Eowyn's Interlude
A knock was heard from the door to the private chambers of the King of the Riddermark, one morning in early February.
"Enter!" called out Éowyn.
A courier appeared, holding a stack of letters. "Your Majesty, your correspondence."
Éomer grunted and gestured towards his desk with his head. He was sharpening Gúthwinë and did not pause his task.
The young man placed a large pile of thick envelopes onto the desktop and then proffered two letters to Éowyn who gladly took them and gave the courier his leave.
"A letter from Merry with news from the Shire and one from dear Faramir!". Éowyn was delighted to hear from the both of them and she opened Merry's letter first.
"Shall I read the letters out loud?" She asked her brother.
"A summary will suffice. I do not wish to hear about the forty different puddings Merry had for Yule. Nor do I wish to hear a minutes-long exultation of your left earlobe by Faramir." Éomer raised his eyebrows slightly and a ghost of a smile pulled at his lips.
It was the most humor she had gotten out of her older brother ever since his return from the joint campaigns with King Aragorn. She was glad for it, thinking the Yule festivities had heartened him after months of toiling both in his office and during his travels within and outside the borders of Rohan.
For another moment she watched his hypnotic movement of honing his blade, making consistently a light ringing sound.
Then she read through Merry's letter with a smile. "Our dear Hobbits had had a surprisingly abundant Yule after the Battle of Bywater. They discovered the stores of the Ruffians in Michel Delving."
Éomer shook his head, cursing Saruman and Grima, and spit on the ground.
His sister did not react to him, instead, she continued with her summarization. "They have also made good progress with restoring the Shire, and Merry and his friends intend to join us in Minas Tirith for my wedding! Such wonderful news from Merry, may the Valar bless them all."
She opened Faramir's letter, which consisted of three pages front and back. With an indulgent smile, she read through his extensive intimations of how much he longed for her and how much he was looking forward to their wedding. Éowyn shivered with anticipation and desire, her heart aching sweetly for her beloved Prince Steward. She would meet him again not until June, which was a wait of almost five months.
Perhaps she would convince him to visit her in spring, so that they could go horseriding over the flowering hills of Edoras and visit the newborn foals in the Royal Stables. Or they could simply sneak off to Aldburg and spend some time alone undisturbed by court duties.
He would read her poetry while she would braid his hair. She would show him her favourite spots in Rohan and then discover new ones underneath his clothes. And he would show her his finest swordsmanship before allowing himself to study her -
Éomer scoffed loudly, pulling his sister from her daydream.
Right. She would have to write Faramir, very soon.
She cleared her throat and continued reading the next paragraphs, only to halt and reread them.
When she was done with his letter, she stared at it with a puzzled expression. "Oh. Hmm."
She felt her brother glance at her.
"What news from Ithilien?"
Eowyn sighed sharply. "News is from both Minas Tirith and Ithilien actually. The restoration of Emyn Arnen has been going well. It has slowed down now because of the weather. Faramir went to Minas Tirith for Yule, it seems."
Éomer lifted up his sword and studied its edges closely, before flipping to the other side and continuing the honing.
"The celebrations were a blend of the traditions of Númenor and of Rivendell, so there was something for everyone to enjoy. Rohan was also represented during the festivities. Faramir's cousin, Princess Lothíriel, had the whole court participate in Rohirric dances in preparation for our wedding." Éowyn smiled broadly at her brother. "Is that not so thoughtful of her? Her intention was that the Gondorians would be able to keep up with the Rohirrim during wedding festivities."
He did not look up from his task and just gave a non-committal grunt as an answer.
"Faramir considers her his little sister and he writes his concern for her. He says she is being courted by someone and he is not sure if the lord is suitable for her. Prince Imrahil does not see any issues though."
The honing sound continued with a light grinding at the beginning of each movement.
Éowyn frowned and glanced at her brother. "You have been there at the same time she was, perhaps you know the man yourself."
He raised his head to meet her gaze, undoubtedly curious.
"A certain Lord Forgammon of Lossarnach. Do you know of him?"
The look of consternation that passed in her brother's eyes made Éowyn's breath catch in her throat. His movements had halted and his jaw was set.
"You know of him." She stood up and approached him. "Tell me why you look so upset."
He stood up and turned away from her. "I am not upset. Prince Imrahil knows what he is doing."
His behaviour was unsettling. Unnatural.
"Have you met Forgammon?"
"Aye, but - "
"So, is Faramir right? Is he unsuitable for Lothíriel?" Éowyn asked, eager to find out more about the match and her brother's feelings about it.
"I do not know."
"But you are upset! You must tell me - "
"Éowyn, enough!" He growled over his shoulder. "Do not doubt the Prince of Dol Amroth, he is wiser than all of the Gondorian council put together."
