Chapter 26
In those first couple minutes, the full horror of Amrothos' words did not yet hit Lothíriel. She was vaguely aware of Éowyn barking questions at her brother, but she herself felt like she was suspended in some endless moment of falling. She was approaching ground fast, and deep down she knew that the impact would knock the breath out of her, but for now her mind was still sheltering itself. Instead, she was thinking of her last morning with Éomer, and the braid she had made in his hair. She recalled how sunlight had made it glow, warm and rich. She loved his hair. He had promised to keep the braid until he saw her again.
And then Amrothos' voice began to penetrate the hazy numbness.
"... Aragorn thinks the landslide was not caused by the orcs, but by that storm – or the storm at least made it easier, if it was their strategy. Too many of them died, though, for it to be wholly intentional. Either way, Aragorn is leading the search. He left my father in charge, took Faramir and his best men, and went to look for Éomer and his company. I don't think he's slept more than three hours ever since. I left them yesterday morning, so there could be some new development already – he promised to send messengers as soon as he knew anything…"
"I need to go out there and help them look for him", Éowyn said briskly, looking like she was two seconds away from leaping in the saddle. But Amrothos raised both his hands.
"That's not a good idea. Faramir asks you to stay here and hold the fort. Emyn Arnen can't be abandoned. And... Aragorn said that your safety is now of utmost importance. Rohan requires it", he said anxiously. This seemed to quell Éowyn somewhat, but the real stop came when Lothíriel spoke.
"Is there any hope?" she asked at last. Her voice came out quiet and toneless.
Her brother and Éowyn both turned to look at her.
"Faramir says there are some narrow paths that lead up the mountainsides, but these have never been charted and it's not known where the paths may lead. There may have been other landslides on the upper slopes, so one can only guess what's the situation up there. Still, if Éomer was able to avoid the landslide, he might have taken such a path to stay clear of the chaos. And there are caves too, where they could have taken shelter", Amrothos said.
"But there are probably orcs in those caves", she said, even more quiet.
"Maybe. Many of them died in the landslide, so it's possible they are scattered and in disorder. They are not necessarily a very serious threat, if Éomer can conceal himself and whoever survived with him. He has experience of this sort of thing from Helm's Deep. He's survived worse things than this", he replied. He was trying to sound comforting, but she could tell he was just guessing.
And there came the impact. Lothíriel closed her eyes tightly, unable to breathe, unable to think. All she knew was horror, washing over her in waves too great to fight. And with that horror came a sense of terrible loneliness. It was more than anything she had felt before; as a young maid she had been alone, and she had been content enough, but Éomer had shown her what it could be like to be together. To be a part of a whole, understood, wanted, beloved. He didn't deserve to die like this, to have his life end just when his own loneliness had been mended, and had found a chance of happiness.
It wasn't supposed to go like this. She had had him only for a little while, and there were a lifetime's worth of things to say and to do. She had not done her duty by him, she had failed, she had been untruthful. Only one thought was now in her head. He has to come back he has to come back has to come back has to come back COME BACK TO ME -
- as if she could reach through time and distance, and catch him, before his fire and how full of love he was and his sense of humour and his voice and the way he looked at her all vanished from the world.
But she was powerless to do anything to save him. Her only hope was knowing that if he still lived, then he would fight with all his ferocity and determination to find a way back to her.
If he still lived.
Lothíriel rose on her feet.
"I need to tell Aunt Hild", she said. Her voice came out sounding not like her own, and when she began to move, it was as if something other than her will was causing it. Éowyn called her name, and then Amrothos did too. When she passed him by, he tried to take a hold of her arm.
"Don't touch me", she just said, moving more quickly, and ignoring their voices asking her to stop.
Her feet carried her quickly, as if she were flying from something. She passed servants, who gave her curious looks, and hastened up the stairs that lead to the second floor. Why she was going to Hild, she didn't know; it wasn't as if Hild could do anything about this. And later she would understand how tactless and careless it was to bring such horrifying news to the old woman who had already lost so many loved ones, but in this moment her senses were overcome by a bright, blinding agony of fear and distress, and her mind was pushed into a dark place it had never been to before.
She rapped anxiously at Hild's door, and pushed inside as soon as she heard the old Shieldmaiden's voice summoning her in.
Hild was seated by her window and held what was probably some correspondence in her hand. But seeing the young woman step into the room, half wild and breathless, she grew still.
"What is the matter, Lothíriel? Has something happened?" Hild asked.
"It's Éomer, Aunt Hild. Amrothos says he's gone missing. I don't know if he's all right", she replied, her voice trembling just slightly.
All colour left Hild's face and the letter fell from her hand. The look on her face was more terrible than anything Lothíriel could have imagined.
"Tell me everything", demanded Hild, rising to her feet.
And then Lothíriel was talking, words tumbling out of her mouth in a rapid flood. At this point, Éowyn and Amrothos had reached the room as well, and they were trying to talk over her, but her voice rose and she kept on going. This thing kept spilling out, because she could not hold it inside of herself; and some strange small part of her that still remained detached, observed that this was her greatest fear and it had been born with the same breath as her greatest love. And eventually, she was just repeating the same words: "He can't be gone. He can't be gone. He can't be gone."
Hild came to her, unaided by the cane and so she was limping more than usual, and took both her hands, holding them firmly but gently. Hild's hands were strong and hard and calloused, warrior's hands even after so many years.
"Slow down, child", Hild said, and Amrothos was saying something behind her, and she felt so light-headed. There was a scream at the back of her throat, unable to come out, but refusing to die. He can't be gone he can't be gone he can't be gone…
Her legs gave in under her, and she collapsed against Hild. Then for some time – minutes, or months, or decades – she saw or knew nothing.
