Lothíriel shuffled along the empty hallways of Meduseld, placing her feet softly on the creaking wooden floor so as not to disturb the other guests that had filled every possible sleeping space that could be found in the large building. It wasn't awfully early; in fact, under normal circumstances, breakfast would have already been served and the hall would be full of life, much like the city below it. Yesterday's celebrations had prevented most people from waking up at their usual time, however, and almost everyone seemed to still be in deep slumber, servants and other workers included. Lothíriel and the one poor guard whose sleep had to be sacrificed to chaperone her were the only people out and about as far as she could see. He seemed very grumpy and had deep dark circles under his eyes, but he never uttered a word of complaint when she announced she was going to see King Éomer and her father.
She had approached the familiar door to Éomer's study and hesitated a moment, wondering whether her father was already waiting inside. No voices could be heard through the thick ornate door, and so she took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves and forced her hand to knock, quickly and loudly. The door was flung open in an instant and with such force it sent out a wave of air that made the baby hair growing above her forehead gently tickle her skin.
"Oh, it's you," Éomer blurted out, visibly relieved to see he wasn't faced with Imrahil, as he undoubtedly expected any moment now. "I mean… good morning, Lothíriel," his stiff features had softened as he corrected his abrupt words.
"Good morning, your grace," Lothíriel smiled and curtsied ever so slightly, keeping up formal appearances for the guard standing behind her. "Is my father not here yet?"
"No. He sent word that he would be a little delayed. Apparently he needs more time to compose himself after yesterday's feast," he said with a smirk. "Please come in. We can await him together."
Lothíriel nodded and turned around to face the guard that had been standing around awkwardly, leaning against the wall as if he was seconds away from falling asleep again. "You may wait out here."
Her words seemed to disturb his waking slumber and he stood up straight to protest: "My lady, I was tasked to keep you company at all times."
Lothíriel regarded him more closely for the first time, and realized why he had seemed so familiar to her; he was one of the guards stationed outside her chambers two days ago, the night Éomer had paid her a visit against all rules of propriety. She wondered whether he had been chastised by someone for neglecting his duties and now tried to correct his mistake.
"My father will be here any minute now to join us. You need not worry," she chirped innocently and made to walk into the study, but the guard wasn't so easily convinced. "I must insist that I enter with you, my lady."
At that, Éomer walked out into the quiet hallway and stopped only a few inches from the guard, towering above him a full head taller. "Princess Lothíriel will join me to await her father, and you will stay out here to keep your watch," he hissed slowly, accentuating every word.
Lothíriel imagined what it must be like to encounter him on the battlefield on the wrong side of his sword, when the fury of battle had overtaken him. The poor guard probably had a similar image in his mind's eye - he seemed to have shrunk even further under Éomer's dominating influence, and managed to only nod his head in response. Lothíriel felt her insides warm up at the sight of his protectiveness; nervous as she was to confront her father with the unthinkable, having Éomer by her side gave her a strong sense of reassurance. They left the guard outside, uneasily regarding them until they had closed the door in his face. She walked over to the window to look at the sunny bright sky outside, wondering whether its radiance would bring a positive spin on the events about to unfold.
"What if we have just created another scandal?" Lothíriel asked with a smirk on her lips, half in jest, half in worry whether she wasn't being overconfident again.
"He may run straight to her right now, for all I care," Éomer brushed it off, not even deigning to utter Lady Erthil's name. He approached Lothíriel from behind and placed both his hands on the windowsill in front of her, whispering in her ear. "Soon, it won't matter anymore."
His soft lips gently brushing against the curve of her ear as he spoke made Lothíriel's toes curl in yearning. She wished to turn and face him right away, but she stopped herself to savor the sense of expectation; he was hovering no more than an inch from her body, so close she could feel his chest gently touch her back whenever he drew a breath. She wished to be wrapped in his strong arms, but Éomer himself seemed to be relishing in the excitement the unforgiving distance between them provided, tracing the curve of her neck with his nose and dispersing fleeting kisses here and there. At last, Lothíriel could contain herself no longer; she quickly turned on her heel, and her lips connected with his immediately, before she even had a chance to balance herself. It didn't matter though; his arms grabbed her tightly around the waist, so fiercely she was sure she could lift her feet off the ground entirely without collapsing. Their lips remained connected for a long time, but the kiss was soft and gentle, as if their impending trial overshadowed any thoughts of deeper desire. Nevertheless, Lothíriel enjoyed it thoroughly, stroking the smoothness of his beard with her slender fingers.
