Elphir's Interlude

He had been sitting in the High King's Council when a messenger entered the room profusely apologizing, proclaiming that the letter from Prince Imrahil had been of the highest urgency.

High King Elessar beckoned the young man to approach, who then gave the liege and Elphir each a letter sealed with blue wax depicting a ship and a swan. A third letter addressed to Éomer was also offered to Elphir, who understood his father's instruction for it implicitly.

At once the Prince Heir opened his and read his father's writ. He then blinked in mild surprise and met Aragorn's amused gaze.

He knew of the imminence of this message; he was merely taken aback by the speed at which it had occurred. But then Éomer King had been uncharacteristically agitated this morning while waiting for the Princess of Dol Amroth to wake up. He supposed that enough time had been wasted by Éomer already on reaching the emotional capacity to be married in the first place.

No, the Dol Amrothian corrected himself as he gathered the two letters, tucked them inside an inner pocket and stood up. Becoming mentally ready for marriage was not time wasted, it was a requirement for happiness. He knew this better than anyone else.

"Your Majesty – "

With a smile, Aragorn nodded and gestured towards the exit. "Go on, milord. Your brotherly duty awaits."

After muttering an apologetic greeting, he set off towards the Houses of Healing.

Indeed, if he compared Lothíriel's situation to his own, matters had progressed rather rapidly from acquaintanceship to an impending formal agreement between both parties. It helped that Éomer and Lothíriel were undeniably interested in one another. That had certainly not been the case for Siloril and him. If it had been up to him, he would have waited another five years to marry, as it was not uncommon in their family to have long engagements. Yet his mother's demise had urged Imrahil to push for a wedding sooner rather than later. And while Elphir had reconciled with it and held no regrets – for now he had Alphros and the babe in his life – it had certainly been tough on Siloril.

He knew that he was not a considerate husband. Elphir had been forced to acknowledge the extent of his shortcomings at the event of Alphros' birth. If Fate had decided differently, he would have lost his wife and his son that day. Humbled, he had resolved to do better. But then Fate had flexed her cruel streak anyway.

His pace faltered at the thought, and he lingered a few seconds in the High Hall of Healing, then he cast a glance towards the entrance of the House of Remedies. With a sigh, he crossed the High Hall and entered the hallway leading to the herb gardens.

Though Elphir thought himself to be a good brother at least, he had learned to value Gondorian propriety greatly. As the first son of Imrahil, a lot of burden was placed upon him from the earliest time he could remember, and it had been made clear to him that he would be following in his father's footsteps. With that title came the expectations that he would learn all that was needed to rule, that he would have a politically advantageous marriage and that he would have to ensure at least one male heir. The burdens he bore were heavy, but he did so valiantly. With responsibility came privilege, and there had been a specific and private sort of privilege for which he was willing to shoulder those burdens without complaint.

After all, who would have dared to suspect the strict and principled Prince Heir Elphir of any indiscretions?

Furthermore, as he was groomed to be the future ruler of the Belfalan fiefdom, he saw that his younger siblings were given more freedom and less responsibility. And he did not envy them the imbalance of the scale, because he hoped to be able to rely on them during hardships.

And Amrothos and Erchirion certainly knew how to keep attention on themselves.

The least strict he was with his sister, who bore the likeness of his sweet mother. Like Amrothos, he too had hoped to keep her near him, even after marriage. Now he knew for certain that this wish would remain unfulfilled.

Just like he knew right now where he would find his sister and her intended. Curiously, it was the same place where he had happened upon her, staring through the window at the young yet-uncrowned King of the Riddermark. Curiouser was the feeling that had grown in his chest as he had observed her peering down. Whether it was the fabled Numenorean premonition or his brotherly instincts, he had sensed that Lothíriel and Éomer would be connected to another beyond her benevolence for a stranger.

Or it was indeed that natural care she held for others that had entwined her fate with that of Éomer King.

Quietly he kept himself informed of the blossoming of their relationship, the stolen glances and the frequency of letters, the gifts, the pointed avoidance and the unguarded moments of sincere emotions. Even when she returned home from Minas Tirith in November, broken-hearted, he knew that the paths of Lothíriel and Éomer would keep crossing.

