Chapter 6

By unspoken agreement Lothíriel accompanied him down to the stables every night from then on. At first he thought that the novelty would soon wear off, but she showed no sign of getting tired of it. Tidhelm and his lads expressed their approval by reserving an old, dented mug for her exclusive use and having a supply of honey ready for her tea, while old Aedwulf swore that her presence calmed down the mares.

“Nothing like a woman’s touch,” he confided to Éomer one night. “At first I was a bit dubious at you taking a Stonelander woman to wife, but you did well.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Éomer answered dryly.

The old man chuckled. “Oh, I know you would have married her no matter what anybody said. And I can’t blame you!”

The words gave Éomer a strange pang. Everybody assumed theirs was a love match, not surprising with Lothíriel’s exotic beauty. Yet really, he told himself, there was nothing wrong with treating marriage as a business proposition. And a pretty successful one so far, even if he still had to fulfil his part of the bargain. He grinned to himself. Not that Lothíriel could reproach him for not trying hard enough.

She had even apologised for the suspicions she had harboured, blushing adoringly all the while. Éomer frowned at the memory. He had almost blurted out that he wanted no other woman but her – a realisation that had taken him very much by surprise – but he had hesitated to say so when all she wanted was a marriage of convenience and the moment had been lost.

So he still retired to his own rooms every night, though it felt a little silly to do so when he would only wake his wife again a few hours later. However, after all the arrangement had been his own idea and it might yet come in useful.

A few days later he was knocking softly on her door in the early hours of the morning, as had become his habit. But instead of slipping out of her rooms dressed in one of the simple linen gowns she had ordered for herself, she only opened the door a small crack.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I think I’ll stay in tonight.”

Éomer fought a surge of unreasonable disappointment. He could not expect her to share all his interests after all. “As you wish. I suppose it must be getting a bit boring for you.”

“It’s not that!” She hesitated and he tried to get a closer look at her face, but none of the lamps in her room were lit. “I’m just not feeling quite the thing.”

For the first time he noticed that her voice sounded rough. “Lothíriel, are you ill?” Alarmed, he pushed the door open and took a step inside. “Should I call a healer?”

She retreated before him. “No! It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

She didn’t sound fine. Quickly he lit the lamp by the bedside from his own. When he turned round he found her sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching a pillow to her stomach.

“Please, Éomer, don’t fuss…”

He ignored her and felt her forehead. A little bit clammy, or was that his own sweat? He hated illness beyond all else, the feeling of helplessness, the slow deterioration. Unbidden, the memory of his mother during those last weeks came back to him. No! Lothíriel was young and strong; nothing would happen to her. He would not let it!

Her face was pale and the eyes rimmed with red. “You’ve been crying!” he exclaimed. A jolt of pure panic ran through him. She was so controlled, so brave, if the pain made her cry it had to be tremendous. “Where are you hurting?”

“I can manage,” she protested.

Éomer came to a decision. “I’m fetching a healer.”

“No! There’s nothing a healer can do.”

“You don’t know that! Don’t give up the fight before you even start.” The knowledge how little she valued her life frightened him.

“Éomer, you don’t understand. It’s…entirely natural.”

“Natural?”

She sighed. “Just that time of the month.”

Comprehension dawned. “Oh.” He sat down beside her heavily. Why did she have to give him such a fright? “That’s all right then.”

“Yes.”

Just the single, terse word. Obviously it was anything but all right for her. “Why were you crying?” he asked.

“It’s nothing. I was just being silly.” Lothíriel clutched her pillow tighter. “It was a few days late and I had hoped…but anyway, nothing came of it.”

She sounded so forlorn, he would have liked to pull her into his arms, but her posture, all rigidity and tension, made him hesitate. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m just being overly emotional. Don’t mind me.”

An uncomfortable silence descended as they sat side-by-side. She had said on their wedding night how much she wanted children, Éomer remembered. For himself, he was quite content to wait, though his people would of course have rejoiced at the news of an heir to the Mark. At first babies were nothing but smelly, squalling bundles anyway, he did not really consider them human until they started to talk. Although it might be different if it was your own smelly, squalling bundle.

“There’s always another day,” he said hesitantly.

“Yes, of course.”

