Chapter 19
Edoras, June the 26th, 3018
Surrounded on all sides by an elegant portico, the once beautiful pebbled paths now covered in dirt and the wooden sculptures devoured by mold and years of neglect, the abandoned courtyard Lothíriel had seen from her room proved a sadly accurate depict of what had become of Meduseld and the Golden Hall.
Kneeling by the low mound that encircled the garden, Lothíriel worked strenuously to pull all the weeds until finally, what had looked like nothing more than a flicker of colour in an otherwise dull garden, revealed itself to be a tenacious crimson rose. On the stem were two more buds waiting to blossom, and a ladybug making haste towards the flower. Her wings were a vibrant yellow and when she found her way blocked by one of her fingers, she climbed over it and started exploring her hand, her tiny legs tickling ever so slightly on her skin.
"Éomer never mentioned you were into gardening".
Lothíriel smiled and rolled up her sleeve, so that her little winged friend could continue her exploration: "Shark's tooth".
"Shark's tooth?".
"Yes. Also known as red pagoda. It's a succulent, native to Southern Harad. It grows on dry, rocky slopes and like all succulents, it's a strong, resilient plant: all it needs, is plenty of sunlight and a tiny bit of water - or so my aunt told me when she got me one. It was the most stunning, eye-catching plant I had ever seen: a tower of stacked, triangular leaves ranging from a glossy green to a deep burgundy. It looked so… unique. It costed my aunt a fortune, but she assured me if there was one plant I could take care of, it was a shark's tooth". Lothíriel paused and carefully returned the ladybug to the rose: "It was dead by the end of the following month". She wiped her hands clean and took one deep breath before turning around: "Hello Éowyn".
Clad in a candid white gown, her golden hair loose on her shoulders, Éomer's sister looked beautiful and stern at the same time, strong and proud like a true daughter of Rohan. Under her cold gaze, Lothíriel felt like shrinking and searched desperately for something appropriate to say, something that would get her out of that embarrassing silence. "What about you? Do you like gardening?".
Éowyn looked around, as if to tell her the answer to her question was quite literally all over the place: "Not at all. My grandmother had this place built".
"Morwen Steelsheen?".
"Yes. She had always had a passion for exotic flowers and upon moving to Rohan, she ordered this wing of the Hall – which had been mostly abandoned at the time, to be completely demolished and replaced with the most beautiful garden the people of Edoras had ever seen".
"She grew exotic plants here? How?", she asked incredulous.
Éowyn pointed at the strange crisscross of beams above their heads: "There used to be glasses up there. They were supposed to trap what little heat the sun provided, but when Morwen designed the garden she was still unfamiliar with how long and bitter Rohan's winters can be. Her plants died within a matter of weeks, but she did not give up: if she could not harvest enough warmth from above, then she was going to produce it from below".
"You mean to say…", said Lothíriel tapping her feet on the hard masonry floor.
"Yes. Morwen hired the best carpenters she could find and had them digging this whole area out, down until that room over there. She had them building a raised floor and a furnace: wood was burnt inside that chamber, the smoke channelled in the hollow space under our feet and the heat slowly released into the garden. My mother used to tell me that even during the coldest winter days, it was always summer here".
Lothíriel placed a hand on the ground and tried to imagine how it must have felt and looked like. A little tropical corner right in the middle of Rohan! "What happened to it?".
"The garden was costly to maintain. After a particularly cold winter when wood was scarce and more urgently needed elsewhere, the furnace was turned off and never lit again. Morwen replaced her exotic plants with others which could survive without the heat, and had the sculptures carved by some of Rohan's most renowned artists. Though greatly different from its original appearance, for many years the garden preserved its splendour and beauty. Until Morwen grew too old and weak to care for it, until a terrible storm damaged the beams and caused the glasses to collapse… It all happened a long time ago: I myself never had the chance to admire this place during its glorious days".
"Perhaps more of them are ahead of us, who knows…", Lothíriel dared hoping.
"Between you and Éomer, I take it you must be the optimistic half of the couple", said Éowyn, the hint of a smile curving her lips.
"Sometimes I am. But most of times, it's him".
"Are we even talking about the same man? About this tall, grumpy looking, awful temper…".
"Now you are being unfair. He can be grumpy and he does have a bad temper, I'll give you that. But the way he keeps fighting every day to give us a better future… well, if that is not optimism, then I don't know how to call it".
Éowyn stood still, her eyes boring into her with a familiar raging fierceness: "Have you had a chance of visiting the city yet?", she asked in a bizarrely loud voice.
Lothíriel glanced around. The courtyard appeared empty, yet she had the distinct impression they were not alone: "No, but I'd love to". She placed her hand in the crook of Éowyn's arm and followed her into a maze of dark corridors. They left the Hall through a service hallway and climbed down towards the city: "Was it Grima?", she asked.
