Chapter 22
Caerdydd, July the 18th, 3018
Balláf frowned. By his side, Eofor didn't seem particularly amused either: "Perhaps we could wait until the afternoon. The crowd shall disperse by then and…".
Lothíriel rolled her eyes, exasperated. When Éomer had informed her that as a safety precaution she'd be assigned a couple of guards, she had accepted without much thinking - after all, her entire life she had rarely ever gone anywhere without at least two of her father's men trailing closely behind her.
But as it turned out, it had been a grave error.
Back in Aldburg, she had grown accustomed to her independency: she enjoyed wandering around the city; she liked walking to the stables to visit Ethelfola; she liked climbing to the old watchtower to enjoy a few hours of solitude and peace; she liked setting out from the hall without having a specific destination in mind; she liked pausing to rest her leg and being approached by some stranger wishing to keep her company for a short little while. The people of Aldburg had been good to her, really: ever since Éomer had rescued her from those cursed wargs, they had embraced her as one of their own, welcomed her in their life with such ease that without even noticing it, Lothíriel had come to cherish her little city escapades and occasional encounters.
But the ambush and the legitimate concerns for her safety, had changed everything.
Éomer had put Eofor and Balláf in charge of her protection and as much as Lothíriel knew she couldn't have asked for better guards, she also couldn't help but finding their presence by her side terribly cumbersome, aggravating almost! And the moment they had set foot in Caerdydd, the situation had gotten just a whole lot worse: the day before, upon arriving in town they had accompanied her to her room and inspected it in a way that had very nearly bordered ridiculousness, opening every single cabinet as if a hypothetical assailant might have been hiding in a square-feet sized drawer. Earlier that morning, they had almost scared to death the poor maid who had served her breakfast. And when she had told them she intended to visit Beyrith, they had very nearly fainted.
"Éomer and I will be busy with Elffa this afternoon, so no: we cannot wait for the crowd to disperse", she informed them. She could swear she heard Balláf growling, but maybe it was just her imagination.
Lothíriel pushed the door open and immediately, Eofor leaped out ahead of her, looking around with a grim expression on his face. It was market day, which meant the city was bustling with activities but luckily for them, the midwife who had taken Beyrith in after Fulor's death lived not far from the inn where she and Éomer had found accommodation. It took them only a few short minutes to get to her house - a modest looking cottage whose walls had been embellished with unusually bright colours. Lothíriel knocked at the door and when an elderly woman with silver hair came opening, she took the chance to put to test her shaky knowledge of the Rohirric language: "Godne morgen Somerhild".
The woman stared at her flabbergasted.
"Min namma is Lothíriel. Eadig þec to metenne". A long silence ensued and as the midwife kept staring at her with the same astounded expression, Lothíriel shot Eofor a nervous look: "Have I said something wrong?".
He shook his head, to which Somerhild snapped back to her senses: "My Lady", she greeted her in the common tongue, curtseying so low Lothíriel feared she'd topple, "please forgive me, I wasn't expecting to see our lord's wife at my doorstep. Please, come in".
The inside of the midwife's house looked just as unusual as the outside. Odd looking amulets and other trinkets hanged from the ceiling, their tiny bells jingling in the lazy summer wind. The walls were colourful and bright, with chalk flowers and other patterns painted on almost every single available inch of surface. "'Tis a place of joy after all", Somerhild told her, as if feeling the need to justify the way her own house looked like.
"It is. And I must say, if I could choose where to be born, I'd much rather go for a place like this than one of the bleak rooms in the House of Healing".
The woman's cheeks coloured. "May I offer you something to drink? Tea perhaps?".
"Water will do, thank you".
A rundown table stood in the middle of the room, its splintered surface covered with vials and flasks. When Somerhild returned with her drink, she hastily cleaned it and offered her a chair: "Please forgive the mess, my Lady. I had been brewing some potions and…".
"No need to apologize. After all, I came unannounced", Lothíriel reassured her. "Is Beyrith here?".
"Beyrith? Yes, yes of course. She's feeding the hens, let me go fetch her for you". The midwife rushed outside, only to return a few moments later with a slip of a girl tucked under her arm: "Beyrith, this Lady Lothíriel, Lord Éomer's wife". The young woman's eyes were fixed on the floor, her hands clasped nervously together. When Somerhild gave her a sharp nudge, she dropped into an ungainly curtsy: "Milady".
Lothíriel took a moment to study her. A handful of freckles covered her pale cheeks, and her hair was braided in an intricated intertwine of braids held in place by what she supposed must have been at least a dozen pins. It was a sophisticated and unusual hairstyle, and it looked all the more out of place on her worn-out gown and frayed slippers. She was pretty though, she noticed: her flaxen hair had an auburn tinge and her finely chiseled features made her stand out among her kinsman. Yet there was a sort of meek aura about her that seemed to eclipse everything else – her beauty, her youth, her eyes. Like a wildflower battered by the elements she was and soon, Lothíriel found herself at a loss for words.
