Chapter 35
Minas Tirith, April the 24th, 3019
Nidrien? Nadrien? Nodrien? Damn, he had forgotten already. But really, how was he supposed to remember the name of what must have been the twentieth young lady whose father had insisted he should be introduced to?
Leaning against one of the marble columns, Amrothos winked and raised both hands in front of him, seven fingers pointed up. It prompted Éomer to growl angrily: the bloody idiot was keeping track of how many fathers had decided to torture him that night! As the one in question resumed babbling about all the wondrous things he had heard about Rohan – half of which were absolute rubbish, he employed the tactic which he had learned to be the most productive in such situations. Staring at an undefined point on the man's forehead, he occasionally nodded and muttered his assent to whatever he was saying, while at the same time hearing none of it. He might ask him whether Mearas had a spiralling horn on their head, and he'd still say yes. A horn and a pair of wings. They could also spit fire, naturally.
Galling fathers aside, Éomer had to admit his time in Minas Tirith had been thus far way more pleasant than he had anticipated. In a long trail of unbridled euphoria that had been kindled the day the Host had made its way back from the Field of Cormallen and had yet to wane, celebrations rolled in an endless cycle and the sight of Gondorian and Rohirrim walking arm in arm as they shared drinks and tales of old, had quickly become a common one. Even the highest nobility had been nothing but receptive towards him and - with the exception of those particularly persistent fathers who were still on his heels despite knowing very well he had a wife, he had very little to complain about.
Now, that was not true.
As Éothain could easily testify, he actually complained a lot. He complained about not being able to return home yet. He complained about how close Faramir and his sister had grown. Most of all, he complained because he had yet to receive news from Lothíriel, even though his letter must have surely reached her by now. He knew she was in Edoras and doing well because if anything, Lady Aldwyn had been gracious enough to let him know that. But he longed for seeing her or – since that was not possible, at least hearing from her. And the fact that he hadn't, was quickly souring his mood and, in the words of Éothain, making him as cranky as a constipated bear.
"My Lord?".
Éomer was shaken out of his musing by Nidrien-Nadrien-Nodrien resting her hand on his forearm. He nodded in response to her question and was immediately rewarded with a smile. Too late he realized she had asked him for a dance and could hardly back out now. With a resigned sigh that did not go unnoticed to the father-daughter pair, Éomer proffered his arm and listened out for the next dance. To his relief, he recognized the tune as a short and rather formal one – small mercies!
He was walking the young lady around a long table laden with all sorts of different foods and drinks, when the doors of the hall banged open in an abrupt and quite brutal way, so much that half of those present whirled around to see who dared entering the Prince's estate in such uncivil fashion. Having his line of sight somewhat obstructed by the many guests in attendance, Éomer stretched his neck trying to discern what had caused the murmurs and gasps that were rapidly spreading throughout the room.
He saw him then. Someone tall enough to be easily spotted in any crowd.
At first, he wondered what was Théocanstan doing there. But all coherent thoughts dissolved like mist in the sun the exact moment he caught a glimpse of raven hair. In an instant, he had dropped the arm of the lady beside him and taken the fastest shortcut he could think of, climbing on top of the table and landing swiftly on the other side. He crossed the hall in long strides, shoving aside lords and ladies alike, his heart thumping in his ears. As the last bystander was removed, he barely had the time to look at Lothíriel before she flung herself at him and locked her arms so tight around his neck, that the breath was knocked out of him. He staggered back, almost tripped on his own feet while she shook in what he thought was laughter, though the dampness on his neck seemed to tell another story.
Éomer had longed for that moment since the day he had fought on the Pelennor Fields and now that the reunion was finally happening, he was too overwhelmed to get a single word out of his mouth! He lifted Lothíriel off the ground, prompting her to wrap her legs around his waist. There were surely going to be wild stories about the King and Queen of Rohan's reunion and the way they had left a very public lofty gathering as an entanglement of limbs, but he hardly cared. He stormed out of the hall and navigated the palace up to the second floor, where his room was located. He could not say how long they stayed so, just sitting on the bed and clinging to each other in a silence broken only by unintelligible murmurs and shaky gasps.
After a while, he tried to pull back but Lothíriel denied him, shaking her head and bolstering her grip with a definitive 'no'. "Come, let me look at you", he insisted and this time, she let him.
Clad in the light armour he had given her, her hair half loose and half pulled into a tangle of small braids, a beaming smile gracing her lips, the sight of her tugged at something buried deep within his very soul. He crushed her to him, eliciting a fit of giggles that shifted rapidly into a rain of feather-like kisses. "What happened to let me look at you. Am I too travel worn for your taste?".
Éomer tickled her sides, but the chainmail protected her from being bothered by it. "You just wait until I get you out of this", he said motioning at her outfit, "and then I'll show you how much I care for travel worn".
"That a threat, Lord?".
"Quite so". He tried loosening her belt and it was only when his fingers faltered once and then twice, that he realized he was himself lightly shaking.
It was in that moment that he finally realized what having won the war truly meant.
For the past year, he had felt like at every turn the life he had wanted to share with Lothíriel was being ripped further and further away from his grasp until one day, he'd be left standing with a fistful of air. But no longer: the prospect of a long life to be savoured together in both its joys and struggles, stood now right in front of them and Bema, it was almost too good to believe it had come to that!
Lothíriel cupped his face and he could tell from the stormy gray of her eyes that her thoughts had been alike. "I'm sorry for your uncle", she whispered.
He nodded and kissed her, his hands making quick work of her belt this time. There would be a time for mourning but right then, he only wanted to taste all that was good in this life of his.
He lifted the chainmail above her head and tossed it away. It rattled on the floor, soon joined by her light tunic. When he pushed Lothíriel off his lap so he could pull her thick leather breeches down, she warded his hands off and finished the job herself, getting rid of every last piece of garment until she was standing gloriously naked in front of him.
There was a strange glint in her eyes and she awkwardly shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her edginess might have worried him, if it wasn't for the fact that she was still smiling. A blush travelled down her neck, making Éomer swallow hard. He had always been enticed by that tangle of shyness and boldness that was so typical of Lothíriel, but he perceived there was more to it this time. He took her hand and placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist: "What is it?".
She shivered and twice she opened her mouth to speak but shut it close immediately afterwards. Her expression changed then, and she let his palm skim over the valley between her breasts and then further down. Éomer was about to grab her and toss her on the bed, when she halted the touch, letting their joined hands rest over her tummy. He frowned and the moment his eyes met hers, it was like a bolt had struck him. "Are you…", he tried to ask, but his throat had gone as dry as the desert.
