Chapter 34
Dunharrow, March the 9th, 3019
"I wish you were a coward", whispered Lothíriel, her fingertips drawing idle circles on Éomer's chest. He and the King had arrived at Dunharrow early in the day, but it hadn't been until well after dusk that they had finally had the chance to exchange more than a hasty glance of greeting. Their discarded clothes scattered inside their tent, they had not bothered with words, their lovemaking different from ever before; slow, intense but not passionate for once, leaving her in its aftermath feeling unbearably sad.
Lying on his side, his position a mirror of hers, their bodies apart save for their entwined legs, Éomer was taking in the sight of her like he was trying to forge the memory of that instant in his head. "Why?".
"Because then you wouldn't have to ride to war, and we could run away instead. We would travel the known world until we found a place where we could grow old together, unbothered with what happens in the high palaces and caring only for our little selfish happiness".
"Where would we be living?", he indulged her, his hand capturing hers to kiss it tenderly.
"In a modest hut. You'd spend your days hunting and I'd learn how to grow vegetables and cook. People would think us a couple of lunatics and stay away from us".
"Why would they think so?".
"Because you'd bellow and chase after any stranger who made it too close to our haven. And because I'd keep cats and have lengthy conversations with them".
"Sounds nice", he said tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "though I fear you'd never agree to such plan in the first place. You're no coward either, Lothíriel".
She was not so sure about it, but thought it best not to tell him.
"Coming to Edoras was a reckless, dangerous idea", Éomer said at last, and she could see a flicker of anger in the depth of his dark eyes.
"I know, but I had nothing to lose. I was sure Grima would have executed you in a matter of days and I'd have never forgiven myself, had I not at least tried to save you. I know, I know", she anticipated his objection, "you'd have rather faced a death penalty than having me taking your place as his prisoner. But you're Rohan's future, Éomer, and your demise would have been just the first of a long string of calamities that would have ripped this country apart. I had to do something, I owed it to our people". And I owed it to myself, for the mere notion of facing a world without you, frightens me more than I can say, she silently added.
Éomer's chest expanded in a deep sigh. She knew he was still furious and that he struggled with the idea that being Rohan's heir, he was far too important for the survival of their people to let him throw away his life so easily. But it was so, whether he liked it or not. "I'm not sure whether being proud of you for the way you deceived Grima, or just livid", he confirmed her thoughts, "How did you come up with such plan?".
"I was desperate. I knew that the only way for an advisor to be dismissed from the Council without the King's direct involvement, was to have his fellow councillors casting him out. So, I thought that if I managed to convince Grima that I had the power to cause unrest in the advisors' strongholds on account of their implicit support to your imprisonment and undermine their position, he'd fear losing their support – which I knew he still needed. It was a long shot, but it was the only one I had".
"What of Lady Aldwyn's men?".
"Oh, that wasn't my doing. I asked Elfda to come with me so that he could tell Lady Aldwyn - who would then inform Éowyn, what I was planning to do. I was confident that once out of the city, your sister would have been able to keep you from coming back for me".
"She wouldn't have managed. After she told me what you had done, I was determined to ride back to Edoras and tear down the Golden Hall with my fingernails if needed be".
"You wouldn't have done it – of that I'm certain. You may be impulsive, but you are no fool, Éomer.
Seeing her shivering, he pulled a blanket over her. "I understand why you did what you did, Lothíriel. I'm thankful and proud that you'd risk so much for me. But just like when you had Beyrith telling me you'd have rather stayed a captive than being freed at the price of Rohan's safety, it's difficult for me to accept that there might be times when the path to the greater good for my country, is the one where I lose you".
"You'd do it too, Éomer. You'd forfeit your life for your King, and I know you'd have forfeited it for your cousin. Why is your sacrifice more acceptable than mine – or anyone else for the matter?".
"Because I'm used to be the one who fights, not the one other people fight for". He rolled on his back, arms tucked under his head and eyes fixed on the canopy above them. "I never wanted to be my uncle's heir. I never thought I'd be the one sitting on the throne one day, bearing the weight of the country on my shoulders. This is not who I am".
"Oh, Éomer", Lothíriel scooted closer and kissed his brow. "You have led the East-mark for many years and kept it safe through dark times. You'd have hardly managed that, had you been but a mere soldier. You know how to look after your people and you'll be a good King one - hopefully distant, day. No matter what challenges await you, you'll overcome them and for what is worth, I'll always be there to help you any way I can. Just… just come back to me", she finished in a whisper, her chest heaving almost painfully. Since Yule, life had been one fight after the other, with hardly a chance to catch their breath in between. Her abduction. The Prince's death. Éomer's arrest. The battle at Helm's Deep. Like trying to get back on your feet after a disastrous fall that has left you wounded and bleeding, only to find yourself tumbling further down at each attempt.
But the worst had yet to come, she knew.
Lothíriel looped her arms about Éomer's neck and drew him closer. She kept from asking him to promise he'd return, for she knew no one could say what awaited him in battle. She kept from crying, for those might be the last moments they had together, and she'll be damned if she wasted them weeping. His body wrapped around hers, Éomer only spoke three words before drifting into a fitful sleep.