And only once he had gotten involved. Only once had he casually pointed out to his cousin-in-law, Lord Forgammon of Lossarnach, that his sister seemed ready for matrimony. That was all that had been needed.

At the end of winter, he had received a letter from Éomer in which he had indirectly asked Elphir if it was true that Lothíriel had accepted a courtship from Lord Forgammon, attempting to disguise it as a request to know when the Dol Amrothian Princes would be in Minas Tirith the coming year. For the sake of counsel, of course, had Éomer written. Elphir had laughed at the clumsy and endearing attempt, alone in his private office in Dol Amroth, and then he had drunk two whole goblets of wine and fallen asleep at his desk.

In any case, she was now alone with him – most probably in that stillroom in the Apothecary tower – and Elphir had the duty to chaperone. Especially because the passion of the Rohirrim was evident in the presence of many a blonde and ginger child born in the past two years. Though he did not doubt Éomer's character, his sister's effortless charm and naivety might test the limits of the young man's self-restraint.

The Prince Heir of Dol Amroth had made his way to the furthest side of the gardens of the Houses of Healing and hastily approached the tower. Elphir braced himself for whatever scene he may happen upon, and up the stairs he went until he reached the door of the stillroom that had been assigned to Lothíriel. He opened it then and saw something that he had not expected.

"Elphir! Hush!"

Nestled quite comfortably upon cushions, rugs and blankets were Éomer and Lothíriel. Specifically, Lothíriel was sitting with her legs stretched out, leaning against a cushion, while Éomer was resting his head on her lap, his eyes shut.

Though the sight was quite innocent, it implied that the nature of the relationship between the two was anything but. For a moment Elphir merely stared as he remained standing in the doorway, glad though that he had not happened upon them in a fervent embrace – or worse, he could not have predicted this.

Lothíriel had been braiding Éomer's hair and he in turn seemed to be in deep sleep.

"Do not wake him," she whispered at her brother, her brows knit in warning, "he needs his rest."

He quietly closed the door and sat down on the solitary chair in the room. Something niggled at his heart as he looked at his little sister and her intended.

Impropriety aside, there was a disquiet in his chest that impeded his breathing.

It had been dancing on the periphery of his mind all day. Then when he folded his hands together, he felt the coolness of his rings and he finally saw it for what it was.

Nemir.

It happened almost eighteen years ago when he had officially joined the ranks of the Swan Knights after graduating from Swan Knight Academy. After a particularly gruelling sortie, he fell asleep against a tree after tending to his horse. He was not alone in this, however. Leaning on his shoulder had been his sole friend and companion, Nemir, the fourth son of Sir Amandir the Second, of the House of Serni from Anfalas. They had become friends in the first week of being Swan Cadets when they had been twelve. Unlike Elphir, Nemir had no title or land to inherit, and his father had thought it best that he would become a Swan Knight instead. The apparent mismatch in station had not mattered, as they had found consonance between their personalities. Both boys were of reserved nature and were hesitant in forming coalitions beyond the formal necessities, yet they quickly discovered that there was ease and peace between them that they could not cultivate elsewhere.

As a result, Elphir and Nemir hardly left each other's side from then on, glad to train, study and repose together. Elphir had even begged his father to ensure that the two young men would always be placed together, and Imrahil – surprised at the first genuine, selfish request his eldest son had made – had been happy to oblige him. Thus they had ended up leaning against that tree that night after fulfilling their duties as juniors to their company.

While that setting might not have been something out of the ordinary for two young men, Elphir opened his eyes to see the brunette crown of Nemir's head resting on his shoulder. And in the solitude of the evening, his heart warmed in a peculiar fashion, because of a sweet and fragile comfort that he had never experienced before. Not for a second did he feel like pushing him away. Rather, he was not able to stop himself from studying his friend's face, taking note of the thin teenage moustache that was typical for young men who were not of Numenorean descent. In fact, there was a scattering of fine light brown hairs on Nemir's jawline as well. If the light of the nearby torches had been brighter, he would have been able to see the few freckles on the bridge of his nose as well. Before he could dwell longer on his companion's complexion, however, Nemir shifted and opened his eyes, meeting his instantly.