Éomer swore he'd never forget the nervous little nod she gave him, nor the way she squeezed his hand almost painfully as if afraid how he'd react. Slowly, he dropped on one knee and pressed a kiss on her belly. She shivered, her fingers tangling in his hair.
A child. Their child! Éomer was thankful for being already on the floor, least he might have just crumbled and melted in a puddle of drunken happiness. He wanted to ask her how far along was she, but only managed to utter a strangled 'how'.
"I think you should know how this happened", giggled Lothíriel.
Éomer moved back towards the mattress and drag her down with him. "You have just made me the happiest man in all Arda", he spoke fervently, his voice a little squeaky. "Are you happy, Lothíriel?".
"I am", she said and at last, he felt her relaxing in his arms, like a great weight had been taken off her chest. "I was terrified when I found out. We hadn't received any news from Gondor yet, I did not know whether you would have ever returned nor what would have been of us should the war be lost. But I am happy – deliriously so".
Éomer nuzzled her neck and relished the feeling of the soft warmth her skin. "How far along are you", he managed to ask this time.
"Little over two months".
"November then", he murmured, "an autumn child".
"Yes".
He smiled. Autumn had always been his - as well as Lothíriel's, favourite time of the year. And now, they'd have another reason to celebrate the season of golden leaves for the rest of their lives. His hands traced the curves of her hips and he thought she felt already softer and plumper than he remembered, but perhaps it was only a trick of his imagination. Holding her by the nape of her neck, he let himself drown in the sweetness of her lips until they were both breathless and yearning for more.
"Tell me", Lothíriel asked mischievously, adjusting her position until she had straddled him, "you're not one of those husbands who consider intimacy inappropriate when a woman is with child, are you?".
With a snort, Éomer grabbed her by her waist and laid her on her back, quickly shedding his clothes in the process. "If only you were so lucky".
Hours later, Éomer and Lothíriel laid awake in their bed. All considered, they should be both exhausted - especially her after having spent the past ten days in the saddle. Yet sleep eluded them and through the half-opened window, they listened to the city growing progressively quieter.
Pulling herself up to a sitting position, Lothíriel draped a blanket around her bare shoulders and moved across the room to look out of the window.
In the past, she had never been fond of the White City. Too big, too crowded, too far from the sea and with an unnerving abundance of nobles swarming out of every crevice. Nonetheless, passing through the gates and seeing the raw scars marring its ethereal beauty, she had felt her heart sinking. In Gondor like in Rohan, it would take many years to mend the wounds inflicted by the armies of Sauron, to move past the blood of war while still honouring the memory of those who had left but not returned. She knew new challenges and new enemies would eventually show up but in that instant, she felt more hopeful than ever before.
Leaning with her elbows on the sill, she scanned the garden below and there, sitting on the marble steps, she saw someone whose unruly black hair she'd recognize anywhere. Quickly assessing the garments at her disposal, Lothíriel decided none would do and tiptoed towards the door.
"You're not going to run around with naught but a blanket on you, are you?", chocked Éomer, jumping out of the bed like he was ready to tackle her.
"No, I just want to check something". Lothíriel opened the door only barely enough to ensure they were alone. Satisfied that the way was clear, she looked down and with a delighted squeal, she noticed Runhild and Beyrith had made sure the two large bags she had carried with her from Rohan would be brought to her. She dragged them in and pulled out the first gown she set her hands on.
"Going somewhere?", asked Éomer with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes, to the garden".
He peeped out of the window and must have spotted her brother, for he smiled at her. "Shall I walk you down?".
"No need, I think I remember the way. You don't mind if I leave you alone, do you?", she asked, lingering in the doorstep.
Éomer shook ruefully his head. "Drawbacks of having a young wife. There she goes, out partying until the night is late, while the poor old husband is left behind brooding over the growing list of pains and aches plaguing his withering body".
Lothíriel burst in a peal of laughter and retraced her steps to steal a quick kiss before darting down the corridor. She entered the gardens as silently as she could and steered clear of the pebbled paths, opting instead for the grass covered areas that were more likely to muffle the sound of her steps. Even so, her brother turned just in time to see her pouncing on him. "Hello Amrothos!", she greeted him, kneeling behind him to give him a good hug.
He grinned at her, but not before she could notice the strange, almost vacant look that had been on his face when he thought he was alone. "Sister, it's good to see you!", he laughed trying to get her off his back so he could return her embrace.
When he managed, she patiently endured both his hug as well as the pinch on her cheek that she knew would follow. As a child, she had hated those torturous pinches he insisted on giving her. Like he was somehow so much older and wiser that he could afford playing the condescending adult with his brat sister. Now, she'd have probably chastised him, had he not teased her so. Still, she pretended to be annoyed and rolled her eyes - just for good measure. "What are you doing out here all alone? I had assumed by this late hour you'd either be lying beneath the table of a tavern, completely passed out, or in the bed of some unfortunate lady".
Amrothos looked at her like she had just grown horns on her head. "Who are you and what have you done to my sister?".
She nudged him playfully. "After one year in Rohan, I have grown some sass".
He turned his eyes skywards, like one would do when showing gratitude for some unexpected miracle and in all honesty, Lothíriel could not blame him. Amrothos had always possessed a relentless mocking attitude that was as sure to amuse people as it was to induce the urge to throttle him every now and then. To her however, it had always only been the latter and she had never managed to take lightly his endless teasing - most likely because he had unwittingly preyed on her deepest insecurities. That, combined with his total ineptitude at showing even just a shard of tact and sensitivity, had been the reason why they had never gotten along.
But perhaps, Lothíriel mused, things might be different now.
"I think sass is hardly the only thing you have acquired during your time in Rohan", Amrothos told her with a thin smile, "You have changed, sister".
"Erchirion told me the exact same thing when he visited Aldburg".
"I bet he did. Why, I swear that when I saw you barging into the hall earlier today, armour clad and smeared cheeks, sword hanging from your hip and hair so strangely braided, I hardly recognized you. You looked like a shieldmaiden goddess, the heroine of some old legend. And just so you know, you gave all those haughty arses enough gossip material to last them for a couple of lifetimes".
"Between you and me", she confessed in a hushed tone, "I even know how to hold a sword".
"You do?".
"Of course. Did you think I carried one just for aesthetic reasons? Granted, I am no Witch King slayer, but at least I know with which end I'm supposed to stick my enemies".
"I'm terrified", Amrothos gulped.
Lothíriel's retort was cut short by the sound of kicked pebbles followed shortly afterwards by Erchirion's fierce hug. He must have been sleeping, for he had a drowsy look about him and his tunic was inside out. "You'd greet that one before me?! I thought I was your favourite brother".
"I happened upon him, I swear it was not planned", she laughed.
"I shall hope so!".