Some hours later, Lothíriel slipped out of their tent. It was a chill night, with gusts of wind howling as they swept down the rocky slopes of the mountains. Most of the men were sleeping, but a few remained up and about, some gathered around the fires in thoughtful silence, others humming the tune of some old folk songs. She spotted the King standing on a spur overlooking the sea of tents below and as if perceiving her gaze on him, he turned to look at her. "You cannot sleep either, Lady?".
She shook her head and joined him, running her eyes over the encampment. It was mostly quiet, yet a strange energy charged the air above them. "I was feeling restless and didn't want to awake Éomer with my endless tossing and turning".
With a smile, the King placed her hand in the crook of his arm and led her through the camp. He had a word of hope for all those who approached them, a gesture of encouragement for all those who preferred watching them from a distance. After reaching the furthest line of tents, they joined a family of five sitting around a fire. A young boy with ruffled auburn hair and a toothless grin asked if he could tell them a story, and the King gladly indulged him with the tale of Mansbane. He had but finished narrating of the taming of Felaróf, that the children immediately asked for another story. One stern look from their mother however, and they thought better of it, thanking him for his time and wishing them both a goodnight.
"I've heard that story before", Lothíriel said as they made their way back. The King cast her an interested look and she wondered whether it had been a mistake to speak. She hoped not. "Prince Théodred spent Yule with us. There were always a lot of children in the hall and every evening, they'd gather around him and listen enraptured to the tales of Rohan's forefathers. I remember the night he told them of Mansbane and perhaps I'm wrong, but I think he must have learned the story from you, for he spoke the exact same words you spoke just now, held himself the same way even".
The King's eyes veiled with melancholy. "It was his favourite story. There were entire months when he wouldn't want to listen to any other story but Mansbane's. He never tired of it".
"He spoke often of you", she confessed and seeing the surprise in the King's eyes, she smiled and reached for his hand to comfort him. "He told me about his childhood, about growing up in Edoras and all the little mischiefs he got into. Like that time when he tried saddling your horse to prove he no longer needed to stick to ponies, only to be tossed into a pile of mud…".
"It wasn't mud, it was fresh manure", he corrected her, "No matter how many times I had him bathing, the stench stuck on him for an entire week".
"I can see why he chose not to mention that", Lothíriel giggled before turning serious again. "Perhaps I'm speaking out of place and if so, I hope you'll forgive me. I cannot count myself among those who knew him well, but in what little time I have spent with Prince Théodred, I got to know him as a brave, kind, generous man. One who loved dearly his father and made us proud and honoured of serving our King".
He said nothing and for the remaining part of their walk, no words were spoken. Only once they had made it back to her tent, did the King pause. His hands resting on her shoulders, he looked at her for a long moment: "Edoras hasn't treated you well. I haven't treated you well, allowing you to be imprisoned for no other fault than defending the best way you could your husband, whom I have always loved like a son. There's still hope, Lothíriel", he said, smiling as he dropped the formalities, "the war is not lost yet and should I return, I hope you and Éomer will agree to spend more time in Meduseld, so that I may get to know better this famed Lady of the East-mark everyone keep talking about. But should I fall, then know that my heart grows lighter knowing Éomer will take my place on the throne, for I cannot think of a better King to lead the Rohirrim in the years to come. And it grows lighter still, knowing you'll be there with him".
Lothíriel swallowed hard, trying to choke down the question lingering on her tongue. What if none of you comes back? But her thoughts must have been plain on her face.
"Éowyn will lead our people in our absence. And should our absence be permanent, she'll need your help too".
Not trusting her voice, she bit her lip and nodded.
"I know the circumstances of your marriage have been cruel and unfair", the King added before she could close the flap of her tent, "I have only met Prince Imrahil once many years ago, but I know enough of him to say with confidence he's not a cruel man, nor an unfair one. As a father, I have made many mistakes – some of which I'll never get the chance to atone for in this life. It's a torturous punishment, Lothíriel, one I'd not inflict on my worst enemy. I understand your anger, but please consider giving your father the chance to explain his actions and earn your forgiveness until he still can".
Lothíriel thought long about the King's words and on the morrow, long after the dust raised by the six thousand Rohirrim riding to war had settled, she stood for hours on the same spur where he had been the night before. It was going to take weeks until news of the outcome of the battle would come, and she wished she could spend them all sleeping a dreamless sleep. But she couldn't and when Lady Aldwyn approached her later in the day, she sighed and made ready to ride back home. "I'll return to Aldburg", she announced, "you're welcome to join me if…".
"Éowyn is gone".
One foot already in the stirrup, Lothíriel froze. "What do you mean, gone?".
"I mean gone. Both her and the halfling Meriadoc".
"She rode with the men", realized Lothíriel and even though she had not seen it coming, a part of her was not surprised to discover her sister-in-law had chosen the path of war.
"You should come to Edoras", said Lady Aldwyn.
