Chapter 27
For a long time, Lothíriel stood there by the banks of the river, trying to breathe through her anguish. It was a deep, tangled feeling, and she knew now it had some roots in a time that reached even beyond her accident. She did not wish to return to the house, or face her aunt again. But twilight was deepening and she was starting to get cold, and knew there was no choice but to go back.
She had to keep going – bend, maybe, but not break. That much she owed to Éomer, whether he returned to her or not. If it became clear that he was no longer among the living, she would have all the time in the world to grieve and feel sorry for herself, but while there was any hope... she needed to push through this ordeal, be as resilient and determined as he would be. And no matter what shadows and monsters lurked in her own mind, she had to keep battling them. If she accepted surrender now, then she would only confirm everything that Ivriniel thought, and be just the kind of fragile and wilting flower that her aunt apparently believed.
Still, even with this determination and though she yearned for the warmth of a cosy fire and her thick shawl, she still had to force herself to take each step that led back to the house. Her dread kept growing as she approached the gates of the manor house, until she felt ill with it. But dampness was starting to seep through her slippers – she had not changed into her sturdier boots – and she had to quicken her pace just to keep the chill at bay.
She had not yet reached the gates when she saw Éowyn coming, holding a torch in her hand and walking swiftly. But when her law-sister saw her, the blonde woman let out a small cry and hastened her steps.
"There you are! I was worried – I thought you might have vanished in the woods again – are you all right?" asked Éowyn anxiously.
"It's fine. I needed to get some air. My aunt..." Lothíriel began, but found she didn't know how to finish the sentence. Nor could she meet Éowyn's eyes.
"Oh, I can imagine, based on the screaming match your aunt and mine are having... I figured one of them had said something to upset you, but rather than put myself between those two trolls, I thought I needed to find you first", said the White Lady, her eyes flashing.
"I'm sorry to have brought such an uproar into your house. I never thought my aunt would make an appearance, and... Elbereth, I should not have left Princess Hild like that – I should have guessed she would do something like this..." Lothíriel said, rubbing her cold face with both hands and feeling a headache coming. What a mess! She felt too disheartened to deal with any of it, and altogether embarrassed.
"Lothíriel, you are not to be blamed for those two and their hideous manners, and I understand very well why you had to get away from them both. But I am going to kick somebody out of my house, unless they stop soon. Come along now. You look cold", said Éowyn, linking their arms, and led her friend back inside.
She expected a shouting match still to be going on, but apparently it had already run its course. Entering the entrance hall, they quickly came face to face with Lady Ivriniel, who was striding purposefully towards the twin doors. Her face was stormy and a less brave person would have avoided colliding with her, but Éowyn did not lack courage.
"Well, are you done turning my household upside down and upsetting my guests, my lady?" she asked sharply, her voice as cold as the north wind in winter.
"I have never been treated thusly in my entire life! Lothíriel, I think it would be better if you packed your things and sailed with me for Minas Tirith tonight. These people, these Rohirrim, I cannot fathom -"
"That's enough, Aunt", said Lothíriel, quiet but firm. "I am not going anywhere, but it is perhaps for the better for you to continue your journey. Although you may wish to apologise to Lady Éowyn first before you go. She had done nothing to deserve such disrespect."
"And perhaps keep the news about my lord brother to yourself. We don't need the whole of the White City in uproar over this", said Éowyn sternly.
Lady Ivriniel gave them a long, keen stare, nostrils flaring. She momentarily pressed her lips together very tightly. Lothíriel met her gaze silently. Her earlier sensation of wishing to be far away from here came back again, but it did not make her meek, it filled her with a strange sense that this meeting had ended certain threads of her life even more irrevocably than marriage.
Her aunt let out a heavy sigh.
"Very well. I will hold my silence for the time being; you may think of me as the villain, but I only want what is best for our House", Ivriniel said eventually. Her impassive face did not reveal what she had read in the eyes of her niece, but perhaps it was enough. For she did turn to look at Éowyn, and said, "I apologise for the disturbance I've brought to your home, my lady. It shall not continue any longer. Good night."
Then she turned again, and swept out, and her guards in the livery of Dol Amroth followed her into the deepening shadow of evening.
The two young women watched her go. In a quiet moment of camaraderie where words were not needed, Éowyn put her hand on Lothíriel's shoulder.
Lady Ivriniel had now gone, but of Hild there was no glimpse. Further confrontations could wait for later, and at any rate, Lothíriel needed to change her damp slippers and hang up the cloak. At any rate, she felt dispirited and tired after the scene with her aunt, and thought she would retire early.
However, the lamps were lit in her room, and Hild was sitting there, waiting.
Before Lothíriel could speak, the old woman rose and smiled faintly.
"Forgive me for walking into your room like this. I was worried about you, and wanted to make sure you are all right. And I thought perhaps I owe you an apology", she said, and hearing this, any objections that might have sprung to Lothíriel's mind fell away.
She nodded quietly and busied herself with getting rid of damp clothes, while Hild sat down again.
"Care to have a drink? I don't know about you, but I feel like I need one", said the old Princess, producing a green ceramic bottle.
"What is it?" asked Lothíriel.
"It's Rohirric liquor, called fýrbrand."
"Why not?" said the younger woman with a sigh and sat down. Then Hild poured the drinks and handed her a cup. The liquid seemed dark and rich at the bottom of the cup, and Lothíriel downed it in one go. The taste was strong, smoky and sharp, too harsh to savour, and when she swallowed it slid down her throat like a rope of fire. It made her shudder and cough. The sensation was not pleasant at first, but quickly she began to feel like something was replacing the sick feeling in her stomach; now there was a ball of heat and it was radiating, warming up her cold hands and toes. The damp chill which had settled in her limbs even after coming back inside began to subside.
Fýrbrand was a fitting name. It was very different from the rich, smooth wines she was familiar with, and even the stronger liquors made from plums and apricots seemed much gentler in comparison. But perhaps the harsher climate of Rohan called for strong, sharp spirits.
"Does that help? You looked chilly to my eye", said Hild, watching her closely.
