So, here we are back again ... time for a girl's trip! ;)
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19. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world
The rain pattered down from a grey and dreary sky like a waterfall of stones hitting an ocean of drums. In between the torrents of water rushing down, soaking the earth, the last snows of a passed winter covering the ground were turned into brownish grey mud, and combined with the drumming sound of thunder slashing through the air, this day appeared more like the end of the world than a late April morning. Therefore it was curious that amidst all this bleak weather and unyielding nature two female riders were making their way through a landscape ravaged by a spring storm and the last bitter remnants of an unforgiving war, going at a painfully slow speed, mindful of the path that the rain and ice had turned into a slippery, unsteady road made of mud, and every careless step could mean the horses slipping and their riders very well breaking their necks.
'Lothíriel, we shouldn't be here!', Éowyn tried to tell her through the downpour as they came to a halt just outside a village, but even the mighty shieldmaiden had to shout to try and make herself understood, but the queen – having grown up as a lady of the Southern courts, her ears were trained to pick up on even the faintest of whispers – heard her nonetheless, 'You should be at Meduseld, preparing for the feast, learning to understand the intricacies of the rite – '
'As far as I'm concerned, sister, I am here to learn about it right now, wouldn't you agree? There's still plenty of time left. You'll teach me all I need to know on our way back. Don't fuss, Éowyn, I'm a fast learner.', Lothíriel cut in, and by the fine lines in the corners of her mouth one could almost think that she was smiling, as though the whole situation and worry of her sister-in-law held some amusement for her, even though such malicious glee would be highly inappropriate for a lady of the South or the poise of a queen, but looking over to her sister-in-law it wasn't hard to understand her source of amusement. Because while the shieldmaiden, wrapped in her heavy cloak, trying to shield herself from this deluge and yet soaked to the bone, looked as miserable as a wet cat, the queen put her head back and closed her eyes, humming contentedly as the raindrops washed over her and for a brief moment she imagined herself back at her home in Dol Amroth, standing at the lower cliff-side, just as the sea spray of the flood tide drenched her with a salty kiss in the warm evening sun.
But then, just like that, the moment was over, and with it the memories of mild sunsets at the sea were gone and she was back in the Riddermark on horseback in the middle of a rainstorm. Blinking, she lowered her head, wiping away the wet streaks the rain had painted on her, drawing the hood of her own heavy cloak down lower over her face. It wouldn't do to lose oneself in memories of times gone by; they had come here with a mission and she was bent on seeing it through to the end, no matter the objections of her sister-in-law, 'Now, let's get this over with, shall we?'
At this, both women quickly dismounted, and with it Lothíriel's momentary superiority was gone. Because while the shieldmaiden dismounted with the experience of years and years of riding, jumping off gracefully and landing on the ground as sure-footed as a cat, the queen had a lot more trouble to follow suit. As Lothíriel swung off her mare, she misjudged not only the momentum of her swing but the steadiness of the ground as well, and thus, as she landed, she first failed to find her footing, then slipped and would have very nearly fallen ungracefully on her very royal bottom, had it not been for her sister-in-law catching her in the last second. As the shieldmaiden cocked an eyebrow regarding her poor performance, Lothíriel rose again to stand on her on two foot, smiling nervously, embarrassed at her own clumsiness, aware of the blush threatening to creep up her neck despite the cold rain still pouring down on them.
'How do we know which hut it is?', the queen called out as she adjusted her riding attire to make herself look more presentable than the image of a drenched cat she had to be showing right now, and for a moment she feared that her sister-in-law had not heard her over the thunder crackling in the distance. But as the shieldmaiden grabbed the reins of her own mare, and then handed the reins of the queen's mare, Cwén, over to her, she called out to her, just as loudly, trying to drown out the storm raging around them, 'Only one way to find out.'
And thus both women set off further down the path that would lead them directly into the village, which was actually no more than a settlement of a few huts, structured into three or four circles, with only a wide open space at the centre for market days and not even a wall of straw around it. As the two of them entered the village, they could see smoke steaming out of the vent holes in the thatch roofs and candles flickering in the windows, indicating that, with a rainstorm raging – in contrast to them both – these people were smart enough to stay inside.