Knowing all too well what she was implying, Lothíriel shook her head firmly. "My place is in Aldburg".
"Gárwine is perfectly capable of looking after the city on his own. But if you don't come to Edoras, it will be up to the only two advisors who haven't ridden to war to lead us. You can't let that happen".
"I don't have the authority – nor the skills, to take over the ruling of the capital and therefore of the whole country".
"You're to be Queen of Rohan one day, Lothíriel. That's plenty of authority. And as far as skills goes, trust me: you'll do way better than those two old geezers who were neck deep in cahoots with Grima until few days ago, and act now as if they have always been the King's most loyal subjects. The people of Edoras might not know you as well as those in Aldburg, but they do know you. Seeing you in Meduseld will keep the spirit of the House of Eorl alive and give us the hope we need to make it through the next few weeks".
As much as she wanted nothing more than going back home and spend the agonizing wait that awaited them surrounded by her nearest and dearest, Lothíriel knew Lady Aldwyn had a point and with a resigned sigh, she eventually agreed on riding to Edoras.
Ten days after biding Erchirion farewell, Míririen stood in the kitchen's doorstep and eyed suspiciously the man sitting at the small round table in the darkest corner of the tavern. She judged him to be in his seventies, with streaks of white showing in his otherwise raven hair. Devrion – that was his name, had arrived at The Whale the same day Erchirion had left. He had taken a room on the first floor and paid in advance for an entire month – much to Thilion's delight. The man was the epitome of the gentleman, gallant and chivalrous. He always left her a tip in his room, not too little that one would think him stingy, and not too generous that she'd fear the coins came with strings attached. She had taken a liking to him – like pretty much everybody else around, until things had unexpectedly changed for the worse.
The past week, Pelargir had been flooded with people coming from Minas Tirith. The Steward of Gondor had apparently ordered the old and the women and children to abandon the city before the enemy put it under siege, and many had come seeking refuge in the harbour city. Every inn in town was busy and kitchens worked non-stop to accommodate the unusual large number of customers. Because of it, she had hardly had a spare moment in over a week and when Thilion had asked her to go to market to buy some supplies, she had almost kissed him for giving her the chance to get out of the tavern for a few hours. She had been halfway there when she had realized someone was following her. To her surprise, it was Devrion she had seen walking a few steps behind her. He had smiled and waved a hand at her, and she had thought his presence to be nothing but a coincidence. But he had been there on her way back too and the exact same thing had happened again the following day.
The man was stalking her, that much was clear.
That evening, Míririen waited until Devrion was the only customer left in the tavern and sat boldly in front of him. "Who are you?".
He smiled and offered her a glass of wine, which she promptly refused. "The question you should ask is not who I am, but rather who I work for".
"Lord Radon?", she guessed and much to her surprised, Devrion snorted.
"I should take offense for being associated to that scum, Lady. I do not work for him, though I'll admit he is the reason why I was sent here".
Míririen looked nervously around and lowered her voice. "Erchirion?".
"Yes. I've been working for his aunt for many years and before sailing off, the Prince asked me to look after you".
Irritation mounted quickly. "He needn't worry, I manage just fine on my own".
"He warned me you'd say so", Devrion laughed. "Please don't take offence. It's quite obvious you can look after yourself and from what I heard, Lord Radon got to learn it the hard way. But you need to understand that he is a despicable, vengeful young man. Both he and his father have been summoned to Minas Tirith to help defending the city, but there's nothing stopping him from sending one of his henchmen after you".
Míririen shifted uncomfortably on the chair. "Surely he wouldn't go to such lengths for a simple maid…".
"I think he may. You have publicly humiliated him – deservedly so, and I for one am glad Erchirion thought of your safety before leaving. Lady Irviniel even suggested you and your mother could stay with her, but he said you wouldn't have accepted".
"His aunt knows about me?", she groaned.
Devrion appeared truthfully amused. "Why are you upset? I understand you'll soon be part of the family anyway".
"So, he spoke about that too…", she sighed and this time, she accepted the offer of a glass of wine and chugged it down all at once. "Do you know him well?".
"I'd say so, yes. Erchirion and his sister used to spend their summers in Pelargir. I don't normally like children, but those two were absolutely adorable!", he said, leaning towards her like he was making a secret confession.
"What about Elphir and Amrothos?".
"Elphir was a nice boy, but he rarely visited. And as per Amrothos, he was a nightmare. Naughtiest child I have ever met".
"Why am I not surprised?", she giggled, her laughter growing faint as doubts returned to twist her chest. "I love Erchirion, but I don't think I should marry him", she confessed, her eyes fixed on a particularly interesting dent on the edge of the table. "I never cared for reputation and I still don't. I feel ashamed that I was not able to save my father's business, but I'm not ashamed of this new life of mine. I have a good job – humble perhaps, but good and honest nonetheless. I don't care for what people say, I don't care for those so-called former friends of mine who come often here to either pity me or mock me for having fallen into disgrace. But Erchirion is a Prince. I know if he were here today, he'd tell me he doesn't care for reputation either, but we both know that's not true. What if marrying me causes him harm? What if following our hearts' desire is the wrong choice?".
