Chapter 8
For so many years, Éomer had found peace and solace in the stables. The warm, strong smell of horses, the familiar routines, and the company of the wise and beloved animals held a special comfort. You had to be calm and single-minded with the high-spirited warhorses. Once you stepped into the stables, you had to leave your own anxiety behind.
So, since he had been an angry young man, feeling frustrated and vexed over how futile his efforts to fight his enemies or keep his people safe seemed, he had either saddled his horse and gone out riding, or he had spent his time at the stables caring for the prized steeds. He would, muck the stalls, brush and braid the horses' long manes and tails, inspect the hooves and clean them, and brush their coats until it gleamed. Horses were uncomplicated company, always ready to listen to the words whispered in their ears. Sometimes he felt like some of them even understood what he said. Certainly, the look in Firefoot's wise eyes would imply so. But it was said that Félarof, the father of horses of the Mark, had indeed understood the speech of Men, and that all horses descended from him shared it in part.
He had strongly felt the need to calm down after the confrontation by the road. His anger was still slowly simmering when he and Éowyn returned to the manor house. Had they taken just a little bit longer ride, they might have avoided the confrontation entirely, but unfortunately, the two young men had sped towards the manor house and caught up with the Rohirric siblings, who trotted slowly as they conversed. He knew Éowyn thought he shouldn't have paid heed to Lord Crabanor – the boy was essentially a brat with an overly high opinion of himself, unworthy of time or attention. It was why she didn't participate in the scene. Normally, Éomer would have agreed. It was Crabanor's maltreatment of his horse that made it impossible for the young king to ignore the boy's childish attempts to provoke him.
And yet, had he just ignored the lad, then she would never have been exposed to danger. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could see her horse nearly bolting and throwing her off of the saddle. She could have got hurt, and it would have been partially his fault – no, it would have been mostly his fault, because unlike Crabanor, Éomer knew better. A cold, choking sensation gripped his heart at the mere thought of her being harmed somehow. It was the danger to her that nearly sent him over the edge, maybe even to some violence, but thankfully, Éowyn had retained her calm. She had spoken to him sharply, reminding him in their own tongue how things could quickly go from bad to worse if he roughed up the young lord. While Crabanor was only a minor noble, he might still demand satisfaction and make unnecessary nuisance for not just him but Éowyn and Faramir as well. Recognising his sister was right, Éomer had let the lad go.
Be that as it may, the horrible dread over Lady Lothíriel's safety was much stronger than any offence he might have otherwise felt. In the end, Crabanor was insignificant in Éomer's world and his insignificance meant the boy could not truly insult him; for Éomer had taken much worse from far more powerful enemies..Of course he expected some sort of an apology once Aragorn was done scolding the young man, but he wanted it mostly because of what he represented. His people endured enough condescension from Gondorians without him adding to it. In the end, it was their pride he meant to defend, and the integrity of the throne of Eorl.
All the same, he hoped that the rest of Aegdir's friends were unlike Crabanor – especially if that was the circle of people she would have to deal with as the Lady of Lossarnarch. And with that, he felt again that tremor of disappointment and loss which came every time he thought of her future in the keeping of that pompous boy.
But even then... even if she were effectively promised to another, Éomer thought of how she had kept her calm atop the bucking horse, and remained securely in the saddle through it. He had been terrified that she would get hurt, and yet he had not missed how magnificent she had looked, her hair flying in the wind, her body taut as a bowstring and her hands tight on the reins, and her features betraying only intense focus. What a cruel joke of fate it was that such a woman existed in the world, but he couldn't make her the Queen of Rohan.
So he brushed, and brushed, and the rhythmic movement helped to concentrate all the feelings of frustration and anger and helplessness. Firefoot seemed to notice his mood as well, as the stallion kept prodding him with his great nose, snorting softly. With a half-smile, Éomer pressed his hand against the steed's neck.
"It's all right, old man. We'll just deal with it, like we always do", he muttered quietly in Rohirric, but didn't say out loud how very lonely, how thankless it was always to be the one who was left behind and sacrificed his own hopes for others' happiness.
He might have completely lost the track of time, hadn't his sister sent his esquire to get him. Apparently, there was going to be an announcement by Aragorn in half an hour's time, and she thought Éomer might want to get cleaned up for it. He understood the message between the lines: she was reminding him not to disregard the importance these Gondorians put on appearances. If he came straight from the stables to receive Crabanor's apology, nobody was going to take it seriously. But if he appeared as his station demanded (at least in their eyes), they were more likely to pay close heed.
Éomer went back inside, changed his clothes, and cursed – not for the first or the last time – for how much time he was wasting with these constant dress changes. Back home, he wouldn't be putting on a fresh shirt after each visit to the stables. He would probably run out of clean clothing in just a couple of days. No doubt he was also keeping Éowyn's washers very busy.
He had just finished when there was a knock on the door, and then Aragorn's voice: "Éomer? Are you there?"
"I am. You may enter."
Aragorn opened the door and stepped inside.
"Well, it's done now, although I suppose the truly unpleasant part still awaits. I should think you already know what to expect", he said and let out a sigh.
