Chapter 4
Aldburg, April the 10th, 3018
Accepting the fact he wasn't going to get any decent sleep that night, Éomer pushed the blanket away and stood up with a grunt.
When he was younger, he used to be able to sleep anywhere and under any circumstance: whether it was in the freezing snow or under a pounding rain, whether he had just fought a bloody fight or drunk an entire barrel of ale, as soon as his head had rested on the pillow – or on the hard ground for the matter, he would fall asleep. But things had slowly changed over the course of the past year: there was always something nagging on his mind and regardless of how late it was or how tired he felt, he could not avoid spending most of his nights tossing from one side of his bed to the other. And even when he did manage to get some sleep, it was never a restful one: sometimes he would get up in the morning feeling more tired than the evening before, others he would awake in the middle of the night with only fragmented memories of the nightmare that had startled him awake in the first place.
"You're getting old", he told himself as he left his room and made his way through Aldburg's empty corridors: it was going to be at least a couple of hours before the hall would awake, which meant he had some precious time to work in peace on that huge amount of paperwork he had long been neglecting – and accumulating, on his desk.
Keen on getting a bit fresh air before locking himself in his study for the rest of the morning, he passed by the kitchens to grab a couple of apples and then headed outside: "Good morning, Eofor", he greeted the guard at the door.
"Morning Éomer. Up earlier than usual?".
He nodded and sat on the stairs to enjoy his breakfast. He had but given his apple a couple of bites, when he noticed that his wife too was awake and sitting by her favourite spot by the window, her back leaning against the wall. And while it was surely not unusual for her to be there, he was surprised to see her up so early in the day.
"She's often up at night", Eofor explained, guessing his thoughts.
"Is she?".
"Yes, I guess she can't sleep. Sometimes she takes a candle with her - to read I suppose, others she falls asleep. I think so, at least: no one can possibly keep so still for so long".
Éomer tossed aside the core of his apple and scratched his beard: "I suppose that explains why she sleeps at day".
"Probably, though she hasn't done it much during this past week".
"Why not?", he asked, well aware of how ridiculous it was that a young guard knew more about his wife's sleep regime than himself.
"Lady Aldwyn was here and they spent some time together. Lady Lothíriel even went to the stables to bid her farewell when she left and after that, she visited regularly her mare", Eofor explained before adding with a grin: "I think Runhild has been trying to convince her to go out riding but has been unsuccessful as of yet!".
Éomer stared at his wife's profile and though it was hard to say from that distance, something in her posture told him that Eofor was right and that she was indeed sleeping. And in seeing her that way, he couldn't help but feeling a rush of sympathy for her.
Sympathy, and sadness as well.
She had her flaws to be sure, but Théodred was right that moving from Gondor to Rohan must have been a drastic change for her. And the circumstances of their marriage hadn't helped either: had they been granted the chance of a normal courtship, things might have been easier. But their marriage contract had been signed only shortly before the winter and with the cold season upon them and troubles brewing everywhere in Rohan, there had been no chance for him to travel to Dol Amroth to meet her in person.
That they were to marry as complete strangers had been simply nerve-wracking for him and he had spent many nights staring at the ceiling of his room, trying to picture the woman he would have spent the rest of his life with, trying to imagine her looks but most importantly, what type of person she would have been like.
He was biased, he knew that much.
Gondorians didn't have much of a reputation among Rohirrim and his personal experience with them had been nothing short of disastrous. Though many years had passed, he still remembered clearly the first time he had visited Minas Tirith: his mother had died since only a few months when the King had entrusted Théodred to meet with the Steward of Gondor to discuss the possibility of trading some of their steeds. He had been but an angry boy at the time and though everyone had agreed that it was a terrible idea, his cousin had insisted to bring him along. Ah, if he had come to regret it! It had taken him less than a day to get already into trouble: the son of some lofty noble had had the not so brilliant idea of making a catty remark about him and his mount and before he even knew it, he had tackled him to the ground, fists and whatever else flying in the air. Théodred had been livid: he had ordered him to apologize and faced with his stubborn refusal, he had him locked in his room for the rest of their stay in Gondor. It wasn't until several years later that he had returned to the White City, without his cousin this time but under otherwise fairly similar circumstances. Only this time being a grown man he had managed to keep his fists clear of any noble's face. However, that did not mean things had gone smoothly and indeed, he had spent the whole length of his stay counting the days –the hours even, separating him from his return home.
