CHAPTER 2: LOTHÌRIEL 

He was not there when she woke, the blanket on his side of the bed cold to her touch. Her eyes resting on the disturbed sheets without really seeing, Lothíriel sank slowly back into her pillow, a soundless sigh escaping her lips as a well-known coldness settled into her stomach. She should have grown accustomed to this way of waking by now, she admonished herself, for it had been the same almost every night since their arrival, and even back in Meduseld. Only a short while ago, she had still heard Éomer’s reassuring voice, and now he was gone. Once again haunted by the horrors he dared not to share with her.

 Lothíriel closed her eyes in a vain attempt to fight the feeling of jarring helplessness which was rising in her. It was no secret to her where to find Éomer, and neither was it that he wanted to be left alone. Yet what was her purpose as his wife, if not to help her husband in this time of need? The oath they both had taken demanded from them to be there for each other in good times and in bad times. She was ready and more than willing to be there for him now, and yet he stubbornly refused to let her in.

 In the course of the first weeks at her new home, she had obeyed Éomer’s unspoken wish to deal with the pain of his soul alone. Hardly knowing her husband then and having yet much to learn about proper conduct at the Rohan court, Lothíriel had at first accepted that it was not her place to ask about the shadow which wandered over his handsome face whenever he deemed himself alone. She knew how difficult men could be in their denial, be it physical pain or mental anguish; as a sister to three older brothers, it was a phenomenon she was well acquainted with. It was a matter of pride for every warrior to deny their weakness, and while Lothíriel understood part of that urge, it could also be infuriating. Why was it that men always thought they’d have to brave all hardships on their own and carry the world upon their shoulders, instead of just accepting help that was willingly offered?

 Her gaze travelled back to Éomer’s pillow. What was she to think? From the tellings of her father, she had perceived a notion of the immense sense of pride of the Rohirrim King long before she had met him. And when she had finally stood before him and looked into those large brown eyes, which had at the same time been intimidating and inspiring in their self-confidence and determination, she had felt proud herself of her soon-to-be warrior king-husband. But where was that self-confidence now, that unspoken promise that he could master whatever came his way? The man she was spending her time with at this ancient city of the elves, was but a shadow of Éomer’s old self. Where had her warrior gone?

 With the weeks after her wedding passing and the king’s state of mind deteriorating to the point where he frequently woke them both in the middle of the night by tossing and turning and uttering anguished groans in his sleep, Lothíriel had finally taken her heart into both hands and dared to ask the forbidden question… and had found herself running into a wall. They were only dreams, Éomer had said curtly, and clearly not wanting to talk about the subject. They were unpleasant, but harmless, and they would pass with time. His voice had been firm, but a brief flicker of doubt in those dark eyes had belied his true feelings even as he spoke.

 It had been this flicker which had worried her more than anything else. If one thing was known about the people of the Mark, it was that they never lied, and yet Éomer had lied straight into her face. Lack of experience in this art had betrayed him, and yet Lothíriel had found herself at a loss as to what to do with her worrisome knowledge.

 Deciding that this was not the way things could go on between them, she stood up and slipped into the thin robe she wore within the confines of their chambers. The elves never slept, but even so, they would most likely be in their own chambers at this time of night, resting, and even if she met any of them, they would be too polite to intrude or comment on her inappropriate dressing. Not that it mattered to her. She had more important things to do right now than care about her clothes… like saving her marriage, even though it was only four months old. Silently she made her way to the door, all the while asking herself what she was supposed to tell Éomer when all her pleading before had not succeeded in penetrating the wall he had built around himself. She was afraid of the confrontation. Either tonight would be a turning point for the both of them, or… The answer would not come to her. What if she failed again? What if she would have to realise tonight that all that was possible in her marriage to Éomer of Rohan was a life of pretence? A display of fake harmony acted out for their people, when in reality, they were living side by side without understanding, without closeness, and without … love? Her lips tightened to a grim, bloodless line. She would sooner die than live a lie.