"Aye, I do have an inkling. Is the boy very sorry?" Éomer asked.
"If he's not already, then he will be once his full disgrace is known. Nobody will want to talk to him for quite some time. It serves him right, though, for his extremely bad judgement", Aragorn said, shaking his head. He was a firm believer in youth and their potential and was always deeply disappointed when his faith was abused like this. Éomer made a rough, displeased sound in his throat.
Aragorn continued, "But I am sorry. You are an honoured guest, and each living soul in this land should treat you as such. If my closest friend and ally is insulted, then I regard myself just as responsible for it as the perpetrator."
Éomer made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
"It's fine. He's just a stupid boy. Personally, I care too little about him to be offended", he said and fixed the neckline of his tunic. He glanced at his friend, "Actually, I'm more concerned about the way he treats his horses."
"Yes, it is appalling. I will see what I can do about it", Aragorn said, frowning.
"Is he leaving tonight?"
"I thought about it. But Éowyn agreed to let him stay for the night, so that his horse and his escorts may rest before the journey back. I don't think Crabanor will be showing his face after the announcement, though."
"Aye, it seems unlikely", Éomer muttered. He looked at his friend, "His actions caused some threat to the well-being of Lady Lothíriel. Have you spoken to Imrahil?"
"I have. He was not pleased, as you can imagine. She is his treasure, and I have no doubt he would burn Crabanor down if any harm had come to her… still, he has agreed that a public apology will suffice. It's probably because she asked him to go easy on the young man, at least in matters concerning herself. The lad is lucky it's Imrahil he's dealing with: I don't think her brothers would be satisfied", Aragorn answered, shaking his head. The reason he had chosen a public apology as the form of punishment was clear: he was making a point to his court on showing respect to Rohan.
"Hmm. Crabanor will be wise not to show his face before them", Éomer muttered.
"Indeed. I expect he will retire after the announcement and leave very early tomorrow", Aragorn said.
"And the lady?"
"She is well, as far as I can see. She didn't seem shaken even in the slightest. But her family are stern stuff, and Imrahil has always praised his daughter's nerve", Aragorn said warmly. Raising an eyebrow, he added, "I wonder if it might be a good time to approach the Prince. He may be having second thoughts about a certain young man, now that he has shown such poor taste in friends."
"I doubt that. He's fond of the lad and will not hold him responsible. And Imrahil wouldn't think well of my trying to use another's misfortune to my advantage like that", Éomer pointed out.
"Perhaps you're right. But I must say, for a man who has been king for over a year already, you seem very opposed to court intrigue", Aragorn pointed out.
"That's easy. Rohirrim are hopelessly inept at scheming, and I am too. Saruman and his vermin are an exception, not a rule", Éomer pointed out. A grim whisper of past fury passed through him when he thought of a soft voice whispering in his uncle's ear and pale, loathsome eyes following Éowyn's steps.
He shook himself and looked at his friend, "Well, shall we go and get over this unpleasantness?"
So the two men made their way to the entrance hall. Éomer arranged his expression into a sufficiently stern look. Downstairs it appeared that the hosts of the house and all their guests were gathered. Éomer and Aragorn halted to stand in the stairs so that they could view the crowd. An empty spot had been left just before the stairs, perhaps on Éowyn or Faramir's instructions. Quiet conversations had been going on, but a silence fell as the two kings appeared. Some of the guests were craning their necks to get a better view, and most had a curious look on their faces.
"My lords and ladies, thank you for coming. I know you must be wondering why I have called you here. I regret to say it is not a pleasant matter, but something that causes me personal dismay and embarrassment", Aragorn said sternly, and Éomer could see many surprised and curious faces.
Next to him, his friend began to talk about Crabanor's ill-judged actions and how he had endangered not just his companions, but also their horses. But Éomer only half listened to him while searching the crowd with his eyes. He quickly found her, for she was standing in the front row next to her father. Her eyes were downcast, but it was as if she felt his gaze, for she looked suddenly up and met his stare. His heart twisted painfully. There was a question in her eyes, and a vulnerability he hadn't seen before. It must be so painful for her, not knowing why he was avoiding her after something real had already started to grow between them... and how mixed signals she must be getting from him. Béma, how he wanted to fly down the steps, interrupt Aragorn's speech, and fall on his knees before her!
But she quickly lowered her eyes again, staring at the floor once more. Now it was Imrahil who noticed Éomer's stare. The Prince frowned slightly and glanced at his daughter, but he only saw her looking down. If only he had noticed it a second before!
Éomer forced his gaze away from the daughter and the father, and instead stared somewhere above the heads of the crowd. He cleared his mind and focused on Aragorn's words once more, which was well done, as he might have completely lost the track otherwise. His friend had now got to the point where he called Crabanor forward.
Way was made for the young man. In fact, most of the guests pulled back as if the boy carried some terrible disease. He looked deeply ashamed as he walked, his head bowed and refusing to meet anyone's eyes. Éomer wondered if he felt shame for what he had done, or that he had got punished for it. The young king decided he did not particularly care. He was not likely to see Crabanor again – unless the boy and his friend ignored his warning and didn't learn to take better care of their horses.