"I'm not cold now", said Lothíriel, managing a small smile.
"Very good. I think we can agree that you have enough worries at the moment, and should not get ill", said Hild and poured herself another drink of fýrbrand. She cast a quizzical look at the younger woman and pushed the bottle closer, but Lothíriel shook her head. She hadn't quite recovered from the first sip yet.
"Would you mind telling me what happened with the Lady Ivriniel?" she asked instead.
Hild sighed and sat back.
"I am terribly sorry about it. I know I probably crossed a line... when I saw you coming and looking so upset, I was quite concerned. And then that woman came after you, and I guessed she was the reason for your distress. After all that you have been through lately... so I lost my temper. I was yelling at her, how dare she come and upset you like this when you are already having a difficult time. And she was yelling at me, how she had never seen you so troubled and demanding to know what we had done to you. My niece heard the noise. She came, took one look at us and rushed away; she at least knew arguing was useless and it was more important to make sure you are all right. It went back and forth like this for a bit, until the Lady Ivriniel declared she was sailing immediately", Hild explained, shaking her head. There was a small crease on her brow as she quietly moved her fingers over the handle of her cane, idly tracing its polished wood.
"I think I will have to apologise to my niece, too. Bringing such a racket to her home was not well done. It would be well within her rights to throw me out", Hild added, her frown deepening. It was a little bit surprising: Lothíriel had not thought the old Shieldmaiden would be willing to swallow her pride, especially before Éowyn. But then she understood it was at least in some part because Hild wanted to spare her nephew's bride from more conflict and dismay. On the one hand, Lothíriel did not necessarily enjoy being treated like she was some fragile thing, but on the other hand, she was not sure how much more she could take. And Hild knew that.
"None of us handled it gracefully", said Lothíriel softly, "but I know you were trying to defend me, and I appreciate that. I wish you didn't have to, though. If I had just stayed calm and kept myself in check…"
"Do not blame yourself for anything. A heart already burdened with great cares can take only so much, and if you ask me, your aunt should have seen this is not the time to pressure you", Hild said sternly.
"I suppose she thinks she's only looking out for me."
"With all due respect, it doesn't matter what she thinks", Hild retorted, nostrils flaring.
"To me, it does. I can't help that. She's my family, after all. And now she probably believes I'm a nervous wreck..." Lothíriel muttered, lowering her eyes.
Hild sighed and leaned forward to pat her knee.
"All the same, it cannot be helped now. I suggest you forget her for the time being. Just keep your eyes ahead. We'll deal with meddlesome relatives once my nephew returns and this damned campaign is over", she told the younger woman.
To this Lothíriel nodded quietly. She did not know whether the relationship she had with Ivriniel could be mended, or if she even wanted it. Her father would surely be aggrieved to hear of what had happened, but what part he would take, she couldn't guess. If Éomer returned, then perhaps she could prove to Ivriniel that everything she had said about him was true. And if not... would she even care then? Maybe she would end up like Ivriniel, aloof and embittered, imposing on the children of her brothers with unwanted suggestions and a sour attitude.
But it was too soon to think so far. Why worry about a future that was yet uncertain, when there was a challenge enough in getting through each day as they came?
However, the challenge was about to become even more difficult.
Three days after Amrothos had brought the news, Lothíriel walked in on Éowyn and Hild snapping at one another in Rohirric in the great hall. She had just sent off a few more seriously wounded warriors, who were in need of the more subtle skill and medicines that could only be provided at the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. Somehow even with all the doubt in her own heart, she had found words of hope to speak to the warriors, and their eyes still haunted her as she returned to the house and came across the two women of Rohan. They did not notice her arrival, but continued to quarrel in their own language. Lothíriel did not yet understand the tongue very well, except for a few words here and there, and thought at first maybe underlying tensions were finally breaking out. But then she recognised her own name in the middle of Hild's speech and words that sounded like "can't tell her", and she realised they were talking about her.
"Is something the matter?" asked Lothíriel, and both Éowyn and Hild startled, turning to stare at her in an almost identical look of dismay. They even looked a bit guilty, as if she had caught them in the middle of some mischief. The young queen glanced at the old Princess, and inquired, "What can't you tell me?"
"Lothíriel..." began Hild, uneasy and frowning.
"What can't you tell me?" Lothíriel repeated a little more loudly. Éowyn cast a stormy look at her aunt, but Hild stared right back without blinking. It was as if some silent understanding passed between them.
The mistress of the house turned again to look at her law-sister.
"There is some unpleasant news", Éowyn said carefully.
"Is it about Éomer?" Lothíriel asked quietly. She felt like there was an abyss, yawning wide at her feet, and she was about to fall into the darkness.
"Béma, no. It's not like that", Hild quickly said, perhaps sensing that to let her follow that line of thought, even for a moment, would send her over the edge. "But it is a different kind of issue and we are not in agreement whether you should know about it or not. I was telling my niece that you are having a hard enough time as it is, and I don't think we should add anything else to the burden."
"And I was saying that you have a right to know – you should know, sooner rather than later", Éowyn said, frowning.
"Well, you must realise that now I can't not know", said Lothíriel, though she wasn't sure whether she could take it. And yet – and yet remaining in the dark would be a slow and consuming torment, worse in some ways than knowing even the most terrible truth.
Hild pursed her lips and looked unhappy, but Éowyn made a gesture with her hand.
"Then come along. We should talk somewhere more private", she said, lowering her voice.
They walked in silence, and Lothíriel followed Éowyn, feeling like her heart was in her throat. What more was she going to have to endure? What more could she take?
As soon as Hild, limping after them, reached Éowyn's solar and closed the door behind her, the White Lady began to talk.
"I have received a letter from Master Ceolmund. He and Lord Dunstan were recently back to Rohan to talk with the rest of the royal council about the marriage contracts, but now they have returned to Mundburg. It seems someone has let them know about Éomer going missing, probably somebody serving at the front. Ceolmund wants to come here and talk to you, and is asking how soon it may be arranged", Éowyn explained stiffly.
"If it's me he wants to talk to, then why did he send the letter to you?" Lothíriel asked.