"No, just one of his henchmen: they watch every step you take, hear every word you whisper".
"Who are they?".
"Mercenaries, men whose loyalty can be bought with a few gold's pieces. It all started last year: at first only a few of them appeared, and nobody thought too much of it. But their numbers have steadily increased, and so has their swagger and arrogance". Edoras' streets were packed with people and growing quickly frustrated with how difficult it was to advance, Éowyn decided to lead her off the road. They descended further down until they had reached a gurgling stream that seemed to spring out of nowhere, and followed it towards what appeared to be the city centre: "This is the commercial heart of Rohan: goods from all over the country are sold at the weekly market, there are plenty of workshops, talented craftsmen and a wide choice of taverns and inns".
"I guess that explains why so many inebriated citizens…".
"This is nothing. Come back here after dusk, and you'll smell the ale from a mile's distance. And by tomorrow morning, the streets will be swarming with drunken fools who can't even remember their names, let alone the way back home".
"Is it so every day?".
"No - not to this extent at least. You see, Aldburg is not the only city to celebrate Midsummer: in Edoras, the Hall traditionally hosts banquets for three days in a row. There's food, drinks, music, dances… but not this year. By Grima's order, all celebrations have been cancelled".
"Why so?".
"He says we can't afford them and did not miss the chance of moving veiled accuses to those he believes are responsible for such failure".
"Éomer?".
"Among others, yes", spat Éowyn. "Anyway, his decision was hardly enough to curb the people's enthusiasm and their craving for some days of entertainment – especially during such times. Several taverns and inns have come together to organize their own version of the Midsummer's banquets and as you can imagine, their initiative has received a very warm welcome".
As they left the buzzing city centre behind and headed towards the eastern watchtower, the streets grew empty. There was a small hill, around whose feet modest-looking cottages were amassed one on top of each other in a rather disorderly fashion. As the road climbed towards the tower however, the buildings became progressively larger and more spaced from one another, with some sporting a well-kept yard or even private stables. In a way, the place reminded Lothíriel of Minas Tirith and the way its seven levels rose in a crescendo of sophisticated architectures until finally meeting the White Tower of Echtelion at the very top.
"I find it difficult to figure you out, Lothíriel", spoke Éowyn at last.
"May I ask why?".
"The first months after you married, Éomer rarely ever spoke about you. And so, I've come to know you through Meregith's eyes, though the rumours that would often reach my ears: they said you were obnoxious, snooty, that you did not miss a chance to belittle those around you".
"I suppose there is some truth to that".
"I despised you for it", said Éowyn, her voice as sharp as a knife. "I know Éomer thinks losing our parents was harder for me than it was for him. But back then I was only a child while him, he was a child who thought himself a man. After our father died, he thought caring for me and our mother was his duty; and after she left us, for such a long time he was consumed by anger and guilt, as if her passing was in any way his doing. For months he rarely ever allowed me out of his sight and as the years went by, his desire to avenge our father's death turned into a crushing sense of responsibility: no child should ever have to go through what we had, and he took it upon himself to ensure that. He committed himself fully to the cause of protecting Rohan and never had a life outside that; and yet, in spite of the countless horrors he witnessed out there, he remained a good, generous man. All these years, I cherished the hope he'd find love one day, someone able to give him that lightness and happiness life has always stubbornly denied him. But then you came, and I was so angry: I tried to convince Éomer not to marry you, told him he shouldn't sacrifice the only precious thing he had kept for himself – his heart, his future, the chance of marrying for love and not for political interest; but of course, he did. For a short while I dared trusting the hope you might have proved worthy of my beloved brother; but you didn't and for that, I hated you".
Lothíriel halted and when Éowyn turned towards her, she held her icy glare: "I can understand how you felt and trust me, there are things I did I am not proud of. But I too, was someone else's sibling. I too, had wished for something better in life than an arranged marriage to which I had never even agreed to in the first place. But you know what", she said feeling her cheeks burning, "I am not sorry. For the longest time I pitied myself – and Éomer too, but I no longer feel that way: I am not sorry for myself; I am not sorry for being here; I am not sorry for being Éomer's wife. And I believe he feels the same way".
Éowyn stood unfazed. For a moment, Lothíriel thought she'd have dared rebutting her and if so, Valar help them both because she was not going to respond of herself! But instead, her features softened and to her utter surprise, she seemed almost embarrassed: "I have long wondered what had caused Éomer to change his opinion of you in such a drastic, sudden way. I feared it was guilt, suspected you were still the undeserving girl who had come to Rohan many months ago. But I see my judgment may have been too rash". She took her hand and stared at it with a deep frown: "My brother cares for you, Lothíriel".