He pushed Gúthwinë into the sheath at his left flank. Then he stalked to his desk and began checking the sender's name for each of the letters he had received.
Éowyn observed her brother's hulking figure from behind. He was breathing heavily and his movements were irregular. She watched as he roughly opened a single letter, read through it at lightning speed, and then threw it down at the desk. He did not bother with the other letters and instead stood staring at the opened missive. She noted how he kept clenching and unclenching his hands.
"Éomer?" She said, after a long moment of restless silence.
He jumped slightly and turned to look at her. "Why are you still here? Do you not have a letter to write to Faramir?"
"Aye, but..."
Her reply was interrupted by a frantic knock. A messenger came in, breathing heavily. At once, Éomer turned around and stood with his head aloft and his hands behind his back.
"Go on."
"Your Majesty, a band of Orcs have been sighted in the White Mountains near Dunharrow."
"How many?"
"Perhaps two hundred of them."
Éowyn watched the King bare his teeth, and the flash of bloodlust in his eyes told her that he was rearing to go on an Orc hunt.
"Prepare the King's Éored. We leave in an hour."
"Yes, milord."
Éomer began putting on his armour and Éowyn assisted him.
"Be not reckless, Éomer. Remember that you are King now." She said softly as she pulled the final buckle shut.
He grunted in irritation, causing her to roll her eyes.
"Brute." She tugged his hair affectionately, causing him to give her an impatient side-eye.
"May I use your desk to write the letters? Mine is full of – "
"Go ahead." Éomer interrupted her and she knew that his mind was already halfway en route to Dunharrow.
She held the tray of his breakfast in front of him. "You barely ate, Éomer, have something before you leave."
Éomer frowned in annoyance. "I am not hungry. Do not fuss over me, sister, I am not a child."
"You will regret those words in a few months when I will be leagues away from you and you will be alone."
The emotional blackmail was effective because he took a few large bites before he put on his helmet.
He bent forward to kiss her brow, only to scatter crumbs on her face.
"Ugh, you are such a barbarian!"
She brushed her face clean before giving him a cup of mead. He took a sip obediently and she did the same.
"By Béma's graces, may your return be in victory."
After she sent him off, she returned to the King's office and sank down in his chair. In the silence of the winter morning, she reflected on her brother's behaviour.
Something was wrong.
Éowyn knew Éomer was struggling. Not just with his new life, but also with himself. From the moment he was named King, he began to doubt if he would able to do right by his country. Though she often spoke encouragingly to him and tried to force him to relax in moments of peace, there was an underlying, tense sort of melancholy brewing just underneath the surface of his Kingly persona.
In unguarded moments - and very few there had been, he would mutter under his breath. She could not actually hear the words, but she was almost sure they were unpleasant and directed at himself.
Éowyn and Éomer had lost their parents when they were young. Éomund, their father, had been killed during an Orc ambush. Not long after that, their mother Théodwyn had succumbed to grief, leaving their children behind in the care of Théoden and his son Théodred. Losing them too had been devastating to the siblings.
While their deaths might have been honourable, Éowyn suspected that Éomer could not move on from them wholeheartedly. More than once he had expressed to her that it felt that he was trying to steer a lame horse home under a starless sky. He had been made heir for mere weeks before he was named King. What did he know of ruling a country, he asked her, when he spent his entire life patrolling lands and slaying Orcs. He knew nothing of rebuilding and restoration. How would he know how to manage a Kingdom? The support he had from his sister Éowyn would end at the time of her wedding. And then he would be alone, at the helm of an entire nation.
Seeking counsel from Faramir, Éowyn had managed to strengthen his resolve, but his self-doubt was a persistent monster that no sword could behead and no spear could pierce.
Despite his misgivings, he had been working ceaselessly to improve the circumstances of Rohan, whether it was relocating his people, commemorating the fallen, negotiating agreements with allies and neighbours, rebuilding infrastructure, houses and there was a threat to the borders, he would never stay behind and send soldiers to take care of the matter. Nay, Éomer King could always be found at the helm of every host, at the head of every council meeting and at the centre of any building project.
Her brother was going beyond any other man's capability, and stretching himself thin when doing so. It was only when Meriadoc took charge of his health that he was able to find a balance between care for himself and for the kingdom.
Fulfilling the Oath of Éorl meant that he also had to join the campaigns with King Elessar and he was always eager to go. Despite being a densely populated rock, Éomer never once complained about going to Minas Tirith.
When she asked him why he liked the White City, he had explained to her that King Elessar and Prince Imrahil were his mentors that had given him the means to somewhat capable as a King and that the advice that they gave him was always sound and achievable. Then he had shown her the large pile of letters he had received from them over a relatively short period, Éowyn had understood that he had found the noble men he needed to look up to keep himself motivated. The passing of Théodred and Théoden had left large holes in his heart, and the King and the Prince managed to somewhat fill them.
