Chapter 23
They spent most of the day out of the city, and neither were eager to get back. It was easier not to think of Beornric's news, and the start of the campaign, out in the free air. Racing their horses, exploring the wide fields, taking lunch at some sunny spot: it was impossible not to feel content, even with the knowledge that this brief time of freedom was running out. But as the afternoon was passing, dark clouds began to gather and Éomer reluctantly suggested they head back. Lothíriel agreed and so they let their horses gallop over the fields, each lost in their thoughts. They just barely got into the stables before the rain and wind began.
Éomer used his cloak to shield her from the rain as they rushed through the Citadel, for Rohirric wool was more resistant to water than her lighter summer mantle, and she pressed against his side and supported herself by wrapping her arm around his waist. It was warm there, with his arm and the cloak around her, and his familiar masculine smell made her a little bit light-headed.
Once they reached their rooms again, he ordered hot water for bathing. It arrived soon enough, but there was only enough for one bath – apparently it was expected they would share, and needed no body servants for the washing. Lothíriel felt a little awkward, but Éomer quickly told her to bathe first. He didn't meet her eyes, though.
Usually, a hot bath was a pleasure she enjoyed very much, especially in times when it was almost the only moment in the day that she could relax and be alone with her own thoughts. But now as her mind quieted, the anxiety of this morning came back. She was almost afraid to examine the feelings that Erchirion and Amrothos' actions had caused to her. So Lothíriel washed quickly, dressed in a fresh shift and a robe, and returned to their bedchambers.
Éomer, seated on the edge of the bed, cast her a faint smile.
"Done already?" he asked.
"You should be glad I left you some warm water", she told him, making him chuckle. But he also gave her an intense look, and she felt heat rush up her neck; she was sure they were both thinking of the same thing, which of course was sharing a bath in a different and more intimate way, as lovers might. Perhaps some time in the future.
But however awkward it felt in those moments as he clumsily kissed her temple and made his way to the bathing chamber, it was still preferable to the uneasy feelings that returned as soon as she was seated and brushing her hair.
How could her brother be so thoughtless and selfish? He had promised her he would not make more trouble. And she had trusted him to keep his word, because she was his only sister and this was the least she deserved. Angrily, she thought he would never have broken his word if she were one of his comrades at arms. Did he think she didn't mind the betrayal? That it was all the same to her? But apparently sisters were worth less, and you paid heed to them only if it were convenient. She pulled the brush harder in her anger and thought of how satisfying it might be, after all, to ask Éomer to deal with her brother as he would deal with any comrade who has broken their word. Maybe then Erchirion would understand how much his actions had hurt her.
She was still brushing her hair and fuming when her husband emerged from the bathing chamber. His skin was aglow and his hands were in his hair, combing his fingers through the damp mass. There was that unconscious smoothness again, the ease with which he lived in his body. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't appear to notice her watching him as he made way to where his own comb was laid next to the washing basin. He pulled it through his thick, long hair, already drying and regaining the deep burnished glow of gold.
Her heart ached. Tomorrow, they would ride for Emyn Arnen, and then he would go to war. How soon would she see him again?
It was all so much, and everything was tumbling in her head: the arrow piercing her skin, Erchirion's unsmiling face in the crowd at the wedding feast, her first sight of Éomer as he rode into the courtyard of Faramir and Éowyn's home, clamour and shouts in the woods, soldiers marching, Aegdir's hand closing around her wrist, her disbelief when she had touched her shoulder and felt blood on her fingers, Hild and Ceolmund's keen eyes watching and measuring her, couples dancing and twirling ever faster and a voice singing underneath her window…
She let the brush drop from her hand and with a few quick steps, she was next to Éomer. In something that bordered desperation, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself against his broad, warm back. Only then the noise inside her head did quiet down. Perhaps it was because he made her feel safe, and she knew he was the one person who would never let her down.
Lothíriel could feel a shiver going through him. He turned around abruptly, still in her arms. But whatever he meant to say did not come out, because she tiptoed to kiss him. It was clumsy, and the way she pressed herself closer to his body was not perhaps not as sensual as she had intended, but it seemed to have the hoped effect. He made a low, deep sound in his throat and started to kiss her back. And the noise was gone, and instead there was him, the smell of his skin still flushed from the bath, the soft texture over hard muscle, his beard rubbing against her chin in a curiously intense way, his wickedly skilful mouth... she started to lose herself in it, but maybe he felt something in her fumbling responses or he just knew her that well, because suddenly he pulled back and gave her a penetrating look.
"You're still upset", he observed quietly. "Are you trying to seduce me because you want to feel something else?"
Of course he knew. He could see this about her even when she didn't want to admit it.
"I... it's our last night together before the campaign. I don't want to spend it feeling wretched", she said. The heat of the kiss was fading fast.