He didn't know why, but it seemed to him that Gondorians took great pride in making anyone - and newcomers especially, uncomfortable and that no matter how hard one could try to fit into their strict and endless vademecum of rules, failing would still be the only inevitable outcome: years of imposed and very much hated study of the proper etiquette, and yet the moment he set foot in Minas Tirith he couldn't help but feeling again like that scruffy young boy who had gotten into a fight over some stupid comment!
That was what had worried him the most about marrying a Gondorian princess and in the end, unable to just sit and wait until their wedding to find out who Lothíriel was, he had done the only thing in his power: he had locked himself in his study and after dozens of aborted attempts and much crumpled paper, he had come up with a somewhat decent letter for her. He had given it to his fastest messenger and waited impatiently for his bride's reply, only to be sorely disappointed: the man had returned less than three weeks later, bringing him back his own letter together with a short apology from Imrahil explaining that correspondence between betrotheds was deemed improper in Gondor.
Éomer chuckled as he recalled how, after reading the note, he had left his study and stormed into the training grounds to tear to bits one of the poor decoys under the astonished and somewhat scared eyes of the new recruits.
The following months had been a kind of slow torture and he could only imagine that if they had been hard for him, then they must have been even harder for his wife, who was going to leave her family and friends behind to relocate to a country she knew probably nothing of. To his defence, he had intended to make things as easy and smooth as possible for her: he had had many of Aldburg's rooms renovated, he had picked her the best maid he could have possibly thought of and because one of the few things Imrahil had told him about her was that she enjoyed reading, he had retrieved his mother's book collection from the cellars in the hope she might have found it interesting. He had even made a mental list of all the things he wanted to ask her once they would finally meet!
Éomer run a hand through his hair and almost laughed at his own ridiculousness and lack of confidence in a field in which many considered him an expert. But the truth was that a roll in the hay with a tavern girl hardly counted as a valid experience when you have to figure out how to approach a wife you know nothing of!
His eyes still fixed on her, he rose to his feet: "Do me a favour, Eofor: when Runhild arrives, tell her that I wish to speak to my wife and that I'll be waiting for her in the solar", he instructed the guard before getting back inside the hall.
He passed by his study to grab some parchments and then headed upstairs. The door to the solar opened with a light a squeak and as he stepped in, he couldn't help but smiling: the room had been his mother's favourite and to him, it was the lasting foreground of many of his fondest childhood memories. There was one in particular that always kept coming back to him and it was the one of that winter when he had caught chickenpox: the healer had been adamant that his parents had to keep him separated from his sister – and other children in general, if they wanted to avoid the risk of an epidemy spreading across the whole town. Following his instructions had been easy at first: a high fever had forced him to bed and he had felt too weak to challenge his parents' orders. As his temperature went down and his strength came back however, he had become impatient to return to his friends and to his beloved pony and after two miserably failed attempts to sneak outside, his mother had eventually come to the conclusion that the only way to keep him inside, was to have one of them constantly watching over him. So they spent the following two weeks together in the solar, just the two of them: they would sleep on the sofa or on cots provided by his father - so that he could pretend he was a rider on some dangerous mission, they would often spar with wooden swords and every morning his father would walk his pony in the courtyard in front of the hall, so that he could see with his own eyes that they were taking good care of him in his absence.
Éomer sighed and stared at the ceiling of the room, with its green sky and golden stars. Maybe it was just the impression of a child that things used to be easier back then, but of one thing he was sure: they were happier.