"Elphir." He sheepishly said, his voice cracking. "Sorry to bother you."

Though his name meant Sea Jewel, Nemir's eyes were brown, and despite their ever-present warmth, Elphir was startled by them. And more, he was startled by the giddy feeling that had started dancing in his belly upon their eye contact.

"It is fine."

Nemir was about to move away when Elphir placed his arm around his waist to keep him there. "Do not move from here."

They held each other's gaze for a moment, faces so close that they had felt their breaths collide. Then Nemir closed the gap between them and grazed his lips against Elphir's, his moustache tickling his skin. As they parted, they looked at each other with apprehension, unsure how to proceed.

All he knew was he did not wish to – he could not lose Nemir.

And he allowed himself to lean down and return the kiss firmly yet carefully, keenly aware of what it meant.

Finally, Elphir squeezed him closer to himself and whispered. "Take your rest."

The smile on Nemir's face was light as he leaned against his shoulder once more, and he too understood that – ever undefined - the nature of their bond had changed into something more.

"Elphir… Elphir!"

Lothíriel's whisper finally roused him from the reverie. She was done braiding Éomer's hair and she was now staring at her brother with both confusion and interest.

Elphir cleared his throat and tugged the end of his tightly braided hair. "Forgive me, I was lost in my thoughts."

"Are you worried about Siloril?"

Guilt twisted his stomach, as it always did whenever he thought about Nemir when he should have been concerned for his wife instead.

"No," he replied honestly, for Lothíriel knew him well, "I was reminiscing. And Siloril, she is well and resting in our rooms."

She nodded in understanding as she glanced down at the blonde man, still sound asleep in her lap. "You were thinking about Sir Nemir."

There had been four people who knew about his singular attachment to Nemir. His late mother Celairwen and his younger brother Erchirion had come to know of it early on, while Lothíriel had realized it days after Elphir and Siloril had married. And Siloril herself…

According to her, he should have told her about it before their nuptials. Clumsily he had tried to conceal the truth from her, fearing that she would refuse to marry him if she would have known, despite the assurances Celairwen had given him at the time of the betrothal that Siloril would understand.

He had not been able to muster the courage until it had been too late. And so his cowardice had negatively impacted both his marriage and his relationship with Nemir.

"Brother?"

"Yes," replied Elphir, once more torn away from thoughts, "yes, I was. You shall have to forgive me. Seeing you like this brought up some memories."

Lothíriel narrowed her eyes while she studied him – a habit taken from their Ada – taking in his face first, then the positioning of his arms and then legs, followed by another look at his face. No doubt she was trying to assess his mood so that she could try and say the right words.

"You seem… better than before. Are you well, Elphir?"

"As well as I might ever be. I still feel like I am missing a limb." Elphir leaned back in the chair with a sigh.

"I assume that you have been able to talk it through with Siloril?"

"Hmm, yes. We did. It was tough – "

"But necessary for you both."

He nodded. "She visited his grave with me. Her guilt still lingers, despite his assurances while he was still alive."

"Sir Nemir was a good man. The best. Siloril also knows this and that is why I told you to go to her."

His little sister certainly clung to the pride of having her wisdom reaffirmed, he thought to himself wryly.

But she was right.

Ironically, it was only when Elphir had wept in his wife's arms – mindful of her rounded abdomen naturally – that he had finally felt himself coming to terms with the passing of the person who had been his true other half.

It had been about a year since he had sat on Nemir's side and had witnessed him take his last breaths. He had been stung by poison arrows early on in the Battle of Pelennor Fields, but he had not sought help for himself, for Nemir had not wished to leave Elphir's side while the Battle raged on. In the chaos, the Prince Heir had not even noticed the increasingly sluggish movements and discoloured face of his companion until he had fallen down against him during a spell of momentary peace.

With much difficulty, Elphir had borne him on his horse to the Houses of Healing where, tucked away in the corner of one of the wards, he had watched the Healers attempt to stave off the effects of the poison. Eventually, though, they had lowered their gazes and shaken their heads solemnly.

"The poison has spread too far, I am afraid. I am sorry, Prince Elphir."