"And I care for him, Éowyn. That's the only reason why I am here today, why I accepted to speak with that… that…".
"Filthy scoundrel?", suggested Éowyn.
"I take it you've already spoken with Éomer…".
"I did and in all honesty, I can't say whether he was more furious at Grima for the way he cornered you, or proud - and a little amused, for the way you ridiculed him".
"I'd go for furious, if I were him". Her words brought a smile on Éowyn's lips, yet seeing how her gaze remained stoically sober, Lothíriel found herself feeling for this fierce lady and the endless trials life kept throwing at her: "Living in Meduseld must be hard for you…".
There was a flash of sadness in Éowyn's eyes. She took her arm and resumed their stroll up the winding street: "There are days when the King doesn't even recognize me anymore", she whispered after a while, her voice almost cracking with emotion. "At all times, I can feel Grima's breath on my neck; and the fear that something might happen to Éomer or Théodred, torments me at day and keeps me awake at night. Do you know how my life feels, Lothíriel?".
"Small?".
"Yes, like the walls are closing on me and all I can do is staring helplessly at them".
"Then why don't you come to Aldburg…".
"And abandon the King? The man who has been like a father to me? Fleeing might have been an option for you, but it is not for me!", she hissed enraged.
Lothíriel exhaled and forced herself to ignore her not so subtle jab: "I'm not suggesting you should abandon Edoras. All I'm saying, is you could visit us every once in a while, spend a few days in Aldburg. I know it wouldn't be easy, I know your presence is needed here – now more than ever. But I want you to know Aldburg's doors will always be open for you".
Éowyn let out a frustrated sigh and halted so suddenly that Lothíriel almost tumbled over her: "I am sorry, I shouldn't have said what I said…".
"It's alright, Éowyn. Just promise you'll think about it: Éomer would be happy to have you with us, and I'd love to get to know you better", she told her. All she got as an answer however, was a stretched smile and somehow, Lothíriel knew it: Éowyn's sense of duty was no less than Éomer's and no matter how toxic that place was, she was never going to leave the King's side. Not even for a day or two.
When Beywyn had told him Háma had been sent manning the walls, Éomer had assumed he'd find him by the main gates. But obviously, Grima had gone out of his way to assign him to the most remote and forsaken corner of Edoras' defences: the South-eastern post, staring right into the mountains and only accessible after having crossed half of the city and the entire horses' enclosure.
"Look who's finally here!", welcomed him Háma when he saw him approaching, the smile on his face quickly fading away as he took in his thundering gaze: "Why so sullen?".
"I spent the past two hours looking for you! What has gotten into Grima to send you down here, watching over a pile of rocks! You are the King's Doorward, not some fledgling recruit!".
"I am moved by your sympathy, but let me give you a piece of advice: if you intend to survive your time in Edoras, you better get used to the man's machinations and not let them set you off so easily".
Éomer rubbed his face and passed him the small bundle he had been carrying with him the whole time as he went up and down the walls: "Here, I raided the kitchens and brought you some food".
"Ah, I knew you wouldn't have come empty handed!", rejoiced Háma. "We had been expecting you yesterday already, what took you so long?".
"We had troubles on the road and I deemed it wiser to stop for the night in Gippeswyk".
"Troubles?".
"Orcs".
"Where?", asked Háma gulping down his meal.
"Just west of the village".
"That's a relatively safe area…".
"I know. They caught us by surprise too".
"Did you lose any man?", he inquired.
"No, we all made it through unscathed but let me put it this way: the day was this close to end in tragedy", said Éomer. He looked around and peeked to the other side of the post: "Are we alone here?".
"There was a lad, but I sent him home. What's happening, Éomer?".
"We were ambushed, Háma. One moment we were peacefully riding, the next there were arrows raining down on us. Well, not on us actually: just on my wife. If it wasn't for Éothain, she'd be dead by now".
Háma clasped his hands behind his back and stared thoughtfully at him: "First the wargs, now this. It seems like we are pulling our best efforts to show your wife the ugliest side of this country. How is she doing?".
"Shook, but otherwise fine. I wanted to turn back and return to Aldburg, but she insisted on coming here. And talking about Rohan's ugliest side: the moment she stepped inside the Hall, she found Grima lurking around and waiting for her".
"Just normal daily business in the life of a Wormtongue. One you suspect being involved in what was not just a simple ambush, but rather a carefully laid-out plot to assassinate your wife. Am I not right?", asked Háma.
"You don't seem very surprised".
"What do you want me to say, Éomer? I have no evidence to support my suspicion that Grima might be colluded with our enemy, but lately things have been… strange. Guthláf and I have often been given unusual assignments – you know, watching over a pile of rocks and so forth; one would think it is to humiliate us with tasks that would normally be considered below us just because we dare standing in his way, but isn't it convenient that all those tasks always irremediably end up luring us out of the Hall and into… well, such blind, useless spots?", he asked opening his arms.