As Éowyn knocked on door after door, asking for a woman by the name of Ætta, Lothíriel pulled her heavy cloak tighter around herself, trying to retain what little warmth she still had, given that by now she was wetter than a fish in the ocean. Still, the queen mused, even as miserable as she felt right now, it was nothing compared to the ways things were all around her. Looking at the houses, she saw their poor craftsmanship, looking at the people inside, she saw their poor living conditions, their gaunt faces looking back at her, eyes that barely saw her.
She had not known that it was that bad. Of course, she had known that the conditions were harsh, Éomer and the council had painted the picture quite vividly; that the food storages were devastated by the miserable harvest and the unforgiving winter months, and that the people were still haunted by the remnants of the war – but she had not known that it was this bad. Had she been a superstitious person, she would have believed these people to be little more than ghosts – and perhaps, that was exactly what they were: ghosts, phantoms, reminders of her failure to save this kingdom that was now her own.
Of course, the trading deal they had made, had meant that the immediate crisis had been averted, and while the first grain shipments had already arrived, a lot more of them had been lost to the Southern variants of spring storms or, if transported by land, had even been stolen or destroyed in various different highway robberies – and if they couldn't contain the lawlessness that had spread across the lands over the months, then all her efforts would be little more than a drop in the ocean. All in all, all they had achieved so far was momentary respite to a slow but inevitable collapse of a whole kingdom and its way of life.
And still, despite all of this, despite all the tragedy and loss and devastation, these people had retained a love for life and a humble gratefulness and a hopeful outlook for the future that simply astounded her. When she had laboured away as a healer in Minas Tirith during the siege, she had come face to face with the ugly wounds desperation could inflict: once she had seen a soldier fling himself from the battlements, choosing the quick death over the torturous butchery at the hands of their enemy, and another time she had heard of a father killing first his children and then his wife to spare them a slow and painful death, may it be through starvation or massacre, and then, of course, there were the noblemen and noblewomen, whose lands had been overrun, who had chosen the kiss of their own blades rather than to kiss the hands of their conquerors. So, to see a people so ravaged by war and hunger and loss, and then still to fight on and to not give up, it filled her with admiration and a determination to persevere even in the face of apparent failure.
A great king is in need of a green queen, it was said, but, she mused, even more so, a country was in need of a great leader; one who would make decisions in the name of the people for the good of the people, one who would swallow any false pride and bury old grudges, temper justice with mercy and pursue the right choices, even if they were hard. Could she be such a leader, she wondered then, could she be such a queen? And as she saw the weary but kind smiles of the people that opened their doors to them, that offered hospitality when truly they had little or nothing to give, she asked herself the questions then that had pestered her, in the back of her head, ever since she had made the decision to come here. What am I doing here? Why have I really come here? What is it that I have truly come here to do?
Lothíriel was torn out of her thoughts when Éowyn touched her shoulder before telling her that she had found the woman they had been looking for. Signalling with her hand (because even shouting at the top of her lungs had become impossible with the rainstorm at her back) to a hut at the far end of the village, the shieldmaiden led the way as they trudged across the wide open centre of the settlement, where a statue made of wood, carved in the likeness of a prancing stallion, demonstrated the pride these people still took in being men and women of the Mark. And again, as the queen forced her way through the heavy rain and wind, her thoughts were invaded by the same questions: What am I doing here? Why have I really come here? What is it that I have truly come here to do?
'Ready?', the shieldmaiden asked then, as they stopped before the door of the hut, after she had tied their horses to a post next to the house, looking over her shoulder at her sister-in-law, giving her one last chance to tuck tail and run before it would be too late, but the queen was determined to see this through to the end, and so she nodded slowly, not trusting her voice not to betray her nervousness. And as the shieldmaiden knocked on the door (pounded really, there was no tactfulness in that woman …), Lothíriel closed her eyes for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to quieten the questions that kept on hammering in the back of her head. What am I doing here? Why have I really come here? What is it that I have truly come here to do?