There was a low murmur in the crowd, but the sound died when the young lord reached the stairs.
"Is there anything you would like to say to the King of Rohan, and to these people?" asked Aragorn, strong and grave.
Crabanor didn't raise his head, but at least he wasn't mumbling when he answered.
"I ask for your forgiveness, King Éomer. My conduct has been ignorant, shameful and foolish. As a trusted friend and ally of my liege-lord, and as a representative of the people of Rohan who have bled and fought for us, you have earned every respect and gratefulness, which I have failed to show you. I am ashamed of my actions and hope that you bear no ill will to me, or to my King. I trust in your wisdom to see that however I insulted your grace, it was not done out of malice, but because of my impulsive over-confidence."
Éomer had to wonder if the boy had come up with the words by himself, or if somebody had helped him. Aragorn must have made it very clear that the apology would have to be carefully worded and complete. If it didn't satisfy the Rohirric representatives, Crabanor's thoughtlessness could lead to serious repercussions with wider political consequences.
He stared hard at the lad, and perhaps it was his gaze or just a need to see whether his words had impacted him in the hoped way, Crabanor looked up to meet his eyes.
"I accept your apology, Lord Crabanor. All of us have been young and done foolish things in our time. However, your station can make your mistakes more serious than you realise; this I myself have learnt the hard way. I hope you remember today, and keep in mind that your words have the power to hurt more people than just yourself. And so do your actions. There are others here who also deserve an apology, I think", he said, glancing at Lady Lothíriel only briefly.
Crabanor got the hint straight away, thankfully. So he turned to speak to Éowyn and Faramir, apologising for abusing their hospitality and good will. Then he faced Lady Lothíriel, and her father, who fumed silently by her side. The apology Crabanor made to her was more succinct, but it seemed to satisfy at least her, for she accepted it in a gracious voice. Even so, Éomer thought the young man would do well if he stayed far away from Dol Amroth and the Prince's family.
He also made his apologies to Aegdir and Faundir, but the latter looked uncomfortable for the attention, perhaps because he knew that he might have been standing there just as well.
And then it was over. Aragorn gave a few closing words, bidding all to remember that respect and courtesy cost nothing, but that anger and hostility could cast long shadows and demand a heavy price even from the innocent. Then he dismissed the crowd, and guests all dispersed various ways, talking eagerly between themselves. Only Crabanor made no move; he stood alone and forlorn, as if turned into stone.
For the first time, Éomer almost pitied the lad. His life from now on, who knew for how long, would not be enviable. But Crabanor had brought it upon himself.
She was also moving away, once more at Aegdir's arm. But she was gazing back at Éomer over her shoulder, again with that same look as before, and once more he felt the painful twinge at it. There was no accusation in her eyes, and perhaps that was what made it so terrible.
When she saw he had spotted her, she quickly turned her head to look away. But he still watched her go, and felt like she was slipping far, far away from him. Was this what it was going to be like?
He felt a hand on his forearm and turned his gaze to see Aragorn, regarding him with some concern.
"Is everything all right?" asked the older man.
"Of course. I was just lost in my thoughts", Éomer grumbled and shook himself. Aragorn looked like he was about to speak, but the Rohir directed a glare at him and said, "Don't ask."
"Very well", his friend conceded. "But I think you're making a mistake."
Éomer did not answer.
After the young lord from Lebennin had made his apologies and the crowd had dispersed, it was soon the time to go and get changed for dinner. Now that additional guests had arrived and it wasn't just family and friends anymore, she needed to appear in a more formal dress and make more effort with her hair – all of which also required more time and help from her maid. Even with the fuss it meant, Lothíriel was glad, as it gave her a moment for herself and a chance to reflect.
She thought of King Elessar's announcement and Lord Crabanor's apologies – but mostly her mind lingered with King Éomer. What had he made of it all? She desperately wanted to know his thoughts, but she didn't know how to ask. All she had were her own observations.
Back in the entrance hall, he had stood tall and stern next to King Elessar, but something about his eyes made her feel that his mind was not fully in it. She wondered about it for a while, but then she was reminded of something she had thought of earlier and realised: Crabanor had no real fight in him and as such, his insults made no difference to King Éomer. A man who had so thoroughly shown his mettle could only be uninterested at the face of petty scorn. He made this appearance because it was his throne that demanded satisfaction, not himself. Even so, when he spoke and stared at the young lord, there was no doubt that he would have that satisfaction, or there would be trouble.
But there was also that moment when she had felt his eyes on her... she had felt it, somehow; maybe because she couldn't help but want his attention, no matter what. And so against her better judgement she had looked up to meet his gaze. It was deeply confusing. He had watched her with something she could only call longing, and underneath it lay that loneliness which she had perceived when they spoke by the river. What was holding him back? Why wouldn't he come to her when he knew that here was a place reserved just for him?
She couldn't bear it, and so she lowered her eyes, gritting her teeth against the sob that had pushed its way up her throat almost without her notice. Elbereth, how was she going to make it through this visit? Each time she saw him, it felt more difficult.