Everything had changed the day his father's body was brought back to Aldburg: gone were the happy days, gone were the joyful moments they had shared in that room as a family and in a matter of only a few short months, he had found himself sitting in the saddle in front of his uncle, the profile of the city that had been his home for the first part of his life slowly fading away behind them and with it, his careless childhood.
After returning to Aldburg several years later, it had taken him a long time to bring himself to step back into his mother's solar. And when he had eventually found the courage to do so, he had been disheartened at finding it in a state of total abandon, with a thick layer of dust covering the furniture and its once brilliant colours long faded away. Himself unsure what to do, for a long time he had done nothing; until last autumn, when the marriage contract had finally landed on his desk and he had ordered the room to be brought back to its original splendour.
Éomer lit a couple of candles and paced around the room: he had thought his wife might have liked the place; more than that, a part of him had hoped in more happy family moments, more joyful memories to grace a place that had meant so much to him and his family.
Sadly, things with Lothíriel hadn't gone as he had hoped - and he was partially to blame for it, but surely it wasn't too late to improve upon their mistakes and clean up the mess they had created for themselves, Éomer thought to himself as he took a seat and spread the parchments in front of him.
Paperwork, oh joy!
He cracked his fingers and braced himself for a long and tedious morning but truth to be told, by the time the sun had risen he was surprised to notice he was progressing at un unusual good pace. He nodded in approval and was so taken by congratulating himself for the job well done, that he didn't hear the approaching steps and when someone suddenly knocked on the door, he almost fell from his chair, completely caught off guard.
"Come in", he called.
Dressed in a simple grey gown but with her hair arranged in a complicated intertwine of braids and silver pins, his wife entered the room and after an impeccable curtsy, she greeted him politely: "Good morning, my Lord".
Éomer stared at her and the first thing that came to his mind was that she looked…different. The weeks she had spent locked in her room seemed to have taken a toll on her: her skin was paler than he remembered – waxy almost, and she seemed to have dropped more than a few pounds.
What hadn't changed though, was the aloofness of her stance and the coolness of her gaze: she had but entered the room, and he already felt at loss as to what to say!
The room was uncomfortably silent as Lothíriel waited for Éomer to answer her greeting. He just stood there, in the middle of the room, hands behind his back, looking at her as if she was some kind of strange creature, the likes of which he had never seen before.
Valar, what was wrong with the man?!
Feeling unease at holding his gaze, Lothíriel looked around instead: the room was by far the brightest of the whole building and also, she thought, the most beautiful one. With three large windows that allowed light to flood in and furbished in an unusual light wood, the place felt warm and very welcoming.
"My Lady", he finally spoke, giving her the stiffest bow she had ever seen: "Thank you for making the time to join me".
Lothíriel arched an eyebrow, unsure whether he was being sarcastic: since her arrival in Aldburg her days had been an endless agony of empty hours that she would spend dragging herself from bed to chair, from chair to sill, from sill to bed, and over again. Sometimes she would read a book, sometimes she would sketch something, sometimes she would drift on and off sleep for most of the day, only to find herself staring at the ceiling of her room for the whole night, waiting impatiently for the sun to rise and for another tedious day to start. If there was one thing she was not short of, that was time! "Runhild said you wished to see me", she finally told him, already bracing for the worse.
Éomer circled around the table and there was something in the way he moved, in the way he cleared his voice and glanced towards her, that had her wondering whether he was…nervous?!
"I was told you like reading".
Lothíriel blinked, taken aback: "I…yes, I do like reading, my Lord".
"There are some books here", he said waving a hand towards the other side of the room.
Lothíriel stared at the bookcase he was pointing at, her eyes shifting from the books to her husband and then back to the books: "Is this why you summoned me here?", she couldn't help but asking.
Éomer seemed just as taken back: "Why, yes: I thought you might have liked to have a place for yourself. Apart from your bedroom, that is. Do you like it here?".