Inevitably, their secret show of affection had to come to an end, and Éomer straightened his back to his full height reluctantly. "I know it's early, but how about a cup of wine? For courage," he winked at her.
"Why not," she agreed and moved to sit down in one of his armchairs by the fireplace, unused and unnecessary now that the intense August sun was flooding his study with a heat of surprising intensity for this hour of the morning.
Éomer poured the wine he had popped open and handed her one of the cups. She recognized the smell immediately, before it even had a chance to touch her lips. "Is this wine from Dol Amroth?"
He nodded, smiling. "Do you remember the last time you drank Dol Amroth wine with me?"
"I do," she nodded and smiled. His intense gaze in the firelit study was burned into her memory forever; it was the first time out of many that had left her with her heart leaping in her chest at his mere presence. "I remember I felt as if you were reading my mind that day. As if I was under suspicion."
"I suppose you were," Éomer said and leaned back in his armchair. "I was sure you were hiding something. I just didn't put two and two together until it was too late."
Lothíriel felt the familiar fingers of regret tugging at her heartstrings. "I should have told you the truth when you had asked me whether I'm a princess by any chance… that night. We would not be in this mess if I had been honest."
"Maybe," he nodded as if deep in thought, but then leaned forward and grinned. "But that would be quite a boring story to tell our grandchildren, don't you think?"
Lothíriel let out a soft chuckle, grateful for the opportunity to relax her tense muscles, at least a little bit. Her improved humor didn't have a chance to last long, however; a hard knock on the door resounded in the momentary silence of the room. They both almost jumped up from their armchairs in response; Lothíriel immediately felt her palms grow sweaty.
"Are you ready?" Éomer asked and grabbed one of her hands.
"As ready as I will ever be," she whispered and gulped down the nervous saliva that had gathered on her tongue. Éomer placed a fleeting kiss of reassurance on her knuckles and walked to the door to open it.
Imrahil greeted him in the doorway, apologizing for his delay, and strutted inside confidently. He noticed Lothíriel immediately, and seemed to have faltered a little in his step, eyebrows contracting in confusion. "Daughter. I did not expect to see you here."
"I have asked Princess Lothíriel to join us, as the matter I wish to discuss with you pertains to her, as well," Éomer took over the reins of the conversation, for which Lothíriel was grateful; she had gained a moment to mentally steady herself and unblock the voice that remained stuck in her throat at the sight of her father.
"What has she done this time?" Imrahil asked with a prolonged sigh, his gaze scrutinizing her for any sign of what may be going on.
"What do you mean, what have I done?" Lothíriel immediately defended herself, hating the fact that they already had to start in such an antagonizing manner. "His grace hasn't even had a chance to tell you what he means and already you assume the worst, father."
In reality, Imrahil wasn't wrong. She absolutely had done something; allowing a King to bed her outside of marriage, no matter how honest their feelings might have been, and now having him dissolve a royal betrothal and face all the fallout and scandal related to it, were certainly no small matters. These unwanted realizations made her want to defend herself even harder, but she knew she had to ignore her pride for now; their aim was to convince her father to bless their union as amicably as possible, and she had already started off on the wrong foot.
Imrahil watched her with pursed lips, undoubtedly ready with a retort of his own, but Éomer intercepted before the situation could spiral out of control: "I assure you this is about no wrongdoing of your daughter, my friend," he said appeasingly. "Now, I would offer you a drink before we proceed, but you don't look like you could stomach it right now."
His wide smirk accentuated the friendly jape. Lothíriel admired how he could get himself to act so calm. She knew what he was doing, of course; relaxing the conversation and getting Imrahil in a better mood was a good strategy to soften the blow of what he was about to find out. Her father's lips curved up in a defeated smile as he snickered and said: "I would gladly accept your kind offer, on any other day apart from this morning."
The swollen bags under his eyes and his bandaged hand betrayed his state of the night before, and although he no longer seemed as meek and unmenacing as yesterday, Lothíriel hoped that the hangover he was clearly suffering from was clouding his mind at least a little. She forced herself to remember how emboldened she had felt yesterday, and to find that same strength inside her now, but it didn't come as easily now that her father was his old self again.
