breathed in her sweet scent: "What's your name, girl?".
"Lúfa, milord", she told him, her hand slowly moving upwards.
Éomer found himself almost holding his breath and the moment her hand finally came to rest on his crotch, he had to bit down a groan: he hadn't had a woman in…long, way too long, he thought as he felt his manhood hardening under her soft touch. He slid his arm down her back and cupped her firm buttock: "What would you say to a bit of fresh air, Lúfa?".
She didn't say anything but wrapped a leg around his waist instead: taking it as a yes, he lifted her from under her knees and careless of the people around them, he stumbled towards the nearest door and outside of the Putrid Hunter. He blindly turned into a dark, empty ally and pushed her against a wall, kissing hungrily her lips while his fingers tried desperately – and unsuccessfully, to unlace her corset.
Frustrated, he just gave up on it and pulled instead the neckline of her dress down, his lips kissing and biting their way down: Lúfa moaned something unintelligible and slid her arms between them, her hands making a quick job of his belt and finally relieving him of the constraint of his breeches.
He pushed his trousers further down and lifted her skirt, his whole body almost shaking in anticipation, but the moment he felt her hands locking around him, something suddenly clicked inside him: he gasped for air and almost tripped on his own pants as he hastily retreated from her.
Lúfa dropped on the ground and stared at him in confusion, her dress hanging under her breasts: "I-I'm sorry, Lúfa.", he stammered, pulling up his trousers and re-dressing himself as fast as he could while he hurried – run almost, away from her.
He rushed back towards the main street and once there, he leant with both his arms against a fence, trying in vain to stop the spinning of his head and the furious beating of his heart.
"Have you lost your mind?", someone growled behind him.
Éomer turned around and saw his cousin advancing towards him with a thunderous expression on his face - one he had not seen in a long time, not directed at him at least: "Nothing happened", he tried to justify himself, raising both his hands in front of him.
Théodred grabbed him by his tunic and pushed him against the fence: "You mean you haven't lain with her? Ah well, all is good then!", he yelled to his face, livid.
"I was drunk and did something stupid. I'm sorry, alright?", he apologized, clumsily trying to struggle out of his grip.
"That is no justification, Éomer! If being drunk was an excuse to cheat on a spouse, there would be no faithful marriage left in the whole Rohan!".
"I did not cheat, I told you nothing happened!", he cried, pushing him angrily back.
"You call that", his cousin said pointing towards the Putrid Hunter, "nothing?! It couldn't have been any more obvious even you had taken her directly on that counter! Damn it man, you've been married for just a couple of months and…".
"And I haven't even seen my wife in just about the same time, Théodred!", he spat out. "I could bed every single woman across this town, I could do it right in front of her eyes and she wouldn't give a damn! So you know what, maybe I should just do that, I should go back in there and ask Lúfa to come with me to Aldburg and make her my mis…".
That did it: he didn't even have the time to finish the sentence, that his cousin's fist collided with his jaw, sending him flying over the fence and into the mud on the other side.
For a moment everything went blank but when he finally came back to his senses, all Éomer could do was staying right there where he was, too stunned by what had just happened and too ashamed by his actions and his words to stand up and face his cousin.
Seeing he had no intention whatsoever to get back on his feet, Théodred walked around the fence and came sitting in the mud next to him: "Everybody knows your marriage is less than idyllic, Éomer".
"Everybody?", he asked staring at the stars above them.
"Rumors spread fast, brother".
"Oh, that is…reassuring".
"I know. But Éomer: no matter how things stand between the two of you, that is no excuse to behave that way. That was just…disrespectful. And hurtful, because as I said: rumors spread fast. Rest assured that one day she will find out about what happened here tonight and trust me, there isn't a single woman in the whole Middle Earth who wouldn't feel humiliated by a husband who acts that way".
Éomer sighed: "You are right, of course you are. I don't know what took me…it's just that everything seems always so close to completely fall apart, we seem always so close to completely fall apart. I've never been unfaithful to her, Théodred: I haven't been with a woman since I signed our marriage agreement, but after our earlier discussion, after all the worries, after all the ale, to just feel the touch of a woman was…".
"Good, I know", he finished the sentence for him. "All the more reasons to try fix things with your wife!", he teased him.
"Easier said than done I'm afraid", he said as he slowly straightened up and massaged his aching jaw.
"Come, it can't be that difficult either. Plus, if the rumors have it right, I heard the Princess is quite…pleasant to the eyes, shall we say?", Théodred told him with his most innocent-looking face.