Just then the door opened with a creaking sound and for a moment the light of the fire coming from inside blinded her, and only after blinking rapidly could Lothíriel see again, and once she did, she needed only a moment to assess what was before her. Standing there on the doorstep was a woman not much younger than herself, with straw-blonde hair and kind green eyes, and with a pang of jealousy Lothíriel had to admit that she was quite the beauty. Lothíriel listened then, and watched quietly, as Éowyn took charge and explained at the top of her lungs, over the thunderous pattering of the downpour, that they were weary travellers, caught off guard by the rainstorm.
Now, technically, that was not a lie, but Lothíriel gave her sister-in-law credit for trying nonetheless. Granted, they had had quite the dispute during their journey here on how best to introduce themselves – with the shieldmaiden, of course, favouring the direct approach. The queen, however, had feared that if they were to "run down that door like a crazed stallion" – figuratively speaking, of course – they would have no chance of getting the answers they had ridden all those miles and all those hours to find. So, she had decided to encourage her sister-in-law to practice her newly-found courtly wiles, and to be fair, the shieldmaiden was not half bad if she wanted to be, and it was only her ears trained by years and years of Southern small-talk that managed pick up on that sweet little innocent lie.
The woman – Ætta was her name, the queen reminded herself – welcomed them in quickly when she, at last, understood the request they were making, or perhaps, she simply grew tired of trying to understand what the shieldmaiden tried to shout at her over the sound of thunder in the background. Stepping over the threshold and into the warmth, Lothíriel was for a moment too overwhelmed and glad to be out of the cold and wet rain to think of much else, but once she had recovered a little from the sudden shift in cosiness, she took in the humble but homely interior of the hut with a keen and interested eye.
It was nothing grand but it felt like a home with a lot of heart. Two rooms, one in the back (probably the bedroom) and the main hall, with a weaving loom and spinning wheel in one corner, a butter churn and other cooking utensils in another corner, below that a door in the floor boards (probably leading to the pantry in the cellar, burrowed in the earth), and lastly, a hearth at the northern wall with memorabilia on the mantelpiece and three rocking chairs in front of it – so, apparently, the woman didn't live alone.
'Thank you so much for your hospitality, madam.', Éowyn said sweetly, effectively pulling Lothíriel out of her thoughts, and it was not hard to see that the way the young woman humbled herself before them, repeatedly trying to perform a less than perfect curtsey, made the shieldmaiden more than just a little uncomfortable, and being called "milady Éowyn" was even worse than that. Of course, the commoner had recognised the shieldmaiden at once, since she was well known and beloved by all her people, though she didn't seem to recognise her queen, but that was no surprise, after all, the queen was still new and had hardly ever left the confines of Edoras before. However, the fact that she had not been recognised yet gave Lothíriel a wicked idea, and as the shieldmaiden turned to introduce her, the queen sought to put her plan into action, 'And this here is – '
'Your Queen.', Lothíriel spoke resolutely and with the voice of authority, as she threw back her hood to reveal her raven hair and grey-blue eyes. As a result of that, several things happened at once. The eyes of the woman, Ætta, widened and she blanched before she proceeded to throw herself before her queen in a gesture of utmost humility; at the same time, Éowyn turned to her with an expression of utmost annoyance, rolling her eyes at the queen and the little prank she pulled. Lothíriel, for her part, only shrugged with a saccharine smile, before she, too, decided that she had carried her joke too far, and so spoke, not the least to cut short the ongoing homage the young woman at her feet paid to her, 'Rise, please, there is no need for that. We are here only for a little chat – no need to waste time on formalities.'
After that, Lothíriel vowed to leave her shenanigans be, as this was neither the time nor the place nor the occasion for it, and indeed, as the commoner first took their cloaks to be hung up for drying, and then led them to the rocking chairs by the fire and supplied them each with mugs of warm and sweet honey-mead and a few crusts of fried bread, the queen truly lived up to her title – calm and graceful and regal. But they had come here with a mission, after all, and so the queen dismissed the pleasantries soon enough to cut right to the point.