"So, what did you wish to speak to me about, Éomer-King?"
Éomer shot Lothíriel a quick confirming glance, and when he saw her nod her head slightly, he said: "I would like to take Lothíriel as my wife and queen. She has agreed to my proposal, and now we wish to ask for your blessing, my lord."
Imrahil stared at him absolutely dumbfounded, as if this was the last thing in the world he had expected to hear that day, possibly ever. His eyes darted between Éomer and Lothíriel, undoubtedly trying to wrap his head around what had just been laid out to him. Lothíriel felt a strange sort of excitement; her father's reaction was all but anyone's guess, but the mere thought that he had to face the fact that she was considered worthy by the King of the Riddermark, despite her many failings, sent a righteous shiver down her spine. It did not escape her attention that Éomer had never made an attempt to ask her father for her hand, and simply stated their wish as an indisputable fact.
"You wish to marry Lothíriel?" Imrahil squinted skeptically.
"I do," Éomer reaffirmed his words unwaveringly.
"Maybe I am misunderstanding something," her father took a few paces across the study in growing agitation. "Are you not currently betrothed to another, Éomer-King?"
Éomer shifted uncomfortably despite his best efforts to maintain his dominance over the conversation, and reluctantly admitted: "Unfortunately, you are correct, my lord."
Imrahil stared at him in disbelief. "Then how is it that you find yourself wishing to marry my daughter so shortly after you have made your commitment to Lady Erthil? Lothíriel has been safeguarded at all times since our reunion, I don't remember you two spending any time together."
Safeguarded, Lothíriel scoffed silently. Do you mean imprisoned? Hounded?
Éomer's expression indicated clearly that their shared friendship and war camaraderie aside, he did not appreciate being chastised by the Prince of Dol Amroth. His face had turned stone cold and he was about to retort something, but this time, Lothíriel decided it was her turn to steer the conversation. She had been silent long enough, and all things considered, Éomer's actions were influenced by her own lies, so it was only fair she should bear the brunt of Imrahil's anger.
"His grace did nothing wrong, father," she interjected, forcing her eyes to remain focused on Imrahil's face, despite the frightening sternness staring back at her. "We have come to... know each other while I was here in Edoras pretending to be a healer named Méav. He had no idea who I really was until he was already betrothed, at his councilors' insistence."
"You have come to know each other?" Imrahil reiterated in disbelief before his eyes moved over to shoot daggers at Éomer instead. "With all due respect, I never took you for the kind of man that would be interested in women so far below his station."
Éomer clenched his jaw so tightly Lothíriel could see the minute muscles tensing under his skin; the vein on his temple grew and became visibly enlarged in fury. The implication of Imrahil's words was clear as day; if a king had any intentions with a common healer at all, they weren't exactly the honorable kind. This isn't going at all as we had planned, she despaired, wary of what may happen if Éomer's quick temper could not be controlled.
"I remind you that I am the King of this hall, Prince Imrahil," he hissed quietly, an unspoken warning hanging between them in the air.
Imrahil seemed to have remembered the disparity of their court ranking and calmed down his voice a notch before he continued. "Surely you must be aware of the humiliation you plan to inflict on Lady Erthil's family. To have a royal betrothal unilaterally broken is one thing, but for the reason to be her immediate replacement by another… do you realize how much our reputations may suffer?"
"We don't place such an impossibly high value on our reputations as you seem to do in Gondor, my lord," Éomer responded without hesitation. "Especially if true feelings are involved."
"True feelings?" Imrahil scoffed at the notion that love and affection had anything to do with the subject. "Then tell me, your grace; if you love my daughter so much, how come your betrothal has not yet been terminated?"
Now came the moment of truth, Lothíriel knew. Her father would inevitably find out about her indiscretions and the fact that they may become public knowledge, and from there, it was unchartered territory. She wondered whether his opinion of her could sink any lower than it already was, and though she dreaded the look of disgust she imagined him casting her way after their revelation, she had to remind herself it was of no importance in the end – all that mattered was the well-being of the people of the Riddermark. She was trying to recall all the arguments she had prepared that she could hurl at her father in defense of his continued support for his ailing nothern ally, but her mind was drawing a complete blank. She glanced over at Éomer to see whether he was suffering the same doubts, but was instead surprised to find him gazing at her with eyes full of confidence and steadfastness. No matter what happens, we can brave the storm together, he seemed to be reassuring her, holding out his hand and beckoning her to take the plunge with him.