Éomer smiled and shook his head: "She's not pleasant to the eyes: she is bloody gorgeous! At least as far as I can remember, that is…".
"Have you really not seen her for so long?".
"Since we arrived in Aldburg", he confirmed. "She spends her time locked in her room and never leaves it, not even when I'm not there. People have taken to call her the ghost, you know?".
"The ghost?".
"Yes, because she often spends hours sitting by the window of her room, half hidden behind a curtain. That's all they – and I, have seen of her in these past two months. Meregith occasionally passes by her room, but otherwise the only one dealing directly with her is her maid, Runhild".
"Frumgar's daughter?".
"Her".
"And what does she say?".
"Not much, actually. After we arrived in Aldburg I decided to reassign her back to her previous job in the stables. I did it because I thought it would have been better for her but I swear: the day I told her, she gave me a look like she wanted to strangle me and then explained me that she wished very much indeed to keep working with my wife".
"They're getting along then?".
"Apparently yes".
Théodred scratched his chin: "Strange. As far as I've heard your wife is quite haughty, isn't she?".
"More than you know".
"Even more so: I've only met Runhild a couple of times but she didn't really struck me as the type of girl who would enjoy the company of prissy Princess".
"I know! She went from breaking noses in the stables to spending her days in the company of a woman who couldn't have possibly been more different from her!".
"Breaking noses in the stables?".
"Yes: the stable boys gave her a hard time during her training there and once one of them publicly belittled her and then tried to take credit for some work she had done. Long story short: the day after she waited for him outside of his house, she jumped on him and punched him straight on his nose. I know I shouldn't find it funny, but trust me: the boy was an idiot and seeing him reduced to a sobbing, bloody mess by a girl who was half his size, has been rather entertaining!".
Théodred laughed: "I'll remember to be extra nice to her! But what about you, Éomer?".
"Me?".
"Yes, you. What do you think of your wife – apart that she's snobby, that is?".
Éomer considered carefully his question: he knew so little of her that it was hard to say. However, there was one thing he knew for sure: "I find her unsettling. Back in Minas Tirith, whenever we got to spend some time together I couldn't help but feeling totally out of place by her side. Truth is we couldn't be any more different, Théodred: she is so elegant, so sophisticated, so… so different from me".
Théodred frowned: "You may not be a Gondorian buster, but you're no rube either Éomer".
"I know", he simply said, finding it hard to explain the way a simple glance from his wife could make him feel.
"It must be hard for her too, you know: the change from Gondor to Rohan isn't exactly a subtle one".
"I know but she hasn't made it easier for herself either, what with the way she behaves!".
"She is eighteen, Éomer. Do you remember your eighteen year-old self?".
He snorted: "I have no idea what you are talking about, I was such a good lad!", he lied, struggling - and failing, to keep a straight face.
"I have more than a few white hairs that would object to that. However", Théodred said as he slowly got on his feet and stretched an arm towards him to help him up, "your juvenile's stupidity is not what is up for debate. Just promise me one thing, Éomer: that you won't ever again behave like you did earlier today and that as soon as you get back to Aldburg, you will try to get to your wife out of her room and you will try to get to know her better".
"Aye, I will do that", he promised, knowing all too well that he owned her – and himself, to try at least to make their relationship work.
Sitting by an elegant dark-wooden table while she waited for her tea, Lothíriel looked around and realized that Lady Aldwyn's house was nothing like she had expected.
While very Rohirric in its external appearance, with its wooden walls and sloping roof, the interior had proved to be an unexpected – and very much pleasant, surprise: it was furnished with a strange combination of different styles, yet they all seemed to fit together beautifully, creating an ambient that was not only elegant, but also very unique.
Rohan stood of course in the middle of the living room, embodied by a round table in what she judged to be a polished walnut wood, with matching chairs and a golden chandelier hanging low above it. Against the walls stood instead some more familiar – in terms of style at least, furniture; her eye was especially caught by a beautiful glass cabinet displaying an array of very different and exotic-looking objects, which managed to bring color and brightness to a room that would have otherwise felt rather dark. Other furniture, such as the drawer and the shelfs hanging on either side of the window, looked so unlike anything she had ever seen that she guessed they must have come from very, very far away.
Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps and clinking porcelains, Lothíriel turned towards the door and observed Lady Aldwyn as she entered the room: Runhild had told her that she was almost seventy years-old, yet she found it hard to believe. Her silver hair was the only thing that betrayed her age for apart from that she looked fifty at best – both in the body and in the stance.