"That question occurred to me as well. This seemed very strange, and so I decided to ask the Lady Hild, who knows him better than I do – or at least has a better chance of guessing what hidden motives could be behind this letter. And she does have ideas, indeed", Éowyn said, turning to look at her aunt, who had taken a seat and was quietly rubbing her bad leg.
"Are we sure we want to do this?" Hild asked, glancing between the two young women.
"She wants to know. There's no keeping quiet now", Éowyn replied stiffly.
Hild frowned and seemed to grit her teeth. Then she sighed deeply.
"Well, I do have some notions about what that old scarecrow is thinking. And I want it noted I was thinking only of protecting my nephew's lady, not of holding on to secrets", Hild said slowly, her frown deepening.
Neither Lothíriel or Éowyn said anything, and so Hild continued, "The reason Ceolmund approached Lady Éowyn directly is because he wants to interrogate you, Lothíriel, and because he's preparing to draw a line in the sand. And you're not on his side of it. He expects to stir trouble that will cause a rift between your father's people and his, and you're likely to get caught in the crossfire."
"I don't understand."
Hild was silent for a moment, and then continued, her voice tight.
"Do you remember our conversation that morning after we got the news? What you told me then?" she asked, and Lothíriel nodded silently.
"I believe Ceolmund suspects it, and wants to interrogate you to... to find out more, confirm if his suspicions are correct. If there is no heir, I think it will be his – and the royal council's – strategy to try and argue that you and the House of Dol Amroth did not provide your end of the deal", said Hild, grimacing. Éowyn stared at them with wide eyes, and her face was very pale.
Lothíriel swallowed hard. So, Master Ceolmund thought the marriage was not consummated, or at least it had not been in Minas Tirith. Did he suspect it, like Hild delicately put it, or did he have some proof? She knew some things were extremely difficult to keep as a private matter in a court like Minas Tirith, unless the household servants were very loyal, or they were offered sufficient compensation for keeping their mouths shut. And she was a new queen to a king whose rule was still very recent: how soon she might give him an heir was a question that attracted great curiosity. What little she knew of Ceolmund suggested he might try to find out what he could – even think of it as a service to his king, or at least the throne he represented.
"And why does he want to start that argument?" Éowyn asked in a toneless voice.
"He and the rest of the royal council doubtlessly had great hopes for the marriage contract and the dowry that a royal bride from the House of Dol Amroth would bring. Rohan has started to recover from the war, but it will take time before all injuries are mended. With the wealth that Lothíriel was expected to deliver, many building projects might be started, or widows and orphans of war aided. But if Éomer is gone, before the contracts were even completed, then Imrahil's representatives might try to squirm out of the deal, and leave Rohan empty-handed. However, if it could be proved that the lady did not do her duty, then this information could be used to twist the Prince's arm, so that he should pay reparations for providing our king with a bride who could not deliver her part of the pact", Hild said grimly.
Lothíriel stared down. She dared not even glance at them, especially at Éowyn. Her law-sister had to guess what Hild's words implied, even if the old Princess had been delicate in her choice of words. What could Éowyn do, except blame Lothíriel for not doing her duty, and resent her for ever? For if Éomer had died without an heir, then Éowyn's life here and all her dreams were for nothing.
"What am I going to do? If he goes through with it, I will be shamed before my family, and the entire kingdom. My life will be as good as over, and my father... he'll be disgraced because of me", she said, her voice listless and shaking. Her future was, perhaps, even more bleak than Aunt Ivriniel had painted it. Ruined, failed, a disappointment to her House. She had "failed to deliver", and yet she was also "damaged goods" – merchandise, just as Aunt Ivriniel had said. It was not what she had expected her life to become. It didn't seem fair, that an entire life would have to go to waste, and for what? Because she had made mistakes, or because she had been unlucky? All because she had dared to love.
Éowyn made an impatient sound.
"All this should go away when my brother returns. If you ask me, Ceolmund is panicking, and I can't say that I don't understand it: Rohan cannot lose another king so soon. But I think I can hold him off for at least a few days. He likes me, as much as that old bugger likes anyone, and out of respect he may agree to wait. And if I say we are too busy to be receiving him right now, it would not even be a lie", Éowyn said, and though Lothíriel still did not dare to look at her, at least her voice did not betray anger or disappointment.
"We should have talked this through by ourselves. Look at the poor thing! Any more of this and she will break down completely", Hild commented, making Lothíriel look up at last. She could only imagine what the two women saw on her face.
"Do you think we shouldn't have said anything, Lothíriel?" Éowyn asked her, speaking more gently.
"I... I don't know. It is true this burden is heavy, and carrying it takes all my strength. But if that man barges in here, and I have not had any chance to think of what to say to him... I'd rather not receive him unexpectedly, like my aunt Ivriniel", she replied at length, feeling a headache begin to throb in her temples.
"Well, it is out now", said Hild heavily. "And your distress is that much deeper. But don't lose heart, child. Not yet. I know the storm is howling loud, and you're wondering how much more of it you can take. But you have got to give Éomer more time", Hild said, insistent.
"She is right. We can't give up on him now", agreed Éowyn softly.
And Lothíriel looked up at these two women, so alike and yet so different, divided by so much pain but now laying their disagreements aside because they both cared about her. They watched her with eyes so similar, wide and troubled, probably expecting her to fall apart. And a part of her did want to give in and let the despair engulf her.
But looking at them she recalled all the pain and troubles these two women had gone through, and survived. They had endured things she could not even imagine, and she could take courage in it – follow the example of the women of Rohan.
Lothíriel reached out her hands, and they reached back. Éowyn's deft fingers pressed against her left hand, and Hild's grip was strong in her right.
Holding on to those hands, and knowing they would not abandon her in this storm, she could still smile through the pain.
When Lothíriel later thought of those days, few memories came to her mind. It seemed she mostly went through motions, worked and ate and slept, and walked through hours like one in a dream. There were flashes, certainly, and she would not soon forget her conversation with Aunt Ivriniel, or when Éowyn and Hild revealed what kind of a fate would await her if Éomer did not return. But beyond these interactions, so much of it was blank.