Lothíriel gave the solar a better look and found herself staring at that unusual, sparkling ceiling: "Why the green sky?", she asked in a voice that, she realized, sounded harsher than she had intended to.
"It was my mother's idea", he snapped.
"It is nice", she hurried to say: she may have not liked the man, but the story of his family – and his mother especially, had touched her deeply and belittling something she had done had really not been her intention. Indeed, she quite liked that green vault above them! "This whole room is actually very beautiful, my Lord", she admitted and judging by Éomer's reaction, it was the right thing to say.
"I'm glad you like it. This place…it has been neglected for too long and it was high time it found its new mistress", he told her and to her disbelief, there was a smile on his lips. Tiny, but a smile nonetheless.
Lothíriel lowered her eyes, feeling somewhat awkward in that unexpected turn of events: "Thank you, my Lord", she simply told him, unable to better express her gratitude.
Éomer hesitated for a moment, then started to collect the papers scattered on the table: "Very well, I shall return to my study and leave you to your solar then", he declared and as she observed him piling all his documents together, Lothíriel couldn't help but thinking about what Lady Aldwyn had told her.
There is more to the man than you have seen so far.
Could it be that she was right? Could it be that he truly was a better person than his behavior in the past months had left intended? Lady Aldwyn seemed to be sure about it and though Runhild carefully avoided the topic, she knew she thought just as much. Only a month earlier she wouldn't have cared about their opinion but now, after more than eight weeks of total isolation, she wasn't sure she could go on like that any longer. At the same time, there were so many things she could not understand of her husband…
If he really was the honorable man everybody spoke of, then why had he accepted to marry her that way? What did he want of her? If he was interested in her as a wife, he would have claimed his rights long ago. But he hadn't – for which she was immensely glad. And if he didn't care and wanted to have as little to do with her as possible, then why bothering at all? Why showing her that room? Why caring enough to choose her a handmaid she would get along with, one who would understand the hurdle of relocating to a foreign country, while at the same time allowing his housekeeper to endlessly torment her without saying a word? What was the sense of it? Lothíriel clenched her fists at the mere thought of it: during the past two months Meregith had been constantly at her heels and a day rarely passed by without the woman finding an excuse to pass by her room to remark in a thousand different ways how lacking she was as a wife and as a woman in general.
And even though her insults had longed ceased to shock her, even though she pretended she did not care about her words, she hated to admit they were still as hurtful as ever.
Tired of her continuous provocations, the evening before she had finally followed Lady Aldwyn's advise to stand up for herself and as a result, a rather heated discussion had ensued. In all honesty, she had thought that was the reason why her husband had summoned her there first thing in the morning. But once again, the man had proved her wrong and so maybe, Lothíriel thought, there was really a chance her friends were right about him after all. And even if they weren't, what did she have to lose?
"You can stay, if you wish", she suddenly told him.
Éomer froze and turned towards her, his surprise quickly turning into an unexpectedly warm smile: "I'd be glad to, my Lady. In fact, even a tedious task such as this", he said lifting the parchments in front of him, "becomes more bearable in such beautiful place".
Lothíriel remained silent: she thought about asking him what he was working on but quite honestly, she felt like she had exhausted all her bravado when she had asked him to stay and had none left to start an actual conversation. So instead, she moved towards the bookshelves and started examining their contents: she scrolled through the titles and though she came across a few volumes that she had already read and some that she was not interested in, she also found many she thought she might have liked.
Standing on her toes, she tried to grab a book from the highest shelf but only barely managed to touch it.
Behind her, Éomer stood up: "Here, let me help you".
As he passed her the book, Lothíriel gave him a nervous smile: "My aunt told me about this saga. It used to be very popular when she was young, but I never managed to find a copy to read it myself".
Éomer tilted his head on one side: "Vultures of Silver...rings a bell. Maybe my mother read it, who knows".
"These books belonged to her?".