“Would you like some tea? Shall I get Dordes? I’m not afraid of waking her.”

Only a tiny smile, but she seemed to relax slightly. “Let her sleep. And why don’t you go to the stables, you’ll be late else.”

Slowly he put an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t mind staying.”

For a moment she rested her head against his chest, but then she sighed. “No, you go ahead. I don’t want everybody to know. Although they will anyway soon enough.”

“What? Why should they?”

She straightened up. “Éomer, the washerwomen will know.”

“Oh!” He had not considered that fact before.

“I’m used to it,” she assured him. “It was the same back home in Dol Amroth, the servants always knew everything first.”

Back home. Did she still consider herself nothing but a guest here? He dropped his arm.

“I’ll lie down for a bit,” she added, “but don’t let me spoil your plans.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Éomer rose and stood looking down at her a moment longer, but she would not meet his eyes. Inwardly he sighed. She had made it clear she wanted no comfort from him – perhaps she feared her strength would falter if she accepted his sympathy? Yet the tree standing alone was hit hardest by the storm. He dropped a kiss on her brow. “Try to get some sleep.”

“I will.”

  ***

By the midday meal the next day, Lothíriel presided over the hall again, the elegant and serene Queen of Rohan as usual. Éomer could almost believe to only have dreamt their conversation, except there still lingered a shadow around her eyes. Did it bother her very much not to have conceived yet? It had only been a few months and though it was not uncommon to have your first child nine months after the wedding night – and in the Mark indeed quite often before that – he had thought it convenient that she should have some time to settle into her new role before having to cope with a newborn.

For the first time he noticed how many pregnant women there were around; everywhere he looked, he encountered rounded bellies. Just at the table closest to the dais, there was Alfrun, wife of one of his doorwardens, with one child on her lap and the next due soon. Her friend sitting opposite also showed signs of being in the same interesting condition while another one was nursing her little baby. Even the servant ladling out the stew had a dress that stretched suspiciously tight across her belly, despite having spoken her wedding vows less than a moon ago.

Perhaps a bit of distraction would do Lothíriel good? She worked so hard and hardly ever left Meduseld, except for the occasional ride with Hild. Besides, he had promised to show her the horses that made up her morning gift. The suggestion did seem to brighten Lothíriel’s mood and so a few days later they set out early one morning.

Of course it was impossible to show her all the horses, but she did get to meet the herdsmen in charge of looking after them and saw most of the mares in the foaling pastures. Her delight in the foals playing with each other and running after their mothers was catching and he found himself enjoying himself far more than he had expected.

On the way back in the late afternoon she gave him a warm smile. “That was marvellous! Thank you for taking me.”

“My pleasure,” he answered. Her gratitude made him feel a bit guilty, although it had been her own choice to stay cooped up in Meduseld so much that winter.

It was an unusually hot day, so they had chosen a path skirting the eaves of the woods, where the air was cool and refreshing, and up ahead he could spot a glimpse of the roofs of Edoras, less than an hour’s easy ride away. However, it was a shame really that the day should end already, he mused. No doubt Dordes would spirit Lothíriel away for a bath and a change of dress the moment they arrived or else Wulfrith would have need of a word with her.

Then he remembered that soon a small bridleway would branch off the main road and lead up into the hills. A little way along it there was a meadow with a stream running through it. “Let’s stop for a quick break,” he suggested. “I know a place in the woods where we can water the horses.”

“Good idea,” she agreed and leant forward to pat Maeweth’s neck. “They must be getting thirsty in this heat.”

A couple of men rode ahead to scout out the way and the rest followed more slowly. The bridle path was where Éomer remembered it and they turned into it in single file. It twisted around boulders and trees, rising steadily, and the forest closed around them. Disturbed by their passage, squirrels darted up the trees and a jay scolded them loudly, but soon they reached the meadow where the woods opened up again. At the far end, a pebbly beach led down to a small stream.

Alert as always, Éothain posted sentries at once, even though there was little likelihood of danger so close to Edoras. Éomer approved heartily however; he would take no chances with Lothíriel along. The horses were eager for a drink and after lifting Lothíriel down from the saddle, he handed the reins of both their horses over to one of his men.