She had thought much about whether she should meet Beyrith or not, and Éomer surely preferred she hadn't. She still remembered the day he had told her about the abhorrent relationship between Caerdydd's late ealdorman and the girl he had claimed to be his niece: the words had come out of his mouth one at a time, his whole body radiating a dark fury that had almost scared her back then. He had ever since refused speaking about the girl, but Lothíriel knew Beyrith was often in his thoughts: he inquired Elffa regularly about her well-being and in her eyes, it was clear he felt guilty for what had befallen her.
Ultimately, that was why she had decided to meet her.
Now that she was there however, she found all the words in Arda to be detestably inadequate to the enormity of what the girl had been through. How are you faring? Are you doing well? How is Caerdydd treating you? Really, what stupid questions! No wonder Beyrith responded with reluctant one-word answers. Good. Yes. Well.
Sitting at the other end of the table, Somerhild tried to fill in the embarrassed silences with answers of her own and though she was sure she meant well, Lothíriel grew quickly frustrated with her meddling.
"Beyrith", she suddenly called, "I was wondering whether you'd like to show me the city". She snapped up and without giving the girl the chance to refuse, nor Somerhild the one to suggest she could join them, nor Eofor and Balláf the one to pull out their hair at the idea of having to escort her once more through the packed streets, she walked her out. "Where shall we go? Left or right?".
Beyrith wrapped a shawl around her head – which really seemed unnecessary given the stifling heat, and nodded to her right. They passed a few stands selling pelts and hardened leather goods, but the girl was obviously uninterested and hastened forward.
"How about eating something?", proposed Lothíriel, "it's almost noon and I'm feeling quite ravenous".
She barely acknowledged her question before turning to the left and leading her through a maze of yards and narrow alleys, until Lothíriel was effectively lost.
That city made no sense to her, really. Upon approaching it the previous day, the first thing that had come to her mind was that it looked… overflown. Like when one tries to fill a pitcher too hastily, and suddenly the froth is overpouring everywhere and making one giant mess. That was how Caerdydd looked like: cottages built one on top of each other in a way that barely left enough space to walk through on feet, let alone on a horse. A multitude of inadequately small squares and stables. Oddly shaped walls that instead of simply enclosing the town like they did in Aldburg or Edoras, they zig-zagged up and down, their layout obviously altered and remodelled multiple times to wrap around all the more recently built boroughs. Éomer had once told her that in the twenty-years Fulor had ruled the city, Caerdydd had grown over ten-times fold - from a small insignificant village to probably the most important commercial hub of the entire East-mark. The man had obviously been a skilled governor but also – Lothíriel thought, an utter failure when it came to properly accounting for the city's rapid expansion with adequate infrastructures.
As they came out in the bright sun again, Beyrith paused and pointed at the stands at the far corner of one of the umpteenth little squares. An unmistakable plum of smoke rose above them, which could only mean one thing: fresh food! Lothíriel grinned and trusted her nose to take her to the right place.
During her first months in Rohan, she had deeply disliked the local food, finding it too heavy and greasy. With time however, she had come to appreciate what the Mark had to offer, and especially its sweets: fruitcakes, nut cakes, gingerbread, tarts, wafers… really, it was no wonder most of her dresses had to be re-fitted! "Would you mind if we eat something sweet?".
She could be wrong, but she could swear Beyrith's lips twitched in the closest thing to a smile she had ever seen on her face: "I like sweets".
"Do they have almond and honey ones?".
The girl nodded and walked her to a stand that looked – and smelled, divine. Trying to decide how many slices of cake she should buy – one for Eofor, one for Balláf, one or better two for Beyrith, at least three for herself, Lothíriel quickly reached the conclusion she better buy the whole damn cake! She did so without shame and with her mouth already watering, she looked around for a quiet spot where they could eat in peace. She eventually found it in a nearby street, where the robust fence of an empty paddock proved a decent seat to enjoy their meal. She unwrapped the cake and had the decency of ensuring everybody had a piece, before stuffing her mouth in the most unladylike manner. Much to her relief however, she wasn't the only one eagerly devouring her portion: "They are good, aren't they?".
Beyrith smiled and finished her first slice in no time. "Yes. May I take some more?".
"Of course! In fact, you're not allowed to leave until the cake is over!".
"Oh, that won't take long milady".