"Have there been suspicious movement during the past couple of weeks?".
"Plenty and not only in the past couple of weeks. Twice a month, Grima himself rides away: he takes no guards, no thugs with him. He leaves at dawn and normally returns at dusk of the following day, claiming he had to take care of some no better-defined state matters. Do you know Balfa?".
Éomer scratched his beard, the name sounding vaguely familiar: "Doesn't he ride in the King's Eored?".
"Yes. A young man, barely more than a lad really. I know you pride yourself for having the best tracker of all Rohan serving among your men, but trust me when I tell you Balfa and Gárwine are almost equally matched. He's smart, he's shrewd, he's patient; but most importantly, he's loyal to the Mark. Last month, I asked him to follow Grima…".
Éomer let out a low, hissing breath: "It's a dangerous game you're playing, Háma".
"You think I don't know?", he hissed back. "Balfa returned two days later, looking like a beaten dog: he said he had lost Grima within the first half-day of riding, that all the tracks he had found led him to running into circles until he eventually gave up. If Grima had nothing to hide, then why caring for hiding so scrupulously his tracks? And with all the attacks there have been lately, how can he feel so confident to ride out there all alone, with no guards and barely any weapon on him? It's as if he knows, he won't be in danger…".
"Have you found out anything else?".
"No. So, if you had hoped I could offer you more than a shoulder to cry on, sorry to disappoint you".
"What about the King? It's been almost two months since I last spoke to him, but Éowyn says he's getting worse…".
Bitterness twisted Háma's brow: "Aye. There was a time when the King and I used to be friends. Now, I am barely allowed to have a private conversation with him. Grima is constantly perched on his shoulder, like the bird of ill omen that he is. And even when he is not, the King…", he hesitated, as if afraid of finishing the sentence. "I feel like the King is no longer here, Éomer. His body – his frail, withered and almost unrecognizable body, is. But not him. If you get him on a bad day, he'll hardly speak a word to you; and if you get him on a good day, he'll prove uninterested to even the most passionate plea".
Éomer sat on an old crate, his eyes fixed on the ground. Orcs roaming their lands; a weak King; a colluded advisor ruling the country in its stead… he felt like being strapped to a chair in a rapidly sinking boat: he could loosen the cord biting on his wrists, he could stretch on his toes and perhaps even stick his head out. But that would only serve to delay the unavoidable: the boat will sink, and he will drown.
"What will you do, Éomer?".
"What can I do?".
"Much. The people look up to you and your cousin: it's way too easy to feel hopeless around here, but the Rohirrim are strong people and as long as you and Théodred live, as long as you and Théodred fight, they will endure any hardship".
Éomer stood and stretched his neck, silenced that little nasty voice in his head that kept asking whether he had the strength to endure it all: "We'll leave tomorrow at first light. I'll escort Lothíriel home, see that she is safe and then I'll ride to the Hornburg to speak with Théodred. If Grima went as far as trying to assassinate my wife, Bema knows what else he might be capable of".
"Right you are. And Éomer", called him Háma as he made for leaving, "be careful: Rohan needs you, and you have much to live for. Don't you ever forget that".
When Lady Aldwyn opened the door and saw her standing there, she didn't think twice before pulling her into a crushing hug: "My dear, it is so good to see you!".
"So good that you are trying to squeeze me to death?".
"Hush, I am but an old woman!".
"An old woman with the strength of a lioness!", laughed Lothíriel.
Lady Aldwyn stepped back and took a good look at her: "Oh my, you barely look like the same frightened, mousy girl I remember! Have you gained weight?".
Lothíriel shot Éowyn a desperate glare: "That's not a very nice thing to ask!", she protested.
"It is an extremely nice thing to ask. Last time I saw you, you looked so scrawny and pale I feared you might have collapsed any moment! But now that you have put some meat on those bones and a pretty tan on those cheeks, you my dear look so gorgeous that I strongly doubt Éomer can take his eyes off you!".
Behind her, Éowyn almost chocked in an attempt not to burst out laughing: "Can we change subject, please?", begged Lothíriel.
"Alright, alright. I totally forgot how much you dislike being flattered with compliments, no matter how truthful and uninterested they are. Very well, come in then", Lady Aldwyn said moving out of the doorway, "Éowyn, I'm glad you came too. Let me ask my maid to fetch us another glass and another bottle of wine".
When upon entering Lady Aldwyn's study Lothíriel realized another bottle meant a third bottle, she turned towards her sister-in-law and dearly hoped she was an unrepentant drunkard: "Do you drink, Éowyn?".
"Not much, and wine gets very quickly to my head".
"That makes two of us. So, I guess we both know how this day is going to end…".
