Chapter 26
Aldburg, September the 9th, 3018
Lothíriel had no idea how late – or early, it was when she awoke.
For the past two days, her rhythm had been completely off. She slept at day, stayed awake at night, rarely let the window out of her sight as if afraid the moment she tore her eyes from the horizon, something might happen that she really needed to see. Runhild and Erchirion had tried to keep her company, but both had eventually given up when she had refused to speak more than a polite greeting to them. The only one who had never left her side was Endien, who had spent her entire time either sleeping at her feet or scouting the room for new toys and games: once it was the button of one of Éomer's shirts; another a tiny piece of paper; yet another some imaginary monster that had her puffing up until she resembled the burr of a chestnut.
That day however, the kitten's little purring engine did not greet Lothíriel awake.
With a groan, she rose and looked around. Her furry companion was nowhere to be seen but - she realized with a jolt of both anguish and relief, she was not alone in the room: sitting in the same chair in which she had spent most of those past two days, his elbows resting on his knees and his hair damp as if he had just taken a bath, Éomer was gazing back at her with dark, glowering eyes.
"You were right about Meregith. The orcs were exactly where Gárwine thought they'd be", he told her in a dry, bitter voice. He glanced towards his nightstand and there, Lothíriel found his infamous letter, together with the seal he had seized from Meregith. "The paper", he said, "doesn't it look familiar?".
It seemed like an odd thing to ask, Lothíriel thought. But her mind was such a nervous wreck by that point, that she examined it without further question. The first thing she noticed was that it was smooth and not nearly as thin as the parchment they normally used for correspondence purposes. "My sketchbook", she realized, "Not the one you gave me – that is much whiter, but my older one, the one I carried with me from Dol Amroth".
Éomer nodded. "I wrote that letter the night I brought you back here after you run off. Frumgar wasn't sure whether you'd have survived and after he had tended to your wounds, I sat at your desk and found that portrait you made of Gaeril and Bathor. Do you remember it?".
How could she ever forget about it: she had spent days working on it - and then weeks staring at it. "Home".
"Home, yes - that's what you had written on it. I found I couldn't take my eyes off it: we had been married for almost three months and in that short time, I had managed to screw up almost everything that could have been possibly screwed up. But I was not ready to give up: I told myself you'd have made it and that I'd have proven to you that I could be a better man than the one you had come to know during your short stay in Rohan. But the choice was not mine to make, Lothíriel: had you awoken and told me this", he said opening his arms, "could have never been home to you, I would have never forced you to stay. So, while hoping things would turn for the better, I prepared for the worse: I pulled two papers from your sketchbook and wrote two letters to your father. In one, I expressed my wish to send you back to Dol Amroth while maintaining the bond of our marriage intact - I thought perhaps you might have preferred it that way, so that no one could have ever forced you to wed again. In the other, I requested the annulment of our marriage".
Lothíriel read the letter once more and wondered how could she have not seen it for herself: "That's why you mention so often what happened with those wargs, why you speak as if nothing of what took place in the following four months ever happened…".
"Yes. I placed both letters in their respective envelopes and stowed them away in my nightstand. Three days later, you awoke. Two weeks later, I returned from Caerdydd and found you waiting for me outside of the hall, spilled mead in one hand and a walking stick in the other. We became us, and I thought no more of them".
Lothíriel traced the edges of the paper, her brow twisted in a thoughtful frown: "How did Meregith come in possession of the letter and the seal?".
"The night Éothain lost his bet and had to serve drinks at the Green Gate, I retired earlier than anyone could have possibly expected. When I got here, I caught Meregith crouching by the bed. She told me that because she could not sleep, she had decided to tidy up my room – something I found quite plausible, for she has suffered from insomnia ever since Dawyn's death and it wasn't unusual to find her undertaking the most disparate house chores at the most improbable hours of the day. And my room did need to be tidied up, so I didn't think much of it. I now believe she was retrieving the letter. She must have already known it to be there: she probably found it weeks – if not months ago, and was just waiting for the right moment to send it to Gondor. As for the seal, she had it with her this whole time: Meregith used to be my deputy and in that role, she took care of my correspondence as well. I gave her that seal many years ago, so that she could write letters on my behalf and take the burden of plenty of cumbersome administrative tasks off my shoulders. It's the very first seal I ever owed: its edges are worn down and after accidentally falling down a flight of stairs, it earned a very distinctive dent".
Lothíriel inspected the seal and indeed, she found the nick Éomer was speaking of: "That's how you knew she had been the one to seal the letter".
"Yes. After I demoted Meregith, she did not return the seal and to be frank, I never asked her to: I have my own – the one I gave to you, and she had been in possession of that one for such a long time, that it just slipped my mind".
A forgotten letter and a lost seal. A plan so elaborated and yet so marvelously simple, that Lothíriel felt marvelously stupid for falling for it. So much she'd have stood and kicked herself, hadn't Éomer's next question caused her legs to turn into jelly: "Who told you about Lúfa?".
"Trewyn", she admitted, "The day you left for the Eastemnet, she approached me and told me something about our marriage falling to pieces, about you getting bored of me and keeping a mistress. She said her name was Lúfa and that she was the reason why you had been visiting the Westfold so often".
Éomer cursed under his breath. "Why didn't you tell me?".
"Because you had more pressing matters to take care of. Because you haven't been exactly approachable lately. And above all, because I didn't believe her. But then, my brother showed up: he gave me this letter of yours and I started wondering whether I had been too hasty in my judgment of Trewyn's words. In your absence, I figured there was only one person who might have been able to shed some light into what had really happened: Léod. So, I went to the barracks and asked him whether he knew of a woman named Lúfa", she paused, tears of anger welling in her eyes, "I'm begging you, Éomer: tell me there's a reason why your squire acted the way he did, when I mentioned the woman's name. Tell me what Trewyn told me is nothing but a lie, that this Lúfa is…".
"Lúfa is a wench who hangs around one of Helm's Deep's taverns".