"I know", he said and brushed his thumb gently across her cheek. "But I wonder if it's the right time. You didn't feel ready the other night. Do you think you would, if not for the news we got today?"
He was right, of course. But why did he have to be so careful and patient about it? Deep down, she knew she would appreciate it later, but at this time she felt simply frustrated and reckless. And it was scary, because she didn't feel quite like she was in control of it. So much had happened to her in such a short span of time, things she had never imagined or expected. Who was she after all these events? Was it a wonder that she felt untethered and uncertain?
And perhaps Éomer saw something of this storm in her eyes. Gently he put his arms around her and pulled her close, as though he could hold her together.
It made her feel a little bit better. No matter what happened, he was a constant she could rely on, and he would catch her if she fell. But she had to be that for him, too. He was going to war and if he thought she was not all right, how could he possibly focus on doing his duty?
"I'm sorry about this all. I never thought my family would be so difficult", she said.
"It's fine. Families are complicated. I should know", he replied, smiling wryly.
"So we wait for the time being?" she asked him carefully.
"As much as I'd like to go forward, maybe the time is not right. Remember, only a week ago you had no idea that in a short while we would be here. I think... it will be better, and feel more special, once we've had time to be together freely and without obligations. I don't want to rush something that would normally have taken months, maybe even a whole year", he said slowly.
"You want it to feel special?" Lothíriel asked with some surprise.
Again he gave her a crooked smile.
"Do you think it shouldn't be?"
"No, that's not what I meant. It's just... the things one hears... I mean, I didn't realise men thought that way", she said, blushing.
"Some men don't, and... well, I would be lying if I said I haven't been like that, sometimes. But this time it's different. And it damn well should be, I think, because you are my wife and I love you. This thing between us, it's precious to me. It's pure in a way that not a lot of things in my life have been. I don't want to taint it, or treat it as something to get over with as quickly as possible. And you see, this is a first time for me as well, though in a different way. I've never been with someone I loved and wanted to share my life with, and because of that I think it may feel like... like something else. I want it to feel that way for you, too. Maybe, if this was simply a marriage of convenience, my feelings would be different, and I wouldn't care so much. But it's not, and I refuse to give up something that belongs only to you and me."
His voice was low and even as he spoke, without a trace of uncertainty or timidness. Such frankness still surprised her at times. But perhaps it was not really surprise that she felt at his confession. In fact, the emotion that swelled in her breast was almost too great to have a name.
Now her eyes began to sting, her throat tighten. These words were a treasure, even knowing Éomer was someone who felt deeply and strongly, and was not afraid to show it. It was true she did not perhaps know that much about men, but even so, she had never really understood that they could and did cherish intimacy with their loved one, not see it merely as sport or a duty.
"It's precious to me, too", she said softly, her voice trembling. "But you must know that I would do anything for you. If you want to…"
"Don't say that. Don't ever think you must do something for me at the expense of your own well-being."
"Even if it's for Rohan?"
He hesitated, and then asked, "What is good for Rohan? That you do something for me under pressure, or that my queen is happy and well?"
"But you're going to war, and if something happens to you…"
She couldn't finish the sentence. The idea was unthinkable. How could she survive such a thing?
"I will be well protected. Aragorn himself will stand with me, and Faramir too. My own Knights are experienced warriors, well prepared to meet anything that a rabble of orcs may throw at us. Believe me, love, I've faced worse things and I have no doubt that all will go well", he reassured her.
Lothíriel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She needed to calm down and get her racing thoughts under control. Indeed, it was their last night together, and him having to soothe and console her was not the way she wanted to spend it. Rather, she wished to give him sweet memories to hold on to in coming days, something to keep him fiercely bound to life. So that no matter what happened, he'd find his way back to her.
She looked at him again and was able to smile. Then putting her arms around his neck, she said, "I need you not to worry about me once you take your leave. I will be all right; Éowyn and your aunt Hild will be there for me. And you must promise to me you will be careful out there. Don't do anything reckless, like run off into the woods with just Éothain to watch over you."
This made him snort softly, although she could see him relaxing a little bit.
"No worries, love. I go off running only after you."
She brushed her fingers gently against the skin of his neck.
"You don't have to, darling. I'm right here", she told him softly. "I will be waiting for you, no matter how long it takes. And I... I will be ready soon."
Her husband let out a soft gasp, and then he pulled her tight against himself, almost rough in the sudden rush of emotion.
"I'll come back to you, always. I promise.Ic behate."
"I know", she whispered, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. Heart aching, she wondered if it would always feel like this to send him on his way – and how she would be able to bear it. But bear it she must, and see him off with a smile on her face.
Lothíriel looked up. They still had this night and she wanted it to be a sweet memory for herself just as much for him. So she decided to ask something that maybe would push away bitter thoughts.