Just as they were about to turn back to Imrahil with their confession, the door of the study was flung open abruptly, revealing Amrothos who was struggling to rid himself of the guard that clung onto his arm in an attempt to prevent him from disturbing their meeting. "Let go of me already," he shook him off at last and cast him an icy stare before he strutted inside, almost slamming the door shut behind him. "I apologize for barging in like this, but I have an urgent matter to disclose to you, Éomer-King."
"Can't it wait, Amrothos? We are in the middle of something important," Éomer said with raised eyebrows, motioning towards Imrahil and Lothíriel with his head.
"This pertains to the matter you are discussing," he said, handing him a rolled-up parchment. "Lady Erthil agrees with your proposal to terminate your betrothal."
Éomer stared at him incredulously, mouth agape. He slowly reached out his hand and took the parchment from Amrothos, unrolling it and quickly reading its contents. "It is true," he said quietly as his eyes were darting back and forth along the document. "She says she absolves me of any commitment I have made previously."
Lothíriel could not believe her ears. This was not the development she had anticipated, certainly it was almost too good to be true. Ignoring any rules of polite conduct, she snatched the paper from Éomer's fingers and read it herself, to make sure this wasn't some bizzare misunderstanding. "But how is this possible?" she turned to Amrothos with a thousand unspoken questions on her mind.
"She has come to understand this was in her best interest," he shrugged it off as if it was no big deal. "I trust this helps with your conundrum, Lothíriel," Amrothos eyed her with knowing eyes that told her Imrahil needed to be privy of nothing more than he already was. Somehow, he singlehandedly managed to outmaneuver them all, and spared his sister the biggest embarassment of her life. Lothíriel desperately wished to know exactly what was going on behind the scenes, but he dropped his gaze on the ground and offered a polite bow in the direction of the two men in the room.
"In any case, I have delivered Lady Erthil's message as I have promised her, and now I wish to disturb your meeting no further."
He had left the study as abruptly as he had entered, leaving Lothíriel in doubts whether what she had just witnessed was no more than a mirage. Thankfully, Éomer's and Imrahil's stunned faces betrayed the fact that they have all heard the same thing. The silence that descended upon them once the door had shut behind Amrothos was so intense, Lothíriel felt compelled to at least clear her throat loudly to compensate for the words that were escaping her. Éomer seemed to be the first that broke out of the strange spell that Lady Erthil's letter had put them under.
"Well, I hope nothing stands in the way of you giving us your blessing now, my friend," he addressed Imrahil more calmly this time. Amrothos' unexpected entrance seemed to have given him the much needed space to compose himself and decrease the tension that had built up among them. "Your reputation will suffer no harm now."
He spat the word out of his mouth with a clear intention to show what he thought of the mere notion, despite the friendly smile that had settled itself on his lips. Imrahil had certainly noticed his tone, but only gave him a prolonged look and chose not to address it any further. "I suppose there is no reason for me to disagree with your union now. I am happy to see my daughter finally come to her senses and remedy her past recklessness by agreeing to a marriage, at long last."
Lothíriel clutched the material of her skirt to keep from blurting out some stinging response. It made no matter now; they had achieved their goal, and soon enough, she would need to speak to her father no longer, barring the rare official occasion that would see them cross the vast distance between Dol Amroth and Edoras. A moment that can't come soon enough, she thought to herself.
"I thank you for your blessing, Prince Imrahil," Éomer responded coolly, equally unwilling to engage in further antagonistic remarks. The coldness in his eyes instantly melted away when he turned to Lothíriel and said: "I propose we be married this Yule, Lothíriel. What do you think?"
"This Yule? But that is only three months away," Imrahil protested. "It is customary for the betrothal to last at least a year. And considering the fact that Lady Éowyn's wedding has already been planned for the coming year, even longer would-"
"I cannot wait any longer," Éomer didn't let him finish the thought. "I am the last of my line, and Éowyn cannot sit the throne of the Riddermark. Should anything happen to me, my land would fall into disarray. Surely you agree that securing my heir is of utmost urgency?"
Imrahil paused for a while, thoughts clearly whirring inside his mind, but then finally nodded his assent. "Alright. Yule it is."