Even now, as she thought back on it, the memory made her throat tight. Her maid cast her a narrow look through the looking glass, but Lothíriel avoided it. She focused on going through her little travelling box of jewellery to choose the pieces she would wear tonight. But even as her hands worked, her mind had its own occupation.
Only this morning, she had considered – seriously considered – saying yes to Lord Aegdir. But now she felt conflicted. She was no longer so certain that King Éomer had changed his mind. Well, maybe he had, but not about her. Try as he might, he couldn't hide that he did feel for her. How to find out the truth? She could wait for what Éowyn had to say, or she could go straight to the man himself and demand an answer. Either way, she couldn't accept Aegdir's proposal in good conscience before she knew why King Éomer had at one moment seemed ready to ask for her hand, and then pulled away as if there was nothing between them.
Although, this roused another question: what would duty ask of her? Accept Aegdir anyway, no matter what King Éomer was keeping from her? The more she thought of it, the more confused she became, until she didn't know anymore what she was supposed to do. Lothíriel was sure that if she asked for advice, everyone would give her a different answer. Hadn't Amrothos said something about how duty could be a funny thing? Well, she wasn't laughing.
Thanks to these anxious musings, her head was already pounding by the time she got downstairs. She was a little bit worried of how she'd get through tonight – how to keep smiling and hiding what she really thought and felt. With sudden longing, she recalled that uncomplicated hour by the river and the golden-haired man next to her. How painful were some of the things they had shared, and yet how good and easy it had felt to be seen and heard. To say things as she meant and felt them, and be accepted – and to do the same for him. Only now she was starting to understand how rare it was, at least in a life like hers.
The whole party was just about able to fit in the dining hall, although a second table had been set there in addition. It was filled nearly to the last seat – which was empty, because Lord Crabanor had not come down since his public apology. Tonight, Aegdir was not sitting next to Lothíriel, for the seats had been designated beforehand and hers was between Éowyn herself and an elderly lord who kept calling her Lady Finduilas. He looked terribly confused every time she gently reminded him that she was Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil.
Of course, she had to check where he was seated. He was on the other side of the table to the right, so far from her that there wasn't a chance they would be interacting during dinner, but she already knew it wasn't going to prevent her from stealing an involuntary glance of him every now and then, as if a part of her was bent on self-torture. Faramir sat next to him, but on his other side was the dowager lady of Pelargir. The haven city was one of the three jewels of Gondor, the other two being Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth, although it was also the one that had suffered most, thanks to constant raids by Corsairs of Umbar. But Pelargir was very old and strong in the days of its prosperity, and even in current ruin, it was still an important city, making its ruling family one of the most prominent in the realm. The dowager was at least twenty years King Éomer's senior, but she still gave him starry-eyed looks as if she were one of his admirers.
Having made these observations about seating arrangements, Lothíriel gave a glance around herself. She had seen her share of court dinners in Dol Amroth, even hosted a couple of them, and to her eye Éowyn and her servants had outdone themselves. The glow of candles filled the hall with soft light and a gentle breeze from the garden kept the temperature mild and pleasant. Flowers had been brought from the garden and arranged around candles in small bundles and vines. Servants moved in and out, serving food and drinks with the ease and grace of practised dancers. Even the most critical of guests had to be impressed with the efforts of "that wild Shieldmaiden".
The White Lady addressed her neighbour as soon as the first course was served. Holding her glass of white wine in her hand, Éowyn turned to look at Lothíriel.
"I wanted to tell you earlier, but there wasn't really a chance before now – I am glad you were not hurt earlier today, what with that nonsense on the road. It could have turned out very badly. I hope you're not feeling too upset over it", she said straightforwardly, reminding Lothíriel very much of her brother. The observation was not painless.
"Thank you for asking, but I'm not at all upset. If anything, I regret I was not able to restrain my companions. I should have said something to them, since I could see from the start they were not acting as riders should", Lothíriel said and looked down.
"That is an admirable sentiment, but I don't think it was your duty. Those two lads aren't even your friends. Someone closer to them ought to have checked them", Éowyn said and from the corner of her eye, Lothíriel saw her casting a critical look at where Aegdir sat next to Elphir. The two were in quiet conversation and didn't notice they were being observed.
"Well, I hope they know better now", Lothíriel said carefully. She swallowed and though she sensed it was a foolish thing to say, she opened her mouth anyway, "Your lord brother... I'm sorry that he had to suffer such insolence."
Éowyn shrugged.
"Don't worry about him. He has thicker skin than you know and he can take it. To tell you the truth, I thought he shouldn't pay any attention to that boy, at least not there. He should have waited until we got back to the house. But my brother can be impatient and he has a low tolerance for bad handling of horses, so it is not that I don't understand him", she said and set down her glass.
"Speaking of him... have you had a chance to talk to your brother? About... about what I asked?" Lothíriel spoke, feeling once more that choking sense in her throat. She still held her fork and knife in hand, but suddenly had no appetite.
She felt Éowyn's eyes on herself.
"I did speak to him. But the problem is, Lothíriel, I'm not at liberty to answer your question as I would like to", she said slowly.
Her words made Lothíriel look up sharply.
"Why not? Has he forbidden you from talking?"