When Lothíriel came to again, everything was a chaotic muddle at first. Colours, and shapes, and slurred voices around her, nearly impossible to understand. She felt ill and exhausted.
The first sensation that began to make sense was the hand stroking her hair, and in confusion she wondered what her mother was doing here; she had died long ago. Then there was a voice, murmuring quietly in what she eventually recognised as the speech of Rohan. She didn't need to catch the words to understand the universal language of comfort.
Gradually, the world began to take a more recognisable shape. She was on the floor, cradled in someone's lap, like a child after a nightmare. And the wool under her cheek was soft and green, the texture she recognised from Éomer's tunics. Wool from Rohan, deftly woven into this warm, beautiful fabric.
Lothíriel tried to move and sit up, but firm hands kept her down.
"Shh, it's all right. Take it slowly. You just fainted", said the voice close to her. It was Hild, and her tone was softer and gentler than Lothíriel had ever heard it.
"Am I ill?" she asked. The question seemed stupid, for surely she'd know it without asking? Her voice was thick and she felt hazy and unreal. It was as if she was caught in some dream where everything was slightly wrong.
"You're not ill, you're just in shock. But is anything hurt? You fell and I tried to catch you, but my legs aren't what they used to be", Hild said, still stroking her hair.
"I don't think so", replied the younger woman.
"Here, drink a little", said Éowyn, kneeling down next to her and offering a cup. At first Lothíriel thought her hands would be shaking too much to drink, but then she steeled herself, not wanting to appear any more helpless than she already did. Water helped to clear her head a bit, but with clarity also came the wretchedness, and those words endlessly repeating: he can't be gone...
"Should I go and get a healer?" Amrothos asked, hovering close. He looked deeply startled, watching his sister as though she had just revealed something very disturbing about herself. The way he looked at her made her feel even more depressed.
"No healers", she said, although she didn't expect to be listened to; her brother hardly seemed to hear her. Éowyn seemed more torn.
It was Hild who took her side.
"Aye, let's not bother them with something we can deal with ourselves. Let's run you a hot bath and then you must get some rest. It will make you feel better", said the old Shieldmaiden, patting her shoulder. Then, gesturing impatiently, she continued, "Lord Amrothos, do you mind giving us a hand?"
He startled and rushed to Lothíriel's side. First he helped her up, and then Hild, who got on her feet clumsily but still somehow maintained her dignity.
"Can you take her to her room? I'll go and get that bath started", said Éowyn, sounding almost exactly like her aunt just moments ago. Lothíriel nearly laughed out loud, then thought of how absurd it would be to laugh, and eventually decided it didn't matter whether she laughed or cried.
Clearly, the shock had not yet fully passed.
Amrothos offered her his arm, but she refused it, trying to cling to what vestiges of dignity she still had left. It was Hild who resolved the situation.
"What are you doing, lad? I'm the cripple, not your sister. Give some help to an old woman", she said briskly, and Amrothos readily hastened to her side, mumbling yes, my lady. Lothíriel could not help but smile. Hild could just have told him to get her cane, but did not because she was diverting his attention in order to give Lothíriel some space. She realised Hild must have dealt with situations like this many times before, and had probably calmed down her share of young warriors still reeling with the shock of battle.
Éowyn wasted no time in arranging the hot bath for her sister-in-law, and soon enough Lothíriel was seated in the tub, hugging her knees close to her chest and focusing on the soothing warmth of the water. She felt tired and dispirited, and still quite unable to face the implications of Éomer's disappearance.
But no tears had yet come. What was wrong with her? How could she not cry, when the man she loved might be dead?
When she got out of the bath, Hild wrapped her bathing robe gently around her; she was too worn out to care about modesty, and was merely thankful for the old Shieldmaiden's care and consideration. Then Hild sat her down, and began to brush her hair. Her own hands rested limply in her lap. The Princess began to hum a quiet tune, a gentle soothing sound.
Not long after, Éowyn returned. Her face was pale and serious, although her eyes glinted with steel that Lothíriel envied. This was what she should have been as well, instead of the way she had effectively crashed down.
"I talked to the healers, and asked them to mix something to help you rest. I think that an undisturbed night's sleep should do you some good", Éowyn said, carefully placing a tall cup before her friend. Lothíriel, yearning for the oblivion of sleep, merely nodded.
"Off to bed then, lass. As a wise man once said: night changes many thoughts", said Hild.
So, after draining the medicine Éowyn had brought, Lothíriel slipped between the sheets, and soon enough sleep washed over her.
It was still dark when she woke. Lothíriel had quite lost her sense of time, and at first felt like she might have slept for many days. The sun had not yet set when she had gone to bed, but she guessed she had slept at least for twelve hours.
She sat up in the bed, desiring no more sleep. Thankfully a lamp had been left in the corner and she could see somewhat around herself. Next to the bed, Hild was sleeping in an armchair, wrapped in what was probably her travelling cloak. The vision evoked images of her as a young Shieldmaiden, guarding the wide plains of Rohan and sleeping just like under the stars. The slow, aching pain of not knowing whether Éomer was alive briefly subsided, and Lothíriel gazed in gratitude at Hild. It was a comfort to know that she had not been left alone, although she also felt regretful: the old woman should be sleeping in her own comfortable bed.