"Yes, many of them she borrowed from Edoras' library and never returned them, others she bought herself throughout the years. There was one she liked especially", he said examining shelf after shelf, "I forgot the title, but it should be here somewhere. Ah, there it is!".
He took a blue tome with golden letters and gave it to her: "Twilight Tales", she read out loud.
"It's a collection of poems from different authors, places and times", he explained.
Lothíriel opened the book and flipped through the pages: she had always preferred romances to poetry, but she was willing to give it a try. "Do you mind if I keep it, my Lord?".
"Your room, your books, my Lady", he solemnly proclaimed.
Lothíriel stared at him, confused by his sudden gallantry: "I-I will bring it to my room and read it later today, then".
With Vultures of Silver still secured under her arm, she stepped aside and sat in one of the armchairs in front of hearth: she opened the book in her lap and felt immediately the familiar thrill that always came with the start of a new book. The feel of the leather cover under her fingers, the smell of old paper and – why not, dust, the anticipation for the journey into the unknown she was about to embark in. Where was she going to travel? In which age? With whom? Ah, there was no more glorious feeling in the whole Arda! So glorious that it didn't take her long to become so enraptured with the adventures of the disgraced hero Thannon, on a quest to redeem his family's name and find his lover of yore Idril, that she completely forgot about everything else going on around her.
Including her husband, naturally.
She was about to finish the third chapter, when a hand waving insistently in front of her nose brought her back to reality: "My Lady?!", Éomer was calling her.
Lothíriel snapped up from her chair: "I'm sorry, I did not hear you, my Lord!", she apologised.
He raised a hand: "No need to apologise, I'm glad you are enjoying your read. I need to take my leave as I have duties to attend to in town but before I go, I wanted to ask you whether you'd like to join me for dinner in the Hall later today".
Lothíriel paused: the morning had been unexpectedly pleasant, yet a part of her wished she could decline his invitation in favour of a quiet evening to be spent in her room – or maybe in the solar, together with Runhild.
Unfortunately, she knew that was not an option. Not after he had been so kind to her: "Of course, my Lord".
"Are you sure this was a good idea?".
Éomer sighed, exasperated: "Yes. The only question is whether it was a good idea to invite you as well!".
"Don't listen to him, Éomer. I for one was happy to receive your invite and can't wait to finally meet your wife", Gárwine reassured him as he walked past him and sat on Éothain's right.
"I'm glad you came, I wasn't sure you were gonna make it", Éomer told him with a grin.
Gárwine's eyes glinted with pride: "I know, but the little one is asleep and Brunwyn is staying at our daughter's place tonight, meaning I could afford escaping my grandpa's duties for a few hours".
"How is Estwyn?".
"Like every new parent: tired, exhausted and blissfully happy".
"And Cenric?".
"Alive, at least for the moment: he was already unbearably overprotective during the pregnancy, but now he has reached complete new heights. Just imagine: earlier today he scolded Brunwyn for holding the baby in the wrong way!", he burst out laughing: "You understand?! Cenric, who had never held a baby in his whole life until yesterday, correcting Brunwyn who has raised six children! I thought she would have kicked him in the arse!".
"She hasn't?", Éothain asked in genuine surprise.
"Not yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if I find him locked outside of the house when I get back!".
Éomer laughed and raised his mug: "To Estwyn, Cenric and young Freca. And to you, Gárwine!".
"Thank you, my friend! But now pray tell: how are things with your wife? Better?".
Éomer sipped on his ale and pondered carefully his words: "I'd say so, yes. Earlier today I showed her my mother's solar and we spent the whole morning there: we haven't talked much, but we haven bitten each other's head off either".
"Quite the step forward for someone who's been married for two months already!".
Leaning back in his chair, Éomer chose to ignore Éothain's comment: the man was his best friend, they grew up together and he loved him like a brother. But since he had married Lothíriel he had become a thorn in the side, continuously poking and teasing to the point he had started avoiding him altogether in the past few weeks – more precisely since that infamous night at the Putrid Hunter when, according to him, he had done absolutely nothing wrong.