'I must apologise, madam, but I fear we have not been entirely honest with you. We are not here by chance; in fact, we came to find you.', Lothíriel paused for a moment, to allow for the young woman to have the first wave of shock and surprise wear off, even if not the confusion, and one could see in her face the question of why a queen would ever seek out a commoner, and her in particular, 'As you are well aware, I'm sure, the feast of Beltane is coming up soon, and I am to perform the rites for the very first time, and as I am not yet accustomed to your traditions, Ætta, I would like to ask a few questions, if I may.'
'O-of course, my Queen.'
'I am glad to hear it.', Lothíriel crooned with a charming smile, well aware that the young woman before her was no less confused than before, and the queen could understand. After all, Beltane and its rites were no secret; everyone in the Riddermark knew them by heart and could have answered her questions, so it was more than just understandable for this common woman to wonder why in the world she would be asked about it. But Lothíriel only smiled at the sight of this question showing in the young woman's face, knowing the answer to that question quite well, 'Now, forgive my indelicacy, but is it true that not quite two years ago you yourself partook in this rite?'
The young woman could only nod, and it wasn't hard to see why she was left speechless all of the sudden. Slowly but surely understanding spread across her face, starting with her eyes in which the realisation dawned that the queen and the shieldmaiden had sought her out for a very specific reason. Naturally, there was fear gradually creeping into the woman's gaze, and though Lothíriel knew she should feel ashamed of it, she could not help but feel powerful for being able to still elicit such terrified emotion in another person – that even when she was all but a fish out of water, she could still manage to be in her element, 'And is it not also true that you partook in this rite with my husband – your king?'
At that, the young woman shrieked only once before she literally flung herself at her queen's feet, uttering apology after apology, tears clearly audible in her voice, sobs dulling the words so much it was hard to understand anything at all. Lothíriel, however, remained unimpressed by the woman cowering at her feet, and without so much as looking at her, the queen turned to her sister-in-law and it was clear that the shieldmaiden was not amused by the way things were currently developing. For a moment, both powerful women had a silent exchange in which eyes and brows and foreheads and other facial muscles mimicked all the words that needed to be said between them.
Don't even pretend you didn't know this was going to happen, Éowyn seemed to say, her head shaking slowly, her eyes shooting daggers.
I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Lothíriel seemed to say, her smile as saccharine as the taste of poison.
Sister, I might not have grown up to be a lady of the Southern courts, but even I know when I'm being lied to, the shieldmaiden seemed to answer with a sneer of her own, before her eyes hardened and turned to slits, Now make this right.
Fine, the queen seemed to answer, rolling her eyes as she gave in to her new sister's demands and reached down to the woman still cowering at her feet.
'Please, there is no need for that.', the queen said as she took the young woman's hands and helped her up again, moving her to the rocking chair next to her, to have her sit and calm down, 'Please, call me Lothíriel – formalities seem so superfluous … given that both you and I shared the attentions of our king.'
'My Qu – Lothíriel … Queen. Forgive me – ', the young woman, Ætta, shrieked once more, and again she tried to fling herself at her queen's feet, ready to grovel, ready to ask forgiveness for the wrongs she believed to have done, ready to apologise for the mistake she was pushed to believe she had made. The shieldmaiden, of course, was not happy about this, but more annoyed rather than truly aggravated this time; but as Éowyn rolled her eyes at her sister-in-law and her continuing verbal stabs and quiet provocations, Lothíriel at last relented, because as amusing at this little game was, it was also chilling to behold. Of course, the queen knew it was more than a little innocent fun, and that there was a cruelty behind it that even shocked her – and again, the questions from before came unbidden to her. What am I doing here? Why have I really come here? What is it that I have truly come here to do?
'Hush, now. I'm not here to judge you.', Lothíriel quickly spoke then, trying to push the bad thoughts out of her mind, but as she leaned down to help the woman back to her rocking chair again, she wondered if her words even held any truth in them at all and if her reasons for being here were as innocent as she would have liked it to be, 'I only wish to understand. Will you help me?'