“Let’s stroll upstream a little,” he suggested, “the water will be cleaner there.”

She took his arm. “What a pretty place. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d never find it. Where does that lead?” She indicated the path disappearing between some tall trees at the other end of the clearing.

“Further up the hill,” he answered. “There’s a hunting lodge up there with a wonderful view of the plains.” Because it was so close to Edoras, he and Théodred had used it often, sometimes taking Éowyn along as well.

“Oh, can we go there?” Lothíriel asked. “Is it very far?”

He hesitated, but the sun was already westering and there would only be a sliver of moon tonight. “Maybe another time. It’s not far, but the path grows ever narrower and steeper and coming back down in the darkness it would be too dangerous.”

She looked disappointed, but didn’t press the point. He wondered if she would enjoy spending a couple of days away from Edoras, up in the lodge, but then he remembered how small it was. No servants, having to fetch all the water themselves, cooking over an open fire…no, that was probably not a good idea. Even Éowyn had complained about the lumpy straw mattresses and she hadn’t grown up surrounded by all the luxuries of Dol Amroth.

Entering the glade, the stream formed a shallow pool before flowing on and some tall boulders, remnants of a long ago rock slide, provided a little privacy. Lothíriel regarded the water longingly. “So fresh and cool! It makes you thirsty just looking at it. But I forgot to bring my water skin with me, I’ll have to fetch it.”

“No need,” he told her and knelt down by the edge of the pond. After rinsing his hands, he shaped a cup with them and gathered up the clear water. “Here you are. This is much easier.”

She laughed. “Thank you!” Lightly touching his hands, she hastily slurped up the water.

“More?” he asked.

“Yes, but I can do it myself.”

“Your riding skirts will only get in the way,” he pointed out. “Trousers are much more practical. Besides, I don’t mind.”

In fact he quite enjoyed having her long, slim fingers steady his hands and watching her frown of concentration as she pursed her lips to drink. At her closeness the impulse to kiss her ran through him, but the boulders provided a very insufficient screen from the rest of their party. Also if Éothain had done his job as captain of his guard properly, there would be several scouts scattered across the hillside overlooking the clearing.

Lothíriel shook off excess water from her fingers. “Thank you! That was really refreshing.” She considered the pond thoughtfully. “It looks quite shallow actually. Will I have the time to cool my feet for a bit?”

“Why not? They’re not going anywhere without us.” He grinned. “Royal prerogative.” If he couldn’t kiss his wife whenever he wanted to, there had to be some compensation.

“If you say so!” After a quick look over her shoulder, Lothíriel sat down on a stone to take off her boots and socks.

“It’s melt water straight from the mountains, it will be cold,” Éomer warned her.

She shrugged. “It can’t be worse than capsizing in the Bay of Belfalas at midwinter and I survived that.”

“What! How did that happen?” he asked, surprised.

“Oh, we were racing and Amrothos overestimated his skill as skipper, as usual. Those sailing boats are only nutshells really, easy to overturn.”

“I’m surprised Imrahil allowed you such dangerous pursuits.”

Lothíriel grinned. “He didn’t, we had to creep out the castle unnoticed. But the wind was exactly in the right quarter, we literally flew across the bay! At least before Amrothos overreached himself.”

Éomer stared at her in astonishment. His composed, serious-minded queen had stolen out clandestinely to race sailing boats? He could hardly believe his ears!

Lothíriel’s smile faded. “Of course this was before…well, a long time ago.”

“Before what?” he asked, then cursed himself as her expression closed. For a moment she had allowed him a glimpse through the smoke and mirrors that hid her true self and he had to spoil it. He should know by now that asking direct questions was not the way to go about it! Oh, but the need for such slow steps was enough to try the patience of any man.

And Éomer was not a patient man.

Lothíriel gathered up the skirts of her riding dress and stepped into the water. “You were right, it’s cold.”

He was strongly tempted to tell her he knew an attempt at distraction when he heard it, but then forced himself to relax. It would only drive her further behind her barriers and in all fairness he had no right to ask her to share her past with him. Their bargain did not extend to that.