"With us crawling on all four back to the Hall?".
"If we remember where the Hall is. Otherwise, we'll just be another pair of fools wandering around until dawn…".
Within the following hour, Lothíriel emptied her glass at least three times but somehow, it kept filling up so quickly that she never even managed to glimpse at the bottom of her goblet. When she saw Lady Aldwyn uncorking the second bottle however, she decided she better slow down: "Before I totally lose my wit, there's something I shall give you". She reached inside her dress and seeing her friends' puzzled gazes, she laughed a little embarrassed: "I did not want to leave it in my room and thought this was the safest place to store it".
She pulled out a little bundle of papers and placed them on the table in front of her: "Weeks ago, you mentioned in one of your letters you were having troubles in one of your iron mines, that you could not exploit it to its full potential as the richest section of the cave was enclosed between flooded tunnels that were too large and deep into the earth to be drained".
"I remember. What of it?".
"Back home, I never really cared for anything that wasn't my books. But from time to time, I overheard some of my father's conversation, and I remembered one specific instance when I heard him discussing a very similar problem with my eldest brother and my cousin Faramir. So, out of curiosity, I wrote my cousin a letter and confidentially explained the situation – I made no names though, so please do not worry that he might know you are involved. Anyway, I hadn't been expecting much: I thought Faramir might have been able to give me some useful advice or help me better understanding the problem, but nothing more than that. On Midsummer's eve however, two messengers rode into town: one was the King's one – and the reason why I am here today; the other, came from more far away and delivered me these", she said spreading the papers in front of her.
Lady Aldwyn stood, her attention quickly drawn by the detailed sketch of a sophisticated waterwheel: "Is this what I think it is?".
"If an advanced and improved version of a standard draining engine is what you are thinking of, then yes". Lady Aldwyn flipped through the sketches and for the first time, Lothíriel saw her losing that self-assured stance that had always been her trademark: "Will this help you?", she asked.
"Help me? Lothíriel, I am no expert but if I understand even a tenth of the potential of this machines correctly, then this will do far more than just helping me. We'll be able to extract more ore at a cheaper cost, and you know what that means?".
"Better swords, better weapons, better armours…".
"Iron has far more uses than you know: agriculture, trade, building construction… this", she said waving the paper in front of her, "means more food, more revenues to buy anything we may find ourselves lacking, better fortified cities and yes, also better armed men. Which is why – no offence intended, I am surprised Gondor was inclined to share it with us…".
"No offence taken and is not Gondor, but rather just my cousin. Indeed, he asked me to be discreet in making use of this information: should my uncle the Steward find out this knowledge has left Gondor without his consent, he'd be in enormous troubles".
"Which is why I have to ask you: are you sure you want to share this with me?".
"Wouldn't be very useful if I kept it hidden inside my desk, don't you think?".
"No; but you too might end in a lot of troubles, should someone find out about it…".
"I am aware of the risk and willing to accept it. And so is Éomer".
Lady Aldwyn poured herself another glass of wine and forgetting for once her impeccable manners, she chugged it down all at once: "I don't know what to say, Lothíriel".
"Then say nothing. Just take these", she said bundling all the sketches together, "find a way to conceal their provenience and make good use of the information they retained".
Lady Aldwyn shook her head in disbelief: "You think you've grasped the importance of what you are doing but truth is, you've barely scratched the surface. Which is why", she said grabbing all of a sudden her arm, "you should come with me".
"With you? Where to?".
"To the mines. I'll be leaving tomorrow morning and you should come with me: I'll have someone showing you around and I'm sure you'll find it… enlightening".
Caught by surprise, Lothíriel almost jumped on her feet to cry that yes, she'd like that very much! But as Éowyn was quick to remind her, she shouldn't take hasty decisions: "I'm not sure this would be a good idea".
"Why not? You could come too, Bema knows how much you need to leave this place!", scoffed Lady Aldwyn. She observed them glaring at each other for quite some time and exasperated by their stubborn silence, she finally snapped: "Out with it, girls: what is that you are not telling me?".
This time, it was Lothíriel's turn to gulp down the content of her glass – twice in a row, actually: "Yesterday, as we were on our way to Edoras, we were ambushed. And we have reasons to believe I was the intended target and Grima the instigator".
A long and tense silence ensued.
Lothíriel fiddled nervously with the fabric of her dress. Éowyn refilled their glasses. Lady Aldwyn stared at the cabinet at the far end of the room in a way that no one would have been surprised, had the furniture suddenly exploded in a thousand pieces: "I see I need to speak urgently with Éomer. But in any case, my offer stands valid".
"Did you not hear what she just said?", cried Éowyn. "They tried to murder her, and you want to drag her on a pleasure trip to your mines?!".