"About me seducing you... I was wondering... was it working?"
He stared back, his expression as much an answer as his words.
"All too well, dear heart. All too well."
That final night passed all too soon, and morning came. Éomer slept only a little and fitfully, but it gave him a chance to think and to drink in the presence of his lady. She did not seem to have such trouble as him; one arm flung across his chest and her head resting against his shoulder, it felt almost as if they had shared a bed for much longer than just a few nights. But soon enough he'd be sleeping alone again, and chances of spending nights with her would probably be few and far in between.
His heart ached. She had been his wife for only a few days and yet it already felt so comfortable to him that being parted seemed unnatural. Would she be all right? What if something happened? Béma, had it been in some way feasible, and had he known for certain he could ensure her safety and comfort, he might have tried to persuade her to come with him. But that was, of course, utterly foolish: he could not take her into the chaos of battlefields, make her trudge in the mud of war camps, or spend chilly nights in draughty tents as winter loomed closer and closer. He would have to rein in his impatience and anxiety.
His mood was not the contentment of a newly married man and she too was quiet and sombre as they got up the next morning and shared breakfast. And it was not just the expectation of being parted soon, but also the unpleasant task of talking to her brother. It was unpleasant for him indeed, but he could only imagine how it felt like to Lothíriel.
They were just finishing breakfast when one of the Knights entered, announcing that her father and brother were waiting outside. Éomer bid them to wait for a few minutes more while he and Lothíriel got ready. But once they were both ready, they shared a quiet glance. She gave him a tiny nod, and Éomer gave orders to let the other Amrothians inside. Next to him, Lothíriel shifted and she almost seemed to become a different woman: she stood taller, her form taut and forbidding, and the grey of her eyes was like an ice storm in the sea. There was not even a hint of warmth or gentleness about her features and he turned his gaze away; seeing her like that was in a way disturbing. The Queen's jewels glittered around her neck, as hard as her look.
Imrahil came with his errant son. His expression was tense and tight and his eyes quite like Lothíriel's; there was a brief softening when he greeted his daughter and her husband, but as soon as he glanced at Erchirion, that same look returned. The young lord stood with his head bowed, staring at the floor as if praying for the ground to open and swallow him whole.
Hild came too. She nodded quietly at her nephew and took a seat by the window, where she could observe the scene – and decide if the apology was satisfactory. Éomer was quietly relieved that she was the one Lord Dunstan and Ceolmund had sent as their representative. She could be as prickly as Ceolmund, but had more tact, and would not make the situation any worse than it already was.
It was Lothíriel who spoke.
"I have been told of your outburst on the night of the wedding, brother. It shocked me very deeply, considering you had given me your word that you would not cause me any further trouble. I don't wish to hear any excuses or explanations. I think I have been very patient and understanding with you, brother, and yet you could not do me even the smallest courtesy of honouring my wishes. You have humiliated and shamed me, and this would be one thing, but in doing so you have also insulted my husband the King of Rohan. He has been a steady friend for our family, and yet this is how you treat him time and again. Your self-righteous anger has already compromised us and I am certain there are now some who wonder if the friendship between Gondor and Rohan is what it used to be. And yet you remain more fortunate than you seem to realise. My lord husband's advisers might have demanded heavier reparations than just my marriage to the man I already love and admire – but even then, the consequences of these events are carried not by you, but others. Do you think our father takes pleasure in having to make apologies and humbling himself? Or do you believe that Éomer and I wanted to get married like this, hurriedly and not on our own terms? This might have been avoided, if not for your blunders", she said, eyes fixed on Erchirion. Her voice was sharp and biting, but also dangerously calm. In some ways Éomer was reminded of a wise matron scolding an unruly child. He glanced at Hild and saw his aunt smile slightly. As for Erchirion, every word from his sister's mouth seemed to bend him a little further, and for a tall man of Westernesse he looked very small indeed.
Silence followed Lothíriel's words. Éomer could see Erchirion clenching his teeth in a way that could only border on painful, his jaw working as if in an attempt to swallow some bitter medicine. His father remained silent, silently refusing to let him off easily.
"You are right, of course. All that you say is nothing but the truth, and I will not insult you or anyone else in the room by trying to deny it. I will not try to explain or excuse myself. Only thing that I can say is how sorry I am for causing you all this trouble, sister – and for letting you down. I was not in my right mind. I know the hurt and disappointment I've caused you are not something that can be easily amended. You are my sister, and I should have done as you asked", he said at last, his voice thin and uneasy.
He seemed to swallow, and then cast a wary look at Éomer.
