"Love is the softest rose in the soul's garden." ― Matshona Dhliwayo
A/N: After nearly 2 years, I have completed this story. It has been a life saver, especially during some pretty stressful times, and I am pleased to share it with you guys. It's long and it's dense, but if you like that sort of thing, I think you'll enjoy it. I had a lot of fun writing it and that's what counts!
Enjoy!
When Lothíriel had met Éomer for the first time, she'd been covered in blood. It embarrassed her to think of it, but considering she'd never been fond of forced introductions, it had been a memorable one. She'd been working in the Houses of Healing at the behest of her uncle, flitting from person to person like a bee in search of nectar, determined to put her education to good use. Her father had always found her propensity for herbalism somewhat strange, but his hesitancy hadn't stopped her from doing what she'd felt was right. Unlike the majority of her peers, she disliked being idle, annoyed that she'd been born the youngest of four. Her role in life hadn't helped either. As a young woman, she'd been instructed to behave according to convention, participating in life as though she were an object rather than a person. Her acts of rebellion had been few, but she'd savoured each triumph in an attempt to prolong them. Her purpose in Gondor straddled the line between conventionality and impropriety. She revelled in it, pleased that for once in her life, her existence didn't revolve around marriage. Her enthusiasm had been altogether too evident that day, imbuing her face with a radiance that had rivalled the sun. Everyone in her vicinity had basked in it. The men she'd stitched up had been too enamoured to speak, her colleagues had been impressed by the strength of her constitution, and Éomer had stared at her helplessly from across the room, mouth agape as if he were a fish instead of a man. She hadn't thought much of it. Eowyn's ill-timed nudge had stayed with her the most, lingering in her memory long after its occurrence. If it hadn't been for that, she wouldn't have noticed him standing there, embarrassed that he'd been caught ogling her from afar.
She hadn't seen him in months, but the look he'd given her continued to cross her mind. It had a tendency of catching her unawares, seeping into her waking moments as slowly as sunshine. One moment she'd be pruning deadheads in her father's garden, annoyed by its lack of maintenance, and the next she'd be lost in the throes of a familiar memory, surprised by its abrupt return. The thought of it had become a regular torment. Men rarely stared at her the way Éomer had, too afraid to act upon their feelings. If they had done so, her father wouldn't have taken too kindly to it. She'd been promised to another as a child, living out the majority of her life in constant awareness of it, waiting for the inevitable. Falling in love had never been an option for her. She'd test the boundaries of her father's limitations instead, exercising what little freedom she possessed as often as possible. On the outside, she was the epitome of civility, exhibiting her pedigree as if were something you could wear, but on the inside, she felt empty, tired of obeying rules that weren't of her own making. She'd think of Éomer's face and grieve her lack of autonomy, imagining a life she'd never lead. His expression had been beautiful in its simplicity. Lothíriel considered herself a culmination of many things, but she'd never admit to being fanciful. She had taken a great deal of pride in being sensible, behaving as though love were nothing more than a fool's endeavour, unworthy of her attention. If anyone discovered differently, she knew she'd die of humiliation. It had taken her years to master the art of restraint.
She hated being frivolous, but the memory of Éomer's stare continued to stay with her. The very idea of it made her blush a deep red, attracting unwanted attention from those closest to her. Her brothers had taken notice of the expression on her face first, failing to hide their amusement, curious about her sudden change in colour. She shooed them away, brushing a stray curl from the curve of her cheek. Elessar's coronation wasn't an appropriate place for such an epiphany. Although she liked the idea of being admired by a stranger, she disliked being the center of attention. The romanticism of it wasn't something she'd ever allow herself to indulge in. She tried to distract herself by observing how gracefully her siblings swirled around her, partners in tow, a flurry of fabric, colour, and sound that quickly succeeded in diverting her attention. It had been years since she'd seen a proper dance. Many of the people in her life had been otherwise preoccupied, participating in battles she'd witnessed from the security of Minas Tirith's walls, wounded in ways she'd never completely understand. Their return to normalcy had been time-consuming because of it. Her brothers' smiling faces calmed her somewhat, reminding her of days far removed of the bloodshed she'd been privy to. She couldn't recall the last time she'd seen such smiles on their faces, but she knew that these ones would stay with her when all memory of the night's festivities had faded away.