"A small step is still better than no step at all, isn't it?", spoke a voice behind them.
Éomer turned around and was not surprised to see Wilrun, the daughter of one of his riders but most importantly one of Runhild's best friends: the girl gave Éothain a dirty look and then just walked away to reach the rest of her family. Seeing the expression on his friend's face, Éomer couldn't help but laughing: "I think you made it to the top of Runhild's blacklist, Éothain. I'd watch out, if I were you: Bema knows what the girl is capable of!".
The man looked utterly bewildered: "Does Wilrun even know your wife? And what does Runhild have to do with it?".
"I don't think they ever met each other, but I know Runhild has been trying to convince her friends that Lothíriel isn't half that bad and that she deserves a chance. I only wish I could convince you of the same!".
"Well said, Éomer", Gárwine nodded in approval. "And by the way: did you know that Lady Aldwyn was in town last week?".
Éomer, who had been dying to know more about it, immediately seized his chance: "Eofor mentioned it this morning. Did you speak with her? What did she tell you?".
"I did speak with her, but you know Lady Aldwyn: she says what she wants to say, not one word more. In this instance, that she had enjoyed your wife's company and that she commended Runhild's efforts with her. A clear jab to the way some of us reacted to her arrival, if you ask me", Gárwine explained, looking pointedly towards Meregith who was entering the room at that very moment.
"Lady Aldwyn knows Gondor well, it's no surprise she can deal with snobbery better than the most of", Éothain rebutted him, earning himself a sneering laughter.
"How little you know her, Éothain! Granted, she knows how to be diplomatic. But if she dislikes someone, she'll never pretend otherwise just for the sake of it. Trust me: I know it all too well!".
"How's that? Is there something we should know about you and our dear Lady Aldwyn?", Éomer meddled, sensing an interesting story ahead.
Gárwine waved a hand at him: "Please, Éomer: it's no secret half the lads – and lasses, of my generation had a crush on her".
"Even the lasses?".
"Why, yes of course! They all wanted to be like her: she was beautiful, she was charming and she could trash any of us during sword practice. A shieldmaiden through and through!".
"And you know she can be harsh because…?".
"Because I once professed my undying love for her".
Éothain almost chocked on his ale: "I don't believe it: you are making that up".
"I swear it's true: I was sixteen, she was in her late twenties, already married and with two children. Suffice to say it didn't end up well".
They both laughed their heads off: "We commend your courage but come on, what were you thinking?!".
"Thinking? I was a sixteen-year-old boy: I did not think!".
Éothain wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his tunic, but just couldn't stop laughing: "Does Brunwyn even know about it?".
"Which part of even the lasses had a crush on her did you not understand? Brunwyn was in awe with her and besides, after six children and almost thirty years of marriage, jealously is beneath us!".
Eomer gulped down his ale in a vain attempt to stop laughing at Gárwine's juvenile misfortunes: the hall was quickly filling up and getting merrier and louder with each further round of ale distributed across the table. Many of his men looked already positively inebriated, their wives were busy chattering with one another and a half-dozen kids were taking the place by storm, running around the table and bumping against anything – or anyone, who happened to be in their path. He extended an arm and caught one of them: "I got you, little devil!". The boy laughed but wriggled easily out of his grip, sticking his tongue out as he rushed back to his friends.
Seeing all the seats around the table were taken but one, Éomer instinctively turned towards the door and right on cue, his wife chose that exact moment to make her entrance. She walked a couple of steps and then froze, as if she had not expected to see so many people. At the same time, the hall grew terribly quiet and the eyes of every single guest seemed to be fixed on her.
Surely an easy way to enter a room full of strangers, Éomer thought to himself as he rose to his feet and to help her in the chair by his side: "I'm glad you joined us, my Lady".
To his left, Lothíriel answered with a nod of her head and a forced smile on her lips.