Devrion moved his chair closer and covered her hands with his. "Being Erchirion's wife and a member of the Amrothian family won't be easy and if that is what scares you, then I can understand your fears – after all, that is precisely why Lady Irviniel has spent most of her life far removed from the rest of the Gondorian nobility. But if you worry about the harm you may cause, then you are at once underestimating the might of the Amrothian family, as well as the strength of Erchirion's feelings for you".
"What if I'm equally worried about both things?".
"Then I'd urge you not to take hasty decisions. Wait for Erchirion's return, tell him about your doubts, let him introduce you to the rest of his family, to Elphir and his wife Lady Gliril, to…".
"Why would that ever help me?".
"Because they'd welcome you with open arms. Because you'd get to see that even though the Amrothian family has somewhat grown apart following the departure of Lady Lothíriel, they still love and fiercely protect each other. It's true that as Erchirion's wife you'll be facing a great deal of challenges, but it's also true you'd never be left alone fending for yourself. And that is an encouraging thought, isn't it?".
"I suppose", she vaguely agreed, still reluctant to trust the hope that there might be a way for her and Erchirion to be together, for it simply seemed too good to be true.
"May I suggest you could take the first step by meeting Lady Irviniel?".
"Oh, no. I don't think it's a good idea at all".
"Why not? Lady Irviniel would love to meet you and quite frankly, the only reason she hasn't come here yet is that Erchirion asked her not to – I guess he knew you'd be terribly embarrassed".
Míririen silently thanked Erchirion – had his aunt showed up at the tavern, she might have just died of embarrassment. But perhaps Devrion had a point and meeting with Lady Irviniel might help her either dispelling her doubts, or consolidating them to the point she'd know what to do. "She wouldn't mind if I visit her?".
"Not at all. May I suggest tomorrow afternoon?".
Míririen stood and smoothened her stained apron. "Alright then, tomorrow be it", she declared with the same severity of someone going to war, her mind already trying to figure which of few gowns she owned would be appropriate to meet the sister of the Prince of Dol Amroth. None of them was of course, but there was naught she could do about it.
"One last thing", Devrion called her before she could retire, "Erchirion asked me to arrange for a healer to visit you mother once a week. He'll be here first thing in the morning".
Lothíriel thought she had gotten used to wait – or at the very least, that she had learned how to cope with it. After all, she had lost count of how many times she had watched Éomer riding away, knowing every day he spent out there the risk of him getting killed was all too real. But nothing – nothing!, compared to the torment of the days that followed the men's leave. Edoras had descended into a deafening silence that pounded inside everyone's ears. It was in the silent armoury and unmanned walls. In the empty stables and deserted barracks. Life went on, but in a sort of numb, suspended way. Taverns and workshops were closed, children rarely played on the streets and most of the adults chose to retire shortly after dusk, as if trying to speed the passing of time, to make it faster to the next day because that was when they might finally receive news from Gondor.
Unsure what was expected of her, Lothíriel did in Edoras what she'd have done in Aldburg, running the household and ensuring everyone's welfare to the best of her abilities. She had feared the two remaining advisors would have tried undermining her every possible way, but it turned out way worse than that. The two men – Dernwine and Elfere were their names, had put on an annoyingly persistent effort to win favour with her. Only two weeks before they had turned a blind eye to Éomer's arrest first and her imprisonment then, and now they were treating her like she was Rohan's saviour and almost kissing the ground she stepped on. Their bellies were rounded, they wore expensive clothes and golden jewels and she was beyond disgusted to even breath the same air as them.
Things marginally improved when on a bleak rainy afternoon, Runhild and Beyrith arrived in town – the latter wearing a leather bag inside which she had fitted Endien. Getting to spend her evenings with her maids and her furry companion, gave her days a sense of normality she didn't even know she had been yearning for. Then, on one lazy morning, something odd happened. Lothíriel had been taking a bath when Beyrith grabbed a chair and dragged it right in front of the tub. "Since we arrived in Edoras, there has always been a plate filled with carrots in your room".
It was such a strange thing to say, that she exchanged a bewildered look with Runhild. "Yes, I've been eating carrots. Something wrong with it?".
"Haven't you noticed anything strange with your hands?".
"My hands?", frowned Lothíriel, staring at her knuckles as they emerged from the steaming water.
"I meant your palms", clarified Beyrith and sure enough, there was indeed something strange with them. Runhild moved closer and placed one of her hands next to hers, revealing just how orangish they were. "Oh dear, how many carrots have you been eating for this to happen?!".
"I don't know! Since I returned from Dunharrow I have been…". Craving. She had been craving carrots!
"You also look plumper", Beyrith pointed out, her eyes levelled with hers whereas Runhild's ones were fixed on her naked breasts. "You do", she agreed, "When was you last moon blood, Lothíriel?".
That was easy to remember. "It started the day I arrived in Hadleigh".