But not enough for him to move on. Not enough for him to stop blaming himself for everything that was wrong.
Regardless of his successes, his growth, his progress and the love that the people of Rohan held for their young King, Éomer held very little regard for himself.
If only there was a mirror that would show him how competent he actually was. A talking mirror that would ceaselessly praise him and also scold him whenever he spoke ill of himself.
He needed help and she felt ill-equipped for it.
But she had to try. That is what she owed him, as she would leave him alone in the lonely Hall of Meduseld in a few months' time.
Éowyn glanced at the letter Éomer had opened and thrown on the desktop. She picked it up and skimmed through it. It was from Prince Imrahil and it was filled with guidance, advice and words of encouragement and affirmation.
The other letters were from the Marshals and Aragorn and she wondered why her brother had chosen to read through only the Prince's letter and not the King's. Nothing of urgency or note had been written by him.
Perhaps she would find an explanation in one of the previous letters.
The White Lady pulled open the drawers in search of the stack of correspondence that Éomer kept, the one he had shown to her before. She found it in one of the lower shelves in his dresser. When she pulled it out, her finger touched burlap and her hand stilled.
Why was there burlap in the King's desk?
Putting the stack aside, she pulled the rough cloth and out came the sack containing something solid and square. It was a box of polished wood, meticulously engraved with swans and boats.
The box was from Prince Imrahil?
Something niggled at her mind to open the container. Something was amiss with Éomer and the Prince of Dol Amroth had something to do with it.
She locked the door of the office, desiring no intrusion. Then she unlatch the lid and opened the petite chest. Seashells, letters, slips of paper and a book.
She took hold of a paper slip and read it.
"Lothíriel, I am sorry. Please come at 6pm. E. E."
Éowyn gasped out loud and her mind reeled with the information she received with just nine words.
"Béma above!"
He was on first name basis with Princess Lothíriel. He wrote slips of paper that were probably handed to her in secrecy. He met her alone. He had done something that was worth apologizing for.
Éomer was courting Lothíriel!
Or at least, he did in the past, because now she was being courted by someone else.
Éowyn's heart thudded loudly in her ears and she picked up the book.
ROHANESE FLORA by Théoden Thengelson - Translated and supplemented by Lothíriel Dol Amroth
Her breath caught in her throat. Lothíriel had had the herbarium of Uncle Théoden in her possession long enough to copy it, translate it and expand upon it. This meant that they had been involved for months at least.
She opened the book and admired the schematic drawings and the fine penmanship of the text written in Sindarin and Westron. Éowyn noted that there was space left below the text intentionally, and she speculated that it was meant for the Rohanese translations. The effort and care Lothíriel had put in it, moved Éowyn.
Why would the Princess have gone to such lengths? Perhaps she intended to make a contribution to the legacy of Théoden King. Or maybe she wanted to show her appreciation to Éomer by giving him something he could safely share with his kin without damaging the original herbarium.
A quarter of an hour was spent by her pouring over the pages and reading the additional remarks the young woman from the South had made. Then she set the book aside and turned her attention to the contents of the box.
Another slip.
'Princess, meet me in the herb garden after your meal. Éomer.'
Éowyn frowned as she stared at the paper.
Their paths had crossed in the Houses of Healing, and both Lothíriel and Éomer had taken a liking to dwelling in the herb garden. It made sense, as it was hidden away on the backside of the Houses of Healing and there were no direct paths leading to it.
No doubt, it was the prime location for their burgeoning romance.
She looked at the letters once more. For some reason Éomer had both letters addressed to himself and to her. After some reflection, Éowyn arrived at the conclusion that Lothíriel had given everything she had that was connected to Éomer back to him.
Her stomach twisted with concern. That meant that Lothíriel had ended their courtship and it was not done on an amiable note.
Éowyn read through the letters, her heart growing ever more aggrieved. It had been Lothíriel instructing Merry how to take care of Éomer and sending him supplements for his health. There was genuine affection between the King and the Princess hidden between the written lines, but things had fallen apart.
Lothíriel had been in Minas Tirith when Éomer went there, if not every time then definitely the last time when he finished up joint campaigns with King Aragorn. That is when Éomer had received the box and returned to Edoras. And it was the reason why he was in an exceptionally foul mood all the time since his homecoming.
Éowyn sat back in her chair feeling devastated. "Oh, foolish brother," She said out loud, "what did you do!?"
That night, the King returned with his blood lust sated. At least for a few hours he would be in high spirits.
That was the reason why, after Éomer had bathed and eaten, Éowyn entered his bedroom, carrying the burlap sack with the wooden box. She locked the door from the inside for good measure.