Lothíriel observed her chewing happily on a crunchy almond and noticed a drop of sweat trickling down her brow: "Isn't it a bit too warm to wear a shawl?".
"Aye. It's just… this way people are less likely to recognize me".
Noticing her discomfort, Lothíriel cursed herself: "I'm sorry, perhaps I shouldn't have insisted on going out. We can go back if you want", she offered.
"No, tis' alright milady. Here is quiet, not too many people around and I like the cake very much". Beyrith straightened up and hesitated but for one moment, before getting rid of her shawl: "People always stare at me", she said wiping her forehead, "that's why I rarely go out".
"If anyone ever bothers you, you need only tell Elffa…".
"No one's ever bothered me. In fact, most seem too afraid to even speak to me. They just stare at me, and I see the pity in their eyes – Somerhild says it's guilt, but I think it's pity".
"They'd be right to feel guilty. And fool to pity you".
"And which of the two are here for, milady? Pity, or guilt?".
"None of them. Éomer has been very concerned with your well-being and to be honest, so have I".
"Last time I met him, I almost killed him. Why would he be concerned for my well-being?".
Lothíriel felt a pang of sorrow at those words. She and Beyrith were peers, yet how different their lives had been, how ruthless and unforgiving the girl's faith had proved. She reached for her hand and held it gently: "Because we failed you, Beyrith. Because none of what has happened, should have happened. Because it is unforgivable that a man like Fulor was allowed you to manipulate you the way he did. Because the only thing more unforgivable than failing you so, would be letting you down again".
Beyrith remained silent, regarding her every now and then with a blank expression that was even more hurtful than if she had simply started crying. "I don't know how I feel", she said at last. "Sometimes I miss him. Sometimes I hate him. Sometimes I wish I could return to where we once lived together. Sometimes I wish I could run away from this place I call home. With him gone, I don't even know who I am, what I am".
Lothíriel traded carefully her next words. "Your feelings are your own, Beyrith. I don't suppose to know what you have been through and I don't presume to know how you should be feeling. We can't change the past but if anything, we can make sure we don't keep doing the same mistakes over and over again. I did not come to you today to pity you. I came here because we have been blind once, and won't be anymore. I came here because should you ever need something, should you ever grow tired of those oafs who keep staring at you, I want you to know you can always count on our help. Whatever you might need, wherever you might wish to go, please remember you're not alone and we – me, Éomer, Elffa, will always be more than glad to help you, in any way we can".
Beyrith did not say a word, but her fingers curled tight around her hand. And that, was good enough for her.
Ever since receiving Elffa's cryptic letter a few weeks earlier, Éomer had clung on the hope the man had found a suitable candidate to take over the role that had once been Fulor's.
It had been a mistake, of course.
"Garhild, get out of here. Now!", he yelled, slamming his fists on the table. The woman – the daughter of a rich merchant, widow of an even richer one and perhaps one of the most influential persons in Caerdydd, gave him a stiff bow and left the room with unhurried, calm steps.
"Éomer, before you say anything, please bear in mind she's…".
"A woman, Elffa. She's a woman! That's all there is to know!".
From across the table, Lothíriel cast him an icy glare: "Perhaps you should let Elffa talk and explain why he thinks she'd be fit for this job".
Éomer barely suppressed a growl. "Oh, I'm sure she has many fine qualities. Sadly, none of them makes a her a viable candidate".
Elffa was obviously displeased: "You do realize all the great job you've been praising me for these past few weeks, was mostly her doing? Look, I know a woman would be an unusual choice, but she's held in high regards and believe me, she knows how to run this town better than anybody else. No Éomer, let me finish", he anticipated him before he could get a word out of his mouth. "Towns the size of Caerdydd, normally keeps records: inventories, registers of incoming and outcoming goods, standing contracts, purchasing prices and so forth. Fulor – curse him, never did anything of the sort: the man had a mind like a steel trap and managed everything from memory. When you left me here, trusting me to be able to act as an interim ealdorman, I thought it would have been a challenging task but not an impossible one. When I realized the way Fulor was conducting business however, believe me that I've been very close to give in to despair. I spent my first two weeks running around like a madman, trying to figure out which contractual obligations I was supposed to be fulfilling, which tradesmen I was expected to be selling to – or buying from, at which agreed price and so forth. You have any idea how many tried to play me, how many actually succeeded at doing so? When Garhild approached me and offered to help me, I was sceptical. I thought she was just another vulture trying to scrap my bones clean…".
"How do you know she wasn't?".
"Oh, she ensured her personal gain alright. Even told me as much. But she also did so much more and look, I'm not saying she did it out of a good heart, for she's an ambitious woman. But I can assure you she knows what she's doing and she'd be loyal and forever grateful to you, if you were to give her a chance".