She would eventually learn – from Hild, of course – that it was not uncommon for those with the same kind of trouble as her. Hild talked to her about Riders who had witnessed terrible things on the battlefield, and knew that something had happened to them, but did not remember a single thing. And there were others who could remember the horror with perfect clarity, while everything else was shrouded in darkness.
Strange as that may be, it comforted her a little. If even hardened warriors struggled like she was struggling, then maybe she was not as weak as she had thought. She did not liken herself to their strength and endurance, but she could take encouragement in their example.
Messengers came daily, but brought little in the way of the news. While the searches continued as urgently as before, no bodies had been found, and no sign of what had happened to the King of Rohan. Erchirion and his company also remained missing. As those five days of uncertainty and dread passed, there were times that all the build-up of dread and care was gripping her by the throat, and even with Éowyn and Hild figuratively holding her up, she felt like she was in a choke-hold and slowly running out of air. In those moments, Lothíriel half-seriously thought of just running and running and running, vanishing into the wild and not caring what met her there. She did not dare to think of what Ceolmund would have made of her, had he arrived at Emyn Arnen in the middle of all this: she did not think for one moment that in her current frame of mind, she could have fooled him. But Éowyn had written back and requested him to stand down for the time being, and it seemed he respected his king's sister enough to do as she wished. Thank Elbereth for small mercies. However, the longer Éomer remained missing, the more likely it became that he was not going to come back at all. And eventually, Ceolmund would go forth with his plan.
There were also moments of clarity, when Lothíriel pondered her situation, and everything that had led to it. These times often came late at night, and then she would sit up by her desk, scribbling down thoughts and sentences, until something like an image started to emerge. She began to see how this bodiless wound had slowly festered, quiet and hidden behind the breathless movement of Éomer's return to Minas Tirith, the proposal, the wedding... she thought back to the days when she had first met and fallen in love with him, and how she had thought of him in the silence of her thoughts – desiring him in a way that a well-bred lady only admitted to herself. Certainly, she had thought of golden hair and how it fell against bare skin, his striking face and the wonder of the way he moved his great body, more graceful than one would expect from such a tall and strong man. But then she got hurt, and suddenly the quiet of her thoughts was filled with other things, and at night she did not dream of him, but of pain and terror and how she always ended up under that damned tree.
And so the wedding night had come, and she had finally got a chance to be his wife, but she couldn't – couldn't let him touch her or touch him back. What she had feared even Lothíriel could not say, because she knew she had trusted him not to hurt her, but maybe she had just known somewhere deep down that she was not healed. And so she could not give her body, even to him. It was not about adjusting to anything, not getting used to him. Well, not completely, at least. She had needed to adjust and she had needed to get better.
She recalled again the night just before her husband had gone missing. Something had stirred again, and she had prepared to crawl into his arms, let him have her. Was she better then? She could not say. But she did love him, and wanted to comfort him, take him in her arms and push out the memories of the grimy, filthy battlefront that he had come back from. She had seen his need and wanted to answer it. Like he had seen hers, back in Minas Tirith, and how he had made her feel so calm and secure. Thanks to him, she had got at least some say in the situation. Maybe his care and patience had started to heal something.
And maybe if he hadn't gone missing, and Ivriniel had not visited, everything would have gone more smoothly. The shades that kept howling inside her mind might have quieted as the very noise of life drowned them out. A new life and a new beginning under the free sky of Rohan would have helped her to mend herself and unlearn these harmful things that had come to light. With Éomer she could rebuild herself alongside the land of the horse-lords, and turn this thing into a source of wisdom and understanding, just like Hild had done.
The loss of Éomer would be more than just a loss of love. It would also cost her own life, even if her heart kept beating.
She wondered: how was she going to bear it if Éomer did not come back? Perhaps she would not. And if Ceolmund did what Princess Hild had predicted, what would be the point?
An evening came, sixth after the fearful news, and cold rain passed over Ithilien. Éowyn had taken Lothíriel out and over the river to spend an afternoon riding in the meads of Lossarnarch, but the land was cheerless under low-hanging grey clouds and when it started to drizzle, they decided to turn back. Lothíriel appreciated her law-sister's attempts to give her something else to think about, but nothing could truly distract her from the ever present dread, and its weight was becoming more difficult to bear.
Back at the manor house, she refused Éowyn's offer to eat dinner together, and instead asked to send a plate to her room.
"I have a lot of correspondence to catch up on, so I think I'd rather have a quick bite in my room and then get on with writing some answers", Lothíriel said, smiling briefly.
It was a convenient excuse and true enough, but what she did not say aloud was that she had no real appetite and felt particularly miserable tonight, and as such was not really in the mood to try and keep up a brave face. A small frown briefly touched Éowyn's face, but while she didn't try to change Lothíriel's mind, the young queen guessed she was more transparent than she thought.
"I shall tell somebody to bring you a plate, then. But make sure you remember to eat", said Éowyn, her voice walking a fine line between stern and gentle. Of course the lack of appetite was starting to show.
Slowly Lothíriel walked upstairs and made her way into her and Éomer's room, in which his absence seemed more tangible than ever. On the last two nights, she had actually pulled out one of his spare shirts from the travelling chest, and slept in it instead of her own shift. The fabric did not smell like him, but like the herbs sprinkled in the chest to keep the clothes fresh, but it helped a little when she thought the shirt had rested against his skin once, and held his warmth.
Food came, and mindful of Éowyn's words and how there certainly would be trouble if she did not finish off the plate, Lothíriel started to eat. The food tasted like ash in her mouth, but she forced all of it down.
She lit her reading lamp and sat down by the desk. Letters piled up there just as she had told Éowyn, correspondence from relatives and contacts she had made in her first excitement for all the things she might do as the Queen of Rohan, but purchasing timber for building projects or finding out more about the dyeing process and introducing Belfalasian dyers to Rohirric weavers now seemed like projects from another lifetime. Even without Aunt Ivriniel's prolific addition, the stream of letters remained regular, but the only messages Lothíriel found any energy answer were those from her father, and from Queen Arwen. Though she kept the tone of her responses as calm and steady as she could, Father's messages were as full of concern as they were brief and frequent. Queen Arwen's letters, gentle and graceful, were one of the few things that truly comforted her.