"My lord, allow me to apologise to you as well. Your patience and grace are beyond anything I deserve, and I know you might have responded differently, if not for the sake of my sister. I have much to make up to you as well. If there are any reparations that you would wish me to make, then name it, and I will do as you command. And if you find it impossible to call me your friend after all this, then I don't blame you. But I swear to you I shall mend my ways, and you will not suffer such insults from me ever again", said Imrahil's second son, and then fell silent. Again he bowed his head.
"A moment, if you please", Éomer said and turned to Lothíriel. Silently, she took his hand and followed him back to their bedchamber. There he quickly described his idea to her and she listened, her face a still mask. Eventually, she nodded, and followed him back to the other room.
Imrahil's look was wary, but Erchirion already looked resigned to his fate. Hild regarded her nephew expectantly.
"Imrahil, have you given thought as to how to deal with your son?" Éomer asked, keeping his voice level.
"I had some ideas, but I'd gladly hear yours."
"There is a need for capable warriors, and your son is one, however he has acted as of late. Clearly, I would not send such a man to diplomatic errands; Béma knows who he might insult next", Éomer said. Normally, he wouldn't be so vindictive in his address, but Erchirion had not earned any courtesy. The jab clearly hit its mark and Erchirion's shoulders shifted, but he endured it in silence.
"I will admit I could use a footman who knows Gondor and is available for information and counsel whenever I need it. My squire will need help, for he is a rather young lad and has not fought in a campaign like this before.. And going to war when winter is nearing means that my steeds will need particular care and attention. A knight trained in Dol Amroth should be able to keep up and he might even learn a thing or two", said Éomer, watching Imrahil's son closely. His head popped up and his eyes widened: whatever he had expected, it was not this.
But Éomer was not in the habit of making gestures when there was an obvious pragmatic solution. This was a job that Erchirion would know was below his capability and station. Serving as a footman would teach him a lesson in humility and the dangers of self-importance, and the young king had plenty of ideas for tasks that would drive the point home. Doubtlessly, his squire would gleefully invent many more unpleasant chores. Even so, doing service to the King of Rohan was not a shameful task even as a penalty: it would not cause damage to the good name of the House of Dol Amroth and Imrahil wouldn't lose his face. It was also a solution that his Knights would approve of, being similarly oriented toward pragmatism. If Erchirion worked hard and committed to the task, he might be able to win back friendships his outbursts had damaged.
"Do you accept this decree, brother?" Lothíriel asked. There was no softening about her voice or her features. Her trust and good grace would not be regained easily. And Erchirion seemed to understand that: there was something deeply unsettled in the look that briefly flashed across his face when he glanced at her. However, the only way he could start to make amends was by complying.
"I do accept", he said, bowing at the royal couple before him. "And if I may say so, I did expect worse."
Éomer smiled wryly.
"You think you will get special treatment because of your father and sister? Abandon that idea right now. Let's see what you think when after a week of rain I get back to camp and both Firefoot and I are covered in mud, and you're expected to clean him and my armour, all the while he tries to bite off your fingers, and then oil all of my gear. We'll talk about what's worse then", he remarked and couldn't help feeling a little bit smug when he saw Erchirion's face fall. And that was far from being the worst chore he could think of spontaneously.
"In that case, I expect to see you here in an hour's time. Best to begin right away, don't you think?"
"I suppose", Erchirion replied, and when his father cleared his throat, he was quick to add, "my lord."
"Good. You are dismissed."
Erchirion did not move at first, but when he felt all eyes on himself, he looked around himself. Understanding dawned on his face and he blushed. Hastily he bowed his way out of the room. Hild watched him go, smiling ever so slightly. She gave her nephew a tiny nod to signal her approval. She would let Dunstan and Ceolmund know that the troublemaker had been taken care of, and was no longer their concern.
Imrahil now turned to look at Éomer with barely concealed admiration.
"I never realised you could be so ruthless. He will be nursing that wound for some time", he said.
The Rohir lifted one brow.
"What did you expect? He upset my wife."
Their departure from the city was preceded by a solemn ceremony in the Citadel, and Queen Arwen sent the company on their way toward Emyn Arnen. They would not be reaching Faramir and Éowyn's home today, what with the supply wagons and Gondorian troops marching on foot, and Lothíriel was quietly thankful for one more night of respite for her and Éomer. It felt strange to leave the White City behind, and know that she would be getting back to the very place where her life had so utterly changed. Would these past two weeks feel like a dream, once Éomer had gone?
Her husband rode up front, side by side with King Elessar. Their heralds rode there too, carrying the royal standards before the company. Lothíriel was close enough to the front that she could occasionally see his figure and the white horsetail helmet gleaming in the sun, and at times his booming laughter carried over the noise of horses and men. In the close vicinity of the two kings also travelled her father and cousin.