"Almost two months ago then".
As if refusing to draw the only possible conclusion, Lothíriel's mind went completely blank. They could have asked her what her name was, and she wouldn't have known what to say. Runhild helped her out of the tub and guided her towards the bed, where she motioned for her to turn around so she could blot her hair. Stuck in a sort of detached state, she meekly followed her directions until Beyrith spoke: "I'll fetch the midwife", she announced, to which Lothíriel leaped on her feet like the mattress had suddenly become scalding.
"No! If she is seen anywhere around Meduseld, everyone will know", she cried, a plan already forming in her head.
Later that day, Lothíriel lied on the bed of one of Lady Aldwyn's guestrooms, the cold hands of the midwife probing her belly for what felt like a ridiculously long time before moving further down. Her touch was gentle but invasive nonetheless, and she wished she could put her clothes back on and run all the way back to Aldburg. Instead, she kept still and waited until Maetwyn had finished her examination. "You are indeed with child, my Lady".
"I-I am?".
"Yes. It's still very early on, but rest assured both you and the child are perfectly healthy", she spoke in a calm voice.
Behind her, Lady Aldwyn and her granddaughter Tidhild – who was herself pregnant and had been kind enough to call the midwife on her behalf, were embracing each other, seemingly close to shedding tears of joy. Unsure whether she could stomach their happiness, Lothíriel wished she had asked the two women to leave the room.
"What of her hands?", asked Beyrith, who – like Runhild, was staring at her with a concerned frown.
"She just needs to stop eating carrots and they will return normal. No reason to worry", Maetwyn said with a wink.
"This is such a wonderful news!", Lady Aldwyn chimed in, "Will you announce it today already?".
"Absolutely not", Lothíriel rebuted curtly, fastening her dress as quickly as she could, eager to get out of that room, "There's a reason why I didn't want Maetwyn to come to the hall. I am thankful for the support you have given me, but you should not expect an announcement. Not today. Not tomorrow. The only people who know about this are in this room, and so it shall stay".
Her tone brooked no argument, but of course the older lady chose to ignore it. "I understand how you feel, Lothíriel. But we're living hopeless days and sharing this news might brighten the darkness we are living in. I'm not asking you to make the announcement right away. But please consider what it would mean for our people to know that you carry Éomer's child".
"I know that should this child be a boy, he'll be his heir. And I know this pregnancy is practically a state matter. But first and foremost, this is our child – mine and Éomer, and I won't have every damn soul in town know about it before he does!", she cried, trying to ignore the nasty voice speaking inside her head. What if Éomer won't live long enough to ever know about it?
Lady Aldwyn made for saying something, but at once Tidhild raised a hand to discourage her from pressing the matter any further, while Beyrith stood angrily in front of her: "Leave her be", she hissed, her tone the same she had used when she had threatened Trewyn to cut her throat.
"You are right. I'm sorry, Lothíriel, I just got carried away", said Lady Aldwyn, but in that moment she couldn't care any less about the woman's apologies.
She draped a shawl around her damp hair and hurried back to Meduseld and straight to her room, Beyrith and Runhild following silently behind. Sitting on her bed, back pressed against the headboard and knees hugged to her chest, Lothíriel sobbed quietly. "You must think me a monster", she mumbled when she had mustered enough courage to speak. "I'm carrying Éomer's child, I should be happy and not weeping like this is the most miserable day of my entire life".
Runhild sat cross-legged on the far corner of the bed, while Beyrith was perched on a cushioned stool beside her. "I think you are happy, Lady. And if you didn't already love the life growing inside you, you wouldn't have protected it so fiercely against Lady Aldwyn's unseemly insistence that you should make the news public. You are just scared, and there's nothing wrong with that".
Lothíriel crossed her hands on her still flat stomach. Though she and Éomer have never talked about it, she had thought of it. It had been shocking at first, because as a young girl she had never cared for marrying, let alone having children. But Éomer had turned her world upside down and suddenly, she had found herself longing for the idea of raising a family - a large one, loud and merry like hers and Éomer's had once been. She had always known he'd be a good father and that alone had silenced all the doubts she had had on whether she would have been a good mother. Together they'd figure it out, they'd make it work.
But what if they couldn't? What if the child she carried never got the chance to meet his – or her, father?
There were two halves inside her. One telling her not to despair, for there was still hope for Rohan and Gondor to prevail and for Éomer to return to a her which would soon become them. And even if he didn't, he'd live through the life growing inside her and she'd find purpose in raising their child. The other half cried that it was all wrong. The timing was wrong. The circumstances were wrong. She was wrong!
Her thoughts turned to Éomer's mother and finally, she understood the grief to which she had succumbed. But also, why she could not – would not, let the same happen to her, should their fates prove horribly alike. Her hands clasped protectively over her tummy, Lothíriel look up at her friends and this time, amidst her tears was also a shaky - frightened perhaps, but above all big, elated smile. "I'm with child", she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else, "I am to be a mother!".