Someone had left a pitcher of water and a cup next to her bed, and she reached to pour herself a drink. Sitting cross-legged and staring into the cup, thoughts and memories began to return. Yesterday's numb haze was now gone. Instead, an open wound seemed to beat and throb where her heart was supposed to be. But still only a small sob would come out, holding only a fraction of the utter desolation that she felt. And she was terrified that this was all the closure she was going to get, and not even be able to bury her husband.
"Go back to sleep, lass. It's not yet dawn", a sudden voice startled her. Lothíriel looked up to see Hild watching her.
"I don't think I could sleep anymore", she replied slowly. "Please, I don't want you to be uncomfortable on my account. Why don't you go to bed, Aunt Hild?"
The old woman smiled slightly.
"I'm comfortable enough here. And anyway, we agreed you shouldn't be alone tonight. Your sister-in-law stayed with you for the first watch, and I'd rather let her rest", she said calmly.
Lothíriel made a non-committal sound, although she considered that if something good had come out of these awful circumstances, it was Hild and Éowyn communicating and co-operating. She didn't know how long the truce might last, but was glad for it nevertheless.
She looked up at the old Shieldmaiden, and said, "I'm sorry for how I barged in on you, spilling out the news like that. I see now it was not the way to do it."
"It's fine. You were in serious distress, and I don't blame you for it. I know how you love that lad... and I've seen this sort of thing before. Some things are too terrible for our minds and hearts to bear", Hild answered, her tone gentle. She directed a keen look at the younger woman, "Still, I wonder. I don't think your predicament was only because of this latest event, though it is dreadful. Do I guess rightly?"
Lothíriel lowered her gaze and was silent for a while. Perhaps it was high time she stopped denying that something was wrong – had been since the accident. And Hild was right: Éomer going missing was not the sole reason she had collapsed.
"I have been having these nightmares for a while now, since after I was injured. It's always the same thing... I'm back in the woods, trying to get away. But every time, it ends the same. I'm under the tree, bleeding. The scar aches as if the arrow and poison were still in my flesh", she began quietly, staring at the cup in her hands. "I told myself it would pass eventually, and I tried to focus on our work here. But the nightmares continued, and I'm often so tired. Éomer noticed something was off, though he didn't guess the reason, and he asked me about it the last time I saw him. I... I couldn't admit the truth. I didn't want him to think I was weak, or that he had made a mistake in marrying me – even if he loved me. So I denied it, and I've felt so wretched ever since. I feel like I wronged him, because we were always so honest with one another."
"Is that all of it?" Hild asked, her tone still mild and calm. Lothíriel swallowed hard. There was still something more, of course, but if she said it out loud... surely then Hild would be angry with her, even to the point where irrevocable damage would be done to their relationship. And yet she felt like she wanted to get this thing out of her chest. Have someone hear it, no matter the consequences. And since she could not say it to Éomer, Hild was the next best thing.
"I think I failed him. He and I... we did not..." she began, struggling. Lothíriel took a deep breath, and continued as evenly as she could, "When he came to Minas Tirith and told me about his council's request for us to marry quickly... he said to me, we would take it slowly, and go at a pace that felt comfortable to me. I see now he wanted me to feel like I had some control in the situation, and to be the one person who was not pressuring me. It's the reason I agreed to do it. And I wanted to get used to the idea of being married first, and I thought... I thought I could just love him, and not have to worry about duty or expectations. So I asked to have some time to adjust before we became husband and wife in the full sense, and he agreed. He was so lovely and so patient…"
Her throat was so tight, but she made herself continue, "And now he may be dead. If I had just done what I was supposed to do, then I might be carrying his child even now. I could have given him some happiness in the final days of his life. Because of me Éomer may have died without an heir. It's my fault. I failed him and I failed Rohan. I, who was supposed to love him the most, failed him!"
Each word felt like a blade, stabbing and slashing as she spoke them. With them, a fresh lance of pain and guilt pierced her. She pressed a hand against her face, heaving. How was she supposed to live with this knowledge? How could she bear knowing that she had failed the one she had loved the most?
There was a gentle hand on her knee, and she looked up sharply. Hild had leant closer and was watching her with grave eyes, but without any trace of anger or accusation.
"Do you see now, lass? What happened to you yesterday is not a sign of weakness, but an indication of how much you have already endured without breaking", said Hild softly.
"Why aren't you angry with me?" Lothíriel asked, her voice trembling. Almost she desired anger more than this quiet patience.
"Two months ago, perhaps I might have been. But I've seen you, lass, and I like to think we've got to know one another these past weeks. It's clear you beat yourself over it more than I ever could. An impossible demand was placed on you, and you faced it calmly and with dignity, winning the hearts of even the likes of Ceolmund. I've seen how hard you work, not sparing yourself, and the way you care for Rohirrim who have been brought here. Only the last time my nephew was here, I watched you take care of him. Nobody has done that for him in a very long time. And the way he looked at you, lass... I don't know if you've ever noticed it. Even if you did, I don't think you can wholly appreciate it because you haven't seen how he was before meeting you. In you, I think, he has found his match – both the woman and the queen. It's not your fault or his that you were not allowed to let it grow naturally and in its own time", Hild said, her voice soft and slow.
She leant back then, and let out a sigh.
"I do not know if Éomer has mentioned it to you, but I was not at first convinced it was a good idea for you to marry so quickly, or if you were the right choice for him. You are still so young, though your manner often belies it. But I had never seen him so happy as when he talked to me about you, and that first sight of you walking together in that garden in Mundburg, like you had known one another for a lifetime instead of just a few weeks... I knew then I had to give my blessing. I couldn't stand in the way of such devotion", Hild explained. There was a faint smile on her features, but it changed then into a frown.