"The Putrid Hunter, I know. Trewyn said while there, you two…", she stopped, not really wishing to finish that sentence.
"… us two what?".
"She said you took her right in front of everybody!", she blurted out and against her will, a flood of images of Éomer entertaining himself with some blonde beauty who, for some strange reason, resembled a little too much Trewyn herself, formed in the back of her head.
Something akin a growl rose in Éomer's throat. His jaw was clenched so tight, she could hear his teeth screeching. "Théodred warned me this would have happened. He warned me the rumors would have made it to your ears, warned me of the sense of humiliation my actions would have brought upon you. But at the time, I was convinced you wouldn't have cared whether I bedded some other woman or not and then, as weeks passed by, what happened that night at the Hornburg became something I simply wished to forget, something I was too ashamed about to tell anyone – and especially you".
Lothíriel's guts twisted. The pie she had eaten a few hours earlier threatened to climb up her stomach.
"In early April, I travelled to the Hornburg to visit my cousin. Our marriage was a disaster and things had started to go south pretty much everywhere across the East-mark. I sought Théodred's council in the hope he'd have some wise word to share with me. Instead, I found a man struggling to keep up with a situation that was at least ten times worse than ours, a man who really did not need my worries to be added on top of his. I was upset and when later that day we went to the Putrid Hunter, I drunk more than I should have. Lúfa approached me and instead of turning her down, I… openly indulged in her company. But I did not take her right in front of everybody. In fact, I did not take her at all, though I'm not sure that makes much of a difference at this point. We stumbled outside of the tavern and I went as far as dropping my pants, before realizing what I was about to do. I practically run away then, and straight into my cousin's wrath and iron fist".
"You two came to blows?".
"He did. I was too drunk to even try landing a jab. I haven't seen Lúfa ever since, I haven't returned to the Putrid Hunter ever since. There has never been another woman, Lothíriel, not since the day I signed our marriage agreement. And to tell you the truth, I came here today determined to get an explanation from you – and a damn good one at that, as to how you could ever think of leaving me that way. Because I can understand you'd doubt me, I can understand you'd be confused after reading that letter. But have the past four months meant nothing to you? Have you really understood so little of me that you'd believe me capable of such thing, of asking for our marriage to be annulled without even caring to inform you? But now", he said rubbing his face, torn between frustration and anger, "now I look at you and I don't even know anymore whether it's an explanation that I want, or rather forgiveness for the colossal number of mistakes I have made".
In Éomer's haunted gaze, Lothíriel found a mirror of her own fears, of the agony of those past two days spent hoping he'd come back to her and have an explanation for everything, one that would make her fall on her knees and beg him to forgive her for having ever doubted him. But things were more complicated than that and truth was, they were both equally guilty for the role they had played in their mutual, unwitting deception.
Early April.
Lothíriel remembered that time. She remembered it all too well, though her memories of those days felt much older than just a few short months. They felt like they belonged to a different lifetime, a different set of people. A time when she too, had done her own share of terrible things. "I always hoped you'd not return", she confessed him, "Up until the day I run off, every time I saw you leaving for a patrol, I wished with all my heart you'd get yourself killed. I cared not for the grief your loss would have cast upon those who loved you, I cared not for what would have been of Aldburg and her people without you. All I cared about, was that I'd have been a young widow then, free to return to Dol Amroth, free to live the rest of my days in peace".
Éomer's thunderous gaze betrayed the turmoil of emotions stirring behind his otherwise motionless face. And the words he chose to speak next, came as unexpected as a shower of rain in the midst of the desert: "I love you, Lothíriel".
She stared at him, forgot how to breath for a moment.
"I know our marriage had a rough start and quite honestly, I don't give a damn whether you had wished me dead at a time when I couldn't even bring myself to speak to you. After I learned of your father's deception, I promised myself I'd not let any untold truth stand between us, for that was the only way I could ensure no one would ever turn us against each other again. But I told you not about Lúfa, and I also never found the courage to tell you what you had come to mean to me. But I'm doing it now, Lothíriel: you are my heart, my hope, my future, and I love you in a way that often frightens me, for I am no longer sure whether I'd have the strength to keep going, should something ever happen to you. Since the day I rescued you in that ravine, making it through each bloody day is no longer a matter of surviving, but rather one of fighting for a world we can both be part of, a world in which we can keep loving each other for a long as we will walk this earth. And Bema help me, I'd do anything to give us that future".
Éomer could not say whether it was Lothíriel who moved unnaturally fast, or rather his senses to be muffled. All he knew was that all of a sudden, her hand was rifling through the right pocket of his trousers, where she knew she'd find a folded paper. Not a bloody letter nor a blasted contract, but rather the sketch of the old watchtower he always carried with him. She took a quill, scrabbled something on it. When she returned it to him, there was a shyness in her gaze. But also, something else.
Something fiery and dauntless.
Home. That's what she had written on the paper, the stroke of those four simple letters becoming one with that of the barely outlined profiles of the two people resting in the shade of an old tree. Éomer looked up, watched her silently while she unlaced her gown and let it pool around her feet.
"Rohan is home".
With hardly a swish, her chemise fell off her shoulders.
"Aldburg is home".
She straddled him, her hands cupping either side of his neck. Still sitting in his chair, Éomer dared not moving a muscle, dared not touching an inch of Lothíriel's smooth, creamy skin.
"You are home. And you, are the only place I ever want to be".
Time seemed to stretch until her lips brushed his and then, it was like a dam had suddenly broken: weeks of mutual longing and suppressed feelings poured into their kiss, unbridled and untamed, leaving them groping desperately at each other's bodies, a foolish attempt to make up for all the time they had wasted chasing one another.
Lothíriel pulled off his shirt and tossed it away, her hands gliding on the muscles of his back, sliding over his shoulders, light fingertips tracing his collar bone and the tawny hair on his chest. Driven by the chocking, overwhelming desire to feel her naked skin pressed against his, Éomer circled her waist and pulled her harder against him, kissed her like his life depended upon it - and Bema knew it really did!