"I may be old, but I'm not deaf", hissed Lady Aldwyn, "I heard what she said and I see no reason to withdraw my offer, as I've been long enough in this world to learn a thing or two".
"Such as?", asked Éowyn in a dangerously condescending tone.
"Such as there's no hiding. You think rushing Lothíriel back to Aldburg and locking her inside the Hall will achieve anything at all? What is she supposed to do? Live the next years confined in her room because we are afraid of what our pale, slimy friend could do to her? You let the likes of him dictates the way we live our lives, and you've lost the war before the first shot was ever fired".
"Between locking her in her room and having her strolling around, I dare say there should be an intermediate worthy solution".
"Wrong. There's no in between solution: she can either cower or she can go on with her head held high. What would you rather do?", asked her Lady Aldwyn.
Lothíriel's hands were sweating and trembling, so she hid them under the table: "I'm scared", she said, "more scared than you could possibly imagine. Seeing those devils running towards us, knowing any bolt might have been the last, I was… terrified. But I've spent most of my life hidden away, I've spent months locked inside my room in Aldburg: I was safe, I was protected, and yet I had nothing to live for. I don't want to do anything reckless or stupid, anything that might endanger not only me, but also those around me; but I want to live".
"Well spoken, my dear".
"Easy for you to say", snorted Éowyn.
"Give it a break, will you? You of all people, should understand how she feels!".
Lothíriel observed in stony silence her sister-in-law leaping on her feet and storming out of the room. She slammed the door shut – first the one of the study, then the front one, and left without uttering a single word: "Perhaps I should go after her…".
"Let her cool off first".
"You shouldn't have been so harsh with her".
"I told the truth and she knows it, that's why she's so angry. Don't worry", reassured her Lady Aldwyn, "this was hardly our first quarrel and I highly doubt it will be our the last one. Éowyn and I are too similar, and our friendship has always been a bumpy ride".
"Still, I feel bad letting her go that way".
"You'll feel worse if you rush after her, trust me. Now, we don't have much time until the two little rascals arrive, so if that's alright with you let's agree that: I will speak to Éomer about our little escapade, knock some sense into his head if needed, agree to any condition he might impose and if it all goes well, by this time tomorrow we'll have you covered in soot!".
"Which little rascals?".
"Yes or no?".
"Yes, that's alright. But you haven't answered my question: which little rascals?", asked Lothíriel a little concerned.
"Why, Tidhild and Aldwyn of course!".
"Your granddaughters?".
"Yes, they should be currently on their way to collect you".
"W-what for?".
The grin on Lady Aldwyn's face made her look at least twenty years younger, and twenty times more intimidating: "You didn't think you could make it out of Edoras without having been offered an in-depth tour of our sparkly nightlife, did you?".
The Hammer was undoubtedly Edoras' best tavern.
Located right in the middle of the so-called Markthalle, it had been passed from father to son for over five generations and since a hundred years, it spoiled its customers with the best selection of local ales. Unlike other more recent establishments, its bill of fare had always been small and proudly stayed so: spiced roasted chicken, pork stew with dried plums and finally, the famous Hammer Pie. Filled with dried beef, garlic, raisins, fresh cheese and a mix of vegetables stewed into dark ale, it had always been his absolute favourite food. Just the smell of it, was enough to make his mouth water and thrown him ten years into the past, when together with his cousin they had been the Hammer's most regular customers. There he had gotten drunk for the very first time, there he had celebrated the day he had officially become a rider, there he had met Hádis, the first girl he had ever been with. Lovely blond curls and doe eyes to die for, she had been the closest thing to a sweetheart he had ever had: they had spent a whole summer together and back then, he might have even thought her the woman of his life. But then, life got in their way: he took to being away for weeks at a time, she grew tired of waiting for him and before long, they had grown apart and forgot about each other.
As he stared at the dark-haired woman sitting in the opposite corner of the tavern, Éomer realized there was actually very little he remembered about Hádis. Those who had come after her too, were nothing more than blurred memories, tiny lights in an ocean of darkness.
But she… she was something else.
The way a smile on her lips would lit the whole world around her; the way her cheeks turned the loveliest shade of pink if he so much dared praising her for something; the way the colour of her eyes could change so swiftly – cold and grey like earlier that day, or deep and green like that night at the camp, when he had gone so dangerously close to break the promise he had made of allowing her to set the pace in their relationship. He wasn't sure when and how it had happened. All he knew was that even at times when they were apart, her light was always with him.
Seeing him lost in his own thoughts, Éothain followed his gaze and when he spotted Lothíriel cheering over yet another victorious round of cards, he frowned and rose to his feet: "We should join her".
Éomer grabbed him by his shoulder and none too gently, he forced him back onto his chair: "No".
"She shouldn't be on her own…".