Nodding weakly, young Ætta sat down, and it was not hard to see that the woman was close to tears by this point, overwhelmed and fearful of whatever punishment her mind came up with for the perceived slight she might have caused unwittingly, and the queen, at last, felt moved by this and appalled at the cruel game she had been playing. Logically, she knew this woman was not to blame for the feelings of hurt and anger that smouldered in her heart, or that there was any reason at all to be hurt or angry, but feelings were not reasonable, and she could not have told her heart to stop feeling any more than she could have ordered the tides to still and be no more. So, that only left her to try and keep the innocence of that woman in mind as she slowly, carefully closed in on the very reason and the very question she had come here to address.
'I must ask this – and please forgive my lack of tact here – but has any flower blossomed from that seeding?', Lothíriel spoke then, quietly, gently even, trying to address this topic with as much care for the woman before her as she could muster. However, the woman before her (Ætta was her name, the queen reminded herself) seemed not to understand her polite metaphor, and for a second the question flashed through her mind whether all Horse-people were as slow-witted as their king. But then Lothíriel was all queen again, and tried her question once more, this time with more urgency and less euphemism, 'Have you had a child, is what I'm asking?'
'Yes.', young Ætta breathed then at last, and it sounded less like an answer and more like a breath she had been holding, and though her eyes widened for a moment in shocked realisation, she seemed to relax in the end, giving in, abandoning her embarrassment and simply opening herself up completely, 'A son.'
'A son.', Lothíriel repeated, but her words were a mere echo, as they sounded hollow and empty, bereft of all emotion that would give them life, and yet it was just a shadow compared to the emptiness that slowly but surely started to take roots deep inside of her until it filled her completely and to the brim, until she felt so full of this new empty feeling she feared to break into a thousand little pieces. Her king had a child, and what was more, a son – the much longed-for heir; what would have been her task, her duty and her prerogative, had been accomplished already, but not by her, by another woman, a Rohirrim woman. Closing her eyes for just a moment, just enough to try and hold back the tears that started to prick in the corner of her eyes already, the queen could not help but think of her father, and she already dreaded the harsh judgement he would pass on her if he learned of her failure.
'Please, sister, this has gone too far already!', Éowyn threw in, having had enough at long last, rising so quickly she very nearly knocked over the rocking chair, and it was not hard to see how uncomfortable this whole situation seemed to her, but clearly it was more than just that. Perhaps, the shieldmaiden feared the ramifications of this revelation, the inevitable fallout of this piece of news, the way it, undoubtedly, would break the princess' heart. Or, perhaps, more than that, she feared the way the queen would react; with anger, perhaps, with wrath – after all, who knew what a woman falling in love was capable of, if she learned that she had been betrayed (as she would undoubtedly see it) by the man she was falling in love with?
'Has it?', Lothíriel repeated quietly, but there was no calm in that quiet tone of her voice, there was outrage, there was indignation, and yes, also anger, but it did not burn hot and bright; it was an anger unlike any the shieldmaiden had ever seen, it was cold and dark and remote, but no less frightful, and it was enough to render Éowyn speechless, even if only for a moment, 'Have you known about this, sister? Has he known about this?'
'It doesn't matter, Lothíriel – '
'Doesn't matter?!', the queen scoffed, rising, and the smile that sprang to her lips was more of a growl than an expression of amusement; and this time her voice had actually spiked in volume at least, and the hot anger she now showed was at least something the shieldmaiden recognised and knew how to deal with – after all, try to put out a fire with your bare hands and you will get burned, but if you let it burn out on its own, it will have nothing left to reignite itself. And indeed, as the queen settled back down in her rocking chair again, she continued calmer this time, almost eerily calm, however, 'Our king has had a son, even if not one by his queen.'
'It's more complicated than that, Lothíriel.', the shieldmaiden pointed out emphatically, trying to keep the situation under control, despite the fact that the situation looked very much out of control as the queen raised an eyebrow questioningly and while the young woman, Ætta, flung herself to the ground to cower at the queen's feet once more. It looked as though the shieldmaiden was completely and utterly out of her depth and ready to explode at the sheer overwhelming nature of the situation, monumentally regretting ever having agreed to take her sister-in-law here.