He was lying down with his arm over his eyes, and stayed put, recognizing his sister's stomping.
"What troubles you that you come here barging in like a wild horse?"
"This is what troubles me, Éomer King." And she put the burlap sack in his lap.
Immediately, he sat up. From his expression she could see that he knew what was in the burlap.
"Why do you have this?" He growled, glaring at her.
"You were courting Princess Lothíriel!"
"Did you see what is in there? Why were you snooping around in my desk?" He narrowed his eyes and put the bag gently on his bed before standing up.
"Do not change the subject. You were courting Lothíriel, why did you keep that from me?"
"I did not court her, Éowyn! Stop saying that."
She shook her head and then spoke in an emphatic tone. "You were meeting her unchaperoned, addressing her informally and you exchanged gifts. That is what courting is."
"We were friends. Friends spend time together and give each other things."
"You have never had female friends, Éomer. Except for that one widow in Aldburg with whom you had an understanding."
He looked at her, appalled, while she scoffed.
"Wormtongue knew. And he told me just to see my reaction." Then she shook her head. "The point is, you only know how to bed women, and not how to befriend them."
Éomer began pacing the room and she followed his every step with her gaze.
He was agitated.
"Explain to me what you two did as friends in the herb garden."
He shot her a glare, which she returned.
"How did you meet her, can you tell me that?"
Éomer continued his silent pacing about the room, wearing thin his sister's patience.
"Éomer, please. She is to be my cousin. She is the one in charge of my wedding, I have to know what happened so I know how to behave with her."
He stopped and sank down on his bed, cradling his head. Éowyn sat down next to him, worried.
For a few minutes, he stayed quiet and then he sat up straighter, looking at her with a frown. "It was after you were healed by the King and you went back to sleep. I blindly followed a passage in search for a peaceful place. And I came out into the garden of the Houses of Remedies. It was the first time I had the moment to myself and I was overcome."
She gripped her brother's hand in hers to encourage him to continue.
"Loth - The Princess, from her workspace... she saw me and sent her brother Elphir with food and water to refresh me."
"So you knew already who she was?"
"I thought she was a Healer from Dol Amroth."
"That makes sense. So you stayed in the garden?"
"Aye. The garden became a place of respite. She never approached me, and kept herself veiled. I did not think much of it, as I was glad enough to be left alone."
"When did you actually meet her?"
"It was the night before the coronation. I was alone in the herb garden, when she rushed past me in a great hurry. The next moment she tripped and swore so loud."
He paused, shaking his head. "It was a string of curses in Sindarin said with such conviction, Éowyn, I could swear it was as if Amrothos had put on a Healer's robes. My amusement betrayed my presence and I helped her up."
"At what point did you realize who she was?"
Éomer seemed to be willing to talk.
"I suspected something, but it took some time. We started talking and her eyes - they are exactly like her father's. She was anxious to leave, yet I kept talking to her, hoping to figure it out. It was when she mentioned that she baked bread with nuts and fruit in it -"
"The ones she gave to me, but then went missing from my saddle bag?"
"I do not know what you mean," he quickly deflected, "the same one she had her brother give me. That is when I realized that she was the Princess of Dol Amroth, the very same Imrahil had spoken of."
His sister stared at him in amazement. He never spoke about anything so animatedly. The most enthusiastic he had ever been was when he had told her that he had finally broken in Firefoot, many years ago.
"The following day at the coronation, were you able to recognize her?"
"Yes, she was with her family. She had a scratch on her hand from when she fell, the evening before."
"I see, what did you think of her?"
He frowned, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "She... looked like a princess from Dol Amroth, I suppose."
There was reticence in his voice. He was holding back, and she had to ask the right questions or he would stop sharing. "When did you become friends then? I never saw you talk."
When he fell quiet, Éowyn cursed internally her inability to say the right thing. As she scrambled for words, he spoke up again in a grave voice.
"Prince Imrahil suggested to me the union with Princess Lothíriel..."
Her light eyes widened, taken aback by the implication of his words and she pressed a hand against her brow.
"... But I told him I was not going to marry any time soon –"
"What?"
"And that he should not keep her waiting for me."
With a sigh, his sister let her head drop forward. "Oh, Éomer."
He chuckled ruefully. "Do not be like this, Éowyn. Not you. You know me. Even now I have not been a ruler for a full year. You cannot expect me to become a husband and a father when I am trying to glue back together a kingdom that is still suffering from the damage done by Saruman."
He cursed and spit again.
"A long engagement is not a bad thing. People have the time to get to know each other and to sort out matters..." Her voice trailed off, not sure if she believed her own words. The very same scripts she had been telling herself to make the long wait to her own wedding more bearable.
Éomer did not buy those words either. "Sister, I would not tie her down to me for years just so she would become the Queen of a broken nation!"