He bit her lower lip and pulled gently, tasted the skin of her neck, of her chest, down until he had latched on her nipple and sucked it between his teeth. Lothíriel welcomed his touch with a throaty moan, her hips jerking against him and setting ablaze every single fiber in his body.
Éomer gasped for air. Holding back was becoming difficult - a sweet lingering pain in his chest, and when his hand slid down her sweated body to find her as ready and wanting as he was, her flesh swollen and throbbing for him, he almost lost it. Bema, he hadn't even made it out of his breeches yet! Guided only by the erratic heaving of her chest, he parted her folds and slid a finger inside her. He watched enthralled as passion loosened her body and the way she gave in to him – the way she always had since the very first time he had touched her, shook his very soul: this woman was made for him, just like he was made for her!
"Lothíriel...", he called. Her eyes fluttered open and to those piercing green orbs, his soul laid as bare as the curves of her warm body.
With trembling fingers, she reached for his breeches and loosened his belt. Éomer observed with bated breath her fingers gliding along the length of his hardened manhood, so close he could feel her warmth, yet still not daring to touch him. There was a question in her eyes, one he answered gladly by guiding her hands on him, letting her caress his shaft with ever increasing pressure. And for each time his muscles quivered, for each time he flung his head back in ecstasy, Lothíriel's eyes grew darker and her touch bolder, until Éomer realized he was dangerously close to tumbling all the way down.
Holding her by the nape of her neck, he claimed her mouth in a ravening kiss, his fingers crawling desperately back between her legs. But this time, Lothíriel shoved his hand away and leaned on him, the feeling of her wet womanhood resting on his arousal very nearly undoing him: "Éomer…".
She needed not say another word. He lifted her from under her knees and carried her to bed, his steps hampered by the breeches tangled around his feet. He got rid of them, his movements frantic, and nestled between her legs. The whole Aldburg might have been burning then and he wouldn't have cared, for there was nothing he wanted more, nothing he needed more than the woman in his arms. And yet, he found himself stalling. "You don't how I longed for this…", he whispered in her ear, his tongue tracing the side of her neck, his eyes drinking in the sight of her flushed, staggering beauty. Her hair was spread on the pillow, her lips swollen from his earlier onslaught. He nudged his arousal against her softly, not in and not out, halfway between. "… how I longed for you…".
Lothíriel wrapped her legs around him, her heels digging impatiently into his lower back. Fighting with all his might against the maddening urge to simply plunge into her until they'd be both boneless with pleasure, Éomer entered her slowly. Spurred by her moans, he thrusted with each stroke a little deeper until every inch of him was held in her tight, warm embrace. He paused then, his body tense, his heart bursting with such deep emotions that he wished he could linger in that moment forevermore.
"I love you, Éomer", Lothíriel spoke in his ear, and her words triggered something inside him. Hunger and tenderness. A devouring possessiveness and a warm sense of belonging at the same time.
He unsheathed himself, no longer willing nor able to hold back, and when Lothíriel met his thrust with a sudden push, a groan resonated inside his ribcage. Éomer felt his control slipping away and this time, he held not onto it, his pace rapidly quickening until Lothíriel's moans resembled pleads and her body was rocked by wave after wave of bright, glorious pleasure. She arched beneath him, his name still lingering on her lips as she swept him away to a place where they'd always be one.
Éomer collapsed on top of her, wondrously spent, his body limp and heavy. Lothíriel's arms were still pulled around him, their legs entwined. When he looked down at her and saw the glint in her eyes, he had to ask: "What is it?".
"Nothing", she said a little breathless, "Just thinking we should have gotten this done on our marriage night. Might have saved us a lot of the troubles that followed".
Éomer stared at her for a moment before roaring laughing. He kissed her brow and ignoring her feeble complains, he pulled himself up and fetched a towel and some water. He nudged her legs open and with great care, he dabbed the few smears of blood he found on her inner thighs. On their own volition, his fingers trailed down her leg and lingered on her calf, on those two angry marks left by the leghold trap months earlier.
"I care not, Éomer".
"Hm?".
Lothíriel took his hand and kissed his knuckles: "I said I care not. If stepping into that trap was the only way to lead us from where we were – from who we were back then, to who we are today, then I swear I'd be more than happy to do it all over again".
Hearing those words, Éomer's throat run suddenly dry. He crushed her to him, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he let her drag him down onto the mattress. His arms were locked so tight around her that he feared he was hurting her. But she did not complain, did not try to wriggle off, cradling him instead in her warm embrace. "I am sorry", she murmured.
"What for?". His voice was strangled and hoarse at the same time.
"All the evidence of this world should not have been enough to make me doubt you, let alone leave you that way".
"No, it should not have. And I shouldn't have touched that damned woman at the Hornburg, and I should have removed Meregith months ago instead of giving her the chance to stay".
"She had warned me, you know?".
"Warned you about what?".
"About never accepting my presence here. It happened back in May, while you were Edoras. She caught me in your study while I was trying to to get your reports done. It was all very awkward at first: I told her I was sorry for the hurt my arrival in Aldburg had caused her and she even apologized to me. For a brief moment, I dared hoping we could get along somehow. But then, she informed me I was the reason you had been summoned to the capital: she told me I had become a liability and that if I cared about you, then I should have asked you to send me back to Gondor. When I refused, she warned me that no matter what, you'll never be one of us".
Éomer felt a sudden stab of fury. Like it had already happened when the men Gárwine had sent after him had informed him of Meregith's true intentions, the frightening desire to find the woman, lock his fingers around her neck and squeeze the life out of her, took hold of his body. "Why didn't you tell me?", he asked for the second time that night.
"I was a young girl when my mother died, Éomer. I know what it means to have someone trying to fill the hollow space in your chest and I never faulted you for giving Meregith a second chance. I'm just sorry it had to end this way".