Lothíriel stared reluctantly at the pile of letters, and thought of how affected they now seemed. She didn't want to talk to any of those people. She just wanted Éomer. Just hear his voice once more, no matter what it would cost her. She thought of how she would gladly change places with him; if a death was required, she'd rather it was hers. Not him. Not him.
But this kind of praying and silent bargaining she had done almost every night since she had got the news, not knowing if such things were even listened to, or if only the night was witness to her desperation. With a shaky breath, she closed her eyes and pressed her hand against her face. She felt like tears were welling in her eyes, and still they would not fall. Yet it was like there was so much weeping inside of her, such pent up pain that it would surely choke her sooner or later. How was she going to get through this?
There was a sudden knock on her door, making her startle. What was it now? Lothíriel really did not think she could deal with people tonight. It was as if she was standing on the edge, and her foothold was starting to crumble. For a moment she considered not answering at all, but then some feeling overcame her and she called out, "What is it?"
"My lady? My lady, a Rider has just arrived – one of the Knights of the King of Rohan –"
She flew to the door and threw it open. A guard, one of King Elessar's men, was standing there wide-eyed, mouth open. He was about to speak, but no words were needed because she could already see it in his eyes.
She cried out. The sound was raw and strange, almost painful even to her own ears. Then she ran, leaving the door open and the guard standing there, not caring what he or anyone else thought. She ran as if her life depended on it, heart in her throat, tears already streaming down her face.
Evening had come and it was dark outside, but the torches were lit in the courtyard. Green-cloaked Riders were pouring in through the gates, and the royal banner was there, and then – then she saw the gleaming of the white horsetail helmet, the green cloak streaming down his shoulders, his proud figure..
Lothíriel cried out again. Now she flew, and he was dismounting in a swift fluid movement, calling her name; it pierced her heart, because only a few moments ago she had been thinking of what she would give to just hear his voice again. Her final step became a leap and he caught her in his arms, and they collided so forcefully that he had to take a few steps back to adjust. She was sobbing and kissing him, every inch that she could reach, both her tears and her kisses wetting his dear, dear face. And Éomer held Lothíriel tight to his chest, so that her feet did not even touch the ground, mumbling endearments and apologies in a disoriented mixture of Rohirric and Westron. Her relief was so powerful that it was almost unbearable. He was alive and he was back again, she hadn't lost him, she could make amends for her failure... and Lothíriel knew how rare it was to be given the gift of a second chance.
When he finally put her down, she reached for his face with both hands and caressed his cheeks, wet from her tears and probably his too, and he leant closer to kiss her. It was a kiss of pure desperation but also of relief, rough and bruising and full of something that went beyond joy. And though they were standing in the middle of a noisy courtyard full of men and horses, at this moment Lothíriel felt like she and Éomer were the only two people in the world. Each time one of them began to settle down, the other pulled him or her back into another kiss, and it took some time for them to compose themselves. When that first intoxicating rush at last began to subside, Lothíriel became aware of how brazenly she had shown her feelings and affection for him – she, who was usually so reserved and collected in the public. But if one's beloved coming back from the dead does not warrant an open and honest response, nothing does.
"Are you all right?" she asked at last. Her voice was trembling just a little bit.
"I'm fine now. What about you?" he asked her, resting his forehead against hers.
"You are back. That is all that matters", she told him, brushing her fingers clumsily against his cheeks and his hair. There she found that braid she herself had made, and which he had promised to keep until they met again. She sobbed out loud and felt relief wash over her once again.
Their reunion was interrupted when Éowyn rushed out, laughing out loud when she saw her brother. Princess Hild was not far behind, and she was moving as fast as her limp would permit. Lothíriel made way so that they too could greet and embrace Éomer, and he caught Éowyn with one arm, and Hild with the other.
His aunt seemed too beside herself to say anything, but Éowyn was not so hindered.
"I told you to be careful!" she exclaimed when she pulled back.
"Well, I did come back, didn't I?" said Éomer, smiling at the three women around him. But then he glanced away, adding, "Although I did get some help in that."
Lothíriel followed the line of his gaze, and then saw Erchirion. At some point, he had approached them and was now standing silently and watching her with an awkward look. He reminded her a bit of a young stag, sensing danger and ready to break into a run. His cloak and armour were muddy and rumpled, and the strain of whatever courageous deed he had achieved was heavy on him, but he still watched his little sister as though he was afraid of her.
She stepped away from Éomer's side and approached her brother. He stood still, his face uncertain and fearful. She could see his throat working anxiously.
There was still hurt between them, and it would take time to mend it. But Erchirion had risked his life for Éomer, and it seemed it was crucial to the fact that he was now standing alive in this courtyard. If Erchirion's actions had brought her husband back to her –
Something painful and angry abated, and then she put her arms around her brother. He was stiff at first, as if he were afraid to move, but eventually he returned the gesture, albeit carefully. Yes, it would take some time to fix this relationship, but this was a good start.
"I am glad you are all right", she said softly when she pulled back to look at him. "But does Father know it too?"
"He does. We saw him only yesterday", he replied.
"Why didn't you send messengers?" asked Éowyn, the question directed at both men.
"It seemed a better idea to come ourselves", Éomer replied, moving next to Lothíriel again and placing his arm around her shoulders. Instinctively she moved closer to him, clasping one of his hands in her own.
"Well said, dear lad", said Hild at last, having recovered her voice. There was steely determination in her eyes again, though they were still damp, and she continued, "Let's get these men warmed up and fed, shall we, niece mine?"
Éowyn nodded and in a taciturn but efficient manner the two women burst into action. Éomer raised a curious eyebrow but said nothing. Then Lothíriel pulled gently at his hand, and she lead him and Erchirion inside.