"Yet I still wondered how you would handle the burden that would come with the union. I felt that deep down, there was something off, and now I understand why that is. No, I do not mean that you were wrong, but this thing you've revealed to me about the accident... indeed, I've seen it before, though in your case it's so subtle that I did not at first recognise it. Sometimes warriors take injuries that go deeper than flesh and bones, and though their bodies are healed, they are changed. Some can't ever go back to the battlefield again. The memory of horror pursues them, often in dreams and sometimes even in waking. We try to prepare our Riders for this horror and its possibility, so oftentimes they can live with it perfectly well. But you are an innocent, and should never have come under such peril. I get the feeling you are not a lady who shares her innermost feelings widely or often, and are determined to bear your troubles by yourself. So I see why you acted the way you did, trying to deny the horror that still haunted you."
"So you think that I am damaged goods?" asked Lothíriel quietly.
"No, I do not mean that. Absolutely not! Having this thing inside of you doesn't mean your life has ended. Time may mend it, and even become a source of wisdom and understanding. But it may still linger with you for some time – longer, if you keep trying to deny it", said Hild firmly.
"If Éomer does not come back, I see no reason for anything to mend", the younger woman said, her tone hard.
"So it may seem to you now. But you are young, and you have an entire life yet to be lived, whether Éomer is a part of it or not. I know he would wish for your happiness either way. And Rohan... Rohan still has one heir left", Hild said, sighing. She looked directly at the younger woman, and continued, "I know something of what you're feeling now. It seems like there's no point in going on, and you can't reconcile with the idea of a life without the one thing you love above all. I felt that way, once. I let it consume me, and spent years in bitterness, unwilling to move on. I wasted so much time, and now it's too late to undo my mistakes. I do not wish for that to happen to you, lass."
Lothíriel lowered her eyes.
"If I was meant to lose him so quickly, then why did I have to know him at all?" she asked quietly.
"Do you wish then that you had not known him?" Hild asked gently.
"... no. No, I don't wish that", she whispered.
"Then have faith, lass. He's a cunning warrior and a capable leader. And he has such a will to live. He will not rest until he finds his way back", said the old Shieldmaiden.
Dawn had come while they talked, and the room was slowly growing lighter. They now sat in silence, each lost in their thoughts. The deep ache of pain had not gone anywhere, but its weight was a little easier to bear. And even with that pain, Lothíriel felt a little like she had been released of something dark and foul inside of herself, a festering that had tarnished her every mood. Only now did she begin to understand how troubled she had been.
She looked at Hild carefully, trying to study her without being noticed. The old Shieldmaiden was staring at the direction of the window, her expression far off. She didn't look tired, but lines of care were deeper on her face; she too worried for her nephew. But she had mastered her fear, and her strong hands had caught Lothíriel when she fell, figuratively and literally. The young woman did not know how she would have got through yesterday, or even this past hour, if Hild had not been there. And it was through Hild's wisdom that she had understood her own predicament more clearly than she had until now. Not before this aged woman held up the mirror did she see the truth of her own distress, and of her guilt. Whatever would come next, even if Éomer was indeed gone and she would be left to live with her guilt and failure for the rest of her life, at least for now Lothíriel felt like she could breathe. She could go on, until she knew for certain whether he lived or not, all thanks to Hild.
How could one possibly repay such a debt?
"Thank you", Lothíriel said at last, though it was in no way adequate, or properly reflected how grateful she felt.
Hild turned her face and smiled slightly.
"You are welcome, lass", she simply said. "Well, do you think we could bother the kitchen staff and ask for them to send us some breakfast? After that, I think we should go find out if there is any news, and get back to work. It's easy to bask in wretched feelings if you sit idly; but there are many young warriors in this house that you can still care for in your husband's absence. And like you are now waiting for his return, somebody waits for these lads in Rohan and in the White City."
That day brought indeed some new tidings with a messenger from Father: apparently Erchirion had taken a company of Rohirrim with him, and without asking leave of either King Elessar or his sire, had gone to look for Éomer. He had left behind a brief message where he explained this. Apparently he considered himself now under the command of King Éomer, and was obliged to go and find his liege-lord, whether or not it was permitted by the other captains.
This was surprising news, but Lothíriel was secretly pleased to hear of Erchirion's plucky decision – provided that he did not get himself and his company killed. She did not think the hot-headed Rohirrim needed much persuading to go with him, even if it was against their orders. If Éomer lived, and found out about Erchirion's efforts, he was certain to appreciate it. His role would perhaps demand him to berate her brother for recklessness, but his private opinion would not be displeased. However, all of this was conjecture for the time being, and the search was still going on. A less heartening bit of news was that one of Éomer's Riders had been discovered slain in the landslide, although the messenger was quick to emphasise it didn't necessarily indicate anything. The situation at the time had been chaotic, and one or two warriors might have got separated from their king; his personal guard would have stayed close to him, especially in a situation where their foes outnumbered them.
Lothíriel spoke also to Amrothos, who still regarded her with an anxious look – a look she would surely come to hate sooner rather than later. She had to make sure he would not go back to Father, telling tales of her nervous condition and how it surely predicted imminent and total collapse. Such stories would only serve to distract Father from much more pressing matters – perhaps even make him more inclined to listen to Aunt Ivriniel, and wonder if there was some wisdom in his sister's protestations he himself had not considered. Moreover, Amrothos himself needed to concentrate on his duties: without Erchirion, much more was expected of him as a commander than before.
"You should get going, and not worry about me. I am all right now, and whatever overtook me last night has passed. You should not feel compelled to stay behind for my sake", she told him, gentle but firm.