Once Éomer had helped her to mount her horse – a loaner from the Rohirric spare steeds – she had been quickly and discreetly surrounded by seven Knights of the royal guard. She immediately realised these were her assigned bodyguards, and even now they rode in formation around her. Lothíriel felt like this was a bit much in the way of protection, considering they hadn't even left the sight of the White City yet, but she held her silence. If it made Éomer feel better, she wasn't going to object. And when Princess Hild had guided her own horse, a beautiful bay mare, next to the young queen, she had decided she could deal with her husband's overprotective gesture.
Her husband's aunt occupied the saddle with grace that stood out even among Rohirrim. Her command of the horse was so subtle that the reins and saddle almost seemed unnecessary. Seeing her skill, Lothíriel recalled what Éomer had told her about this woman's life, and wondered if Hild could indeed have become a Marshal despite her injury. Perhaps similar thoughts passed through the minds of the Knights around them. These fierce-looking men looked to her with unveiled reverence, and appeared not to mind that she spoke to them not like the most accomplished warriors of Rohan, but like her nephew's band of friends.
Lothíriel had hoped Éowyn would join them, but she rode further back, probably to keep some distance between herself and Princess Hild. Before, this estrangement had saddened her, and it still did; but now with her own problems with her brothers, she knew full well it was not her place to try and mend it. How the two women intended to avoid one another in Emyn Arnen, she didn't know.
Somewhere beyond her vision was Amrothos, who was in charge of Father's Swan Knights during the march to Ithilien, and Erchirion was presumably among Éomer's Riders. She wondered what they made of the situation – and if they were already making him feel the consequences of his actions. She hadn't yet spoken to Amrothos, and the youngest of her brother seemed to be avoiding her. That, or this morning he simply had not found a moment to talk to her.
Her husband's idea of punishment was not something she had expected, but she could see the sense in it. Some actual dirty work would take Erchirion down from his high horse in a way that was also useful. It also seemed to satisfy the rest of the Rohirrim, and if politics could be taken care of so neatly, then all the better. It wasn't going to fix her relationship with her brother, and at this time she could not say how and if it could be done. The hurt was still too fresh, and she had other things to worry about for the time being.
"You are quiet, my lady. Is something bothering you?"
Princess Hild's voice roused Lothíriel from her musings. She glanced at the blonde woman riding by her side.
"I was just thinking. Much has happened to me lately", she said. Then, with a tentative smile, she added, "You need not use the titles with me. We are family now, are we not?"
"Indeed. Then I insist that you don't use them either, niece", Hild replied bluntly. Her choice of a word still came as something of a surprise, though it was pleasant. Lothíriel smiled more broadly.
"Still, I won't say that I don't understand you. It has been an interesting week. You are handling it better than I ever expected", Hild continued.
"Your nephew makes it easier than it might have been", said Lothíriel, her eyes shifting again to the form of her husband.
"As he very well should. But I am happy he found someone like you. We've deserved that much in this family, if you don't mind me saying so. For some time I was worried that the rest of the royal council would push him into some arranged marriage that would make both parties unhappy. Béma knows I have no idea of how we would have handled all the misery that might have followed", Hild said looking ahead.
"For my part, I'm relieved it did not turn out that way: I don't know how I would have handled seeing him with somebody else, either. Even so, there was a moment I thought this was not meant to be", Lothíriel admitted softly. A shiver went down her spine as she thought of Aegdir, and where she might be now, had she accepted the young lord's proposal. Her life would certainly be very different.
"Aye, the other young man with an interest in you? My nephew told me about it. Well, I'm glad you sorted it out – and put Éomer against the wall, so to speak. Or that's how it sounded like, the way he described it to me", the blonde woman said, warm amusement in her voice. Lothíriel snorted softly in laughter.
"I wouldn't put it that way, perhaps. But I will admit he had to be pressed somewhat", she said, thinking back to the night of the ball at Éowyn and Faramir's home, and how she had confronted Éomer. The memory of that night still made her shiver in delight.
"Good thing you had the courage to do that. I suspect that not many Gondorian ladies would, although perhaps that is just prejudice. I've spent much of my life around fighting men, so that sometimes I forget there are other kinds of courage. And you would not be here now, if you did not have it"", Hild commented. It made Lothíriel feel a little dazed. To have the acknowledgement of someone regarded as a legendary warrior among her own people was no small thing.
"Thank you for your words", said Lothíriel, looking down and wishing away the heat that had risen to her cheeks.
"I do not say it just to flatter you, young lady", Hild remarked briskly.
"I was wondering... what do you make of my brother's recent actions? Do you approve of your nephew's solution?" Lothíriel asked then to direct the attention away from herself.
"It's a sorry business, but young men can be hideously thoughtless. I should know, I've dealt with enough of them. But still, a member of the House of Dol Amroth has cause for pride, so I can't say that I don't understand it", the Princess replied wryly. "But I think it's sensible and practical, and I expect Éomer knows your brother well enough to mete the penalty to an appropriate degree. Honest work and getting one's hands dirty usually does wonders to one's vanity and arrogance, if you don't mind me saying so."