"She isn't. See the two grim looking blokes standing by the entrance? They are in Lady Aldwyn's service: they will ensure no one lays a finger on her and see that she makes it safely back to her room", explained Éomer.
His reassurance fell however on deaf ears: "Five blokes are better than two, come on".
Wulf didn't say anything, but shot him an amused look: ever since returning from the chase, Éothain and Lothíriel had grown unexpectedly close and a day rarely passed by without someone teasing his friend about how drastically his opinion of his wife had changed over the course of the past two months. Éothain didn't seem to be bothered though, normally answering with a shrug and something along the lines of only fools don't change their minds. Suppressing a grin himself, Éomer observed Lothíriel laughing breathlessly over something Tidhild had just told her: "How many of such nights have we had, Éothain? Just drinking, having fun, forgetting about everything else…".
"Many".
"Too many", he corrected him. "But she hasn't. Never in her whole life could she ever afford taking a friend out for a drink, or doing something silly you might regret the day after. Let her have her fun, let her enjoy life. She deserves as much".
"Marriage has made you a whole lot wiser", said Éothain as he tried to get a hold of one of the tavern girls: "I'll get myself another ale, do you want something?".
"No. I'm so tired I'm not even sure I'll manage to finish to this one", said Éomer raising his pitcher.
"Long day?", asked Wulf in a cautious low tone.
"I wouldn't even know where to start from…".
"How about the part where Lothíriel pretended Grima was so insignificant she didn't even know his name?", suggested Éothain, a most innocent-looking smile plastered on his face.
"How do you know about it?".
"Guthláf happened to be in the Hall when Grima approached her, and he overheard most of their conversation. Now, I got a first-hand account of what was told but as you can imagine, rumours run wild around here…".
"Mind being a little more specific?".
"Well", said Éothain wiping his beard with the sleeve of his tunic, "Lothíriel told Grima he should care more about Rohan's real problems, and less about your private life. Already quite a spicy thing to tell the Wormtongue; yet as it passed from mouth to mouth, the rumour got twisted into: Lothíriel told Grima he was not qualified to talk about married life because of his… how shall we say… malfunctioning equipment?".
Wulf laughed so hard he spewed ale from his nose, while Éomer let out a mortified groan: "Who said that?".
"A drunken guard. I wouldn't be surprised if by the end of the night, people will run around claiming Lothíriel skinned Grima alive…".
"Silly rumours aside, I must admit I am myself surprised by how well Lothíriel stood her ground", confessed Wulf. "Don't get me wrong, Éomer: I like her and Wilrun always tells me great things about her. But she is no seasoned court schemer and after the scare she got yesterday, I'd have understood if she hadn't been able to handle things quite so remarkably".
"I am not", declared Éothain with the confidence of someone who knows what's what. "It's when things get rough that you can see what people are made of. And as I already told you, Lothíriel got the makings of a fighter. She just doesn't know it yet".
Wulf chuckled, but there was truth to his friend's words: the harder life struck Lothíriel, the more stubbornly she got back on her feet. He often wondered whether her family knew: had her father ever realized she was so much more than the timid young girl who spent her days in the company of her cat? Had her brothers – or Erchirion at least, ever seen her for who she really was? Maybe not, because as Éothain had said: Lothíriel herself did not know what she was capable of. But slowly, she was finally coming to see it. And so were the people around her.
His eyes never leaving her, Éomer cleaned his plate of even the smallest crumbles of pie and finished his ale: "I'll call it a night", he announced and mindful not to be spotted, he stood and left the Hammer through the back door. To say that it had been an exhausting day, was an understatement: between the ride to Edoras, Lothíriel's confrontation with Grima, Hama's disappointing news, his own encounter with his uncle's advisor and finally, the lecture Lady Aldwyn had given him, he was dead tired.
Their stay in the capital had proved more difficult than he had expected but most importantly, it had been an unprecedented failure for Grima: there was no more room for doubts about the man's disloyalty and on the morrow, he'd ride straight to the Hornburg and inform his cousin.
That night, sleep did not come to Lothíriel.
At first, she blamed it on the wine and ale she had indulged in. Then, as the mild spinning of her head faded away, she blamed it on the events of the last couple of days. Then, on the unusual blistering heat of a windless summer night. Then, on the excitement for the trip to come… But really, who did she want to fool? Yes, upon entering her room she had been a little drunk. Yes, she had had a rough time in Edoras. Yes, it was bloody warm in that room. And yes, she was very much looking forward to tomorrow's ride. That however, had nothing to do with the reason why she had spent the last two hours tossing and turning in her bed.
Well: their bed, to be precise.
Lothíriel turned around to look at Éomer: he lied on his side, his head resting on his arm; even in his sleep, a frown lingered on his face and under his closed lids, his eyes were moving frantically around. Without thinking, she propped herself up on one elbow: she laid a gentle caress on his cheek, traced the line of his jaw with bathed breath, unsure whether she feared or rather hoped he'd open his eyes and find her so.