Éomer's anger ebbed away, dissolving into something he did not wish to play any part that night: sadness. He drew a deep breath and buried his face in Lothíriel's raven hair: "What happened then?".
"Nothing. For weeks Meregith avoided me and in time, we fell into a sort of mutual tolerance. It wasn't until Endien's arrival that she started softening towards me and these past two months, I really thought we were going somewhere".
"What of Trewyn? Has she ever given you reason to suspect her?".
"Aside from the fact she has always had a reputation for being a viper and a bully, not really. But once I realized there must have been more to Meregith's plan than simply annulling our marriage, I also started to suspect Trewyn's involvement, for her timing had been too suspiciously on spot: hadn't she teased me about your alleged mistress right before you left for the Eastemnet, I wouldn't have left Aldburg before your return. It was is if she knew I needed that extra push to set Meregith's plan in motion, as if she knew that telling me about Lúfa that day, I wouldn't have had the chance to confront you about it, for you'd have soon left the city anyway. So, I checked on her and found she was not at home: her father told me she was spending the night at Godliss', which - unsurprisingly, turned out to be a lie. Once I ascertained Trewyn was at large, it became all too easy to put two and two together and conclude she and Meregith had fled the city together".
"Do you think Godliss knew about it?".
"No. The girl is done with Trewyn – has been for some time actually, and she's also undoubtedly over her infatuation for you".
He stretched his neck and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Godliss was not alone, Éomer. When I knocked at her door, I found there was a young man with her – one her parents obviously approve of, since they all live under the same roof together. I asked Eofor about it and he told me rumor has it, they are planning to get married soon. And of course, rumor has it also the rush is to be ascribed to the fact Godliss is already pregnant".
"Pregnant?! Gram never mentioned anything…".
"Rohan may be less strict than Gondor, but a baby conceived out of wedlock is still something most families would rather not advertise. Apparently, Goldiss and Trewyn grew suddenly apart in the weeks that followed the chase, and I believe it's because the former had finally found something better to do than spending her time spreading lies and malignity".
"Conceiving babies?".
Lothíriel nudged him: "I was about to say falling in love but yes, that too. Do you think we will ever find them?", she asked then, her fingers playing gingerly with a strand of his golden hair.
"I don't know", he spoke honestly. "Had Meregith been alone, I'd have said we had decent chances. But Torfrith has raised Trewyn well: he thought her how to fight, how to hunt, how to read and cover tracks. I'll never stop hunting them down but either way, I can't promise you we'll ever find them". He pulled back then, reluctantly disentangled their bodies so he could look at her: "Your actions saved dozens of lives, Lothíriel".
She frowned a little: "I still have no idea what happened. I mean, Gárwine was afraid you and Éothain might have been in danger and…".
"We were not", he reassured her, "But your hunch about the ambush was correct and had you not sent Gárwine after those orcs, they'd have surely attacked Lewes before retreating. Every single man, woman and child living in that village owes you their life, Lothíriel".
"Did Gárwine lose any men in the fight?".
"Not a single one".
She exhaled and snuggled a little closer: "Good".
Her breath grew, her arms heavy around his waist. When Éomer checked on her, he found her fast asleep, her lips twitched into a content little smile. He watched her for a long time, until the night had grown old and all the candles in the room had burned out, before finally joining her into the blissful embrace of a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
"Wake up, sleepy head".
Lothíriel cracked one eye open. Then the other. With a snort, she realized Éomer was sitting on the edge of the bed, already fully clothed. He was kissing her though, and that surely was a nice way to be waken up! One that got a whole lot better when she opened her eyes again and realized he was holding something under her nose.
"That a raspberry tart?".
"Fresh out of the oven", Éomer tempted her. But the moment she made for taking a bite, he leaped on his feet and placed the pastry on his desk, safely out of her reach: "Your riding skirt is over there", he said pointing at a chair, "Get up, eat your breakfast, and meet me at the stables in one hour".
"Or, you could get your clothes off and come back to bed…", Lothíriel said patting the empty spot by her side.
"Since when have you become so wanton?".
Since you made love to me. Since I no longer know where Lothíriel ends and Éomer begins. Since you... Lothíriel hid her face in the pillow and blushed.
Leaning against the doorframe, Éomer seemed to know exactly what her thoughts were: "Tomorrow we can spend the whole day in bed and I promise I'll oblige each of my lady wife's requests. But for now, I need you to get out of bed and dress up".
"Aren't you a tyrant", she protested, "Can I first have a bath at least?".
"Not needed!", he yelled while already leaving the room. As the sound of his booted steps faded into the distance, Lothíriel let out a loud groan. She briefly entertained the idea of going back to sleep but her stomach was grumbling and before she even knew it, she had kicked the blanket off and crawled towards her breakfast. She could have honestly eaten twenty of those cakes but alas, Éomer had sadly underestimated her hunger.
She settled for what he had left for her – two measly tarts and a cup of tea, then made herself ready and headed outside. She got her fair share of winks and smirks while on her way to the stables, but she couldn't say it bothered her: let the whole city talk about the consummation of their marriage! Let the whole Rohan and Gondor talk about it! Let everyone at court know where they could shove their marriage annulment!
Ah, if only she could see Grima's face when he'd learn of the failure of his plan!
With a silly grin still plastered on her face, Lothíriel reached her destination and noticed Firefoot had already been bridled and saddled. The stallion cast her a wary look – one that by his standards could have actually been labelled as openly friendly and perhaps even mildly charming, before turning the other way. Éomer on the other hand, looked like the picture of happiness as he emerged from the stables: "There you are!", he greeted her with a beaming smile, followed at a short distance by the very same bay dun palfrey he had been training the day Meregith's ploy had lured him out of the city.
"Where's Ethelfola?".
"Inside. He cracked his hoof the other day. Nothing serious, but he needs a few days' rest".
"Oh". Not the best way to start the day, Lothíriel thought. "Can I visit him?".
"Later. It's getting late already and we need to be on our way".
"Where to?".