Lothíriel let out a small laugh, although behind it, she felt the pain of her brother's thoughtlessness.
"I don't mind", she replied, and the two women rode forward in a companionable silence.
Camp was made when evening came, and somehow Éomer found time to make sure that his wife was comfortable, although she felt out of place in the middle of what was clearly a war party. Hild and Éowyn both seemed to know what to do, but Lothíriel felt she was constantly in the way and was quietly glad that she could stay at Emyn Arnen, where she might even find ways to be useful. So she retired early, although she didn't feel particularly tired. And how could she even think of sleeping, what with all the unfamiliar sounds and smells and sights around her?
But Éomer had still much to do, and was needed with the other commanders, and as she sat in their tent and listened to the sounds of the camp, she began to understand what coming days and weeks would be like. Waiting, endlessly waiting. And she had agreed to it, and could not – would not – complain.
The tent was comfortable enough, with rugs and pelts thrown across the ground and a bed that might get a bit crowded when he joined her, which she tried not to think of too much, and braziers in the corners keeping the space warm against the chill of night. Lothíriel suspected that most of this comfort was for her sake and Éomer would partly discard it when he left Emyn Arnen; for a king, he seemed to care very little about material goods.
Not really knowing what to do with herself in this environment, Lothíriel decided to get ready for bed, though she did not expect to sleep any time soon. But when she was curled up under blankets and furs and had nothing more to do except listen to the sounds of the camp, she suddenly felt very alone, and very far from home. Fear and doubt strangled her throat. What was she even doing in this place? Why had she thought she would be anything except a burden for Éowyn once they got to Emyn Arnen? Surely her sister-in-law knew it too, and had only agreed to let her come, so that her feelings would be spared? Lothíriel swallowed hard. She had known it would be a difficult parting, but it still felt exceedingly bitter. Momentarily she wondered if she could still turn back to Minas Tirith, or Dol Amroth even. But the sheer inconstancy and the cowardice of such a decision instantly made her feel ashamed of even thinking of it. A queen had to be better than that, and Éomer needed his Knights with himself, not traipsing along the countryside and escorting her to wherever her whimsy would take her.
This anxiety did not leave her until Éomer finally came, which felt like quite late, even though she had lost her sense of time and could not say for sure. The sound of his voice as he gave quiet orders to his Knights, in the still unfamiliar but pleasant and rolling Rohirric, reassured her. She did not hear Erchirion's voice among others, and guessed it was because Éomer had told him to keep away for the time being. Then he entered the small sleeping area, which was divided from the rest of the space with hanging curtains, and began to prepare for bed. He was being so careful and quiet that she guessed he expected to be asleep already.
"You're not disturbing me. I'm not asleep", she told him softly, raising her head from the pillow.
"I thought it might be a little uncomfortable for you. We'll get to Emyn Arnen tomorrow, though", he said, kicking off his boots. He glanced around, and then continued, "You keep the bed. I can sleep on the floor."
"Don't even think about it. Get in", said Lothíriel sternly, patting the spot next to herself. What nonsense he was suggesting! They might have agreed to take things slowly, but to assume she would make him sleep anywhere except by her side, where he belonged? Foolish man.
At least he didn't argue. Carefully he got in the bed, and she gave him as much space as she could without falling off herself. But she was not sorry about having to press close to his chest, for he was big and warm and he comforted her by just being there.
Of course she thought of it: this was their last night before the campaign, and she would miss him so much, and it would be easy to let her hands wander. She didn't think it would take much effort to persuade him. Offering herself on the eve of their parting, and sending him to war with one such sweet memory, might be worth it. But the bed was not particularly large – how would it even work with so little space – and then there was a sudden shout in the night, followed by a burst of laughter. She shuddered. No, perhaps a war camp was not the best, or the most romantic circumstances.
He felt her shuddering, and held her a bit tighter.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine", she replied quietly, and he didn't pry when she didn't speak more. But after a few moments of silence had passed, she said, "I feel like I already miss you."
She felt him kissing the top of her head.
"I know the feeling. I wish I could tell you it won't be for very long", he said.
"I'm sure we both shall be too busy to notice the time. Your sister and your aunt will push me to the point where I won't even notice you've been away", she told him, and he made a sound between a chuckle and a growl.
"That won't do. A man does hope that his lady notices his absence", he commented wryly.
"Well", she said, a little bit shaky, "I'm sure there are ways you can make sure I won't soon forget."
Now it was a pure growl that he let out. And then his mouth covered hers, kissing her indeed in such a way that she would be thinking of little else when they were parted. She felt completely mellow in his arms, pliant to anything he might ask – even in the middle of a war camp. But he kept that distance still, and perhaps for the better.