Amrothos waved at her, urging her to join the celebration, but she shook her head furiously, sticking her tongue out in jest. Her dislike of dancing had become legendary, culminating in a lot of teasing at her expense. As a lady of Dol Amroth, she had made a point of perfecting every dance she'd been tasked to learn, but she had also made a point of letting everyone know how much she'd hated doing it. Every time her hands had been placed in someone else's, she'd lead the dance on purpose, dragging her partner across the floor instead of being guided across it herself, too proud to adhere to convention. The monotony of it had bored her to no end. All of the steps she'd learned had become redundant over the course of time, all attempts at conversation had been bland regardless of her choice in partner, and every time she'd try to excuse herself, they'd find a way to keep their hands on her. Soon enough her stubbornness had discouraged even the bravest of men from procuring a dance with her, allowing her to watch from the sidelines rather than being an active participant herself. This arrangement had suited her just fine, but she knew that her attempts at evasion had come to an end. Amrothos waved at her again, but it was more of a warning than an invitation. Éomer had found her. The look on her face articulated everything she refused to say out loud. She knew they'd cross paths eventually, but she hadn't prepared herself for the reality of it. To decline a dance was one thing, but to refuse a King was another. Their eyes met and she looked away in embarrassment, redder than the armour he'd chosen to wear.
"Will you dance with me?" he asked, clearly amused by her display.
"I have two left feet."
"I have two right ones."
"Then we're a perfect match," she conceded after a second or two, reluctantly meeting his eyes. "I'll try not to humiliate you, but I can't guarantee it."
"I could say the same," he said lightly, offering her his hand.
She accepted it without hesitation. The next few minutes dragged on as though she'd found herself in a dream. His toes didn't go unscathed, but he continued to guide her through each step patiently, holding her hand tightly within his own. She'd never been particularly graceful, begrudgingly obeying her father's requests in an attempt to make him proud, but in that moment, her efforts hadn't been in vain. Her lack of talent vanished in Éomer's presence, captivating onlookers until nothing could be heard but the swish of her dress as it trailed across the floor, brushing against the soles of his boots. If she'd been paying more attention to her surroundings, her embarrassment would have usurped her satisfaction in having succeeded, desperate to flee the implications of such a scene. Instead, she gave Éomer her undivided attention, losing herself in the depths of his eyes. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been bedraggled and unkempt, more concerned over his sister's well-being than his own. He looked completely different now. His stare was devoid of the discomfort she'd seen in the Houses of Healing, searching her features for something she didn't have an answer to. Its intensity had begun to weigh on her, staining her cheeks a vibrant red, clashing with the fabric of her dress. If he'd noticed how flustered she'd become, he decided to keep his revelation to himself. They continued to glide across the floor in silence, enraptured in one another until the music they'd been dancing to reached its conclusion, reverberating through the building loudly enough to shake her bones. The trance she'd found herself in had come to an end. Her curtsy was clumsy, shattering the illusion he'd helped her create, but that didn't stop him from pressing a kiss into the back of her hand.
She opened her mouth to speak, trying to think of something clever to say, but Amrothos interrupted her. Éomer's smile prevented her from chastising him.
"Have you been fooling us this entire time, Lot?"
"I'm afraid not," she replied, shaking her head wistfully.
"It certainly didn't appear that way."
"Then we have lord Éomer to thank. If it weren't for him, your opinion would remain unchanged."
She curtsied again, rectifying the inelegance of her previous one, avoiding her brother's poignant stare. His surprise was palpable. Her dislike of dancing had always been a source of entertainment for him, but he'd failed to recognize the reason behind her aversion to it. While she had never been in want of a partner, a dance reflected the willingness of its participants. His sudden epiphany amused her, but she kept it to herself.