"You'll see in a couple of hours", was his vague explanation. He helped her in the saddle and adjusted her stirrups: "Her name is Greótblæst. She can be quite lively, but also very sweet. I think you'll like her".
They rode in companionable silence until shortly before lunchtime, when a landscape of wooded hillsides gradually replaced that of Rohan's endless grasslands. Trailing along the crest of a hill, they entered deeper into a forest of beech and maple trees. A carpet of withered leaves covered the ground, cushioning the sound of their horses' hooves and allowing their presence to go almost unnoticed by the inhabitants of the woods. About a mile in, they run into a mother deer with her two fawns and for a preciously long moment, the happy little family froze and stared with wide, fearful eyes at the unwelcome intruders. With their white-dotted coat and adorable big ears, the two young harts were just about the cutest thing Lothíriel had ever seen and after they had darted away and disappeared into the thick undergrowth, she turned in her saddle and flashed Éomer a grateful smile: she had wanted to stay in bed the whole day, but she she was glad he had been the wiser. Since she had returned from the Westfold and what between the concerns for her safety and her days being rather busy, she had practically never stepped out of Aldburg's gates. But Valar, it felt good to be out there! The sun was warm on her face, the smell of softwood strangely invigorating, and the memories of the past night made her feel so wondrously alive and… happy, just happy.
Lothíriel patted her mare's neck and when an unforeseen little clearing appeared ahead of them, she could barely suppress a gasp: nestled amid grassy slopes was a small lake, on whose clear waters the snowy peaks of the White Mountains were mirrored so sharply that she felt almost dizzy, unsure what was real and what was not, what was up and what was down. On its shores, were the charred remains of a little bonfire and a pile of stones stacked to form a cairn.
"Here is where I run off to the other day", Éomer said.
Lothíriel dismounted and left him tending to their horses while she strolled around the lake. Sitting on a boulder with her knees hugged to her chest, she stared in awe at the view in front of her eyes and not for the first time, she wondered how could she have ever thought Rohan to be an ugly place. Its rugged, wild beauty had long seeped into her veins, to the point she couldn't even imagine waking up to a different sight anymore.
"My father and I used to come often up here. Sometimes just the two of us, sometimes together with mother and Éowyn. Here is where he taught me how to fish, how to swim, how to light a fire. And here is where I come to when I need to be alone and feel like Aldburg's old watchtower would not be lonely enough". Éomer spread a blanket on the ground and grinned when he saw her testing the temperature of the water: "What do you want to do first: swimming or eating?".
"Can't we do both at the same time?".
"We can, but I'm afraid it would be terribly messy".
With a shrug, Lothíriel stood and started removing her clothes. She fixed her hair in a high ponytail and splashed into the water, soon followed by Éomer. "Do you like it here?", he asked as they approached the center of the lake. The water must have been quite shallow, for he was able to stand on his feet, the upper half of his chest covered in tiny droplets of water.
"It's perfect", Lothíriel said clinging on him, breathing deeply into that scent that she did not know what it was, only that it was so distinctively him.
Humming the notes of an old tune, Éomer walked her around the blue waters of the lake and there was something so intimately peaceful about that moment, that Lothíriel's heart was filled with a wild mix of contradicting, bittersweet emotions.
How strange life was, how unpredictable it could be, to bring two people so different and yet so alike together, entwining their souls, flesh and bones, until they'd be one. Sometimes, she wondered what would have happened, had her father not married them: had she and Éomer met under different circumstances, would we have ever become us? Or would they have gone on happily with their lives, unaware of what could have been? Her living her years in the crowded loneliness of her books and sketches, Éomer making his way through blood and death and perhaps finding happiness in the arms of another woman.
Wishing to silence the swirling thoughts in her head, Lothíriel wrapped her legs tighter around Éomer's waist. His lips were resting on her brow. His shoulders were broad. The muscles on his back distracting. "Are we alone?", she asked.
"There are men patrolling the far edge of the forest, but they know I'd poke their eyes out if they so much dare approaching this place, let alone look at you". His hand moved to cover her breast. His touch was slow. Gentle. Deliberate.
Lothíriel wound her fingers through his hair, her nails digging into the skin of his scalp: there was something so profoundly liberating about being so close and intimate with another person, about surrendering your body and soul to someone else. It was like stretching wings you didn't even know you possessed to soar high in the sky without ever being afraid of plummeting down.
And right in that moment, she craved that feeling more than the air that filled her lungs.
She reached down, a strange sound rising from the back of her throat as she felt Éomer's arousal pressing against her entrance. Oh, but she needed him... With a shaky sigh, she pushed her hips down - once, twice... until she felt him sliding deeper inside her, until the world around them had disappeared and the whole Arda and the stars above were in that tiny lake lost on Rohan's endless plains. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed: only her, Éomer and their little slice of heaven.
What little soreness she felt from the previous night quickly ebbed away and an unnamed feeling, both dark and warm at the same time, pooled in her belly at the sight of Éomer's intense, almost pleading gaze. He was panting and groaning, his eyes often darting towards her hair: "What's about them?", she asked sucking on his lower lip, "Why is it that you always get that look on your face, whenever I'm wearing my hair so?".
His mouth twitched in a grin that was way too smug for her own good. "I am a Horselord after all".
Lothíriel's thrusts became sharper, her words blurred. "I'm not sure my thoughts are... obscene enough to... picture what you are trying to say…".
"How about I show you?", he purred in her ears.
He carried her to shore and laid her on the soft grass, his thumb moving unerringly around that little bud between her legs that seemed to be the very core of her pleasure, his hips bucking relentlessly against her: Lothíriel didn't know what that had to do with being a Horselord and didn't care much for it either, for she could feel her release quickly approaching.
But just as the first wave of pleasure was starting to swell within her, Éomer's pace slowed down until his were barely more than lazy, torturously slow movements. She tried to protest, but nothing more than a helpless whimper rose from her throat as he pulled out of her and rolled her over. With one hand holding on her hip and the other tugging on her hair, Éomer prompted her to arch her back and raise her hips, leaving the wet, throbbing core of her body exposed to his searing gaze.