They were closely entangled, breath mingling, hands clasping. So close that the idea of being parted was barely fathomable, and yet tomorrow at this time he would be so far away.
"Yes, I won't be forgetting that. Come back to me safe, and kiss me again."
Éomer quickly noticed something was missing.
Preparing for battle and campaign was second nature to him: he had been doing it since he was but a lad of sixteen, still lanky and awkward and not quite comfortable inside his chain-mail. He recalled how itchy and hot his first helmet, bland compared to the polished and gleaming horsetail helmet he bore now, had felt like. Yet despite the discomfort, going to battle there was always a sort of electricity in the air. Even in the worst of times – even before the Battle of Pelennor fields – he had felt it. Some warriors actually craved it, and the rush of battle to come. He couldn't say he hadn't sometimes felt so, too. However, this time he had barely perceived that familiar thing. It was as if trapped in a dance and going through the motions, but not hearing the music.
But as their company finally rode through the gates of Mundburg, and Aragorn had fallen silent beside him, Éomer understood what was missing. Not the expectation or the electricity, but something inside of himself.
Maybe for the first time in his career as a warrior, he didn't want to go to battle. Rather, he wanted to take his wife and bring her to Rohan. He desired things of peace, not of war. And the thought of all the weeks ahead frustrated him. Perhaps it should not have surprised him. Marrying Lothíriel meant stepping into a new phase in his life, and it was only natural that his priorities had changed.
Glancing at Aragorn, his friend did not seem to harbour similar feelings, although he was leaving his pregnant wife behind. Maybe he was just better at hiding it. But her time would not come any time soon, and he and Arwen had already had many sweet months together. Moreover, his ability to cross truly incredible distances in a short time was legendary: if she needed him, he would be by her side more swiftly than any other mortal man could hope to achieve.
The countryside beyond Mundburg's walls was densely populated by farmsteads and little villages, and many of the locals came to watch the company as they passed by. A few children ran screaming and laughing beside the tall warhorses and soldiers in gleaming mail. Aragorn was met with multitudes of cheers, but Éomer was surprised and pleased when he also heard his own name shouted. In the fast-paced course of his daily life, it was sometimes easy to forget what all the blood and tears amounted to, but seeing this prospering countryside and the happy faces of ordinary folk, who lived now free and remembered his part in making it possible, was heartening.
Doubtlessly, they could have found lodgings among the many homesteads of this land, but it would have caused a fuss and so they made camp by the river, a few leagues from the crossing they would take to Emyn Arnen. Aragorn had sent his people ahead and so most of the structures needed for tonight's camp were already up when the company arrived, and dinner for the two kings' parties was on the way.
But before tending to anything else, Éomer went quickly to his wife, still sitting in the saddle, and helped her down. He searched her face but she did not seem too tired; he had worried that past week's excitement and now travelling was not good for her so soon after the injury.
"Are you well? Do you need anything?" he asked her, trying not to sound too fussy.
But she just smiled and tiptoed to kiss his cheek. He had noticed she did not generally show much physical affection in public. In her standards, this much was probably bordering on scandalous.
"I think I will retire early tonight, but some dinner would be nice", she said, looking around in the busy camp around them. It must seem quite foreign to her, even if her brothers had told her stories about war camps. But he knew his own Knights appreciated her being here. A lady of more fragile constitution would probably have stayed behind to enjoy the comforts of the White City.
"I'll make sure someone brings you dinner. Do you wish for company? I will join you later, but in the meantime, I could ask Éowyn or Aunt Hild to stay with you", he offered
"It's fine. I'm sure they are busy enough already, and I think I could use a moment alone", said his wife.
"Very well. I'll try to come as soon as I can", he said and kissed her brow. Then he gestured to one of his knights to take her to the royal tent, and watched her go. She seemed fine, but still…
But then Éothain approached, hands full of issues and problems that needed his supervision, and Éomer had a sinking feeling that it would not be until much later that he would be able to see Lothíriel again.
His guess was correct. It was several hours later that he was able to retire – unfortunate, as this was indeed the final night he would be spending with her before the campaign. Then it might be weeks before he'd be able to come back to Emyn Arnen. He hated the idea, but it couldn't be helped.
He was still thinking of this when he met his aunt, not far from the royal tent. He had thought she would be abed at this point, but there was nothing weary about her expression. It had to be a nostalgic feeling for her, the bustle and the energy of a war camp: perhaps she was just out here trying to absorb as much as she could. Éomer had once asked his aunt if she still missed the life of a warrior, but she had only replied that that part of her life was long over, and changed the subject. He had not asked the question again.
Hild smiled when she saw her, and he returned it.
"Are you comfortable, aunt? Is there anything you need?" he inquired, but she waved her hand.