 Fear of the vision in front of her inner eyes accelerated her steps as if she could run from it. And yet, as she reached the terrace, Lothíriel found something unexpected, and it caused a flicker of hope to shine through the bleakness of her thoughts: Éomer was there by the railing, but he was not alone. Her heart jumped into her throat as the Elf Lord next to him slowly turned to face her with a knowing expression. For a few heartbeats, their eyes met, and she knew that he was passing on a task to her. This would be a first, most serious test for the Queen of Rohan, with a goal no one else could achieve. As Elrond passed her on the way back inside to leave the couple the needed privacy, Lothíriel inclined her head in an almost imperceptible nod to tell him that she understood , and then shifted her attention back to her warily waiting husband.

 The atmosphere seemed decidedly unreal to her as she hesitantly stepped out into the opening. The mighty voice of the river and the fine spray of water that reached them even up here, a sparkling mist of myriads of diamonds in the silken darkness, set aflame by the light of the moon, they led her to question whether she was really awake or walking through a dream land.  There were other voices around them, too, the soothing song of the wind and the hushed sound of nightly birds as they passed above their heads. At night, the magic of Imladris was breathtaking, and Lothíriel would have liked to stop and appreciate it, but it was not what she had come for.

 She sought Éomer’s gaze. His expression was one she hadn’t seen so far, reluctance and at the same time insecurity written in his dark eyes which told her that she might have a chance, if only she found the right words and managed to keep her up-welling emotions under control. Right now, they would only hinder her from achieving what she set out to do. Perhaps she had to be cruel to force the strong, but wounded warrior in front of her to see the light. A few strides apart from him, Lothíriel came to a halt. Her posture was regal and erect as she stood in the unreal moonlight, her slender fingers clenching the collar of her robe the only sign giving away the tension she felt as she braced herself for the confrontation.

 “You told me you would never leave me, Éomer. Yet when I woke, you were not there. I did not dream those words, did I?” He said nothing at that, and an edge crept into her voice, a hint of accusation, as she lifted her gaze to look him straight into the eyes. “How many more times will I have to wake up in the middle of the night to find your side of the bed empty and cold, and know that you would rather share your desperation with the moon than with me, your wife? How long do you mean for this to continue?” She fell silent, longing for comfort in Éomer’s strong arms, but reluctant to take those last few steps over to him. He would have to be the one taking them this time; it could not always be she who did all the yielding. The hurt in his expression pained her, but she could not help it now.

 “I told you why, Lothíriel. It is for the best. It is not necessary for us both to suffer from nightmares. This will pass. I just need more time.”

 His words made her furious, and she could no longer hold the anger she felt inside, as her voice hardened.

 “How much more time are you asking for then, my lord? This has been going on for months, and from what I have seen, it is getting worse, not better. Do you honestly think seeing you suffer does not cause me nightmares as well? Do you think that I can spend my days in joyful bliss despite seeing the dark circles underneath your eyes and your haunted expression whenever I look into your face? What do you take me for, Éomer, that you would think I could ignore your plight? Do I deem you as a cold, heartless person?”

 Taken aback by her unexpected forcefulness, Éomer took a step forth, wanting to take her into his arms and thus end the argument he had successfully been avoiding for so long. But she stepped back, thus denying him the easy solution. Sighing, he shook his head. Why could she not have slept on?

 “Do not put words in my mouth I haven’t said, Lothíriel. I stated my reasons quite clearly, I believe, and repeatedly so. I know that you are a warm-hearted and sensitive person; one who always has an open ear for everybody, be they of royal blood or of the ordinary folk. This is how you won over the people at Edoras. It is part of how you won me over. But it is also this very sensitivity which made me decide the way I did.”

 She lifted her chin in defiance, not shrinking from his harsh tone.

 “You think I know nothing about the ugliness of battle? Or about what war does to people, is that it?”

 “You’ve spent your life at your father’s court, which, from what I know, was a sheltered haven even during the dark years. You cannot know.”

 “And there you would be wrong, my lord,” she replied heatedly, infuriated by his ignorance. The knuckles holding her robe together turned white, so hard was she clenching her fingers in the fabric. “Dol Amroth was no isolated island, floating in another realm removed from the concerns of the rest of Arda’s people. We, too, were in the midst of the war, and attacked more than once by the corsairs and the minions of the Dark Lord. My father and my brothers are captains of our army, and battle called them away more often then they were at home. They, too, have seen horrible things, Éomer! Things that shattered them, things that made them question the gods we believe in. How often have I held my brothers in my arms, trying to comfort them after they returned from a battle they couldn’t win, or only at a high cost. Often, the tidings of the invasion came late, and when they arrived at the attacked villages, there was nothing and no one left to save. War left its mark on all of us, whether you will believe it or not!”