Amrothos snorted. "By all means, continue speaking as if I'm not here". Squeezed between her two bickering brothers, Lothíriel felt like they were children again and Bema, was she happy! She leaned with her head on Erchirion's shoulder and then, completely out of the blue, Amrothos cleared his voice and solemnly announced: "Your favourite sibling wants to marry".
She'd have thought it a joke, if it wasn't for the suddenly stiff body beside her.
"You lousy mouth! You are the worst tattletale in all…".
"You want to marry?!".
Erchirion's eyes darted between her and Amrothos and there was something there – something that had never been there before, something that made her heart beat a little faster. "I do".
She leaped on her feet. "Who? When? How? And why on earth does he knows, and I don't!", she cried, waving an arm at Amrothos who appeared both smug and offended at the same time. "Just so you know, I played a pivotal role in ensuring those two lovebirds would end up together. As such, I believe I deserve some respect as well as some gratitude because Valar, it's been damn hard to keep this tryst secret for well over three months!".
"Over three months?", she shrieked.
"Oh, it's going on since October actually. But I only found out in January – and not because he told me, mind you".
"Amrothos, say another word and I will drown you in that fountain", growled Erchirion, and judging by the glare he gave him, he was not making empty threats.
"Well speak then", she prompted him, "What's her name?".
"Míririen".
It was spoken in such a soft, sweet way, that Lothíriel couldn't help but exchanging a knowing look with Amrothos. She crouched down in front of Erchirion, legs tucked beneath her. "… and?".
"And we met in Pelargir after I returned from Rohan. If you can believe it, I mistook her for a lad and approached her to buy some oysters. Later that day, I was at Lord Thalador's villa speaking with some old friends, when I saw this young lady. I wracked my brains out trying to figure out where I had seen her before, until I realized she was none other than the lass I had met at the docks. We chatted until late and the following day, she took me fishing on her skiff".
Amrothos' head jerked up. "Yes, I never told you about it", Erchirion anticipated him. "I was trying to avoid getting another earful about how improper my behaviour has been and especially, I was tending to my bruised ego".
"Why? What happened?".
"We were collecting oysters from the seabed, when I was viciously attacked by a huge jellyfish. Míririen sort of fished me out of the water".
Lothíriel was proud of both herself as well as Amrothos for managing to contain a burst of laughter. The proud commander of the Amrothian fleet rescued by a lady! How she wished she had been there to witness it! "What then?".
Erchirion recounted in detail he and Míririen's ensuing encounters – from the lunch at the swamps to her appearance in Dol Amroth, from the discovery of her precarious family situation to finding this awful Lord Radon assaulting her. "Before leaving for Minas Tirith, I promised her that should I return from the war, I'd marry her", he finished his tale and while Lothíriel could sense a hint of uncertainty in his voice for it was indeed unusual for a Prince to marry someone who didn't belong to the high nobility, there was also enough resolve that she knew he wouldn't have it any other way.
She shook her head and pulled her most deadly serious face. "This is shocking news to say the least. Let me just ask you one thing". She paused, almost laughed at the anxious concern painted all over Erchirion's face while beside him, Amrothos had seen right through her act and was already sneering. "When can I meet my future sister-in-law?".
Erchirion sort of deflated, head collapsing on his knees like he had been expecting her to make some harsh comment about how inappropriate the whole situation was when in fact, she really did not care– not when he was so obviously, hopelessly in love! "I was planning to travel to Pelargir in a couple of days. I'd be happy if you were to come with me".
For the next couple of hours, the three of them lied down on the damp grass, eyes fixed on the small patch of starry sky above them, catching up with everything that had happened in their lives in the past months. And even after that, when there was no more to say and a faint glow was slowly kindling on the East, Lothíriel found she still did not wish to retire. Standing up, she offered one arm to each brother: "Would you mind escorting me somewhere?".
Amrothos and Erchirion exchanged a puzzled look, but happily obliged her.
It was so that after a quick stop by her room to reassure Éomer and collect her cloak as well as the small package she had stowed in one of her bags, they were on their way to the Pelennor Fields. They dismantled at a spot between the Anduin and the city, where the Mounds of Mundburg stood as a woeful reminder of what victory over the evil forces of Sauron had costed them.
Marked by green banners and carved stones, one mound stood out among all others. "Théoden King", Lothíriel greeted the fallen hero.
Kneeling by its barren cairn, she experienced something akin to a physical pain at being there, at witnessing the vastness of death and sorrow the men of the West had been confronted with. From the pocket of her dress, she pulled out a leather cloth and carefully unfolded it to reveal a handful of dried Simbelmynë. She arranged the little flowers on the King's mound, hoping they might ease his rest until they'd be able to take him home. She spoke to him of grief and hope while around her, the Rohirric encampment slowly awoke to the first rays of dawn. Though most chose to observe her from a respectful distance, a few approached her to pay their respect. Among them were Erkenbrand and Elfhelm, who she had never met before but knew by reputation, the former having played a pivotal role in securing their victory at Helm's Deep and the latter having fought alongside Théodred in the Battles of the Ford of Isen. They spoke for a while until at some point, both men took their leave in a sudden and rather abrupt fashion.
Lothíriel glanced over her shoulder, her heart lodging somewhere in her throat when she spotted her father approaching. She turned back and took a deep breath, her hand absently resting on her tummy as she recalled the last conversation she had had with the King.
It was then that she realized for the first time in over a year that buried underneath the hatred and the need for answers, was a sentiment just as strong: she loved her father, she had missed him terribly and seeing him now, standing stoically between her brothers as if bracing for the worse, she only wished he would explain himself so she could forgive him and mend their relationship. She bid Théoden King farewell and walked briskly towards him, her embrace coming so unexpected that it took him a moment to return it. Lothíriel had seldom seen her father crying. But he did cry then, cradling her in his arms like he used to when she was a little girl.
None of them spoke as they made their way back to the palace and headed straight for his study.
There, sitting comfortably on a cushioned armchair, Lothíriel wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell of pipe-weed that emanated from one of the wooden boxes on his desk. Her father followed her gaze and chuckled: "Your mother couldn't stand it either when she was pregnant". He took the little case and carried it outside, then opened the windows to refresh the air inside the room.
"How do you know?".
"You touched your belly when you saw me. Amrothos and Erchirion were especially careful when helping you with your horse. You are triggered by smells that never bothered you before. Above all else, you look different. Radiant".
Lothíriel shouldn't have been surprised, for her father had always been a perceptive man. Either way, it bothered her that even after all this time, he could still read her like an open book. "Why?", she simply asked.
Hands clasped behind his back, the Prince's eyes lingered on the floor before rising to meet hers. "Because I never wanted you to marry - especially not a Marshal from a distant kingdom, and I thought I could spare you from it".