Éowyn was frowning.
"I wish I could explain, I truly do. But the matter is complicated, more so than I expected", she said and looked unhappy. "However, I think this much I am free to say to you: my brother would rather throw himself off a cliff than purposefully hurt you."
Lothíriel stared at her friend. What could possess a man to rather do harm to himself than hurt a lady's feelings, yet still be ready to reject her?
"I don't understand."
The White Lady put a gentle hand on her forearm.
"I know. I'm sorry I cannot be of more help. Believe me when I say that it is very frustrating for me as well", she uttered and then reached for her glass again. She took a small sip and cast an odd little smile at her and continued, "But I don't think you'll be satisfied with that. If I were you, I would want to know the truth, and not give in before I got it."
Lothíriel sat in silence for a while, her mind racing. So the King had forbidden his sister from telling her whatever it was that had come in between. What could possibly make him do that, if he felt the same as she did? She frowned to herself and barely noticed when her plate was switched before her and the second course was presented.
She knew what Éowyn was doing: her friend was prodding her to take the matter into her own hands. Perhaps Lothíriel should never have expected anything else from this woman who, in fact, had redefined the very meaning of that expression.
"Are you all right?" Éowyn asked her gently.
"I'm fine. It's just been a long day", said Lothíriel and conjured a small smile on her face. Despite everything, Éowyn's words had restored her hope a little bit. It was not yet the time to give in. Knowing that the King was not avoiding her because of something she had done, she felt more confident about facing him and demanding a straight answer. People said he could be stubborn, but so could she, if she had a good reason for it. And now she certainly did.
At the end of the dinner, she felt ready to retire. The day had been eventful both in literal and in emotional sense, and she felt mentally quite exhausted. She decided she would pursue this puzzle tomorrow. Perhaps she'd seek out King Éomer himself and demand him to tell her what was the matter. After the ups and downs of today, she did not feel like she could calmly carry out such a conversation; she was certain that the sheer emotional build-up would make her cry. Once she had rested and felt calmer and steadier, it would be easier to confront him.
Naturally, Aegdir attached himself to her as soon as the dinner was over. He wanted to take a stroll in the garden with her, and she agreed to a short and quick walk; perhaps some fresh air would also clear her head. From the corner of her eye, she watched as King Éomer and King Elessar, surrounded by friends and many eager petitioners, slowly made their way out of the dining hall. She suppressed her sigh and allowed Aegdir to lead her outside.
Garden was a popular spot for few of the other guests as well, so the walk was not quite as brief as she may have hoped. But once they had got some distance (and privacy), the young lord spoke to her.
"It's been quite a day. I don't know about you, but I would prefer a little less excitement at this party", he commented. Her mind was far off, and at first she almost didn't understand what he was saying. But Lothíriel shook herself and managed to show him a small smile.
"Indeed. But I'm glad no one was hurt today, and King Éomer was very gracious in accepting the apology", she said in low tones.
Only a faintest little wrinkle appeared on Aegdir's face, and it was quick to vanish.
"It is surprising. I had expected a much worse reaction. They say he is a proud and temperamental man, and truly appalling against those who have insulted him. I wouldn't be surprised if he had demanded satisfaction by a duel, or some other savage manner", Aegdir said, as if telling her some grave news.
She lowered her gaze. If Aegdir expected a keen reaction from her, he wasn't going to get it.
"I think people do not know King Éomer even half as well as they believe", Lothíriel said simply.
Aegdir fell silent, seemingly realising that his approach to the issue was quite wrong, at least if he hoped for her to agree with him.
"Well, I suppose he was right to be angry. I admit that I am as well, although in good part it's at my own foolishness. I should not have asked you to come riding with us, my lady – not when I knew my friends are not worthy riders", he said at length.
"It was an honest mistake. You didn't know they were going to behave in such away, or that the King and his sister would be out riding at the same time", said Lothíriel. It didn't cost her anything to be graceful, and seeing how the Lord of Rohan had risen above the petty nonsense, she didn't think she had any reason to be rancorous.
"Thank you, my lady. I admire your kindness more than you know. Not all would be so calm and benign after being exposed to a dangerous situation", he told her, but now she got the feeling he was trying to win her favour by flattery. The pounding inside her head grew a little more intense.
"Well, I find it is not worth my while to be resentful over such things", she said, trying to be dismissive enough to discourage further adulation. She wondered, how soon could they return inside?
Perhaps he saw that her mind was elsewhere, and decided to engage her in a different fashion.
"My lady, I don't mean to push you, and I know you still need some time to consider your answer. But after the ball, we shall be staying here in Ithilien only a couple days more. I won't deny it would be easier to go home, if I had some inkling of your thoughts", he said in a low, serious voice.
Lothíriel gazed ahead, thinking of what to tell him. She understood his need to know, as well as his desire to go on with his life. He couldn't make plans as long as he didn't know whether she was going to be a part of that future or not. And here she was, unable to say yes to him because she couldn't stop thinking of another man.
"I know, my lord. I wish I could tell you already, but I need more time. It is a very grave decision, and I've known you only a few day", she said at length, though she felt it was not the right thing to say.