"Are you certain you will be all right, sister?" he asked her for the third time.
"I will be, brother. Éowyn and Aunt Hild are with me, and with their aid I shall manage. But you are needed out there, Amrothos; our father needs you. I should be ashamed to keep you from doing your duty to Dol Amroth", she reassured him.
He looked torn, and younger than his years. Lothíriel could well understand his doubt. However, as long as he stayed here, neither of them would be able to focus on what was important.
She reached for his hands, closing them inside of her own.
"It's all right, Amrothos", she told him, just as she was telling herself.
He stared back into her eyes, and then looked down and sighed.
"Very well. But you must promise me not to push yourself too much. You really gave me a scare yesterday", he said to her. A troubled look passed on his face.
"I know. And I will be careful. But I must have something to do; I can't just sit and wait to hear news", she told him and squeezed his hands. "And... please don't tell Father too much of what happened yesterday. I don't want him to be distracted because of me. The best way you can help is fight as fiercely as you can, and do what you can to aid to finish this campaign."
Amrothos nodded.
"Well, I guess I can keep my mouth shut. But promise me you won't keep it from us if... if you're not all right. It was hard enough when you got hurt. I know you think you're sparing us by holding your silence, but we're your family, and we want to help you. We can't do that if you won't tell us what's wrong. Erchirion wants to help too, even if he hasn't done a very good job of it lately. That's why he went to look for Éomer, don't you agree?" he said quietly.
"Yes", she murmured, frowning slightly. "I just hope he doesn't get hurt in the attempt. Nor you, Amrothos. So please be careful out there."
He suddenly pulled his hands away, and put his arms around her, hugging her tightly.
"I am really sorry about everything, sister. I failed my promise to keep Erchirion in check, and... and I should have put him back in line sooner. We haven't done much to help you through all this", he said, voice trembling just a little bit.
"It's fine, Amrothos. I should have been more open with you from the beginning", she told him gently, resting her head against his shoulder.
"He'll be fine, Lothíriel. You'll see", he said, barely more than a whisper.
"May the Powers that be make your words true."
After their conversation, Lothíriel sent her brother on his way, and with his company of warriors he rode off to join their father once more. She then sought Éowyn.
Her law-sister was in a stern, steadfast mood when they spoke that morning. She was as concerned about Éomer as Lothíriel, but remained convinced that he was alive: "Until undeniable proof of his demise is shown to me, I shall not be mourning him."
Éowyn's conviction was heartening, and made the waiting more bearable. It was best not to succumb to despair too soon. Even so, they agreed not to spread the news yet, at least not before they knew more. It would be a grave blow on the morale of the recovering Rohirrim, and might cause undue restlessness among them. For now it was better to wait for more news.
But with that decision made, Éowyn's look softened.
"Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday? I was – still am – quite worried about you", she said tentatively.
"And I understand your concern. But if it's all right with you, I... I'd rather not speak of it, at least not yet. I've already shared as much as I could with Aunt Hild, and it's too difficult to go over it again", said Lothíriel, looking away. She swallowed, and then met Éowyn's eyes once more, "I can manage. As long as there is hope, I will go on."
She stared hard at Éowyn, and feared her law-sister would suggest that maybe she should go back to Minas Tirith, or Dol Amroth – to rest her nerves, or some such thing. Thankfully, Éowyn said nothing of the sort, and Lothíriel understood that the White Lady of Rohan was the last person who would do so.
"But you will tell me, if it becomes too much?" Éowyn asked instead.
"I will. Right now, I need something purposeful to do, and if I were to just sit and wait... that would be worse. Much worse", said Lothíriel.
"Oh, I know", Éowyn muttered, gave her a one-armed hug, and then changed the subject. She had complied for the time being, and so had Aunt Hild, but Lothíriel was not sure how they would take it if she expressed any more signs of a fragile state of mind, but at least for the time being they were willing to let her keep going as seemed best to her.
However, that day saw another unexpected development. Later in the afternoon, as Lothíriel was helping one of the healers to make fresh bandages, Éowyn came to see her. The blonde woman had a strange look on her face.
"I am sorry to disturb you, but we have a guest. Your aunt, the Lady Ivriniel, has just arrived. She is asking to see you", said Éowyn warily. Her statement nearly made Lothíriel drop the fresh roll she had just finished making.
"What in the name of Lady Uinen is she doing here?" asked Lothíriel, turning to face her law-sister. But Éowyn looked just as incredulous as she felt.
"You tell me. I haven't spoken to her yet, not beyond bidding her welcome. I didn't really know what to do with her, so I put her in my solar, and came to get you. So she hasn't said anything about coming here?" Éowyn wanted to know, shooting words rapidly as Lothíriel undid her apron and laid it aside. Together they began to make way for Éowyn's solar.
"Not a word. She has been sending me some letters – she's not happy about my marriage and how it came about – but I never thought she'd make an appearance like this. I had hoped it could wait until after the campaign", said Lothíriel, frowning. But with Éomer missing... well, that made things even more complicated. Aunt Ivriniel would not have heard the news yet, and Lothíriel could not think her response would be mild or positive.
Éowyn made a frustrated sound under her breath.
"I swear to Béma, what is it with these old cranky aunts lurking in my house... I don't mean offence to your aunt, but she really couldn't have picked a worse time for her little visit", she muttered.
"Oh, I agree. She may be a bit difficult sometimes, but she is more sensible than this", Lothíriel said softly. She didn't say out loud that in her mind, Lady Ivriniel and Princess Hild were very different kinds of "cranky aunts".
She looked at the White Lady, and continued, "Is it fine by you if I take the lead?"