Of all the things she had expected to hear, that was not one of them.
"Early October of two years ago, Prince Théodred wrote a letter to your uncle the Steward, suggesting an arranged marriage between himself and a lady of Gondor as a way to strengthen the alliance between our countries. When Denethor informed me, I knew who that lady would have to be - someone worthy of the future King of Rohan and who better than the highest-ranking lady of all Gondor and a Princess of Dol Amroth. I was not happy, but I saw why it had to be you. However, before I could travel back to Dol Amroth and break the news to you, Denethor received another letter from Rohan. The King's Council had rejected the match – Prince Théodred did not elaborate, but we guessed many at court were against the idea of a Gondorian Queen. It was then that he suggested his cousin Éomer, Third Marshall of Rohan, could take his place. Back then, the effort of probing Sauron's strength had started to take its toll on your uncle, he was growing increasingly tired and bitter. Though many details remained to be arranged, the marriage agreement had been already drafted out and Denethor simply decided to move forth with you as the bride and Éomer the groom. I confronted him, argued that a Marshall was no match for a Princess. Quite ironic, isn't it?", he laughed bitterly. "Your uncle agreed and offered that should I find a suitable replacement, he'd have relieved you and see that our Rohirric counterparts accepted the new arrangement. That was all I needed to hear and for the following two months, I run around like a madman, arranging meetings with any lord who had a noble enough lineage and a daughter of marriageable age. I pulled in favours, negotiated – begged almost! But the very reason why I thought I could pull you out of the agreement – Éomer not being enough, was also the same why no other father in Gondor was willing to commit his daughter to the cause of strengthening our alliance with Rohan. I suppose they are all kicking themselves right now, seeing the Marshall they so haughtily snubbed has become a King".
"Beginning of December, I met with Lord Themben. The man had been trying to convince me to do business with him for quite some time and during our meeting, he made clear that should I finally accept, he'd have been willing to marry his daughter to Éomer".
Lothíriel bit her cheeks hard enough to taste the bitternesss of blood. She knew Lord Themben's daughter – Lady Lachien was her name. She had met her a couple of times. A sweet girl, if a little frivolous and shallow minded. Most likely, she had not known her father had been using her as a bargaining chip.
"By mid-month, I had the marriage contract amended and travelled to Minas Tirith to collect Lord Denethor's signature. However, the same day a messenger departed for Rohan with the new agreement, Lord Themben showed up here", he said opening his arms to motion at his study, "and shattered all my hopes. His daughter had some sort of secret affair going on with a young man in the Citadel Guard. Well, something more than a simple affair, for it turned out she was actually pregnant. I sent my fastest rider after the messenger so he could stop him from delivering his parcel, and that was it. Éomer was due in Minas Tirith in a month and I had run out of time. I returned to Dol Amroth and couldn't even afford the luxury of taking a couple of days to figure out how I was to confess you what was going to happen, for I needed to rush you to the capital".
"So, you picked a pretty horse and took me to the stables", she practically growled.
"It was cruel, I know that. But I reckon no matter how I chose to tell you, I'd have anyway broken your heart".
"You could have told me the truth, to start with!".
"I could have, yes - it would have spared me your hatred perhaps. But had I told you how hard I tried to get your name out of that agreement, how unworthy of my daughter I deemed this simple Marshall of Rohan to be, I feared I'd have jeopardised any chance you might have had of getting along with him".
"And it didn't cross your mind that I'd have simply hated you both instead?!", she yelled.
"It did, which is why as soon as you left, I wrote you a letter in which I explained Éomer was not at fault for what had happened".
Lothíriel covered her face with one trembling hand. "I burned your letters, all of them. But why didn't you tell Éomer at least? You saw how I treated him back then. Why didn't you explain the reason for my contempt towards him, why did you let him think I was nothing but an empty-headed, snobby Princess?".
"I wanted to but the moment I met him, I knew he was a far too honourable man and that he would never accept marrying a woman who had had no say in the whole deal. He'd have called off the marriage, Lothíriel, and as much as I did not want you to leave, I also knew it was crucially important for Gondor to renew our alliance with Rohan. Had I let Éomer walk away, I dared not thinking what consequences that might have had for us all".
Lothíriel tried her best to appease the wave of blind rage surging within her. She damn knew arranged marriages were common. She damn knew they happened in Rohan too, though less frequently. But the extent of plotting and scheming was setting her blood on fire! "You should have told me the truth from the very beginning! Even if you thought you'd have been able to get me out of the agreement, you should have told me! Instead, you pretended all was well while at the same time, you were making arrangements to have one unknowing girl take the place of the other!".
"I was confident – too confident. And I didn't want to make you worry".
"Ah, of course. You've always adored that, haven't you?", she spat out, "Shielding me, protecting me, mollycoddling me. To the point I only knew the world through the pages of my books. To the point I let myself become deaf and blind to anything that wasn't my little perfect golden existence. I arrived in Rohan a spoiled, angry child. What happened with those wargs, is no more my and Éomer's fault than it is yours!".
Anguish twisted her father's face. He stepped towards her, but she snapped up and retreated towards the door. "I-I wish to be alone", she muttered, tears blurring her vision as she sprinted down the empty hallway.
The following days passed in a blur.
The tiredness of the journey finally catching up with her, Lothíriel often slept well into the morning and indulged in lazy afternoon naps.
Éomer on the other hand, was always terribly busy.
War had savaged their country more thoroughly than Gondor, with widespread destruction spanning across the entire Westfold and – to some minor extent, other regions as well. Villages had been torched and along them, months' worth of harvests had been lost. With hundreds of families either displaced or missing, a good portion of fields were not going to be sowed in time this year, meaning the coming winter would be just as hard as the previous one had been. Though not an expert, Lothíriel had long known that even in case of victory, Rohan's situation would remain precarious. As such, she had spent her last week in Edoras gathering as much knowledge as she could. She had dispatched riders to Aldburg, Caerdydd, the Hornburg and a dozen of other smaller settlements, while together with Beywyn, they had meticulously checked the state Meduseld's storerooms. The picture that had emerged had not been a reassuring one but if anything, her efforts had proved of great help for Éomer, for they enabled him to start early trading negotiations with King Elessar as well as with a number of other Gondorian nobles. Lothíriel had joined him a couple of times and while she had not been surprised to see her husband was perfectly capable of keeping up with even the most ruthless merchant, she still felt tremendously proud of him.
Due to the pending coronation, Erchirion had been forced to postpone his journey to Pelargir and spent most of his time with her, keeping her company whenever Éomer was busy and pampering her every way he could. He spoke often of Míririen and the day he finally approached their father to make him aware of his intentions, Lothíriel spent a good hour pacing restlessly in her room, biting on her nails in nervous anticipation and worrying he'd make things difficult for him.