She raised her hands in defeat. He was not wrong.
"I am sure that Prince Imrahil understood."
"He did. But the Princess seemed hurt by my refusal, so I approached her and I apologized... And then we became friends."
Éowyn wondered if he was hearing himself talk.
Éomer was not - never the one to care for a woman's feelings. In fact, she could scarcely remember him ever apologizing to her for hurting her. And she was his own sister.
Maybe he had done so to keep her father's favour, but Imrahil did not seem to be a petty fellow.
Then a thought occurred to her. Lothíriel had given her the travel bread when the Dol Amroth party and the Rohan party were about to go their separate ways. After greeting her, Lothíriel had gone up to Éomer, but their interaction had been hidden due to Firefoot's large frame.
Éowyn had absently noted how her brother had led Lothíriel's horse to her. And then he had lifted her up and placed the Princess on the saddle. What had seemed insignificant at the time, had actually been a very private way of her brother to say goodbye to the young lady from Dol Amroth.
But Éomer had always been careful not to single out any woman of a noble standing with his attentions, not wanting to create any misconceptions.
And he had made an exception for Lothíriel.
"So when did you meet her again?"
"That was when I returned to Minas Tirith for the funeral procession. We met in the herb garden and had a meal together."
He was hiding crucial information, sensed Éowyn, because why would the Princess go out of her way to have a private meal with a man who had refused her?
Something had to have happened to give the Princess the motivation to be alone with him.
Éomer would not tell his sister what it was.
"Why did she do that?"
"What?"
"You had refused her hand in marriage. Why would she break Gondorian etiquette to meet with you?"
She watched him think, and she could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to come up with an explanation that would reveal to her only what he wanted her to know.
"I do not know," was his reply, a frown ever present on his forehead. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, before rubbing his beard roughly.
Huh, interesting.
However, Éowyn's curiosity was not yet satisfied.
"Right. So, what did you talk about?" She asked, carefully observing his face.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Uncle Théoden."
It was obvious that Uncle Théoden had not been the only topic of discussion.
But Éowyn nodded and then she asked in a light-hearted tone, "The Princess is great company when your morale is low. Do you not think so?"
"Aye," he replied, "she was very kind to me that night. She gave me the courage I needed for the next day..."
His voice trailed off and he seemed deep in thought, his mood still sombre.
Éowyn stayed silent to let her brother reflect, thinking over the meetings with Lothíriel. With a little bit of luck, he might come to realize his own feelings.
"Did she bid you farewell the next morning?"
"Aye."
Unsure of how to proceed, she took hold of the box and opened it. Éomer gave her a look, but he did not stop her. Éowyn took out the letters, looking for a specific one.
"As it turns out, it was Lothíriel who sent you the tea that Merry was constantly making you drink... That was very thoughtful of her."
Éomer glanced at the letter that his sister was holding, but he gave no reply.
"I do recall I was quite surprised when I saw Merry chasing after you with a some sort of bottled liquid. It was a strange sight, seeing the King hide from a Halfling."
"The Princess had insisted that I would drink it if I had trouble falling asleep."
"No doubt a great motivation to actually try and sleep."
"I never learned of the effectivity of the tonic, the thought of having to drink it a second time was enough to force myself to sleep."
They both laughed softly, before she put the letter back and took hold of the plant journal.
"But you were grateful enough that you sent her Uncle Théoden's Herbarium."
He did not reply, choosing instead to fidget with the signet ring on his little finger.
She opened the copy that the Princess had made.
"Did you look inside it?"
"I did not."
"Why not? She must have spent weeks on this."
He shook his head and refused to meet her eye.
"Look, she left space for Rohirric text, and she added drawings of plants similar to the ones in Rohan."
He grunted and let himself fall back on the bed.
Éowyn had half a mind to give the book for the court's scribe to work on, but there was an unspoken boundary that she did not wish to cross. She put the book back in the box and took out the letter Lothíriel had written in thanks, as well as the shells that had been sent along with it. She placed each on its designated place on the paper.
"These shells are lovely. I have never seen anything like it."
A glance at her brother's face told her that even though his eyes were closed, he was wide awake.
"I remember you telling me to write to her that you liked the white spiral. Was it this one?"
He opened one eye to see her hold up the delicate white seashell. He gruffly agreed and then closed his eye.
Éowyn traced the shell thoughtfully. "I shall visit Dol Amroth some day. It is not far from Ithilien and I could go by ship if I wished to."
"But you would not wish to."
"True."
There was a lull in their conversation, until Éowyn pushed through the silence, still wanting to find out how their friendship had ended.
"So you met again when you returned to Minas Tirith at the end of the joint campaign."
"Aye, she was there because Queen Arwen Undomiel had wished her presence at court."
"The Queen must appreciate her as well."