"You know perfectly well I can't".
Surprisingly, Elffa's patience was growing thin quicker than his: "You'd discard her just because of what is – or is not, between her legs?".
Éomer glanced at Lothíriel, but she was obviously unbothered by the man's words and if anything, she agreed with them. He felt his temper flaring up. "You think I'm opposing this because I have a problem with a woman taking over this place?".
"I think you are not willing to take into consideration the idea she might very well be worth the trouble with Grima".
"The trouble?", he hissed through his teeth. "There would be no trouble at all because the moment Wormtongue gets wind of this, he'd have her replaced in a jiff! I know what you are thinking and hear me out, Elffa: Garhild is not your aunt. One thing is to be the matriarch of a family of undisputed wealth, which controls vital resources for this country and has enough men in her service to cause more than a little fuss, were she to be openly challenged. Another is to hold this place together with no political leverage whatsoever. She'd be a sitting duck, for Bèma's sake!".
"So, you'd rather place some incompetent in charge instead of the one person who'd actually know what she's doing?".
"No, not an incompetent".
His words hung in the air like weights suspended on a thread, ready to come crushing down at any moment. And when crush they did, Elffa's reaction was one of cold, composed fury. "I never wanted to stay here, Éomer. I did it because you asked me to, and because you assured me it was a temporary assignment".
"Circumstances have changed and trust me, it's not with a light heart that I came here today. But you need to understand that I have no choice: half of Aldburg's provisions pass through Caerdydd and if I give Grima just one reason to overrule me and place a man of his choosing in charge, coming winter everybody will feel the consequences of my poor leadership. Which is why I need you to stay, Elffa".
"Are you asking me, or are you ordering me?".
The words weighted on Éomer more than he'd have liked: "I'm asking. But I'll order if necessary". He stood and walked to the window, stared pensively at the wooden hills surrounding the city: "There's another reason why I can't consider Garhild as Fulor's successor. As you may know, the situation in the Westfold is rapidly deteriorating: between the orcs and the Dunlendings, my cousin has barely had a moment of respite. The situation in the East-mark is not nearly as dire, but I fear it's only a matter of time – months or perhaps only weeks, before we'll be facing akin struggles. When that will happen, we'll find ourselves trying to contain an enemy on a land that is simply too big to be properly defended with the men we have: we'll be stretched, and riding to one's aid will unavoidably mean exposing someone else to danger. Which is why I need to narrow down the amount of land I need to patrol".
"You want to make Caerdydd a military outpost of Aldburg?".
"Yes – though unofficially, of course. I'll give you twenty men, riders in my Eored who will be permanently stationed here. They'll still be officially engaged in Aldburg, which means I'll provide for them – wage and whatnot, but they will respond to you. Twenty is not a huge number, I know that. But it's all I can give you and by all means, if you manage to find more trustworthy men willing to fight for you, then all the better. However, you'll have to provide for them, and you'll have to keep them off the books".
"You don't want Grima to know".
A grim smile formed on Éomer's face: "He'll find out, whether we like it or not. But I've come to the conclusion that just like we can't get rid of him without hard evidence of treason, he also can't move against us without proof that we are bending the rules to our advantage. This is why I need you, Elffa: you are the only one I can trust not only with running this the city and ensuring trading will continue to flourish, but also with leading my men and being responsible for the defence of this corner of the East-mark".
Elffa let out a long, tired sigh, and Éomer saw his chance to convince him once and for all: "I'm not forbidding you to lead the men into battle. Indeed, with our enemy growing stronger with each passing day, I have little doubt you'll end up spending more time in the saddle than behind a desk. You'll need a trusted deputy and I won't oppose you, were you to choose Garhild. But it's you, who I need to be officially in charge".
"What of my family?".
Éomer returned to his seat and sipped some water: "They could relocate to Caerdydd, or they could stay in Aldburg. Either way, I give you my word they'll be cared for. I know I'm asking much of you and believe me, I wish there was another way. I could tell you that I hope this will be another temporary solution and that the day things are settled at court, I'll be glad to take you back in my Eored. But I don't know when and if that will ever happen, and I don't want to bestow false hopes upon you". Lothíriel's hand sought his from under the table, but he brushed her away.
Elffa slumped back in his chair: "My aunt always says that with the perks of being born into a family like ours, also comes the responsibility of making sacrifices, should circumstances demand it. I had hoped that choosing to become a rider I'd be spared, but I see that it was callow of me to expect so".
"I'm sorry it came to this".
"Don't. I am as unhappy as I can be about this proposition of yours. But if you need me to say, then stay I will". Elffa stood and shook his hand with a forced smile. Then, without saying another word, he left the room with long, heavy strides.