It filled her with such guilt. She was effectively leading Aegdir on, giving him hope that she wasn't sure she could or should give to him. Would it be kinder to refuse him now? What then, if she did? Would Father be angry, and what if it were a serious mistake? But she had known Aegdir for such a short while, so rejection was not necessarily an act of kindness, but impulsive and impatient. Just like the idea of confronting King Éomer tonight, she felt like this too was something she could not do tonight. Even now, her sense of duty loomed tall over her, but it had become strange and shapeless, ever-present but incomprehensible.
She felt like she couldn't breathe. What was the right thing to do? She no longer knew the answer, and that scared her more than she had realised.
Aegdir saw her distress and put a hand on her shoulder.
"My lady, are you all right?" he asked her in concern.
Momentarily, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Somehow, the air made its way past the lump in her throat. Elbereth, not once during the war had her nerves been this fragile, although the pressure had been much, much worse. She felt embarrassed and foolish, to have let all this impact herself so deeply. It was all so new, and she had never felt such conflict between herself and her duty, or indeed been so uncertain of what it was. And her Father – it killed her to think that she might disappoint him.
"I am simply very tired. It has been a long day", she answered and managed to smile.
"Of course. I shouldn't have asked you to walk with me – you should go and get some rest, my lady. Let me escort you back inside", he offered gallantly. Lothíriel quietly accepted, feeling too weary to try to be pleasing and proper. And it was nice that he paid heed to her well-being.
Once they were standing before the doors that lead inside the light-filled rooms of the manor house, she turned to look at Aegdir one more time.
"I am sorry for keeping you waiting. I promise to consider your offer very seriously. Can you be patient with me, my lord?" she asked him softly.
He bowed and took her hand in his own, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. Flashes of memory went through her mind – soft mouth lingering against her fingers, the gentle brush of his beard, and bolts of electricity that shot through her arm – and she trembled. Aegdir smiled at her, misinterpreting the cause of her shaking.
"Absolutely. Take all the time you need", he reassured her. Then he bid her good night.
Lothíriel exchanged a couple of words with Éowyn before she climbed upstairs. Her feet were heavy as she dragged them and her head felt dazed. It was no state to be thinking of anything, least of all choices that would determine the course of her future. Hopefully, sleep would clear her head and bring some clarity. And she might talk to her father and ask for his advice. Surely he would be able to help her to put everything back in perspective: right now, she felt like she was stuck inside her own head, and falling deeper into confusion.
Her maid came and went, helping her out of the complicated evening dress. Eager for some solitude, Lothíriel dismissed the girl and sat down by the window to brush her hair – she might have let the maid do it, and she'd probably nod off soon enough, but she felt like she needed this moment to just be alone before drifting off to sleep. This whole day she had not been able to get away from other people, or their expectations and hopes.
The night was fairly warm so she opened the window to let a gentle breeze in. Laughter and distant voices came from downstairs, but her mind was so far away that the sounds merely became a remote buzz. Soon enough her eyelids started to become almost too heavy to keep open and she began to get up and close the window.
It was then she heard the singing from below. A slow smile spread across her face: Aegdir was singing the sea captain's song again. She sat down to listen to him. He must have realised that she needed some cheering up, and had stayed outside to serenade her. How very thoughtful of him. She reminded herself that this young man did have good qualities that she could appreciate, and perhaps her conflicted feelings were just confusion before a new situation.
Lothíriel leant closer to the window to try and see him, but his figure was not there under the light of lamps that spread a gentle glow in the garden. Yet his voice was so close that he must be very near her window, almost directly below it. And looking down, she spotted the unmistakable figure of the King of Rohan there, half in shadow, but the light of lamps hit his golden hair. He was her singer. And once she understood that, it seemed completely obvious that it would have to be him.
The song ended abruptly, and then she heard hushed voices, speaking so low that she couldn't hear what it was about and who had interrupted the King of Rohan. But this was not Lothíriel's main concern. She sat still and quiet, staring with wide, dry eyes into the night.
Aegdir had lied to her.
By dinnertime, Éomer already felt quite drained. He hadn't slept much or well last night, even though the strain of the orc hunt had left him with a need for rest. But it was no wonder that sleep wouldn't come after his conversation with Imrahil.
So he had felt tired already in the morning, and the various aggravating events of the day added to his general sense of dismay and dissatisfaction. But he did not want to glower over Éowyn and Faramir's party like some sort of a thundercloud, so he tried to mask his mood and join the merriment of his friends. He emptied his glass of wine a bit more often than he should have, though.
She didn't make it particularly easy for him. Éowyn had seated the lady next to herself, too far to for conversation, but all too close for his admiring eyes. She was painfully lovely tonight, wearing a gown that was simple and elegant, but also a little bit bold in how it bared her shoulders. The deep, dark blue shade of the gown brought out her grey eyes. Her shining hair was neatly piled up in a mass of braids, emphasising her neck and her shoulders. As if to purposefully add to this vision, candlelight sat upon her skin like a golden sheen. More than once during the dinner, Éomer found himself fantasising about running his fingers down her neck, burying his face against the spot where it connected with her shoulder, and tracing it with long, lingering kisses. Readily his mind supplied him with the memory of her sweet but subtle smell and the feel of her skin, making his agony and his desire for her complete.