'It's not complicated at all, actually.', Lothíriel countered then with the calm of a hundred-feet-deep lake, and Éowyn already feared to have put in motion the beginnings of a total political disaster that would lead to the end of an alliance and the end of a kingdom; but to her infinite surprise the queen didn't storm out, call for a divorce or lunge at the young woman at her feet – instead, she simply reached out and took the hands of the young mother, kissed the back of her hands and led her back to her rocking chair, 'A woman has had a son, which leaves me only to congratulate her.'
It was hard to tell who of the three women in this room was more surprised at this turn of events. The young woman, Ætta, was on the very brink of tears here, sobbing almost uncontrollably, but not with fear any longer but with joy, so great was her relief at being spared her queen's wrath. Éowyn, for her part, was breathing heavily, almost panting, as she fanned herself, wiping the sweat drops off her forehead; she appeared as though she had been running all the way from Edoras to this little hut here, so great was her exhaustion at this emotional storm, going from apprehension to comfortableness to uneasiness to straight-up, frightful panic and then to relief. So, damn straight, she felt exhausted; she felt as though she had experienced more emotions in the short time she'd spent in this hut than she had ever felt in all her life before. As for Lothíriel, the queen leaned back, and as she looked from woman to woman, seeing the relief and emotional exhaustion, the questions from before returned once more and this time she felt almost as if she had the answer to all of them.
What am I doing here? Why have I really come here? What is it that I have truly come here to do?
A great king is in need of a great queen.
'May I see him?', the queen asked then reservedly but not without kindness; the other two women seemed understandably taken aback, though no longer surprised at this point. Éowyn closed her eyes in a motion much more akin to rolling her eyes, before groaning, as though the level of annoyance had reached almost painful heights by now, and pinching the bridge of her nose, she was clearly and utterly done with this whole situation. Ætta, although overwhelmed at first, soon smiled and nodded slowly, before getting up and leading the queen to the other room in the far back of the hut.
The other room was the bedroom and it was as sparsely furnished as the rest of the home – a hearth at the far end, at the other end two beds, one big enough for two people, one smaller, with only room enough for one person. Other than that, there was only a stool and a small wooden table with a ceramic bowl for a quick morning wash; and between the beds and the hearth a cradle made of wood stood. And there in the little cradle, sleeping peacefully, lay a little boy, hardly more than a baby but with features already clearly pronounced and, most of all, with thin wisps of the most beautiful golden hair – hair quite like his father.
In that moment, for the very first time in her life, Lothíriel felt – for lack of a better word – motherly. However, those feelings of motherly love were not directed at the babe sleeping in the cradle – not even as it whimpered and turned in its sleep, then snored and finally started to suck at its own thumb. Instead, she felt as though she had just become a mother to thousands and thousands of people, because as she looked at the babe in the cradle, she didn't just see a child asleep, she saw a solution to many different problems. Of course, logically, she understood that this child in the cradle could neither feed the people of the Riddermark nor eradicate the lawlessness, but just as she had clutched at any straw that day she had fallen through the ice, so did she do now. There before her, lying in the cradle, was the answer to a question any monarchy faced with coming to an end would utter, the fulfilment of a fatherly-ordained duty, the duty of any wife to her husband: a child, and not just any child, but the possible heir to the Riddermark – even if that child, that heir, was not of her own making.
'I-is he healthy?', Lothíriel found herself saying, and at first she wasn't sure if Ætta had heard her, because the myriads of different emotions – from joy to sadness to relief and even jealousy – rushing down on her, had her all choked up, but behind her she could hear the young woman shift and one could sense the change in her. Her stance relaxed, growing more and more comfortable, and when she spoke to answer, she was calm and open, tender even, as any mother loving their child would be, 'He's a good, strong boy. I've named him Aldred, after my father.'