Éomer followed suit and spent the rest of the day – and a good portion of the following night, drafting the documents needed to officialise his new role. He went to sleep without even caring for grabbing a bite to eat and truthfully, he did not realize how much Lothíriel's behaviour had upset him until dawn of the following day, when upon leaving his room he found her standing in front of his door, one arm raised mid-air, ready to knock: "What are you doing up already?".
"I came to speak to you. I waited for you at the tavern yesterday evening, but you never came".
"I was busy", he said walking briskly past her.
Lothíriel hurried after him: "Can we talk now?".
"No. Éothain is already waiting for me…".
"Éothain is downstairs, snoring like a bear".
Éomer's nostrils flared. "We were supposed to meet at first light to assess the city's defences, but it seems like it's becoming increasingly difficult to find people I can rely on…".
Lothíriel's steps faltered and he dared hoping he had gotten his way, but then she run past him and whirled around to face him, her arms outstretched to block his way: "I'm sorry, Éomer".
"For what, exactly? For suddenly forgetting why we came here? For behaving like I was the villain in yesterday's discussion? For thinking this was ever about what a woman can or cannot do? Damn it, Lothíriel!", he hissed, heading back towards his room least they'd awake every single guest in the inn. He let her in and shut the door closed.
"You are right to be angry. I came here to support you and instead, I sided with Elffa with no good reason to do so. It's just that you were horribly harsh with Garhild – unnecessarily so if I may say, and when I realized that regardless of how qualified for the job she was, she was still not going to be given a chance, I-I… I don't know what took me, but I just got very upset".
"For someone hailing from a country where fathers sell daughters like breeding stock, I dare say you got used very quickly to our more respectful standards". He regretted instantly his words, but they were out already. Lothíriel's cheeks flushed with anger. She opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it and shut it closed, taking one deep breath.
Clearly, she was doing a much better job than himself at keeping her temper in check.
Éomer raked a hand through his hair and tried clearing his head. Lothíriel was right at calling out his behaviour towards Garhild: he had not spoken a word to her, regarded her like she was the grisliest things he had ever seen and finally, he had dismissed her yelling like a lunatic. To his defence, the past week had been one of the worse he could remember to date and as it often happened in such cases, he had taken his anger out on those around him. Either way, that hardly justified her decision to start a crusade in the name of equality at the worst possible time - and against him, of all people!
Standing awkwardly in front of him, Lothíriel's demeanour betrayed her edginess: her shoulders were squared and her chin raised, but her hands were fiddling nervously with the fabric of her dress. "I'm sorry, Éomer", she apologized again, "I know the designation of a new ealdorman has been weighing heavily upon you. I know that while you are the type of man who wouldn't think twice to sacrifice everything you have, you abhor the idea there might be occasions when it's others who need to do so. I know in that stubborn head of yours you think you have failed Elffa, but you have not. It's not your fault Fulor was a degenerate, it's not your fault your uncle's advisor gave you an ultimatum, it's not your fault there were no better candidates other than him. Appointing Garhild would have been a terrible mistake, and I more than anyone should have known better than arguing with you about it". She took a step towards him, her hand stopping short of touching his as if she feared he wouldn't welcome her touch.
His anger suddenly deflating, Éomer reached for her and locked his arms around her neck, his chin resting on the crown of her head.
"You wish I had stayed in Aldburg, don't you?", asked Lothíriel, her hands resting on his hips.
"No, I don't".
"Well, you should".
He took her chin and tilted her head up: "If you had you stayed in Aldburg, I couldn't have started the day this way", he said brushing his lips on hers.
She smiled and hid her face against his chest, her hands creeping up his back to hold him tighter.
"I'm sorry for what I said about your father", he spoke in her hair.
"It's alright. After all, there's some truth to it…".
Éomer cupped her face and searched her eyes: "Your father may have treated you like breeding stock, but that's not in the least the way I see you. You know that, yes?".
She nodded and standing on her toes, she leaned in to kiss him. It wasn't long however, until the sound of booted steps and hushed voices reminded them it was well past dawn and he shall be on his way: "Shall I wake Éothain up?", she asked him with a wicked smile.
"No, your manners are not nearly as rough as the idiot deserves".
"How about having breakfast together?".
Éomer cast her an apologetic look: "I'm afraid I have to turn you down: I have a busy schedule and I'm already late as it is".
"Of course, don't worry".
"You're probably getting bored here…".
"I did not come here expecting you to entertain me, Éomer. Besides, I won't be sitting idly the whole day: I have also things to do", she informed him.
"May I ask which things?".
"First of all, I think I should speak to Garhild. Truthfully, Éomer: I know you were angry, but you behaved like a brute with her".