The only reason he wasn't utterly drunk by the time the dinner ended was Faramir and his quiet orders to the servants not to give him any more wine. It was a good thing that he did so, because Éomer knew how much trouble he could have made for his sister and also for himself if he got too drunk and made a scene; after today, he had plenty of material to work on.
Thankfully, the food and iced lemon water which had replaced the drink in his cup, helped him to be somewhat clear-headed once the dinner ended, although he still was more tipsy than was strictly proper. He allowed himself only one look at her – that boy was cornering her again, even though Éomer thought she looked tired – before quietly letting himself be herded out by the general commotion around him and Aragorn.
But he felt tired and dispirited even in the company of friends. It was bewildering when one thought of the many fervent nights of his youth; he might have spent the day fighting and the night drinking, and done it all over again once the sun rose. Maybe he was getting old. The air inside felt hot and stuffy, which sensation wasn't helped by all the wine he had steadily consumed. Laughter and voices sounded too high and loud in his ears and a slow headache was starting to grow behind his eyes. Eventually, Éomer muttered his excuses to Aragorn about feeling tired. It must have been quite convincing, because he was allowed to leave the company by himself, and not even the most starry-eyed admirers at the fringes of the crowd tried to follow him. No doubt it would raise some questions, but he decided he would make up for it tomorrow night at the ball.
Sleep might have done him a lot of good, but he decided to take a walk before going to bed – fresh air would hopefully help to clear his head. So he made his way outside, striding quickly and keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. He hoped it would discourage other guests from trying to join him. Having long legs was at least good for when one wanted to shake off unwanted company.
A few other people were also enjoying the cool evening, but he kept a wide berth to them and stayed away from the wider and more pleasant walks of the still incomplete garden. Air did help a little bit, although his head still ached. He was sure sleep wouldn't avoid him long once he collapsed in bed.
As if by themselves, his feet eventually brought him to a spot where he had stood only a few nights ago – where he had glimpsed her in the window, surrounded in soft light. It felt like much more time had passed since then. He saw a shadow pass in her room, only a vague shape against the drawn curtain. So she had retired as well, but was still up.
He felt the sudden urge to call out to her and just tell her everything, never mind who heard it. The dull glow of too much wine told him it would be a perfectly reasonable idea. But Éomer shook himself. Even he wasn't that reckless.
He couldn't tell her... but he could sing it. This wouldn't be the first time he got drunk and serenaded some maiden he fancied.
And then, as if the idea, silly though it was, stirred something else. He thought of another night not so long ago, sitting at his window and spontaneously joining another's song. Now staring at the manor house and seeing how her window was situated, he realised how close it was to his own. She had been close enough to be his unknown singer. She had to know the song just as her brother Amrothos did, even if his version was mostly not fit for decent ears. But that Amrothos had been able to modify the song so much meant it was very familiar to him – and if it were, then she had to know it, too. After all, it was the tale of a sea captain, and who among mortal kind sang more of the sea than the people of Dol Amroth?
Maybe it was just drunken, wistful thinking. But if there was a chance... it was the only way he could think of to tell her about his feelings without disrespecting Imrahil.
He moved forward so that he was standing almost directly below her window. The song burst from his lips as if by itself, although he only knew the chorus (aside from Amrothos' lyrics). He lifted his face to the light in her mirror, hoping to see her there. Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or was her window slightly ajar? He thought he could see some movement, but it could be merely the play of light and shadow.
Éomer had only just finished the chorus when he heard quick footsteps, and then Éowyn appeared from a shadowy corner.
"Brother! What are you doing?" she hissed.
"Singing, don't you see?" he replied, as if this were a completely normal and acceptable thing to do.
"I see it all too well! What do you suppose Imrahil would say if he knew that you're drunkenly serenading his daughter after expressly promising not to pull your shenanigans on her?" Éowyn asked sharply. There was no good, sensible thing he could tell her – he knew it was a foolish thing to do, but he just missed Lady Lothíriel, and today had been dismal in more than one sense.
"I assume he would not be pleased with me", he muttered and shrugged.
"Oh, Béma. If you really are this smitten with her, you need to stop moping and do something about it! Imrahil is not a fool, and neither is his daughter. I will not watch you pine after her for years upon years just because you were too pig-headed to act when it still mattered, I swear I won't!" she snapped.
He opened his mouth, but as soon as he did, he realised he didn't know what to tell her. How could Éowyn understand this? Of course it would seem that simple to her, that he just needed to go and toss the lady across his saddle and be done with it. She had defied all expectations placed on her and broken free of duty in a way he never could. She was the younger sibling and the second in line; only now Éomer could see how completely different, and how very much easier it was to be in that position. He no longer had that choice. The crown upon his head and the debt he carried on his back even now would never allow him to seize the one person he wanted, like Éowyn had seized her chance with Faramir. And he knew she wouldn't listen to him if he tried to explain that Imrahil was honour-bound just as he was, and Lady Lothíriel... well, he understood now that she deserved to know the truth, but if her father hadn't shared it with her, how could he? It was as if against his better judgement, Imrahil had put her in an impenetrable fortress built of words.