"Here's some black tea, and here", she said placing two different teapots in front of her, "is an infusion of hibiscus and rose hips".
Lothíriel stared into the dark red tisane: "Hibiscus?", she asked almost incredulous.
"Difficult to find, I know. Even more so here in Rohan. But I still have a few contacts in Minas Tirith and from time to time, I manage to purchase some. So", she asked with a raised eyebrow, "I suppose you'll go for this one?".
"Yes, please: I've never had it with rose hips, but I'll gladly try it".
Lady Aldwyn passed her a steaming cup but then, as if suddenly remembering something, she put it down: "Ah, I don't know where I have the head these days, I almost forgot!", she said striding out of the room. She came back a few moments later, holding a leather wrapped object: "A welcome gift for you, my Lady".
Lothíriel looked at the package and didn't need a mirror to know she must have been reddening all the way to the tip of her ears.
Lady Aldwyn tilted her head on one side: "A Princess of Gondor getting embarrassed by a simple gift? Come, my dear: no reason to blush, just open it and see if you like it".
As always, stating that there was nothing to be embarrassed of only managed to make the situation even worse and Lothíriel felt rather confident that by now, her cheeks must have reached a shade fairly close to the one of the infusion in her cup: "Thank you", she mumbled as she took the package from Lady Aldwyn's hands and…almost let it drop on the table! "Oh, I'm sorry! I wasn't expecting it to be so heavy", she apologized with a nervous smile, wondering what could be weighting so much. This time more carefully, she lowered the parcel on the table and as the gift was finally unwrapped, she looked puzzled at it: "What is this?", she asked, lifting what looked like the most amazing stone she had ever seen.
"A desert rose from Harad", Lady Aldwyn explained.
"A desert rose?", she echoed her, flipping the stone in her hands.
"Yes. The merchant who sold it to me gave me a whole story about some sort of legend involving – needless to say, a Princess and her beloved who got lost in the desert while riding to marry her. According to him, the poor man not only died, but his soul never found peace and has since wandered through the desert, looking for a way back to his betrothed. And since no flower blooms in the desert, he took to growing roses out of the only available thing: sand, of course. So, this that you are holding", she said pointing towards the rose, "would be a token of his undying love for her". She paused for a moment and then waved a hand in front of her: "All a bunch of rubbish, naturally! Desert roses, albeit rare, are nothing but the result of natural phenomena which took place long before we ever walked this earth!".
Lothíriel found herself smiling first, laughing then: "If I have to be frank, to know that this is something nature created and that no men were involved in its crafting, actually makes it all the more beautiful", she agreed brushing her fingers on the edge of the blooms and marveling at the creation of such splendid object.
"Glad we see it the same way: I'd have hated to see that you were one to fall for such silly, soppy stories!".
With great care, Lothíriel placed the rose back in its skin: "Thank you, Lady Aldwyn. I think this will fit beautifully in my room".
"Excellent. And now tell me, how are you settling in here in Aldburg?".
"Good", Lothíriel lied: Lady Aldwyn seemed a nice lady – just like Runhild had said, and she saw no reason to tell her she despised her country.
"I see. You and Éomer are getting along, then?", she inquired her and judging from the way she was looking at her, Lothíriel had the distinct feeling the woman knew more than she was leaving intended.
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair: "You seem to already know the answer to that question".
"I know what people say, of course. But people say a lot of things, many of which are not necessarily true. For example, they depicted you like an obnoxious young lady and that, is a claim I have already found to be utterly false".
Lothíriel nodded and somehow, the words just slipped out of her mouth: "I hate Rohan and I haven't seen my husband in over two months".
Lady Aldwyn stared at her with wide eyes before snapping up from her chair and disappearing once again in the next room. When she came back, she was holding a bottle of wine and two goblets: "My dear, you need a glass of wine way more than you need a cup of tea", she said pushing her infusion away and pouring her a full glass.
Lothíriel hesitated: there was more wine in there than she had drunk in her whole life and maybe – just maybe, drinking it was not a wise idea!
"It's one of the best Amrothian reds, you will like it", Lady Aldwyn encouraged her.
Deeming it rude to refuse, Lothíriel brought the glass to her mouth and only barely wet her lips with the wine: she was no expert but she thought it tasted rather intense and fruity and before she even knew it, she found herself sipping on it.
"I see you have good taste", Lady Aldwyn noticed with a smile. "And now tell me: why would you ever hate Rohan?".
"I did not want to marry and I did not want to move here", she confessed.