"You don't need to apologize on my behalf".
"I won't. But I believe Elffa will make good use of your suggestion of making Garhild his deputy and as such, one of us ought to tell her that while there are diplomatic reasons why we couldn't entrust her with leading the city, we appreciate the work she has done and are confident her skills and knowledge will be an invaluable asset in the future".
Éomer looked up to the ceiling and muttered something under his breath, earning himself a puzzled look from Lothíriel: "Just making sure Bèma knows how grateful I am for having been blessed with such a wise, judicious wife", he explained before adding with a grin, "A little too picky perhaps, but no one is perfect after all".
"I'm not picky!", she protested.
"Lothíriel, last month you spent an entire week sorting the documents in my study - by date first, sender and place then. You have a three colours code to archive your correspondence and when I accidentally dropped a code red missive into the code black holder, you basically threatened to murder me".
"That's not true!".
"Get out of here or may Elbereth help you!", he said in a shrill voice.
Lothíriel had the decency to blush: "Fine, I'm a little picky", she mumbled.
Éomer couldn't help a cheeky smile: "Glad we came to an understanding. So, my picky lady: aside from trying to remedy my orcish manners, do you have anything else planned for today?".
"Indeed. I will be spending the afternoon with Beyrith".
He froze. "Beyrith?".
"Yes. I know you'd have preferred I hadn't met her, but I did nonetheless. Yesterday we had lunch together and well… it wasn't easy", she said chewing her lip, "but at the same time, it was good".
Éomer exhaled.
"Are you angry I met her?".
"No, of course not", he sighed, struggling to find the right words to explain how he felt. Lothíriel was his confidant and there wasn't a single thing that had happened in the past two months he hadn't told her about. Yet when it came to Caerdydd and Beyrith, he often wished he had kept his mouth shut and told her nothing about it, for he simply couldn't stomach the thought of her dealing with anything even remotely related to them. "How is she?", he asked.
"I'm not sure how to answer", was her honest reply. "She was very quiet and admitted having conflicting feelings about her past, which I guess is good. Somerhild is taking good care of her, but I believe Beyrith is slowly coming to realize there's no future for her here".
"She could come to Aldburg…".
"I told her as much, and perhaps she'll do it one day. But it should be her decision, not ours".
Later that morning, Lothíriel found Garhild riding just outside of the city, a bow on her back and a brace of rabbits hanging from her saddle. Judging by the way the woman stiffened when she saw her approaching, it was obvious she was the last person on earth she had wished to meet: "My Lady".
"Garhild", she greeted her, "I passed by your house earlier today and your maid told me I'd find you here. Would you mind if I join your morning ride?".
That she minded very much indeed was written all over her face, but she chose to be diplomatic: "I'd be honoured. If that's alright with you, I was on my way to the hunters' hut to skin my catch…".
"Is if far from here?", asked Balláf, his eyes squinting in the bright daylight.
"Not at all. Just past the forest edge".
"Alright then, but Eofor should go on ahead. We can't take any risk". The young rider hastened towards the woods, only to return a few moments later to signal all was clear.
When they reached their destination, Lothíriel noticed the hut was little more than an old shack standing on the banks of a small creek. The roof was riddled with leaks and crevices and though it hadn't rained in at least a week, the inside smelled of mold and rotten wood. Hanging by the walls, was a set of sharp knives, a saw, various clippers and three pair of gloves, all polished and clean and probably the only thing around there that had been well taken care of.
Garhild started skinning the rabbits with slow, practiced movements, her eyes darting every now and then to check what Eofor and Balláf were up to: "Do you always have guards with you?".
"Just a precaution, nothing more. I know it's unusual in Rohan, but in Gondor I was used to have guards with me all the time, and I feel safer this way". It was a lie of course, but she could hardly tell Garhild about Grima's attempt to get her killed.
"Why are you here, my Lady?".
Lothíriel barely stifled a smile: Rohirrim really brought the whole be straight attitude to a whole new level! "I thought we – that is Éomer and I, owed you an explanation after yesterday's discussion".
"Why is that?".
"As I'm sure you've heard, Elffa has been appointed ealdorman. However, we don't want you to take his nomination as a lack of trust towards you. Elffa praised you greatly and both Éomer and I are grateful for the remarkable work you have done…".
"…yet that was not enough to prefer me over a person who has clearly no desire to stay here".
"No, it was not".
Garhild clicked her tongue and set aside the pelts. "Guess there's a reason why it's called ealdorman and not ealdorwoman". When she grabbed a different knife and made a small incision on the belly of the rabbit, Lothíriel turned away.