"Aye."
Éowyn recalled yet another thing. "And our men think highly of her too. They told me that she took great care of them when they were in the Houses of Healing."
"Aye, there is no doubt that she is very dedicated to her duties."
"Did you also receive care from her upon your return to Minas Tirith?"
She saw his shoulders stiffen.
"What?"
"Your men spoke of some bruising on your left. Did she tend to you?"
His eyes were squeezed shut and the corner of his mouth twitched. "The Warden was the one who tended to me, considering that I am the King of Rohan."
She narrowed her green eyes at him. That was a lie. By now she knew him well enough to recognize his tells.
If he was lying, then it meant that Lothíriel did tend to Éomer. And the fact that he was withholding that information from his sister, meant that it had affected him.
"How bad was the bruising? Your entire left arm?"
He took a deep, exasperated sigh. "Aye, and the left part of my upper body and face."
That was a lot of surface area for the Princess to tend to, inferred Éowyn, and perhaps that was why he had not shared it with her. The situation could have easily been misconstrued.
She decided that she would leave the bruising be, for the sake of Lothíriel. Instead she changed the topic. "Then did you meet with her in the evenings then as well?"
"Aye."
"Yet during your stay in Minas Tirith, your friendship with her ended." It was not a question, but an observation. An astute one, as she noticed him clenching his teeth and flexing his hands.
"You will have to tell me what happened, Éomer, or I will write to her myself demanding an explanation."
"No!" He sprang to his feet as if he had been electrified. "You shall not trouble her!"
His whole body was tensed and his glaring eyes were full of fury. But Éowyn was immune to his methods of intimidation.
"Then tell me everything, brother." She replied firmly, meeting his indignance with her own.
He deflated almost immediately and turned around to walk up to a tray with a pitcher, where he downed a cup of water.
"We met each other in the Houses of Healing." He said after clearing his throat." We agreed to meet the next day for supper, and also for as long we were in Minas Tirith."
For a grumpy and uncouth barbarian, he sure was able to keep the young Gondorian Princess captive with his charms, mused Éowyn, if she so readily had committed her evenings to him.
As he, in kind, had done for her sake.
"I see, and did you?"
"Aye, the following two evenings we met in the herb garden. We supped and talked."
"What did you talk about?"
He cast his eyes to the ground and the corner of his mouth twitched again. "About Dol Amroth and horses, things like that."
"Béma above, I hope you were more forthcoming with Lothíriel," sighed his sister, once more aware of his untruthfulness. "Or did you chase her away with your paltry conversational skills?"
The glare that he gave her would have shaken another person to the core, but Éowyn laughed it away.
"The evening following that, was that more of the same?"
"Not quite." He scratched his beard and walked over to the fireplace to add another log.
Éowyn returned to the box, looking for a specific item in it.
"There is one paper that I cannot place, ah, here it is. It says ' Lothíriel, I am sorry. Please come at 6pm'. At this point you are still friends, because you call her by her name and you want to meet her at dinner time and not supper time."
"That was from the evening before. I went too far in my jokes and hurt her feelings."
Éowyn pinched her nose bridge in disbelief. "You made fun of her?"
He made a face. "I did not intend to, but yes."
"How did you do that?"
Éomer shook his head as he shifted the log with a long metal fire poker. "I rather not say."
So he would not embarrass her in her absence either. Éomer was that soft-hearted for the Princess, but… not enough to entertain a union with her.
"I can understand that," she glanced at the slip of paper in her hand, "so then you sent her this note?"
"She was quite upset with me, so I wished to meet her sooner to apologize."
Éowyn regarded him for a moment and then sought clarification. "You made fun of her so you insisted on meeting her earlier, just so you could apologize?"
"Aye..." He slowly replied, looking over his shoulder, "that is what I just said."
"She forgave you."
"Well, yes."
"Immediately?"
"Aye, upon meeting me that evening."
Was he even hearing himself talk? Éowyn wondered.
Éomer never teased any woman, nor did he ever apologize for his mischief or rude conduct unless politics forced his hand at it. And apparently Lothíriel had been upset enough to warrant an apology, but then… she had been swift in her forgiveness as well.
Was it because she did not want to waste precious time being at odds with the Rohanese King?
"But what was different the following evening?"
"No, that evening I was still near Pelargir, laying waste to an underground orc tunnel network. The evening after that I had returned and I was later than I had relayed to her."
"But she was quick to forgive you for it, I imagine."
He did not reply.
"Or is that when she did not and thus returned all your items to you?"
"When I met up with her, she was fine."
"Fine?"
"Yes, she was quick to ensure my comfort. She had made arrangements in that work space of hers, because of the storm."
"That must have been cosy in that little room, far away from everyone."
He frowned, looking down at his feet. "We ate and we talked..."