Both Beyrith and Runhild crawled towards her, seizing her into a smothery hug she never wanted to pull away from.
"How is she?".
Éomer lifted his head to meet a pair of familiar gray eyes. The youngest of the Amrothian princes looked just like he had pictured him: a younger, smugger version of Erchirion. "She was touched by the Black Breath. I thought her dead…", he spoke, shaking in despair as he remembered the mad charge that had almost costed him his life, as well as that of many of his men. After tending to his sister, Aragorn had advised him to stay with her, to call her back from the shadows and so he had done, for hours on end. She had awoken some time during the night, her eyes brightening ever so slightly upon seeing him by her side, only to grow dark again once she had remembered it all.
The battle. The mumakil wreaking havoc in their lines. The fallen beasts plunging from the sky. The death of the King.
"The Commanders will meet in a few hours to decide what to do next. You should get some rest".
What to do next. Thousands of bodies littered the Pelennor Fields. Many of those admitted to the House of Healing would likely die in the next few hours. For five days now, he and his men had been riding and fighting. They had come to Minas Tirith, to what he had naively thought would be the great battle of their time, the one to decide the doom of men, or their salvation instead. And what had they achieved? A great victory, sure. But the war was far from over, his uncle was dead and now his people looked up at him for guidance and hope.
"I will stay with her", offered Amrothos and albeit reluctant, Éomer knew better than refusing him. Decisions needed to be made and right in that moment, he could barely remember his own name.
It was almost dawn when he came to the Prince's dwelling. His palace was as grand and elegant as he remembered and a jolt of sadness hit him, for the last time he had walked those corridors had been for his own wedding. Though it felt like ages had passed, he had a vivid memory of those days, of Lothíriel's resentful gaze upon meeting each other for the first time, of the grace of her movements when her father had walked her to the altar, of himself thinking she ought to be the most beautiful woman in all Arda – and also, the one who despised him the most. Bema, how he missed her! How he wished she was there with him!
"Éomer, welcome".
Standing in the pale moonlight filtering through the branches of the cherry trees shielding the large windows, Imrahil observed him attentively. Éomer had only wanted to find a bed on which he could pass out for a few hours, but he should have known the Prince would wish to speak to him. "Imrahil", he greeted him and followed him to the same room in which he had slept fourteen months earlier. There was a large basin filled with cold water and a large meal had been arranged for him.
"Elessar will be here in a few hours. I do not want to rob you of what little rest you can get, but I hope you'll forgive me if I ask you about my daughter. The latest news we received from her were rather worrying…".
Unsure whether his stomach would be able to process any food, Éomer poured himself a cup of water. He could have simply said Lothíriel was safe and sound in Aldburg and be done with it but instead, he found himself telling the unvarnished truth – from her abduction to losing his cousin, from being arrested to being abruptly released. He blurted it all out and cared not for the familiar tangle of anger and fear veiling Imrahil's eyes. "She bailed you out and for that, she was imprisoned?".
"Yes".
At last, the Prince lost his temper. "How could you let that happen? How could she be so… so…".
Éomer knew the word he wanted to speak. "Stupid? Is that what you meant to say?".
"Yes!", he snapped, pacing restlessly around him, "She was lucky Grima fell for it. But what if he didn't?".
"Call her reckless. Call her foolhardy if you want. But don't you dare calling her stupid, Imrahil", he warned him, anger boiling at hearing Lothíriel's efforts belittled so. "The day she bailed me out, she wasn't just a young woman doing something hasty to save her husband. She was a Rohirrim stepping into the enemy's lair to save the King's only heir. I was out of my mind when I found out. I'd have throttled her, had she been there. But she was not stupid. She knew she was the only one who could have managed deceiving Grima. And she knew that in his eyes, she was the only person valuable enough to be kept as a hostage while I walked free".
Imrahil collapsed on a chair, head in his hands, looking older and more tired than ever before. "Forgive me, Éomer. I more than anyone should know that no matter how hard we try to protect those we love, sometimes faith has a way to play us for fools. Other times, we fail in spite of our best intentions" he admitted and at last, he told him his truth, the one he had been wondering about for so long. After hearing the prince's account of what had taken place in the months leading to their wedding however, Éomer simply found he no longer cared.
"It matters not", he said and sat heavily on the bed, the wooden frame creaking under his weight. "I wish you had acted differently – of course I do. But nothing will ever change the fact that I love your daughter and perhaps there's just been too much pain lately to hold onto the anger I once felt towards you. I hated you, Imrahil. When I discovered that Lothíriel had never agreed to our marriage and that she thought I knew of your deceit, I hated you. Now, I only want to win this war and return home to her".
Imrahil smiled. A sad smile, wistful but gentle at the same time. "I doubt Lothíriel will be so eager to forgive me".
"You betrayed her trust and instead of admitting the reason for your behaviour, you just let her walk away without saying a word. Can you blame her for resenting you?".