"Thank you, my lord. You've redeemed me."
"For someone with two left feet, you danced beautifully," he said, bowing in reciprocation. "It was a pleasure."
Their eyes met and she flushed again, averting her stare in an attempt to maintain her composure. Amrothos noticed her lack of discretion. He glanced at her warily, engaging Éomer in conversation as a diversional tactic. His intent was more than obvious. A surge of frustration flushed through her like a tidal wave, engulfing any protests she might have had in preventing him from interfering, but she reluctantly conceded. Their shared experiences on the battlefield had made them friends, and an outburst from her would have been more embarrassing than constructive. She quietly excused herself instead, unaware of how Éomer's eyes followed her as she exited the room. She couldn't deny her attraction to him. Their conversations had been few, but the progression of her feelings continued to surprise her. It hadn't been her intention to lose sight of her future, entertaining the notion of him in lieu of her betrothal, ignoring the inevitability of it. His gaze had succeeded in rendering her incapable of logical thought, altering her expectations until they had become unrecognizable. Her life had never been her own. She rarely acknowledged the extent of her immobility, but when she did, the realization of it always overwhelmed her. Her heart skipped a beat in response to her train of thought, pumping frantically behind her ribcage in an attempt to regain its pace. The air in her lungs felt too thin to breathe. She looked around wildly for a place to escape to, ducking behind a pillar as a last resort. The festivities raged on around her, a chaotic conglomerate of people unaware of her inner turmoil, content to simply spin around in circles. She stared at them in dismay, envisioning a man she'd never met. His existence haunted her, intruding upon her life as if were his own, shaping the person she'd become. It wasn't in her nature to live in fear, but she'd done so for a very long time.
She sighed, gripping the fabric of her dress until her knuckles had turned white from the strain of it. Her brother's cautionary stare refused to leave her mind. As much as she wanted it to, love had no place in her life. Her duty towards her family had taken precedence over everything else, leaving very little for her to hold on to. She felt untethered, drifting out to sea like a lifeboat, struggling to navigate the storm that had formed within her mind. There was very little she could do to loosen its hold. Éomer had been nothing more than a ripple at first, hardly warranting her attention, but these ripples had become waves, demanding more from her. She wanted to throw herself into them, ignoring her responsibilities in an attempt to live a more genuine life, unafraid of wearing her heart on her sleeve. The desire to do so was tempting. She'd known nothing but obedience within her father's court, rarely voicing her opinions in fear of being reprimanded, but she craved the liberty of living according to her own values. Her position in life had afforded her many privileges, but without them, she knew she'd struggle to survive. Being born a woman had sealed her fate. From the moment she'd been old enough to speak for herself, her place in the world had been decided for her. These expectations had left bruises in places only she could see, permanent reminders of the burden she'd shouldered for so long. Regardless of how much she'd grown tired of it, she didn't know any different. She'd fantasize about leading an extraordinary life, but every time she'd do so, she'd grow more and more afraid of slipping into delusion. Toeing the line between fact and fiction had become her specialty. It continued to give her strength when nothing else could, calming her nerves.
Lothíriel emerged from her hiding place when she felt prepared enough to, blending into the crowd as though she'd never left it. The role she'd been given had become second nature to her, preventing anyone from seeing the illusion she'd crafted for what it was. She'd smile, laugh, and even curtsy if the occasion called for it, but she rarely felt comfortable in her own skin. Navigating crowds had become easier than navigating her own life. By the time she'd managed to locate her brothers again, Éomer had left. Elphir and Erchirion bombarded her with questions, curious about how she'd become so coordinated in their absence. Answering truthfully wasn't an option, but their inquiries quickly deteriorated into teasing anyway, coercing smiles from her mouth that succeeded in illuminating her eyes. Equilibrium had been returned.