So he sat on the turf by the shore and watched Lothíriel splash in the shallows. It was rather a pleasant sight, he had to admit and felt his irritation with her drain away. Glimpses of white legs showed between the folds of her dress and mentally he followed their slender shape upwards. He might not have seen his wife’s body in plain daylight, but his hands knew every soft curve intimately. No, in that respect he had no complaint of their bargain at all. Now if only they were alone…

“Are you coming in too?” she asked.

He chuckled. “I don’t think so. I’m not hardy enough, unlike the folk of Belfalas.”

That earned him a grin. “Yes, the Rohirrim are such a delicate people, aren’t they?” Her skirts slipped at the back and she had to snatch for them. With a fierce frown of concentration she tried to gather up all the folds into a tight knot at her side, which had the interesting effect of revealing the shape of her behind more clearly.

“You should have worn trousers,” he teased her. “I told you so.”

Lothíriel splashed him. “Oh, do be quiet!”

Then she looked suddenly apprehensive. Really, did she think he would take offence at getting a little wet? He flicked the drops of water off his shirt. “More respect, my queen!” he quipped.

Lothíriel relaxed again. “I will try, my king.”

What had she thought, that he would tell her off? Did she know him so little? But then it was true that they spent little time together outside the bedchamber. His own fault, he reminded himself and vowed to take her riding with him more often. He rather liked this informal side to his queen.

The setting sun slanted across the clearing and limned everything with a soft, golden light. Lothíriel had braided one of her colourful silken scarves into her hair and it flamed up red and orange. Leaning back against a boulder, he watched her as she wriggled her toes in the cold water and balanced from one stone to the other, as carefree as a child.

It was such a peaceful sight, he thought. And less than three years ago would have been utterly unthinkable. How dark those days had been with Théoden ailing and faltering, Théodred more and more frustrated by the situation and all the news out of Gondor of defeat and the Enemy growing in strength.

In his heart he had known that he might well witness the fall of the West in his time, powerless to protect the people he loved. And now – a beautiful wife, Meduseld restored to its old glory, Éowyn happily married, himself with the power of kingship, the Rohirrim and their horses prospering…

Éomer sighed. Sometimes it almost frightened him how much he had to lose now. Though he did not wish those times back, in a strange way life had been simpler when their highest expectation had been to make an ending worthy of song of themselves.

“Brrr!” Lothíriel interrupted his sombre thoughts. “I think this hardy native of Belfalas has had enough of the cold water.” She sat down beside him and stretched her legs out on the turf before her.

He cast a measuring look at the sun that had nearly disappeared behind the trees lining the clearing. “Probably a good thing. We’ll have to set out for Edoras soon.”

Idly, she ran a hand across the grass. “Yes, I suppose so. It’s a shame though.”

A couple of dragonflies, glittering like jewels, darted across the pond while the setting sun picked out the bright pinks and yellows of dog roses and honeysuckle on the opposite side. On an impulse he picked a spray of forget-me-not and wove it into her hair, twining it with the silken scarf. “There. A promise that we will come back another time.” Preferably on their own, but that would hardly be possible.

She had gone still with surprise under his touch. Now she gave him a shy smile. “That would be lovely. It was so nice to get out, I really enjoyed our ride today.”

“You’ve more than earned the time off,” he assured her and cast about for something to say to show his appreciation of her efforts. “I’ve never known Meduseld to run as smoothly as since you took over.”

She dropped her eyes and looked away over the pond. “Thank you.”

Somehow his compliment seemed to have fallen flat, though he didn’t quite understand why. “Truly! I know how much work you put into it.”

Lothíriel inclined her head. “You’re very kind.”

Dimly Éomer felt he had said something wrong, but he was not one to give up easily. His wife changed moods quicker than a spring day! From a happy girl splashing about in the water she had gone straight to dignified queen. “I just wanted you to know that I value your contribution,” he added stiffly.

“Please, Éomer, I’m only honouring my side of the bargain,” Lothíriel said, her voice even and polite. The sun had set, casting them into shadow. She reached for her socks and boots. “But I think we’d better be off now, or we’ll miss the evening meal.”

The ride back was quiet. He watched his wife’s back as she rode before him down the bridle path, sitting supple and straight in the saddle. With the sun gone, all the colour seemed to have been leached from the land, leaving it brown and dim. Even Lothíriel’s scarf had faded to a dull orange.