Lothíriel tried to blink away the tears as she regarded the child in the crib, a shaky smile playing around her mouth. Aldred, old adviser? Well, that name just wouldn't do for a prince of the Riddermark. Taking a step closer to the cradle, to get a closer look at the child, the queen must have stepped on a loose plank then, because a creaking sound from the floor ripped through the peaceful silence and with that the boy in the little bed was wide awake and fussing and crying.
It all happened very quickly then. Out of the corner of her eye Lothíriel could see Éowyn jump up from the rocking chair, sword ready in hand, years and years of fighting training instinctively kicking in, and she whipped her head from side to side, trying to figure out from where the attack had been coming. Young Ætta, meanwhile, reacted just as instinctively, moving over to her crying child, to pick it up and soothe it as any loving mother would.
And as the queen saw her standing there, the young mother and her little boy, rocking him back him and forth to calm him down, she felt, for just a moment, a new and strange emotion aching in her heart, and she realised that this right in front of her – she wanted that. Not because it was expected of her as a wife, not because it was her duty as a queen, not because it was an efficient way to cement her position as wife and queen, but because she wanted this … simply because she wanted it: to have a child and to be mother, and what was more, to be a mother to a child she had with the man she –
'W-would you like to hold him?', Ætta asked then, hesitantly, unsure, quiet even, but the words were enough to pull Lothíriel out of her thoughts. Looking up, the queen saw the young mother eyeing her with a shy but inviting gaze, as she held the babe in her arms, moving towards her, and as she did so, the child's glance settled on her for just a moment, and for just a moment, the queen was faced with bright green eyes – green eyes she had met before.
'N-no.', Lothíriel declined quickly, instinctively backing out, the situation quickly becoming too much, becoming too overwhelming, because no matter how much she might wish for it, imagine it, daydream it, this was not her reality, this was not her life, and this was not her child – and whatever joys and sorrows, hopes and dangers might come with it, this was not for her right here and right now. Perhaps her sister-in-law had been right all along and it had been a mistake coming here.
'W-we are intruding, forgive us. I-I can see we have taken up too much of your time already. We will take our leave.', Lothíriel rambled, stumbling over her words just as she was almost stumbling over her own feet while trying to leave this situation as quickly as she could, despite the protest of young Ætta. Turning around the queen stormed out of the bedroom back into the main room where Éowyn – who had relaxed back onto the rocking chair and, bored, decided to play around with her sword – jumped up, startled by the sudden change in the air. Confused by what was going on all of the sudden, the shieldmaiden looked to her sister-in-law, trying to understand why they would be leaving so abruptly, but the queen wouldn't meet her gaze and so Éowyn shrugged it off and simply readied herself for a hasty departure.
However, the two women were almost out the door when Lothíriel stopped dead in her tracks and slowly turned around once more, calming herself in the process, forcing herself to regain her poise, reminding herself that she was a queen and that she had a duty. Turning around, she looked at Ætta, that young mother and her child, and as she spoke the tears she could not shed could be heard in her voice all the same, 'Are you in need of anything, madam?'
'No, milady, we are very well provided for.', the young mother answered, smiling as she repositioned the baby boy in her arms, 'My parents take care of us.'
At that, Lothíriel returned the smile, though whether the smile was out of relief or genuine happiness or simply because she had no other way to process her wildly confusing emotions, she did not know. But whatever she felt in that moment, she decided that it wasn't important in that moment; important was only that she was a queen and that as such she had a duty to this woman and her child, and so, the queen spoke one last time before leaving the hut and the revelations inside of it behind her, 'If the need should ever arise … anything you need, you may call on me.'
FUN FACT #1: OK, so, did I tell you that I'm a sucker for drama and angst? No, well, sorry.
FUN FACT #2: I actually didn't plan for this storyline to happen but my Éowyn just went and talked herself into a mess and I couldn't just leave it at that. It's just too juicy.
FUN FACT #3: So, I really enjoyed writing a good girl's road trip chapter, hope you enjoyed it, too - cause next friday the king and queen will have to sit down and have a serious talk. Psyched, already? Well, I am, so I better get back to writing then ...