To his right, Éothain rolled his eyes.
Caught in the middle, Éomer took a deep breath.
Hoping food would help easing the suddenly tense atmosphere, he signalled one of the maids and soon enough, dishes started to leave the kitchen at a steady pace, filling the hall with a smell he could have recognized among hundreds of others. And judging by the way everybody was smiling, he wasn't the only one!
By his side, his wife looked way less amused and eyed suspiciously the food on her plate.
"It's a meat pie", he explained, hoping she would stop probing her portion as if it was some kind of weird dead animal.
"Filled with?", she asked, testing the consistency of the crust.
"Chicken liver, bacon and mushroom, my Lady", Meregith explained with a smile, filling her mug with abundant dark ale.
Lothíriel's eyes bulged and she immediately dropped the fork, as if it had suddenly become scorching.
"Liver pies are a traditional festive dish and trust me: they are delicious", he encouraged her.
But Lothíriel's pushed her plate aside: "I won't eat it", she said, crossing her arms in front of her and glaring openly towards Meregith.
Éomer rubbed his eyes: the woman could be worse than a spoiled child! "I am sure the cook can arrange something else for you, but you should at least try the pie: I don't think there's anything quite like it in Gondor, maybe you'll…".
"I don't need to try it to know I don't like it", she cut him short. "Meregith, send for Runhild: she will know what to do", she ordered in a dry voice.
A few outraged glares were exchanged across the table and by his side, Éothain barely suppressed a snort. His wife however did not seem to care in the slightest and for the life of him, he could not understand her: earlier that day she had been unexpectedly approachable, so much that she had even asked him to stay with her in the solar. As she read her book, he had been intrigued at seeing her going through a seesaw of emotions: he had seen her clutching anxiously at the cover of the book, holding her breath; he had seen her struggling to keep her posture as she went through what he could only imagine was a particularly riveting chapter; he had seen her struggling to keep a straight face as the corners of her mouth twitched and a hint of dimples formed on her cheeks. Nothing like the ice-cold Princess everybody had gotten used to, nothing like the woman sitting by his side in that very moment. And yes, he could understand that entering a room to find a few dozen eyes staring at you could be intimidating. But why would anyone react that way – he thought as he observed her glaring towards a group of girls sitting on the other side of the table, was beyond him.
To his right, Gárwine suddenly stood up: "Do you mind, Fram?", he asked the rider sitting by his wife's side. The man nodded – gladly so, and as they exchanged seats Gárwine held up a bottle: "Some wine, my Lady? It's not an Amrothian red, but I think you might like it nonetheless", he asked her with a wink.
"Hey old man, where did you get that bottle from? Feasting on wine while the rest of us have to drink ale!?".
Éomer seriously considered the idea of kicking Éothain out of the hall, but Gárwine beat him: "I feast on wine because I am at least able to tell the difference between a vintage red and that watered-down crap you drink at the tavern every night, you dolt!", he shut him down while the rest of the hall erupted in a roaring laughter. "So, my Lady: wine?".
Lothiriel pushed her ale aside: "Yes, please".
"My name is Gárwine, my Lady. It's a pleasure to finally meet you".
Lothíriel gave him a polite nod: "The pleasure is mine".
Gárwine waited until she had taken a sip from her goblet, then leant towards her and whispered something in her ear. Lothíriel lowered her eyes, then nodded again: "A little bit".
"Stupidity, my Lady. And a bit of jealously. But mostly stupidity".
Éomer turned towards Éothain, but the man shrugged his shoulders: what the heck were they talking about? Who was stupid? Who was jealous?
"And? Are you finding it difficult?".
"A bit, but Runhild is a very good teacher".
"Is she? Is there anything the girl can't do?".
To his utter astonishment, Lothíriel giggled: "I will let you know when I find it out. If I find out, that is".
Gárwine laughed: "She is a force to be reckoned with, isn't she?".
"Yes, I've never met anyone quite like her. At least not in Gondor".