At this hour, the manor house would normally be starting to settle down for the night, but now there came a flurry of action to feed and find beds for the newly arrived company. But soon enough a late dinner was set in Éowyn's solar for Éomer and Erchirion, and the women gathered around them, trying to hold back their many questions until they were not so ravenously hungry anymore. Lothíriel sat next to her husband, her hand on his knee, as if by touching him at all times she could reassure herself that he was really here and wasn't going to vanish.
Eventually he began to describe the events of the past week. He spoke for a while, and later Erchirion would add his part of the tale. First Éomer described briefly the mission he had joined with Faramir's Rangers near the foot of the mountains. Then he mentioned one of his Riders Lothíriel knew too.
"Beornric was uneasy from the beginning. His family comes from Harrowdale, and they are experienced mountaineers. They know mountain passes and roads like fish know water. It was him who alerted us to the landslide even before it began, and found us a safer path in the middle of the chaos", said Éomer and took a long sip of ale. He then continued to explain how the company was caught in an ambush. For a while, the situation had been very bad and he was not certain of how they would have got away unscathed. However, Beornric had later said that the commotion had probably triggered the landslide somehow, orcs coming down from the upper slopes had set it in motion probably by accident, and then all fighting ceased as each of them ran for their lives. Beornric found them a path, leading the King's Company to higher ground away from the landslide. A company of orcs followed them, and so the battle continued, step by step and up the narrow slopes, until even the last orc was cast down the mountainside.
At this point, it was clear they could not go back the way they had come. Beornric felt it was still dangerous and unsteady, and any attempt to climb down would probably trigger another landslide that would bury them all. So they had to keep going forward, although the only passable way seemed to lead up and not down.
It was a hard and bitter road, and at times it was not a road at all, but one foothold after another where one wrong step could send a man falling to his death. Sometimes it took them higher up the mountain's side, and at times they slid down to lower ledges. Yet the King's Riders were hardy and seasoned men, and working together they eventually found a way down: steep at first, and then gentler slopes, until at last they reached the woods once more.
However, at this point they had no water or food left. Drink could be found in Ithilien, and being a tough and tried company, they might do without food for a couple of days until they came across Faramir's scouts. But first they had to decide whether to take the faster road by following the mountain range and thus risk meeting more orcs, or find a way to the river, which would take them away from the possibility of battle but would take longer – and probably be a harder road without any food.
At this point of the story, Éomer fell silent and turned his face to look at Erchirion. Her brother cleared his throat and then he continued with his side of the tale.
Erchirion and his company, a group of Rohirrim that did not need much persuasion to join him, had stolen out of the camp during the night. They decided not to search the site of the ambush and landslide, because King Elessar and his men were still examining the area and its surroundings. If the King of Gondor and Arnor found out about this rogue band, he would probably command them to return to the camp and wait for orders there.
So, after some debate, the company decided it was better to search where others had not yet gone, and they headed southwards. The company followed the mountain's roots as closely as they could. They made their way carefully, as they did not wish to be noticed and waste energy in fighting roaming bands of orcs.
In the evening of that day they found the bodies of two dead orcs. One of them had taken an arrow to its thigh; the shaft had clearly come from the bow of a Rohirric archer. But this had not killed the orc nor its companion: it appeared that the two had fallen from a great height and died by the impact. So it appeared there had been a fight on the upper slopes of the mountain, involving at least one Rohirric archer. This was a hopeful sign indeed, and so Erchirion and his group kept going, although they found little else in the way of hints until the morning of the fourth day.
Now Éomer took up the tale again. He described the events of that fourth morning. He and his Riders had finally found a way down the previous night, and exhausted they had made camp and spent a cheerless night under the trees. In the morning, they had to decide which way they should take, follow the mountain range or try for the river. This debate was still going on when one of the sentinels spotted movement in the forest. Then he recognised the familiar green cloaks that Rohirrim used, and he quickly alarmed his king to this lucky turn of events.
The meeting of two companies was happy indeed, and for the King's Riders it meant that the worst danger had passed. Erchirion's band had enough food supplies to be shared, although these had to be rationed, but even so it was better than trying to travel back without any food at all. On their way back, they met two companies of orcs, but the fresher warriors who had followed Erchirion took the lead and made a shield-wall under Éomer's command. Only minor injuries were taken, and late last night they had reached camp. As soon as his company had slept a few hours and he had spoken to Elessar, Éomer had started for Emyn Arnen: he had wanted to see his wife, sister and aunt and tell them himself that he was all right.
"You were extremely lucky to make it through this unscathed, sister-son", said Hild at last when the story was finished, "although it seems to me your life has always been charmed."
"I know that well. There were moments I did not think we would make it, but I knew we had to keep on going. Giving up was not an option, and even then surviving took every inch of our strength and resilience. I had some good men with me, up there on the mountain and down in the woods, and I owe a debt to each one of them", said Éomer, glancing briefly at Erchirion. But Erchirion looked embarrassed and said nothing, like he didn't quite know what to do with the attention.
Conversation went back and forth as Éowyn and Hild asked for more details, but Lothíriel spoke little. Much of the time she spent watching her husband and silently attempting to adjust to the emotional whiplash of this night. Deep distress had turned into relief and joy so quickly, and both sensations had been so intense that she felt a bit overwhelmed. It would take some time to sort it all out, and right now she only wanted to be alone with him. However, she knew it was important for his sister and aunt to be with him too, and so she kept her thoughts to herself. They would have the whole night together.
However, it seemed that Hild sensed her feelings, or simply wanted to be nice because of how difficult these past few days had been for Lothíriel. So with a slight smile she commented, "I think your bath may be ready now, sister-son. I'm sure you are eager to go and get some rest."
It was also a tactful way to let him retire without having to make excuses.
"I can't say it would not be appreciated", said Éomer and pushed away his now empty plate. He looked around himself, "But I hope a bath is also prepared for Erchirion? He has earned it."
"Of course, brother. We are not savages!" said Éowyn and turned her eyes at Lothíriel's brother. "Just hold on a moment. I'll go find somebody to take you to your rooms."
With that, good night was said between the group, and Lothíriel took Éomer's hand in her own. In silence, they made their way upstairs.