He did not and when later that day Erchirion barged into her room smiling ear to ear, she almost wept with happiness. Their father had given him his blessing and even though he had been appalled to learn he wanted to marry as soon as possible and surely before the Rohirric host left, he had eventually agreed to that too.
All that was missing now, was a proper proposal – and hopefully, a yes as answer!
On that thought, three days after the coronation of King Elessar, the Amrothian family - accompanied by a number of Rohirric guests, set sail towards Pelargir. It was during this time that Lothíriel found herself seeking more and more often her father's company. Following their first confrontation, she hadn't spoken much to him, their dealings reduced to a few polite words exchanged over dinner or when they casually run into each other. But in a way, the ease with which he had accepted Erchirion's decision to marry had softened her feelings towards him. She still thought what he did was wrong and that he should have told her everything from the very beginning. But at the same time, at least she now knew her father had not sold her like cattle with zero consideration for her feelings. He had just been trying to protect her but ended up hurting her instead.
And knowing that, was likely the harshest punishment for him.
At sunset of the May the sixth, with a terse sky painted in flaming brushstrokes, their ship docked in Pelargir. Together with Éomer, Lothíriel had dinner at her aunt's, her heart almost leaping out of her chest as she observed the normally reserved Lady Irviniel growing first comfortable and then absolutely delighted with her husband. She knew she'd like him but still, seeing them chatting merrily together over the second bottle of red wine of the evening, made her positively ecstatic. Her aunt had also insisted they should stay for the night and while Éomer had been tempted to accept because, as it turned out, he wasn't very fond of ships, she had wisely urged him to inspect their would-be bedroom before accepting. One glance at the size of the bed and he had promptly decided to decline, much to her ill-concealed amusement.
The following morning, Lothíriel practically shooed everybody off the ship until only she, her guards, her maids and a handful of men from the crew were left. With Beyrith and Runhild's help, she set a table on the main deck and dispatched Amrothos to the nearby market. He retuned some time later, carrying a pile of crates that was tall enough to hide completely his head, making him walk blindly down the pier. "You better save some of these delicacies for me!".
She waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. Off you go now".
Muttering something about queenly despotism, he left. Not long afterwards, Lothíriel spotted two people walking hand in hand on the promenade. They split halfway down the quay, with the taller one walking back towards the city while the other moved slowly ahead. By the time she had climbed aboard, Lothíriel could see Míririen was a bundle of nerves. "My Lady", she greeted her and dropped into a graceful curtsy.
She lingered there, bent knees and downcast eyes, and Lothíriel belatedly realized she was waiting for her acknowledgement. In one swift movement, she helped her up and embraced her. "I'm so happy to finally meet you. Call me Lothíriel, will you?".
Míririen blushed to the tip of her ears.
She was lovely, Lothíriel thought, with the most unusual specks of gold in her blue eyes and a smile that could easily brighten an entire hall."I asked Erchirion where I could take you for lunch and he said you'd enjoy the Amrothian flagship more than any other place, so here we are".
"You mean we will be sailing?".
Lothíriel smiled at the burst of excitement digging its way through Míririen's shyness. "Yes, though we won't be going far. Only until a certain stack by which I was informed you happened to save my brother's life…".
Míririen stifled a smile. "Let me guess. He used the word viciously when he described it to you".
"He did".
She rolled her eyes. "It was a young specimen and he was sloppy. I warned him before we jumped offboard to keep his eyes open, and I tried to warn him again when I spotted the jellyfish approaching behind him. But he ignored me, because he was upset he couldn't hold his breath half as long as I can".
Lothíriel sniggered. Erchirion had indeed described the jellyfish as a sort of humongous monster, but she was way more inclined to believe Míririen's side of the story. "I shall tell Amrothos, I'm sure he'll find it amusing. Come, let's take a seat", she said motioning at the table behind her, "I don't know about you, but I only had a small bite for breakfast and I'm feeling absolutely ravenous. These are Runhild and Beyrith, my handmaids and best friends". The former smiled and bobbed her head in an informal greeting, while the latter seemed way less at ease and muttered a stiff my Lady.
The river and the sea beyond were as flat as pancakes and the sailing proved so smooth that they barely had to keep anything from tumbling off the table. With the harbour now behind them, Lothíriel started filling her plate with a bit of everything: "So, Míririen. Your presence here is an answer on its own, but nonetheless I need to ask. Has my brother officially asked your hand in marriage?".
She smiled and removed the linen shawl wrapped around her shoulders to reveal a three-row gold and emeralds necklace. "He apologized when he gave it to me, promised he'd get me a more proper wedding gift once in Dol Amroth. Seems proper enough to me…".
Lothíriel knew the jewellery. It had belonged to her mother and was among the few things of her that had been left in their estate in the White City, everything else having been taken to Dol Amroth years before. It was a beautiful, elegant piece and, if she remembered correctly, it was part of a set which included a pair of earrings and a bracelet too. She'd help Erchirion finding them - alongside with a fitting ring, naturally. However, the best part of Míririen's wedding gift was not going to be a jewel, but rather a skiff to replace the one she had been forced to sell in order to settle her family's debts. Upon learning of it, her father had arched a bewildered eyebrow. But if it was common for a Horselord to gift a horse to his bride, then why shouldn't it be for a Sealord to give a boat?
Really, it made a whole lot of sense to her.
Lunch was a joyous affair and after way too many stolen glances, Míririen safely determined the former Princess of Dol Amroth, now Queen of Rohan, was not at all what she had expected.
Erchirion had spoken often and fondly of her - and so had his aunt in the many afternoons they had spent together. Even so, a part of her had held on the assumption that Lady Lothíriel simply ought to fit the common stereotype of a Royal. There was indeed something very queenly about her. She could not say what it was - most likely a combination of her striking looks and effortless grace. In every other aspect however, Lothíriel had defied all her prejudices and made their much-dreaded lunch together – from which she had almost begged Erchirion to be spared from, surprisingly pleasant. Her friends too were not at all what she had expected and Runhild especially was quite impossible to dislike, what with her quick wit and easy manners.
With the wind tumbling her hair over her shoulders, Míririen grasped the railing and leaned forward, cherishing every last droplet of salted water that dampened her flustered cheeks.
"Enjoying our little sea escapade?".
"Very much so. I couldn't have thought of a better place to have lunch. I remember as a child, whenever the flagship was docked in Pelargir, my brother and I would try getting as close as possible. Once, we almost managed to board it before someone grabbed us by our ears and dragged us all the way back to our parents".
Seeing Lothíriel's unsteady pace, Míririen dared a little teasing: "Forgot your sea legs?".