Though those words had been delivered with the utmost kindness, to Elphir they had been no less harmful than the very arrows that had pierced Nemir, and he could not do anything except hold his hand and stare at his face. Aside from a light frown on his pale brow, it had seemed as if Nemir had been taking one of his habitual naps.

Yet this time his companion had known that his eyes would not open to meet with his. Nevermore would his thin lips curve into a smile just for him, nor would he ever hear him say his name again.

All he had been able to do was clasp his hand in both of his and kiss it while staring at his face, hoping for a sign of life.

It had been hours later, as Elphir had distinctly heard the sounds of trumpets and cheer echoing from the fields, that the young man from Anfalas who had never strayed far from his side the last twenty years, had taken his last breath. Elphir had not realized it at first, but when indeed he had seen his chest no longer rising and falling, a wretched sound had pushed passed his lips, clinging to Nemir's motionless body in devastation.

"Nemir, Nemir! What victory is this?" He had uttered between sobs. "Where is peace if not at your side, Nemir? Wake and do not leave me!"

But Nemir had left him, drifting from feverish dreams to unencumbered and endless sleep, unable to wait any more for the healing hands of the King. The only consolation tempering his agony had been that Nemir had not died alone.

Not long after that, Elphir had been forced to relinquish Nemir's body to the Healers, who had promised him to look after him well and inform his kin. And Elphir had been summoned to his duties as his father's right he had left, he had taken off Nemir's rings – he had been utterly fond of those rings – and slipped the four on his hand. In exchange, he had put one of his own on Nemir's cool left hand. Physical reminders of their private, precious love. It was all that they had allowed themselves.

The aftermath of the Battle of Pelennor Fields and the subsequent Battle of Morannon had scarcely given Elphir the chance to grieve. By the time all duties had been resolved, it seemed as if he had lost the ability to mourn at all. This had not gone unnoticed by both Lothíriel and Siloril, yet the latter had not addressed this and he had known why. The recent loss of her uncle, Lord Forlong had closed her off even further. And he could not blame her for her reticence, for he had been faint-hearted as well.

Indeed, if it had not been for Lothíriel's meddling, he and Siloril would have not been able to resolve their issues even today. And here that young woman was sitting now, boldly caressing the face of the man who had settled himself quite fixedly in her heart and on her lap.

Much like Nemir had done on his shoulder and in his heart – nearly twenty years ago.

A sickening mix of envy and sadness rose in Elphir's chest at that thought and he had to clear his throat and shake his head before he could gather about his wits once more.

It seemed a lifetime of longing would persist. The loss of his beloved Nemir still bore on him like a lead weight on his heart, though the sting of his absence had dulled Siloril had not allowed him to grieve in her arms…

His debts to her were never greater.

And he said just that to his sister, who had been patiently watching him cycle through his sorrow once more.

Éomer was still asleep.

"Is that right?" Lothíriel replied looking down thoughtfully at her intended. "Are there debts between husband and wife?"

"Not between husband and wife in general, but between Elphir and Siloril, yes."

This was not the conversation his father had told him to have with his sister. In fact, Elphir questioning the nature of his marriage was not beneficial to his sister at all.

"You need not worry about us," he said hastily, "from here on, you should only concern yourself with your own marriage. I gather you have agreed to be the Queen of Rohan?"

Just like that his sister was effectively distracted from his woes, for she nodded and blushed, pressing her lips together as she did so.

"Even so, it is improper for you two to be alone like this – "

"I doubt if anyone dares to complain about it," at once his sister fixed him with a fierce look, "and it cannot be helped. He is exhausted after being awake all night and all morning."

"Yes, Ada had mentioned it to me when we met for breakfast."

"You do keep yourself informed of everything, do you not?"

"It is my duty – "

"As the Prince Heir – "

"As your eldest brother, Lothíriel." Elphir curtly replied, his eyebrows raised. "I am the one who is supposed to compensate where Ada falls short."

It was an odd thing for him to say, and his sister evidently thought this as well. Elphir had always been mindful of keeping his complaints to himself. Fearing that his sister would want him to elaborate – she was quite inquisitive though she always claimed otherwise, he quickly changed the topic.