"Of course. She's your aunt, after all. But I must point out that we don't really have any space to accommodate her right now. All the beds are in use, and I'd rather not go and disturb Aragorn's room. I did order some tea for her, though; I'm not a complete savage."
"It's all right. If she has sailed here, as I expect she has, then she should be comfortable at the ship", Lothíriel said, keeping her face mild and neutral. Being an old courtier, and a supporter of the stern and rigid stewardship of the late Lord Denethor, Aunt Ivriniel was not always the easiest person to please. On the one hand, she had to be well aware of the strain and demands that this campaign put on the Princess of Ithilien and the accommodations she was able to provide, but on the other hand, she might still expect a positively otherworldly performance in the matters of hospitality. And Éowyn, though she had manoeuvred fairly well with the expectations of Gondorian high society, might not have patience for old women who showed up in places where they were not currently needed. Lothíriel shuddered inwardly, wondering how she was going to navigate this meeting.
Aunt Ivriniel waited for them in Éowyn's solar, and when the two younger women entered, it was as if she was the one receiving them: she sat in her chair as if it were a throne. Ivriniel was a venerable woman, older than her brother the Prince of Dol Amroth. She was still tall and proud, and her Númenórean blood belied her age. She resembled Imrahil a great deal, though her features were more delicate, and had the grey eyes of their line, which held more steel than her brother's. There was only a little silver in her dark hair, which was carefully arranged inside a hairnet decorated with many pearls. She wore midnight blue with minor silver trimmings and a very moderate amount of jewellery, but appeared as regal as any queen. Ivriniel had been married once long ago, but her husband had died in a battle against the corsairs of Umbar, and the two had not any children. She had lived mostly at Minas Tirith and Edhellond after that, and returned to Dol Amroth only periodically, though her presence had been more frequent in the last few years before the Great War. Ivriniel remained a little bit of a distant character in the lives of her brother's children, although since Lothíriel had come of age, her aunt had instructed her in the ways and manners of high ladies through a regular correspondence. Much of her advice was valuable, and her memory of the days of Denethor's rule before the Shadow fell was long and rich, but it was quite clear she was a creature of an old and vanished world. Not that Ivriniel herself would ever admit it, but she was not a supporter of King Elessar, and Lothíriel suspected there was more controversy about politics in the letters her father exchanged with Ivriniel than either of them let on.
This was, or at least she believed so, reflected on Éomer – and Lothíriel's relationship with him. Éomer was too close to King Elessar to be wholly acceptable.
Upon entering the solar and seeing her aunt, Lothíriel first thought of curtsying, as she had always done until now. But then she remembered: she outranked her aunt. Here in Emyn Arnen, away from the court at Minas Tirith and surrounded by soldiers and servants, the demands of protocol and the ways of noble society seemed very distant. All such things seemed almost a hindrance. Well, at least she did not need to worry about the introductions between her aunt and law-sister.
Either way, she remained upright. For she was the Queen of Rohan, be it peace or war, and holding on to the pride of that station was her duty to Éomer, whether it was witnessed or not. Aunt Ivriniel's expression changed very little, except for the slight raise of her eyebrow.
"Greetings, Aunt", said Lothíriel, nodding at the old lady. "I am surprised to see you here at this time. Has something urgent happened in Dol Amroth? Has Elphir sent you?"
"Not at all, niece. Things are well enough under your brother's rule, though it is unfortunate that so many members of the Prince's family have been so long away from our city. Many wonder when Imrahil and his heirs will be seen among their people again", said Aunt, her meaning not lost to Lothíriel. The old woman went on, "No, I came on my own accord. It seemed to me that our correspondence was going much too slowly, and wanted to speak to you face to face."
"If it's a private matter, then I better get going. You will let me know if there is anything I should be aware of, won't you?" said Éowyn, glancing between the two Amrothians.
"Of course. I will speak to you later", Lothíriel promised, casting a smile at Éowyn.
The White Lady nodded at Ivriniel and then gave a meaningful look at her law-sister. She then took her leave. Lothíriel refrained from sighing. Her aunt would not spare her words if they were alone, but Éowyn's presence might have caused greater discretion on Ivriniel's part. She didn't blame Éowyn for not wanting to take part in this conversation; Lothíriel would have wanted just as little to be privy to conversations between Hild and Éowyn.
"I must say I am impressed. The Lady Éowyn keeps a well-ordered house, although perhaps such a wild land as Ithilien has become is suited for her. I had my doubts whether such a character would bear a duty so great very well. After all, did she not ignore the orders of her uncle the King and ride to war in secret?" Ivriniel said, as Lothíriel took a seat opposite her. So many mornings she had sat here with Éowyn, but the atmosphere had been very different.
"Aunt, I would have you remember she is like a sister to me, and as dear as any of my brothers. Speak no ill words of Lady Éowyn. If she had not defied her orders, we might not be sitting here at all", said Lothíriel, evenly but with a warning in her tone.
"Well, perhaps my words are too hard. And she is the granddaughter of Morwen Steelsheen; I see much of our distant kinswoman in this Shieldmaiden of the North, though wrapped up in a rather strange and wild fashion", Ivriniel commented, leaning back in her chair.
"You know Queen Morwen?" Lothíriel asked, surprised.
"Not particularly well, but I've met her a few times. It was many years ago, though, and I understand she now accepts guests very rarely. Still, I wonder what she would make of the offspring of her children", Ivriniel said.
They were interrupted briefly by a servant bringing in the tea, at which the old lady made a satisfied sound, and a few moments were spent in busy silence. But when the servant had gone again and both had cups in their hands, Lothíriel directed a keen look at her aunt.