"Never had them I'm afraid", she ruefully admitted while casting an annoyed look at Runhild who, unlike her, was scurrying as deftly as any sea wolf across the deck, clearing the table and gulping down some of the leftovers in the process. "Can you believe that one never boarded a ship until last week?".
"Hardly so. I think she'd make a good sailor".
"More like a pirate", Lothíriel dryly rebutted.
Like promised, the ship made it until the stacks before veering gently around to set its course back towards the harbour. It was then that Míririen found herself confessing: "I thought of running away before Erchirion could return from Minas Tirith and hadn't it been for my mother, I might have just done it".
Lothíriel tucked her hand in the crook of her arm, silently encouraging her to continue.
"After he left for the war, I thought marrying him was a folly. I feared I'd be inadequate to fulfil the role of a prince's wife and that we'd make each other's life miserable. And because with him around I never seem to be able to think straight, I considered the idea of running away".
"What changed your mind?", she asked softly, though there was a touch of wariness about her voice - it was her beloved brother they were speaking of after all.
"I needed not to change my mind, only to dig myself out of a pit of self-loathing. These past few months, I have spent my days working dawn till dusk and devoted every spare moment I had caring for my mother… I don't want to sound heartless for I love her dearly, but sometimes I felt like going insane myself. And a man like Erchirion asking me to be his wife? It seemed too good to be true and so, I found every possible reason to argue that marrying him was a terrible idea. Then, Devrion appeared and I was introduced to Lady Irviniel. I think until then, I hadn't really realized how lonely I felt. Your aunt was so kind to me and what was supposed to be a one-time afternoon tea, became an almost daily recurrence. I am still very much concerned about some of the things that will be expected of me as Erchirion's wife and I have little doubt I'll fail many times before learning my way around. But Sweet Elbereth, I love that princeling and had I left him, I'd have regretted it for the rest of my days!". Her voice quivered as she recalled the moment Erchirion had barged into The Whale the evening before. She had dropped a whole bunch of plates and almost toppled a man twice her size in her rush to make it to his arms. If she had ever had a doubt about marrying him, it had vanished right in that moment!
Lothíriel pressed her lips together, mirth bubbling forth. "Princeling?".
"He earned the title after proving himself a poor fisherman and a sore loser".
"Fair enough", she conceded with a laugh. "Míririen, I realize this is quite rich coming from the likes of me for I have a tendency to overthink everything, but you should not worry too much about life in Dol Amroth. Gliril – my eldest brother's wife, has been running the household for many years now. I'm sure she'll appreciate some help – especially now that she's expecting their second child, but you'll hardly be left alone trying to figure out what to do. And with the Corsairs all but wiped out, Erchirion will be spending much more time in Dol Amroth than he did in the past and will be able to help you adjusting".
Míririen nodded and plopped her chin on her hands. "What of you? Will you be staying with us for a while?".
"I'm not sure. Éomer – the King", she corrected herself, "cannot tarry in Gondor. But many of the wounded are not yet able to make the journey back, so we may either stay for the summer, or leave and return in a few weeks".
"I do hope you will stay long enough to attend our wedding".
Lothíriel grinned in a way that made her look less of a Queen and more of a girl. "May I ask whether the bride and the groom have agreed upon a date? Erchirion only told us he was inclined to have it celebrated as soon as possible, which very nearly caused my father to choke on his wine…".
With a strangled gasp, Míririen wondered how she had not thought about it before. Of course the Prince would not approve the idea of a rushed wedding! "Oh w-well, that was the plan. But if it's a problem, I'm sure we can reconsider…".
"I think as soon as possible sounds like a splendid idea", Lothíriel cut her short.
"You really think so?".
"I do and if you don't mind, I'd like to give you a little piece of advice. As much as being Erchirion's wife won't be half as hard as you think it will be, it will nonetheless require you to endure a number of tedious duties. You'll have to play the host to people who won't always be pleasant, you will have to bear irksome conversations with lofty nobles and their ladies, you will have to attend events you'd rather avoid. It's happened to me, it's happened to Gliril, it will happen to you as well and you should not feel inadequate because of it. Since your role will require you to swallow sour bites every now and then, it's important that you learn to carve some precious little moments for yourself, moments in which you can be selfish and care for your happiness - and your happiness only. Your wedding is one of them, Míririen, and if a rushed small one is what you want, then go for it and never feel guilty about it".
There was something compelling about a Queen admitting she herself struggled with her duties and encouraging her and Erchirion's little act of rebellion as something healthy and just. "My mother is all that is left of my family. I have only a few friends who I'd like to be there when I marry, and I dread the idea of having hundreds of guests – most of whom I wouldn't even know".
"Erchirion wouldn't want that either – he told me himself, and for what is worth, I share your dread of big weddings with too many unfamiliar faces. So, I suppose that's settled then: you shall have a private ceremony. Would you like it to be in Pelargir?".
"No, we were thinking about the private beach in Dol Amroth. Seems appropriate given that our entire lives have revolved around the sea and that none of us can imagine a life away from the sound of breaking waves. And since we'll have very few guests, we hope we can organize it within a few days from our arrival".
"You'll be sailing with us then?".
"No. Since my father and my brother were lost at sea, my mother has refused stepping on a boat. Erchirion will arrange a carriage and ride with us". Míririen realized she had spoken quite curtly, but she really did not wish to speak about her family. Thankfully, Lothíriel seemed to understand and did not press the matter any further.
"Once you arrive in Dol Amroth, I'll be happy to help you with the preparations", she offered, and that actually got her thinking about something rather important. "I'm not sure I have an appropriate dress for the wedding…", she admitted.
It was an understatement. She had no appropriate dress for anything fancier than serving tables at The Whale.
Lothíriel eyed her head to toes. "There's no time for a tailor-made wedding gown, but I think I have a solution. My mother had a wardrobe that was the envy of the ladies of Gondor. Her dresses were passed to me but unfortunately, they never fit me - nor Gliril. You on the other hand…".
"Oh, no. I could not…".
"Why not? You are family and as such, I must insist. Have a look at them, Míririen, and if you see one you like, we could have it altered any way you want. Everybody would be happy to see you shine in one of those gowns – especially my father. But if this is too uncomfortable for you, then I'll help you find something else to wear".
Míririen was tempted to admit right away that she was indeed very uncomfortable, but decided she could think about it and perhaps ask Erchirion what his thoughts were.
Her half-concession was enough to make Lothíriel happy. "You should know that by marrying my brother, you are breaking the heart of every single unmarried lady in Aldburg", she told her with a devilish grin, speaking purposely loudly so that her maid may hear her.
"There will be a month of mourning, no doubt", Runhild snorted, "Wilrun especially will be devastated. Why, we almost had to keep her on a leash during your brother's stay in Rohan, least the poor man would have run off!".