"It is an amusing coincidence, you know…"

And she took the bait. "What is?"

"Last time I was here I found you spying on Éomer King through that window over there – "

She looked away, embarrassed. "By Ulmo, Elphir!"

And Elphir could not help but sigh softly.

That day, mere hours after losing Nemir, he had thrown himself into his duties. The Captains of the West had had their Debate and he had been assigned to manage matters in his father's stead – including looking after his sister. They had been set to leave in two days, leaving him without a real chance to process his loss.

His grief had been unbearably heavy and he had thought he would asphyxiate soon while seeing to his father's affairs, but then he had pushed open the door to where she was, and the sight of her had frozen him in his steps. It had been the guilelessness in Lothíriel's manner – so very like Nemir when they had first kissed - as she had peered at the hulking figure of the King of the Riddermark.

It had been the first inkling of light he had felt in what felt like days.

Could Nemir live on if Elphir sought him in others?

In Lothíriel he had seen a glimpse.

A kindling of hope. And instead of acting on his instinct of adhering to Gondorian propriety, Elphir had allowed himself to fan the spark in his sister and he had let her in on one of their father's plans for the future. It had been a way to give himself and her hope, a delicate thread to hold onto while the Shadow persisted.

But more than that, he had allowed himself to spare her – for the news of Nemir's passing could have clouded her maiden heart and rid her of any burgeoning feelings for someone.

He had wanted her to be able to love freely, because though he did not regret his feelings for Nemir, the restrictions put upon him through title, rank and gender had made Elphir feel that he was wrong to love Nemir.

And as naive and pure as his sister had been, she would have stopped herself from feeling anything at all if he had made her feel guilty about loving someone in a time of death – an irrational sense of self-sacrifice that he recognized in her as much as he saw it in himself.

"I do not intend to tease you, dearest little one," replied Elphir as he fidgeted with the rings on his left hand, "You looked after him that day and fortunate man that he is, I suppose once you started caring for him, you never stopped."

Lothíriel stayed quiet and stared at him, in awe of his words.

"Remember that time in the Citadel Courtyard, where we were wondering how you took after me?"

She nodded.

"I suppose you love like I do – like I did." His voice cracked on the last word and he looked away, finally overcome by the sheer amount of reminiscing he had been doing that day.

"Oh, Elphir!" He heard her whisper, but he could not meet her gaze until the lump in his throat went away.

When it did, he cast a glance at the pair and attempted to smile. "It is a good thing, yes? Especially now with you and him."

"It was a good thing in your case as well, Elphir." The steel conviction in her voice as she referred to Sir Nemir left no space for a rebuttal, and he nodded wearily.

Then he stood up, exhausted by his own emotions, and took out the letter addressed to Éomer. "Ah, to think how you shall be so far removed from us. What a price to pay for the good of Gondor."

Lothíriel bit her lip and her eyes watered, and Elphir wondered just how much thought she had truly put into her move to Rohan. To know and to realize were two different things, and he supposed his sister had a lot of realizing left to do.

He placed the letter wordlessly on her outstretched hand and then he bent further forward to kiss her brow.

"Elphir?"

He sucked in a deep breath, wondering what her inquisitive nature would cause her to ask next. He was quite done talking about his feelings.

"Yes?"

"Would you be so kind as to arrange for a meal?" asked she. "I am thinking he might be hungry when he wakes."

A part of him wished to make a scathing remark about Éomer's choice of resting place, but he found that he had no energy left to spare. Instead, he nodded. "I shall have something arranged at our quarters. Come as soon as he wakes. We shall need to talk."

As Lothíriel thanked him, he heard a sound from outside. A glance out the door told him Sir Angrenor had arrived to perform his duty.

"There you are. Finally ready to do your job, Sir?"

Angrenor may have been older than Elphir, but the latter still outranked him, and he had the decency to look embarrassed. "Beg your pardon, milord."

Elphir nodded curtly and then turned to his sister once more. "Leave the door open, Lothíriel."

After kissing her brow, he left the pair and their guard and made his way to the Dol Amrothian quarters in the Southern Guesthouses.