He fell silent again, deep in thought. Éowyn could sense that whatever he was about to say, lay heavy on his heart.
"Then what happened, Éomer?"
"I..." He struggled to find his words. "I had had a lot of mead before I came to her, but I was not drunk yet... "
Éowyn felt an uneasy feeling stir in the pit of her stomach. His words did not sit well with her.
"Yes…?"
"But I was tired and hungry. We had food. Mulled wine, too." The young King stood near his bed, his hands clenched into fists tightly. "The Princess saw to my every need. Said some things to set my heart at ease as well… I… Éowyn, I let my guard down... and I kissed her."
Éowyn managed to stifle her gasp, but her mind was reeling from shock and the need to know more.
"And this offended her?"
He pressed a hand against his forehead and hid his eyes, obviously feeling unwell at reliving his past.
"No. Not at all. She responded enthusiastically...
And then I moved away from her."
"Oh."
Éomer sank back on his bed, holding his head in both his hands. "She then said that she thought we had an understanding, which I denied."
Lo, there it was. The moment Éomer broke Lothíriel's heart.
And how it broke Eowyn's own, listening to his recollection of it. She could not even imagine how Lothíriel had felt. Or perhaps she could, considering the fact that she had gone through the same kind of rejection with Aragorn.
"I assume that she did not take it well."
"Aye... She did not." He rubbed his face roughly with his hands. "She said that she could not accept mere friendship and left. Her Swan Knight gave me that box. By dawn, she was gone."
Éowyn sat down next to him, needing to digest his words. Should she comfort him or should she yell at him? No, she still needed to understand him better.
After a stretch of silence, she asked. "Did you do anything during your time together that would make her think you… had started to her in a different light?"
Éomer refused to answer, still hiding his face.
She groaned in exasperation and then reached out to shake his shoulder. "Éomer. I can tell that you are leaving out something crucial. You cannot tell me - You sought out a beautiful and vivacious young woman for significant amounts of time! And you say you kissed her just because you were drunk?"
He scowled for a second, but then a helpless look came into his eyes. "I – I do not know, I mean, yes."
"You do not believe yourself."
Her words were sharp and they stung him.
"I have been so selfish, Éowyn, I – " Shaking his head, he looked down at his hands, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Being there in the herb garden gave me an escape from my duties and worries as a King. Lothiriel was – even if we talked about Rohan, she never put any kind of pressure on me. With her, I felt relief and I thought… "
His voice trailed off, but the White Lady understood. "You saw no harm in seeking out the solace she provided, seeing that she was always willing to spend time with you. Right?"
"Aye."
"And then you got too comfortable around her."
"Aye."
"And then you lied and told her that whatever she felt between the two of you was nothing but friendship."
He could not muster a reply. Instead he said, "Lothíriel, she said the same thing before she ended our… whatever it was. And she was right, I was using her as an escape."
"But how did you even justify it to yourself in the first place?"
"A sister. I thought, I could treat her like a sister. She has a lot in common with you – "
Éowyn laughed out loud. "And you hurt her in the process. No, Éomer. You were fooling yourself."
"Maybe, I do not understand it myself. With her, things were natural and unassuming. Just… easy."
She smiled wearily. He was describing how she felt with Faramir.
"Tell me this, Éomer. In all your comfort and peace with her, did you touch her?"
His back stiffened and he stared with serious eyes, but he did not reply. And she knew what he meant.
"You did. Many times, in fact. Am I right?"
Before he spoke, he was silent for a spell. "I have touched her, yes, but never in a disrespectful way. Never with the wrong intentions."
"And did she do the same?" Asked Éowyn, soft with her words, but her gaze was hard as she observed his face closely.
And then she saw it again. The twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"Aye, just light-hearted touches between friends."
Friends? No. It was obvious that both of them had feelings beyond mere friendship.
Anger was beginning to boil in her veins. Was he truly that blind to his own feelings? Why was he in such denial? What was the reason that he was denying himself the love of person who was perfect for him?
The sudden urge to punch him into understanding himself welled up in Éowyn, but she resisted. Instead, she chose another route.
"To summarize your interactions with Lothíriel…" Éowyn nudged him to look her in the eyes, "you spent time together, shared meals, exchanged gifts and innocently touched each other?"
"Aye." He dropped his gaze immediately.
"Like an old married couple."
His body was now even more tense than before.
"What? No."
But Éowyn laughed derisively. "You were doing everything a husband does with his wife, except bedding her."
"Do not be crass, Éowyn!" There was warning in his voice. "We were just friends."
"Éomer, please. You kissed her, Éomer! Friends are not supposed to do that."
"I told you, it was a moment of weakness!"
"You wanted to, Éomer! She gives you peace and comfort. She makes you laugh and she is clever and ambitious! But you are too cowardly to act on your feelings for her."