She began to feel a little bit nervous and excited as they walked. His proximity was a thrilling sensation, especially after the many days and nights she had spent fearing he would not return. She felt intensely aware of him. Even without his armour he was an imposing presence, tall and broad and golden. He was no less striking with the dust and wear of the long hard days upon him.
Heat rushed up her neck and she lowered her eyes. What would he read in them, should he look back at her? She felt torn between wanting to look at him and feast with her eyes, but also with some lingering sense of modesty that kept telling her how a well-bred lady should not ogle. But he was her husband, he had returned to her from deadly peril, and she had plans for a much greater intimacy. Well, if she overcame her nerves first.
The bath was ready and waiting when they got to their room: a big tub sat before the fireplace and hot water was steaming invitingly. It was clearly the chief thing in Éomer's mind too, because he made a pleased sound in his throat, and did not seem to notice anything unusual when she said, "You go ahead. I'll take care of a couple of things, and join you in a moment."
"All right", he said, kissed her temple and moved forward, already pulling off his dirty tunic. His smell was pungent after many days of ordeals, but even that was merely a proof of his survival and thus entirely welcome.
While it seemed wrong to leave his side at all, Lothíriel made a quick trip outside, and gave orders not to disturb them for the rest of the night. Then she headed back, her heart racing.
Éomer was already washing, and glanced behind his back only briefly when she entered. He flashed her a smile and she returned it the best she could, and wondered that he had not yet noticed how agitated she was.
He'd notice soon enough.
Lothíriel began to undress. Thankfully, her gown was simple enough to get off without any help, and there were no tricky lacings that she couldn't reach by herself. The gown pooled by her feet, and then her shift followed. Quietly, she pushed down her stockings, and then her smallclothes. She took off her hairpins, letting her hair fall down. Goosebumps rose on her skin and her heart beat a little faster.
Her husband was still unaware, splashing enough with the water that he didn't hear the sound of her clothes rustling.
"Can you hand me the towel?" he asked her, reaching his hand out of the tub.
"Of course", said Lothíriel softly. She stepped out of the pile of clothes and made her way next to the tub, so that he could see her.
Éomer looked up. Instantly, his expression changed. His eyes widened when he saw her there, naked as the day she was born, hair tumbling freely down her shoulders.
Before he could recover, she asked him, "Do you mind if I join you?"
"Please do."
There was not much spare space in the tub and she had to take support of his shoulders to keep her balance. The only spot where she could sit was his lap and she slid there, her breath hitching. That first contact of his naked skin against her own sent shivers like lightnings through her. Hot water splashed around them, and hands and arms fumbled as they both sought for a comfortable position. Eventually, she wrapped her arms around his neck, while his hands settled down on her hips. He was so very warm, and his body felt hard and solid against her own. She found she liked the feeling of him, even if she still felt a bit shy of exploring him further. But that was something she intended to get over tonight, completely and for good. Her heart still beat quickly as she watched him, his hair hanging damply about his face and candlelight giving his skin a lovely glow.
He was staring at her, still quite dazed but undeniably eager.
"You are so beautiful", he said at last, low and husky. His eyes travelled over her body, or at least the parts above the water. His gaze was almost a caress in itself, moving from her face to her neck and the swell of her breasts.
Her cheeks felt warm, and not just because of the hot water. The way he watched her made her skin tingle; she had seen glimpses of that hunger before, but he had been quick to control and conceal it until now.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting", she said quietly, but he just smiled.
"Good things are worth waiting for, love."
Hearing that, she pressed even closer to her husband, and kissed him. He answered it, but she felt some restraint still in his manner. The reason for it was revealed soon enough when he pulled back and spoke.
"Tell me if you need me to slow down. Or if anything feels wrong."
"I trust you."
Lothíriel expected that Éomer would then proceed, but he sat still and just regarded her with what she could only call adoration.
"What is it?" she asked him.
"I'm just making sure that I will always remember this moment", he replied simply. It made her heart swell with a feeling so piercing that it was almost like pain. And she had nearly lost this extraordinary man who loved her so much! She cradled his face between her hands, gently smoothing her fingers against his bearded cheeks and warm skin. Knowing she might otherwise start to cry with the sheer love that she had for him, she pressed her lips against his.
And he began to kiss her back, slow at first, and then with more intensity. For a while she was wholly absorbed by this and she grew more comfortable in his lap. Then one of his hands moved down her hip, feeling her thigh, and gently exploring the sensitive skin in the inner part. She gripped his shoulders tighter and gasped when his fingers moved to a yet more intimate spot.
She fell quickly under his spell. His mouth traced her mouth, her chin, her neck. And his hands moved with gentle, subtle skill against her skin, making her tremble with pleasure. She pressed closer to him, kissing him more demandingly and winding her fingers in his hair. Something was building up, and she wanted... she wanted...
But Éomer would not yield so quickly. His mouth travelled a delicious path across her jaw and to her ear. He whispered hoarsely, "Shall we take this to the bed?"
Lothíriel could only whimper in answer, and with some difficulty she was able to get up on shaking legs. But when Éomer was up on his feet, he grabbed her by the back of her knees and lifted her, and gladly she wrapped her arms around his neck. With a few long strides, he took them to the bed.
Little shivers went up and down her limbs, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw him lower himself next to her. Until now, she had just seen glimpses, hands and arms and shoulders and knees, but now he was completely exposed to her eyes. She could not get enough of him. The wet glistening of his skin in soft firelight, the smooth movements of his long and strong limbs, and yet the faintest tension about his shoulders and neck that revealed intense focus... his hair was starting to dry and regain its rich lustre, and his eyes, dark and hungry, travelled over her body with a look so raw and unveiled that her mouth went dry.
She needed his hands back on her.
As if knowing what she wanted, he moved closer and his hands resumed to their earlier task. But his mouth claimed her own again, and her fingers pressed tightly against the soft linen under them and his warm skin, still damp from the bathwater. Over and over he kept bringing her to just to the edge of that point where she knew she would fall, but then he'd her back again, until she was almost begging –
His fingers worked faster, and she cried out, and when she was suspended in that moment of dazzling light, he quickly rolled on the top of her. In one swift motion he pushed inside of her and she nearly cried out again.