"I believe we need to ask the princess whether she agrees, too," Éomer's playful smirk betrayed the fact that he enjoyed mocking Imrahil's disdain for his daughter by making sure he was aware of the agency her soon-to-be husband was willing to give her, and Lothíriel herself enjoyed it even more. She already felt the gilded cage that had been slowly forming around her again ever since her discovery break apart and dissipate into nothingness. In three short months, it would become only a distant memory; she knew she would be counting every minute of every day until Yule had finally arrived.
"I agree, my king," she said, her smile as wide and genuine as it could only be when it was meant for him.
ooOOoo
"What have you done?"
Amrothos jumped up in reaction to the surprise attack Lothíriel staged when she had finally found him standing on the northern tarrace of Meduseld in a comfortable shade, elbows leaned against the railing and staring into the void. He had been avoiding her all morning; she had searched for him everywhere from the moment she had left Éomer's study, but to no avail – until now.
"By the Valar, Lothíriel!" he cursed and grabbed his chest as if to steady his heart.
"What have you done?" she repeated her question, trying to capture her brother's eyes, but he just leaned back on the railing to look at anything but her.
"I couldn't let you two fools run your mouths to father like that," he shrugged. "There are some things that should stay a secret forever, Lothíriel – the Gondorian way is not always wrong." Then he finally turned to her, and his features bore his familiar sarcastic smirk as he rolled his eyes and said: "Heck, frankly, I wish I didn't have to know. The mental image alone makes me want to barf."
"Yes, very funny," Lothíriel shook her head smiled. "I am being serious. I need to know what happened."
Amrothos stood up straight and sighed before he answered: "Lady Erthil was actually being quite reasonable, believe it or not. She is still mad, don't get me wrong, but I managed to convince her that King Éomer would sooner face any consequences that might arise from her scheme than actually go through with the wedding."
"No, that's not it," Lothíriel could tell he wasn't being completely honest. "She wouldn't back off empty-handed like that. So I repeat my question again – what have you done?"
"A master pretender like you can't be so easily fooled, huh?" he snickered, but his eyes were unusually serious. "Fine. You are bound to find out anyway. I have told her that she will never be a queen, but she may be the next best thing: a princess."
It took her a moment to fully understand her brother's words, and when she did, her heart sunk in her chest. "Amrothos, you can't!"
"Don't look at me like that," he waved her off, as if she was grossly exaggarating the gravity of the situation. "My intentions are not entirely pure – I am third in line for father's title, my prospects aren't exactly great unless some great tragedy befalls our house, Valar forbid. Lady Erthil, on the other hand, is the only child of one of the most influential lords in Gondor. I've struck a pretty sweet deal, as far as I'm concerned."
"But… she's a snake, Amrothos," Lothíriel mumbled quietly, utterly paralyzed by his revelation.
"A pretty snake," he winked at her. "Besides, it is as I've told you before; only a handful of people in our position marry for love, it is the way of the world. You are one of the lucky few, Lothíriel, and honestly – taking a wife that is pleasant to look at and will inherit vast fortune and power from her father is a small sacrifice to ensure my sister's happiness."
As was usual for him, he was downplaying the magnitude of what he had just done for her and Éomer. Lothíriel was overcome by such indescribable love for her youngest brother, she flung her arms around his neck and had to take several deep breaths to dissolve the ungulpable lump that grew inside her throat. "I don't know that I will ever be able to repay you, Amrothos."
"This is not a debt I expect you to repay, Lothíriel," he smiled and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "Just do me one favor – I want you to remember that there are a lot of people that will always have your back, me included. You no longer have to face the world alone."
She understood that now. Although she had tried to convince herself her life in hiding had provided her the desired freedom, in fact, it was the opposite; her days had been plagued by constant fear of discovery and a neverending need to be watchful of everything she did, like prey constantly looking around to see any signs of an encroaching predator. Only now did she feel truly free, unburdened by all the lies of the past, and surrounded not by enemies, but by so many people that had stood by her, she felt an enormous debt of gratitude to each of them. Éomer. Éowyn. Uffe. Amrothos. Torhild.
Lothíriel smiled, taking in the magnificent view of the White Mountains towering above Edoras, excited to see how much whiter their peaks would turn come Yule.
AN: I know that canonically, they get married in 3021, two years after they've met. But I just couldn't see this Éomer be willing to wait that long, so apologies if anyone is a sucker for such details