"I dare say she is one of a kind, also among us", Gárwine agreed. "Has she convinced you to go out riding?"
"She has indeed: she has asked me so many times that in the end I couldn't but capitulate. We'll try tomorrow, weather permitting. I only hope she hasn't planned anything too difficult: I am not a very accomplished rider I'm afraid…".
Éomer saw his chance and just couldn't let it slip: "You are more accomplished than you think, my Lady. Riding from Minas Tirith to Rohan in the heart of winter is never easy, yet you did well", he praised her and in all honesty, it was true. She might have had a terrible attitude, but never once had she complained about riding in some of the worse possible weather conditions.
She didn't answer, staring instead into her lap.
"That's true, though I must say: riding that beautiful mare of yours probably makes everything easier, am I not right?", Gárwine tried to rescue the situation.
"I suppose so".
"And I've heard you are taking good care of her".
"If feeding her treats while the stablemaster is not looking is considered taking good care then yes, I am caring very much for her".
Gárwine gently nudged her but contrary to his expectations, Lothíriel didn't seem to be bothered: "I do it as well, but I have to be careful: my horse has a tendency to consider fingers as part of the treat!".
Lothíriel smiled: "Fortunately Rohiril is very gentle".
"She is a truly gorgeous animal and mind you: coming from a man of Rohan, that's quite the compliment! Have you had her long?", he asked.
"No, not long. She was given to me…", Lothíriel started to explain, but then something suddenly changed in her demeanour: her smile vanished, her hands clutched nervously together, her cheeks flushed. Éomer placed a hand on her shoulder but before he could get a word out, she snapped up from her chair: "I-I'm actually feeling very tired, my Lord. I think I'll call it a night and retire to my room, if you don't mind", she declared before rushing towards the door and disappearing into the dark corridors.
Éomer exchanged a baffled look with Gárwine: "Did I say something wrong?".
Author's notes: I know, I know: over four months since the last update. I won't even start to explain why, I suppose you all know how life can be at times! I had very little time and kept writing and re-writing bits and pieces of this chapter whenever I could, but ultimately only managed to consolidate it now! Probably not the best chapter because of the circumstances, but hopefully it'll improve in the next installments.
Guest: thank you! :)
Katia0203: literally knock some sense into him! As you said, I also believe his behavior is understandable and inexcusable at the same time.
Bregor: always thought the story of Eomer's family was one of the saddest ever.
Wondereye: indeed Lady Aldwyn managed to get her out of her shell! It is silly to lock oneself away but I think for someone who is as introverted as this Lothíriel is, it's not an unlike behavior because she finds her whole situation simply too stressful and uncomfortable. The question is whether she has finally reached her breaking point and is ready to risk venturing out.
readergirl4985: thank you! Writing about Runhild is always so much fun!
Menelwen: thank you for your trust, I'm glad you are giving this story a try! I have to say that are some GREAT fanfics about this couple taking place during the events of the LoTR and if I were you, I'd give them all a try! :) I believe you're right on the assumed lack of empathy but ultimately, they are all at fault for their own prejudices…
rossui: they are developing, still not sure they are improving though :)
EugeniaVictoria: in a normal situation it would be unlikely, you are right. But with Lothíriel being informed about the wedding only a few days ahead and with no communication whatsoever taking place between her and Éomer, I think it becomes a more likely scenario. Also: for weeks Lothíriel has stood by her decision that she wanted to have nothing to do with Éomer and did not care to learn anything about him – not from him nor from others, which is why she is literally just starting to discover the man now! :)
notusingthisgaian: I think the next 1-2 chapter will be to your liking then (hope so at least!).
ckara: sorry for the long wait!
tgo62: how right you are! This journey will be long and winding…
SwanKnightoftheNorth: you are right, I was shamefully late with this update. Sorry about that! I won't abandon this story - of this you can be certain, and I hope I'll be able to post a bit more regularly in the future.