They had their own residence on the Fifth Circle, but Siloril's high-risk pregnancy made Elphir insist on them staying close to the Houses of Healing. He did not wish to risk losing her again.

When he entered the main sitting area, he saw that she was sitting outside on the balcony, talking to her cousin Forgammon. As he approached them he could tell from their faces that the Lord of Lossarnach had come to inform her about his failed suit.

True enough, the moment that he was in earshot, the bearded man fell silent and stood up.

"Well met, Forgammon," greeted Elphir, hoping to keep the mood light, "how are your sons?"

But he was not willing to keep up any pretences. "They are delighted by the news, of course. I am leaving tomorrow to make alternative arrangements for their future." There was a scowl on his face, though it was less disdainful than usual.

"Cousins." He bowed performatively. "I must take my leave. Good day."

The couple watched him leave before they turned to one another. She gestured for him to sit down next to her and he did. His eyes lingered on the swell of her stomach and the dull ache of his heart lessened.

"He has just told me about Lothíriel's decision."

"Which one?" Despite himself, he smiled as he met her questioning blue gaze.

"What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "Lothíriel has not only refused Forgammon, but she has also agreed to marry Éomer King."

Siloril was not easily shaken - indeed her person was of a stronger constitution than his. Seeing sheer surprise colour her face, Elphir pressed his lips together to hide his grin.

"That is – when did that happen?"

"About two hours ago." He replied and then relayed to her all that had happened since the night before.

Siloril rubbed her abdomen absently as she processed the information with a thoughtful expression. "That does explain a lot," she eventually said, and then sighed, "I am happy for them, even if it seems rather rushed."

He hummed his agreement before adding: "Ada wants a two-year engagement."

"Éomer King is not going to like that."

At this, he tilted his head and stared fixedly at the marble paving the balcony. While he did agree with his wife, he also understood Éomer better than ever.

"Yes, and I am sure that he shall make known his displeasure when he joins us for a light meal here in a little while."

"And it is up to you to manage him, as the three other Princes are at Osgiliath."

Elphir shrugged slightly, his sight set upon her belly once more. She was resting her hand upon it as she looked out over the Pelennor Fields.

Siloril had always stood by his side, supporting him in his role as his father's right hand and their future roles as the ruling Lord and Lady of Dol Amroth – despite all his failings and shortcomings. No one else could take her place – not even Nemir. Was she aware of that?

"Indeed. You and I…" Despite being married for so long, Elphir still was not one to reach out and touch her without her explicitly inviting him to. Yet now he could not help himself, so he tentatively placed his hand – the left one with all his and Nemir's rings – over the one placed on her abdomen.

With a slight start, she looked at him before looking at their hands. Then she slipped her other hand over his, encouraging him to try and feel the baby.

Though he detected no movement, he still smiled and continued what he was saying. "I think together we shall manage just fine."

Her pale hand was soft and small, only partially covering his, and he was unable to stop himself from comparing it to that of his fallen companion from Anfalas.

Elphir did not like being touched, but he could bear holding hands. And he realized that Siloril's hand had always been easy to clasp. He just had not paid attention to it.

Which was foolish, because in her hands she had always kept his family's honour, future and legacy. Why had he not paid attention to them before?

He stared at them in awe.

These hands had accepted him in marriage, despite knowing his lack of interest in women. These hands had laboured hard alongside his for his future office. They had given him Alphros and supported his siblings when they had needed kindness—the kindness they had bestowed upon him as well.

Noble, loving, earnest hands, that would keep him grounded in life and reality.

Though the pain of losing Nemir would never go away, Elphir would cherish what he had when it was still his to claim.

"Are you alright, Elphir?" Her voice broke through his reverie and he looked upon his wife's face soberly.

"I am doing better, because of you."

"Oh." The dear woman seemed to be at a loss for words. He supposed he had not expressed his thanks often enough, for her to be so unused to them.

"I have… been missing Nemir all day, but it is easier to bear it... Knowing that I have you. And Alphros."

With the hint of a smile, she supplied: "And the baby."

"Yes, and the babe."

She squeezed his hand lightly and, catching her fingers in his, he returned the gesture just as gently.

End of Elphir's Interlude