"I am perfectly well, nephew. But if you actually wanted to ask why I'm still up at this time, I'm just enjoying the fresh air. As much as I love long rides, it left my bad leg rather stiff. I think it's because of my new saddle. I believed I had it properly broken in, but apparently not", she answered.
"There's a good saddlemaker in Edoras, if you need improvements. I'm sure he would be glad to help you out", he offered.
His aunt hemmed and directed a keen look at him.
"Are you ready for the task ahead?" she asked him softly.
"I think so. It should not be a difficult campaign."
"Yet you look troubled."
"It's not about anything related to the mission. I just hate to be parted from her like this. A man should not leave his wife so soon after their wedding", he said, frowning. What he did not say out loud: She needs me, and I her.
"That is true for a man, maybe, but for a king?" Hild asked. Her question was hard, but her tone was gentle. She knew that he would struggle with this question constantly, because he had chosen to marry for love.
He sighed.
"Even so, I worry for her. She won't complain, she never does, but this recent thing with her brother... I can't shake this feeling, Aunt. I know it could be just my own anxiety and frustration. Yet I would feel better knowing that you are keeping an eye on her. At the very least, make sure she doesn't overwork herself", he said, knowing his face betrayed all that he felt. And Hild's answering look was softer than one might have expected from an old warhorse like her, who had seen more death and hardship than most people. But there was a core of warmth beneath that stern outlook, as he had come to realise. You didn't really see it at this dim hour with only torches and stars for illumination, but her eyes were the familiar grey of Westernesse, a shade that seemed to catch and hold light in them – Morwen Steelsheen's eyes. Sometimes they were weary and sad, and full of memory of things that have passed away. But always there was also a proud spark, a resilience that refused to bend. In moments such as this Éomer could well understand why Hild and Théoden had been so fond of one another, and why their fall out had been so catastrophic.
"I will, sister-son. You should focus on winning the war as soon as possible, so you may come home to your bride."
"Thank you, Aunt Hild", he said, smiling slightly. "In the meantime... please, try to be nice to my sister. You know she does not really hate you."
Hild raised one eyebrow.
"I promise you that no conflict will come from me."
Knowing that was the most he would be getting from her, he decided not to pursue the matter further.
"In that case, I bid you good night. It's long past the time I should go to my wife."
"Indeed. Go, sister-son, and enjoy what few hours there are still left."
To be continued.
A/N: Finally, I return with a new chapter! I know it's been a minute since the last update. This autumn has been a taxing one for me, and I've been feeling pretty exhausted for some time. But this story lives at the back of my head and I do intend to bring it to an end, sooner or later.
It's always interesting to write Éomer interacting with Hild. I have grown very fond of her, and this relationship. As a writer, one often wonders how many original characters is suitable for a story. On the one hand, OCs can be useful in exploring the world and people around them. On the other hand, why can't you just use the characters that already exist? So I feel better when I am able to employ a character that could have existed and has some basis in the canon - and we know that Théoden and Théodwyn had three other sisters. And with Tolkien, you sometimes just have to invent new female characters for the story.
It's really a hard time for poor Éomer and Lothíriel, having to be parted so soon - and just when their relationship is on the point of developing into something more. Both are quite anxious about it.
I don't know how you feel about Éomer's solution as to how to punish Erchirion, but I think Éomer is not one for gestures: he'd rather seek for a practical answer. And putting Erchirion in charge of some dirty work should be a humbling experience. Naturally, it does not fix his relationship with his sister, and it may be a long way for him before he may have her trust again.
Thank you for reading and reviewing!
Guest - Yes, fanon tends to show Amrothos more often as the one to make trouble. But I think it's fun to sometimes change it a little bit, and give that role to somebody else.
You are probably right: Éomer's choice of a bride may not sit well with all Rohirrim, but they won't be quick to voice any disagreement. And if they see Hild supporting the match, it will be even more difficult to speak against it.
Glad to hear you liked Beornric! Hopefully I will be able to bring him back some time soon.
Guest - It may be so, if that tidbit of information gets out! But while Éomer is away at war, I think at least his people want to make sure he can focus on winning it, not be entangled in some political intrigue.
Cathael - Thank you! I think so too - it's interesting to see how they navigate this new phase in their life and relationship.
Cricket22- Glad to hear you liked it! I definitely look forward to writing more about Lothíriel interacting with Hild.
I hope the scene between Lothíriel and Erchirion was to your liking. It will be a long way for him to fix this, but some humility is not a bad start.
Melanie - Thank you! :)
Wondereye - Some ways to go yet before we get there!
Simplegurl4u - :D That was fun to write, I will admit! But he can be a gentleman, too.
Yeah, her brothers really let her down, I think they didn't even realise how much it would hurt her.
NightBlossom - Thanks! It's been fun writing her in this story.