"No. My entire family resents me and trust me when I tell you that I resent myself more than anyone else". He was silent for a long while, looking like he was waging war against himself. When he spoke again, there was a shroud of uncertainty about him. "You are supposed to be resting and I am urgently needed at the lower levels to reorganize the city's defences before tomorrow's meeting. Before I go, will you tell me something about Lothíriel? Something to cheer this old man through the upcoming battle and until he'll be able to be reunited with his beloved daughter".
Éomer paused. He did not know where Imrahil found the strength to speak with such optimism, like there was any certainty about the war's outcome. For him, it was almost too difficult to think one day at a time.
He pulled Lothíriel's sketch out of the pocket of his trousers, but after nine months spent folded in his clothes, there wasn't much left of it. The profile of the old watchtower had faded, the tree sprouting from its crack was little more than a smear of charcoal, the two people sitting in its shade a shapeless blot. Four letters stood out almost stubbornly - probably because they had been added months later.
"She is… more. More than you know. More than she knows. She has the strength of a lioness, yet she sees herself like a frightened fawn – vulnerable, insecure, always doubting herself. I think it's what made her win over the heart of the people so easily. She is fearless, always standing on the front line and willing to do all the hard work if needed be. But she's not one for bragging, frequently plays down her efforts and is open with her feelings – may them be joyous or painful ones. The Rohirrim respect that – the strength, the humility, the openness. After the fever outbreak in Caerdydd, people started calling her the Lady of the East-mark. I bet she didn't mention that in her letters".
Watching the prince's half-surprised and half-amused expression, Éomer belatedly realized that a full-length rant about his daughter's virtues was probably not what he had been asking for. He cleared his voice and thought of something lighter to say. "She likes raspberries in an almost unhealthy way. Since she arrived in Aldburg, any raspberry cake, tart or confiture is practically exclusively reserved for her. Last time I tried snapping one for myself, our cook threatened me with a ladle and shooed me out of the kitchen growling that I could be starving for all he cared, he still would not let me put my hands on the Lady's sweets", he said feeling immensely foolish. Bema, what on earth was that for a silly thing to say!?
He turned to look at Imrahil and noticed a strange glint in his gray eyes. "Lothíriel's mother loved raspberries. We even used to grow them in our garden".
"She never mentioned that. Actually, she said she had not known the berry before coming to Rohan".
"She's right. Pregnancy can change a woman's body in strange, odd ways. After having Amrothos, my wife discovered a newfound love for foods she had previously hated, and a newfound hatred for foods she had previously loved. Raspberries fell in the latter category and since she had been the only one to eat them, they quickly disappeared from our table".
His gaze fixed on the sight of the White City bathed in a silver light, Imrahil slowly stood. He made for the door but before leaving, he glanced at him over his shoulder, a ghost of a smile twitching his lips: "Catch some sleep, Éomer. We still have a war to win and tomorrow, we'll plan how to do it".
It was the mid-afternoon of the fourth of April when the news of victory reached Edoras.
Lothíriel had been among the first ones to spot the three riders fast approaching the city and a sudden downpour of rain had been the only thing that had kept her from running outside to meet them at the gates. By the time the messengers had made it to the hall, at least a couple dozen of people had gathered around her. The heel of her foot tapping nervously on the floor, Lothíriel audibly gasped when she recognized the tall man barging inside, as well as the two that followed. The tale they told was a difficult one to process. They had victory, but so many had died, so many would not be returning home.
More and more people hastened to the hall, kegs of ales appeared as a makeshift celebration was started. Almost every person in town sought either Balláf, Eofor or Théocanstan to ask for news of their beloved. Afterwards, some would be smiling, others crying. Most however could not find answers and tried their best to celebrate while the fate of their loved ones remained uncertain.
Sitting on the lowest step of the dais, Lothíriel stayed in the hall until late. She cried at first, sobbed until the fabric of her skirt was damp and wrinkled, joy and pain equally mingling in her heart. When at last she found the strength to stand, she staggered to the closest chair and patiently waited until everyone had had a chance of speaking with the news bearers. She lost count of how many times she was offered some mead until finally, Runhild provided her with a mug filled with apple cider, making her stubborn refusal of all alcoholic beverages go hopefully unnoticed. Seeing the hall had started to quiet down, she approached her guards and pulled them each into a hug. Perhaps it was not proper to do so, but she just couldn't help it and much to everyone's surprise, Théocanstan did not faint when she did so. Granted, he did not return the embrace either, but at least he didn't seem to wish the ground would open and swallow him up.
"Lady Éowyn sends us", said Balláf as he exchanged a knowing smile with both Eofor and Théocanstan. "She thought you might want to travel to Minas Tirith and asked us to escort you there".
Travel to Minas Tirith!
For a moment, Lothíriel felt almost dizzy with happiness. For some reason, the thought had not crossed her mind. She had thought she'd have to stay in Edoras and wait for weeks – months perhaps!, for Éomer's return. The sudden realization she might be able to see him sooner than she had anticipated, almost caused her to start crying all over again. And her family! She'd be able to see her brothers and her father, maybe travel to Dol Amroth even!