"Is this all right?" Éomer asked, almost growling, but the tone was so tender it didn't unsettle her.
"Y-yes", Lothíriel replied, "I was just surprised."
"May I continue?"
"You may."
And he did. He felt so big, and yet he was so gentle, and he was concerned with more than just his own pleasure. His hands kept up their heady work, and soon she was mellow in his arms again, moving against him, pulling him to her. At some point, he was half growling and half whispering in her ear: "... hlæfdige min... swá fæger... swá swete…"
That he too was so overcome sent her to new heights, and it was not long that she became undone in his arms once again. But his movement became more intense and his kisses even more feverish, until at last she felt him thrust for one more time and then he became still. He groaned deeply against her cheek and she gripped him tight. Her husband hovered there above her, his lips slowly tracing hers for a while, and then he heavily rolled over to her side. And though she was hot and sweaty from their lovemaking, she still scooted closer to him and his arm snaked its way around her shoulders. Now she was really his wife.
"I love you so much", she uttered once her breathing had started to become regular.
"I love you too", he replied, planting a clumsy kiss on the top of her head. "You know, you were there with me on that mountainside. I don't know if I could have kept fighting like I did, if the thought of you did not sustain me."
"Then keep me with you always", she whispered, holding on tighter to him. "And come back to me, no matter how far you must first go."
His return did not immediately heal what was wrong with her, but he did give her strength and courage to keep on going. It would be a thousand times easier with his love and support, his hand steadying her when she stumbled. She too was standing on a mountainside, and had to find a way back – or perhaps not back, but forward. If he thought she was still good enough, damaged as she was, then at the very least she would have a life and a reason to rebuild whatever was broken in herself. He was a reason to try and get better. He needed a queen who stood firm and fought by his side. But he also deserved a companion who could be relied on, and who could support him and love him when his people needed him to be strong. And so she would have to find a way to mend herself to become the woman she had promised to be.
With the prospect of a new beginning and knowing he would share the road with her, she did not think it would be an impossible task.
To be continued.
A/N: Phew, that was fun one to write! It was interesting to take Lothíriel's despair still a step further with the threat of Ceolmund interrogating her, and then see how Éomer's return would cause her to bounce back. Still, like she observes at the end of the chapter, the lucky turn of events doesn't instantly make her better, but it does encourage her and give her a reason to try and find healing.
I assume it will be easy to see Ceolmund as an antagonist (like Ivriniel in the previous chapter), but in the end, he's just doing what he thinks is politically the right move for his people. While he did show acceptance for Lothíriel when they met in Minas Tirith, he's also very pragmatic and even ruthless when it's needed.
From early on, I had this idea that after her accident Lothíriel would feel uncertain of intimacy with Éomer, as you have seen since their wedding night. She wasn't lying when she was telling him that her reticence was because she hadn't had time to adjust: she just did not understand what was happening to her. As you may recall from the earlier chapters of this story, she certainly wasn't shy about looking at him or kissing him. In this chapter, she comes to realise what it was really about. At the time they were married, the trauma of her injury was still fresh on her and it has for a time made her very averse to feeling vulnerable. Which the idea of being intimate, even with someone she loves, makes her feel. However, I think she has got in that sense a little better, at least because she now knows what's really happening to her, and because Éomer going missing has chanamged some of what she felt before. Also, she just wants to love her husband and make him happy (especially after he nearly died).
With this in mind, I felt like it was fairly important that she would initiate their first tryst. And Éomer, being the wonderful and loving man he is, senses the need to be gentle and considerate.
No doubt they have some very interesting conversations in their future!
As always, I am very glad for your comments. Thank you for favourites, follows and reviews!
Inspiration for the chapter: Kate Bush - Running Up That Hill
VAST - Flames
Tibblets - Thank you for sharing that story! I'm glad PTSD is understood much better these days, and that your brother-in-law has got help for it. I think that being able to talk about PTSD in (fan)fiction may be helpful in demystifying it, and maybe those who suffer from it may feel more accepted in their communities.
Cricket22 - Thanks! The biological family can indeed be running on some pretty harmful behaviors, but the family we choose can procide us with a place to heal from unhealthy patterns. Lothíriel's case with Ivriniel and Hild is very much like this.
I do hope you enjoyed the part Erchirion had in finding Éomer, and bringing him back to Lothíriel!
Cathael - Thank you! I am only happy to hear that you think so. I do wish to put something little deeper in the stories I tell, so it's great if my readers think so too!
Hope you did enjoy this chapter and the reunion at the end of it!
Boramir - Excellent thoughts, as always!
I think Ivriniel was really a victim of her own circumstances. She is too steeped in her own harmful behaviour to see how much it's hurting Lothíriel. I believe she really thinks she's just helping. But yes, her attitude against Éomer is really quite prejudiced.
As for her political views, I think she does know that Aragorn's claim to the throne is ironclad and there's nothing she can - or will - do about it. However, it's not going to stop her from complaining about it to such confidential sources as Imrahil.
Infinity Delena - Thank you!
Guest - Doing the best I can!
froukru - Wow, that's amazing! I don't know if I could stand my own nonsense for 27 chapters straight! I do thank you!
NightBlossom - Thanks for that perspective! It can be very frustrating to be seen as a mere child by your elders.
Simplegurl4u - She is indeed operating at the end of her wits, but thank goodness things get better for her in this chapter! As for Éowyn, I think there is a significant difference. Lothíriel is already in a bad place mentally, while Éowyn is very steady and firm. Lothíriel is weakened by her trauma, but Éowyn has easier time blocking out the distress. Being in a more study place mentallly, Éowyn won't submit to feelings that overcome Lothíriel more easily because of her already unsteady state.
Ivriniel has her own trauma and bad experiences to make her the way she is, but like Hild or Éowyn, she has never tried to work through it. Hence her projecting it on Lothíriel.
Glad to hear Lothíriel's feelings are so tangible!
Guest - Here you go!