Lady Aldwyn frowned: "Forgive me for being so blunt, but this is hardly a reason to hate a country. Besides, that you would keep complaining about not wanting to marry after you've already been married for several weeks, is unbecoming of the smart woman that I believe you are. I've always rejected the idea of combined weddings and I understand that you did not want any of this", she said waving the goblet in front of her, "but it happened and you need to deal with it".
Lothíriel bit her cheeks strong enough that it hurt her and though there was a part of her that wanted to leave immediately that house and get back to her room as fast as possible, another found it an immense relief to finally speak so openly about her struggles: "The people. I don't like the people", she said, and the moment the words left her mouth she realized how silly they sounded.
"The people? All of them?".
"Yes… no!", she corrected herself. "I do like Runhild, she has been very kind to me. But everybody else has been so cold and unwelcoming, so…".
"Judgmental?".
"Yes!", she cried, finding the adjective just perfect to describe the way people had been treating her.
"And pray tell: do you believe things would be different in Gondor? Were you a Rohirrim bride moving to Minas Tirith to marry your Gondorian husband, would you be welcomed with open arms?".
Lothíriel didn't even need to think about it for Minas Tirith was a nest of vipers and foreigners – and not only them, had always been looked down upon: "No", she admitted.
"Yet there are many worthy Gondorians out there: I for one know more than a few of them and I'm sure that is the same for Runhild, am I not right?".
She nodded: Runhild had indeed some very fond memories of her time in Minas Tirith and had often expressed the wish to visit the White City again.
"You see, people are often quick to judge, especially when they see something…new, unexpected, exotic if you wish. And Rohirrim have always been weary of strangers coming from other lands. But that doesn't mean that they hate you, rather that you have to find your way here".
"Oh, I'm fairly sure some of them actually hate me".
"Like who?".
"Meregith for one".
Lady Aldwyn grinned and leant towards her: "I don't like her either!", she whispered in her ear. Then, seeing the shocked expression on her face, she laughed: "Why do you think I invited you here and did not propose to meet in the hall instead? Me and Meregith… we'd rather not stay under the same roof".
This time, Lothíriel gulped down half of her glass at once: "Why? What happened?".
"Ah, let me just say that the two of us did not always see eye to eye. But don't get me wrong: she's a good woman, she's been like a mother to Éomer and Éowyn and she loves them very much. The problem is that she has always had a way of pushing people into what she believes is the best for them, and not necessarily what they believe is the best for themselves".
Lothíriel found her explanation rather confusing but guessing Lady Aldwyn did not wish to tattle any further, she deemed it wiser not to pry.
"And now for the second of your problems: you haven't seen your husband in weeks?", she asked as she refilled both their glasses.
"Since we arrived from Minas Tirith", she confirmed. "Do you know him well?", she then asked, feeling her tongue considerably loosened.
"I'd say so, yes. You see: Éomer and his sister were raised in Edoras and…".
"We've been married for two months and I didn't even know he had a sister", Lothíriel interrupted her: "Isn't that ridiculous?".
"I'm afraid it is, yes. But maybe I can fill some gaps: is there something you wish to know about him?".
Though her first instinct was to say that no, she did not care about him and did not wish to know anything about him, Lothíriel paused: "I don't understand him", she finally said. "We married as strangers, he has never shown any interest in getting to know me better and with me he has always been so…so cold, so detached. Until we arrived here, I don't even think I ever saw him smiling. But then, during these pasts few weeks I've often observed him from my window and he hardly seems like the same man".
"Meaning a less brooding and a more smiling one?".
"More or less, yes", she said, thinking of all the times she had seen him walking to – or from the hall and how he always seemed to have a good word and a smile for everyone.
Lady Aldwyn stood up and pensively walked around: "Éomer is a good man, one of the best I've ever known, actually. Do you know what happened to his parents?".
She shook her head: "No, of course not".
"His father was slain by orcs in the Emyn Muil when he was eleven, or maybe twelve years old. And his mother, she succumbed to her grief and died within a few months, leaving him and his sister alone".
Lothíriel stared at Lady Aldwyn, her mouth gaping: to lose a parent was already something tragic, something that no child should ever experience. But to lose two, and in that way! "How could she?".
"How could she lose the will the live despite two children who depended on her?".
"Yes, just the idea of my father giving up on me and my brothers after my mother passed away is…inconceivable!".
"I know, but it is not for us to judge: after so many years I believe that both Éomer and his sister have finally come to terms with it and if they have, so should we".
"I suppose you are right", she agreed, staring blankly into her glass.