For such a long time she had loathed him. Valar forgive her, during the first weeks of their marriage she might have even hoped he would not return from one his patrols: she'd have been a young widow then, and free to return home. But so much had changed since then and looking at him now, Lothíriel no longer saw the sullen man she had married in Minas Tirith months earlier, but rather a man compared to whom all others seemed to pale. Fierce and proud; but also gentle, caring, and so wondrously imperfect. One little brick at a time, he had torn down the walls she had built around her, until she had been left standing in front of his eyes with nowhere to hide. And she did not mind, she did not care, for he had taught her what nobody else ever had: that she shouldn't feel ashamed of her own insecurities, her own fears; that she could share them with him, just like he had done with her.
He had no idea what that had meant to her, what he had given her. Confidence. Purpose. Hope. Happiness: just sheer, stupid happiness.
And had she been a teensy bit braver, she'd have woken him up and told him so, told him marrying him had been the best thing ever happened to her and that she wished she had kissed her that damn night at the camp! But she wasn't, so she just kept looking at him and when his sleep turned fitful again, she pressed a silent kiss on his brow. Éomer's arm crept up her back and when she heard her name on his lips, Lothíriel felt like laughing and crying at the same time: "I'm here", she whispered, moving closer to him until every inch of their bodies was pressed together.
"I'm here".
Author's notes
SwanKnightoftheNorth: I assure you it's just as satisfying as finding new reviews! Well, sort of one-sided fluff, I'm afraid! She did meet Éowyn and of course, it wasn't all smooth sailing. Of course Éowyn would be protective of her beloved brother, and of course she'd doubt Lothíriel. But showing her some temper rather than cowing in a corner, proved the right thing.
Beancdn: I didn't go as far as the morning I'm afraid but whether the will be morning snuggles or not, Lothíriel is now into this just as much as Éomer is (if only she'd tell him…).
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: thank you! :)
napia328: glad the chapter could lighten your week, for your review definitely lightened mine! Yes, it was very thoughtful of Éomer to resist and though he doesn't know it yet, his efforts did work as Lothíriel has finally come to the realization she herself wants their relationship to move forward. However, being the girl she is and finding herself in uncharted territories, she is struggling on how to let him know that. But I am be confident Éomer will come to see it rather soon! As per Haleth, I'm not so sure he'd be a good match (he's also about twenty years older than our dear maid…), but we shall see! I think Lothíriel feeling sick was something bound to happen sooner or later and if anything, the ambush served to remove this last source of uncertainty in their relationship. In dealing with Grima, Lothíriel proved what Éomer already suspected – that she is more cut for court games than he is and surely enough, her reputation among the Rohirrim is skyrocketing!
Katia0203: no, I think he might have just shred him into tiny little pieces!
Wondereye: they took their time but they do make a great couple :)
almythea: glad you liked it!
Amandabaker852: as Háma rightfully pointed out, she really got to experience the worse side of Rohan. But she's stronger than she knows and as long as Éomer and her keep together and stay truthful to one another, Grima will find it hard to get rid of them.
pineapple-pancake: thank you!
tgo62: ain't it nice when your boss thinks your days are 100 hours long? But hey, let's put it this way: October is already half gone, so you are halfway out! Hopefully calmer – and more pleasant weeks, will follow! :)
Menelwen: I'm really glad Lothíriel comes out as a believable character, with all her flaws and virtues. I guess a panic attack is something most of us would get if confronted with a horde of orcs charging our way and as much as she tried to play the strong one afterwards, there was no way she could have made it until Edoras in that condition. Luckily, Éomer understood it better than her and showed her there's nothing she should feel ashamed of! As per the meeting with Théodred, it will have to wait a little longer I'm afraid! ;)
KatDelk: thank you so much, it always makes my day to hear my characters are believable and the pace of the story enjoyable! :) Also, I'm quite glad you brought up the what comes first - name or verb, topic. In both my previous story and in the first chapters of this one, I always used "...", nameverb ("...", Éomer admitted"). Then, as I was reading other fanfics and books, I noticed some authors invert the sequence and use "...", admitted Éomer. English is not my mother tongue but somehow, I felt this latest construct sounded "better" (but I might be completely wrong of course). So, when I read your review I flipped through the pages of some of the books I have here with me. Now I'm thinking the admitted Éomer construct is perhaps more "old-school" and not really used anymore? I could find it in books from Stevenson, Wilde, Tolkien too (also Sapkowski, which is course translated from Polish but still...). More modern authors such as King, seem to prefer the Éomer admitted option. Others still (like Lee), use them both. So, now I'm a little lost: are they both technically correct or am I missing something? :S