Lothíriel's first instinct was to rush back to her room, put on her armour and ride straight to Gondor without further delay. Her guards would surely force her to wait till morning, but otherwise they'd oblige her. But she could see they were knackered – exhausted in both mind and body, and she would not let her happy reunion stand in the way of theirs. Balláf had a wife and a young son in Aldburg. Eofor had Ides who was surely waiting anxiously for him.
"One week", she decided and upon seeing her guards' bewildered expression, she scoffed, "You didn't think I'd force you to ride back to Gondor without first giving you the chance to be reunited with your families, did you?".
The grin on Balláf's face was almost boyish-like. He spun her around twice before bowing and kissing her hand: "We'll be back for you in a week, Lady".
Author's notes: so, the war is finally over! Perhaps it felt a little rushed, but since I was not willing to "re-write" any of the major events of the book, I figured it also made little sense to have longer filling chapter(s). Little fun fact: the carrot thing is something that actually happened to my mother. Her hands turned orange during pregnancy and when she told her doctor she had been eating almost 1kg of carrots a day, he almost fainted :)
Katia0203: I agree with you that she wouldn't have been able to hold out much longer. I think it would have been unlikely for someone like her to be unaffected by spending time all alone in a grim dungeon. Glad you liked Théoden's role! Yes, the Erchirion/Míririen storyline grew into something far larger than I had intended at first. The thing is that this story takes place entirely in Rohan and it's also refreshing for me to write about a different setting. Besides, you've all given me such a nice reception for E/M, that I'm feeling inspired to give them more space (guess I'll add them in the story description to be fair)! :) Míririen is definitely strong, a bit of a tomboy and she obviously knows how to care for herself. I imagine Amrothos got him out and repeatedly squeezed him like an old rag. Thanks for your review! :)
For shame: agree to disagree. From Lothíriel's perspective, now that Grima has the King subjugated to his will and his only heir imprisoned, it's clear he will soon destroy the line of Eorl for his own benefit. Théodred has already been slain and the clock is ticking for both Éomer and Rohan, so she takes a drastic decision. Is her plan perfect? Not at all. She only aims at deceiving Grima for long enough to bail Éomer out – she has no real plan for what happens afterwards. Lothíriel herself is far from being perfect – I hate perfect characters, but I strongly disagree when you call her a moron and someone who cannot keep from being an idiot, which I feel it disregards both her circumstances as well as her character development. Also: Elfda is her guard, not her babysitter. He knows there's something larger at stake than the survival of her husband and decides to support her. Perhaps you'd have preferred Lothíriel to sit and wait in Aldburg until Éomer was dead (because again, if you put yourself in her shoes that's what you believe is going to happen – you do not know Gandalf is on his way to heal the King), or come up with some sort of grand flawless plan that would save the day. She did what she could given the person she is and the means in her possession, and while there's a touch of recklessness and perhaps even foolishness to her actions, I find it extremely unfair and unkind to trash it all under the idiot label.
Eorl the Young: honestly, they laid hands on him because they feared he might lose his temper and do something stupid – which Éomer himself admits was exactly was he was planning to do. It's not like they beat him up; they restrained him for some minutes (MINUTES!) until he had calmed down. I'm fairly confident a big boy such as Éomer can survive that without feeling the need of ordering a round of beheading to avenge his wounded pride. Everyone's loyalty has been fiercely with Rohan here. Éowyn, Elfda and the rest of the men have acted to protect the King's last heir, even at the cost of his own wife putting herself willingly in danger. As I said in the response above, if you put yourself in their shoes, then all you know is that Éomer will be soon sent joining his cousin and no help is on the way in the form of Gandalf. I'm quite confident under such circumstances, I'd have been ok with a bit of restraining for the greater good.
tyskvalkyrja: this chapter was a bit slower in terms of plot advancing, but I thought it was needed before travelling to Gondor. Yes, Lothíriel was in an uncomfortable situation but at least it didn't last too long – I really don't think she'd have coped well. Glad you liked the balance, because it was really a last-minute idea to go for a book/movie/AU mix, and I wasn't too sure how it would have worked out in the end! :)
Rho67: angry and proud describe him perfectly, I think! She took a big risk but having her guards with her wouldn't have changed a thing anyway, so better send them back home. I considered writing a more "heartfelt" reunion between Éomer and Lothíriel but in the midst of all that is happening, I found more appropriate to approach it this way. Lothíriel was not surprised to see Éowyn had chosen to fight, but she did not know she would. As per Míririen's father, it could honestly be either way. Gambling addiction in its worst form is an impulse-control disorder often associated with further ones and sadly, it can affect good men as well as "bad" ones. I saw a classmate of mine going through it with his father and it was quite frankly heart wrenching – especially because in his case, there was no happy ending. Thanks for another amazing review!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: it is, and it was considerate of him to think of Míririen's safety and her mother's well-being while at the same time trying not to disrupt her life too much, as he understand she values her independency and wouldn't have taken kindly to being simply shipped elsewhere. Glad you liked the mix as well as Lothíriel's attempt to save Éomer! :)