"It's not that easy, I'm afraid. While choosing an ealdorman is officially Éomer's prerogative, the person concerned needs the court's unofficial approval. And when it comes to anything involving court, one's actual skills are often overshadowed by political considerations".
"And a man belonging to one of the wealthiest, most influential families of the whole kingdom, whose late uncle had been a prominent member of the King's Council and whose aunt controls the country's largest mineral resources, is implicitly an ideal candidate".
"Yes", admitted Lothíriel, "though Éomer wouldn't have chosen him, hadn't he had full confidence in both his loyalty and competence. We live in uncertain times, and Elffa will be a good, just ruler for Caerdydd in the years to come".
Garhild sighed: "Aye, that he'll be". She kneeled by the creek and washed thoroughly the rabbits until no trace of blood or hair was left. When she returned, she offered her a bitter smile: "He's a good man".
"He is. And I hope that in spite of the disappointment this situation caused you, you'll be still willing to offer him your advice and support. Only then, would Éomer and I be really sure Caerdydd is in good hands".
Garhild regarded her for a long moment before stretching her hand out: "I'd be happy to help him. As a matter of fact, I was growing terribly bored before he came into town…".
"Running the family's business is not enough to keep you busy?", asked Lothíriel, trying to suppress a grimace of pain when the woman's vice grip almost crushed her fingers.
"Not really. You see, I only moved to Caerdydd last autumn".
That took her by surprise: given how acquainted Garhild was with the city's trading, she had assumed she had been living there since way longer than that. "Where from?".
"A manor not far from here, about a half-day ride to the East. A lovely place, my Lady: we had cows and goats, an orchard and a big garden, large stables to host some of Rohan's finest steeds. Trading horses was actually my family's core business, while my husband dealt in imported goods and timber. He passed away last year and for a while, I remained at the manor and focused on the side of the business I knew better: horse breeding. However, last summer alone I lost seven horses to orcs and had myself a couple of unpleasant close calls. I could have hired more men to protect the manor, but I simply couldn't shake off the feeling that it was no longer safe to be there. So, I sold my stock and most of my horses, moved to Caerdydd and took the reins of what had been my husband's trade".
"Seeing what happened at the Holbeck farm, it's probably good you trusted your instinct and left the manor…".
"True. But I do miss it – a lot. And this city… well, let's just say I'm not particularly fond of it".
Lothíriel burst out laughing: "And you wanted to be appointed ealdorman?".
"Yes, to see if I could change it into something a little more decent! This place is terrible and the stench…", she said covering her mouth in a burst of disgust, "… isn't it revolting?".
It was. All big cities tended to be smelly - especially during the warm season, but Caerdydd was particularly bad - most likely because in spite of being so densely populated, it lacked not only any type of canalization, but waterways too. "Perhaps you should bring the topic up with Elffa. Who knows, he might be inclined to do something to improve the quality of the air".
"If his wife is moving here, he might very well be!", scoffed Garhild. She placed the butchered rabbits in a bag and secured it on her horse: "It's not a big bounty, but my maid makes the best rabbit stew. If Caerdydd's stench hasn't completely thwart your appetite, may I invite you to come over for lunch?".
Lothíriel got on her horse and pretended she had not seen Balláf's smirk, nor heard Eofor's remark about the outrageous amount of sweets she had eaten the day before. "It takes way more than a little stench to put me off food, Garhild!".
One day, he'd have to thank Éothain.
Éomer lifted Lothíriel against the wall and groaned when her hands untucked his shirt, leaving behind a trail of scorching, quivering skin.
He'd have to thank him, because his idiotic idea of a bet had forced them to a week of improbable subterfuges…
His hands glided down her body, fingers digging into supple skin through the light cotton of her skirt. He grasped her ankle and sought the feeling of her bare skin, growling a murmur of approval when her legs wrapped around his waist.
… and how he loved them! Slipping away in an empty room for a ravening kiss. Ducking out in the shadows of a silent alley to grope desperately at each other's yearning bodies…
The flickering light of a lantern cast a play of floating shadows on Lothíriel's enraptured face. Her hair was tightly pulled back in several small braids converging into a high tress: she looked fierce and untamed, and Éomer could not resist doing what had been in his mind since the moment he had laid eyes upon her earlier that evening – yanking her tail, just hard enough to make her gasp and force her to expose the smooth skin of her throat to his hungry kisses.
… it was exhilarating, intoxicating! As if they were a couple of young sweethearts hiding from their disapproving parents, uncovering for the first time that all-consuming desire that made their bodies shudder to the beat of their throbbing hearts…
His hand travelled to her neck, so slender he could almost lock his fingers around it. When he rocked his hips against her, Lothíriel let out a throaty moan, her body arching and jerking into the hardness of his arousal.