Comments about Erchirion being one of the most eligible bachelors normally made Míririen plummet into self-consciousness. In that case however, the girl's wry remark had her laughing hard. "I guess Lord Faramir and Amrothos will be very coveted in the near future. Perhaps you should consider introducing them to your friend?".
"I don't think Faramir will stay a bachelor for very long", Lothíriel mused. Her words picked everyone's curiosity, but she flatly refused to say more.
"Well, I guess that leaves unmarried noble ladies with only one viable option to elevate their status: Amrothos".
All three women stared pensively ahead. After a moment, they shook their heads and let out a collective sigh. "Poor ladies", they spoke as one.
By the time they docked in Pelargir, they were still laughing.
Éomer's anticipation had been so focused on visiting Dol Amroth, that he hadn't spared a thought for Pelargir. In his mind, it was but an intermediate stop and upon landing, he had barely given the city a distracted glance, his mind too taken with the impending meeting with Lothíriel's aunt and the irritation caused by too many days spent on a boat. Now that he looked at it with rested eyes however, he found it hard to think of a more picturesque place. Vibrant, with streaks of colourful houses lined along the promenade. Lively, with small taverns sprouting around every corner, most of them consisting of simple wooden patios where the rising heat would be easily countered by the gentle sea breeze. Decadent and a little wistful, with its buskers and the continuous coming and going of ships, each marking either a reunion or a tearful goodbye.
Ahead of him, the Princes were deep in conversation with a man named Devrion. As far as he understood, Erchirion had asked him to keep an eye on his lady love in the wake of an unpleasant encounter with some young nobleman and apparently, his thoughtfulness had proved much needed. "Two men you say?", the prince growled.
"Yes".
"And you are sure they were keeping tabs on Míririen?".
"I'm positive. They visited the tavern twice and each time she left the building, they were never too far behind her, but also not too close that they'd be easily spotted. I made my presence obvious and after a few days, they disappeared".
"Did you tell Míririen?".
"I did, but she does not believe they were sent by Lord Radon".
"But you do".
"They were scum but not your average scum. Too patient, too persistent. Not to mention The Whale isn't exactly affordable, and their purses seemed suspiciously heavy".
A long string of curses erupted from Erchirion's chest, together with promises of bloody retribution. Amrothos too seemed to share his sentiment, angrily muttering that he should have beaten Lord Radon harder and then drowned him in the river when he had the chance. As it was, the only thing that kept the two young Princes from escalating the brewing feud was their father's calming presence. "Did you manage to find out more about those two men?".
"Unfortunately, I did not. No one around here seemed to know them, and I was not able to link them to Lord Radon or any of his associates".
More curses followed, to which Imrahil placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "I know, I know", snapped Erchirion, "without a shred of evidence, there's nothing we can do".
"Lord Radon is despicable but not stupid. Had he suspected Míririen was more than a dalliance to you, he'd have given her a wide berth. He won't dare laying a finger on your betrothed and even less so on your wife. His father fought valiantly in the war and I personally doubt he is aware of his son's dastardly deeds. Next time I meet him, I'll make sure he knows. I understand this seems hardly enough but for the time being, we'll have to make do".
The discussion dampened everyone's mood and especially Éomer's, as it reminded him of his own share of despicable nobles he'd have to deal with once in Rohan. Among them were those who had ignored the King's call and especially, those in the Council who had been all too happy to follow Grima during the past few years. Just like with Lord Radon, there was no doubt their evil intentions but also, no way to move legitimately against them without causing dangerous imbalances in the already precarious equilibrium that characterized a country in the aftermath of a war and a succession to the throne.
The Amrothian flagship returned to the harbour in the mid-afternoon and Éomer could do little to hide his relief when he spotted Lothíriel on the deck. He was trying not to be overprotective, but it had been damn hard in the past and it was even more so now. So far, Lothíriel had found his attitude amusing, but she was sure to change her mind within a few weeks. After barking something nasty at Amrothos for making fun of him, he hopped aboard and kissed her like he hadn't seen her in a year. Behind her, a girl he assumed being Míririen laughed embarrassed at his display of affection.
Though he only managed to exchange a few words with her, he judged her a perfect match for Erchirion: same adventurous spirit, same love for the sea and anything that floated on it, gracious as any lady but also very down-to-earth. He could not see a reason why Imrahil would not like her and indeed, when later that day the Prince returned from a dinner organized with the explicit intent to introduced them to one another, he appeared greatly relieved.
Their party left Pelargir the following day and once again, Éomer started feeling like a lion in a cage. He mused he wouldn't last a week as a sailor: he hated the ship's continuous rocking, he hated the unavoidable forced proximity with the rest of the crew and most of all, he hated seeing nothing but an endless stretch of water as far as the eye could see. He knew most of those on board found it beautiful, wondrous and oh, so inspiring! To him, it was ominous and unsettling. He didn't even want to think what it must be like to be caught in a storm out there and wholeheartedly hoped they'd make their way back on horse. In fact, he had had enough of boats for a lifetime!
His grumpiness reached its peak the day they spotted Dol Amroth, only to gradually dissolve the closer they got to the mainland. Once he had his feet on dry land, he was finally able to take in the scenery around him and Bema, it was a breathtaking one! At once, Dol Amroth reminded him of a blend of Pelargir and Minas Tirith, while at the same time being something completely else.
The waterfront and the surrounding neighbors were imbued with the same flair of the harbour city, with the only difference that in Dol Amroth most of the buildings were painted in various shades of white. Numerous gardens and climbing plants gave however the borough a softer, more colourful appearance. At the edge of the city, the Seaward tower of Tirith Aear stood proud, a welcome sight for any sailor making his way back home. Nestled atop a white cliff, the palace of Dol Amroth was easily the most marvellous building he had ever laid eyes upon and for the first time, Éomer understood what Lothíriel must have felt upon leaving such place only to be taken to Rohan. Not because the Mark wasn't just as beautiful as Dol Amroth, but simply because they were so dramatically different.
Reaching for her hand, she found her smiling brightly at him, a mood that pretty much lasted unperturbed until the fourth day of their stay, when he found her sitting all alone on the beach with a sad look in her eyes. "Are you alright?", he asked, sitting behind her so she could lean against his chest.
"Yes. I'm just feeling… strange".
"Strange?".
She puffed her cheeks, like she always did when she was struggling to find the right words. "I spent eighteen years in Dol Amroth, thinking this was my whole world, the only place I'd ever call home, the one I'd never want to leave. But I did leave and for such a long time, I regretted it and wished I could return. Now that I'm here however, I look around and despite all the sweet memories, despite a part of me will always miss these shores, I realize I do not long for this place anymore. And it's bittersweet to think that something that had meant so much to me, is now part of my past and that I'm happy with it".