 “But you-“

 “I’ve seen what happened to the people with my own very eyes, Éomer! My hands were reddened by their blood! And yet you are accusing me of ignorance? Do you honestly believe that the Mark was the only land that was ravaged by the war?”

 Éomer listened to her forceful rebuke silently, inwardly cringing at the awkwardness of their argument. He did not want to fight with Lothíriel. Why could she not let it go? And yet he found that her words had woken his interest. Surely his friend Imrahil had not allowed Lothíriel to leave the sheltered city in those days of uncertainty, had he?

 “I am not accusing you of anything, Lothíriel, except perhaps intruding when I told you to leave me alone. But tell me what you were speaking of now.”

 “I saw the victims of the closer settlements, whenever they were brought to the city for treatment. There were too many for the few healers in the villages, so they brought them to Dol Amroth on carts or horses, provided they were strong enough to ride. I felt so useless when I saw them. I wanted to help them, so I went to assist the healers. They were treating people who were burnt beyond recognition, people with gaping wounds, or whose limps they had to take off because they could not rescue them. I could only do little things, like handing over instruments or bandages to the healers, or organise that they would be brought fresh supplies of healing herbs, but I saw the damage done, Éomer, and I saw it up close. For days I would sit with the wounded, talking with them and trying to relief them of at least some of their pain. I made promises to dying people I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep, just to give them some piece of mind. I know the face of war personally, my lord, so don’t take your wife for a pampered little princess who has only looked up into the skies to admire the birds, while the ground she was treading upon was saturated with blood. It would be most insulting to me.”

 The silence following her outburst was deafening. Éomer’s mind reeled with the new revelations, as the delicate woman in front of him, a woman he had believed to be familiar with by now, unveiled a very different side to her personality. Once again, her frail appearance had fooled him. He could only shake his head in consternation, and his voice was rough when he said:

 2I … I apologise, Lothíriel, if my words insulted you. I most certainly did not mean to. I just…” Bema, why was it so hard to say it out loud?  And why did he feel so awkward around her all of a sudden? “It may sound strange to your ears, but I… I did not want to have your purity soiled by the ugliness of this world.” There, it was out now, and heat crept into his face in anticipation of her reaction. He had never been good with words. In his times as a Rider of the Mark, women had battled for his attention because of his rank, and because of his physical prowess. Because of the reputation of the famous Rohirrim. They had never expected poetry from him.

 Her expression softened as she heard his words, but her expression was sad.

 “But I am not the innocent creature you believe me to be, my king. You want to put me on a pedestal, but I do not fit there. You have this idea of innocence and purity, almost of sanctity, but it does not exist! Not even the Valar themselves would match your ideal! They’ve led wars, they spilled blood. No being could ever come close to what you want, Éomer, you must let it go!” And suddenly, she found herself in his arms, not even knowing whether it had been she who had taken those last steps separating them or he. His touch felt so good, but she could not afford to let herself be distracted when they were at the heart of their problem.. “Éomer—“

 “I do not want to see you getting harmed, no matter in what way,” he declared forcefully, almost desperate. “Please, understand it, Lothíriel. With Éowyn far away in Ithilien, the last of my kin is gone. I am alone. I could not take losing you, too.”

 “But you cannot lock me into a cage, Éomer. And you cannot stop the world from hurting the people you love by trying to shut it out. In fact, you are making it harder for them to survive it if you force them to meet it unprepared.” She caressed his face, her eyes pleading. “Don’t you see, my love? If I knew nothing of these things, how could I ever defend myself if destiny found me despite your efforts? Strength comes not from ignorance, Éomer, strength comes from experience. And I am experienced in these things, whether you like it or not. Make use of my knowledge! Confide in me, and let us both overcome this. Emerge from this experience stronger than you have been, and let me help you on that path. You don’t have to be strong for the both of us; I’ve got my own strength to add. And together we will be invincible. Éomer? Please?”