… he was not a man with ten years of blood and death weighing on his shoulders. She was not a bride sent to a far-away land to marry a stranger. Life awaited ahead of them, fraught with promises of plentiful days to come…
His hand returned to her leg, fumbled with her skirt before sliding underneath. He pressed his palm against her and kissed her to silence her moans – and perhaps his too, while his thumb stroke her through the fabric of her undergarments. Her fingernails dug into his flesh but then, a crack of light flashed across her face…
… one day, he'd have to thank Éothain for all of that… and then, he'd have to murder him. But not necessarily in that order!
"Éomer?".
He breathed a long string of silent curses and ducked down, laid Lothíriel on a pile of fresh hay as they both struggled to disentangle their entwined bodies. Even in the dim light of the stables, he could see her reddening to the tip of her ears and trying to make herself presentable. Which was absolutely pointless: one look at her, and Éothain would know what they had been up to. "Stay here", he whispered.
He grabbed a brush and a bucket of fodder, and hastened towards Firefoot. "Over here", he called, keeping behind his stallion in the hope of concealing what was going on inside his breeches.
"What are you doing?".
"What does it look like? I'm tending to my horse".
Éothain's eyes were narrow slits: "At this time of the day?".
"You know he's not very fond of stable hands. I was told he has been particularly restless today, so I decided to come check on him. Is it not allowed?", he barked back irritated.
"Alright, alright. Sheesh, that poor wife of yours must be really smitten with you to put up with that awful temper you've got. Speaking of which, where is she?", he asked looking lazily around, "I saw her coming in here not long ago".
Ah, Bèma. "She was making Firefoot nervous, so I told her to leave".
Éothain crossed his arms behind his head: "You're a hopeless boor and…".
"Aside from bestowing your more than questionable wisdom upon me, is there a reason why you came looking for me?".
An apple flew at him but missed him by at least a foot: "I came to tell you supper is ready. Had I known you are in such a bad mood, I'd have let you starve and searched for Lothíriel instead!", he declared barging already out of the stables.
When the sound of his steps disappeared in the distance, Lothíriel rose with a groan, bits of hay caught in her hair: "That was close…".
Éomer leaned against Firefoot, breathing out in both relief and despair: "Twelve more days to go…".
"Having second thoughts about tricking Éothain into believing he has lost his bet?".
"Me? Not in the slightest. In fact, I swear on August the first I will squeeze him into the tightest, frilliest dress I can find and have the whole city line up at the Green Gate". When Lothíriel took a step towards him, he raised a hand to stop her: "No offense, but if we want to make it to dinner with the others, it's better we keep our distance".
She gave him a mischievous smile – one of those he already knew would be the death of him: "I shall leave through the back door then. I'll wait for you at the inn".
"Wait", he called her before she could slip into the dusking streets. "Did you braid your hair?".
Lothíriel blinked: she had probably not expected him to ask such thing. "Not in a thousand years would I ever be able to braid my hair so. Beyrith did. Aren't they pretty?".
Oh, he had a lot of adjectives in mind to describe the way she looked that night, pretty being nowhere near the top of the list. However, he should probably refrain from blurting out all the naughty and outrageously indecent thoughts her new hairstyle and tight bodice had stirred in his mind.
"Pretty, very pretty".
Author's notes: a bit of a transition chapter, but I wanted to spend some time in Caerdydd to convey how things are being settled there and how the troubles weighing on Éomer's shoulders are inevitably starting to affect his relationship with Lothíriel. In case you've missed it back in chapter 13, Lady Aldwyn is Elffa's aunt and the reason why Éomer had left him in Caerdydd in the first place.
A little warning that the next update might take a longer – or shorter!, than usual. I'm flying to Italy to visit my parents ahead of Christmas and depending whether I'll have to quarantine or not, I might have a lot of time to write – or not at all! :)
Katia0203: they'll get there… eventually! ;)
SwanKnightoftheNorth: I think she might have hesitated, had it happened somewhen earlier in their relationship. But as it is, they are both too much into each other to keep their hands for themselves!
Rho67: I don't think she would have minded but at the same time, I figure Éomer would have feared rushing things too much for her.
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: I honestly thought it might have felt so, but decided to go for it nonetheless. I really wanted to tease what was going to happen, but I should have probably developed a little more that last bit so not to disrupt the flow of the chapter. Glad you liked the last chapter and yes, Meregith does have a softer side, though few rarely ever get to see it.
Menelwen: I sighed writing it :) Is the fanfic in Spanish or in English? If the later, I'd be glad to read it!
pineapple-pancake: all well – or as well as these times allow. Hope the same goes for you as well and as usual, glad you liked the chapter! :)