Éomer pulled her closer, his cheek resting on her head. "Are you, really?".
Lothíriel twisted just enough so she could look up at him. "I used to think that living anywhere but in Dol Amroth, I'd feel horribly torn. Like having my heart in one place and my body in another. But it is not so. I feel whole in Rohan - with you".
Éomer released a breath he had not realized he had been holding and angrily chastised himself. Lothíriel had told him time and again that she loved him and that she was happy in Rohan but even so, a small part of him had feared that returning to Dol Amroth would have been like reopening an old wound that you thought healed until the stiches are pulled and you start bleeding all over again. "Lothíriel?".
"Hm?", she mumbled drowsily.
"I know there's a lot of pressure for this child to be a boy", he spoke in her ear, his hand caressing her belly, "but I'd be just as happy with a girl and whether now or in the future we shall be blessed with one, I swear to you I'll never force her into an arranged marriage the same way you were and that I'll let her choose the man she wishes to spend her life with".
Lothíriel jerked in what he reckoned was a loud snort – one he found mildly offensive coming after such heartfelt statement. "Éomer, if this child is a girl, she'll be the apple of your eye. You'll spoil her rotten and by the time she'll turn sixteen, she'll come grovelling at my feet, begging me to do something because her dear father keeps murdering every boy who dares as much as looking at her".
Éomer scratched his beard and considered her words for a brief moment, before eventually nodding in agreement. "Sounds like a much better solution than the one I was proposing".
"I knew it!", Lothíriel groused, throwing her arms in the air in mocked desperation. Her laughter grew quickly faint and she brushed her knuckles over the side of his face: "I know marriage for a crown Prince is always a diplomatic matter but nevertheless, I do hope all our children will be able to marry for love and have what we have today".
He smiled. "Children?".
"Yes. Why, you don't want more than one?".
"If it were for me, I'd like to have an entire brood!".
Lothíriel grinned back. "In time, we shall set to work on it".
Author's notes: so, all the lovebirds are back together, we'll have a beach wedding and we finally know what caused Imrahil to act the way he did. Though he meant well, as Amrothos said back in Chapter 31, he was arrogant and overconfident that he could solve the whole situation without the need of informing Lothíriel at all. Unfortunately (or in hindsight fortunately?) the plan backfired. As much as Lothíriel might be angry upon learning of it, it's been over a year and with so much that has been lost in the war, it's time for everybody to move forward. I'm thinking the next chapter we will still be in Gondor and then we'll move to the next part of the story – I don't expect it to be nearly as long as the first, but I have the plot pretty much laid out in my mind.
Sorry for the delay at posting. I had hoped I'd manage to get the chapter out before the holidays but obviously didn't manage!
Sworn Sword: sorry but we simply have different opinions on this. I agree that I could have polished a little more Lothíriel's plan – it's a plot twist I wrote sort of on a whim and without much planning. Having said that: Lothíriel's guards are her guards, they respond to her. Sure, in the greater scheme their loyalty is to Éomer, but even more so to Rohan. They were in a position in which whatever they did, someone would have been unhappy – "betrayed". If they forced Lothíriel to stay in Aldburg, they'd have kept their loyalty to Éomer but in doing so, they'd have disobeyed their lady and also condemned Rohan (because as I said, they were all convinced Grima would have soon disposed of Éomer). If they followed Lothíriel, they'd have betrayed Éomer but protected Rohan's last heir in doing so. They did not disobey Éomer because of personal gain, they disobeyed to protect the future of their country which was being dangerously jeopardised. As per everyone aside from Lothíriel's guards, they found out about what was happening when it was already too late. So, their choice was to either play along and get Éomer out, or what? They could hardly tell Grima that Lothíriel was bluffing, could they? Restraining was perhaps unnecessary, but a precaution Éowyn took because she feared Éomer's temper would have the best of him and again: let him ride back to Edoras would have benefited no one but Grima. The whole execution thing is – in my opinion, exaggerated and completely out of place in the LOTR universe and especially with these specific characters. Following the same black and white logic, what should we think of Éowyn who had not been allowed to ride to battle but did nonetheless – hence the disguise? Should she be punished for it? Can she not be trusted anymore because of it? Hardly so. Still, I'm glad you liked this story – up until a certain point at least ;), and hope you'll like better the coming chapters.
Kaatia0203: pretty much all you wished for has happened. Éomer is over the moon (I think no one doubted that), Lothíriel forgave her father, Irviniel helped Míririen and she will soon marry Erchirion with Imrahil's blessing. It's a time for hope and happy endings ;)
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: thanks! Not really, just a fortuitous coincidence. But he did figure out she was pregnant right away ;)
HelenaAlana: didn't know that could happen!
ValkSkadi: glad to hear it. It really seemed redundant to write about the battles and so forth for this specific story, so I thought I could better focus on other things happening at the same time, such as families coping with prolonged uncertainty about the fate of their beloved ones. I think not knowing is the worst thing because it puts your life in stand-by and allows both hope and pain but no healing. Living in a world where news travel instantaneously and distance means often very little, I guess sometimes we tend to forget about it! Thanks for your lovely review!
Luinwen: most definitely!
Rho67: I just think sometimes, in such circumstances, love can be that as well. As much as being with the right person should help you forgetting troubles and duties, there was just too much going on here for them to elope in a tent and pretend war and certain death for many of them – perhaps all, wasn't coming. It felt too much like a farewell, hence the sadness. A little note from the Italian side of my brain on this: I really miss the English equivalent of addio (lit. to God), which can only be translated as farewell or saying goodbye, with the exception that farewell and saying goodbye are not necessarily definitive (correct me if I'm wrong), whereas addio is (it presumes there won't be a next encounter in this life, hence: to God). It just has a much stronger feel and in my mind, even though hope was not all lost, in that scene Éomer and Lothíriel were in a sense saying addio to one another. Glad you didn't mind skipping huge chunks of the book storyline, it just didn't seem relevant for the plot. Imrahil really f*ed up, thinking he could get someone else to marry Éomer and deciding he didn't even need to warn Lothíriel. There's haughtiness to the way he considered a Third Marshall unworthy, but at least he had meant well. Unfortunately, he handled the situation horribly from beginning to end, and Lothíriel more than anyone paid the price for it. Yes, Éomer reacted exactly as you say (minus the panic perhaps), and as he said himself, given time he will surely get on Lothíriel's nerves. Nice to hear the posting timing helped – your review(s) did too (both of them, really appreciate your support! ;) ). Five years perhaps not, but we have a few months to go and after that, a couple of ideas for new fanfics. Hopefully that will do! :)