Lothíriel's heart was pounding furiously in her chest and something she could only describe as a feral, unbounded lust filled her veins as she waited for him to bring their bodies together once more. When he did so, sheathing himself in one powerful stroke, she had to clutch at damp blades of grass beneath her or else, she feared even the guards in Aldburg might hear her!
She was going to be sore later that day, but Valar she'd die if he stopped now!
Not thrusting her voice to tell him what she oh so badly needed to say, she jerked her hips back against him, urged him into an even rougher, wilder pace. "Lothíriel…", Éomer called her, and there was an edge of desperation in his voice, one she unashamedly enjoyed because - she realized, she held just as much power over him as he held over her. It was an intoxicating, exhilarating feeling! And when Éomer's body covered hers, when his teeth sunk into her shoulder, when she felt him shuddering and his heat filling her, she too cried his name and followed him swiftly into a haze of bliss.
As they came back to their senses, Éomer rolled off her and scooped her in his arms. He placed her on the blanket he had prepared for them and brushed his nose against hers in a gesture so sweet, that she felt like falling for him all over again: "Do you need your clothes?", he asked.
Lothíriel shook her head. Lying sprawled on her back, she basked in the warmth of the sun and drunk in the sight of his naked, golden skin.
"No longer concerned about freckles?".
"Someone once told me freckles are cute", she quipped him.
"A wise man, no doubt".
Lothíriel followed a lonely cloud sprinting above their heads, and what she deemed to be two buzzards gliding effortlessly in the late summer breeze: "Ethelfola's hooves are fine, aren't they?".
"Never been better".
She huffed. "You shouldn't have gotten me another horse. I could have simply…".
"Let it go, Lothíriel", snapped Éomer, "I know you miss Rohiril, I know you blame yourself for her death and I know you dread the idea of owing another horse. But you need to let it go! Greótblæst is an extraordinary horse and the moment I saw her, I knew she should have been yours. And trust me, I wouldn't be giving her to you, had I not been sure you'll take good care of her".
Lothíriel sniffled and pulled herself up, her legs crossed in front of her. "She's beautiful", she conceded, "But why didn't you tell me about her earlier today?".
"Because I didn't want you to make a fuss about it – and also because the last time you were delivered a gift at the stables, it wasn't under the happiest circumstances…".
"A horse fit for the bride of a Horselord?". Lothíriel's impression of her father's accent was absolutely terrible, but still plenty enough to bring a pensive frown on Éomer's face. "Let it go, love", she told him kissing him softly.
Éomer chuckled and pulled something out of the pocket of his discarded trousers - a necklace, Lothíriel realized when he sat behind her and put it around her neck. In the absence of a mirror, he held his dagger in front of her, the emerald pendent shining bright in the sharp, curved blade. "Something to match your eyes", he said kissing her shoulder.
Staring at her own reflection, Lothíriel stated the obvious: "My eyes are grey".
"Not always", Éomer whispered in her ear, and something in his voice sent a shiver running down her spine and legs until reaching her curled toes.
"Oh", was her elaborated answer, followed by a wee nod when he asked whether she liked her gift.
"Good. And now: let's eat, shall we?".
He didn't need to ask twice, for they both starving!
Éomer arranged an impressive variety of different foods around her and laughed when he caught her wolfing down a whole chicken leg and licking contently her fingers afterwards, to which Lothíriel gave him a sheepish smile and concluded manners could go hang themselves. "I was thinking we could have dinner all together later today…", she proposed while she dipped a piece of cheese inside a honey jar.
"Define all together", demanded Éomer.
"You and I, Runhild, Wilrun, Gárwine, Éothain… and my brother". The last three words came out half-hidden behind a clumsy - and totally unlikely, sudden cough.
"Your brother and I haven't exactly gotten off on the right foot, in case you haven't noticed it…".
"I figured as much".
"What did he tell you?".
"Nothing. We haven't really spoken since you left three days ago, but perhaps things would be somewhat easier if we sat down all together and shared a hefty meal and a few glasses of wine".
"Fine", Éomer conceded after much brooding, "but if we end up at each other's throats, don't say I didn't warn you".
How could I ever think this would work, Lothíriel thought with a disheartened sigh.
Just like Éomer had predicted, dinner turned out to be a disastrous affair and all her attempts to sooth the tension in the room had so far proved utterly vain.
From above a plate of sliced venison which he was stabbing in an unnecessarily vicious fashion, Erchirion was now glaring blatantly at Éomer who, in turn, looked moments away from starting to growl and bare his teeth at her brother. Not knowing what else she could do to save the day and exasperated by that childish display of mutual hatred, Lothíriel emptied her goblet twice in a row with the result that things remained just as bad as they were at the beginning of the evening, but with the pesky addition of the mild spinning of her head.
Runhild, Éothain, Wilrun and Gárwine on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of their lives.
The former was sitting by her side and every time she turned to look at her, she'd wink and give her a smug smile. The I know what you and Éomer finally did type of smile, to be precise. The same applied to Éothain, whereas Wilrun hadn't stopped ogling at her brother since the moment he had entered the room: she had secured herself a seat by his side and her chair kept sliding closer and closer to that of Erchirion who, finding himself squeezed between the girl and Gárwine, was moving closer and closer to the old rider until he was practically sitting in the man's lap. Not that Gárwine seemed to mind: slowly sipping on his red wine, he observed the unfolding drama with amused, gleaming eyes.
"Please let this torture be over soon", Lothíriel muttered to herself and when a host of maids entered the hall, she jumped in her chair. Food was surely going to make things easier, wasn't it? She peeked in her plate and to her great horror, she realized Altor had decided to impress their Amrothian guest by preparing something totally out of the ordinary for Rohan's culinary tradition: unleavened dough shaped in long, thin strips. Or – as she and her brothers used to call them as children: dough worms.