He sprang to his feet again and he glared at her, with his jaw set and his fingers curled into fists, shaking with anger.
"You are out of line, sister!"
She raised her voice to meet his shouting. "And you are lying to yourself. "
"So what if I am? It does not change the fact that I am not marrying her."
"For Béma's sake! Why not? What does she lack?"
"I am the one who is lacking!" ground out Éomer. "Do you not realize it? How I treated her is a fine example of my self-centered incompetence. Just like how I was unable to stop that son of a bitch Wormtongue from succeeding in his plot to kill Théodred. I was the one unable to stop him from robbing empty our Treasury too. I could not keep you safe from him, either. And what of the devastation he caused to Rohan by incapacitating Uncle? I should have run my sword through him the first time I suspected him of leechcraft, years ago!"
Éomer felt responsible even for things that were never his to control in the first place, matters that no person could manage by himself. Not as a Marshall during war time. Not even as a King. Éowyn had often tried to convince her brother not to be this unreasonably hard on himself, and on the surface he eventually always agreed with her. But deep down in his heart, the self-flagellation never ceased.
And the matter of Lothíriel bore down just as heavily on him, as well.
"Éomer, please. You have to stop blaming yourself!"
He shook his head wearily. "What I did to her… how I hurt her? It is proof that I do not deserve her."
Éowyn stared helplessly as her brother stood, stiff with intensity of his emotions. What could she do to convince him not to punish himself?
"Oh, Éomer. That is not true. Do not let the shadow of Grima Wormtongue doubt yourself." She stood next to him and wrapped her arms around his broad frame "You are a formidable person and you have always done the utmost for Rohan, for me. For Uncle, too. You would be a good husband - "
"No!" Éomer shrugged off her arms and stood up, once again fleeing from her words. "Lothíriel is better off married to some Gondorian noble, living the life she is accustomed to. If she were to live in Rohan, she would have none of the luxuries she enjoys now. She would be far away from her family and the sea and everything else she loves."
"You do not know that, she has proven herself to be highly adaptive – "
"She would do it for the sake of duty, not by her own wish. Do you not know? She took a liking to me, because her father suggested it! She is that obedient to him."
His handsome face was scrunched into a deep scowl, a mere reflection of the pain he was feeling.
"Do you not think she was interested in you, because of you?" She asked him, incredulously. Did he not listen to himself at all? The young woman so obviously longed to be by his side. Anyone paying attention could see it.
Anyone, except for her older brother.
"Éowyn, for Béma's sake! Did we not establish just now that I am unworthy of her?"
"You can make amends, Éomer – "
"I might hurt her again later on, so that is useless advice."
"You have to forgive yourself for your mistakes!"
"How can I do that? Forgive myself? When I hurt her, while she had done nothing to deserve such abuse – "
"I know you can do better for her sake – "
"She should not have to suffer because of me."
"The Princess is not a child, Éomer! She knows you better than you think - "
"Stop it, Éowyn."
But she persisted. "No, I will not! She loves you and – "
"Do not say that!" He snarled at her and turned away from her.
"She spent all her free time with you, caring for you, because she sees you for who you are – "
"Go away!" Anger was now rolling off the King of Rohan in hot waves and he began pacing the room.
"Beg for forgiveness and win her back! You shall be a great King, Éomer, especially with someone like her by your side!" Éowyn was desperate to make him understand, but he was unyielding.
"I do not wish to hear a single word more!"
Infuriated, he kicked aside a chair.
Even leagues apart, Lothíriel's influence on Éomer was significant and if she were his Queen, he would be a happy King to a happy Rohan.
"You love her, Éomer, you have been suffering ever since your return - "
He swore loudly and sank back down on the bed, gripping his head.
"And if you do not act upon your feelings, she will marry someone else soon - "
"Shut up!"
" – And you will have one more item added to your list of lifelong regrets."
With a growl, Éomer grabbed the thing nearest to him and smote it at the wall. It was only when he noticed the fragments, that he realized what he had done.
Lothíriel's box.
Éowyn looked at her brother with cool anger, but he could only stare at what remained of Lothíriel's belongings, grief marring his face. He swore under his breath and crouched down at what used to be the box. He took out the book and the papers, shook off the debris and examined them. Then he set them aside gently and sifted through the wood for the shells. One by one he looked at them closely. Only one or two were chipped slightly, but the last one he found had a large crack. It was the white common spiral.
He heaved a great sigh, and held the cracked shell in his hand. "Please leave me be, Éowyn. I cannot do what you want me to do. I will not sacrifice her happiness for my own."
His sister shook her head in defeat, tears brimming in her eyes. She could not convince him of the injustice he was inflicting upon himself.
Was there was anyone at all in Middle-Earth that could?