"Might you now explain what you are doing here? You must understand it's not a very convenient timing, and there was nothing so urgent in our correspondence that warranted this visit", she said, staring straight at her kinswoman. It was much more blunt than anything she had ever said to Ivriniel. Perhaps Éomer's frankness had rubbed off on her. Moreover, she had not really time or patience for long and subtle word-plays where meanings and intentions were wrapped in at least three layers of ambiguities.
Her aunt raised an eyebrow again, although again the movement was very slight.
"I am actually travelling for Minas Tirith, and decided to make a stop here, seeing Emyn Arnen was conveniently on the way. And I wanted to see you with my own eyes, and make sure that you have not been... misdirected. One can tell only so much by letters. Furthermore, if possible, I want to see this man you have married", Ivriniel said calmly.
"I do not know what could possibly imply that I have been 'misdirected'. I am sad to hear you think so, but hopefully this visit will put those concerns to rest", Lothíriel replied, keeping her face neutral.
"We will see. But you do look tired. And not just tired, but there's something else, though I can tell you do a very good job of hiding it. You did not have that look when I last saw you. Perhaps all this has been too much, after all? Are you certain this is where you need to be right now?" Ivriniel wanted to know. Of course she would see what Lothíriel did not want to show; the old lady was too shrewd.
"It is not any more than I can bear. I won't deny there have been some difficulties, but it has nothing to do with Éomer, at least not in the way you think ", Lothíriel said curtly. She didn't go as far to say that if anyone was to be blamed for her troubles, it was Aegdir, Aunt Ivriniel's preferred suitor.
"I would love to hear what he has to say about it. When may we expect his arrival?" Ivriniel inquired, sipping her tea.
"As for that", Lothíriel said, her voice falling softer, "I do not know when or if it may happen. He has gone missing during a battle. His fate has not yet been discovered."
Ivriniel's eyes widened and nearly tipped the cup in her hand. She laid it quickly down on the table between them.
"What do you mean, gone missing? How can a king go missing? I do not believe this! It's exactly what I said to Imrahil – marrying a warrior is rarely a good choice – and you are such a sweet and soft girl, too soft for this northern war-lord... how could my brother allow such a thing to happen?" she spoke quickly, eyes blazing.
Lothíriel put aside her cup and carefully folded her hands in her lap. Sharp words came and went through her mind, but she tempered them, and decided to answer as calmly as she had answered all the letters.
"Firstly, I will explain to you what has happened, if you truly are interested in facts. Secondly, my softness, whether it is too much or not, was never an issue with Éomer. He may be of Rohan but it does not mean what you appear to think. And thirdly, my father had tried to arrange things behind my back, and so came close to causing me a great deal of pain. When he understood that, he was determined to leave decisions about my future to my own discretion", she explained patiently, facing Ivriniel's stare.
"Yet one must wonder about the wisdom of that judgement, if the man you chose has already left you a widow. This is most untoward! At the very least, you should have insisted on a long betrothal, and not get yourself trapped in such hasty unions. Had it been just a betrothal, then you might have remained unsullied, without a need for lengthy mourning periods, and your position as the most eligible young lady in all of Gondor would not be dimmed. You know there are families in this land who will not look well to you now; they will think of how a man of Rohan, though he be their king himself, has already had his way with you. It will be even more difficult if you are carrying his child; Rohirrim will certainly expect you to have some sort of a role in raising their future king and they will not allow you to do it in Gondor. Well, I suppose your rank of a dowager queen will bring some interested suitors, but I cannot say how popular it will make you among proper families!"
These words could not be met calmly or patiently.
"Aunt Ivriniel", said Lothíriel, just barely able to keep her voice from shaking, "right this moment, I do not know whether my husband, the man I love and promised to spend my life with, is still living. He may be dead, and I have not yet even buried him. I have not even begun to mourn him. And here you sit, already making plans for selling me off like I was a piece of merchandise and trying to decide what is the price of damaged goods!"
"Oh, spare me the outrage, child. Merchandise is what you are, to them!" Ivriniel said impatiently, gesturing at the door, as if all the world was just waiting behind it. "And so you will remain until you have fulfilled the expectations placed on you. It is bleak and unfair, surely, but it's useless to fight against it. By agreeing to play the game you at least may win some control. The sooner you give them what they want, the faster you can get to carving out what freedom and happiness you may have in this life."
Her words only deepened the anger that Lothíriel felt, until it spilled over in a violent flood.
"I might expect such talk from my father's steward and advisers, and think nothing of it. But you are my aunt! I have sent you letter after letter, explaining how much Éomer means to me and how he has changed my life for the better. And yet when you hear that he may be gone, this man who is so beloved and irreplaceable to me, this is your response. Not comfort or encouragement in the hour when I most need it, but schemes of how I may be sold off again, and who might condescend to take me, the leftovers of some savage war-lord!" said Lothíriel, and the longer she spoke, the louder her voice became. Eventually she rose up on her feet, and all her anger and grief and misery boiled and wailed inside of her, and all she wanted was to just scream -
But Ivriniel's face was shocked and her eyes wide, because never once in her life had she seen her niece to talk back so angrily. And Lothíriel herself felt shocked too. She could not recall a time when she had lost her self-control, her mild and sensible exterior, and she hated what was happening to her. So frayed at the edges, so close to falling apart, as if there was something poisonous inside of her growing ever stronger and more sinister.