The moment the food was placed in front of Erchirion, his features twisted into an ill-concealed grin. He lifted a strip of dough between his forefinger and his thumb, and turned to look at her: "Lothíriel, may I advise caution when you eat this?".
It was spoken innocently enough, but the corners of his mouth were definitely twitching.
There was a long silence, after which the least expected person in the room spoke: "Why caution?", asked Éomer staring suspiciously at the food in his plate.
Lothíriel cast her brother a pleading look, but it was too late already: "It was the year 3003 of the Third Age", he solemnly proclaimed waving his goblet in front of him, "when Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth announced a great feast was soon going to be held in his hall. On the chosen night, nobles hailing from all corners of Gondor – and beyond!, gathered for a banquet like few had seen before. Sitting at the high table, the Prince stood and called for a toast. As the room grew quiet and all eyes turned on him and his family, his young daughter decided she couldn't wait any longer to try the strange food in her plate: she took one of the dough worms and slurped it down but alas, fate wanted that at exactly the same moment, she also felt the overwhelming need to sneeze. And so was Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth introduced to Gondor's highest nobility: with one end of the worm hanging from her mouth, the other… from her nose!".
Runhild, Wilrun, Éothain and Gárwine didn't even attempt to hold back their mirth and laughed out loud. The maids who were in the room had the decency to try hiding their grins, but failed rather spectacularly. And as per Éomer, the hand covering his face did nothing to conceal the fact he was shaking with laughter.
Drawn by the general commotion, Altor made a quick appearance to ensure all was in order with the food. The poor man looked genuinely mortified by her brother's story. He apologized profusely and even offered to cook her something else which really, was not necessary: "Don't worry, Altor: I actually like this type of dishes very much indeed and while I normally prefer the dough to be shaped into anything but a strip, I'm a grown-up and I think I can handle my meal without incurring in any further embarrassing incident", Lothíriel reassured him. Her confidence almost betrayed her moments later when, upon savoring the food in her plate, she found the whole room staring at her with wide eyes and very nearly got another worm in her nose by simply bursting out laughing.
If anything, the merriment caused by Erchirion's tale managed to ease the atmosphere and in spite of its poor start, dinner continued on far more amicable terms. Sure, there was still wariness between Éomer and her brother, but the two of them even managed to exchange a few polite words.
It was almost midnight when Éomer decided to call it night, soon followed by Éothain, Gárwine and Runhild, while Wilrun would have probably stayed, had her friend not dragged her out of the room and far away from her exasperated brother. Once the maids had cleared the table, Lothíriel stood and signaled her brother to follow her: "We shouldn't keep the staff up. Come, let us go upstairs".
Erchirion offered her his arm and followed her silently through a maze of dark corridors. When she let him in the solar, he seemed pleasantly surprised: "It's nice in here", he said looking around with interest, "Big windows, plenty of books, soft-looking armchairs and a big hearth. This room looks just like your kind of place".
"It is, though I rarely get to spend much time in here".
He sat on the couch, his eyes lingering but for a moment on the pitch-black sky before turning back towards her: "I'm guessing you won't be coming home with me". There was a tinge of disappointment in his voice. But mostly, there was concern and a profound, harrowing sadness.
"I am right where I want to be, Erchirion. I am home".
"I thought you'd never want to leave Dol Amroth and the sea".
"I didn't and a part of me will always miss the sound of crashing waves. But when I now look ahead of me, I no longer see blue waters and white cliffs, but only green pastures and snowy peaks".
He nodded and something in his stance had Lothíriel's heart tightening in her chest: "I'm sorry, Erchirion", she said holding his hands into hers, "I'm sorry I never wrote you. I'm sorry I left you all – even father, without news for months. I was… unwell. When I first arrived here, I deeply despised this place and for months, I let that hatred consume me, let it cloud my sight and poison my feelings. But I missed you, brother. Even if I never wrote you to tell you, I missed you. And I missed Gaeril, I missed Bathor, I missed Elphir. Why, I even missed Amrothos!".
"Even Amrothos?".
"I know, right?".
He chuckled and pulled her to him, let her sob against his tunic. "How do I know you'll be alright, Lothíriel? After everything that has happened here, how do I know Éomer will take care of you - and you of him? How do I know you wouldn't be safer in Dol Amroth, rather than here in Aldburg?".
"You can't".
Erchirion's brow was set in a thoughtful frown, his eyes were the color of a raging, angry sea.
"Of course I'd be safer locked away in my old room, spending my time reading books and rarely ever going out. But Erchirion, how would it make you feel to spend the rest of your days cooped up in an ivory tower – just so your life would not be put at risk, rather than sailing the high seas?".
"It would make me feel like a coward. And the unhappiest, most miserable man in all Arda". He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and let out a long sigh: "I'm sorry too, Lothíriel".
"What for?".
"The other day, I got… carried away. I manhandled you, belittled your feelings and trusted the word of others above yours. For that, I'm sorry. And I'm also sorry for not having been there when father sent you away: I knew not of his plans, had no idea what he…".
"Don't", she silenced him, "I know you were only trying to protect me, and I know you'd have done everything in your power to stop father, had he made you aware of his plans. That's why he didn't, I suppose…".
"Do you want me to tell you? The reason – or perhaps the excuse I shall better say, why he acted the way he did?".
"No. When I'll feel ready to hear about it, then I'll ask him. It's just… not the time yet".
"I understand". Erchirion's expression unexpectedly changed into a cheeky little grin then, one that reminded Lothíriel of days long gone, when they were children and their only preoccupation had been finding each day a new game to play: "I meant to ask you, would you mind if I were to abuse of your hospitality for a little longer?".
Lothíriel almost started jumping around the room, so happy she was of hearing those words: "Yes! Yes! I mean, no: of course I don't mind! Oh my, I was so afraid you'd say you had to leave soon, that father's fleet needed…".