"Now, now: I did not mean to upset you, my dear. All I wanted was for you to understand that the sullen man you've married, has come a long way. You see, after the death of their parents, the King rode personally to Aldburg and took both Éomer and his sister to Edoras, where he raised them as if they were his own. I remember the Éomer of those days: an angry, surly, lonely boy who would never leave his sister's side. And I remember seeing him growing past the plight of his childhood and into the man he is today. It takes strength to move past such losses and turn into the type of man people look up at for guidance and hope. And yet this is precisely what he has become, though sometimes I feel he doesn't even fully realize it himself. I don't know why he has been so cold with you Lothíriel, but I can assure you there is more to the man than you have seen so far. Just like I see now that there is more to you than what the rumors say", Lady Aldwyn told her, holding gently her hand.
Lothíriel gave her a watery smile: "You know, when Runhild told me about your invitation I didn't even want to come here. Now, I'm glad I let her convince me".
"So am I. I'm just sorry I won't be able to stay long".
"You will be soon leaving?".
"Tomorrow, I'm afraid. But I'm planning to come back soon and besides, I hope that sooner rather than later you will grace Edoras with your presence!".
Lothíriel nodded: "Maybe I will, who knows".
"Splendid! And Lothíriel, one last piece of advice", she said taking her by her shoulders: "Stand for yourself, girl: don't hide in that room of yours, don't let what the people say affect you and if somebody fights you, then you fight back!".
Author's notes: oh my, this chapter was a hard one to write! I knew the message I wanted to get through, but couldn't make up my mind as to how I should have delivered it and which POV was best to use. I even considered Runhild and wrote quite a lot from her POV, but ultimately changed my mind. I know there are some pending questions as to why Runhild decided to stay with Lothíriel, but I promise things will become clearer as the story proceeds.
As for Éomer and Lothíriel, I was glad to read reviews taking different sides after the last chapter because I honestly think they are both to be understood and biased at the same time for their situation. Question is whether they have come to finally realize it or whether they will instead keep doing the same mistakes over and over again.
Wonderye: Runhild came to her rescue, it seems! As mentioned above, more about her motives will be explained as the story progresses, but hopefully it did not come as a disappointment that Lothíriel has not been forced – yet?, to interact with other people. She did get to meet Lady Aldwyn though: let us see whether she has managed to knock some sense into her!
AmandaBaker852: as mentioned in the first chapter, Lothíriel was simply convinced that with three older brothers to secure the succession, she would have been left free of doing whatever she wanted. Whether this was simply an unwarranted belief on her side and why would she be so blind about it, remains to be seen! :)
WillowMist14: would love to know what you think of this update then!
Readergirl4985: I agree 100% on the lack of communication and on the fact that while both Éomer and Lothíriel have much to complain about, they also share their faults and are ultimately responsible for their own miserable situation. But hey: at least your hopes about Runhild have not been disregarded and the girl has indeed helped our Princess quite a lot!
BlahBabe: they would have totally deserved it!
rossui: I don't want to spoil anything, but I chose angst as a genre for a reason I'm afraid! :)
Catspector: unfortunately even with her maid by her side, she has been more isolated - and miserable, than ever. As for the marriage, I think it would become clearer to us - and them as well, if they just started talking…question is when and if will they ever do it!
EugeniaVictoria: well I hadn't thought about it, but I guess you have a point about the feminist touch of her venting! :) Also, I can't stress enough how great it is to read that you found all the characters relatable in their choices and their struggles: that was exactly what I had hoped for and to see that I managed to convey the message and that you enjoyed the chapter, makes me really happy! Also: thank you for your trust, hope the story will live up to your expectations!
Guest: sorry for keeping you waiting for this update!
LenoreFan: as a cat person, it broke my heart to write it! I think Lothíriel's reaction is understandable, though is making her life way more miserable. Also, seen from the outside much of her behavior could simply pass as arrogant and as such, it is not a surprise that the only person she seems to be getting along with is her maid, the only one who has seen her at her worse and maybe understands a little better what she is really going through. As usual, communicating and speaking to one another could help things and hopefully this chapter taught them just that! I don't think Éomer is a jerk though he may act like one sometimes (and so does Lothíriel, to be fair). But things are not easy for him either and I can see him (though I don't justify him) trying to avoid another problem rather than facing it, because he himself is struggling on his own. I know this chapter doesn't really help the whole jerk issue, but hopefully it shed some light on the fact that he himself feels at loss in this marriage and even though he is much older and more experienced, he simply feels insecure being with someone like Lothíriel. I hope despite all you still enjoyed this chapter! :)