She could not stand looking at her aunt any longer, and she turned, hurrying out of the solar. She ran up to her room and grabbed her cloak, and then made her way downstairs once more. In the hall, she came face to face with Princess Hild. The old Shieldmaiden was hooded and cloaked, dampness glistening on the heavy Rohirric wool; it was a chilly and wet day outside.
Apparently Lothíriel's distress was plain to see, for Hild's expression became instantly concerned
"Is something the matter?" she asked.
"I just need to get some air", said the younger woman, and kept on going. The cool, damp air hit her face when she got into the courtyard. She wanted to get away, far away, and be completely alone. But she would not make the mistake of walking in these woods alone again and with brief, curt words she ordered a couple of guards to follow her. Even so, she did not turn to look whether they followed, or even kept up with her swift pace.
Lothíriel walked until at last, she saw the Anduin before her. Had not the river barred her, she didn't know how long she might have kept going; perhaps until her feet gave in under her. A makeshift pier had been built in the natural harbour, to ease the comings and goings of barges that carried men and supplies from the western side of the great river. Aunt Ivriniel's ship was docked there, the blue and silver pennants hanging limply. The site was heavily guarded, but few soldiers paid any heed to her and she ignored them as well. There was no breath in the air, and the wet smell of mud and wood and rotted plant-life was heavy and pungent. Mist was hanging low and thick upon the river and it was difficult to see the other bank. The skies were grey, and so were the woods, and ground was muddy and trampled.
The scenery was so different compared to the memory that lived so bright and clear in her mind, and she could still find the spot where she had sat with Éomer and had their first real conversation. Then the world had been green and sunlight had rested upon the river like a heavy golden veil. Summer's warmth had caressed her skin, and so had his gentle eyes, and she missed him so much that she felt like she couldn't breathe.
And though she felt more wretched than ever, and the pain of the idea that he really was gone was slashing at her like knives, she still could not cry. The scream remained firmly stuck in her throat, where it had stayed since Amrothos had come with the news. In despair she thought of the future that Ivriniel had painted before her, and thought it would be easier to just cast herself in the river and fall into oblivion. The very blackness of that idea, and that something so desolate would even enter her mind, scared her senseless. She wrapped her arms around herself under the cloak, as if she might fall apart otherwise.
"Come back to me", she whispered in broken Rohirric, "Please come back. Come back... come back... come back…"
But the river was silent, and the grey woods softly fell into a grim twilight.
To be continued.
A/N: Well, that was a chapter! I hope you liked it.
Prior to writing this one, I knew Lothíriel would be in serious pain, but I admit even I didn't anticipate the depth of her distress. Her condition has a name, of course: PTSD. And she's finally starting to understand what has been ailing her, thanks to Hild. Very quickly after the chapter dealing with her accident, I knew it would come back to haunt her, but it would take a moment to figure out what it was. At least to me, it seemed fitting that Hild would be the one to figure it out. Hild has probably dealt with PTSD, her own and others', for a long time.
All the same, it feels to me that much of what has happened in this story - and specifically to Lothíriel - has culminated in this chapter. The mental strain is taking its toll on her, although I've tried to keep the characters' perception and vocabulary believable and not too modern. But Tolkien does pay a lot of attention to mental health and its problems: from Frodo's very extreme PTSD to Éowyn (and very possibly Théoden's) depression and Denethor's collapse, one sees a wide variety of such conditions in LOTR and I don't think Tolkien gets enough credit for it. Lothíriel is much like Éowyn in this case: she'll keep going and trying to conceal her troubles until all endurance is spent. I've also indicated that her survival strategy has always been to keep her true emotions hidden, and her upbringing and family life has taught her this behavior that has ultimately become harmful.
I know Lady Ivriniel comes across as the bad guy, and her unfortunate timing only makes things worse, but I have empathy even for her: she is rigid and conservative but her concern for her niece is very real, even though she doesn't understand the reason for it or know how to handle the situation delicately. She's just not good at emotionally supporting others, and has her own poor patterns of behaviour. Lothíriel losing her patience and lashing out does not help Ivriniel to really understand what is going on, it probably makes her even more convinced of her previous assumptions. All the same, her insensitivity has put Lothíriel into a very desperate state of mind.
Thank you for reading and reviewing! Your comments are always very much appreciated.
Cathael - Something's ailing her, all right!
This update I was able to produce a bit quicker, although I'm not sure how much that pleases you, seeing Éomer's fate remains still unknown. Hope you liked the chapter, though!
Thank you, take care as well!
Wtiger5 - I'm glad you're back! And what can I say, I do love an occasional cliffhanger! ;)
Guest - Yeah, poor guy has really had a rough ride lately. Even in LOTR it seems he can't get a break. But I love that he's so resilient and never gives up, no matter how difficult it gets.
I hope you liked this chapter, although it does ont resolve his plight!
Tibblets - I do hope you enjoyed the chapter - and the cliffhanger!
Simplegurl4u - And that's just what I like to hear! :D
Lothíriel did mistake in not confiding in Éomer, and it bothers her a great deal afterwards - and is in fact one reason for her anxiety attack at the start of this chapter.
Hope you enjoyed the bit with Ivriniel!
Cricket22 - I didn't realise at first that I kept taking them back to the river, but it does make sense! :D And I think there are also things to be said about how water can be seen as representing emotion and generally just water in Tolkien.
Glad you liked the shoulder massage scene! I'm very fond of it, too.
You were on the right track, although there's no poison left. It's more of a case of PTSD, as is revealed in this chapter.
I will do my best!
Wondereye - We'll see! ;)
NightBlossom - Indeed! The strain on her has become almost too much to bear, so it seemed to me that eventually her struggling with would become more and more obvious.