"Father's fleet is currently in Amrothos' hands, which can only mean one of two things: either he rises to the occasion and stops for once being the buffoon we both know – in which case my delayed return won't be a problem. Or, he has by now already accidentally sunk our entire fleet and turned to dust our naval strength – which, as you can imagine, would make my role as fleet commander outrageously obsolete. In both cases, I don't see a reason why I shouldn't stay here for a while longer, spend some time with you and get to know a little better that husband of yours".
"Nothing would make me happier!".
"I fear your better half might not share your enthusiasm…".
"He won't be bouncing off the walls. But you and Éomer are much alike and if you just stopped throwing daggers at each other, you'd see it for yourselves that you are both good, honorable men. Too good, actually".
Erchirion scoffed and ruffled her hair: "Perhaps you are right - he does seem like a good man. While you", he said tapping a finger on her shoulder, "you hardly seem like the same girl I remember. You have changed, sister".
"For the better, dare I hope?".
He pondered about it. "Definitely. Not that there was anything wrong with you to start with, but you now carry yourself with a confidence you never possessed before. You seem more at ease, more comfortable – with others, with yourself, with life in general. I was looking at you the other day, barking about manning the walls and issuing orders left and right, and I could hardly believe you were the same girl who spent her days reading Tales of Menor over and over again, the same girl who avoided all types of social gatherings because the simple idea of having to play the host to a crowd of strangers was too daunting for her to bear".
There was a touch of melancholy to his words, one that had Lothíriel seek again the comfort of his embrace. "That may be true. But either way, I'll always be your silly little sister. The one who managed to get a dough worm stuck in her nose. The one who adored listening to your sea stories. The one who thought wearing a necklace made of seashells you had collected on distant shores would chase her bad dreams away, only because you had once told her so".
Erchirion smiled and held her a little tighter. "Good. Some things should never change".
Author's notes: at long last answers were given and Éomer and Lothíriel acknowledged and embraced their mutual feelings. Meregith and Trewyn remain at large and the future is uncertain, which will surely make the months leading to the fast approaching Ring War perilous. I'll admit I enjoyed writing this chapter – though it took me quite long to do so for intimate scenes aren't really my strong suit. I hope it was worth the long wait to get to this point and if so, don't forget to let me know because your last reviews really made my day!
Little side notes: in case you'd like to look it up, I was thinking of the Bachalpsee when writing about Éomer and Lothíriel's romantic getaway. Switzerland has plenty of mountain lakes and I hiked to the Bachalpsee last summer together with my boyfriend: I was stunned by the sight of the famed Eiger (those into climbing will know the name) and the other Bernese Alps mirrored in its waters (no, I did not swim there: it has an elevation of 2265 mt –about 7400 ft, and the water was just too cold!). As per the dough worms, I'm obviously Italian and they are obviously some sort of spaghetti :) Pasta was eaten in Italy already during the Middle Age and it was often included in aristocratic banquets during the Renaissance, so I don't see why something similar shouldn't have made it to some regions in Gondor. The words themselves – pasta and spaghetti, felt totally out of place here, so I sort of avoided mentioning them explicitly. Last but not least, I have a busy month ahead and next updates might take a little longer than usual!
the perks of being divergent: thank you! Most of the previous chapters were building towards this moment, so I'm glad it all worked out well in the end.
napia328: thank you so much for your review! Yes, I also think this would be just the type of thing Grima would do. An open attack on Aldburg would be too bold and risky. We are obviously not done with Meregith and Trewyn, so let's see what the future chapters will bring!
Katia0203: glad you enjoyed the bit by bit discovery of Meregith's plan, for I intentionally built the whole chapter around it, trying to convey the confusion and bewilderment Lothíriel must have felt. Even after Léod's embarrassed reaction, I still think Lothíriel owed Éomer the chance of explaining himself and she shouldn't have agreed on simply running away. But these are hurtful situations and her decision to avoid a confrontation is wrong but also relatable to some extent. To her defense, she really managed to get a hold of herself and do the right thing in the end, which was not easy under the given circumstances. As per our two fugitives, their role in this story is obviously far from over…
Rho67: your review really had me smiling dumbly at my phone :) You also had me feeling a little guilty, but I regret nothing! Kudos to Grima and Meregith for their plan but, as you say, also to Lothíriel for the way she took action and kept her head steady after an initial moment of panic.
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: you definitely got it right back in chapter 23 when you wondered whether Meregith was really only cleaning… Also: you didn't think I was getting rid of Erchirion that fast, were you? ;)
Beancdn: lol, the engineer in me agrees. I date everything, but then again: my twice-engineer boyfriend barely has a date printed on his ID, so… As you suspected, Éomer simply wrote the letter at a time when he feared annulling the marriage might have been the only viable thing to do (it was indeed vaguely mentioned in chapter 8…). But if anything, they did *finally* consummate the marriage :P
Catspector: yes, you were 100% right at suspecting of Meregith! Right now, she's probably well aware that if Éomer ever manages to find her, he'll make her pay hell for what she did. Which is why she left in such a hurry and why she and Trewyn will try to stay hidden…
SwanKnightoftheNorth: thank you! Really glad you mentioned the character development, as Éomer and Lothíriel have come such a long way since the first chapter of this story – perhaps Lothíriel more than Éomer, as Erchirion rightfully pointed out. I thought about writing the moment Éomer was informed of Meregith's real plan, but in the end I preferred to play it this way and cut the chase, taking him straight back to Lothíriel so that they could finally answer each other's questions and make the whole non-consummated assumption finally void ;)
almythea: glad you liked the twist! :)
Ambray: well, Lothíriel was supposed to be quite unlikeable in the beginning of the story, so I don't really mind your feedback :) The whole point was indeed to show her/them changing and growing into better people, and I'm glad you've enjoyed the ride so far and took the time to let me know!
spring94: glad re-reading made all the pieces come together, for the whole story had been building up towards this moment! Also, good job finding the hints: Éomer's explanation was probably half-unnecessary for you ;)