But if she had heard him tonight... it wasn't much, but maybe it was enough to put some doubt in her mind.
"Come along now, brother. I think it's best if you head straight to bed. You look exhausted", Éowyn told him, and since he was simply too tired to put up a fight, he let her grab him by arm and pull after her. At any rate, he knew that tomorrow he was going to be stuck in meetings with Aragorn's nobles for most of the day, so he'd do well to fortify himself for it.
She took him through the kitchen orchard and then to the servants' entrance around the corner; he didn't mind this sneaking around, because it was his sister's house, and anyway he did not feel like dealing with any more people tonight, which would be unavoidable if he went back inside the same way as he had come. Deftly she smuggled him through the kitchen, where servants were finishing up after dinner, but if they thought anything of the two Rohirrim passing by, they didn't show it.
Éowyn lead him upstairs via servants' corridor and stairs. Once they were at his door, he asked her to give his excuses to Aragorn. Then she hugged him tight and bid him good night.
Quietly he stepped into his room, and without bothering to light up any candles, he undressed in the dark. His bones felt heavy as lead, but it was more of a mental weight than physical one. Either way, when he collapsed in his bed, he was asleep in less than minutes.
His last thought before passing out was of the lady in the window and the memory of her sweet voice joining his own in song.
To be continued.
A/N: Here's an update! I hope you all like it.
I actually did not expect both Éomer and Lothíriel to be so disspirited in this chapter, but the story kept leaning that way, and in the end I couldn't help it. I also thought it nicely mirrors their thoughts and hopefully shows how similar their feelings are in this situation. However, maybe his singing underneath her window has now started something unexpected...
I expect this week has been shocking and difficult for you as well as it has been for me. I wish I could offer comforting words in this terrible time. It's as if this pandemic hasn't tried us all enough. If you are able, you may want to consider donating to Red Cross or Unicef, or other such organisations that are trustworthy. In the meantime, it's important not to tout our own opinions or listen to propaganda, but to uplift the voices of the innocents and those who fight and defend and protest and work to ease the pain of others. Now is a time to stand united.
I am reminded of the passage in The Return of the King: "There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach."
Stay safe out there! In these times, kindness is a radical action.
Thank you for reading and reviewing!
Katia0203 - I would say in Imrahil's view, it's impossible to do that. He has already made one promise to Aegdir, and told Lothíriel one thing. He probably feels like he would only be confusing her if he talked to her about Éomer - especially since at that moment, he thinks Éomer's interest is purely one-sided.
EStrunk - It was difficult to write as well! I thought it would be reasonable that in such a moment, Lothíriel would seriously consider saying yes - but she would not, not so soon. I also think it would be a cheap move to make Aegdir simply a "bad guy".
Hobbitpony1 - Thank you! I would assume it's easier for her to talk to Éowyn about it.
Rho67 - I don't think there's any possible circumstances where he doesn't tell her the truth! Like you rightly observed, it shows the closeness of their relationship (and also how she comes up with a way to influence Lothíriel).
I think it's reasonable to write Éomer and Éowyn as impatient, and I try to reflect that in certain ways. But I also believe they are smart people, who are capable of being patient and careful when it matters. After all, they were raised by Théoden in Meduseld.
nightowl4289 - Thank you for your lovely comment! I'm gelighted to hear this story caught your attention, especially in the case you don't normally read about Rohirrim.
I imagine a hobbit would be immensely helpful, but I also assume Éomer's own actions (and Éowyn's prodding) may have been useful as well!
Evermore22 - Thank you! Éomer may be feeling a little bit disspirited, but he's definitely not beaten down yet!
A Dream of Fantasy - Thank you! :)
silverswath - That would have been an interesting circumstances! But the reveal by singing came a little bit differently. ;)
sailor68 - Indeed, he might have ignored it if not for the poor horse!
Megingjoro - I was wondering whether or not to be too obvious with his name, but since he's not going to be a recurring one... oh well! ;)
Maiaelle - Thank you! I'm not a native English speaker, so don't worry about mistakes! I'm just glad you commented the story. 3
Also I'm so happy to hear the story is so evocative for you!
Jo - Thanks! I think Éomer might just have lost it if she had got hurt.
Simplegurl4u - Things must get difficult before they can get easier! Like you said, it's more fun this way.
Hannibal Lectrice - Thank you for your comments! I can understand if writing is difficult - I myself am not a native English speaker - but I'm so glad you made the effort 3
JennyVDM - Sorry, not sorry? :D I can't help but enjoy it! Anyway, we'll see how it goes!
Cricket22 - What a lovely comment you wrote!
Éowyn helps as she can! I think it's interesting to write her (and others) interest in the issue of Éothiriel, but I think it's difficult for them to act. Anyway, I think Imrahil probably has more and more reason to question his stances.
Hope you liked this chapter and how Éomer's POV was handled! And yes - she did pack a gorgeous dress! ;)
Wondereye - There's no easy way others can help the situation.
It may not be as difficult as one might expect!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thanks!